m 
 
 i 
 
 *n*eF4<<
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 CONFIDENCES.
 
 CONFIDENCES 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOE OF " RITA." 
 
 " Homo sum ; humani nihil a me alienum puto." — Terence. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDEE, AND CO., 65, COENHILL. 
 
 1859.
 
 \_The right of Translatmi is reserved.'] 
 
 LONDON: 
 ri'lutad by SUITU, ELDEB & Cu., IS, OIJ Uallcy.
 
 ■^00/ 
 As. 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 From the Rev. Herbert Esdaile to his Sister, the 
 Baroness Schonboen, at Dresden. 
 
 I. 
 
 AsHFORD, June 1, 1858. 
 
 I SIT down, dear Mary, to begin a careful 
 transcript of my life here written at odd intervals 
 for my pleasure and your edification. We are 
 so far apart now that it is impossible to send 
 you a letter every other day, as I used when 
 I was at College and you were at home. I 
 shall congest half-a-dozen together, therefore, 
 periodically. Horace has an oft-repeated line 
 to the effect that those who cross the seas change 
 their climate, but not their mind. I know it is 
 so with you, INIary. Now that only we two are 
 left in the world"of the old home-circle, I want 
 to bring you as near me in spirit as possible. 
 I am as yet a stranger in the land here, and feel 
 
 I
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 at ti.ncs the want of a iVicna to whom 1 can 
 open my heart. I will do so to you. A man 
 ought not to want sympathy, I suppose, but go 
 straight to his mark, without caring whether his 
 motives arc understood or no. Well, remember 
 I am but three-and-twenty, and my college life 
 was altogether too prosperous and happy to 
 counteract the defects of my natural tempera- 
 ment, and of my home education. I have been 
 a spoilt boy hitherto. At Baliol I had two or 
 three most intimate friends, who took up where 
 you left ofi; so to speak, in making my life 
 pleasant and smooth. Then,' thanks to our dear 
 father's training, I passed my " great go " rather 
 triumphantly, so that until I came to Ashford, I 
 had hardly had a rub or knock in this battle 
 of life. But I know that this is not intended for 
 anyone, and ought not to last. A curate's life 
 in a large parish is not a bed of roses, though 
 you must not imagine from this that I find my 
 lot a very hard one : on the contrary. 
 
 I have been at Ashford three weeks. Certainly 
 neither Goldsmith nor any other painter (by pre- 
 scriptive right) of an English village, ever con- 
 ceived a lovelier spot. During my two months'
 
 CONFIDENCES. S 
 
 tour abroad, I saw nothing that woukl be so 
 constantly pleasant to English eyes as the scenery 
 about here ; richly wooded and watered as it is, 
 and wearing an aspect of health, peace, and 
 plenty. The village lies at the foot of a short 
 hill, up which the road winds, skirted on one 
 side by the woods of Castle Ashford, and on the 
 other by detached cottages, the last stragglers 
 of the main street. Each of these is fronted by 
 a strip of garden, in cultivating which the pos- 
 sessors seem to emulate each other. Sir Richard, 
 I am told, encourages this taste among his 
 tenants ; and nowhere have I seen such holly- 
 hocks and sweet peas as light up the roadside 
 here. My interest was at once awakened in the 
 occupants of these sunny little dwellings, and I 
 have not been disappointed in finding them all 
 industrious, well-conducted families. 
 
 Mounting a few hundred yards higher to the 
 brow of the hill, on looking back one sees the 
 slender spire of our church rising amidst the red 
 roofs and blue smoke of the village, backed by 
 four yew trees, whose swarthy solemn boughs 
 overshadow a great part of the small churchyard, 
 Bej^ond this the eye travels over a wide tract ;
 
 * CONFIDENCES. 
 
 following the river that winds, like a silver 
 riband with its fringe of sedgy banks, among the 
 June-meadows — now "leamincr, now hid a<:;ain ; 
 till in the far distance, between the pollards, one 
 narrow strip catches the clear sky for an instant 
 and is lost for ever : then past farm-houses and 
 green corn-fields to a range of soft undulating 
 hills, not sharply cut against the sky, but melt- 
 ing with the blue mist, and lit here and there 
 by the white scar of a chalk quarry. 
 
 Further to the ricrht, anions: those chcsnut 
 woods, you may descry the grey tower of Sta- 
 pylton Hall ; and beyond that again, higher up, 
 the Grecian portico of Mr. Forsepp's (the scissors 
 manufacturer's) great white mansion, swelling 
 with importance, on a sloping ground from which 
 every stick has been cut away, lest the eye 
 should overlook it in the landscape. In spite 
 of this blot it is a lovely rich English view ; 
 worthy, I might say in conventional phrase, of 
 the pencil of Claude, — who M-ould have put a 
 Roman galley on the river, by tlic bye, and made 
 Fawns dance under Mr. Forsei)p's portico — but 
 you and I agreed in our walks through the Dres- 
 den gallery that this compliment to nature is a
 
 CONFIDENCES. O 
 
 tloubtful one, at best. So having taken you to 
 the top of our hill and shown you the notable 
 features therefrom, I must now walk you down 
 again and introduce you to my humble dwelling. 
 
 It is over the chemist's shop, in the main 
 street of Ashford. Opposite is Mrs. Jones's 
 universal warehouse, or " emporium" as she 
 styles it : resembling a Turkish bazaar in its 
 assemblage of incongruous merchandise. Here 
 haberdashery and ni-asiin-Jlashery decoy your sex 
 by the alluring signals they hang out. A man's 
 hat, marked 45, 9d., swings from a sort of gibbet 
 near the door, and a pair of trousers made to 
 suit any emergency of shape, keep it company. 
 Here, too, I purchased my tea and sugar (very 
 bad they are), and was presented with a paper 
 which informed me that Mrs. Jones dealt no less 
 in Guiness's stout, Rowland's Odonto, boots and 
 brushes, etc., etc., besides " a select assortment 
 of articles direct from Paris." 
 
 Had I time or inclination, there could not be 
 a finer post for studying the characters and cus- 
 toms of my female parishioners than my own 
 window. Whenever I leave the house I am sure 
 to see one of them hovering on the confines of the
 
 b CONFIDENCES. 
 
 opposite door, and generally in the afternoon 
 there are a succession of pony carriages station- 
 ary there. The universality of Mrs. Jones's 
 enterprises, and there being so few shops here, 
 makes her's the centre of attraction, I ani told, 
 to a very large neighbourhood. A few yards 
 higher up stands the church, opposite the vil- 
 lage green, where those rival houses, the Sun and 
 Ashford Arms, face each other like two angry 
 combatants, waving their shields truculently be- 
 fore them. And there stands the House of 
 Peace, like a grand calm judge above these and 
 all other vain and vexed differences in our com- 
 munity. Those who troubled it in other days, 
 who sparred and wrangled as these do now, sleep 
 around under the grey and mossy stones and in 
 the shadow of those four great yews. How maxiy 
 more generations shall go by and find us still 
 far removed from Christian fellowship, tolera- 
 tion, and good will ? 
 
 The church has lately had a new Gothic 
 frontage, porch, and steeple, and this has rather 
 an incongruous effect with the old building, 
 which is of a very debased period of architec- 
 ture ; nothing but one window being left of the
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 original Saxon church. The architect's plans 
 for remodelling the whole, when it was found 
 necessary to enlarge it a year or two ago, were 
 rejected as being too expensive : yet this is 
 a wealthy neighbourhood. Can the owners of 
 these great houses think the money spent on 
 God's House thrown away ? But even more 
 than for its unsightly exterior, are they to be 
 blamed for insisting on the continuance of that 
 absurd arrangement of huge family pews, like 
 islands, curtained off from the congregational 
 ocean, — a remnant of feudal barbarism I had 
 hoped was obsolete. After this it is almost 
 superfluous to say that the organ is broken- 
 winded, the choir deplorable, and that the clerk 
 responds through his nose. But I shall say no 
 more on this subject for the present. 
 
 Along one side of the churchyard runs a green 
 lane, debutting from the main street, and about 
 five hundred yards down it stands the Rectory. 
 To judge from its appearance, it is about a 
 century old, very ugly, but comfortable-looking ; 
 of a dark purplish brick, with thick white sashes 
 and divisions to the windows, which are cut up 
 into very small panes. This seems a trivial par-
 
 8 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 ticular, but it gives you a better notion of tlie 
 house in which, of course, a good deal of my time 
 is spent, than if I were to describe its carpets and 
 curtains. 
 
 In a narrow study, close to the hall door, 
 sits the Rector during the greater part of the 
 day. The drawing-room is never used but for 
 the reception of a morning visitor ; the symme- 
 try of its annuals and china baskets is seldom 
 disturbed. AVhcn I dine there, Mr. Brigstock 
 and I sit in the dining-room after dinner, while 
 Mrs. Brigstock retires to her nursery, where she 
 spends all her time. I suppose the Rector occa- 
 sionally intrudes into that department, otherwise 
 he can sec very little of his wife. How shall I 
 describe him, to you who believe that "the 
 physical is always an index to the moral nature 
 of a man ? " Picture to yourself an unusually 
 tall one, broad, yet not impressing you with an 
 idea of strength. Why, I cannot tell, but he 
 looks as if he had sat away all his muscular 
 energy : no free play about the limbs ; the 
 hands, especially, having a dry, incapable look. 
 His head, at the first glance, will strike you as 
 a fine one. It is rather bald, but a few grey
 
 CONFIDENCES. 9 
 
 and sandy locks yet remain : the skull rises at 
 that point where you phrenologists place benevo- 
 lence, and yet higher to where I believe firmness 
 (obstinacy ?) and self-esteem lie, when it makes 
 an abrupt descent backwards. The brow is high, 
 straight and narrow ; the eyes small and grey ; 
 the upper lip of inordinate length ; the mouth 
 well-shaped. Altogether, the face is comely for 
 a man of fifty, but spoiled by an irritable red- 
 ness of surface : it looks as though he had 
 washed it with a nail-brush. Scrupulously clean 
 in his person, of a remarkable sonorous voice, 
 and a clerical dignity, not to say pomp of man- 
 ner, to which, I fear, / shall never attain ; — 
 these are his chief characteristics, at first sight. 
 What do you make of them ? Listen. 
 
 Mr. Brigstock is a good man ; by which I mean 
 that he is thoroughly conscientious, acts up to 
 what he considers his duty, is just, where his 
 prejudices do not interfere, and even generous. 
 Unfortunately, his ideas move in the very nar- 
 rowest groove : he would have been an intolerant 
 Puritan or a bigoted Romanist had circumstances 
 permitted : he has no leniency to diflE'erence oi 
 opinion, no sympathy of a large kind with human 
 
 V
 
 10 CONFJDENCKS. 
 
 doubts and difllcultics. This, together with a 
 harshness towards every moral deHnqucncy, pre- 
 vents his having as much influence as he might 
 have in his large parish, where Dissent has made 
 great progress of late. In spite of his encourage- 
 ment of virtue, and his own charities and blame- 
 less life, the very best of his parishioners, I be- 
 lieve, would as soon think of opening their hearts 
 to him, as of asking him to share their dinner. 
 
 And, I must confess, I feel like them. So 
 few ideas have we in common, upon any 
 subject, that I seldom advance an opinion in 
 his company, and never dare trust myself to 
 differ from his. I cannot tell where it would 
 stop, and, in our respective positions, the less 
 argumentative we arc the better. Moreover, it 
 is folly to argue without a remote hope of bring- 
 ing your antagonist nearer to you, sooner or 
 later. So we discuss nothing but the Indian 
 news, and the crops ; and I listen silently while 
 Mr. Brigstock enlightens me as to the state of 
 his parish, and denounces Hobbins, the drunken 
 tinker. 
 
 Mrs. Brigstock cau- only be described in a 
 negative way. She is neither fat nor thin, plain
 
 CONFIDENCES. 11 
 
 nor pretty, old, young, clever, dull, nor different 
 in any respect from the women one meets every 
 day, and forgets at once. The only positive 
 thinor about her is that she has six children, and 
 — only that I know it is a natural impossibility — 
 I should say they were all of the same age. She 
 is entirely absorbed in their feeding, clothing, 
 and teething. All the time she is talking, 
 one has an uncomfortable conviction that her 
 thoughts are in the nursery : and like Thea, 
 there is "a listening fear in her regard" when 
 any sound penetrates from that region. 
 
 June 10. — I have dined with the Rector and 
 his wife alone two or three times : but he said 
 to me last Saturday, 
 
 " I have asked two or three of our neighbours 
 to come and dine with us to-morrow, Mr. 
 Esdaile : you will favour me with your company 
 at seven ? I shall be happy of the opportunity 
 to introduce you to some of my parishioners of 
 the upper class, as I have already done among 
 the lower orders. Admiral Montacute expressed 
 himself very favourably as to your delivery : you 
 will meet him and his daughters. Also Mrs. 
 Halliday — the lady in the green bonnet who sits
 
 12 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 immedlatelv underneath the readincr-clcsk — and 
 her eldest daughter, u very riglit-niinded young 
 woman. Colonel IShaddock we also expect — a 
 distinguished Indian and Peninsular officer." 
 
 " He was good enough to leave a card on me. 
 Several gentlemen have called, indeed, but I 
 have not made their personal acquaintance. 
 Does the Colonel live here ?" 
 
 " Yes ; in that white house at the end of the 
 village, with a large garden. Like Cincinnatus, 
 he has turned his sword into a ploughshare, and 
 is an active Magistrate and one of our Poor-law 
 Guardians. A most exemplary man : a constant 
 attendant at divine service, INIr. Esdaile." 
 
 " Whose is the little cottage, by-thc-bye, 
 beyond the Colonel's ? the one with the creeper 
 over it. Twice when I have passed it in the 
 very early morning I have observed a remarkable 
 looking man walking in the garden, reading." 
 
 "Ah!" groaned the Rector, "that is Hum- 
 boldt Ferrers, the autlior. Alas, Mr, Esdaile, a 
 lost sheep !" 
 
 "You surprise me ! How little one can judge 
 of a man by his books. They breathe such a 
 truly Christian spirit that I have always thought
 
 CONFIDENCES. 1-3 
 
 I should like to know the man who wrote 
 them." 
 
 '^An Unitarian, sir: where that is the case all 
 must be hollow. I am unaware that there is 
 anything against his moral character. I believe 
 he pays his bills here very regularly and so on, 
 but — ah ! — in short, you understand." 
 
 " Oh ! of course, Mr. Brigstock. I suppose 
 this is the person of whom the poor Irishwoman 
 spoke yesterday. She called him Mr, Fars, 
 and said he had saved her husband from jail, 
 by paying the heavy fine the magistrates had 
 imposed on him for being drunk and creating a 
 disturbance." 
 
 " The man is a most wretched character, 
 besides being a Papist. Quite an unworthy 
 object for charity. A mouth's hard work in jail 
 without drink, would have been of more benefit 
 to him than this ill-timed bounty: but 'tis thus 
 a blind philanthropy ever acts, Mr. Esdaile." 
 
 I was more provoked to an answer than usual, 
 because I felt that, in the main, Mr. Brigstock 
 was right. But some people have an un- 
 fortunate way of presenting the wisest principle, 
 so that it looks ugly and uncharitable.
 
 14 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 We sat ilown, ttn, at the liectory table, on 
 Tuesday ; Mr. Jack Stapylton, the squire's 
 second son, and Miss Tarragon, a spinster lady 
 ot" great \v('ight in i\\v village, being added to 
 the party named. At dinner, I was between 
 Miss Halliday and Miss Montacute. Stapylton 
 kept up a brisk conversation on the other side 
 of the latter lady : they evidently know each 
 other intimately, — probably from childhood. I 
 gathered that he had been absent from home. 
 He had evidently some good stories to tell, and 
 his conversation was of that familiar nature, 
 interspersed with jokes and allusions, that I 
 should not have understood if I had heard every 
 word. Till the end of the second course, there- 
 fore, I only knew that Miss Montacute had a 
 fine clear profile and a brown skin, and that 
 she wore a white dress with coral beads round 
 her neck. 
 
 The other young lady and I kept up a 
 pretty animated conversation. 1 have no idea 
 what age she is ; but (through negligence or 
 intention), she makes herself look much older 
 than she need, by — what shall I call it ? — the 
 widowed-matronlincss ol her attire. A dark
 
 CONFIDENCES. 15 
 
 grey silk, a black cross, and a lace shawl huddled 
 about her, looked as out of season with the bright 
 auburn hair, as they did with the June sun that 
 streamed through the window on her head. 
 
 " How do you like what you have seen of 
 Ashford, Mr. Esdaile? Pretty, isn't it? Per- 
 haps all places are alike to you, though. In 
 your important calling, such trivial temporal 
 considerations arc of little moment, naturallv." 
 
 "Not at all; I assure you. I am much in- 
 fluenced by locality, and, judging by myself, I 
 believe the inhabitants are always more or less 
 affected by it." 
 
 "Ah! yes, you mean as regards health. But 
 in a spiritual point of view, you don't think 
 it influences the character ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly. Have not the Tyrolese in 
 their mountain fastnesses, and the Dutch among 
 their canals, all the characteristics of the lands 
 they inhabit ? In a lesser degree, look at the 
 difference between a Devonshire and a York- 
 shire labourer. It would be ungrateful to this 
 clear bracing air, and to the beautiful position 
 of Ashford, if I said I would as soon be in a 
 Lincolnshire fen, or be a curate in the City."
 
 16 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " And yet, as Mr. Priestly says (you admire 
 his books, I'm sure — charming, ain't they?) 
 surely, lor a man, there is nothing like that 
 rushing tide of life in the capital ! " 
 
 " It depends on whether one is a good 
 swimmer." 
 
 " Such a much wider field of action ! For 
 my part, I always long to join some of those 
 earnest female labourers in London." 
 
 " Really ! I should have thought you might 
 have found enough work even in this small 
 community of fifteen hundred souls." 
 
 " Perhaps, if I might do as I liked : but 
 mamma's ideas and mine don't agree. I can't 
 go about at night as I should wish, and re- 
 claim wanderers in the public-houses, and so 
 on. There is so much conventionality about 
 these things, isn't there, Mr. Esdaile ? Our 
 sphere of action is so very limited. I am sure 
 you agree with Priestly that we all oujltt to 
 work?" 
 
 " Yes ; though not quite in the way that 
 clever author would have us." 
 
 "IIow so?" 
 
 " I see in God's order of creation that to
 
 CONFIDENCES. IT 
 
 every living thing is allotted it's own work. 
 There are thrushes and nightingales as well as 
 barn-door fowls, thank goodness ! There are 
 lilies in the field as well as potatoes, and the 
 beasts there are not all horses and oxen. Be- 
 sides the pot and the plough, there is the high 
 spiritual delight in God's beautiful works, which 
 I take to be fully as beneficial to us. Miss Halli- 
 day." 
 
 " I do not quite see . . . You would not 
 encourage anyone to be idle, Mr. Esdaile ? You 
 don't mean that? " 
 
 " By all means, no. Only I think it absurd 
 to expect every one to work in the same way. 
 The same means, the same field, are not open 
 to all. There is a vast deal of cant about this 
 word ' work.' The poet and the novelist, in 
 their chimney-corners, pen in hand, may do 
 far wider and more lasting benefit than if, in 
 a paroxysm of enthusiasm, they rushed into St. 
 Giles's distributing Bibles, or turned scavengers, 
 as Mr. Priestley seems to recommend. There 
 is his mistake. He has but one heaii ideal of 
 excellence for all manners of men." 
 
 " I see what you mean, Mr. Esdaile ; but, as 
 
 2
 
 18 CONFIUKNCES. 
 
 regards myself (we had become quite intimate 
 by this time), mamma is always wanting me to 
 go into the world, and I'm so tired of it. It 
 was all very well when I first came out, but it 
 seems so empty now. It can give me nothing 
 in return: there is nothing real or true about 
 it. I should like to be a soeur de charite, so 
 as to escape it all." 
 
 I glanced over at her mamma in a helmet of 
 roses, and thought she looked anything but tired. 
 An insipid restlessness possessed the features : the 
 daughter had far more of matronly repose ; and 
 I could not help wondering at the relationship. 
 
 " The world can give you nothing in return, 
 as you say, Miss Halliday : but if you'll allow 
 me to point out the moral of what I said just 
 now ; it is to accept the ground and the tools 
 God gives you, and make the most of them. To 
 further His Word, — to be an industrious citizen 
 for the good of your fellows in the country 
 highways, or the crowded streets, in the closet, 
 or the cottage, or the ball-room. I don 't believe 
 there is any position in which you may not do 
 good, if you set about it Judiciously. That isn't 
 by preaching, understand me."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 19 
 
 " Yes : but mamma's opinions and mine are 
 
 very diiFerent on these subjects ; and as I cannot 
 
 make her see the necessity of my devoting myself 
 
 to good works, I have sometimes thought of 
 
 joining Miss Spark's sisterhood, Mr. Esdaile." 
 
 "And you think anything could justify your 
 deserting a mother ? however diiFerent her views 
 may be from yours. This is one of the saddest 
 things in the Romish Church, to my mind : the 
 inculcation of that refined selfishness they call 
 a 'vocation;' to leave the sweet home-charities 
 and duties of domestic life, and build up, as 
 they think, a narrow staircase for themselves to 
 Heaven. Much good may it do them ! " 
 
 I was rather heated, I suppose, for Miss Halli- 
 day rejoined, in a low voice, 
 
 " Mamma would still have Clemmy, my sister, 
 who is much more suited to her in every way. 
 However, of course you won't mention what I 
 just said. I look on you already as my father- 
 confessor, you see, Mr. Esdaile " (this with a 
 winning smile). " Good Mr. Brigstock never 
 is anyone's, of course." 
 
 " I have not seen your sister yet. Miss Halli- 
 day," said I, anxious to change the channel
 
 20 CONKIDENCES, 
 
 of conversation. " Is she coming here this 
 evening ? " 
 
 "No; she is in London for the season, with 
 the Ashfords, enjoying all its frivolities, poor 
 dear, as is natural at her age. Ah ! it will not 
 last lo7ig ! " 
 
 " The season, I believe, is nearly over," I 
 rejoined, with a smile. " But then, I suppose, 
 fashionable people, like the Ashfords, bring Lon- 
 don down to them in the country." 
 
 " Yes ! that is the worst of it. There is an 
 endless round of gaiety at the Castle, and 
 Mamma always wants me to go there. The 
 Ashfords are very kind, but so frivolous : they 
 don't suit me. They are Clemmy's friends." 
 
 " Of what does the family consist ? " 
 
 " There is Sir Richard and Lady Caroline, 
 and a son and daughter. The son is in the 
 Guards, and Blanche is a London beauty. 
 They are the regular sort of London fashion- 
 able " 
 
 Here the sound of something falling over- 
 head interrupted Miss Halliday, and shook 
 down a piece of plaster from the ceiling ujjon 
 her mamma's helmet of roses.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 21 
 
 " Dear rae ! what is this ? How very odd," 
 said that lady. 
 
 "I'm afraid/' cries Mrs. Brigstock, cutting 
 into an anecdote of the Admiral's about Badajoz, 
 and looking over her boiled fowls at the Rector, 
 " I 'm afraid, papa, that Mary Jane has been 
 and upset the washing-stand and bath again." 
 
 Every one glanced up, nervously, expecting 
 to see the water oozing down on us. The 
 Rector alone paid no attention, but went on 
 discoursing solemnly with Miss Tarragon, until 
 his wife cried out once more, as a distant roar 
 reached us, " Perhaps I 'd better run up and 
 see whether Tommy has fallen on his head 
 again ? " 
 
 " What does it signify if he has ? " said Miss 
 Tarragon, like an exasperated terrier at being 
 deprived of its rat, for she was deep in poor- 
 laws at that moment. 
 
 The Rector, in his most rectorial manner, 
 added, " The child will do very well without 
 you, my love." 
 
 " If I had a child," said Miss Tarragon (no 
 one else would have dared suggest such a 
 thing), "he should be made to tumble about
 
 22 CONFIDKNCES. 
 
 just to harden him ; ch / teach him not to 
 bawl. Stuff and nonsense, molly-coddling, ch. 
 Colonel ? When I was a child, no one ever 
 troubled their heads about me. Got on pretty 
 well, without it : ' guess I growed,' like Topsey. 
 All fudge wrapping 'em up in brown paper ; 
 can't make a parcel of 'em for life — wouldn't 
 if I could. Teach 'em to rough it, Mrs. Brig- 
 stock, as I have done." 
 
 I am sure we were all considerably impressed 
 by the specimen before us of what could be 
 done by roughing it. I have felt more patience 
 with Mrs. Brigstock's folly ever since. My 
 attention now being drawn more particularly 
 towards Miss Tarragon, I must describe her 
 to you. Her face and bust is that of a very 
 old, ill-used doll ; but she is five feet eight, and 
 therefore has been reckoned " a fine woman," 
 I am told. Iler hair looks as if it kept on 
 her head by a nail driven through the top 
 of it. Her face is a good deal blunted, as 
 though she had fallen repeatedly on the end 
 of her nose; but she has kept her eyes intact, 
 and makes good use of them. The expression 
 of her face is tart and vigilant. Nothing escapes
 
 CONFIDENCES. 23 
 
 her, and she succumbs to no one. The only 
 person for whom I observed that she seemed 
 to entertain some respect was Colonel Shaddock. 
 Not even the Rector's opinions were sacred in 
 her eyes. She knocked them down and buffeted 
 them, so to speak, in the most irreverent manner. 
 1 am told she is considered an oracle here, — 
 particularly in all farm and garden matters ; is 
 to be seen delving among her roses at six every 
 morning, or mounted on a ladder netting her 
 wall-fruit. She rates the cottager soundly if 
 his field is ill-drilled, or the cuttings she gave 
 him ill-grafted ; but she is charitable in her 
 own dictatorial way, though the poor woman 
 must heave a sigh of relief when this imperative 
 lady has deposited her sago and departed. 
 
 I was amused in watching and listening to 
 Miss Tarragon, when Miss Montacute asked 
 me to hand her the sugar, which enabled me 
 for the first time to see a pair of large and 
 very intelligent grey eyes. I believe I followed 
 up the opening so far as to remark on the fine- 
 ness of the strawberries ; but the ladies, very 
 soon after this, rose. I picked up a delicate 
 little white glove, and was thanked by a grave
 
 24 CONFIUKNCES. 
 
 inclination of the head, very ditierent from the 
 flutter of ordinary young Lidyhood. As the 
 door closed, young Stapylton drew his chair 
 near mine, and asked if I had known his bro- 
 ther Bill at Oxford ? 
 
 No, I had not ; what College did he belong to ? 
 
 " Christ Church. A wild young dog, Mr. 
 Esdaile ; not much in your line, I dare say. 
 Only, as I never was at College, I always fancy 
 that men who were there together must have 
 known each other." 
 
 " Has wild Bill settled yet what he is going 
 to be?" said the Admiral, as he passed the wine. 
 
 " No : he changes his mind every day. He 
 is only fit for an active profession, however. 
 He'll never stick to a desk." 
 
 " Well, he is too old for my trade, luckily, 
 and I hope he is not fool enough to think of 
 ^listing. One sodger in the family is enough, 
 I take it. Aye, Colonel, it's all very well 
 shaking your head, but I tell you, sir, the Ser- 
 vices are both going to the devil. (Beg pardon, 
 parson.) No discipline ; nothing done without 
 interest ; a set a-drawing-room puppies, walking 
 the quarter-deck in kid gloves, and young fel-
 
 CONFIDENCES. 25 
 
 lows in marcliing regiments going about with 
 portable tubs and the deuce knows what. Why, 
 sir, in my young day, a man never thought it 
 necessary to have a tub. But it's all of a piece 
 — Horse Guards and Admiralty, both corrupt : 
 a vote, sir, a vote will do anything; and when 
 the head is corrupt, why of course so's the 
 system — rotten throughout ! " 
 
 I found, from the number of times he returned 
 to it in conversation, that this was a favourite 
 illustration of the Admiral's. The parts in his 
 argument did not, indeed, quite hang together : 
 for the connexion between the tubs and the 
 Horse Guards was not clear, I believe, to any 
 of our minds ; but it was forcible, and had been 
 heard so often by every one present except 
 myself, that no one thought of examining it 
 minutely. 
 
 " Well, Admiral," said Jack Stapylton with 
 a merry smile, " in spite of this, you'll be glad 
 to hear that Ned continues to like his regi- 
 ment and the service altogether immensely. He 
 writes from India in the best spirits, and gives 
 such an account of his tiger hunts, that I long- 
 to be in his shoes."
 
 26 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " Better stick to the Dorminstcv Pack and 
 old England, Jack, l^ity you can't make some- 
 thing of a sportsman of Phil. I can't bear to 
 see a fine young fellow stewing over his books 
 as he dors, and not caring for a gun or a 
 horse." 
 
 " Phil is the scholar of the family, Admiral. 
 He represents the learning and respectability 
 of us all, as becomes the eldest son." 
 
 " How many brothers have you, Mr. Stapyl- 
 ton ?" I asked. 
 
 "In the words of the poet, 'We are seven.' 
 I have six natural enemies ; and as such we 
 fought in the nursery, though now we are very 
 good friends. Mr. Brigstock consoled my mother 
 after the birth of Willie, the youngest of us, 
 by telling her that seven was a mystic num- 
 ber, that meant all sorts of good things; didn't 
 you, sir ?" 
 
 ** Your mother had no need of consolation : 
 she is too devout a Christian, and too exem- 
 plary a parent ; but I did point out to her 
 that in Scripture the number seven was sin- 
 gularly blest. In Joseph's dream " 
 
 " Exactly ; and the seven champions of Chris-
 
 CONFIDENCES. 27 
 
 tendom, and so on. But it docs seem hard 
 there shouldn't have been a sister amongst the 
 seven. There was no provision against that, 
 you know — eh?" 
 
 " Aye/' said Colonel Shaddock, in his pecu- 
 liarly gentle voice ; " your mother, sir, would 
 have been glad of a girl, I doubt not." 
 
 "Nothing like girls. Colonel," said the Ad- 
 miral, " depend on it. A man always wishes 
 
 for a boy. I did : now I 'm d very glad 
 
 I never had one. No trouble, no bother with 
 daughters, — looking out for their futures, and 
 so on. There they are, and there they remain." 
 
 " You cannot expect them, my dear Admiral, 
 to remain with you ahoays," rejoined the courtly 
 old Colonel, smiling. " That would be suppos- 
 ing all the youngsters to have very bad taste. 
 I am glad, however, that you appreciate the 
 gifts the Gods have sent you." 
 
 Mr. Brigstock looked slightly shocked at this 
 Pagan form of speech, and remarked that they 
 were, indeed, very estimable young women, of 
 whom any father might be proud. The Admiral 
 took a pinch of snufF, and turned to Jack Sta- 
 pylton.
 
 28 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " How is the S(iuire's twinge of the gout ? 
 I met him on his grey coh two days ago, and 
 he complained still, — said he couldn't ride. He 
 is too fond of your fine old claret, Jack. Ha, 
 ha! he should he as abstemious as I am," and 
 the old gentleman filled his glass with port for 
 the seventh or eighth time. 
 
 " It is my belief the governor could vault 
 over a five-barred gate, if he chose. At all 
 events, he is not as bad as he fancies, or likes 
 us to fancy him : he Avalked all round my farm 
 to-day, and talks of going up to Ascot next 
 ■week." 
 
 " I trust you will dissuade him, Mr. John," 
 said the Rector, " from so rash an enterprise, 
 and in pursuit, too, of that earthly bubble- 
 pleasure. Think of what it is, — over in a few 
 brief hours, and what remains?" 
 
 "Very true," said Jack with the air of one 
 profoundly convinced ; but I suspect the sly 
 dog was laughing in his sleeve. 
 
 " Besides," continued the Rector, " as I never 
 fail to point out from the pulpit, when the 
 time of the neighbouring races draws near, such 
 amusements as these are in reality the encourage-
 
 CONFIDENCES, 29 
 
 ment of theft and rascality in all shapes. There 
 is your vagrant gipsey and your thimble-rigger, 
 your pick-pocket and vendor of strong drinks, 
 your bettors and gamblers, your " 
 
 '' Ah ! " said Jack, getting impatient under 
 this exordium ; " it is precisely on that account, 
 you see the governor enjoys a race course be- 
 yond all things, — the opportunity of picking 
 up subjects for his pet hobby, the Reforma- 
 tory." 
 
 " It is perfectly inconceivable," said the Rector 
 warmly, " how Mr. Stapylton can have taken 
 up that absurd idea: a strong-minded sensible 
 man, as he is, to be carried away by such an 
 Utopian scheme!" 
 
 " It is to give these poor young rascals a 
 chance of becoming honest," said the Colonel 
 mildly. 
 
 "Honest?" repeated Mr. Brigstock, "Why, 
 sir, what was the first thing that two of them 
 did on leaving the Reformatory ? To rob Mr. 
 Stapylton's — their benefactor's — orchard! What 
 do you think of that, sir, by way of reforma- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Apples have proved a sore temptation from
 
 30 COXFIUENCES. 
 
 the beginning of all things," said the Colonel, 
 smiling, " but if the system " 
 
 " Rotten from the head downwards," remarked 
 the Admiral, somewhat indistinctly, " and when 
 that is corrupt, the members " 
 
 " Still, if we can prove that in some cases it 
 has done good," insisted the Colonel ; but the 
 Rector waved his hand deprecatingly. 
 
 " Colonel Shaddock, excuse me, but it will be 
 the bane of our country — this sentimental interest 
 in crime. What ! will you tell me it is fitting to 
 see a young scoundrel, who should be expiating 
 his sins against society at the galleys-? " 
 
 " Put 'em all in chains, sir, and the Black 
 Hole," murmured the Admiral. 
 
 " I say, will you tell me it is fitting to see 
 such a young miscreant pampered in the lap of 
 luxury, driving out in an open carriage — yes, 
 actually Mr. Forsepp was seen with one of these 
 juvenile malefactors on the box of his britska — 
 while the honest and hard-working tramp wearily 
 mile after mile on the dusty road ? Again, I 
 ask, is it a justifiable step to endanger the morals 
 and safety of a neighbourhood, hitherto singularly 
 free from vice, by introducing into it a portion
 
 CONFIDENCES. 31 
 
 of the dregs of the community, and accustoming 
 our youth to the spectacle of crime rewarded: 
 for so it is, sir ; put it as you will, so it is. And 
 whose property is safe, when these interesting 
 young criminals, after a year or two's clever 
 dissimulation, are let loose on society ? Who can 
 rest at ease, feeling that this hotbed of villany 
 is within a few miles of him ? I am only thank- 
 ful," added Mr. Brigstock, washing his hands 
 vehemently in his finger glass, " that this Re- 
 formatory is not in my parish. Its being six 
 miles distant of course precludes the necessity 
 of my interfering in the matter, and it would 
 have been painful to me to oppose strenuously 
 any scheme of Mr. Stapylton's. But" (here he 
 wiped his fingers) " I thought it my duty to let 
 him know my views, and I have no further 
 responsibility in the matter." 
 
 I was glad to see coffee brought in just then, 
 not only because it put a stop to the Rector's 
 angry diatribes, but because the Admiral had 
 replenished his glass so constantly, that I began 
 to feel uneasy as to how he would accomplish 
 his voyage to the drawing-room. Jack Staplyton 
 swallowed his cup of coflfee ; then, feeling, no
 
 32 
 
 CONFIDKNCKS. 
 
 doubt, that lie had enjoyed enough of the 
 Rector's conversation, rose carelessly, and with- 
 out waiting for the " ciders," sauntered out of 
 the room to the ladies. 
 
 " A fine young fellow, that," said the Colonel. 
 
 I thought so too, as I looked after him : and 
 the Admiral, rousing suddenly, burst in, 
 
 " Aye, aye ; — but see him ride to hounds ! 
 No man goes so straight us Jack. Then as to 
 a shot; — I'll back him against any man in the 
 county. Gad! sir, it's a terrible pity he is 
 not the eldest son, instead of that land-lubber, 
 Phil." 
 
 " I like Philip Stapylton, and I respect him 
 too," said the Colonel, mildly. "All men can't 
 have the same tastes, my dear Admiral, and his, 
 I am sure, do no one any harm." 
 
 "I don't say that they do: but to think of 
 his succeeding the Squire ! that jolly old cock ! 
 and he that does nothing that / can see, but 
 parlcy-vous and squallini at the piano. Why he 
 don't know a pig from a i)otatoe, let alone 
 sporting. He is obliged to get Jack to do all 
 his farming business, and when he comes to the 
 estate, he'll be as ignorant as a child about it."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 33 
 
 "Shall we join the ladies. Admiral?" said the 
 Rector, rising. 
 
 When we entered the drawing-room. Miss 
 Tarragon's voice was heard exclaiming in a high 
 pitch, above every one else, 
 
 " Brown paper and vinegar ! Stuff and non- 
 sense, Mrs. Brigstock, about pomade divine I 
 "When I bark my shins, I never use anything but 
 paper. I should like to know if ^ovl.''^ pomade 
 divine in the Peninsular, Colonel ? He ! he ! " 
 
 She sat in a high-backed chair, with one leg 
 crossed on the other, and by a periodical move- 
 ment of the foot, kicked out the flimsy silk of 
 which her skirt was formed, lending thereby 
 great emphasis to her discourse. 
 
 But my attention was soon more agreeably 
 occupied with the figures of two young girls 
 who had joined the party since dinner. These, 
 I found, were Miss Montacute's younger sisters. 
 The elder of the two, Linda they called her, is 
 a graceful animated girl, the least good-looking 
 of the three sisters, and I should fancy the most 
 popular. The youngest, who rejoices in the 
 singular name of Vanda, is strikingly handsome, 
 but shy and proud-looking. 1 can hardly 
 
 3
 
 r' 
 
 34 confii>i:nci:s, 
 
 believe she is an English girl : her movements 
 and carriage have, in a yet greater degree, the 
 peculiarity I observed in her eldest sister ; and 
 there is a grandeur in all the lines of her figure 
 which I have never seen but in some of the 
 Florentine frescoes. I vi^as so engaged in watch • 
 ing her that I did not observe Mrs. Brigstock 
 ask Miss Montacute to play. But immediately 
 she sat down to the piano and passed her fingers 
 over the keys my attention was arrested. I have 
 rarely heard such a touch. It has a nervous 
 power, which seems independent of the mechani- 
 cal agent. It affected me almost magnetically : 
 I felt it to my fingers' ends, and remained 
 entranced while she played two or three of 
 Chopin's wild mazurkas in succession. Nearly 
 everyone in the room talked, but that made no 
 difference ; for I was far away, watching a group 
 of Polish peasants in their frozen forests, clank- 
 ing their heels round a fire to the music of their 
 native dance. The fine expressive head seen 
 over the piano was admirably in character with 
 such a scene. I could observe it better tlian I 
 had done yet. In full -face it Mas much less 
 handsome than in profile, but the same power
 
 CONFIDEXCKS. 35 
 
 and sensibility that characterized her playing 
 M'ere strongly written there. The varying ex- 
 pressions passed over it like clouds, but the 
 power remained. There was nothing M'eak or 
 irresolute in a single line, and the breadth of 
 forehead, too great perhaps for beauty, seemed 
 to indicate the same grasp and vigour of intellect. 
 The different effect produced on me by the two 
 heads I have described was curious. My eyes 
 were fascinated by the beauty of the youngest 
 sister, but when once fixed on the elder I could 
 not take them away. It was as though she said, 
 *' I know it is difficult to make you look at me, 
 but having looked you are mine now and cannot 
 escape." How far this might be the effect of 
 her divine playing, I will not stop to enquire. 
 Suffice it that I was hardly able to murmur the 
 most common-place thanks : while Mrs. Brig- 
 stock, who had been pouring her nursery troubles 
 into Mrs. Halliday's ear ever since INIiss Monta- 
 cute began, broke off, and exclaimed, 
 
 " A charming set of waltzes, that. Thank 
 vou. So much obliged." 
 
 ^liss Tarragon was honester, at least. 
 
 "Do vou call that music, EUice ? It mav be
 
 36 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 all very fine, that hopping up and clown the 
 piano, but I like something that's got a tune in 
 it. It's as if a rat had got into the piano. 
 Humbug ! -Any owe pretending to like that !" 
 
 " Play some of the ' Elijah,' EUice dear," said 
 Miss Ilalliday. 
 
 Miss Montacute shook her head and beckoning 
 to her sisters, said with a smile, 
 
 ■'* They shall sing something adapted to the 
 capacity of the audience. Instrumental music 
 is not popular here, you know." 
 
 This was spoken with the most perfect good 
 humour : and she began to accoinpany her sisters 
 in a lively little air, the words of which I could 
 not recognise as belonging to any language I 
 had ever lieard. When I asked the question at 
 its close, it was with a latent dread that it might 
 be Englibh. I was as much relieved as surprised 
 to find it was Polish. The voices were small 
 but in tune ; the singing spirited, and it met 
 \\ ilh an encore, in Avhich Mr. Jack Stai)ylton 
 was especially loud. 
 
 "And now, ]Mr. Esdaile, will you favor us?" 
 said ]\lrs. Brigstock ; " we are sure you sing, 
 from the interest you lake about the choir.
 
 CONFIDENCF.S. 3T 
 
 Have you your music? I dare say one of the 
 young ladies Avill accompany you. What ! not 
 sing at all, nor play? Well, I'm quite dis- 
 appointed. I intend my Tommy to learn the 
 piano as soon as he can read. Such a nice 
 occupation, and so refined." 
 
 Miss Tarragon's skirt was agitated in great 
 scorn ; I turned to the younger members of the 
 society who were grouped round the piano. 
 Jack Stapylton was looking over some songs with 
 Miss Linda, but they seemed to find each other's 
 conversation more interesting than the score. 
 The stately Vanda leant over her eldest sister's 
 chair : and I ventured to say to Miss Montacute, 
 
 " You are evidently a capital musician. Could 
 not you and your sisters do something to improve 
 our miserable choir? Have you never thought 
 of taking it in hand?" 
 
 " I tried, but the organist resented my inter- 
 ference. Mr. Brigstock neither knows nor cares 
 whether voices and organ are in the same key ; 
 so I had no assistance from him, and my class 
 fell to the ground." 
 
 " I hope to establish one, and if you will 
 assist me I think we shall improve in time. I
 
 38 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 will smooth all the difficulties for you and 
 promise you shall have no trouble with the 
 organist." 
 
 "And, oh! Mr. Esdaile/' said :Miss Linda, 
 " if you could stop that clerk's ridiculous way 
 of roaring the responses, you would deserve a 
 vote of public thanks." 
 
 " Ton my soul," chimed in Jack, " it's as much 
 as one's gravity can stand sometimes. When he 
 * pants,' like the * ^eart for cooling streams,' I 
 long to oblige him with a good ducking." 
 
 Miss Linda laughed. She and her elder sister 
 consented to take in hand the class for congre- 
 gational singing I am anxious to form ; but 
 Miss Vanda only muttered something about hav- 
 ing- no talent for teaching. The fair Halliday 
 (whose musical powers, I am told, are of the 
 most rudimentary description) immediately offered 
 her services, and of course I could not decline 
 them. It was a new, though a small excitement. 
 " You know, Mr. Esdaile," she said gravely, 
 " my desire is to be of some use in my gene- 
 ration, that my life may be earnest, and not 
 altogether thrown away. Point out to me any 
 sacrifice I ought to make, and 1 will make it."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 39 
 
 This was said in the star-lit lane, as I was 
 accompanying her home ; the Colonel being in 
 front with Mrs Halliday. That lady had wished 
 to accept the offer of his brougham, but her 
 daughter protested so plaintively against being 
 shut up, and assumed so ill-used a tone, that 
 her mamma yielded. I ventured to reply, there- 
 fore, to the young lady's remark, 
 
 " Perhaps the best sacrifice you can make, 
 is that of your own tastes and wishes to those 
 of others." 
 
 I have now brought down this veracious 
 journal, my dear sister, to within two days of 
 this date. I shall continue writing, as I have 
 done, by snatches, from time to time, and only 
 dispatch the result when it shall have assumed 
 the size of a respectable budget. Let me have 
 your comments on the same. Tell me what 
 impression the people I introduce to you make. 
 Criticise the sayings and doings of your brother 
 as freely as you used in the happy home-days 
 that are gone, alas ! never to be renewed ; and 
 with love to Fritz, 
 
 Believe me always, etc., etc.
 
 40 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 II. 
 
 July 20. 
 
 Thank you, my clear Mary, for your letter, 
 which I received yesterday. I rejoiced in the 
 good accounts it brought of you and Fritz, and 
 — though last, not least (except physically) — 
 of that important baby. AVhen you say that 
 Mrs. Brigstock " has transferred her happiness 
 from her husband's keeping to that of her chil- 
 dren," are you sensible, ma'am, that few do- 
 mestic ladies serve these two masters equally 
 well I that if they retain their affection for their 
 lords in all its first warmth and freshness, the 
 chiklren are almost invariably neglected ? and 
 that if (as with Mrs. B.) the nursery is the 
 first consideration, it is very often the last and 
 oidy one ? I see you shake your head indig- 
 nantly, and point to Fritz smoking his pipe
 
 CONFIDENCES. 41 
 
 on one side, and the crib on the other. In 
 answer to this, I only beg to remark that you 
 are not yet surrounded by six cribs, as is the 
 case with the worthy Rector's wife. You ob- 
 serve, with your usual acumen, that I seem 
 better pleased with my new life, towards the 
 end of my letter, than I was at its commence- 
 ment. You are right; and all you say of the 
 dramatis personce in it is capital. But you seem 
 to think I am too severe on Miss Halliday ; 
 you have " no doubt there is some real good 
 under all that exaggeration." Neither have I. 
 
 She belongs to a class of young ladies very 
 common now, which had no existence some 
 twenty years ago. In their principles (which 
 are the result probably of some disappointment 
 in love, or what they call such) there is a noble 
 wish and intention, which only wants the bal- 
 last of sound judgment to render it very valu- 
 able : in the exaggeration of these principles 
 there is much that is morbid and unhealthy. 
 This is the case with the young lady in ques- 
 tion. Do not think me severe, for indeed I 
 am hopeful of seeing her a more " enlightened 
 instrument of good," to use her own phrase.
 
 42 CONFIDKNCKS. 
 
 than she now is. 1 cannot help, us you know, 
 smiling over the little follies of my neighbours ; 
 but this does not prevent my learning, every 
 day I live, that there is more good in the world 
 than Avc often give it credit for. In this parish, 
 among high and low, I find plenty to confirm 
 this view of human nature. It is true I also 
 find prejudice, jealousy, ingratitude. I am 
 obliged to guard myself against expcctiiuj any 
 return for the interest I may feel among the 
 poor, or that my views will be understood and 
 shared by any among my rich parishioners. 
 
 The K-ector and I are as wide apart as ever, 
 and as friendly. Were it not for the interest 
 I already feel in this village, and the hope of 
 doing some good here in my own way, I should 
 endeavour to find a curacy where my views 
 were not so diametrically opposed to those of 
 my " chief." Perhaps, however, for that very 
 reason (I sometimes argue with myself) I am of 
 more use here. By a little tact and management, 
 I have already been able to work a beneficial 
 change in some small matters, without actually 
 opposing IMr. Brigstock. He now allows me 
 to have the management of the school pretty
 
 CONFIDENCES, 43 
 
 much in my own hands. Our choral singing 
 — thanks to the Lidies — is improving. Wc have 
 two evenings' practice in the week, when every 
 one is invited to join ; and tlie Miss Monta- 
 cutes give some of the boys and girls instruc- 
 tion separately at their own house. All this 
 has been the cause of my seeing these young 
 ladies a good deal lately, — more than any one 
 else indeed. They are not an easy family to 
 know ; and their history, which I will tell you 
 as I gathered it from Colonel Shaddock in a 
 walk two days since, accounts in some measure 
 for this. 
 
 Their father is a retired Admiral. Besides 
 his pay they have very little to live on ; and, 
 unless the Admiral has saved in former years, 
 from his prize-monies, etc., these three girls 
 will be left miserably off at his death. Their 
 mother had no fortune : she was a Polish lady, 
 of great beauty and accomplishment, who was 
 reduced, by circumstances, to become a gover- 
 ness. The Admiral met her abroad, fell in love, 
 and married her ; though my informant just 
 hinted that it was probable the lady only ac- 
 cepted him to escape from her dependent posi-
 
 44 
 
 CONFIDKNCFS. 
 
 tion. At all events, he ijave me to understand 
 there was a great prejudice against her in Eng- 
 land : whether justified by her conduct, he cither 
 could not, or would not, say ; and when the 
 Admiral was ordered to the coast ot Africa, 
 Mrs. Montacute, instead of remaining in Eng- 
 land, which she couldn't bear, Avent to War- 
 saw with her children. She never left it : she 
 was seized with a painful illness before the 
 Admiral's return, and under it she lingered 
 some time, unable to leave her native country. 
 
 The Admiral during this period was almost 
 constantly employed. When his wife died, and 
 he went to Warsaw to bring back his children, 
 hi« eldest dauirhter was fourteen. That is nine 
 years ago. They have lived here ever since, 
 in a little cottage tliat was left to the Admiral 
 when he was a young man, but where his wife 
 only resided three years. The Colonel informs 
 me that the youngest daughter, A'anda, is the 
 exact image of her mother. It is not difficult 
 to understand that poverty, a foreign education, 
 and the fact of their mother having been slighted 
 in England, which she probably never forgot, 
 should have had the effect of making the eldest
 
 CONFIDENCES. 45 
 
 of these girls, at least, reserved, and prevent- 
 ing her from being very intimate with any of 
 the young ladies about here, with none of whom 
 she has very congenial tastes. Mrs. Stapylton 
 has been very kind to them, and the second 
 daughter, Linda, used to be constantly at Sta- 
 pylton Manor ; of late, not so much so. 
 
 The youngest, I confess myself as yet unable 
 to fathom. She seems dissatisfied with her pre- 
 sent life, as far as I can make out. She has 
 not much occupation, and I sometimes fancy 
 that her eldest sister is rather uneasy about 
 her ; but I may be mistaken. She says very 
 little, which may be from the depth of her 
 reflections, or from their shallowness ; and, in 
 spite of her remarkable beauty, it does not 
 seem that she has any special admirers among 
 the young men of the neighbourhood. I am 
 bound to add that she oflers very little en- 
 couragement. To myself, though I have been 
 now several times at the house, she has not 
 addressed half-a-dozen words ; and though I 
 admire her almost as much as the Venus of 
 Milo, I feel just as little inclination to talk to 
 her.
 
 4G CONI'IDKNCKS. 
 
 I must describe their cottage, for it is cha- 
 racteristic of its gallant owner, and you have 
 probably no idea that a nautical color can be 
 given to anything so far inland. There is a ter- 
 race in front, which is the nearest approach to a 
 quarter-deck that can be fashioned out of grass 
 and gravel. A couple of miniature cannon, and a 
 mast with ropes and flying pennant, in the most 
 correct style, complete the likeness. Beyond 
 this, in the young ladies' domain, the flowers 
 blossom luxuriantly, but here not a bud, not a 
 daisy, is to be seen. Within, the walls are hung 
 all round with drawings of vessels in every pos- 
 sible attitude — except topsy-turvy. One, in full 
 sail " off Cape Finisterre," under the command 
 of Eear- Admiral INIontacute, C.B. ; and one, dis- 
 masted, in a howling sea, and evidently under 
 no command but that of the winds and waves. 
 Tiiere is an Indian cabinet, and some Chinese 
 screens, two great jars Irom Japan, and a variety 
 of large and curious shells. Everything speaks 
 of long voyages, and seems to have a smell of 
 the salt sea. The furniture is exceedingly old 
 and shal)by ; but Miss INIontacute's books and 
 >\()ik,antl the open i)iano and the flowers, give
 
 CONFIDENCES. 47 
 
 the little room an air of comfort many a grander 
 apartment wants. 
 
 The Aclmii-al and I are very good friends. I 
 do not suppose it is necessary to give you a 
 metaphysical analysis of his character. He met 
 me yesterday as I was leaving the church, when 
 we had the following conversation : — 
 
 " Good day, Mr. Esdaile. What have you 
 been doing there ? It's none of vour Saint's 
 days, is it ? Didn't see the girls getting their 
 tackle ready this morning." 
 
 " I have been christening a child, Admiral — 
 Mrs. Crump the baker's wife's first baby. A 
 love of fine names prevails here, I see, as else- 
 where. The future baker of Ashford is Marnia- 
 duke Crump. 
 
 " Aye, aye — women are always foolish. Sir, 
 about names. My poor wife, she christened her 
 eldest after my old friend Ellice, who gave her 
 a passage home from the Mediterranean — (not 
 allowed to take one's own wife, though one may 
 another man's, Mr. Esdaile). It was no use tell- 
 ing her that Ellice was n't a woman's name. She 
 could see no difference between it and Alice (she 
 was a foreigner. Mi". Esdaile), and so she would
 
 4S CONFIDEN'CES. 
 
 have it. The second, I insisted on being named 
 after their great aunt, j\Irs. Belinda Montacute, 
 but her mother wouhl never call her anything 
 but Linda, and so the old lady took offence and 
 didn't leave her a farthing. The third is named 
 after her poor mother. Aye, it's all very 'svell 
 to ask ' What's in a name?' and then to say, ' a 
 nose by any other name ^vould smell as sweet.' 
 It's not true. Sir. All depends in life on the 
 
 christening, and "svomen arc so proof; Ellice 
 
 is as obstinate as my old friend Billy himself, 
 and Vanda is the only one that is the image 
 of her poor dear mother. Ah ! " 
 
 " Are you speaking of Captain William Ellice, 
 Admiral, Avho is now on half-pay ?" 
 
 " The same, to be sure ; and a terrible shame 
 it is. Left unemployed — got disgusted — went on 
 the retired list. All the fault of the present 
 iniquitous syt^tem, Sir : the First Lord, a servile 
 dependent on family and parliamentary interest; 
 and when the head is corrupt, why all the 
 members " 
 
 " Exactly. Captain A\'illiam Ellice is my 
 mother's cousin. 1 have been told that his 
 ungovernable tcpjpcr and violent language was
 
 CONFIDENCES. 49 
 
 the cause of his having remained unemployed 
 for so many years. 
 
 " Tut, tut, my good Sir, in our day no man 
 ever gave an order on the quarter-deck without 
 a dozen good round oaths. And so Bill EUice 
 is your cousin, is he ? Why, it makes us seem 
 almost related too, Mr. Esdaile ; for Billy is quite 
 like an uncle to the girls. Temper ! Lord bless 
 you ! ask them whether he is bad-tempered." 
 
 I did ask them several questions concerning 
 our almost-unknown cousin when we reached the 
 cottage, and was informed by Miss Linda, who 
 was more loquacious in the Captain's praise than 
 his god-daughter, that he was "the dearest old 
 fellow in the world — spoils us all — a trifle warm, 
 perhaps, and headstrong, but such a generous 
 heart ! and then so amusing — has seen so much 
 of the world — tells such good stories." In short, 
 on the strength of my relationship to the Captain, 
 the vounsr ladies and I became more intimate 
 than we have yet been. 
 
 July 2Qth. — I mentioned in my first letter a 
 row of cottages on the slope of the hill that had 
 attracted my attention particularly from their trim 
 gardens. One of these gardens has been looking 
 
 4
 
 50 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 neglected for the last fortnight. In it live a man 
 and his wife who arc in great affliction from the 
 death of their only child. This expression does 
 not convey a right idea of the state of the man's 
 mind. It is a sullen savage hopelessness, un- 
 brightened by a ray of faith. The poor mother 
 in all her grief has a firm and humble trust, but 
 the effect produced on her husband by this blow 
 renders her wretched. 
 
 " O, Sir ! " she said to me, while the tears 
 poured down her cheeks, " it was the only thing 
 he cared for — the only soft place in John's heart, 
 for he's got hard-like since we married, and don't 
 care much, now he's used to me — but the child! 
 It were our only one, as ever we've had; and O 
 sir, when he says to me, ' Wife, how can you ask 
 me to believe in a God of mercy that takes away 
 the only thing I cared for ? ' what can I say. Sir ? 
 I tells him it's a dispensation, but he laughs 
 bitter-like, and calls it parson's jargon (humbly 
 begging your pardon. Sir). Will you please 
 speak to him ?" 
 
 I found John Ihirst in that frame of mind on 
 ■which it is tlie most difficult to make any im- 
 pression. I told him how God tries thoec whom
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 51 
 
 he loves through their afFections. " If a friend, 
 John, were going away for a time and gave his 
 garden into your charge, to look after, though 
 you trained and watered the flowers and spent 
 all your thoughts and your heart on it, yet would 
 you hesitate to give it back to him when he came 
 and claimed it again ? Wouldn't you feel that it 
 was not yours, — only lent you for a time ? Well, 
 so it is, John, that God lends us those we love. 
 He means us to love and tend them. He doesn't 
 want us to be cold and indifferent to His bles- 
 sings, but he expects us to resign them without 
 murmuring when he calls them back. Those 
 who are cold and worldly-hearted he tries in 
 other ways." 
 
 " Why is Sam Timson's children left all sound 
 and healthy?" said John, surlily. "He's got 
 seven, and they ha'n't a scratch, and the eldest 
 rising fifteen. He's none so good, neither, is 
 Sam, for the matter o' that." 
 
 " Perhaps for that very reason his children are 
 spared ; but we can none of us foresee the secret 
 workings of Providence. In this world, remem- 
 ber, the good are not all rewarded and the wicked 
 • punished. Very often it is just the contrary."
 
 52 
 
 CONFIDENCES, 
 
 "Aye. I don't see as your psalm-singers is 
 any better off; and how do you make out that 
 God is just, if he don't make any difference ? 
 There's Nell says her prayers as reg'lar as clock- 
 work, why warn't the child spared for her sake ?" 
 
 " If there were not another world beyond this, 
 John, it would be unjust; but Nell and I believe 
 that those who have suffered here in patient faith 
 will be rewarded by and by." 
 
 He shook his head incredulously, and I said 
 no more, thinking it wiser not to insist too far 
 just then. The next day I gave Nelly Hurst 
 one of those coarse German woodcuts we bought 
 at Munich. It represents a group of angels bear- 
 ing a little child up to heaven. She promised to 
 pin it up on the wall opposite their bed, and who 
 knows but that, as the rising sun strikes through 
 the lattice there, and John's eyes open on it day 
 after day, that little print may do more than all 
 my talking ? 
 
 What some people would call " a curious 
 coincidence," happened a morning or two after 
 my conversation with the Hursts. I go down 
 to the river every morning between five and six 
 o'clock to bathe. Some of the village youths who
 
 CONFIDENCES. 53 
 
 were there the first morning I went down plunged 
 about in the water like hippopotami — though far 
 less at their ease, for they were evidently ignorant 
 of the noble art of swimming. I undertook to 
 teach them. Before I knew what I had engaged 
 upon, I found my class increased to some twelve 
 or fifteen, and by the following morning, when 
 the noise of my ecole de natation had been bruited 
 abroad, there were no less than twenty. One of 
 these is the son of the Sam Timson Hurst spoke 
 of so enviously ; and a tall shrewd-looking boy 
 he is, somewhat of a scamp I suspect ; but, like 
 most of the boys in this parish, he has been much 
 neglected. On the morning in question he was 
 very nearly drowned. He struck out boldly (for 
 he has plenty of pluck and adventure in his com- 
 position), when I had shown him how to use his 
 arms and legs, and the river carried him down, to 
 the admiration of some of his more awkward com- 
 panions, until I called out to him not to go too 
 far, and he attempted to turn and breast the 
 stream. Then, from nervousness or some other 
 cause, he began to use arms and feet both at once, 
 and bellowing lustily, down he sank, just where 
 the river is deepest and the weeds grow thick and
 
 54 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 long. Had I not been so near, he would never 
 have risen, for his feet were completely entangled. 
 It was a minute or two before I could reach him, 
 and -wlicn I brought him v;p he was insensible. 
 A good rubbing on the warm bank, and a sound 
 scolding (I dare say) from his mother when he 
 got home, brought him round, but you may guess 
 how John Hurst received the intelligence. 
 
 "Oh! of course not! Sam Timson's son isn't 
 drownded. No harm will ever happen to him. 
 If it had been 7ny son he'd ha' gone to the 
 bottom, and no one to pull him up. Preach 
 away about justice: that's right." 
 
 I walked over to Stapylton Hall one day last 
 week to return the Squire's visit. The gout 
 first and then his visit to London had prevented 
 his calling before. INIr. Jack, too, was away, so 
 I had seen nothing of the family. The Squire 
 was out, but Mrs. Stapylton was at home. The 
 house is a comfortable frightful English mansion, 
 one wing alone retaining the distinctive character 
 of a much older building. From this wing rises a 
 square grey stone tower almost covered with ivy. 
 The remainder of the old building was pulled 
 down and rebuilt in the reign of George III.,
 
 CONFIDENCES. 65' 
 
 an epoch when architects seem to have tried 
 how ugly it was possible to make a human 
 habitation, and to have crowned their efforts with 
 the most complete success. 
 
 I was shown into a large drawing-room with a 
 bay window, the blinds of which were drawn up 
 to the top, so that the afternoon sun, pouring 
 into the room and lighting up every corner and 
 crevice with painful brilliancy, made one's eyes 
 ache. The faded chintz covers, stretched upon 
 the hard bony-looking chairs and sofas, demon- 
 strated the number of seasons the sun had thus 
 streamed. Windless, into the room. There were 
 few books and no flowers ; some grim ladies and 
 gentlemen, with very straight stiff bodies, hung 
 round the walls, and on a round marble table 
 beside Mrs. Stapylton lay the Times, a pair of 
 spectacles, and Livingston's Travels. That lady 
 was employed in some plain — very plain — work, 
 and rose with formal courtesy to receive me, 
 pointing to a chair opposite to her, and facing 
 those blazing windows. As it was a warm day, 
 and I had walked rather fast, my position was 
 not enviable. Mrs. Stapylton is a thin precise 
 woman, who has once been good-looking, in a
 
 50 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 hard way, and is of a very noble family. I make 
 no doubt she has some good qualities : I shall 
 let you know as soon as I have found them out. 
 In conversation she cannot be said to shine. She 
 never allows you, in the first place, to forget that 
 you are addressing Mrs. Stapylton of Stapylton 
 Hall. The sense of her importance is no doubt 
 increased from the fact of her not having gone 
 beyond a circle of ten miles from home dur- 
 ing twenty years. She said, speaking of Mr. 
 Forsepp's family, that they were " new people : 
 I hardly know them. Mr. Stapylton wished 
 me to call, as Mr. Forsepp has taken a great 
 interest about the Reformatory ; but in our 
 county it has 7iever been the custom to visit 
 manufacturers, when they come and settle near 
 us." 
 
 "You make some concession to the times, I 
 suppose, Mrs. Stapylton. The manufacturers are 
 the great men of England now : where should 
 we be without them ? " 
 
 " This admixture of classes is a great evil in 
 the present day," said the lady frigidly. " There 
 are, no doubt, many excellent persons among 
 them, but you must draw the line somewhere.
 
 CONFIDE^CKS. 57 
 
 I beg your pardon, but I believe yours is an 
 old Huntinardonshire familv ? " 
 
 Soon after this she rang the bell and sent the 
 servant to see if Mr. Philip was at home. 
 
 " He has his own set of apartments : we never 
 see him until dinner time. My son unfortunately 
 shuns general society " (this was said in a very 
 hard voice), "but he sometimes likes the con- 
 versation of an intelligent person — like yourself. 
 Mr. Stapylton and myself would be glad if he 
 could be induced to mix more. I mention it in 
 case you have the opportunity, as a clergyman, 
 some time or other, of speaking to him about it." 
 
 I hardly knew how to reply to this : but the 
 servant entered at that moment to say that Mr. 
 Philip was not in the Old Tower ; he had been 
 seen walking out. 
 
 " I am sorry that neither Mr. Stapylton nor 
 my son should be within," said the lady, as I 
 rose ; " it has always been our custom to be on 
 friendly terms with the clergy in our neighbour- 
 hood, and we shall hope to see you often, Mr. 
 Esdaile. Mr. Brigstock is a very excellent 
 person: unfortunately my sons do not like him. 
 I have hopes that the example and society of a
 
 58 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 younger clcrgynum may be of benefit to thorn. 
 Young men will be young men, you know, Mr. 
 Esdailc ; and my son John is wilder than I could 
 wish at his age. lie has great abilities — all my 
 sous have : they only require a little wholesome 
 regulation. I hear you very highly spoken of 
 at Ashford, I am happy to tell you. It gives 
 Mr. Stapylton and myself great pleasure to en- 
 courage rectitude of conduct, and we shall have 
 pleasure in attending to any deserving cases you 
 may bring to our notice. I shall be happy to 
 show you my school any Saturday afternoon, 
 Mr. Esdaile : I superintend it entirely myself. 
 If you like to go back through the gardens and 
 shubbery, you will find a wicket to your left 
 hand that leads you a pleasant cut across the 
 park. Good morning." 
 
 Mrs. Stapylton extended a bony hand, and 
 rang the bell. I crossed the great hall full of 
 stuffed birds in glass cases, '^ wide-a-wakes" of 
 all shapes and colors, whips, and riding-gloves. 
 The servant directed me to the gardens, of 
 course full of beautiful flowers, but stifiened up 
 in beds of the most tasteless form, like fair 
 creatures thrust into ugly ill-made gowns. No
 
 CONFIDENCES. 5^ 
 
 artistic arrangement of color, or happy combina- 
 tion of lines; but excellent gardening,, no doubt, 
 and very fine lawn and gravel. I found the 
 wicket and crossed the park. A stream runs 
 through it, on the bank of -which stand some 
 grand old beeches. The path leads close to one 
 of these. Under it lay at full length a young 
 man, smoking a short meerschaum pipe and 
 readinsr an old folio volume. His straw hat 
 lay on the grass beside him, so that I could 
 observe his head well as I approached. He 
 had a light brown beard, hazy blue eyes, and a 
 broad forehead full of bumps and inequalities : 
 what, I suppose, you phrenologists would pro- 
 nounce not •well-balanced, though undoubtedly 
 no common head. As to whether he would be 
 called good-looking, I could hardly determine : 
 it would probably depend on his expression in 
 speaking, and, after that, on the individual taste 
 and sympathy of those who gave an opinion. 
 
 The young man did not hear me approach 
 until I was close to him : he then looked up in 
 some surprise, but did not attempt to move or 
 take any further notice of me. Had I heard 
 nothing of his peculiar character, I should have
 
 60 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 introduced myself to Mr. Philip Stapylton — for 
 I had no doubt it was he — but knowing that the 
 intrusion would probably be very distasteful, I 
 left liiiu to the uninterrupted enjoyment of his 
 worm-eaten old volume, under the flickering 
 shadows of the beech leaves. 
 
 Strange, I thought to myself, he looks more like 
 a dreamy German student than the son and heir 
 of an old English Squire. What a freak of 
 Nature, to make that incarnation of country 
 pomp and decorum I have just left the mother 
 of this Rousseau. I wonder whether he is any- 
 thing better than a sentimental faineant ? I 
 cannot help laughing at the amusing imper- 
 tinence with which Mrs. Stapylton dictated the 
 part I was to play in her family ; though, to say 
 the truth, I feel more curiosity in it than her 
 manners, poor lady, quite justify. I must find 
 out more about this young man. One good 
 thing I have already discovered — that he is 
 
 wholly unlike his mamma 
 
 On the road home I overtook Colonel Shad- 
 dock and his dog Ponto. "We skirted an en- 
 closure where several colts and fillies were 
 gambolling, and I remarked,
 
 CONFIDENCES. 61 
 
 " The Squire seems to have quite a nursery 
 of young horses here. Does he breed them 
 himself?" 
 
 "Yes — yes;" then, after a little hesitation, 
 " for racing purposes, you know. The Squire 
 is fond of the turf." 
 
 " Indeed ! Has he a racing establishment ?" 
 
 "Yes: but not here. Mrs. Stapylton don't 
 much like the sort of thing (here he nodded his 
 head sagaciously). Indeed, I'm afraid, Mr. 
 Esdaile, but this is between you and me, that he 
 has been rather unfortunate lately. He lost a 
 large sum on the Derby, I know, and it is said 
 that he was still more unfortunate at Ascot, the 
 other day: I hope it ain't true. It's a pity to 
 see a man with seven sons wasting his money so 
 — and a good-hearted generous man too, sir, only 
 a trifle thoughtless for his years. Have you seen 
 him ? Quite the old English gentleman." 
 
 " No : but I suppose Mr. Jack resembles him 
 somewhat — in his tastes, at least : he is a fine 
 young English gentleman, frank and free ; some- 
 thing amazingly pleasant about him." 
 
 " Aye : rather too much of the Squire's tastes, 
 I'm afraid. He is his father's favourite, and
 
 62 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 ever since lie was a boy has always gone about 
 with him to races, and so no wonder he takes 
 to it. His father has paid some large sums 
 for him ; but he is steadying down, I hope, 
 
 A sly smile twinkled in the Colonel's eye ; 
 but I forbore questioning him, and observed 
 that the elder son, at all events, gave his father 
 no anxiety on this score. 
 
 *' No ; I believe the Squire would like him 
 better if he did." 
 
 "Is the property entailed?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then surely it is fortunate the heir does 
 not inherit these ruinous tastes ; otherwise there 
 Avould be little left for his brothers." 
 
 " He would be much happier, I believe, if 
 he were not the heir. He don't care for money, 
 and would be content on a hundred a year, 
 I believe, with his books, if he were left in 
 peace. Poor Phil ! that's what he doesn't have 
 here." 
 
 " AVhy docs he remain at home doing nothing ? 
 Surely it would be better, if lie and his father 
 can't get on, to separate."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 63 
 
 " The Squire won't hear of it : he says he 
 ought to learn to look after this large property ; 
 and I'm afraid," added the Colonel sorrowfully, 
 " that he keeps him rather close. He would be 
 happier away from home ; but he is a good son, 
 and, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Stapylton is a little 
 difficult, sometimes. I like him : I have a regard 
 for the young man, though I rarely see him. My 
 society, sir, could give him no pleasure, I know ; 
 but we are very good friends when we meet." 
 
 *' I wonder he has not married, in a neigh- 
 bourhood thick with pretty girls." 
 
 " Ah ! ' thereby hangs a tale,' sir : the cause 
 why, I fear, he and his father never can be 
 really very cordial again. He was prevented 
 from marrying the only woman he has ever 
 seemed to care for ; but I must do the Squire 
 the justice to say his objections were not un- 
 reasonable; and Mrs. Stapylton's were even 
 stronger, you see." 
 
 ■ "Then I will answer for it, the lady was 
 not one of your county families." 
 
 " Oh ! she was not from his neighbourhood 
 at all. It was when Philip was at one of the 
 German Universities, and "
 
 64 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " Ah ! I thought he had been brought up 
 in Germany." 
 
 " Aiul the huly whose acquaintance he made 
 there had been an actress, a shiger, or some- 
 thing of the sort, and was many years older 
 than he. She was perfectly respectable, and 
 living then a retired life ; a very charming 
 woman, I understand. Indeed, she acted most 
 admirably throughout; for when the Squire 
 went over to get Philip out of his entangle- 
 ment, he found that, though his son offered 
 to abandon family and home and everything if 
 she would only marry him, she refused to let 
 him sacrifice himself, and the Squire brought 
 him home in triumph. Let me see — that must 
 be nine or ten years ago : he was just then 
 twenty. Since then, in spite of all his mother's 
 mancouvres, sir, he has never been more than 
 distantly civil to a woman." 
 
 " That," said I, smiling, " is a wonderful in- 
 stance of constancy in these days. But does he 
 do absolutely nothing but^cultivate his ' aesthetic' 
 tendencies in his solitude ?" 
 
 The Colonel looked rather puzzled at that 
 fine word, but replied, " Ife don't understand
 
 CONFIDENCES. 65» 
 
 much about rents and farming, I suppose, and 
 as Jack is so much here, he thinks it as well 
 to leave it to him, who is a sharp fellow in 
 all agricultural matters, you see." 
 
 *' That is a mistake," I said. " As the pro- 
 perty will be his, he should make himself mas- 
 ter of all the business connected with it now." 
 
 " Perhaps so, Mr. Esdaile. We 're none of 
 us perfect, sir ; and perhaps the young man 
 follows the bent of his own tastes too much. 
 But I'm bound to say he does what he can, 
 in his ow)i way, for the tenantry, — gives them 
 lectures at one of the farm-houses on the winter 
 evenings occasionally, with simple experiments, 
 and so forth. Then he takes an interest in his 
 father's pet hobby, — the Reformatory." 
 
 " I 'm glad to hear it," I said. " Does it 
 work well?" 
 
 " It does, sir, most excellently. I am one 
 of the committee. In these matters, with all 
 humility and with due respect to Mr. Brigstock, 
 I venture to judge for myself. The system, 
 as pursued by us here, seems to me to present 
 none of the alarming features our worthy Rec- 
 tor sees : the boys are hard worked ; they are
 
 CG CONKIUKNCES. 
 
 no better fed than the lowest class of labourers. 
 Great advantages, no doubt they have, but only 
 such as must follow from their being in an 
 enlightened Christian establishment, in cleanli- 
 ness, in a pure air, with no temptation to thieve, 
 and every encouragement to do well, for four 
 whole years, Mr. Esdaile. Dear me ! sir, if 
 we had not had a chance given us, as boys, 
 where would most of us be now, I should like 
 to know ? I remember distinctly '' (the Colonel 
 prudently dropped his voice here) " robbing my 
 master's orchard more than once at school. For 
 less than that, some of these poor little urchins 
 have been imprisoyied, and come out worse than 
 they went in. We save them from this, Mr. 
 Esdaile." 
 
 "Have they all turned out well hitherto? 
 How many have you?" 
 
 " Sixty, and all arc doing well, though some 
 of course better than others. Curious to say, 
 the worst — the most neglected and depraved 
 of the poor young wretches — turn out the best, 
 and are less difficult to deal with than those 
 carefully brought up. I can't tell you tohy : 
 I leave the philosophers to answer that, sir."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 67 
 
 We shook hands, and parted. 
 
 The fine qualities of the old soldier's heart, 
 his kindly nature that is pained to think ill of 
 any human being, his unostentatious charities, 
 his clear good sense, and modest opinion of 
 himself, have drawn me towards him the more 
 I have seen him. If he alludes to the Penin- 
 sular, it is never to mention any personal feats 
 of his own ; when he speaks of the West Indies, 
 where he held an important command for many 
 years, it is only to amuse children (who always 
 crowd round him) with stories of sharks and 
 alligators. His old age, though solitary, is not 
 a lonely one. He has such an extended sym- 
 pathy with his fellow-creatures, that he is always 
 occupied and cheerful in thinking for others. 
 And surely no one grudges him his gardens 
 and hot-house, liis pigs and his poultry, his 
 sleek horses and his well-fed dosrs. Even Miss 
 Tarragon, as I wrote to you, becomes subdued 
 and mollified in the presence of Colonel Shad- 
 dock 
 
 July 28th. — I am going to finish my long letter 
 this evening with two important announcements, 
 one of a public, the other of a strictly private
 
 68 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 nature. Having done my day's work, I thought 
 I would avail myself of the Admiral's general 
 invitation, and pay him and his daughters a 
 visit after dinner. I found tlicin all drinking 
 tea on the lawn, just under the "quarter-deck," 
 where a witch elm spreads the shade of its 
 fantastic branches. It was only seven o'clock 
 — for we keep primitive hours here, in our hoyne 
 lives — and the sun still lighted up tlie quar- 
 tette round the tea-table. There was the Ad- 
 miral reading aloud an article, which couldn't 
 interest any one, from to-day's Times, and the 
 young ladies plying their works with busy fin- 
 gers ; though I had much sooner one of them 
 had been employed on the zither that lay be- 
 side her. But Miss Montacute continued her 
 work, and IMiss Linda almost immediately drew 
 me into a discussion about making tea, in wliich 
 the Admiral threw in his evidence as to the 
 practice in China; and then Miss Linda be- 
 came so animated about the delicate yellow tea 
 in great Russian houses, and thence to Russians 
 in general, that I saw no prospect of hearing 
 the little Tyrolean instrument. Just when she 
 was in the full swing of her most amusing
 
 CONFIDENCKS. G9 
 
 descriptions, there was a step on the gravel 
 walk, and she turned quickly round. An ex- 
 clamation burst from her lips, and every one 
 seemed much astonished when Jack Stapylton 
 walked up and held out his hand. (N.B. — 
 First to her, and then to the Admiral, etc.) It 
 was impossible to mistake the expression of de- 
 light in the young lady's face, even had I not 
 seen something similar once on the countenance 
 of a Miss Mary Esdaile when a certain Ger- 
 man Baron unexpectedly made his appearance. 
 
 "Why, when did you come? We thought 
 you were in London!" 
 
 " So I am : I'm dining out in Bclgrave Square ; 
 at least, grammatically speaking, I ought to was, 
 only some jDarticular business of the governor's 
 called me suddenly down here. I left by the 
 three o'clock train." 
 
 "Then you haven't been home yet?" said 
 the Admiral. 
 
 "No : I couldn't help running in as I passed. 
 Here's some music for you, Ellice (he produced 
 three parcels from his coat pocket) : I assure 
 you it's the hardest and most incomprehensible 
 Chapell could find, so I hope it'll please you
 
 70 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Knowing your taste of old, Vanda, I brought 
 you a French novel." 
 
 Miss Montacute looked annoyed. " 1 wish. 
 Jack, you " 
 
 "Now I know all you're going to say, Ellice, 
 beforehand ; but you need not be alarmed, for 
 Phil, who is a model of propriety, recommended 
 it. I asked him, not being strong at French 
 myself, and he said it was a stunning book." 
 
 "That I am sure he didn't," laughed Miss 
 Montacute. " AVhat is it called?" 
 
 "'Madame de — Bonneval.' Don't laugh at 
 my pronunciation. There, Linda, is something 
 less intellectual for you." 
 
 He put a little morocco case into her hand, 
 stooping down as he did so. 
 
 " And now I must " 
 
 " Stop, Jack, a minute," said the Admiral, 
 rising ; " I want to say a word to you, my 
 boy." 
 
 lie put his arm within the young man's, and 
 walked down the garden with him. 
 
 A less welcome visitor, I suspect, appeared 
 at that moment. The garden-gate opened nnd 
 MlfJs Hallidav entered.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 71 
 
 " How d'ye do, dear Ellice f Good evening, 
 Mr, Esdaile. I Avas passing, and thought, as I 
 have so seldom time to come and see you in the 
 morning, that I would just drop in to let you 
 know that the Ashfords are expected down here 
 almost immediately." 
 
 "Really?" said Miss Montacute in the most 
 uninterested tone. 
 
 *^Yes. We heard from Clemmy this after- 
 noon, and they all leave town on the seventh. 
 And — isn't it a bore, dear? — they have got a 
 large party, as I expected, at the castle the 
 week after, for the races." 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied Miss Montacute, as before. 
 
 " Their cousins, the Roley Poleys, are coming, 
 
 and young Lord Dumpling, and several sporting 
 
 men Clemmy mentions ; and that handsome Count 
 
 Bismark who was here last year." 
 
 As Miss Halliday spoke my eyes happened to 
 rest upon the lovely Vanda, looking with un- 
 usual eagerness towards the speaker, and veiling 
 her eyes the next instant under those long dark 
 lashes. Her eldest sister, if I am not mistaken, 
 shot a quick glance towards her, but except 
 a slight flush over Miss Vanda's cheek, that
 
 72 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 young lady's face was as impervious as ever 
 again. 
 
 " I am sorry, Kate," said Miss Montacute, 
 " for I suppose your mother will urge your going 
 to the Race-ball, which you detest, I know. As 
 to us, it does not make much difference," she 
 added in a marked manner, "for we cannot 
 afford to go to public balls." 
 
 " I shall go," said Miss Vanda, without rais- 
 ing her eyes, " for Papa has promised to take 
 me." 
 
 The Admiral and Jack rejoined the group just 
 then. The latter stooped down again, and 
 whispered into Miss Linda's ear ; then wished 
 us good-bye. When I rose to take my leave 
 a few minutes after. Miss llalliday asked me to 
 sec her home, as " though the neighbourhood 
 is very quiet, the lanes are so dark." She was 
 extremely kind and friendly in her manner, 
 assured me I had been of great benefit to her, 
 begged I would tell her of all her faults, and 
 reproached me with not coming oftener to see 
 them. She kept me several minutes talking at 
 the cottage-gate, and as the moon came out from 
 behind a cloud and shone on her fair face, I
 
 CONFIDENCES. *73 
 
 thought her really a most attractive person : 
 much more so than I had ever done before. 
 
 One of my two facts is, of course, the return 
 of the Ashford family : the other you will have 
 been at no loss to discover. Linda Montacute 
 is evidently engaged to Jack Stapylton : it must 
 have been this to which the Colonel so slyly 
 referred the other day ; but I suppose the 
 engagement is still a secret, and I should very 
 much doubt the Squire giving his consent. 
 Good night, my dear Mary : write soon to your 
 loving brother.
 
 74 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 III. 
 
 August 2. 
 
 I resume my journal five clays later. If it be 
 sometimes rather introspective than a record of 
 outward events, remember that I try to bring you 
 as near me in my new life as I can, and that it is 
 not always a record of outward events that will 
 do this. I want you to have part in the thoughts 
 and struggles of my own mind at the moment 
 I write : just as I note down the trivial con- 
 versations, the many little conceits and follies 
 that have impressed me during the day. The 
 history of any thinking mind, were it minutely 
 and honestly written, would be more instructive 
 than whole volumes of history. " C 'est dans les 
 profondeurs de 1 'homme invisible, que se passent 
 les evenements heureux ou malheureux de la 
 vie," says Victor Cousin. The perplexities of
 
 CONFIDENCES. 75 
 
 my duty here oppress me so much at times (to- 
 day, especially, I have been feeling this), that I 
 ask myself whether I have not mistaken my 
 calling — whether I am strong enough for the 
 " care of the churches " that I have undertaken ? 
 It is common, particularly by the devout, to 
 regard clergymen as a sort of superior beings, 
 elevated above the weaknesses incident to the 
 flesh. I, at least, feel that I am stumbling for- 
 wards upon the same narrow, thorny path with 
 the very weakest of my brothers. If any one 
 of them saw into my heart, would he not ask, 
 "who art thou that preachest unto us?" I feel 
 almost as though I were guilty of hypocrisy 
 when doubts and difficulties arise within me, as 
 they sometimes do : but a voice answers that. He 
 who judges not as man judges, knows that with 
 many inconsistencies and failings, passion, and 
 weakness, and error, I am earnest in my wish 
 to diffuse a more liberal faith on earth, a larger 
 charity, and greater love for Him. But I am 
 often discouraged, Mary. 
 
 Religious party feeling runs very high here : 
 there is a small nest of Roman Catholics (prin- 
 cipally Irish labourers) who have no chapel, but
 
 7G CONFIDENCES. 
 
 are visited by a priest from Dominster. There 
 are dissenters of every denomination, a liigh and 
 a low churcli ijurty, i^nd many, alas ! of no 
 church at all, like John Hurst. The acri- 
 mony existing between all these, Mr. Brigstock 
 has done very little to allay. Some of the 
 parishioners blend their politics and their religion 
 together. The Ashford Arms is Tory and High 
 Church ; the Sun, Radical and Ana-Baptist. 
 Even in our congregation this contentious spirit 
 manifests itself between the churchwardens and 
 some of the pew-holders : a perpetual and un- 
 seemly struggle is going on about rights and 
 privileges. In the school the numbers, pro- 
 portionately to the parish, are very few, owing 
 to the same feeling. Many of the parents seem 
 to think they confer a favor on us, by sending 
 their children; and some who have fallen justly 
 under the Hector's censure, I am afraid in the 
 belief tliat they inflict some personal injury on 
 him, have removed their children to the care 
 of a dissenting pedagogue, who charges two- 
 pence a "week more. This is disheartening. So 
 are the endless quarrels and bitternesses en- 
 gendered throughout the parish by the intolerant
 
 CONFIDENCES. 7T 
 
 spirit I have already spoken of. When the 
 Eector set up a rival to Mr. Nacker, the old- 
 established butcher here, because the latter 
 seceded to the Dissenters, was it to be wondered 
 at if Mrs. Jones over the way, and the head 
 of the " Chapel" party, withdrew her custom 
 from Mr. Crump, the orthodox baker ? or that 
 the chemist is not on speaking terms with his 
 next-door-neighbour, the chandler, for the same 
 reason. As to the poor Romanists, they meet 
 with scornful usage on all sides, and the priest 
 runs a risk of being insulted every time he 
 comes over here. Seeing which things I have 
 resolved to try what my words from the pulpit 
 can do to lead these people to a more tolerant 
 frame of mind. Mr. Brigstock cannot surely 
 object to this, though the doctrine is one he 
 never inculcates. I am to preach next Sunday 
 morning (I have only done so in the evening 
 hitherto) ; and as the Ashford family will have 
 arrived, in which are several foreign Homanist 
 servants I am told, the opportunity for sucli a 
 discourse will be a favourable one. 
 
 Who says that manner is unimportant ? In 
 certain positions, I believe it to be of the gravest
 
 78 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 consequence. Whether I possess the "cunning" 
 to wind round men's hearts, the power to im- 
 press them with the truth of my teaching, to 
 make them look on me as a friend, and on 
 my coming as a pleasure, instead of a neces- 
 sary bore to be endured — this I sometimes 
 doubt. Yet, without this special grace,* were 
 I never so gifted, it is difficult to make any 
 way. I am met by such stubborn ignorance 
 and obduracy. The words of my predecessor 
 — an easy-going young man, who thought the 
 world was well enough as he found it — are 
 quoted agaiilst me when I attempt any reform. 
 He was better liked than I shall probably ever 
 be. 
 
 August 4ith. — I dined at Stapylton Manor last 
 night. The only other guests were Mr. For- 
 sepp, his wife, and daughter, whom I was some- 
 what surprised to meet, considering the terms 
 in which Mrs. Stapylton alluded to them ten 
 days ago. They are quiet, soberly-conducted 
 people : the lady, unremarkable in any way ; 
 the father, probably a man of good sense, awed 
 into silence by his extreme deference to Mrs. 
 Stapylton. He got on much better with the
 
 CONFIDENCES. 79 
 
 Squire after dinner ; and I gathered that it was 
 the first time he had dined there. The daughter, 
 their only child, is rather pretty, expensively 
 dressed, and much frightened. This is the only 
 impression they made on me, except a feeling 
 of profound pity for mother and daughter, when 
 they retired with Mrs. Stapylton after dinner. 
 What agonies they must have endured in that 
 lady's society before we joined them ! 
 
 The Squire is a fine specimen of the old 
 sportsman, — rubicund, somewhat irascible, with 
 keen, quick eyes, a benevolent brow, and weak 
 mouth ; loud in his laugh, and long in his story 
 of horse or hound; but every now and then 
 appearing oppressed by some secret care that 
 obtruded itself, — possibly Mrs. Stapylton's cur- 
 tain lecture. His manner to his two sons — 
 they were both at dinner — was very diiferent. 
 To Philip he hardly spoke. Jack he constantly 
 appealed to on some point or other, and seemed 
 to derive immense satisfaction from the young 
 man's jokes. His brother, as you will guess, 
 was, of all present, the person about whom I 
 had the most curiosity : we fraternised at once. 
 He is one of the few men towards whom I
 
 80 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 have felt impelled by a strong sympathy on first 
 acquaintance; and, after calling it a "sympa- 
 thy," you will hardly expect me to give you 
 a more satisfactory reason, unless it be that 
 we are completely unlike each other, — unlike 
 in character, unlike by education, though with 
 natural tastes in common; but he is an accom- 
 plished man in the most extended sense. These 
 natural tastes M'ith him have been highly cul- 
 tivated, while with me they remain little more 
 than instincts. I know, indeed, something of 
 music, and for that I have to thank you ; but 
 while I was poring over Hebrew and divinity 
 at Oxford, Philip Stapylton was acquiring a 
 thorough knowledge, not only of that science, 
 but of many others, concerning which I am 
 profoundly ignorant. He is fond of astronomy, 
 and on the top of his old tower here he has 
 a fine glass, where he sometimes spends half 
 the niglit in taking observations. He is, more- 
 over, a man of varied reading in curious bye- 
 paths of literature, has a valuable collection of 
 rare books, and studies languages of which I 
 could not read a letter, though I suppose I 
 should beat him at Aristotle or Demosthenes.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 81 
 
 All this, and something more besides, I dis- 
 covered only through fissures in his talk ; for 
 he is not demonstrative of himself or his ac- 
 quirements. Indeed, until after dinner, when 
 the other three gentlemen got upon the state 
 of the crops, and Philip turned to me, he 
 scarcely spoke, though we sat next each 
 other. 
 
 His other neighbour was Miss Forsepp, and, 
 I am sorry to say, he was not more communi- 
 cative to her. He threw her into a violent 
 agitation once by abruptly asking her whether 
 she was fond of flowers ? She was so confused, 
 that she answered hurriedly, " With great plea- 
 sure;" after which effort, Philip gave her up, 
 and relapsed again into silence. Mrs. Stapyl- 
 ton seemed annoyed, and made several stately 
 efforts to bring back her son into the fold of 
 conversation. He was perfectly respectful in 
 his manner to his mother ; but he evidently 
 neither took, nor would pretend to take, any 
 interest in what went forward. As soon as we 
 entered the drawing-room after dinner, Mrs. 
 Stapylton asked Miss Forsepp to play some- 
 thing. The poor young woman begged to bes 
 
 6
 
 y^ CONFIDENCES. 
 
 excused : " She really " but lier mamma 
 
 mildly interposed. 
 
 "Don't be nervous, my dear; just go and 
 play your jnecc.^^ 
 
 That prepared me for what was to follow. 
 The victim rustled to the piano, and tore her 
 gloves in the trembling effort to get them off 
 lier little red hands, while Jack opened the in- 
 strument, and good-naturedly tried to re-assure 
 her. Then came a so-called " brilliant morceau." 
 Whatever it might have been at a less agitating 
 moment, it now resembled nothing so much as 
 a bag of nails dropped promiscuously over the 
 keys. Jingle — jingle — jingle — bur-r-r. I stole 
 a look towards Philip : he turned over the leaves 
 of a book impatiently ; and Mrs. Stapyltoa 
 Avas very gracious and complimentary when 
 the young lady rose. Jack kindly undertook 
 her for the remainder of the evening, and it 
 Avas surprising how much more at ease she soon 
 became. I 'heard fragments of ''race ball — 
 my first — except one in London at tiie Hanover 
 Square Rooms — Mrs. Alderman Moon took me 
 — so pleasant — I hope," etc., etc. Then from 
 the two matrons I caught this characteristic
 
 CONFIDENCES. 83 
 
 colloquy. Mrs. Stapylton tapping with an 
 ivory paper-knife the open " Livingstone," on 
 the table, 
 
 " You have read this remarkable book, I 
 presume? Does your daughter read much?" 
 
 " My daughter went through all the standard 
 works with her governess, and we read a por- 
 tion every day. If you recommend that book, 
 Ma'am, for a young person, I will procure it." 
 
 " I shall be happy to lend it you, Mrs. 
 Forsepp," said the other lady with amazing 
 condescension. 
 
 Where can all this lead, I thought ? but a 
 name just then caught me from the other side 
 of the room, and I turned to where the Squire, 
 Philip, and Mr. Forsepp were discussing matters 
 connected with the Reformatory. 
 
 " Three more applications from the neighbour- 
 ing county ; that makes fourteen, and only one 
 vacancy. We must give the preference to our 
 own county first, of course. I hope this young 
 scamp, Sam Timson, is not beyond the age, 
 Mr. Forsepp." 
 
 " Sam Timson," I asked, '' what has he been 
 doing?"
 
 84 CONFinENCKS. 
 
 "Ah! 1)y-tlie-bye : yes, Mr. Esdalle, the boy 
 yoix saved from drowniriij t'other day. I '11^ 
 glad — sorry, I mean — to tell you he has been 
 apprehended tliis afternoon on a eharge of sheep- 
 stealing. No doubt, I'm afraid, of his con^- 
 plicity. He will bo brought before us to- 
 morrow: I hope he ain't sixteen; fine ssubject 
 for the Reformatory," said the Squire, rubbing 
 his hands ; " a strong muscular lad with plenty 
 of pluck and intelligence." 
 
 "Pity he's not a Icetle younger," remarked 
 Mr. Forsepp. 
 
 I wa'= rather vexed at the professional way 
 in which these good gentlemen spoke ; more 
 like hospital students in a dissecting room than 
 philanthropists ; and I said, 
 
 " It is a sad business. The father has a large 
 family, and this boy was beginning to assist 
 him and earn something towards his own sup- 
 port. Besides every other consideration, the 
 disgrace attaching to one of tlie family Avill be 
 a great drawback to them all in Ashford." 
 
 " The happiest thing that could happen to 
 the boy, Mr. Fsdaile. Gad, sir ! I 'd be bound 
 he caii'f re;id or write: and if he is sharp we'll
 
 CONFIDENCKS. 85 • 
 
 teach him a trade by which he can earn as 
 many shillings as he now does pence as a hedger 
 and ditcher." 
 
 There was a good deal more of the same 
 sort, and soon after I wished Mrs. Stapylton 
 good night. Philip walked with me to the hall 
 door and stood on the step, looking out into 
 the clear starlight. 
 
 " I should like to walk back -svith you, Mr. 
 Esdaile, but my father will expect me to remain 
 as long as those people do. I hope we may 
 meet often. Of an evening so)netimes, after 
 your day's work is done, we might have a 
 stroll perhaps. I shall always be glad to see 
 you. I know at once when a man will suit 
 me, and it isn't often, for I am an unsociable 
 beast, as you see. Good night." 
 
 I see you shake your little head, Mary, as 
 you read this, and declare that my new friend 
 is conceited, Werther-esA, and disagreeable. 
 Now do not judge too hastily. I promise to 
 tell you fairly all I think of him as our ac- 
 quaintance progresses : it is not yet four-and- 
 twenty hours old. 
 
 This morning my first visit Avas to John
 
 S6 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Hurst's cottage. The sweet peas are now tied 
 up to the wall : the fowls no longer walk over 
 the patch of flowers, but arc fenced out securely 
 by a trellis of twigs that has been put into 
 thorough repair since I was here last. John 
 was sawing some wood. I had not seen him 
 occupied since the child's death, and 1 thought 
 it a good sign. When I spoke he looked up, put 
 his hand to his cap and went on sawing. After 
 asking for his wife, who was out, I said, 
 
 '* I suppose, John, you have heard this bad 
 news about young Sam Timson ? — taken up on 
 a charge of sheep stealing." 
 
 "I'm glad on it," said John, curtly, " sarve 
 him right." 
 
 "ISo, no: come, you're not glad at a neigh- 
 bour's misfortune : and it is a very heavy one, 
 too. The other day you quoted Timson as an 
 instance of a man with whom everything pros- 
 pered : all his children alive and well. I told 
 you that God sends us trials and blessings as lie 
 sees fit, — not as we judge best at the time. 
 "What do you say now ? Sam is a hard worldly 
 man. With his seven childi(^n, he would not 
 have felt the death of one as he will the shame of
 
 CONFIDENCES. 87 
 
 having a son who is a felon. It will cling round 
 him and his through life : it may prevent his ever 
 getting employment. This is the hardest trial to 
 such a nature as Timson's. Let us hope it may 
 be the means of making him more careful in 
 bringing up his other children." 
 
 John looked up into my face with an ex- 
 pression it is impossible to describe, — . 
 
 " I 'd have kept my little 'un straight, if he 'd 
 bin left me." 
 
 I said, after a moment, " There is one still 
 left you to take care of, — your wife, John. 
 Remember all she suffered in bringing that child 
 into the world, and try to comfort her, in her 
 mother's sorrow, as a man should. God will 
 not believe that you would have proved a care- 
 ful father, if he sees you a careless husband." 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Hurst, looking so worn 
 and wan that it made my heart ache to see 
 the change in her, put a stop to our conver- 
 sation. As I passed through the churchyard 
 an hour afterwards, I saw, by what in this 
 country is an unusual sight, that the poor woman 
 had been there : on the little grave, in its quiet 
 corner, lay a bunch of bluebells and sweetpeas.
 
 88 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 August 1th. — This is a glorious morning, after 
 three days' heavy rain, and my spirits (which I 
 find it very difficult to keep at a proper equipoise) 
 arc unusually high ; so forgive any incoherences. 
 
 I began the day well, with your letter and 
 a plate of cherries. I was as much amused 
 with the excellent description you give of your 
 life and the society of the Saxon court, as 
 I was interested in your comments on mine. 
 But what, my dear Mary, can have put that 
 absurd idea into your head about Miss Halli- 
 day ? You have veered round in your esti- 
 mate of that young lady, fronH,some inadvertent 
 phrases in my last letter, I suppose : at all events, 
 nothing can be more ridiculous than to imagine 
 she has any " designs " on your poor curate 
 brother. Ridiculous and unjust! for ray office 
 warrants — nay, demands — that I shall see more 
 of the female portion of my congregation than 
 I should in any other position. The candour 
 that appeals for guidance and counsel, the con- 
 fidence that unbosoms itself to me, in my pastoral 
 character, must never be misinterpreted. Your 
 jealous regard for my welfare, Mary, perhaps 
 your fears for my impressionable heart, have
 
 CONFIDENCES. 89 
 
 deceived you. Nothing is further Iroin Miss 
 Halliday's thoughts than to marry a man in 
 the receipt of less than three hundred a year, 
 and v/ithout " interest " or " expectations ! " 
 You are more just to the Montacute family, 
 when you say that " these young ladies, at all 
 events, are not liable to a similar accusation ; 
 for of the two who are unahsorbed, one is silent 
 and the other sulky." I begin to suspect that 
 the latter is also absorhed, which may account 
 for her singular bearing and manner, the malady 
 showing itself in various ways. I have per- 
 haps wrongly conveyed to you the impression 
 that Miss Montacute is silent; her words, in- 
 deed, are few, and I have found it difficult to 
 recal them exactly, because they have seldom 
 been more than lightly-scattered seeds of talk 
 over a rich and thoughtful soil. Though there 
 is but two years difference between each of 
 the sisters. Miss Montacute has the weight of 
 almost maternal authority over her second sis- 
 ter, and a maturity of judgment that does not, 
 unfortunately, always come with maternity. Not 
 so with the youngest. I think something must 
 have occurred to estrange her from her eldest
 
 00 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 sister, though EUicc — ;is I sliall now call her 
 — never shows by her mr.nner that such is the 
 case. She is constantly endeavouring to rouse 
 Vanda to some healthy vigorous interest, but 
 Avithout success. The latter never accompanies 
 her sisters to their singing class, or to the 
 Sunday school, and seldom, indeed, goes be- 
 yond the precincts of the garden. Her father 
 is doatingly fond of her, and I believe she re- 
 turns his affection ; but the young lady is an 
 enigma to me, and so probably will always 
 remain, as our intercourse is of the very slight- 
 est. Linda and her eldest sister are sincerely 
 attached to each other, I am sure. There is 
 no mistaking the whole look and tone that sub- 
 sists between two women whose hearts arc open 
 to each other and closely knit. Still I cannot 
 help fancying that Linda's engagement — if en- 
 gagement it be — to Jack Stapylton, is against 
 Ellice's wish and advice. I gather this from 
 something she said the other day relative to 
 " long engagements." The conversation took 
 place in a walk, and Linda was present. It 
 was on this wise : the two sisters had been 
 visiting some ]ioor woman, when I overtook
 
 CONFIDENCES. 91 
 
 them on the road. Linda inquired ahnost im- 
 mediately how the party at Stapylton Hall the 
 evening before had " come off ? " ' 
 
 " It dropped off," I replied. " There was 
 no party but the Forsepps family, who are not 
 lively, as Mr. Philip Stapylton seemed to think, 
 though I have no doubt they are excellent 
 charitable people." 
 
 " But that is not the essential quality at a 
 dinner ? " smiled Miss Montacute. " I expected 
 a more moral sentiment from you than that, 
 Mr. Esdaile." 
 
 "So the Forsepps dined there?" repeated 
 Linda. " How very odd ! no wonder they asked 
 no one else. After all Mrs, Stapylton has said 
 about them, she could hardly have asked any 
 of the 'County' she talks of to meet them. 
 Poor people ! they must have been quite un- 
 comfortable, being the first time, and so out of 
 their own element." 
 
 "Yes; but Mr. Jack good-naturedly took 
 pity upon the young lady, and before the even- 
 ing was over, I assure you he had quite suc- 
 ceeded in putting her at her ease." 
 
 " Indeed ? She is a very pretty girl," ob-
 
 92 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 served Linda ; then added dryly, " I suppose, 
 as Jack Avould say, his lady-niothcr * put her 
 through her paces,' — music, hteraturc, etc., etc. ; 
 we have all heea through it in our time." 
 
 *' And very creditably, no doubt," said I, 
 smiling. 
 
 " I am afraid not," replied Ellice : " we had 
 just come from abroad when Mrs. Stapylton 
 used to catechise us so much. I was fourteen 
 at the time, and shamefully ignorant of modern 
 English literature. I had read the ' Waverley 
 Novels' to please myself, and James's ' Naval 
 History" to please my father, and that was all, 
 except Shakespeare and some of the old poets ; 
 but these Mrs. Stapylton, I believe, thought 
 worse than nothing. Of Hume and Gibbon I 
 had never read a word : that was an unpar- 
 donable offence in her eyes." 
 
 " And does she still continue to supervise 
 your reading, Miss INlontacute ?" 
 
 "We see very little of !Mrs. Stapylton now; 
 and I am afraid my reading is as desultory as 
 ever." 
 
 "What kind of books do you prefer?" 
 
 " I like everything with a human interest,
 
 CONFIDENCES. 93 
 
 that lays bare the springs of human conduct ; 
 the conduct itself I care less about. By that, 
 I mean history, the dry history of facts, though 
 I delight in biographies and memoirs, such as 
 as George Stephenson's, for instance. I know- 
 nothing about steam and machinery ; but the 
 story of that man's indomitable will and energy 
 until crowned with success, deeply interested 
 me. 
 
 " Then I suppose you do not care for novels." 
 " Why not ? Nothing I like so much as a 
 novel that I can believe to be true. And it 
 is true, if it stands this test, though the facts 
 may be fictitious. There is that higher truth 
 of human nature, which common-place novels 
 are perpetually violating ; for the rest, nothing 
 is too improbable for the experience of every- 
 day life, I think." 
 
 Thereupon we fell to discussing several novels, 
 and their claims to this primary merit : at last 
 I named * * * *^ and asked Miss Montacute 
 whether she had read it ? 
 
 '^ Yes, and a true, though sad, little book it is." 
 " I hate books that take that gloomy view 
 of life," said Linda.
 
 94 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " It is not u gloomy view of ///b," replied 
 her sister. " It is only the gloomy view of an 
 act which is common enough, — a long cngage- 
 lueut." 
 
 "Whiit?" said Linda with a heightened 
 colour ; " are trust and fidelity so obsolete, that 
 two people must no longer undertake to be 
 constant to each other for longer than just the 
 necessary time to get the marriage certificate ? 
 If so, I wish the old times back when a true 
 knight fought year after year with his lady's 
 colours on his lance, while she sat in her tower 
 and watched for his return." 
 
 " Yet even in those model times," said I, 
 " the knight occasionally changed the colours 
 on his lance, or returned to find the lady con- 
 soled in her tower." 
 
 " Linda forgets that the fidelity of chivalry 
 was often a thought unexpressed in words, — 
 a life-long dedication unshackled by vows. Who 
 cares for the constancy that is dependent on a 
 vow ? Is it not more natural, when circum- 
 stances prevent the present possibility of a mar- 
 riage, that both parties should be Iree?" 
 
 " Yes," I observed, " there is in reality less
 
 CONFIDENCES. 95 
 
 security immediately honour enters into a com- 
 pact that should be purely one of the heart. 
 But, after all, desertion would be as keenly 
 felt either way. The woman must feel proud 
 who inspired Philip Stapylton with a passion 
 that has suffered neither change nor decay 
 through so many years." 
 
 " And she herself married four years ago." 
 " Poor fellow ! I had not heard that. Do 
 you know him well?" 
 
 " No one now, I suppose, knows him well — 
 no woman certainly. When we meet we discuss 
 German books, and to me, at least, he is always 
 agreeable and kind : but I very seldom see him." 
 " The more 's the pity. I shall do all I can 
 to rouse him from this morbid state." 
 "And you will fail." 
 
 This, as far as I can recollect it, was the 
 substance of our conversation. And it was 
 noticeable that Linda, after that one little burst 
 relapsed into silence, and allowed her sister 
 and me to talk on uncontradicted. It would 
 not be difficult, I apprehend, to find out exactly 
 how the affair stands between Jack and her- 
 self, seeing that the element of gossip is not
 
 96 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Avanting here more tliaii in any other viHage 
 in the Jiritish dominions; and that Miss Tarra- 
 gon rated me soundly in the street yesterday 
 for the quantity ol' butchers' meat that had 
 been seen to enter my door during the week. 
 (N.B. For you alone, and lest you should 
 think 1 am wallowing in the flesh-pots of Egypt, 
 there is an almost destitute family living close 
 to me, which from certain circumstances do 
 not receive the parish bounty ; so " what the 
 Abbot of Bamba cannot eat, he gives away 
 for the good of his soul.") Therefore, to return 
 to Linda's love aflfairs, I know that the small- 
 est encouragement on my part would bring 
 the story about my ears, with every detail of 
 what the Squire said, and liow ]Mrs. Stapylton 
 behaved, and Avhat Jack replied, and how the 
 matter finally stands : above all what everybody 
 onght to have done and didn't do, and how 
 improper the whole business is. But I ask 
 no questions, and shall never do so about my 
 neighbours' private concerns, except when I see 
 a prospect of being of some service. 
 
 Monday, August '.*. — This morning ^^Ir. Brig- 
 stock sent lor nie. 1 had not seen him since
 
 CONFIDENCES. 97 
 
 the morning service yesterday, as he had done 
 duty in the afternoon in a neighbouring parish. 
 He pushed back his spectacles loftily and shut 
 the book he was reading with a loud report 
 as I entered the study — unmistakeable tokens 
 of displeasure in the worthy gentleman. 
 
 " Be seated Mr. Esdaile. I regret the neces- 
 sity that compels me to speak as I am about 
 to do. During the short time that you have 
 performed the duties of curate in this parish 
 I have found you an industrious young man 
 — somewhat enthusiastic perhaps, but well-mean- 
 ing. I have thought favourably of you. I 
 have ventured to hope that, when years should 
 give force to your character and soundness to 
 your judgment, you might prove an ornament 
 to the Church. How, then, shall I express my 
 sorrow and surprise at the tone of the sermon 
 you thought fit to deliver in my church yester- 
 day morning ? I was shocked, sir, grievously 
 shocked. "What will my parishioners say to 
 such lax doctrine ? and what have you to say, 
 sir?" 
 
 ■' That I am sorry if anything in my sermon 
 displeased you, Mr. Brigstock. Perhaps you 
 
 7
 
 'tiH CONFIUKNOES. 
 
 would be good enough to point out to me 
 what it was?" 
 
 " Whtit it was ! Can you affect to be ignorant 
 that the whole tone of it was subversive of all 
 Church discipline : all unity, all — all " 
 
 " Pardon me, but I must indeed disclaim any 
 such intention. You misunderstood my mean- 
 ing, sir, which was to widen the sphere of unity, 
 rather than destroy it ; to soften those asperities 
 that prevent men of different shades of feeling 
 from seeing how much nearer they really are 
 to each other than they imagine. And it was 
 from the lamentable divisions in this parish 
 that I was induced to speak as I did." 
 
 " Exactly, sir : I have no doubt of it. This 
 truckling to popular opinion, this wishing to 
 be 'all things to all men' is the stumbling-block 
 of such as use these sophistical arguments. To 
 palliate the sinfulness of schism, to explain away 
 the bulwarks of orthodoxy and conciliate differ- 
 ent shades of opinion, as you term it ; this, sir, 
 is not the teaching the Church looks for at 
 the hands of her priesthood. This is weakness 
 — the weakness of Aaron who listened to the 
 voice of thr people, Mr. Esdaile."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 99 
 
 " I hope not, sir. Here is the sermon" — I 
 drew it from my pocket : " Show me a passage 
 that will justify your interpretation, and I shall 
 with sorrow confess myself wrong. The great 
 lesson of forbearance and charity, long-suffering 
 and brotherly good-will, taught us by Christ 
 himself, and superseding the fierce intolerance 
 of the Mosaic law, these I have sought to in- 
 culcate ; and are they never to be preached in 
 your church, sir ?" 
 
 The Rector held out his hand for the sermon. 
 
 " This is mere trifling, Mr. Esdaile. As 
 I said before, sir, your doctrine is weak — 
 effeminately weak. . . . Why," he added, turning 
 over the leaves of my discourse, "here you 
 actually speak with — with consideration, with 
 charity of the corrupt Church of Rome. ' Did 
 we but regard them,' you say, ' in a right 
 spirit, we should find, with all their errors, 
 much that is high and admirable ; much that 
 is worthy of imitation in many members of that 
 church.' Here is a sentiment to be delivered 
 to a Protestant congregation. Are you aware, 
 Mr. Esdaile, that Sir Richard Ashford, the 
 patron of this living, with all his family were
 
 100 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 present ? What ninst liavc been Ills feelings ? 
 — a staunch Protestant — an upholder of Church 
 and State, as Sir Richard has ever shown him- 
 self, in Parliament and elsewhere ! Let me 
 hope, at least, that you were not aware of his 
 presence, Mr, Esdaile, when you made this 
 unseemly display." 
 
 I could hardly avoid smiling at the naivete 
 of the Rector's speecli, but I replied gravely, 
 
 " It was because the Ashford family Avere at 
 church that I said what I did about Romanism, 
 as 1 learnt that many of their servants were 
 foreigners and of that persuasion. Religious 
 discords are worse than any other, and in a 
 family must be productive of many evils. 
 Come, Mr. Brigstock, acquit me of schismatic 
 tendencies, when I assure you that in all I 
 said I was ])rompted solely by the desire to 
 make men think less ill of each other and 
 more humbly of themselves." 
 
 " You cannot preach again in my church, 
 ]\lr. Esdaile, giving utterance to these dangerous 
 doctrines. I shall communicate with Sir Richard 
 on the subject, and 1 hope that your youth 
 and inexi)crience may induce him to take a
 
 CONFIDENCES. 101 
 
 lenient view of the case : but you must modify 
 your views, sir, otherwise " 
 
 " I cannot hold out any prospect of altering 
 them, Mr. Brigstock, since " 
 
 "That will do, sir;" the Eector waved his 
 hand to prevent further discussion. " You will 
 think over what I have said, and your good 
 sense will lead you to see the justice of it, I 
 am sure. Good morning." 
 
 To speak honestly and Avithout false modesty, 
 the Rector finds me more useful to him than 
 any other curate he has had; otherwise, I 
 should have received my dismissal there and 
 then. As it is, I suppose my continuing here 
 will depend in a measure on what the Baronet 
 says of me and my discourse. What man- 
 ner of man is this, the only one on earth of 
 whom the Rector stands in awe ? I observed 
 a tall spare gentleman, who, together with a 
 young man and two fashionably dressed ladies, 
 occupied the Ashford pew in church ; beyond 
 this, I know nothing as yet of Sir Richard 
 Ashford. I shall be very sorry if I am obliged 
 to leave just as I have been sufficiently long 
 here to become interested in this parish; but
 
 102 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 I cannot regret having spoken as 1 did, still 
 less can I take a step backward. So I com- 
 mend myself and you, and all wc love, to Him 
 ■who knows what is good for us, and who 
 ordercth " all things well." Good night.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 103 
 
 IV. 
 
 AttgiMt 11. 
 
 Let me terminate your suspense at once. I 
 am not to leave Ashford. The Rector and I 
 had another conversation to-day, which I will 
 not inflict on vou : suffice it that he was mol- 
 lified. But this conversation was preceded by 
 a little scene which I must not omit, for it in- 
 troduced me to four most distinguished per- 
 sonages. I was hurrying up the street, feeling 
 and looking, no doubt, very hot, with a bundle 
 of school tracts under my arm, when I observed 
 the Rector standing with two gentlemen out- 
 side the post-office. He beckoned with his bony 
 fore-finger to me ; but before I reached the 
 group, I had ample time to observe the general 
 appearance of the two strangers. The elder 
 one had just torn open the Times, which stood
 
 10-1 coNKii)i:NCL:i). 
 
 on end in its ircsh creases between hh out- 
 spread arms, while lie dived to the bottom of 
 a column for some particular article, his hat 
 tilted over his eyes as a sunshade. He wore 
 an inordinately high blue stock, and his very 
 thin leijs were clad in tight fawn-coloured trou- 
 sers, with straps. I name all this because it 
 was such a contrast to the younger gentleman's 
 attire. A shirt powdered with forget-me-nots, 
 wide open at the throat, a riband and a ring, 
 a straw hat trimmed with sky-blue, and a suit 
 of some gossamer material, the lower portions 
 of which resembled in form those leg-of-mutton 
 sleeves our mammas used once to wear. AV'ith 
 this, a fair curly-moustached face, from which 
 all human expression had been clean sponged 
 out. 
 
 " Mr. Esdaile, Sir Richard Ashford has been 
 kind enough to request that I would present 
 you to him : Mr. Esdaile, Sir Richard Ashford 
 —Mr. Ashford, I\[r. Esdaile." 
 
 " Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
 Esdaile, very happy. Gratified by your sen- 
 sible discourse on Sunday — sensible, very sen- 
 sible. ' Live and let live,' that is the maxim
 
 CONFIDENCES. 105 
 
 of the age, and we must move loith the age, 
 sir. No sacrifice of High Church principle, 
 of course; but you are right, sir, right. The 
 Jewish Disabilities Bill, you see, has passed; 
 one spoke against it in the House — that is a 
 matter of trade ; and you were bold, sir, to 
 say what you did from the pulpit, calculated 
 to offend our eminently Christian constituents 
 here, who hate each other's creeds like poison 
 — ha ! ha ! But you were right, sir, right : I 
 applaud you. As a man of the world, w^hat 
 difference does it make, as I was just saying 
 to our excellent friend the Rector, if they are 
 all Mahomedans or Hindoos ?" 
 
 " Some difference, I hope. Sir Richard. It 
 is because I don't think any conversion was 
 ever effected by bitterness and recrimination, 
 that I braved the Ashford lion — of discord — 
 in its den." 
 
 "Have a weed?" said the young man, lan- 
 guidly holding out an embroidered cigar-case. 
 
 " I never smoke, thank you." 
 
 "That is right, Mr. Esdaile, quite right," 
 said the Baronet ; " I wish you could prevail 
 on that youngster to follow your wise example.
 
 10(3 CONFIDENCKS. 
 
 One of the growing follies of the age, sir. When 
 I was a young man, 'twas comparatively rare. 
 As an illustrious personage remarked to me the 
 other day " 
 
 But it was fated that we should lose the re- 
 mark of the illustrious personage, for Miss Tar- 
 ragon, striding out of the shop at that moment, 
 brought confusion into our ranks. She shook 
 hands with the Baronet, then turned sharply 
 round to his son. 
 
 " God bless me ! Dick Ashford, what do you 
 mean by making such a guy of yourself? Did 
 any one ever see such an absurd object?" 
 ("Rector much shocked.) "Your mother always 
 did dress you ridiculously as a child, when you 
 used to come down and have strawberries and 
 
 cream in my garden ; but really this beats 
 
 I say. Sir Richard, -why don't you make him 
 dress like a Christian?" 
 
 "Ah, my dear ma'am, right, quite right; 
 what I am always telling him, — very absurd, 
 very — new school — young England — all alike ! 
 Look at my dress, as I say ; but anything that 
 is neat these young fellows call old-fashioned 
 — arruTc."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 107 
 
 "Folly!" ejaculated Miss Tarragon, but 
 whether at father or sou was not clear, until 
 she added, " why must you follow all the young 
 jackanapes in London, Master Dick? You are 
 not — that is, you were not a year or two ago, 
 when you left Eton, such a goose as you 
 look now." 
 
 The young man smiled good-naturedly and 
 bowed, which raised him in my estimation. 
 
 The lady continued, "By-the-bye, Sir Richard, 
 I called on Lady Caroline yesterday and saw 
 your new geranium garden. Very badly done ! 
 Shocking gardener that of yours ! Why, my 
 show in my very humble way is twice as good. 
 It is positively a shame, with ten gardeners and 
 spending all you do on your garden ! " 
 
 " Ha ! no doubt — I dare say — sorry, my dear 
 Miss Tarragon, but 'tis all Lady Caroline's affair. 
 Dare say he is a rogue and a cheat — no doubt 
 of it; but as long as I have my pines and 
 peaches I never interfere — never." 
 
 "But you ought to interfere. Turn him 
 away, I'll get you twice as good a one. I 
 should like to see anyone attempting to cheat 
 me. Which reminds me, Mr. Esdaile, that yoti
 
 108 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 have been most egrcgiously taken in about that 
 woman lirown — no more starving than I am, 
 sir : and those Jones's you liavc been assisting 
 are not niucli better than they shouhl be, let 
 me tell you, though they do come to second 
 service. There is Lady Caroline's carriage. 
 Good gracious ! what a parasol ! AVell, I can't 
 stop: I've fifty things to do before dinner. 
 Good morning, Sir Richard," and greatly to 
 the relief of everyone the Amazon departed. 
 
 A barouche, with blue and silver servants, 
 drove down the street at the same moment : 
 it drew up at a sign from Sir Richard. He 
 presented me to Lady Caroline and his daughter, 
 who lay almost at full length inside in a cloud 
 of muslin and lace. They seemed to have 
 barely strength to raise their heads and incline 
 them gracefully ; then sank back exhausted. 
 Miss Ashford is a young repetition of her 
 mother, who has been a pretty woman, but 
 with none of the enduring qualities of beauty, 
 and looks now much worn with her hard fashion- 
 able life. The daughter herself has already 
 lost the freshness and elasticity that should 
 belong to youth. She had about as much color
 
 CO-NFIDKNCKS. 109 
 
 as the white parasol she held iu her hand, and 
 seemed as weak as the fringe surrounding it. 
 The expression of her face is gentle and vapid. 
 Knowing nothing of London life, I imagine that 
 all its young ladies look thus. 
 
 " Ministers were very shaky, Caroline," said 
 the Baronet. 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose the paper has Lady Julia's 
 marriage in it? Are you coming Avitli us? 
 — a round of duty visits, you know. Horrid 
 bore, but you really ought to come, and Eichard 
 also. "With the chance of an election " 
 
 "Duty! duty! Ha! Mr. Esdaile, what we 
 suffer for our country? May I hope to have 
 the pleasure of seeing you at dinner on Friday ? 
 Half-past seven. Good morning. Come, Dick, 
 you must sacrifice yourself for once, sir." 
 
 And Sir Richard jumped nimbly into the 
 carriage, followed much more languidly by his 
 son. 
 
 Then, as the Rector and I walked together 
 to the school, followed that satisfactory con- 
 versation of which I have given you the result. 
 I cannot suppose that ]Mr. Brigstock's own 
 opinion is changed, but he has become more
 
 Ho CONFIDENCES. 
 
 lenient to mine since he found the patron sails 
 trininied to toleration. Nor must you judge 
 the good man too hardly on this account. Sir 
 Richard is looked upon as an universal oracle 
 here : the small place he held under the late 
 Government increased his importance immensely 
 among the Ashfordians, and it would require 
 a stronger head than the Rector's to withstand 
 the influence of the Baronet's opinion when 
 he talks of " political expediency," and the 
 necessity of " moving with the times." So, 
 contenting himself with a long exordium, and 
 cautioning me not to venture again on such a 
 dangerous subject (as universal charity), the 
 Rector parted from me not unkindly. 
 
 I have walked with Philip Stapylton several 
 times, and the more I see of him the more 
 I feel that we are likely to become fast friends. 
 It is a trite remark, that those who have few, 
 care more for them than the liberal hearts who 
 entertain an unlimited number, in their large 
 capacity of attachment. Like all sweeping 
 observations this is open to discussion, and is 
 certainly not universally true : but, leading the 
 peculiar life that Stapylton does, it is natural
 
 CONFIDENCES. Ill 
 
 to suppose that in going out of his way to 
 cultivate my acquaintance, he is actuated by 
 something stronger than curiosity. Far cleverer, 
 far more learned and brilliant society in London 
 and at the University, he shunned : why should 
 he seek mine ? Is it because the ' objective' turn 
 of my mind, opposed to the 'subjective' turn of 
 his, as he would probably term it, strikes out 
 — it may be no more than a spark, yet — some- 
 thing of new light and fire ? I know not. 
 
 This afternoon Philip called as I was getting 
 my fishing-tackle ready for an hour's stroll along 
 the stream, before the sun went down. We 
 walked together to a part of the river where 
 it narrows and deepens, and where, from under 
 the far-down pebbles, the speckled phantom of 
 a trout glided ever and anon slowly beneath 
 the deep still water. Philip threw himself on 
 the bank, and I took my stand in the shadow 
 of some alders, on the other side of which a 
 sudden bend brought the high-road close to 
 the river. We were effectually screened from 
 the passers-by, though from where I stood I 
 could see them between the branches. Our talk 
 was desultory : of books and abstract questions
 
 112 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 rather than of men, as it generally is between 
 us, and the only portion of it which had 
 anything of a i)crsonal character was brought 
 about bv hcariniif the clatter of horses' feet on 
 the road at our backs. I observed to Philip 
 that it was ]\[r. Forsepp and his daughter, 
 accompanied by Jack, who seemed to be on 
 quite intimate terms Avith them now. They 
 were all laughing very merrily, and the young 
 lady looked to particular advantage on a 
 thorough-bred chesnut, which she managed to 
 perfection. 
 
 " If your brother continues making himself 
 so agreeable," said I, smiling, " it will be 
 dangerous to that poor girl's peace of mind. 
 Listen to her laugh. She seems to have for- 
 gotten that she ever was, or could be, shy and 
 silent." 
 
 " It is a way Jack has with women. He 
 doesn't mean anything by it. His warm heart 
 expands at once under the sunshine of a woman's 
 smile, and closes again as soon as it is with- 
 drawn." 
 
 "Always?" 
 
 " I hardly know yrt : I hope not. It is a
 
 CONFIDENCES, 113 
 
 pity he is not allowed to marry the only girl 
 he has shown any strength and length of 
 attachment to. I have said all I could to my 
 father about it ; and though generally Jack can 
 do anything with him he likes, my mother's 
 influence was so strong, and her prejudice so 
 violent against these Montacutes, that " 
 
 "Why, except their being penniless, what 
 objection is there to the poor girls?" 
 
 " Their mother, I believe, was not a good 
 character— at least so Mrs. Stapylton always 
 says — and she calls these girls ' vulgar,' which 
 is the more absurd as she patronised them very 
 much until Jack returned from college and 
 fell in love with Linda. Then it was she made 
 a discovery of all their imperfections, and not 
 till then. O world! world! There is nothing 
 so vulgar, by-the-bye, as the outcry of vulgarity. 
 It is the only word that carries a particular 
 ban with it, easy to lay any one under, and 
 almost impossible to be released from." 
 
 " Yes," said I, laughing ; " for if you say 
 that a man is a bad husband or father, one 
 may reply that one doesn't believe it, that the 
 world is scandalous, etc. ; but when you pro-
 
 114 
 
 CONFinKNCES. 
 
 nouncc this sentence on him, who dares say nay ? 
 One's own delicacy of perception in nice social 
 distinctions is challenged ; one shrinks from 
 avowing that the man does not seem to one 
 vulgar. I have been often surprised to see 
 the most good-natured people silenced when 
 this charge has been preferred." 
 
 " For my part, I think nothing can be very 
 vulgar which is simple and unpretentious ; but 
 this is rarer than an aptitude for the received 
 usages of good society. It isn't uncommon in 
 the peasant's cottage, — that quiet dignity, with 
 a manner at once unassuming and self-possessed. 
 A little higher in the social scale, as we ap- 
 proach the skirts of 'gentility,' this is much 
 rarer. The lady's maid and the haberdasher's 
 ' lady ' seldom have it, for they are often pre- 
 tentious, striving after and apcing something they 
 are not ; and all shams are vulgar. The For- 
 sepps, in the main, are quiet unassuming people. 
 The damsel's dress and her accomplishments, 
 however, are outrageous vulgarisms, as I told 
 Mrs. Stapylton that night after their departure." 
 
 " Come, you are too severe : only venial follies 
 to smile kindly at. Remember, they were all
 
 CONFIDENCES. 115 
 
 trying to do their very best in a society that 
 was strange to them ; and when people are on 
 their best behaviour, they seldom appear to ad- 
 vantage. What did Mrs. Stapylton think of 
 them?" 
 
 'Tor some good reason of her own, she chose 
 to defend them. I had to stand an attack of 
 more than usual severity on my boorishness." 
 
 " And you deserved it. Why not play your 
 part, Stapylton, in the give and take of society 
 more cheerfully ? By rubbing against even the 
 most ordinary natures, you may learn something 
 more valuable, perhaps, than you would have 
 acquired in the silence of your closet." 
 
 " I doubt it, for they give me nothing of 
 themselves, only a jargon of conventionalities, 
 which bores me : I speak of general society. 
 Any one that is earnest and true, ' loyal to 
 fact,' as Carlyle would say, however illiterate 
 or unrefined, has the power of arresting my 
 attention, of interesting me. I can show him 
 some portion of myself. With the rest, my 
 talk, if I talk at all, is a sham; and I agree 
 with old Montaigne, — ' De combien est le 
 language fauls moin sociable que le silence!'
 
 116 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Life is too short for it, Esdailc, or I am too 
 
 lazy." 
 
 " Intellectual selfishness, my dear fellow. Re- 
 member what your favourite Goethe says : 
 
 " ' Es bildet ein talent sich in der Stillc, 
 
 Sich ein charakter in dem Strom der Welt.' 
 
 ''And just because your inclination leads you 
 to solitude and self culture, you should fight 
 against indulging it too much. Depend on it, 
 we weren't put into this Avorld to sit down and 
 hug our own conceits, and talk of * shams,' and 
 fancy ourselves vastly superior to our neighbours. 
 Granted that they understand but little of your 
 inner world, what does that signify to you ? 
 They can't bring their shams in there. Let 
 them see that there is heartiness and reality in 
 you, show them that you feel an interest in 
 what lies under their 'jargon of conventional- 
 ities,' and you will seldom fail to draw out 
 something worth attention, except in the most 
 hurface natures, 'ihe^e Forsepps, for instance, 
 wliat do YOU know of them beyond the fact 
 liiat their W(\iltl\ doc<. not sit as easily and 
 gracefully on them as on the old Patriciciu
 
 C0^"FI1)ENCES. 117 
 
 families to whom it comes as a matter of course ? 
 Have you ever taken the pains, my dear Sta- 
 pylton, to discover what qualities have raised 
 old Forsepp to the respectable and respected 
 position he now holds, from a very inferior one? 
 A man who builds up a colossal fortune, not 
 by fortunate speculation, but by industry and 
 energetic will, depend on it, is no very ordinary 
 man after all." 
 
 Philip replied, after a short pause, " He has 
 a capital head for business — that of course — 
 and is a good-hearted man : in the management 
 of our Reformatory affairs he is invaluable ; but 
 any one who has made money the aim and God 
 of his life, could never interest me much ; and 
 that he has been successful makes no difference 
 to me, though it makes all the difference to 
 the world. Oh ! Esdaile," he added bitterly, 
 " it is we Patricians who are in reality vulgar, 
 when we bow down to the golden calf, as in 
 this case. They are not good enough for us 
 to know, till extravagance brings us to the brink 
 of ruin, and then they are good enough for 
 us to marry, forsooth!" 
 
 "What do you mean, Stapylton?"
 
 118 CONFIDENCKS. 
 
 " That my father, having lost so many thou- 
 sands this year, is anxious I shoukl lionour Miss 
 Forscpp by bestowing my hand upon her. There 
 is the whole secret ol" the family being invited 
 for the first time within our doors. What say 
 you, reverend sir, are we not true and faithful 
 worshippers of Mammon ? ' Quserenda pecunia 
 prinium, virtus post nummos,' as Horace wrote. 
 I am sick of it all, Esdaile, and sometimes think 
 I shall strap my knapsack on my back and go 
 and try for a professorship at some German 
 University, — * passing rich on forty pounds a 
 year,' eh ?" 
 
 " You would be happier if you had obligatory 
 work, of whatever kind, I believe. Yours is 
 a lymphatic nature that must have work to keep 
 it in healthy moral training. But from your 
 own showing there is some as hard, and more 
 important and responsible than a Gottingcn 
 professorship before you. Don't overlook what 
 is ready to your hand. Because your tastes 
 are not those of a financier, you are disposed 
 to slight the character and ability of the man 
 who * masters fortune.' You arc wrong. If 
 your father's affairs are really involved, lay
 
 CONFIDENCES. 119 
 
 your shoulder to the wheel, — use all your 
 energy and talent towards extricating them. 
 This is clearly a duty, and — I speak plainly 
 — you already leave them too much to your 
 brother. The management of the estate — why 
 should you not master its details ? Why, in 
 the pursuit of your aesthetic tastes, remain 
 entirely ignorant of the value of land, its 
 capabilities and requirements ? Are these things 
 necessarily divided ? I think not. It is a 
 buried talent you will have to render up an 
 account of. And Jack, — he may be a good 
 farmer, but his genius otherwise seems developed 
 in getting rid of money in horse racing, etc., 
 rather than in redeeming your fortunes." 
 
 " I hope," interrupted Philip, " he may not 
 be induced to redeem them by a step which — 
 well, well — no matter. You are quite right, 
 Esdaile. I ought to look after things more 
 than I have done ; but I am a perfect fool in 
 matters of business, that is the truth. Hallo, 
 Piscator ! you missed there a venerable trout, 
 two pound weight, at least. Come, it is time 
 for us to be going. The sun is set and there 
 is no stir of man or beast : not even the twitter
 
 120 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 of a bird. I bclievo your villauc of Ashford 
 is already fast asleep. Only from the ale-house 
 door there comes a burst of brutal merriment. 
 What a problem these lives are ! "What Avcre 
 they given for ? AVhither do they tend ? The 
 working them out from the origin of evil to a 
 happier solution — the great human question — is a 
 better study, Esdaile, than the working out of 
 pounds, shillings, and pence into infinitude." 
 
 *' Do not let your energies dissipate themselves 
 in German mysticism, Stapylton. Even before 
 the great human question, stand the direct 
 personal questions we shall all have to answer. 
 Once again, you have plenty of that counter- 
 grain distasteful work which he only is a real 
 hero who will boldly encounter, leaving the 
 more congenial fields of his imagination — the 
 tournaments of romance, so to speak. The 
 country lies before you : go in, like your name- 
 sake of Macedon, and conquer. Here is my 
 door. Good night." 
 
 A man, this, wasting for lack of persistent 
 strength and concentration to direct his rare 
 gifts to their right use. A dreamer of high and 
 poetical dreams, of a large human sympathy,
 
 CONFIDENCES. 121 
 
 and warm generous heart ; not without a clear 
 judgment: a high, if not the highest order of 
 intellect — why should he be what he is, a useless 
 loiterer by the roadside, instead of one of the 
 foremost in our race? 
 
 I am deeply interested in Philip Stapylton, 
 as you will see from the unconscionable length 
 to which I have drawn out this budget. He 
 is a fine fellow, who is better fitted by nature 
 for almost any other position than that he now 
 holds, and must hold hereafter. A painter, a 
 poet, a philosopher, an orator in the senate, 
 a statesman in the council : all or any of these, 
 rather than the many-acred squire, hampered 
 with hereditary debt, which he is likely to find 
 himself one day. Will he sink or swim ? I 
 ask sometimes : allow himself to be carried down 
 resistless, or strike out boldly and prove he 
 is not the listless dreamer men take him to be ? 
 Time will show.
 
 L22 CONFIDKXCKS. 
 
 August 20. 
 
 1 have a quiet hour to-night, which, being 
 in a mood to talk, is to be devoted to your 
 service. Pages of very trivial matter will be 
 inflicted on you, which must be patiently borne, 
 for I want you to know all my neighbours 
 better than you do at present. I begin to feel 
 perfectly at home here, and am as happy as 
 any fellow of three-and-twenty, with good lungs, 
 good legs, and plenty of work, deserves to be. 
 
 I called yesterday on Mrs. Halliday. There 
 , was an endeavour on the part of that lady 
 to scuffle some article behind the sofa as I 
 entered, but on lier eldest daughter's exclaim- 
 ing, " It is only Mr. Esdaile, mamma," Mrs. 
 Halliday, with an expression of considerable 
 relief, disclosed a structure of lace and roses
 
 CONFIDENCKS. 1j23 
 
 upon which she was evidently engaged ; saying 
 with a nod and a smile, that, as it was only 
 me, she didn't mind. Poor curates never are 
 minded : it is one of the special privileges of 
 their social position. 
 
 A pretty sharp-eyed young lady, much 
 flounced, and with her hair a Vlmperatrice, 
 entered. 
 
 "My sister, Mr. Esdaile, whom I think you 
 do not know," said Miss Halliday (wdth a 
 deprecating glance at m.e which meant, " Be 
 lenient to her frivolities.") . . . . " Clemmy, Mr, 
 Esdaile. Have you that paper I lent you on 
 the Reformation of Ethiopian Serenaders, dear? 
 I wanted to show it to Mr. Esdaile." 
 
 "Oh! do you go in for evangelicals?" asked 
 the other young lady briskly, turning to me; 
 *' because Kitty has got a sort of hydrophobia 
 lately, — negroes and organ boys, and everything 
 that is most opposed to fresh water and soap. 
 High Church and a clean charity school for me ;> 
 surplices and flowers and all that sort of thing, 
 so much more jolly. I was in hopes you were 
 of my way of thinking, Mr. Esdaile." 
 
 I was somewhat staggered by the young lady's
 
 1~4 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 tone (the voice, by-thc-bye, like a flageolet, so 
 rapid, sharp, and high), and assured her that 
 I had no personal objection to the institution 
 of soap and water, and indeed held cleanliness 
 to be next to godliness. As I did not feel dis- 
 posed to enter into a High Church controversy, 
 I adroitly avoided that part of her challenge, 
 by remarking that I hoped to find in her an 
 able auxiliary in our Sunday-school. 
 
 *' Fancy my teaching ! Why I never could 
 learn anything in my life. 13y a special in- 
 tervention of Providence, I can read, and my 
 intimate friends are acquainted with certain 
 hieroglyphics which stand for my name. Do 
 you really think, now, I should make a respect- 
 able Sunday-school teacher ? I talk about Tligh 
 Church, but of course I know nothing about 
 it, only it's all the go, now; and I do like 
 tlie candles and embroidered cloths, it's so 
 amusing, and gives one something to look at 
 in church. And the schools, too ; it is just 
 like a ballet, all the children rising up in a 
 row, with their white aprons. By-thebye, if 
 they want to learn tlie deux temps, you might 
 safely send them to me ; no one better at rota-
 
 CONFILENCES. 125 
 
 tories, I flatter myself, or billiards. I'm a dab 
 at billiards. Captain Chillington says." 
 
 " How you do run on, dear child ! " said the 
 fond and foolish mother from her sofa. 
 
 And indeed that young lady had run on at 
 a pace which left me breathless with astonish- 
 ment far behind. Brothers hath she none. 
 Whence, then, this club and college slang ? Is 
 this the jargon of our rising liomies, — the " very 
 fast " ladies of whom I occasionally hear ? Pray 
 inform me, if you can. 
 
 "You dine at the castle, to-morrow?" con- 
 tinued Mrs. Halliday. " Is there to be a large 
 party, do you know?" 
 
 " No one but Count Bismark and Captain 
 Chillington, I think," interposed the fair Clemmy. 
 " They arrive to-day." 
 
 I mildly observed that I understood the Mon- 
 tacutes were invited. 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; but they 're nobody." 
 
 " Being neither Counts nor Guardsmen," re- 
 marked Miss Kitty sarcastically. 
 
 '' We know them so well," rejoined Clemmy ; 
 "they're not worth dressing for. I know that 
 was what the maternal's question meant."
 
 126 
 
 tONFIDRNCES. 
 
 " Yes," said the maternal. " Let me see ; 
 seven and three are ten and two are twelve : 
 eight roses, I should think, would be enough 
 for twelve people, Clem?" holding up the cap 
 thoughtfully in her hand. 
 
 " The quantities of money you spend on arti- 
 ficial flowers would be much better employed 
 on the poor, riiamma," said her eldest daughter. 
 
 A true remark, possibly; but we all know 
 that good out of its place becomes evil. 
 
 She continued, " I trust they will not play 
 at vingt et un, or that horrid race-course game 
 they are so fond of, to-morrow." 
 
 " Mr. Esdaile will give you absolution, Kitty, 
 for the sin of looking on at us," giggled Miss 
 Clemmy. " She only accepted, when she heard 
 you were to be there, Mr. Esdaile; she couldn't 
 trust herself in our godless company without 
 some spiritual help, for flesh is weak ! " 
 
 " "What nonsense you do talk ! " said her sister, 
 irritably, then abruptly changing the subject : 
 " You have hc-ard, INIr. Esdaile, that the Priory 
 is taken at last ? that melancholy old house that 
 has been so longr uninhabited. I was always 
 in hopes it might be occupied some day by a
 
 CONFIDENCES. 127 
 
 sisterhood : and now of course we shall be having 
 some horrid common-place neighbours, and the 
 whole interest and character of the grim old 
 place will be gone." 
 
 " Not if what I hear is true. I am told the 
 new comer, Mrs. Morley, intends visiting no 
 one, not even allowing a visitor inside her gates. 
 Sally, my maid, whose brother is gardener at 
 the Priory, volunteered the information this 
 morning, so your fears of a common-place ac- 
 quaintance are groundless." 
 
 "Well, I do think," said :\[rs. Halliday, "it 
 is very impertinent of any new comer giving 
 themselves those airs. You will confess, Mr. 
 Esdaile, with such a very aristocratic neigh- 
 bourhood as we have, that " 
 
 " I have no doubt she has a spiritual calling," 
 interrupted Miss Halliday, " and her eyes are 
 opened to the emptiness and frivolity of the 
 world. I hope I may find in her a kindred 
 spirit." 
 
 "No doubt, Kitty; if Mrs. What's-her-name 
 is shut up in the Priory, and you remain long 
 enough in your own room, a magnetic sympa- 
 thy will penetrate the walls," said Miss Clemmy.
 
 128 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 What inn it would be, by the way, to dress 
 up en gar^on and invade the whole party, — I 
 suppose she is old — in her solitude ?" 
 
 Miss lialliday threw her soft eyes to the 
 plaistcr ornament in the ceiling, and her sister 
 continued, 
 
 " Get over the wall — conceal one's-self among 
 the trees : I should be up a tree, if I was dis- 
 covered, ha, ha!" (joke lost on both ladies); 
 " dart out on the old party in the middle of 
 her walk, — nothing easier; oh! wouldn't it be 
 immense fun, Mr. Esdaile?" 
 
 It was evident the young " party" was trying 
 to astonish me ; I answered composedly, 
 
 " Darting out on any one in her walk has 
 hardly been my idea of fun since I was five 
 years old ; though no one enjoys the article 
 more, I assure you, when I can have it to my 
 taste." 
 
 Soon after this I rose, moralizing on the 
 strangely different results that the same pre- 
 cepts and example have produced in these two 
 .listers. Petted and spoilt at home, left to run 
 very wild, taken to London, and honoured by 
 the attention of bonie of the fast young men
 
 CONFIDENCES, 129 
 
 of the day, because " she is such fun," which 
 attention she strives to retain by still further 
 extravagance of slang talk and manner : this 
 seems, in a few words, to be the history of 
 Miss Clementina. In her sister I am disap- 
 pointed. With a craving for religious excite- 
 ments, there is considerable selfishness and an 
 utter neglect of those unobtrusive duties that 
 should fall quietly into the life of every woman. 
 I learn that Mrs. Halliday is ill-ofF: it needs 
 no gift of divination to decide that she is a 
 " bad manager," always extravagant, always in 
 difficulties. Her eldest daughter, far from help- 
 ing her mother either in the management of 
 household matters, or in the extrication of her 
 complicated bills, considers such occupation as 
 sublunary and vain, and multiplies the family 
 debt by her assistance to Missions and Sister- 
 hoods, almost as much as Miss Clem by her 
 London season. Not thus is the good work 
 forwarded : not thus (if I ever for a moment 
 was deluded into thinking so) is a Avoman trained 
 to become a good wife and head of a family ; 
 least of all a clergyman's. 
 
 Asliford Castle is in the pseudo-gothic style 
 
 9-
 
 130 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 that came m when Horace Walpolc built Straw- 
 berry 1 1 ill, and introduced a taste for the 
 '* Romantic." In other words, it is a foolish 
 and ugly building, utterly unlike the feudal 
 castles it affects to imitate, but strongly resem- 
 bling the sand and shell structures we see on 
 nursery mantel-pieces. But the interior is com- 
 fortable : the long low library, with its pointed- 
 arched windows, thanks to Lady Caroline, is 
 a pretty and a pleasant room, with its air of 
 London luxury and refinement in the heavy 
 embroidered portieres and tables laden with 
 the newest books and prints. 
 
 Into this room I was shown, after my long 
 walk, and found a gentleman stretched full- 
 length in a causeuse — the only one of the party 
 who was dressed for the evening. He rose 
 and introduced himself with a very slightly 
 foreign accent as Count Bismark. Tall and 
 fair, remarkably handsome in feature and grace- 
 ful in manner and movement, he has succeeded 
 in attaining that desideratum of so many 
 foreigners, "Pair Anglais.'^ Plis dress, not 
 less than his address, is English : almost the 
 only Germanism he retains is the occasional
 
 CONFIDENCES. 131 
 
 interjection, " So !" His manners are those 
 of a man well-assured of his own position, and 
 accustomed to mix in the best society. Courte- 
 ous without condescension, easy without famili- 
 arity: the effect of such a man's conversation 
 I have always found is to make one feel pleased 
 with oneself — one scarcely knows why. The 
 mouth is a sensual one ; but it is difficult to 
 resist the charm of those expressive eyes and 
 the smile that plays over the face at times. 
 He told me he knew the place well, that he 
 had often been staying at the Castle : he talked 
 of the excellent covers ; asked me if I liked 
 "the chase?" then laughingly apologised when 
 I told him I was the village curate ; and was 
 so entertaining in the contrast he drew between 
 English and German country life, that by the 
 time Ladv Caroline and her daughter entered 
 I had come to the conclusion that their guest 
 was certainly a very agreeable man, whatever 
 else he might be. Admiral Montacute with 
 his eldest and youngest daughters arrived soon 
 after, followed by the Hallidays and Colonel 
 Shaddock. Then a fine old gentleman, the 
 Dean of , an uncle of Lady Caroline's,
 
 13g 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 who is staying in the Castle, with Sir Richard 
 and his son, and Captain Chillington, a man 
 of fashion about town, I am given to understand. 
 
 At dinner I found myself between tMo young 
 ladies, neither of whom seemed much disposed 
 to converse. Miss Ashford, whom I had handed 
 in, naturally found more amusement in the 
 London Captain's small talk on the other side 
 of her, than in the initiatory observations of 
 the stranger-curate. They talked of the Cre- 
 morne Fete — what a pity it had been such a 
 wet night ! the smell of the river at that last 
 breakfast they were at, and other subjects of 
 a no less absorbing nature. In despair of 
 finding any of similar interest to the young 
 lady, I turned to Vanda Montacute, with whom, 
 as you know, I never yet got on. Young Ash- 
 ford's efforts on the other side of her had all been 
 nipped in the bud : he had turned for consolation 
 to the lively Clcmmy, so I resolved to make one 
 more effort with my silent neighbour, and my 
 perseverance was rewarded ; I never saw so far 
 down into that strange young nature before. 
 
 " Your sister looks tired this evening,*' (I 
 observed that \''auda's eyes were rivcttcd on
 
 CONFIDENCES. 133 
 
 her, to whom the Count was makinf? himself 
 agreeable at the other end of the table, or 
 tryhig to do so, but judging from Ellice's face, 
 not with complete success). " She has been 
 working too hard with our troublesome classes, 
 I am afraid: she is indefatigable. ,Why will 
 you not help her ?" 
 
 " My sister likes it : I don't. I hate everything 
 that has to do with Ashford and its people." 
 
 " I am sorry for that. How have they in- 
 curred your lasting wrath?" 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " Our little parish has its faults, no doubt," 
 I continued, " but there is plenty of kindly 
 feeling, and we should all of us do the most 
 to promote this between different classes, as 
 well as in our own. Don't you think so ? I 
 am bound to say that I individually have met 
 with great kindness from both rich and poor 
 since I came among you." 
 
 " What do you call kindness from the poor ?" 
 
 "What the kindness of the heart always is 
 — patience and forbearance with my many 
 short-comings, and a willingness to believe that 
 I am heartily interested for them."
 
 134 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " As wc have experienced nothing but the 
 reverse of these fine qualities since we came to 
 live in Ashford eight years ago, you'll excuse 
 my doubting them. The poor only curtsey to 
 one in the street, and come to your church, 
 Mr. Esdailc, for tlic sake of the flannel and 
 groceries ; and as to the rich " 
 
 An expression of withering scorn supplied 
 only too efficiently the conclusion of her sen- 
 tence. 
 
 " Come, you are trying to be a female Timon, 
 Miss Vanda; but it won't do. Did I not hear 
 you positively declare you would go to the 
 race ball { Stand and deliver up your reasons 
 for ever frequenting this despised society." 
 
 " I must go out sometimes ; my father wishes 
 it." 
 
 "Not in this case, I believed' I tried to 
 catch her eye ; but she evaded the look and 
 the question. 
 
 " I am not indebted to any one's hospitality 
 for a race ball ; that is one comfort." 
 
 " Do you really nourish this sort of feeling?" 
 1 said gravely ; " do you never like to feel your- 
 self under an obligation to any one?"
 
 CONFIDENCES. 135 
 
 "We are very poor. We can never return 
 any civilities, as they are called. We are in- 
 vited to some houses because my sister plays 
 and can amuse people, and perhaps because 
 we are tolerably good looking. On those terms 
 I had rather not go, when I reflect how we 
 were treated, how my mother was treated, when 
 we came to England first. I was a child, but 
 I can remember it, the impertinence of these 
 very Ashfords among the number ; and there 
 is nothing I would not give to be in a position 
 some day to repay them for their insolence. 
 There, you have my reasons for hating Ashford 
 society. Go and tell them, Mr. Esdaile; you 
 are at liberty to do so." 
 
 " It would hardly tend to the fellowship and 
 good feeling I wish to promote." I tried to 
 smile, but felt really saddened at this young 
 girl's jaundiced view of society. "And now 
 that you have denounced all you dislike so 
 warmly, tell me what sort of life and people 
 you prefer. I suppose a continental life? one 
 of varied travel and perpetual excitement? and 
 principally the society of foreigners?" 
 
 " Perhaps. But the smallest German Court,
 
 136 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 the meanest town abroad, would be preferable 
 to this stupid English country life." 
 
 " You would not find a German Court an 
 Utopia, as regards brotherly goodwill and affec- 
 tion. Unless report belie them grossly, envy, 
 hatred, and malice flourish in those refined soils 
 even more — though you would not believe it 
 — than in an English country village." 
 
 " There, at least, people arc more upon a 
 footing, and poverty is not a crime." 
 
 " But pride is one, or very near it, all the 
 world over, Miss Vanda; such pride as caused 
 Lucifer's fall; such pride as " 
 
 Fortunately for my politeness, perhaps, the 
 ladies rose at that moment. 
 
 Over the claret, conversation became general : 
 there was a closing up towards Sir Richard's 
 end of the table, and — out of compliment to 
 the Dean, I suppose — the Jewish Disabilities 
 Bill and other subjects of a religious-political 
 character were moved round with the wine. 
 The Dean did little else than nod, or shake 
 his venerable head, as the occasion demanded, 
 and sipped his glass at intervals. The Baronet's 
 talk was common-place enough; it might be
 
 CONFIDENCES. 137 
 
 described as leading articles and water — all the 
 obvious, conventional views on every question, 
 with their strength diluted to suit the weakest 
 brain. One thing struck me forcibly : the num- 
 ber of times, without adequate occasion, that 
 he introduced the names and sayings of illus- 
 trious personages. " When I was staying at 
 Windsor," was too often the preface to a most 
 insignificant remark; " Her Majesty did me the 
 honour to remark," or "the Prince observed 
 to me in confidence," recurred with fatal pre- 
 cision, like minute guns, throughout his talk. 
 Like minute guns, too, when they were fired, 
 one's ears waited in a state of irritable tension 
 for the next report : a vulgarity this, peculiarly 
 English, even in men as well born as Sir 
 Richard. The Count, who, I dare say, is in- 
 timate with half the crowned heads in Europe, 
 drops them — as Jove did his intolerable gran- 
 deur — when in converse with ordinary mortals. 
 Turning from our royally-favoured host, I catch 
 such fragments as the following on the oppo- 
 site side, from young Ashford. 
 
 " I say, Bismark, have you backed your mare 
 heavily for the sweepstakes on Wednesday?"
 
 138 CONFIDENCES, 
 
 Cliillington loquitur. " I stand to win a 
 cool thousand on her, but it'll be a tightish 
 race; that horse of Jack Stapylton's showed 
 good running the other day. Don't let any 
 of those confounded fellows get hold of your 
 trainer, Bismark. They'll make the mare safe, 
 if you don't look out sharp." 
 
 " Trust Bismark," says young Ashford, with 
 a pale weak grin, " He 's too knowing a plant 
 to be done, though he is a fureigiicer, as the 
 grooms disrespectfully call him." 
 
 " You give me credit for too much," replied 
 Bismark, " I lost everything I entered for last 
 year." 
 
 " By-the-bye," said Chillington, " How came 
 it that clipping horse of yours was withdrawn 
 at the Derby ? and you yoursell' disappeared, 
 no one knew wlicrc, for a time. You might 
 have made a pot of money there." 
 
 " I was out of England," said the Count 
 with constraint, and, I fancied, the slightest 
 possible shade crossing his face. 
 
 " What on earth made you leave England 
 just then?" asked young Ashford, blundering 
 on without any tact.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 139 
 
 "Private business," was the cool reply. 
 
 " Have you the same jock you had last year ?" 
 drawled Chillington. 
 
 " No : he broke his neck at the Leamington 
 steeple-chase. I'm looking out for a young 
 light weight with nerve. Any about here, 
 Ashford?" 
 
 The youth shook his head dubiously; and 
 Chillington, sipping his claret, said with a 
 freezing smile, 
 
 "I say, you know, if you really want one, 
 there's Clem Halliday with all the requisite 
 qualifications, and ready, I'm sure, if you ask 
 her. I don't mind backing her for a pony." 
 
 Young Ashford exploded with mirth at this 
 lively jest, and indulged us with sundry sugges- 
 tions as to Clem's attire, until suddenly pulled 
 up by old Shaddock. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the veteran, with a wave 
 of his hand, as though warding off any dis- 
 courteous interpretation to his words, "It was 
 an understood rule in my regiment that ladies' 
 names should never be mentioned at the mess- 
 table, — unless, indeed, when we drank ' the 
 health of the ladies.' I am old fashioned
 
 140 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 enough to tliink Loth the rule and the ex- 
 ception good." 
 
 Chillington stared at being addressed as a 
 ''gentleman;" Ashford looked exceedingly con- 
 fused, 'and blushed all round his shirt-collars ; 
 Bisraark, feeling himself innocent, smiled quietly ; 
 and the old Colonel, as not wishing to be too 
 hard on these "boys," relaxed into a smile. 
 
 " Talking of races puts me in mind of those 
 I used to see in the West Indies — nigger boys 
 tied on jackasses." (' On old Colonels, I suppose,' 
 murmured Chillington). " Give you my word, 
 sir, I never laughed more in my life. Excellent 
 sport — excellent." 
 
 Captain Chillington appeared to think it must 
 have been indifferent sport, for he stared in 
 a more glassy manner than ever, without the 
 ripple of a smile on his face. The butler 
 entered at that moment with a leathern bag 
 which he delivered with great ceremony into 
 the hands of Sir llichard. 
 
 " Ha ! the evening post," exclaimed the 
 Baronet, unlocking the bag. " Let us see — 
 ' On Her Majesty's service,' eh ? The Secre- 
 tary of State, ha! Three letters for Lady
 
 CONFIDENCES. 141 
 
 Caroline. The Dock's hand. One for you, 
 Bismark ; and the Times second edition : any one 
 like to open it ? There, Colonel, you will see the 
 news from India." 
 
 " Thank you," replied the Colonel hurriedly ; 
 " but I shall see it to-morrow morning at break- 
 fast. The Times comes in with my muffin, and 
 I make a rule of never forestalling it. I shall 
 know the news quite soon enough, thank you." 
 
 And adhering resolutely to this, he shut his 
 ears to the voice of the Times' syren, when pas- 
 sages of her song were chaunted by one or other 
 for the public benefit, and I am afraid actually re- 
 garded it as a personal injury that his morning 
 meal of politics should be thrust down his throat 
 beforehand. Sir Richard, meantime, with ele- 
 vated eyes, read schedules A and B, and looked 
 exceedingly important and ofiicial over a fools- 
 cap letter, with two inches of margin, — an oasis 
 of writing, so to speak, in a desert of blue lined 
 paper. The Admiral and the Dean hob-nobbed, 
 and the Colonel talked pertinaciously to me, 
 to avoid hearing the Husseliana that Chilling- 
 tou or Ashford read aloud. Presently we rose 
 to join the ladies ; and this was \\o\v the party
 
 142 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 soon disposed itself. Sir llicliard. Mrs. TTalli- 
 day. Colonel Shaddock, and the Admiral sat 
 down to whist ; Lady Caroline was good enough 
 to invite nie to sit by her on the sofa ; then 
 she asked Ellice to play, and, as a matter of 
 course, indulged mc with a languid twaddle 
 about her schools the whole time, till I felt 
 unchristianly savage ; Captain Chillington assisted 
 Miss Ashford in the arduous duties of the tea- 
 table ; Miss Halliday engaged the Dean to listen 
 to her views upon the state of the Church ; 
 Miss Clem, at the open window, amused her- 
 self — and noisily enough, too — with young Ash- 
 ford ; Vanda sat at a distant table, turning over 
 some prints. Was it not the most natural thing 
 in life, that Bismark, the only unoccupied man, 
 should saunter up and sit down beside her ? 
 The ins2-)ection of that portfolio appeared to be 
 interesting : from where I sat, I remarked that the 
 study of each print occupied fully five minutes. 
 
 " Blanche, my dear," said Lady Caroline, 
 when Ellice rose from the piano, " and Clemmy, 
 my love, come here ; I want you to arrange 
 something about these tableaux we talked about. 
 1 dare say, C-'ount ]]ismark, you arc clever at
 
 CONFIDENCES. 143 
 
 that kind of tiling, and can arrange something 
 or other. It is all a shocking bore and a trouble, 
 but during the race week one must do some- 
 thing. Sir Richard says, for popularity, — a 
 dance or something. I'm sure, so worn out 
 as one is after London, to have to begin it 
 all over again is a shocking bore ; but one 
 must sacrifice one's-self, as Sir Richard says." 
 
 " Vauda," cried Clem, " we want to do a 
 group of the passions. You've a tragedy-queen 
 face, and will do capitally for Hatred." 
 
 "And you for Jealousy, Clemmy," was the 
 tart reply. 
 
 "Oh! dear no; I've no pretensions to any- 
 thing so grand. I shall be Mirth." 
 
 " I didn't know Mirth was a j^assion. I 
 thought it was only the expression of an empty 
 head and heart." 
 
 " Ellice shall be Anger," continued this in- 
 teresting and sprightly girl : " look at her ! 
 Linda shall be Love, — ' I love my love with 
 an L.' "What will you be, Blanche?" 
 
 " Oh ! poor I am fit for nothing but Fear." 
 
 " But you must introduce some gentlemen 
 into your group, my dear," said Lady Caroline.
 
 144 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 "Very well: there's the Count; he'll do 
 for Remorse," pursued IMiss Clem : " remorse 
 consequent on all his evil deeds. And Sir 
 Richard — what shall we have for Sir Richard? 
 In consideration of his years, we will give him 
 Avarice; that's a good respectable old passion, 
 isn't it, Lady Caroline?" 
 
 *' Respectable, my love ? oh ! yes ; pray let 
 everything be perfectly respectable. What do 
 you think, by-the-bye, of trying something of 
 Faust and IVIarguerite ? So pretty, you know 
 — as they had at the Princess's." 
 
 "You don't mean the angels dragging her 
 up to heaven ? Good gracious ! who is there 
 among us fit to be an angel ? — unless it's you, 
 Mr. Esdaile, in a surplice, with wings." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear Clemmy," said Lady 
 Caroline. " Of course I mean the scene in the 
 garden, vou know. The Count would make 
 a charming Faust : and who shall we have for 
 Marguerite ? Perhaps Miss Vanda Montu- 
 cute." 
 
 " Marguerite ought to be fair," said Ellice, 
 hastily, " and my sister is dark. ]Miss Ashford 
 is more suited to it."'
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 145 
 
 "Oh! dear no," Lady Caroline coldly re- 
 joined, " Blanche is too young and too 
 
 altogether I shouldn't wish her to appear in 
 that sort of— of— you see she has no nerve — 
 and " 
 
 Seeing the puzzle she was in how to get 
 out of her dilemma with a decent grace, Ellice 
 rescued her. 
 
 " Exactly — I understand. Miss Ashford is 
 young and shy : but you will have no lack of 
 young ladies, and if you will excuse us, my 
 sisters and I had rather not perform." 
 
 "What objection can you have?" cried Miss 
 Clem. " Eeally, Ellice, you 're not becoming 
 prudish and proper, I hope, like Kitty ? I 
 shall begin to think it is all your fault, Mr. 
 Esdaile," she continued, turning to me. I 
 was angry at feeling myself growing red, but 
 I replied, 
 
 " On the contrary, I see no objection to 
 tableaux, and shall have much pleasure in being 
 a spectator, if I am invited." 
 
 I was sure that Ellice was annoyed at the 
 whole affair, though, with that admirable self- 
 command I have before observed in her, she 
 
 10
 
 146 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 evinced it neither by look nor word. Presently, 
 however, she withdrew from the chattering 
 upon dresses and attitudes that ensued, and I 
 followed her to the sofa. 
 
 "How does your singing-class get on?" I 
 could think of nothing better to open con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Pretty well. What was my sister talking 
 to you about at dinner?" 
 
 "Principally about herself — a subject upon 
 which I confess myself curious." 
 
 " Poor chHd ! " 
 
 " Why so ? She seems singularly well able 
 to defend herself." 
 
 " Ah ! that is just it. Like Ishmael, her 
 hand is against every man : and she believes 
 that every man's hand is against her. If you 
 could succeed in persuading her otherwise, you 
 wouhl do her a real kindness." 
 
 "Have you not great influence with her?" 
 
 "Unfortunately, no. I love her very much, 
 but hers is a strange nature. I could hardly 
 make you understand it. She is a little jealous 
 fif me, to begin with. She knows I have no 
 real authority over her : my father's dealing
 
 CONFIDENCES. 147 
 
 fondness for her weakens any that I might 
 have; and many circumstances in her early 
 childhood have tended to embitter her dis- 
 position. Poor darling! It is not her fault: 
 she has a loving heart — I mean a heart capable 
 of deep all-enduring love at the bottom — that 
 makes it the more dangerous, unfortunately. 
 Her manners are so little winning to the 
 generality of the world, that when anyone, 
 from whatever motive, resolves to conquer that 
 proud young heart, a very little art I am afraid 
 will make it yield," 
 
 It was not difficult to divine the current of 
 her thoughts. After a moment's pause, I said 
 carelessly, 
 
 " Have you much penetration into character ? " 
 
 " Most women believe they have." 
 
 " Now, as a stranger, what is the impression 
 Count Bismark makes on you?" 
 
 " He is not a stranger : he was here last 
 year. I dislike him particularly." 
 
 " There is something very attractive about 
 him on first acquaintance. Do you think him in- 
 sincere? or what is the reason of your dislike?" 
 
 "I can't tell you why, but I have a natural
 
 148 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 repugnances to him. 1 am sure he is a man 
 of inordinate vanity, and of no principle. His 
 great desire is to charm, and he generally 
 succeeds : men call him * a good fellow,' and 
 women *a fi\scinating man;' but he exercises 
 no fascination over me." 
 
 " He is good-tempered, at all events, and not 
 an unkind nature, or physiognomy is a hum- 
 bug." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but sometimes in short, I 
 
 can't argue about an antipathy, INlr. Esdaile ; 
 no woman can. I only know I distrust Count 
 Bismark. I think he is one of the men who, 
 for the amusement of an hour, would sacrifice 
 a girl's happiness. His self-love leads him to 
 try and make every woman fall in love with 
 him. That he is capable of a strong attachment 
 himself, I doubt." 
 
 " I do not wonder, then," I said in a low 
 voice, " at your anxiety that your sister should 
 not be much in his society. Her peculiar dis- 
 position would offer a zest to the conquest in 
 the eyes of such a man, if he is really what 
 you believe. Docs not your father see the 
 danger ?" .
 
 CONFIDEKCES. 149 
 
 " No ; he sees nothing but that Vanda, who 
 cannot tolerate our quiet country society gene- 
 rally, is anxious to come here, and to attend 
 these races next week ; and my poor dear father 
 is pleased, so my representations are of no effect, 
 and only exasperate Vanda against me. She 
 will not believe that it is my anxiety for her 
 future happiness — her peace of mind — that 
 prompts me. I have pointed out to her the 
 impossibility of such a' man as that thinking 
 of marrying a pennyless girl of no worldly posi- 
 tion. She invariably replies that she knows it ; 
 that she merely amuses herself, as he does, and 
 scoffs at the idea of falling in love herself She 
 generally ends by saying, it is hard that Linda 
 and I who can find pleasure in some society 
 here, should be jealous — as she calls it, poor 
 dear ! — of her meeting any one who is con- 
 genial to her. You can have no idea of the 
 difficulty of dealing with such a character as 
 Vanda'g." 
 
 " If anything can deal successfully with it, 
 it should be your wise and gentle forbearance." 
 
 The whist party was broken up, and some 
 one approaching at that moment, I rose and
 
 150 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 walked to the window, pondering on what I 
 had just heard. The window was open, and 
 the fragrant odour of cigars reached mc as I 
 leant my head out, and beheld — was it possible ? 
 nay, yes, by all that is incredible ! — Clem Hal- 
 liday smoking a weed with Chillington and 
 young Ashford. Now I have heard of such 
 things ; but in my extraordinary greenness — 
 would you believe it? — I have never seen a 
 young lady smoke before. I almost ceased to 
 wonder at those after dinner jests. 
 
 But carriages are announced, and Mrs. Hal- 
 liday is inquiring in a plaintive voice after 
 Clem. That young damsel, throwing away the 
 end of her cigar, steps carelessly into the room, 
 and offers me a place home in their fly, which 
 I decline, stating the truth, that I much prefer 
 walking. So, after putting Ellice's shawl on, 
 and promising young Ashford to join in the 
 cricket match here on Monday, if no duty calls 
 me elsewhere, I step out of the hall-door and 
 strike across the park in the moonlight. 
 
 What a glorious night ! IMyriads of stars are 
 clustered about the heavens ; the eye vainly 
 endeavours to count them scattered over that
 
 CONFIDENCES. 151 
 
 fathomless blue ocean. A tide of fleecy clouds 
 flows past, through which, as in a clear water, 
 the planets are seen burning steadily, and the 
 small stars flash and quiver. The harvest moon, 
 so large and lustrous, hangs over the woods 
 yonder, rippling the lake with its steel-gold 
 light, and striking with a sudden glory the 
 steeple of the church below. How peaceful it 
 all is! The cattle sleeping on the bank, the 
 deer huddled under the wide-spreading beeches 
 that "lay their dark arms about the field," the 
 distant clock, with its tiny voice, striking the 
 eleventh hour. What a contrast is this to the 
 scene I have just quitted ! With two excep- 
 tions, none of the actors are in harmony with 
 it. To the pure-hearted old soldier and to that 
 thoughtful girl it speaks of things beyond the 
 breathless hunt after pleasure, ambition, or mere 
 worldly prosperity. Has it nothing to say to 
 those others, and thousands like them, scattered 
 over England this night ? Ah ! brilliant and 
 pleasant company though they be, we love not 
 to picture them alone : anything but that. Their 
 life is one long endeavour to escape from soli- 
 tude: and the canker of this world eats more
 
 152 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 and more into the heart, till the latter becomes, 
 indeed, a very tattered rag. Would that the 
 night could bring its holy messages to them ! 
 
 Sir Richard, elbow deep in royalties and 
 politics, how does the moonlight shining down 
 upon the floor of your dressing-room speak to 
 you ? Does it bring a thought of anything be- 
 yond the ripening crops of yonder farm ? Does 
 it tell you anything of a time when those broad 
 lands shall own another lord, and popularity 
 and distinction for you shall be no more ? And 
 you. Lady Caroline, have you energy enough 
 to open that shutter, and gaze for five minutes 
 on the fair expanse of flower and lawn bathed 
 in pure moonlight ? Let it in a flood into your 
 heart, and recal the days when you were fresh 
 and unworldly. The hot breath has already 
 scorched the brow of that young girl beside you. 
 Is there no lesson you have taught her in all 
 these years, that will tend to make her happier, 
 when she stands like you, a withered woman 
 in the shortening days of life ? And ye, O Bis- 
 mark, Chillington, and Co., when ye come face 
 to face with nature, as ye must in the solitude 
 of your wind-blown moors and Norway fisheries.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 153 
 
 do ye ever encourage the thoughts that arise, 
 I suppose, in every human mind at some time 
 or other? Do ye not rather put them away, 
 like unwelcome duns, from the door ? Beware ! 
 for so might some have entertained angels un- 
 awares. The silence of your own hearts has 
 certain secrets to tell, worth, all the Derbys 
 and St. Legers, if ye will but listen. 
 
 It is past one o'clock, and here I am still 
 scribbling away by the light of a perishing 
 lamp. Many thoughts— some sweet, some sad 
 — engendered this evening, are crowding in my 
 brain ; but I will set none of them down, — no, 
 not even if I could find words to do so. As 
 you write to me that you are going from home 
 on a tour, I shall send no more letters at pre- 
 sent; but a budget of leaves from my diary 
 — such portions as will most interest you — ' 
 shall be forwarded by-and-bye. Ask Fritz if 
 he knows anything of this Count Bismark, or 
 can discover anything of his antecedents. 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 Herbert.
 
 154 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 DIARY. 
 
 Friday. — Met Miss Tarragon in the street, 
 who, as usual, bore down upon me and fired 
 a broadside of questions. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Esdaile, have you called on the 
 new comer, Mrs. Morley, yet? No? Good 
 gracious me ! why it 's the clergyman's place, 
 of course. She has been a week at the Priory. 
 Not receive anybody ? Stuff and nonsense. Of 
 course she must see you. And I hear she's a 
 very pretty woman, — more fool to wear a thick 
 veil : did you see her at church ? Take care, 
 now ; don't be making a fool of yourself. Taken 
 the house for a year, I'm told. Do you know 
 what she gives ? Brought two old servants with 
 her. What a humbug old servants are ! they 
 always have the upper hand of one. By-the-
 
 CONFIDENCES. 155 
 
 bye, I say, if she's going to take up the ex- 
 clusive line towards us humble Ashfordians, you 
 just tell her that it won't do : you can put it 
 in clergyman's language, you know." 
 
 "I observed that the lady occupying the 
 Priory pew last Sunday was dressed in black; 
 and I understand that she does not wish to 
 see anyone : so she is probably in some deep 
 affliction — and not an exclusive fine lady." 
 
 " I hope so : nothing I hate so much. What 
 Morleys is she of? Where does she come 
 from ? There's something altogether mysterious 
 about her. No one knows how or why she 
 came here, and the servants, they all tell me, 
 are as close as wax. Very absurd, ain't it? 
 What's the use of making an Udolpho business 
 of it ? Everything 's sure to be known in Ash- 
 ford sooner or later. Probably a grocer's widow 
 in the city. Talking about groceries, how 
 can you be so extravagant, Mr. Esdaile, as 
 to drink 5s. M. tea? Saw it down in Mrs. 
 Jones' book, so it's no use saying you don't. 
 And, by-the-bye, about widows, I wish you 
 loould speak to that silly old woman, Mrs. 
 Halliday, about the way she di'esses: I've
 
 150 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 (lone all I can. Why, good gracious me, as 
 I tell her, look at the way / dress, and I'm 
 fifteen years younger than she is, at the very 
 least. Stuflf and nonsense, you go and give 
 her a sound scolding from Corinthians, about 
 vain adornments and plaiting of hair (false 
 plaits too), and all the rest of it. There, I've 
 fifty things to do before luncheon. Good bye." 
 
 As Sir Walter Scott said that he never talked 
 to a beggar without deriving information, so 
 I endeavour to extract benefit even from Miss 
 Tarragon's harangues. Acting on her sugges- 
 tion I called at the Priory this afternoon, but, 
 as I anticipated, was denied admittance. The 
 white-headed respectable -looking butler who 
 answered the door, instead of saying that Mrs. 
 Morley was "not at home," plainly stated 
 that his mistress did not receive visitors. I 
 left my card and turned my steps towards John 
 Hurst's cottage. 
 
 I had not seen his wife for ten days, and 
 was glad to find how much better she was 
 looking. In answer to my enquiries for John, 
 she replied, 
 
 "Well, he be stout in health, and take to
 
 CONFIDENCES. 157 
 
 his work kinder nor he did, sir, but yet in- 
 different-like, and dull when he be come home. 
 If he did but know, sir, how it makes my 
 heart ache to see him a-setting there like a 
 stone, hour after hour with his pipe, staring 
 at the poor babby's crib — and never says no- 
 think to no one !" 
 
 Miss Montacute came in just then, bringing 
 some work for Mrs. Hurst, and soon after- 
 wards I accompanied the former home. She 
 was silent, and her face, generally so calm 
 and inscrutable, looked anxious. At length she 
 said, 
 
 " I have been writing to-day to your cousin 
 — my godfather Captain Ellice. He is a man 
 of the world." 
 
 " Do you use that in a complimentary or an 
 opprobrious sense?" 
 
 " His opinion has weight with my father : 
 he will listen to him," was her answer. 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "About Count Bismark. I cannot get my 
 father to see it. It makes mc very unhappy. 
 Do you not see, Mr. Esdailc, that the admi-
 
 158 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 ration of a man of that sort is a great disad- 
 vantage to a girl ?" 
 
 " Certainly : if he is not in earnest. But 
 are you really sure that Count Bisniark is in- 
 capable of a serious attachment?" 
 
 " I do not know that, but I do feel very 
 sure that he will not marry a girl in Vanda's 
 position : and what is amusement to him will 
 be death to her. I know too well her proud 
 keenly-sensitive nature — capable of making any 
 sacrifice if she should ever really love, and 
 incapable of surviving desertion, or even that 
 domestic neglect which is the lot of so many 
 of us women. Vanda must be everything or 
 nothing. Therefore I am doubly uneasy about 
 her, seeing as I do what misery she is preparing 
 for herself. Were she in poor Linda's position 
 
 are the village gossips busy with Linda's 
 
 name, Mr. Esdaile ?" 
 
 " I am not well up in village gossip, and 
 yet I saw Miss Tarragon this morning, but 
 she said nothing. Do you refer to Jack 
 Stapylton ?" 
 
 " Yes : of course we think his father and 
 mother have behaved very badly. As a boy
 
 CONFIDENCES. 159 
 
 he was constantly allowed to be with us, like 
 our own brother : and in those days we were 
 always at the Hall. They should at the very 
 first have put a decided veto upon the engage- 
 ment, not let it hang on so long, and then 
 say he shall not marry before he is five-and- 
 thirty. Eight years is a long, long time in 
 this short life of ours. And Jack, though a 
 fine fellow, is volatile and I am afraid weak : 
 so I hope Linda will have the courage herself to 
 break it oif; but it is not the less hard on 
 her, and she bears it so nobly — with such con- 
 stancy, and patieiice, and gentleness ! To 
 Vanda, with her strong feelings, this indignity 
 put upon us is not unnaturally another source 
 of irritation and bitterness. You will hear it 
 all canvassed over and over again, no doubt ; so I 
 tell you beforehand, Mr. Esdaile, as one whom I 
 — whom we already venture to consider a friend, 
 and to talk unreservedly with on these matters." 
 
 The wind lifted the brown feather of her hat 
 and heightened (perhaps ?) the colour in her 
 cheek, and, as she raised her clear and candid 
 eyes into m}^ face, I thought I had never seen 
 her look .so charming.
 
 160 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " Pray continue to do so, and count on nic 
 ever for such advice or lielp as I can give 
 you. Not being 'a man of the world,' I don't 
 know how far society sanctions or disapproves 
 of this sort of thing ; but one thing my own 
 sense shows me, that people must make or mar 
 their own happiness in this world. It is worse 
 than useless to interfere ; it is assuming a re- 
 sponsibility God never meant us to have over 
 each other. By all means point out the diffi- 
 culties or dangers of any course to your sisters ; 
 but do not exert your influence beyond this." 
 
 " I cannot sit by," Ellice replied warmly, 
 " and see them each sacrifice her life to a dream, 
 without interposing to try and prevent it. It 
 mayn't be philosophical ; but I cannot." 
 
 "It is not as being philosophical, if you use 
 the word to denote abstract reasoning into which 
 the heart docs not enter, that I say this, but 
 because we arc, every one of us, so differently 
 constituted, that — putting aside those contin- 
 gencies upon which we have no right to count, 
 and with which God unexpectedly brightens 
 the darkest lives sometimes — it is impossible 
 we can decide on what shall constitute our
 
 CONFIDENCES. 161 
 
 brother's future happiness or misery. What 
 would be the misery of one is the consolation 
 of another. Doesn't the poet say — 
 
 'Better to have loved and been deceived, .£^'^- -" 
 Than never to have loved at all,' 
 
 or something like it? And, in confirmation 
 of this, I remember hearing a woman say, after 
 a most unhappy married life, that she would 
 go through it all again, sooner than have lived 
 Mw-loved, though the love in her case soon died 
 out, and left nothing but ashes." 
 
 "We were at the gate and Ellice held out 
 her hand. 
 
 "Your line of argument is singular, Mr, 
 Esdaile, but I dare say you are right. Only, 
 as regards Vanda, I cannot be wrong in trying 
 to ward off the danger before it be too late. 
 Are you going to these tableaux on Tuesday? 
 As Vanda was resolute, and my father would 
 not object, I thought it better she should not 
 be alone, so we both act, after all. You will 
 come, won't you ?" 
 
 Monday Evening. — Mr. Brigstock improved 
 the occasion yesterday morning by holding forth 
 eloquently against the forthcoming races. He 
 
 11
 
 162 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 must have obtained his tuteL^ry Baronet's sanc- 
 tion to the proceeding, or he would not have 
 ventured to denounce an aniusenient patronized 
 by "the Castle," in such strong terms. But, 
 in the first place, Sir Richard himself has no 
 sporting tastes, and tolerates them in his son 
 and his guests merely as an exigence of fashion. 
 And, in the next place, the oration was evidently 
 addressed to " the lower orders ;" and it was 
 asumed, I suppose, that the dangers to them 
 were other and greater than to the rich. Per- 
 haps so ; but I thought the Rector wrong ; not 
 because he didn't say a vast deal that was true 
 and incontrovertible, but because he didn't fear- 
 lessly say the whole truth. Who believes that 
 there is anything wicked in running one horse 
 against another ? Who can expect the poor 
 man to believe it, when he sees all that he is 
 taught to venerate most. Peers, Legislators, 
 nay, Royalty itself, taking a keen interest in 
 the sport, and personally encouraging it in all 
 ways ? Cock-fighting is gone out among us ; 
 so is prize-fighting in a great measure ; but 
 a love of the trial of animal speed or courage, 
 in some form, seems inherent in our national
 
 CONFIDENCES. 168 
 
 character. Not shutting our eyes to the fact, 
 let us boldly say, " It is by your conduct on 
 such occasions that you have it in your power 
 to elevate or degrade the sport you love. 
 Let no drunkenness, brawls, or other ill-con- 
 duct, bring it into ill-repute. Be especially 
 careful as to that most English virtue of honesty. 
 There are not two laws : all that is not fair 
 dealing is foul. Remember that it is as dis- 
 honest to stake the sixpence that you owe on 
 a chance, as it is to pick a pocket or nobble 
 a race-horse. If you go, as many of you will, 
 be not carried away by your excitement ; keep 
 a careful watch over your eye, your hand, your 
 tongue. There will be many temptations ; if 
 you do not feel strong enough to say ' I will 
 resist them,' stay away." 
 
 Some such words might reach their under- 
 standings, and have a practical effect. Whereas, 
 our Rector's tirade against the " devices of 
 Satan" are so much 'sound and fury, signi- 
 fying nothing,' when they behold the Castle 
 carriages sweep down the street towards the 
 race-course, and know that their betters are en- 
 joying its abominable ddights.
 
 164 CONF/DEKCE3. 
 
 I was sorry to observe that the Priory pe^T 
 was empty, fearing that the solitary Mrs. Morley 
 might have been alarmed by my card into ab- 
 staining even from divine service ; but the doubt 
 was more satisfactorily solved this morning, by 
 my meeting Julep, the apothecary, just as he 
 was leaving the Priory. 
 
 "No one ill there, I hope?" 
 
 " Our new comer ; but nothing very serious. 
 Hysteria and general debility of the nervous 
 system, — more of the mind than the body, I 
 suspect. Fine woman, sir, very fine ; splendid 
 anatomical specimen, and very stylish in her 
 manners," 
 
 After expressing a regret that I was not 
 allowed to minister to her mind diseased, I 
 parted from the worthy man. 
 
 I have had a busy day, so busy that I was 
 obliged to forego the game of cricket I had 
 promised myself; but late in the afternoon I 
 Avalkcd round by the Castle meadows, on my 
 return from a distant part of the parish, and 
 the match was not yet over. The Castle and 
 its inmates were playing the Parish, and the 
 latter were having their last innings as I came;
 
 CONFIDENCESo 165 
 
 up. The sides were tolerably matched, but it 
 was going against us; and I doubly regretted 
 having had to yield my place to our loutish 
 young butcher. Jack Stapylton performed pro- 
 digies of batting on the parish side, and looked 
 the picture of a British Athlete in his suit of 
 white flannel, much to the admiration of the 
 bystanders. But at last even he gave in before 
 the steady bowling of a thick-set little fellow 
 with a bloated face and long arms, who 1 found 
 was a groom of Bismark's, and the great card 
 of the Castle side. Another little man, not much 
 unlike a groom either, whom they called Lord 
 Dumpling, played well, and all the young men 
 staying now at the Castle, except Bisraark and 
 Chillington, took part in the game. The latter 
 devoted himself to the service of the ladies in 
 the marquee ; the former smoked his cigar with 
 the players outside. 
 
 " It is the only one of your English amuse- 
 ments that I cannot get a taste for," he said. 
 " Anything you will but this : tenis — anything 
 in short — but to put a man to stand out there 
 in a field for a couple of hours, with the 
 distant hope to catch a ball, without moving
 
 166 ( ONFIDliNCES. 
 
 except every hall-hour to walk to the other 
 side of the field, — this, truly, seems strauge 
 amusement ! " 
 
 " Though very nearly English, you sec, you 
 are not quite so. We imbibe a love of cricket 
 Avith our mother's milk — or, more correctly to 
 speak, with the milk and water of our great 
 public and private schools." 
 
 " So ! It is a better imbibe — how do you 
 say ? taste in short, than that of duelling in 
 our universities. But I admire all your institu- 
 tions, Mr. Esdaile, and if I ever have a son 
 he shall be educated in England." 
 
 " Do you intend permanently settling in this 
 country?" I asked, looking him full in the face. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" he laughed a short low laugh; 
 "your 'permanently' is a long word. But 
 look ! look ! That was a good stroke of 
 Dumpling's." 
 
 Cries of " Bravo, Dumpling ! run again !" 
 and then shouts of laughter when the ball 
 knocked off the hat of a bystander — a man 
 in a flashy waistcoat, who made an inartistic 
 clutch in the air at the ball, lost his balance 
 and rolled over on the grass.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 167 
 
 " That's a soft party — that is/' observed a 
 bystander. 
 
 "Poor Peter!" laughed the Count, "he 
 thought it was my head he had between his 
 fingers." Which speech was dark to me, until 
 I discovered that the prostrate hero was the 
 Count's valet. 
 
 That stroke decided the fate of the battle ; 
 and the ladies fluttered out of the tent, affecting 
 great triumph, though of course they didn't 
 care twopence who lost or won. There is 
 a great accession of numbers since I dined 
 at the Castle last week : several elderly ladies 
 and some young ones ; among others Lord 
 Dumpling's sisters, the Miss Roley-Poleys, un- 
 affected little maidens with very red cheeks. 
 Lady Caroline extended a torpid hand. 
 
 "We shall see you to-morrow evening ?" 
 
 Then as I was walking away, one of the 
 elderly women evidently asked who I was, to 
 which Lady Caroline responded audibly, 
 
 " Oh ! only our new Curate. Really a very 
 gentlemanlike unassuming young man — plain, 
 but so unassuming, and it's such a thing to 
 have a gentleman in that sort of position."
 
 168 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 "VVhiercon I pondered, naturally much elated 
 at her Ladyship's kind opinion. 
 
 Wednesday, September 1. — The pictures at 
 the Castle last night gave great satisfaction 
 to a large gathering of the neighbourhood. It 
 was a popularity entertainment, so that the 
 invitations included all manners and degrees 
 of men, terminating in the little Dorminster 
 attorney, who docs Sir Richard's electioneering 
 business, and his elated spouse, who, you may 
 be sure, will talk of little else for the next 
 month to her less fortunate acquaintance. The 
 evening terminated with a dance too, which 
 was a most politic measure, as it enabled that 
 large portion of the society, who always prefer 
 being actors to spectators, to take a more 
 prominent part in the amusements of their 
 aristocratic neighbours. The tarlatanes and 
 deux tetnps of the Dorminster fail* were seen 
 to the best advantage under the patronage of 
 Dick Ashford and his fashionable young friends, 
 who thought it great fun " trotting out these 
 three-year olds," and by their condescension 
 secured, let us hope, several votes for Sir 
 Richard's next contested election.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 169 
 
 The pictures had been capitally arranged 
 and grouped by the Count, though not with- 
 out difficulty. Objections had been raised to 
 several of the subjects chosen. Lady Caroline, 
 at the eleventh hour, had misgivings about a 
 scene in which her daughter was to appear. 
 Then Millais' "Hugonot" fell through, because 
 none of the actors were nearly related to each 
 other : and how could anything short of man 
 and vn{e, or brother and sister, present that 
 pleasing entanglement of arms in the flesh, 
 which is so picturesque on canvass ? But Lady 
 Caroline, as I observed the other evening, is 
 not so particular about "appearances" when 
 her own daughter is not concerned. So she 
 encouraged Vanda Montacute to appear as 
 "Marguerite" to the Count's '^ Faust:" and 
 an extremely good picture they made, with 
 Sir Richard as " Mephistopheles " and an elderly 
 " Martha" in the background. But I readily 
 understood EUice's objection to her sister's 
 taking the part. I could not see the burning 
 passionate gaze of that handsome man fixed on the 
 Marguerite he is resolved to subdue, without 
 an involuntary shudder to think that the actor.
 
 170 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 perhaps, resembled only too closely the part 
 he represented. The Admiral, good easy man, 
 sat next me ; but no such fancies disquieted 
 him. His remarks on a species of entertain- 
 ment so entirely new to him were amusing. 
 "When the curtain obstinately refused to be 
 drawn, and stuck half-way, as it did at first, 
 he cried aloud, 
 
 " Heave away. Now, boys, look alive : why, 
 your rigging 's out of order." And when at 
 last Vanda was discovered as Mary, Queen of 
 Scots, surrounded by her ladies, Douglas, Roland 
 Gramme, et cetera, the Admiral again exclaimed, 
 " Bless me ! why there's my Van : she looks 
 like a Queen, now don't she? Well, but why 
 don't they begin to talk? They're not going 
 to stare at each other in that way all the time, 
 without saying a word, are they ? Mighty dull 
 work for 'em, that, I should say. "What, the 
 curtain down already ! So this is what you 
 call a Tabblc O, is it? Hem, what have we 
 got now ? Cleopatra. Ah ! saw her needles 
 when I Avas a middy : took a look at 'em 
 from Alexandria, where we lay. Well, she 
 wasn't a beauty if she was like tlcat. Deuced
 
 CONFIDENCES. 171 
 
 plain woman, sir: who is she? And my old 
 girlj Ellice, leaning over her ! What is she 
 doing to her head?" 
 
 " She is doing nothing to her head, Admiral 
 — Cleopatra is dead — and her attendants, Iris 
 and Charmion, are weeping over her." 
 
 '• Oh ! that's it. Well, if she's dead, of course 
 she can't speak; but I think the others might 
 
 say something, eh? This next is a " 
 
 remains puzzled, double-eye glass in one 
 hand, programme held a long way off, in the 
 other. 
 
 " A Wattean group. Admiral ! Those are the 
 Miss Roley-Poleys, dressed as shepherdesses, 
 and that is young Ashford as a shepherd, with 
 a crook — meant to imitate Dresden china figures." 
 
 " Hem ! more like common delft I should say ! 
 Shocking red arms those girls have ! Do you 
 suppose. Sir, a shepherd was ever dressed like 
 
 that? He looks a great spoon, eh? Why, 
 
 Zounds, what have we here ? What are those 
 fellows doing in petticoats?" 
 
 "They are ancient Romans. Chillington is 
 Julius Caesar, and Jack Stapylton is Brutus." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! go it Jack — pitch into him— that's
 
 172 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 right, my boy. Ho ! ho ! your arm's shaking, 
 Sir — had too much port at dinner — steady's the 
 word. So these Romans used to wear petticoats, 
 did they?" 
 
 Thus we went, arm in arm, so to speak, 
 through the Picture-gallery: the old sailor ask- 
 ing all his questions at the top of his voice, as 
 though he were on the quantcr-dcck ; and be- 
 stowing the full benefit of his natural criticisms 
 on the public. 
 
 When it was over, and that the guests had 
 flocked into the drawing-rooms and were bcgin- 
 ning to dance, I sought for Ellice everywhere. 
 But my patience was sorely tried by finding 
 myself unexpectedly Tarragoned in a doorway. 
 May it be laid to my account, as an act of 
 Christian self-denial and charity, that I convoyed 
 the Spinster-Dragon to the tea-room. 
 
 "Really, Mr. Esdaile," she began, "I'm sur- 
 prised to see you here ! what in the world brings 
 you? Silly business all this dressing up and 
 sticking into frames : wonder Lady Caroline 
 can be so silly. Stuff and nonsense ! fit for 
 children! And have you really got nothing 
 better to do than to come here and look on
 
 CONFIDENCES, 173 
 
 at people bobbing up and down a room like 
 so many grasshoppers ? Ah ! there goes Mr, 
 Jack and Miss Linda. The Admiral is a great 
 idiot to let that go on. But it's the same 
 with 'em all, — the Squire, and Mrs. Halliday, 
 and Lady Caroline ; all these fathers and mothers 
 — they do make such fools of themselves and of 
 their children, too ! They 're at the bottom of 
 all the miseries in life: that's why I never 
 would marry. If I'd been a mother, I should 
 have been as silly as any of them. It's 
 only because I'm unmarried, that I'm a sen- 
 sible woman ! "SYho has Miss Ashford got hold 
 of? Oh ! Lord Dumpling, is it ? Good heavens ! 
 Is that the way young women dance now-a-days ? 
 Is that the fashion, Mr. Esdaile ? Sprawled over 
 her partner's shoulder as if she were hanging 
 over a balcony. And look at Clementina Hal- 
 liday, — now just look at her ! What a saucy 
 minx that is ! Come, Mr. Esdaile, get me a 
 cup of tea. If you will come to these places, 
 try and make yourself useful if you can — 
 come!" 
 
 Not until the Tarragon has fastened upon 
 Colonel Shaddock in the tea-room, am I justi-
 
 174 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 iied ill leaving her. Then, -with a feeling of 
 thankful relief, I dart away, and, passing through 
 the conservatory, come unexpectedly upon Faust 
 and Marguerite among the orange trees. It 
 was nearly a quarter of an hour before I found 
 Ellice seated in the furthest room with Philip 
 Stapylton. 
 
 " I had no idea you were here," I said to 
 him ; " where have you concealed yourself all 
 the evening ? " 
 
 " Merit is ever overlooked," he replied with 
 a smile. " I came here expressly to see !Miss 
 Montacutc. Wc have had a long talk, and now 
 I will resign my place to a worthier than I. 
 It is getting late, and I have to walk back." 
 
 "Stay a little longer, and we will perform 
 half the journey in company. You sec I am 
 so seldom dissipated, that I can't be moderate, 
 and " 
 
 But Chillington came up to claim Ellice for 
 a quadrille. t. 
 
 " We shall be going when it is over," she 
 said to me; and thus deprived of my only in- 
 ducement to remain, I put my arm in Philip's, 
 and wo walked away.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 175 
 
 " That is a very remarkable girl, Esdaile." 
 '* Have you only just discovered that?" I 
 said, almost angrily. " I had supposed, as you 
 came here expressly to talk to her, that your 
 discernment was not so much in fault." 
 
 " I have never had an opportunity of seeing 
 so much of her before. She is not very demon- 
 strative : we have generally talked of books, 
 and I have found her sensible and unaffected. 
 But women seldom give you anything of them- 
 selves, unless it is especially called out by cir- 
 cumstances. That girl has a heart worth win- 
 ning, Esdaile ; but not easily w^on. Deep, 
 strong, and quiet, — none of your passionate 
 streams boiling over rocks, but one that flows 
 noiselessly on its way ; and whatever course it 
 takes, there it will go on for ever. How keen 
 and far-sighted these women are when the ques- 
 tion is love ! I discussed Jack's engagement 
 with her sister, and told her, unreservedly, how 
 unlikely it was that he would be able to marry 
 for years. My father is in that state of health 
 that any opposition to his wishes might kill 
 him. He has had very heavy losses, as you 
 know, and he certainly will not hear of Jack's
 
 176 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 marriage. All this I told Ellicc Montacutc, 
 and more still. I boldly said that my father 
 having failed in his Forsepp scheme with mc, 
 is now turning to Jack : but I entreated her 
 not to let her sister, from any false generosity, 
 release him from his engagement — for it is an 
 engagement, though my father will not hear it 
 called so. No, Jack loves the little girl, I sin- 
 cerely believe : and he is an honorable fellow ; 
 he will not give her up, if she holds fast by 
 him, and it will be the saving of him hereafter. 
 But he niusn't be free — with my father and 
 mother both at him — no ! he is not strong 
 enough for that. My own life, Esdaile, has 
 been sacrificed to the parental authority ; I 
 must save Jack, if I can. And I could tell 
 EUice Montacute this, and speak to her unre- 
 servedly, fof that girl has a clear well-balanced 
 judgment, and a large heart." 
 
 What did I reply ? I know not. I felt the 
 blood tingling in my checks far more than if 
 he had praised myself. But wc had reached 
 the corner of the village, and with a hearty 
 grasp of the hand, he struck across the fields 
 to the Hall, while I turned down the silent
 
 CONFIDENCES. 177 
 
 moon-lit street. I dreamt exceedingly pleasant 
 dreams last night! As Lucretius says — 
 
 " in qua rations fuit contenta magis mens, 
 
 In somnis eadem plerumque videmur obire." 
 
 Friday Night, September 3. — I was one of 
 the princij^al actors in a very disagreeable scene 
 this evening. I had been to that distant part 
 of the parish called Wood's End, to visit a 
 man who is dying, and was returning home in 
 the twilight. My road lay along a narrow lane 
 — not the principal road — that leads from the 
 village to the race-course, and is bounded by 
 high quickset hedges from the Ashford meadows 
 on one side, and from the common (of which 
 the race-course forms part) on the other. This 
 has been the last day of the races, and at an 
 earlier hour the lane was no doubt crowded ; 
 now, seven o'clock, it was deserted. I walked 
 quickly, the light fading more and more, yet 
 enough remained to distinguish objects and even 
 faces indistinctly. Suddenly I hjeard a scream, 
 short and smothered, from the other side of the 
 hedge, and apparently close to me. Then a 
 violent scuffle, a low curse, and the sound of 
 
 12
 
 178 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 a heavy fall. I sprang up the bank, beat down 
 the hedge as best I could with my stick, and 
 leapt over. Not many yards from me, a short 
 thickset man was struggling to prevent a woman 
 who was on the ground from rising. With one 
 hand he pressed her shawl over her mouth, 
 with the other he held her down. I saw at 
 a glance that he was twice as powerful as I, 
 and it was not a moment to argue with the 
 ruffian : there was but one thing to do. Seizing 
 the back of his neck, I dragged him off, and 
 sent him spinning into the hedge. The man 
 was drunk, and as he recovered his legs and 
 rushed blindly upon me with the howl of an 
 infuriated beast, I planted a well-aimed blow 
 full in his face, which made him again reel 
 back. But he was not to be disposed of so 
 easily. Though the blood streamed freely from 
 his face, ho charged once more, head down- 
 ward this time, and, before I was aware of it, 
 his long powerful arms were round me. In 
 wrestling with him, I should have had no 
 chance ; but his unsteady footing and an old 
 school trick saved me. Slipping my leg through 
 his, we both came heavily down together. I
 
 CONFIDENCES. 179 
 
 was uppermost, not that it signified, for the 
 brute was stunned by his fall, and lay motion- 
 less. I then sprang up and ran to the woman, 
 who was sitting on the ground crying violently. 
 I was much shocked when I recognised her. 
 It was Mrs. Hurst. Her bonnet crushed, her 
 shawl torn, trembling, and too frightened even 
 to rise, but not hurt, I helped her up, and 
 gave her my arm to conduct her home, intend- 
 ing to come back and look after the prostrate 
 man. But half articulate curses already evinced 
 his returning consciousness, and I hurried the 
 terrified woman away ; not, however, before I 
 had turned to give a parting look at the man's 
 face, which I thought I also recognised. 
 
 "How did this happen, Mrs. Hurst?" I 
 asked, when time and distance had tranquilised 
 her somewhat. "How came you to be there? 
 and do you know the fellow?" 
 
 " No more than the babe unborn, sir. I was 
 a walking home, as I have done ofttimes of 
 an evening, sir, across the common, not think- 
 ing nothink, for this is a quiet place, sir, ex- 
 cept it be in these race times, and no harm 
 comes to folks generalwise ; and so, on a sudden,
 
 180 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 I sec that drunken beast afore me, sir, and 
 he asked me to give liini a kiss, and it give 
 me such a turn, that my legs like give way 
 under me, and I couldn't run, the which I 
 did have ought, for he couldn't walk straight, 
 let alone run, and I should have got off. I 
 used to run well a year or two ago; hut ye 
 see, sir, I've not been so strong since my baby 
 came, and then when it was took away I got 
 weaker like: it's fullish, I know, to cry and 
 tremble like this, but I can't help it, sir." 
 
 " Never mind ; but try and have it all out 
 before John sees you : and now here we are 
 close to your cottage, so I will leave you, and 
 return to see after that wretched man." 
 
 " Oh ! please, sir, don't, — now don't ! Let 
 him bide — he'll do well ; and mischief might 
 come, sir, if ye go back. You're but young, 
 and not up to such as he : please don't go, 
 sir ! " 
 
 "You needn't be alarmed, Mrs. Hurst; no 
 harm will come to me. The police station is 
 beyond the spot ; and meantime the man is 
 perhaps hurl. 1 cariuot leave him there: he 
 liiusl be taken to the station."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 18L 
 
 Mrs. Hurst still urged ; but finding me in- 
 exorable, she turned sharp round, and almost 
 ran home, I walked swiftly back; but, on 
 reaching the common, nothing was to be seen 
 but the blue autumn mist lying in the hollows ; 
 nothing to be heard save the grind of a dis- 
 tant cart on the high road. Perhaps, sobered 
 by his fall and loss of blood, the man had 
 quickly and quietly betaken himself home ; per- 
 haps some unusual policeman, passing just when 
 he was wanted, had saved him the trouble of 
 choosing his own road. After carefully exam- 
 ining the ground, I was about to proceed to 
 the station, when I heard some one leap over 
 the hedge, and John Hurst's voice, trembling 
 with passion, cried out, 
 
 "Where is he, sir? You haven't let the 
 scoundrel escape ? I '11 break every bone in 
 his body, if I catch him, the d d black- 
 guard!" 
 
 " Silence, John ; I can't listen to this violent 
 language. How came you here ? Have you 
 seen your wife?" 
 
 " Ax your pardon ; yes, and of course she 
 wa'n't going to let you tackle him all alone.
 
 18!ii CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Nelly says as you knows him, she thinks. Who 
 is he ? If I don't give him such a hiding as 
 his own mother wouldn't know him again. 
 The cowardly brute — bin and tore my old girl's 
 things off her back, and her face scratched, 
 too; I'll murder him, if I catch him. I'll '* 
 
 " Come, come, John, no more of this. The 
 man was drunk, and he shall be punished by 
 tho law for his assault, if I find him ; but not 
 by you. You are much too excited to en- 
 counter him, and might actually do what you 
 would repent all your life long. Come." 
 
 I laid my hand on his arm to draw him 
 away, though, to say the truth, I was well 
 pleased to sec him at last roused from his 
 lethargy and apparent deadness of feeling. 
 
 " No, no, parson," he exclaimed, almost 
 fiercely: "that's all fine gospel talk for you, 
 but I shan't rest till I have at him, and let 
 the law settle with him afterwards. He be 
 one o' those chaps as drinks at the Sun, I'll 
 bet a crown. Which be he I* I won't rest 
 till 1 find him." 
 
 " Well, then, you must go and look for him 
 there," I replied, feeling tolerably sure that
 
 CONFIDENCES. 18S 
 
 there he would not find him ; " only I warn 
 you once more not to be carried away by the 
 heat of youi- anger, John. As to my assisting 
 your search in your present spirit, of course 
 it would be out of the question, even if I were 
 certain that I knew the man's face, which I 
 am not." 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, and a surly re- 
 joinder, John sprang over the hedge and strode 
 back towards the village. I then turned my 
 steps towards the police station, but a couple 
 of quiescent policemen smoking their pipes of 
 peace, with a fierce watch-dog, by way of con- 
 trast, and a pervading atmosphere of garlic was 
 all I found. The delinquent had neither been 
 seen nor heard of. A thieving gipsey and a 
 cheating thimble-rigger in the adjoining lock- 
 up, were the only fruits of the race-course 
 that had been culled by the police this day. 
 So I returned home, not perhaps very sorry on 
 the whole that the object of my inquiries should 
 escape undetected by John Hurst, as he pro- 
 bably now will. But of this, more to-morrow. 
 My part in the business is not yet terminated. 
 I was glad to hear this evening that Jack
 
 184 CONFIUENCES. 
 
 Stapylton's horse had won the principal race. 
 It will put the Squire into good humor : it 
 will bring a gleam of sunshine into poor little 
 Linda's heart ; decidedly, as somebody avus to 
 win, I am glad it was Jack. 
 
 Saturday Night. — At a reasonable hour — as I 
 innocently imagined — this morning {i.e. some 
 three hours after my own breakfast) I walked 
 over to the Castle, and asked to see Count I3is- 
 mark. I was informed that the Count was not out 
 of his room : the butler adding, apologetically, 
 that the party had been very late at the ball 
 the night before. I sent up my card, begging 
 to know when the Count would be visible. 
 Like a well-bred man of the world he requested 
 that I would walk up to his dressing-room, 
 if I would excuse his receiving me there. And 
 there I found him, looking even handsomer 
 in his Turkish dressing trousers, open shirt and 
 jacket, than as I had hitherto seen him, " a 
 curled and oiled Assyrian bull." He shook 
 hands, without expressing any surprise at my 
 early visit, offered me a cigar, and drew a chair 
 to the fire, which I declined. 
 
 "My object in paying you this early visit.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 185 
 
 Count, was to ask you to institute some enquiries 
 relative to your groom, last night : to find out 
 at what hour and in what condition he returned 
 home ; and, if you do not object to it, to question 
 him on these points before me. I believe him 
 to have been guilty of a dastardly assault on 
 a woman, for which he is amenable to the law : 
 but I am not certain of his identity, or it would 
 have been my duty to send up the police here, 
 instead of coming myself. I claim your assist- 
 ance therefore. Count, in sifting this affair ; 
 and it is of course understood that unless I 
 am firmly persuaded of the man's culpability, 
 I will not proceed against him." 
 
 I then detailed the circumstances of last 
 night : Bismark leaning with his back to the 
 mantelpiece the while, puffing leisurely at his 
 cigar, and seldom interrupting the narrative 
 with more than a movement of his head or 
 an occasional " So ! " 
 
 At its conclusion he remarked slowly, perhaps 
 I might say languidly (but then he had been 
 dancing till five o'clock, it is true), 
 
 " Ah ! these women, Mr. Esdaile, are at the 
 bottom of everything. And when a man has
 
 186 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 taken rather more than is good for him, why 
 if he meets " 
 
 "Good heavens! Count Bismark, you don't 
 mean to palliate the conduct of such a ruffian ? 
 If we once accept drunkenness as an excuse, 
 why a man has only to drink in order that 
 he may commit any atrocity with impunity. 
 I cannot believe that you wish to protect and 
 retain in your service — supposing he is guilty 
 — a man who is likely any day to do the 
 same again, or worse." 
 
 " Well, the fellow is a drunken brute, Mr. 
 Esdaile, I admit, but a clever one. He is worth 
 a great deal to me. No one understands a 
 horse like him. I should be sorry to part 
 with him, though he has his weak points." 
 
 " But you cannot place confidence in a man 
 who gets drunk?" 
 
 "Oh! he's never so drunk as not to know 
 what he's about. He looks sharp enough after 
 my interests." 
 
 " Then your plea for his irresponsibility falls 
 to the ground. Come, let us see the fellow, 
 at all events, and hear what he has to say for 
 himself."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 187 
 
 "I suppose, Mr. Esdaile," said the Count, 
 taking the cigar from his lips with something 
 like impatience, " this is after all only an affair 
 of money. You seem to have given Bill a 
 good thrashing (at least his beauty was much 
 disfigured when I saw him half-an-hour ago, 
 though he did not tell me how), and I hope 
 it will be a lesson to the fellow not to prosecute 
 his love affairs in that fashion. I am very sorry 
 it happened — very sorry indeed — but it can't 
 be helped now; so, if you will give the poor 
 woman this and tell her not to say anything 
 more about it, I shall feel obliged to you." 
 
 He drew from his pocket-book a five pound 
 note, and handed it to me. I shook my head. 
 
 " You do not understand the character of 
 an honest upright English peasant. Count. He 
 might indeed prosecute by law for the insult 
 offered to his wife, and accept damages, but 
 such a man as Hurst would never take a bribe 
 for his silence, as an equivalent for the injury. 
 The fine awarded by Justice is a very different 
 thing from the premium to a mean-spirited 
 prudence. No, Count Bismark, these people 
 are not so poor but that they would fling back
 
 188 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 the money in your face. John Hurst docs 
 not know his aggressor, but he will spare no 
 pains to discover him, and will succeed no 
 doubt. If you remain here, as I understand, 
 some weeks, I ask you whether it is not 
 better to let the law take its just and righteous 
 course towards your groom, instead of risking, 
 Avhat I warn you will surely come to pass, a 
 deadly broil between these men ?" 
 
 The Count looked at his delicate blue- 
 enameled watch, and then pulled the bell. 
 
 "We will send for him if he is in the way. 
 Excuse me for a moment, ]\Ir. Esdaile," and 
 as his flashy valet appeared at the door the 
 Count passed out and held a moment's con- 
 versation with that functionary in the adjoining 
 room. On his return he began quickly and 
 adroitly to open out on a variety of topics far 
 removed from the one under discussion, and 
 gave a humorous account of the Dorminster 
 ball. So five — ten minutes, — a quarter-of-an- 
 hour passed by. The valet then reappeared. 
 
 " If you please, my lord Count, the grttmes 
 say that W^liam rode out on the chesnut mere 
 about 'alf an hour ago, upon the London road."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 189 
 
 t 
 
 The staircase clock struck twelve : the Lon- 
 don train is clue at the station at a quarter 
 past. A very distinct suspicion crossed my 
 mind that I had been " done." But humili- 
 ating as that feeling always is^ I managed to 
 conceal it, as I took my leave, and before I 
 reached home had philosophically made up my 
 mind it was all much better as it was. My 
 opinion of the Count, however, is certainly 
 not raised. I have since had a most polite little 
 note from him, saying that he finds his groom 
 " misunderstood''^ his orders, and has returned 
 to London with the horse that was beaten in 
 yesterday's race. 
 
 John Hurst held out his big horny hand 
 when I entered his cottage this evening. 
 
 "You'll take my hand token-like that you 
 forgive me. Parson Esdaile. I were unmannerly 
 rude yesternight. You behaved like a man to 
 my Nelly, and thank 'ee, sir, for it: and like 
 a man to me also, in trying for to keep me 
 back from murdering that ere chap. It's lucky 
 for him I didn't find him — perhaps for me too. 
 
 sir." 
 
 " I. am glad to find you in such a much better
 
 lyU CONFIDENCES. 
 
 frame ol" mind, John. I came to assure you 
 that I have spared no pains in trying to dis- 
 cover the man and having him properly punished 
 by law, as he deserves. But he has left the 
 place. I certainly should have wished him to 
 have been made an example, but as it is, you 
 will at all events be glad to know that the 
 village no longer harbours this unknown ruffian." 
 John looked at me for one moment — it was 
 but one — as though doubtful whether I was 
 not playing off some pious fraud on him. Then, 
 holding out his hand again, 
 
 " I believe you, sir : and God bless ye. 
 You're one o' the right sort, as teaches the 
 difference atwcen justice and revenge : for with 
 such as me, when one's blood's up it's all 
 the t'other. But you've done me good now, 
 you have : more than all the preaching, 'cause 
 I sees you're in earnest; so I don't mind coming 
 to church to-morrow particular, if you likes 
 it." 
 
 Of course I said 1 did like it ; though it 
 was difficult to repress a smile at the way in 
 which Jolin conferred this mark of his approba- 
 tion on mc as the highest possible favor. I
 
 CONFIDENCES. 191 
 
 took care to add that, if lie came once to please 
 me, I hoped he would return weekly to please 
 himself. And so we parted. 
 
 Monday, September 6. — I cannot recover from 
 my surprise at the singular coincidence and 
 revelation consequent upon it, which have been 
 made known to me this day. I wish to write 
 down the facts while they are all fresh in 
 my mind : for they are remarkable enough — 
 the scene being our peaceful little village — to 
 prove that truth is often " stranger than fiction." 
 Daring the morning service yesterday I had 
 observed with some interest the tall figure in 
 mourning who occupied the Priory pew. From 
 my position in the reading-desk I was the only 
 person in church who could see over those high 
 scarlet curtains, where, thickly veiled, sat the 
 solitary lady. At the conclusion of the service 
 she still sat there, patiently waiting for the great 
 tide of the congregation to have passed out. 
 The Castle pew had just emptied itself, as 
 Mrs. Morley slowly drew back the curtains. 
 I had left the communion-table and was walk- 
 ing down the aisle to the vestry. Immediately 
 in front of me. Count Bismark brought up the
 
 192 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 rear of the Ashford party, which was slowly 
 defiling out of church. It was at this moment 
 the scarlet curtains were moved aside and the 
 tall figure stepped out into the aisle between 
 me and the Count. 
 
 A moment afterwards I heard a low stifled 
 sound, something between a sob and a scream, 
 and Mrs. Morley caught hold of an open pew- 
 door. She would have fallen had I not been 
 immediately at hand to support her, and she 
 trembled so violently that I was glad of the 
 sexton's assistance to get her into the vestry. 
 The Church, meantime, had emptied. One or 
 two stragglers came up to ask if they could 
 be of any use, and Colonel Chillington turned 
 a languid eye upon the obscure female who had 
 thought fit to faint; but the carriages were 
 waiting and the party moved off, I am thank- 
 ful to say, leaving Mrs. Morley to my care : 
 for the Hector, with his Sunday's early dinner 
 awaiting him, had bustled off before I had 
 reached the vestry. So there, upon a hard 
 chair beside the open window with a glass of 
 water before her, sat Mrs. Morley, very pale, 
 but wonderfully handsome now that I saw her
 
 CONFIDENCES. 193 
 
 face, with lips tightly compressed, silent and 
 motionless. I had despatched the Sexton for 
 her maid and for Mr. Julep, and in the mean- 
 time all I could do was to try and induce 
 her to drink some wine. She only shook her 
 head; then after awhile it sank slowly between 
 her hands upon the table, and there, oblivious 
 probably of everything around, her heart charged 
 with bitter memories, she remained until the 
 opening door aroused her. She then rose and 
 for the first time addressed me. It was a 
 common expression of thanks, but the tone 
 rings in my ears still : there is a thrilling sad- 
 ness about it " far above singing." She was 
 strong enough to walk home with her maid's 
 arm : she was obliged to me but she required 
 no other assistance. To-morrow, however, if I 
 would call on her, she should be glad to see me. 
 And when Julep, armed with a medicine-chest, 
 appeared, she resolutely declined his assistance, 
 and glided out followed by her grim domestic. 
 " Hysteria, sir : a highly nervous subject ; 
 much the same case as last week, I doubt not — a 
 sudden prostration of the system — but obstinate, 
 sir — a true M'oman, eh i very obstinate. Told 
 
 13
 
 194 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 her she should drive out daily: wouldn't hear 
 of it. Offered that Mrs. Julep should come 
 and cheer her up a bit : positively refused. 
 Fine eyes, eh ? Mr. Esdaile : monstrous fine 
 woman altogether, / think. Ah ! well, I see 
 you arc anxious to be off. Three services 
 a-day ! God bless my soul 1 Hard work for 
 the lungs, that. Good morning." 
 
 And the little man bustled away, leaving me 
 to ruminate on my encounter with Mrs. Morley, 
 as I walked home alone. Of my conjectures 
 and reflections it boots not noAV to write, seeing 
 that they are more than twenty-four hours old, 
 and that in the interim I have gained a clear 
 knowledge of those things whereon I speculated. 
 
 The Priory is a melancholy house, and its 
 drawing-room, albeit it looks upon a pretty 
 quaint old garden, is a melancholy room. A 
 cedar, growing close to the window, throws 
 its baneful shadow riglit across the floor, and 
 the diamond-shaped flags of the terrace outside 
 are enameled with a close green moss that tells 
 of dripping boughs and of the rare influence 
 of sunshine. AV^ithin this room, with its paper 
 onre sky-blue now faded to sea-green, against
 
 CONFIDENCES. 195 
 
 which, her black dress formed a contrast such 
 as the Venetians loved to paint, sat Mrs, Morley ; 
 her back to the light, her feet on a low stool 
 near the fire, a packet of letters on the table 
 at her side. I had a better opportunity now 
 of examining her face and figure than under 
 a bonnet and cloak. She is apparently rather 
 more than thirty, but has already lost all the 
 bloom of youth, which often lingers round a 
 happy woman to a much later period. Her 
 eyes are singularly lustrous, but, unless when 
 animated, the clear brown iris is half veiled 
 under thick black lashes : and during the whole 
 of our long interview it was only occasionally 
 that she permitted the fire that trembles beneath 
 them to flash forth. The outline of the features 
 is remarkably handsome : the mouth somewhat 
 large, perhaps, but one of the most expressive 
 I have ever seen. Hers is a se?isitioe upper 
 lip — I can convey my meaning by no other 
 word — over which hover the shadows of a thou- 
 sand fleeting emotions long before thev are 
 expressed in words — perhaps unexpressed at 
 all. The slight tall figure, more graceful than 
 perfectly built, the thin feverish hand, the
 
 196 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 finely-formed head with its wealth of raven hair, 
 gathered carelessly (perhaps a woman would call 
 it untidily) into a silk net, I translated into 
 so many indications of a highly-wrought, pas- 
 sionate temperament, — a sympathy with great 
 and noble things, and that restive imagination 
 which ever tends to make a woman unhappy 
 in the dead level of ordinary life. But that 
 she has learned to endeavour to conceal her 
 emotions in some measure was shown by her 
 manner throughout this interview. Though 
 speaking of things which she felt with all the 
 passionate energy of a strong nature, she was, 
 to outward appearance, calm enough. Her voice 
 occasionally quivered, her fingers often wound 
 and twitched about the fringes of her dress ; 
 but there were no wild bursts of tears, such 
 as Mr. Julep might have led me to expect. 
 Either she exhausts these in her solitude, or, 
 what I think more likely from what I see of 
 her, they come upon her suddenly, unexpectedly, 
 like the snapping of a cord after a long and 
 undue tension. 
 
 When 1 was seated and the door had closed 
 on tlic old butler, she said^
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 im 
 
 "I did not ask you to call, Mr. Esdaile, 
 that I might thank you for your kind atten- 
 tion yesterday. I could have done that per- 
 haps as well by a note, without breaking the 
 rule I laid down when I came here, that I 
 would receive no visitors, without exception. 
 I have been led to do so in this instance by 
 a singular and painful circumstance." 
 
 I bowed, not seeing clearly what reply to 
 make ; and, after a pause, she continued, 
 
 " Did it occur to you, Mr. Esdaile, that 
 there was any particular reason for my being 
 taken so suddenly ill yesterday ? Or are you 
 aware that any one in the church accounted 
 for it?" 
 
 " I — I — fancied it was possible that you re- 
 cognized some face you knew ; but as I alone 
 was near you at the time, I feel sure that no 
 one else can have thought so." 
 
 " You were right. It was the unexpected 
 sight of one who has been the cause of a bur- 
 then of suffering to me that I shall carry to 
 my grave; and it is about him I would speak 
 to you. The sacred character of your office 
 enables me to do so unreservedly, Mr. Esdaile.
 
 198 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 The person to whom I allude is Count Blsmaik. 
 Arc you personally acquainted with him ?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " Can you tell me what he is doing here ?" 
 
 " He is staying at Sir Richard Ashford's. 
 He is a great friend of the family, and has 
 been down here before." 
 
 " Lady Caroline Ashford, I believe, is not 
 young. Has she a grown-up daughter?" 
 
 " She has ; but if you ask the question as 
 relative to the Count, she is not a person likely 
 to attract him, — a very insipid young lady." 
 
 "What can be his object then" (as though 
 half speaking to herself) " in remaining here ? 
 He would consider it a waste of time, without 
 some special object in view. Do you know 
 the character of the man whom Sir Richard 
 receives as an intimate friend into his family 
 circle ?" 
 
 " I know very little of Count Bismark, except 
 that he is handsome, agreeable, and evidently 
 all that is meant by ' a man of the world.' As 
 to the inducement he finds in remaining here, 
 I am afraid I can account for it by the undis- 
 guised admiration he shows for a young lady
 
 CONFIDENCES. 199 
 
 in this village, to whom it is likely to prove 
 only a source of disappointment and misery." 
 
 '*That it will, indeed!" said Mrs. Morley 
 bitterly. " She is probably neither rich nor 
 nobly born." 
 
 *' Even so. She is the youngest daughter 
 of an old Admiral, with little besides his pay." 
 
 " Then he will never marry her, and my sus- 
 picions are too well justified. Bismark is a man 
 utterly without principle, Mr. Esdaile, and the 
 most dangerous admirer such a girl can have. 
 He has been the spoilt child of fortune, accus- 
 tomed to gratify every whim, to indulge every 
 passion. Except in the excitement of such a 
 pursuit as this, he is never happy, and, I be- 
 lieve, no considerations would restrain him from 
 its attainment. He is not without good qualities 
 — is capable of kindness, generosity, perhaps 
 even sacrifice occasionally ; but the cultivation of 
 self has leavened the whole man beyond recal. 
 He has never yet felt a true devoted love for 
 any woman, but has frittered it away in a dozen 
 counterfeits. You must save this girl, Mr. 
 Esdaile, and to this end I must tell you some- 
 thing of my own terrible past, that you may
 
 200 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 warn her while there is yet time. The name 
 I bear, as perhaps you may have guessed, is 
 assumed. But before I tell you who I am, I 
 require a solemn promise that you will neter 
 reveal my real name. Painful as it must be 
 to touch upon portions of my past life, I shall 
 not shrink from doing so ; and of this know- 
 ledge you arc at liberty to make what use you 
 think best; but for the sake of another, I re- 
 quire that my name should never pass your 
 lips. I tell it that you may the better under- 
 stand my position, and also test the truth, if 
 you will, of what I am about to communicate. 
 I am the wife of ." 
 
 I confess I started to hear the name of one 
 of our oldest patrician houses. 
 
 " I have been married eight years. I loved 
 my husband truly, passionately — I would say 
 devotedly, but I dare not use that word. I 
 can sincerely declare, however, that I never 
 have loved, nor ever could love, any other man. 
 And he returned my love, though not quite 
 as a romantic girl's nature demanded. I had 
 expected a more constant companion, I looked 
 for more complete devotion than any woman
 
 CONFIDENCES. 201 
 
 has a right to expect, after the early days of 
 her marriage. And so, when, after a few 
 months, my husband entered Parliament — the 
 natural sphere for his great abilities — I slowly 
 awoke to discover that life was not the long 
 summer's day I had looked forward to. I be- 
 came a secondary object — at least, so I thought 
 — secondary to the great schemes for his coun- 
 try's legislation which occupied my husband's 
 mind. I was left all day alone. Sometimes 
 he returned to dinner ; sometimes a hurried 
 line from the House desired me not to wait 
 for him, and it was often one or two in the 
 morning before he came in. This is only what 
 numbers of other young wives have to bear 
 patiently ; but they are not constituted as I 
 was, or they have children on whom to pour 
 out some portion of their hearts, and to divert 
 their thoughts into another pure and healthy 
 channel. In another class of life, again, I know 
 that many a young wife bears her lot of soli- 
 tude or neglect resignedly ; but to such the 
 necessity of each hard day's work is an ines- 
 timable boon : she has not time to sit with 
 folded hands, and murmur at her lot. Both 
 
 s
 
 202 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 these blessings were denied mc : I was child- 
 less, and I was born to be a great lady. I 
 had never been educated to make interests for 
 myself, and my husband did not teach me. He 
 was glad that I should be amused — as he thought 
 — in the way that most women of his own set 
 found amusement. If I had gone to him and 
 said, ' All this round of gaiety is very unsatis- 
 fying to me, and I want something to do ; show 
 me in what humble way I can forward any 
 of the great work you have in hand, he would 
 not have appreciated the motive that prompted 
 me. As it was, he encouraged my going out 
 every night by myself; and the life that I de- 
 tested at first became at last a necessary stimu- 
 lant in ray cheerless solitude. I was miserable ; 
 for, having been a spoilt child, I fancied my- 
 self neglected, though, had I been wise, I should 
 have better understood my husband's character, 
 and appreciated his feeling for me. From his 
 peculiar temperament, and the deep subjects 
 that engrossed his attention, which he naturally 
 considered out of a woman's province, even 
 Avhen we were together, he was often silent 
 and abstracted. I knew that I had no cause
 
 CONFIDENCES. 20S 
 
 for jealousy : I sometimes almost wished that 
 I had — a tangible object on -which to expend 
 my rage and bitterness ; but my husband never 
 looked at any other woman, and in me he had 
 the most blind and perfect conj&dence, — a con- 
 fidence, alas ! which no one human being has 
 a right to place in another. 
 
 *' It is one condition of our nature, I believe, 
 that the feelings, like the body, undergo a sure 
 but gradual change. No one's mind remains 
 in the same state for very long. After the 
 first few years of my married life, abandoning 
 myself to what seemed the inevitable course 
 of things, I grew callous, almost desperate, in 
 my search after excitement. I was too proud 
 to complain. If he, on the rare occasions when 
 he spent the evening at home, preferred his 
 study and his dry papers to my society, / could 
 now order my carriage, and find society else- 
 where. The time was, when I should have 
 cried myself quietly to sleep ; that time was 
 past, though, even now, God knows, upon the 
 smallest hint that he wished it, I would gladly 
 have given it all up, and have followed him 
 into seclusion anywhere.
 
 ^04 CONFIDKNCES. 
 
 " It was at this time that I made the acquaint- 
 ance, unfortunately, of Count Karl Bismark. 
 The most popular, the most admired man in 
 all Loudon, as great a favourite with men as 
 with women, it was impossible that I should 
 not find his society agreeable when he showed 
 — but in the most respectful and delicate manner 
 — his marked preference for mine. He is far 
 beyond the vulgar vanity of liking a woman 
 to be talked about in connection with him, 
 and he studiously avoided allowing his attentions 
 to be too evident to the world. But to me, who 
 was now unused to this silent watchful sort 
 of attention — the most seductive of all kinds 
 of flattery — it was pleasant, and I thought 
 harmlessly so. For I knew that my heart was 
 perfectly safe. And here was the danger and 
 the wrong. I am ashamed to speak of it — to 
 think of it now. Had I not felt perfectly 
 secure of myself, as I thought, I should never 
 have ventured to play with such edge tools. 
 And it was a double wrong deserving of heavy 
 punishment, that, feeling thus secure, I did not 
 at once discourage a growing passion that God 
 forbid I should ever have returned. You
 
 CONFIDENCES. 205 
 
 cannot feel half the loathing of this ignoble 
 vanity, this miserable craving for something 
 which every true wife should blush to receive, 
 that I myself feel now. My punishment is 
 heavy : yes, Mr. Esdaile, very heavy for one so 
 young as I am, with such a long, long road before 
 her, but it is not a bit heavier than I deserve. 
 " It was towards the end of a London season 
 that I first knew Count Bismark. We were 
 going abroad shortly for my husband's health, 
 which had suffered from the hard work of a 
 long session. A few evenings before our de- 
 parture Count Bismark asked me if it was 
 decided to which of the German baths we 
 were going, and I answered Carlsbad. He 
 made no other remark than that it was a pretty 
 place, and less infested than others of the kind 
 with French and English canaille. We went 
 there : and I was in hopes that now at least 
 I should have had my husband to myself, for 
 a relaxation from books and writing was much 
 recommended for him. But he found at Carls- 
 bad a number of foreigners of diplomatic emi- 
 nence, whose acquaintance he was glad to have 
 an opportunity of making, and in whose con-
 
 SOG CONFIDENCES. 
 
 versatlon he was much interested. I was foolish 
 enough to feel disappointed and hurt when he 
 left me to walk up and down those tiresome 
 walks, discussing the affixirs of Europe with 
 an Austrian or Russian diplomatist; and, just 
 when I was beginning to think the place 
 insupportably odious. Count Bismark appeared 
 upon the walks one morning. He made no 
 allusion to his expectation of finding us, but a 
 woman's penetration was not to be deceived by 
 his plea of health. It was the line he invariably 
 adopted, T afterwards found, that of not alarming 
 by an unnecessary demonstration of his motives. 
 I found him more agreeable than ever : so much 
 knowledge of the world, such a perception of 
 the beautiful as well as of the humorous, and 
 so easy and apparently perfectly natural : but 
 it was my intellect, not my heart, that was 
 interested, and my vanity alone that was touched. 
 A Viennese lady — the only one I knew well 
 — smiled very knowingly when I asked her 
 about Bismark. He was a sad inauvais siijet, 
 she said, but everyone liked him, only he had 
 sucli an Aivjlomanie now, that they saw very 
 little of him at Vienna : doubtless he found
 
 CONFIDENCES. 207 
 
 particular attractions in England. My husband, 
 who had hardly known Bismark before, sub- 
 mitted, like all the rest of the world, to the 
 charm of his influence. 
 
 '"What a pity,' he said, 'that clever fellow 
 should idle his life away without an object! 
 He has a great deal of ability, and, with de- 
 termination, he might do anything he chose.' 
 
 " I remember starting at the particular Avords 
 used, for I could not doubt but that, in one 
 sense, he had an object, though he would never, 
 never succeed in it. I urged my husband, how- 
 ever, that very day, to leave Carlsbad, as soon 
 as the doctor would allow him. I said it was 
 getting cold, and made other excuses for my 
 desire to be back in England. I was, in fact, 
 becoming frightened, — uneasy, for the first time, 
 at the consequences of a danger I had courted. 
 On parting with the Count, I purposely avoided 
 giving him any clue to our probable winter 
 residence. I said, if my husband's health was 
 not re-established, we should not be in Lon- 
 don at the beginning of the session, and I par- 
 ried his adroit questions to discover where we 
 were likely to be.
 
 ^08 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " We returned home. My husband found 
 that he must visit his father's estates in Ireland. 
 But when I proposed accompanying him, with 
 the assurance that I did not mind sleeping in 
 a cabin, if necessary, he threw so many obstacles 
 in the way, that I saw he evidently would pre- 
 fer my remaining at home, though he was too 
 kind to say so exactly. But it was such kind- 
 ness as one shows a child. Oh ! that he would 
 only have made me his companion ! I was 
 thrown back now as before on my own foolish 
 and sensitive feelings. 
 
 " Instead of my remaining alone in London, 
 he wished me to go down to his uncle, the 
 Duke's, to pass the few weeks of his absence. 
 He promised to meet me there at Christmas. 
 There was a large party in the house : every- 
 body except myself was, or managed to appear 
 to be, very gay. I believe, and, strange to say, 
 I now hope that I was set down universally 
 as having a bad temper. It was not conceiv- 
 able that a Avife should fret at her husband's 
 going to Ireland without her. No: I did not 
 receive as much attention as I expected, and 
 that was the reason oi my ' sulks.' 1 actually
 
 CONFIDENCES. 209 
 
 overheard a lady saying this one morning : and 
 it did not increase my disposition to make 
 myself agreeable. The only moments of real 
 unalloyed pleasure I had, were when hearing 
 my husband spoken of in terms of the highest 
 respect and admiration by several public men 
 who were staying in the house. I felt a glow 
 of pride — which has since turned to shame 
 and heaviness of heart, alas ! — when I read 
 his name, coupled with renown and honor, in 
 the papers. But this state of things was not 
 to continue for ever. Ten days before my 
 husband's return there was a fresh importation 
 of guests from town. On coming down to 
 dinner that day, the first person I recognized 
 in the drawingroom was Count Bismark. No- 
 thing could be more natural: the hien venu 
 in every country house, why should he not 
 be here ? Nevertheless, the blood rushed into 
 my face, and had not the room been so ill-lit 
 my confusion must have been remarked. He 
 handed me into dinner, but only alluded to 
 meeting me here, as a happy accident. He 
 avoided in any marked way singling me out 
 from the other women for especial attention ; 
 
 14
 
 210 
 
 •CONFIDENCES, 
 
 but when one is under the same roof there 
 arc a thousand little cu-cumstances during the 
 day, that enable a man to show tacitly what 
 the feelings are he dare not evince more openly. 
 Whether by a prevision and clever calculation 
 of chances and of my peculiar nature, I know 
 not, but he could not have timed his arrival 
 more opportunely, to be welcome to me. I 
 was heartily sick of the cold uninteresting 
 people by whom I was surrounded : my 
 husband's family, indeed, I never cared for 
 much. But a month earlier the recollection 
 of my Carlsbad misgivings would have been 
 too fresh in my mind for me not to have seen 
 Bismark with apprehension. In the interim I 
 had laughed at myself for the folly of avoiding 
 the friendship of an exceedingly agreeable 
 person, when I was so secure of my own heart, 
 and so convinced that no man -was comparable 
 to my own husband. 
 
 " Why do 1 linger on these varying shades 
 of feeling, Mr. Esdaile ? Why do I dwell 
 on every incident of tliat time ? That by 
 understanding, if possible, something of the 
 weak, passionate, wayward woman before you,
 
 CONFIDENCES. 211 
 
 you may more thoroughly appreciate the cha- 
 racter of the man with whom you have to 
 deal. 
 
 " My husband at last returned, and I was 
 overjoyed. But such is the inconsistency of 
 our nature, that I was angry with him for 
 not evincing a shade of jealous suspicion at 
 Bismark's presence. On the contrary, he shook 
 hands with him very cordially : aiid, after the 
 first short half-hour, I saw less of my husband 
 than he did of the leaders of his party who 
 were staying in the house. And I had not 
 the tact to conceal my vexation. One afternoon, 
 when we were walking, the Duchess asked what 
 had become of my husband? she had not seen 
 him all day. I was imprudent enough to 
 reply hastily that no one knew less of his 
 movements than I did, and that I had seen 
 as little of him as herself. I immediately saw 
 the Duchess exchange glances Avith one or two 
 of the other ladies, which meant very plainly, 
 * What a temper she has ! and how much 
 he is to be pitied, poor fellow ! ' But this was 
 not the worst I had brought upon myself. 
 Bismark, who was present, lost no opportunity
 
 212 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 from this moment forwards of alluding to the 
 misery of ill-assorted marriages — of natures 
 that did not assimilate — of the impossibility 
 of a cold unimpassioned character ever ap- 
 preciating a warm, enthusiastic, and imaginative 
 one. There Avas nothing in these remarks, so 
 often insisted on, and so adroitly brought to 
 bear on the gossip of every day, that I could 
 reject or resent. And yet, at first I felt angry 
 at beinc: oblicred to listen to them : for I knew 
 that my own indiscretion had been the original 
 cause of his adopting this tone. Then by 
 degrees — little by little — I grew accustomed to 
 that abstract talk about sympathies and affinities, 
 until at length I found myself on the brink 
 of making a confidant of the man Avhom of all 
 others I should most have avoided. I withdrew 
 a step : but the toils of that wary hunter 
 were too securely round me. It was of little 
 moment that the party was breaking up. What 
 had advanced so far in the country would be 
 still better prosecuted in London. 
 
 *' We all met there in February. Oh, my 
 God ! how 1 hate to think of that last month ! 
 It is like a hideous dream : so impressed on
 
 CONFIDENCES. 213 
 
 the mind in every detail that one cannot think 
 it unreal ; and so unnatural, so imjyossible when 
 one awakes, that one cannot believe it all actually 
 happened ! How the man became more and 
 more wound up in my daily life ; how in my 
 long hours of solitude I looked to his visit 
 as the one excitement of the day, till it became 
 a species of dram-drinking that I could not 
 live without — all this crept on me stealthily, 
 and gradually, before I perceived the change 
 in our relative positions. 
 
 " There was great distress in the manu- 
 facturing districts just at that time, which 
 occupied my husband's thoughts entirely. At 
 night he often returned worn out in body, 
 yet his energetic mind not permitting him to 
 rest. He would throw himself down on the 
 sofa, then start up and pace the room, muttering, 
 as he revolved in his mind how the misery of 
 the people was to be alleviated. My misery 
 he never noticed. What was there I had not ? 
 Generous to me as he was self-denying to 
 himself, he knew that he had never left a 
 whim of mine ungratified. It would never 
 have occurred to him that I could be unhappy.
 
 214 CONFIDRNCKS. 
 
 I was handsome, not without sonic talent ; made, 
 he thought, to sliinc in the workl ; 1 had no 
 business to be unliappy, since I had everything 
 this worhl could give. Oh ! if he could only 
 have seen my heart at that moment — its rest- 
 less, uneasy, miserable state ! But he saw 
 nothing : and so the end at last came. 
 
 " I sprained my foot in getting out of the 
 carriage one evening. A doctor was sent for, 
 who said it was nothing very serious ; but I 
 passed the night in great pain, and felt ill and 
 nervous in the morning. My husband entered 
 my room early, with some letters in his hand. 
 He said he was going down to Nottingham that 
 evening to see about the poor weavers there, 
 and that he should be back the following day, 
 when he hoped to find me much better. 
 
 "'Don't go,' I could not help saying ; 'pray 
 don't leave me, Charles, don't.' 
 
 " He looked very much surprised, and said, 
 
 " ' Why, my dear Carry, what do you mean ? 
 You're upset and nervous, my poor child ; but 
 you are surely not serious in wishing me to 
 remain here, because you've sprained your ankle, 
 when hundreds of your fellow creatures are
 
 CONFIDENCES. 215 
 
 dying, and the object of my going is to try 
 and save their lives ?' 
 
 " I could only reply by a sort of hysterical 
 sob, as my husband kissed me, and said he 
 had just ordered a new carriage for me, the 
 step of which he hoped I should find more 
 convenient. Never was gift so ungraciously 
 received : it was like giving a sugar-plum to 
 a child to pacify it, I thought. If my hus- 
 band was disappointed at the way in which I 
 received this, he certainly didn't show it, but 
 left the room, saying that, as he was on a com- 
 mittee, and should be kept at the House till 
 late in the afternoon, he should not return home, 
 but desire his valet to meet him with his things 
 at the terminus. And so we parted. 
 
 '^ Bismark, I knew, would call in the after- 
 noon, so I got up, though in pain, and managed 
 to crawl down to the drawing-room, with my 
 maid's arm, — restless, nervous, craving for some 
 excitement, anything was better than my own 
 thoughts. I lay on the sofa in the back room, 
 and desired that any visitors should be admitted ; 
 but none came. It began to grow dusk, and 
 I grew more nervous and irritable every mo-
 
 21G CONFIDENCES. 
 
 ment, wondering what could have kept Bismark, 
 and with strange inconsistency, as I perfectly 
 remember, upbraiding my husband with his 
 neglect. At last there was a knock at the 
 door. The butler brought in the lamp, and 
 announced Count Bismark. I tried in vain 
 to conceal all traces of agitation. I felt my 
 voice tremble as I greeted him, and my eyes 
 were red and swollen. He sat down by my 
 sofa, and, with that peculiarly soothing musical 
 voice, drew from me, in spite of myself, what 
 I most wished to conceal — that I felt wretched 
 and lonely, that my husband, who did not 
 understand my foolishly sensitive nature, had 
 left London, and that the sympathy of a friend 
 "was a great comfort. 
 
 " I believe he cunningly chose this moment 
 to look at his Avatch, get up, and declare that 
 he must be going — he was engaged to dinner. 
 It was all arranged beforehand, I'm sure — his 
 coming so late ; for he had one of our servants 
 in his pay, I afterwards discovered, and must 
 have known of my husband's absence. So there 
 he stood, holding my hand in his, bidding me 
 * good-bye.'
 
 CONFIDENCES, 217 
 
 " ' So soon ? ' I said : ' you have not been 
 here half-an-hour.' 
 
 " ' If you ask me to stay, it is enough ; ' that 
 was his reply. 
 
 "And thereupon followed such a flood of 
 passionate eloquence, as only men like Bismark 
 have at their command at these moments. He 
 was upon his knees, calling me ' Caroline,' and 
 urging me no longer to sacrifice my whole life 
 to one who was incapable of a^jpreciating me. 
 Let him, at least, whose soul beat in unison 
 with mine have some share, some corner in my 
 existence, for the ties of the heart were the 
 only real ones — with other such sophistries as 
 these. 
 
 " To my eternal shame, I let him hold this 
 language — God forgive me ! I was bewildered, 
 — conscious, for the first time in my life, that I 
 was passionately loved ; but confused, stunned, 
 only half conscious of the wrong. My hands 
 remained in his, my head almost drooped upon 
 his shoulder, while he poured out his vehement 
 words. 
 
 " Suddenly I was aware of a shadow cross- 
 ing the lamp
 
 218 
 
 confidp:nces. 
 
 " I look up and shrieked. . . My husband 
 stood between the foldinsr doors ! 
 
 " You may imagine better than I can describe, 
 Mr. Esdaile, tlie scene that followed. I threw 
 myself on my knees, I trailed myself at his 
 feet. Never shall I forget the look of despair 
 in Ins face, Bismark's rage, and the few terrible 
 words that passed between them ! . . . I know 
 not how it terminated, for nature at last came 
 to my help, and I fell fainting on the floor. I 
 had a succession of these fits, and the doctor 
 and my maid were with me the greater part 
 of the night. Once I opened my eyes and 
 saw my husband writing in the room, and then 
 I fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till morn- 
 ing 
 
 "My first thought was to inquire for my 
 husband, as the terrible events of the previous 
 night came crowding back on my mind. The 
 maid handed me a letter, and my heart sank 
 within mc. This is it." 
 
 And, taking one from the table, she read what, 
 as far as I can remember, was to the follow- 
 ing effect. It was dated midnight. 
 
 After the discovery I accidentally made
 
 CONFIDENCES. 219 
 
 last night, Caroline, of course all is at an end 
 between us. God and vour own conscience 
 know how far your protestations of innocence 
 are true. As to actual guilt, I wish to believe 
 them; as to a long course of duplicity, and 
 the encouragement, at least, of this man's pas- 
 sion, I cannot. But what / believe, signifies 
 little ; your reputation in the eyes of the world, 
 at all events, shall not sufier. A home where 
 confidence is once destroyed, is a home no 
 longer : you would be miserable, fancying your- 
 self always watched ; I, probably, should be 
 ready to interpret innocent acts wrongly. There- 
 fore it is necessary we should part ; and we 
 do so, remember, from incompatibility of tem- 
 per. We may, indeed, say that with truth ! 
 This shock is too recent for me to review my 
 conduct as rigidly and impartially as I may 
 do hereafter. If I have been to blame, forgive 
 me : you know that I had the most unbounded 
 confidence in you. It is for ever shaken in 
 woman — God forgive you ! I would sooner 
 have plucked out my two eyes than have seen 
 what I did last night. I shall carry the bitter 
 fruit of that experience to my grave. You need
 
 220 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 not fear my avenging my honour, as it is called, 
 by fighting a duel. AV'ero I not deterred upon 
 far higher grounds, the fear of your name com- 
 ing thus before the world, would prevent me. 
 1 have loved you, Caroline, better than you 
 thought; but my nature is not a demonstrative 
 one. 
 
 " ' When this reaches you, 1 shall be on my 
 road to Nottingham, where I was prevented 
 going yesterday by a mere chance. I shall 
 not return to London until 1 hear what you 
 propose doing. If you wish to remain in this 
 house, it is yours ; and, whether you do so or 
 not, I shall make such arrangements for your 
 comfort as will prevent your feeling, I hope, 
 any outward change in your position. As far 
 as I can see my way at present, this seems 
 the right course for mc to pursue, and I act 
 on it at once, to spare you the needless trial 
 of another agitating scene. Justification, recri- 
 mination, or self-reproaches, are alike useless. 
 Only lay this warning to heart, Caroline, and 
 may it keep you from further danger. 
 
 " ' Your truest friend and sorrowing husband.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 221 
 
 " I cannot describe to you," continued Mrs. 
 Morley (as I must still call her), " the effect 
 this letter produced on me. I was stunned. 
 I could not believe for a long time that it was 
 really true, and that I was separated for ever 
 from him. If he could have known the agony 
 of my mind, I think he would have had pity 
 on me. I tried to write. Of what use was 
 it to assure him that I loved him far more than 
 ever, that in my heart of hearts I had never 
 swerved in my allegiance to him? How could 
 I expect him to believe it? It sounded mon- 
 strous, incredible ; and scalding tears blotted 
 the words as I wrote them. Then I abandoned 
 myself to paroxysms of remorse, and reproach 
 towards the cause of all this misery. As re- 
 garded him, the revulsion of feeling was com- 
 plete. A scale seemed to have fallen from my 
 eyes. I now saw him in his true colours, and 
 shuddered to think that I had ever listened to 
 him with complacency, ever tolerated his false 
 insidious sentiment. His words had lost all 
 charm. To the numberless notes he wrote me 
 in the course of the next few days, I only 
 replied in the brief cold terms necessary to
 
 ^22 CONFIDKNCES. 
 
 show liiin my true feelings. Most of those 
 notes 1 burned as soon as read; but one I 
 kept. Here it is. I ^v•as actuated by the hope 
 that my husband miglit some day know " 
 
 She broke off, and lianded me the note, 
 written in his minute foreign hand, but ad- 
 mirably e.xpressed in English, somewhat as 
 follows : — 
 
 " You reject my offers, and do great injustice 
 to my true sentiments, most adorable of women ! 
 As you refuse to fly with me and share the 
 existence of one whose future should be entirely 
 given up to you, what is it you expect from 
 your husband ? Not forgiveness and recon- 
 ciliation ? You know his cold hard nature too 
 well. I have offered him satisfaction, but he 
 refuses it : does he then intend procuring a 
 divorce ? As I cannot believe that your affec- 
 tions any longer belong to one (though you 
 persist in asserting so) who has treated you 
 for years with such studied neglect, I must 
 think that you will regard this divorce as a 
 release, and that you will no longer refuse the 
 love and protection of him who can then offer 
 you an honorable fuitne. If this is so, gladly
 
 (X)NF1DENCES. 223 
 
 shall I liail the clay, whenever it come, that 
 I may be permitted to claim you as my wife. 
 And to this I hold myself hound hy every tie 
 of heart and of honour. I feel with sorrow 
 that you are now suffering from my imprudence 
 and impetuosity. I only await the word that 
 shall call me to your side. 
 
 " B." 
 " You may imagine," continued Mrs. Morley, 
 after a pause, " I was not long in making up 
 my mind that if I was to be separated from 
 my husband — and I could not demur at the 
 justice of his decision — I was better out of 
 London : altogether away, where he would not 
 be subject to the annoyance of seeing or hearing 
 of me. Almost broken-hearted, I quitted his 
 roof, acquainting him Avith my immediate plans 
 in a letter in which I made no appeal to his feel- 
 ings, nor attempted to induce him to revoke his 
 sentence. I was too thoroughly humbled with 
 the consciousness of my own vanity and folly, and 
 of my unworthiness to be his wife, for me to dare 
 to plead even the excuses I have done to you, 
 Mr. Esdaile. The only thing I assured him 
 was, that my future life should be one against
 
 224 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 which no breath could be raisctl. I begged 
 him to institute the strictest enquiry, in order 
 to satisfy himself that however much she had 
 sinned, the lesson his unhappy wife had learnt 
 was not thrown away. And, greatly with this 
 view, I requested that two old family servants, 
 a butler and housekeeper, might accompany 
 me in my wanderings. They have done so 
 ever since — eight months, which have seemed 
 like years, and have changed me from a young 
 to a middle-aged woman, Mr. Esdaile ! 
 
 " I travelled abroad. I have, literally speak 
 ing, wandered up and down the face of the 
 earth, never stationary for more than two days 
 together in any place. I have never made 
 any new acquaintances ; I have shunned the 
 old ones whom chance threw in my way. I 
 had the satisfaction, through all this, of knowing 
 that I was regarded as a disagreeable, violent- 
 tempered woman, from whom my husband had 
 found himself obliged to separate. But at last 
 I was worn out with this life — spent in mind 
 and body, and only desirous of rest. This I 
 /found it almost impossible to have under my 
 old name. 1 took a house for a few weeks
 
 CONFIDENCES. 225 
 
 in the summer at a place where I was personally 
 unknown, but my husband's name brought 
 troops of visitors to my door, invitations and 
 offers of assistance, which fairly frightened me 
 away. It was then I bethought me of the 
 simple plan which I have successfully adopted 
 hitherto, to escape this kind of invasion. If 
 the question, *Who is she?' cannot be satis- 
 factorily answered, one is always safe in England. 
 I chose this part of the country, because I knew 
 no one here : neither has my husband any 
 connections in the neighbourhood. The un- 
 known Mrs. Morley, therefore, was likely to 
 escape notice. Little did I anticipate the strange 
 improbable coincidence of meeting that man 
 whom of all others I should least wish to 
 know of my being here ! 
 
 "Of him I have only to add further, that 
 three months after that fatal evening he fought 
 a duel at Baden, with a French officer, about 
 the wife of the latter. This is the man against 
 whom you must warn every woman whom he 
 selects for the amusement of the hour. His 
 life is made up of such aims, alas ! It is an ' 
 exciting sport, this gambling with human hearts, 
 
 15
 
 S26 CONFIDKNCES. 
 
 and every game won increases the passion for 
 it. Yot this man originally was made for better 
 things. lie had once a heart, if it had ever 
 been fired with an earnest enduring love. Now 
 I fear it is altogether corrupt. Vanity, success, 
 sensuality, have brought him to be what he 
 is. And it is the horror I feel when I remember 
 all the misery he has brought, not only on 
 me, but on many another happy home, that 
 has made me go over the painful history of 
 my past, Mr. Esdaile. It is a bitter trial to 
 speak of it. I have never done so to a human 
 being. But if, with all its terrible consequences 
 to me, it may prove a warning to any other 
 woman, I feel I ought to let her know it. 
 For God's sake, Mr. Esdaile, speak to this 
 girl or to her father. Tell them that the vows 
 Bisniark has probably ere now poured forth 
 to her have been made to twenty other women. 
 Tell them if you will, in short, all I have told 
 you." 
 
 After a short pause I said, 
 
 " I will do so : at least I will think over 
 the best means of guarding this young girl. 
 Her disposition, unfortunatelj', renders any ap-
 
 CONFIDENCES. 22T 
 
 peal to herself difficult. Bat I hope and believe 
 such an insight into the character of Count 
 Bismark cannot but have its effect. Your 
 story has deeply interested me : and since you 
 have entrusted me with your secret, you will 
 not think it mere impertinent curiosity, I hope, 
 if I ask whether you have still any communica- 
 tion with your husband?" 
 
 " He does write to me occasionally," she said, 
 sadly ; " and whether it be that / am changed, 
 and better able to understand his nature, I 
 know not, but his letters seem more tenderly 
 anxious for my well-being than I believed at 
 one time possible. Both the servants, whom 
 I may now call old and faithful friends, write 
 to him from time to time and let him know 
 how I go on. I can very rarely bring myself 
 to do so. Or rather I write letters and destroy 
 them. My written words seem to mock and 
 jeer at me. I cannot express to him all I 
 have at my heart. My life of utter seclusion 
 and my broken health must do that." 
 
 Soon after this I took my leave, saying that 
 as she had once broken through her rule in 
 my favor, I hoped she would allow me to
 
 2^8 
 
 rONFTDFNCFS. 
 
 repeat my visit occasionally. I added that, 
 from what I knew publicly of her husband's 
 character, I did not think he would regret 
 her having a friend in the clergyman of the 
 parish, to whom she could always apply for 
 counsel and assistance. 
 
 This interview has given me matter for much 
 serious thought all to-day. A confession, which, 
 taken by itself, and without reference to the 
 peculiar character of the speaker, sounds hardly 
 credible — that a woman loving her own hus- 
 band should be on the point of giving herself 
 up to another whom she does not love ! . . . . This 
 suggests the enquiry, how often the honor of 
 a home has not fallen victim to a sort of 
 systematic neglect on the part of many an other- 
 wise excellent man? Public men, especially, 
 often seem to think that their country demands 
 a sacrifice of these sweet humanizing charities : 
 others, overlooking the clear, obvious duties, 
 that lie ready to hand — just because they are 
 so clear — go out into the wilderness to hunt 
 and scour about for duties, " calls," they would 
 say, forgetting that, in a very broad as in a 
 close sense, charity begins at home. Here is
 
 CONFIUEXCES. 229 
 
 this fine fellow — whom I must call Mr. Morley 
 — a generous advocate of the oppressed, a man 
 who feels keenly the sorrows of his fellow 
 men, energetic and high principled as we all 
 know. Yet he does not hesitate to leave that 
 sensitive, imafjinative woman he has made his 
 wife to pine away with scarce more than the 
 crumbs of affection that fall frona his philan- 
 thropic soul, after feeding its five thousand. 
 If it be dulce et decorum pro patria moi'i, our 
 schoolboys are not taught that the life and 
 happiness of another is to be sacrificed on the 
 same altar. But all Englishwomen expect this 
 sort of life when they marry, it is said. Their 
 husbands are in active professions, out on the 
 broad seas, or on the burning plains in India; 
 busy among parchments in the Temple, or with 
 scrip and consol in the City ; at all events, 
 comparatively few hours of their life can be 
 devoted to the culture of their household gods. 
 And Englishwomen would not wish it other- 
 wise. Their hearts, however, do still look for 
 something of the chivalrous tenderness of old, 
 when their Paladins return after the day's hard 
 fight is over. And the man — I care not whether
 
 230 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 senator, priest, or usurer — wlio does not take 
 " sweet counsel " of that gentle loving creature, 
 who has been anxiously listening for his knock 
 all the evening, — the man, I say, who is so 
 absorbed in his own schemes for good or ill, 
 that he neglects at such rare hours to cherish 
 the light of his dwelling, deserves to find it, 
 as he too often does, extinguished by a rude 
 hand, suddenly and for ever ! 
 
 My pen has run away with me : a perfect 
 steeple- chase of long periods. However, as it 
 is all true, let it stand. 
 
 Now about this Bismark and the Montacutes. 
 What is to be done ? Speaking to Ellice is, 
 of course, the first thing that suggests itself 
 Indeed, I know that, under any circumstances 
 where a woman's heart and keen intuition may 
 be called into council, I should go to her before 
 any one. If my sister ever sec these pages she 
 will pardon this, when she learns (probably 
 no one else ever will) that the common lot of 
 all men has overtaken me. Yes, it has come 
 at last : I cannot conceal from myself any 
 longer that 1 am falling deeply in love with 
 Ellice Montacutc. I find myself tiiinking of
 
 CONFIDENCES, 231 
 
 her in all seasons and places : I am ashamed 
 to say, even in church yesterday I found my 
 eyes following my thoughts to that distant pew 
 in the quiet side aisle. I suppose I ought 
 not to encourage these thoughts at any time. 
 What has a curate on eighty pounds a-year, 
 with an independent fortune of two hundred 
 more, to do with matrimony ? AVould she 
 ever think of it, but Avith pity at my folly ? 
 And am I justified, I who preach to others, 
 in rushing blindly into a passionate attachment, 
 and then pleading it in justification of the selfish 
 desire that she should take upon herself all 
 the privations of a very poor man's wife? I 
 fear not. Yet it resolves itself into this. If 
 she really loved me, the privations would be 
 none to her : dearer a thousand times than 
 the solitude of unlove. But the truth is, I 
 can detect in Ellice no "'symptoms of more 
 than a candid reliant regard, that would apply 
 to me, I hope, in all difiiculties, confident in 
 my earnest sympathy. Danger, except to my- 
 self, there is none. Not the less, however, 
 now that my eyes are open, should I turn aside 
 bravely and steadily from the ppril before me. . , .
 
 232 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 To return to Vanda. I cannot believe that 
 when she learns the truth concerning this man, 
 she will persist in continuing an intimacy of 
 such doubtful appearance. Her pride, if nothing 
 better, -svill revolt against the construction the 
 world will naturally put on this renowned 
 Lothario's attentions. Callous, in a measure, 
 I fear she is : scornfully dashing away the 
 drops as they fall — a temper partly imbibed 
 from her fierce foreign mother, partly grown 
 upon her in contact with a hard world ; but 
 not utterly lost, surely, to all tenderness and 
 truth ? Unloveable, nay repellent, as the girl's 
 character is, there is one green sweet touch 
 in it — her love for her father. She will read 
 to him, walk with him for hours, and prefers his 
 society evidently to that of her sisters. AVhether 
 it is a love that would sacrifice anything — 
 would even yield him implicit obedience is per- 
 haps doubtful — remains to be proved. Seldom 
 has been put to the trial, I should think ; the 
 Admiral, except in veriest trifles, never dream- 
 ing of controlling his favourite darling. I have 
 not much hope, therefore, of working any good 
 by an appeal to " the foolish fond old man,"
 
 CONFIDENCES. 233 
 
 which must, however, be made. But first, to 
 lay some facts in this sad story before Ellice. 
 
 7 a.m., Wednesday . — I have been sorrowfully 
 and most unexpectedly employed during the 
 last twenty-four hours. Up all last night. 
 Now in the early morning, while the little 
 maid is preparing my breakfast, I sit down to 
 note hurriedly the event that has personally 
 affected me so much — more than I could have 
 believed possible a few weeks ago. I called 
 at Sunny Cove early on Tuesday, intending 
 to speak to Ellice. Found the little household 
 all in confusion : runnings to and fro, doors 
 open, and a sound as of sobs from the upper 
 floor. The Admiral had had a very alarming 
 fit : lay, it was feared, between life and death. 
 His daughters, of course, were with him, and 
 I sent to ask if they would like me to see 
 their father. After a few minutes I was shown 
 up into a tiny cabin of a room where the 
 old sailor lay, his face much drawn and haggard, 
 the eyes fixed with intensity on the low sloping 
 wall opposite. On that wall was pinned the 
 water colour sketch of a young and handsome 
 woman : I noticed it and the other details of
 
 234 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 tlic room, not then, ])ut as I sat bosicle him 
 through that long afternoon. The chest, still 
 marked '' Captain Montacutc," with its great 
 brass clamps, rusted with sea air and spray 
 in many a distant voyage ; the old-fashioned 
 sword and compass hung above ; even that 
 skeleton washing-stand, and the hand-glass 
 swinging over it, all had a color of the man's 
 former life. At the pillow, her hands in his, 
 her head in the counterpane, over which the 
 black hair fell unbound, knelt Vanda — silent, 
 motionless, save when the slight figure shook 
 with an inward sob — a very touching sight, 
 I thought, remembering her hard habitual aspect. 
 Poor Linda in tears, hurrying to and fro with 
 medicines and what not : Ellice in close earnest 
 conference with Julep in the recess of the little 
 casement — that was the group as I entered. I 
 approached the latter, and Ellice turned to me 
 at once, calm and collected, but with the shadow 
 of a heavy grief, or at least alarming anxiety, 
 on her brow and the least tremble in her voice. 
 " The immediate danger is over : he is sensible 
 now, and I shall be glad for you to speak 
 to him — to sit with him."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 235 
 
 e< 
 
 If he have not another attack, and have 
 strength to rally," said Julep in a whisper, 
 " he may do. I keep the young ladies up, 
 sir, as much as I can. No use in letting 'em 
 doAvn, poor things : but don 't you go for to 
 let the old gentleman think he'll ever be quite 
 himself again. Bring him up smart, sir, about 
 his religion while he 's got time : bad case ! no 
 
 knowing '^ 
 
 And I turned from the man of medicine to 
 the sick bed, beside which his daughter had 
 set a chair for me. Instead of " bringing him 
 up smart," I spread a Bible and read to him 
 such passages as I thought best suited to his 
 shaken wavering frame of mind. I doubt 
 whether his thoughts followed them ; they were 
 probably wandering far back into the past, or 
 turning to his favourite child, for when his 
 eyes moved heavily from his wife's picture, 
 it was to fasten on her living image as she 
 knelt beside him, and then the hard weather- 
 beaten old hand feebly stroked the little one 
 that lay within it. From time to time Ellice 
 or Linda came in with wine or restorative 
 medicines for their father : one or other, indeed.
 
 230 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 always remained in the room to bathe his temples 
 with vinegar and watch the fluctuating shadows 
 on his face; but, except for tlicsc low rustlings, 
 occasional creaking of door, and w^hisper inter- 
 changed between the sisters, the silence was 
 unbroken. 
 
 Thus some hours passed. In the old man's 
 state, I felt that perhaps I was not of much 
 real use, and yet my being there was a comfort 
 to the sisters — two of them, at least, for the 
 third took no cognizance of my presence. Julep 
 came and went. Two serious cases in the 
 village, so he could not stay ; but thouglit, or 
 said he thought, more favourably of his patient 
 in the afternoon. Talked of " tone," " cerebral 
 action," and so on, but left nie painfully un- 
 convinced. Even Mdien the poor old man 
 found strength to thank me in a few words, 
 I did not feel more hopeful : the rough sea-worn 
 voice was so changed and feeble, like a far 
 distant echo of the one I knew. Days — weeks, 
 perhaps, still for him on earth, l)ut they were 
 numbered. 
 
 I had only read a few verses at intervals, 
 fearing to tire him : I now asked whether he
 
 co^'FIDE^^CEs. 237 
 
 would like me to return in the eveninc: and 
 read the Prayers for the Sick with him. He 
 seemed pleased : murmured Avhat, by stooping, 
 I caught to be, 
 
 '' You'll try and persuade her to come, eh? 
 Parson." 
 
 I supposed that he referred to Vanda, and 
 was rather surprised, but answered, " Certainly," 
 though there was evidently no fear of the poor 
 child's leaving her father's side. 
 
 After some necessary visiting among the sick 
 (which Mr. Brigstock, on account of his chil- 
 dren and his wife's instances I believe, gives 
 over entirely to me), I returned to Sunny Cove 
 between seven and eight in the evening. 
 
 " You will find my father better in some 
 respects," said Ellice, though there was a look 
 in her face that almost belied her words ; " his 
 voice stronger, able to sit up and speak, but 
 his head has been wandering. He keeps fancy- 
 ing our mother is outside the door, and will 
 not come in. He entreats her, and will not 
 be pacified, poor dear ! and I think he looks 
 to your coming, Mr. Esdaile, to persuade her 
 to enter, and join in the services of the Church,
 
 1^38 CONFIDKNCES, 
 
 which slie would never do in licr life-time. 
 Tlicn lie mixes it all up with talk of his sea 
 days ; in short, I am afraid he is exciting him- 
 self a great deal too much, and I dread another 
 of those fearful attacks. ... But what is to be 
 done ? It is essential to keep up his strength, 
 not to lower it. Mr. Julep is very clever, I 
 believe ; and, under any circumstances, the ex- 
 pense of sending to London for a physician — 
 I don't know how Ave could pay him; and it 
 would excite my father so terribly if he knew 
 it. You think Mr. Julep clever, don't you?" 
 
 " I have no doubt he is ; and your father's 
 is not a complicated case, I imagine, though a 
 serious one. By-the-bye, would it not be well, 
 on all accounts, to send for his old friend. 
 Colonel Shaddock .'' If your father has left any- 
 thing undone relative to — to matters of busi- 
 ness, he might like to speak confidentially with 
 him. It will make you happier also, to know 
 that his mind is at ease on these points." 
 
 Ellice is not one to start at shadows, when 
 a stern reality is before her. She did not burst 
 into tears at the idea of its being necessary 
 ior her father to make bis AvilL She felt too
 
 CONFIDENCES. 239 
 
 deeply, I am sure, in Whose hands were the 
 issues of life and death, to have any supersti- 
 tious dread of meeting the idea of death half 
 way. She sent for Colonel Shaddock, and led 
 me in the meantime to her father's room. 
 
 He was leaning up in bed, propped by pillows, 
 and turned with feverish anxiety to the door, 
 as I entered. 
 
 " Where is she. Parson ? where is she ? Can't 
 stay long : got my sailing orders, and time nearly 
 up. Bring her in; do now: I've been waiting 
 — waiting — waiting : and now the tide 's begin- 
 ning to ebb, sir. We must heave the anchor. 
 Heave away, boys ! yoy-hoy ." 
 
 His head sank back, and the voice, which 
 had burnt up to something of the old vigour, 
 died suddenly aAvay. I oj)ened the Prayer Book, 
 and knelt down, when he again muttered in a 
 much weaker voice. 
 
 "It's the last time. Van, the last time! I 
 never was much of a hand at praying, but I 
 couldn't bear your Popish mummeries. Can't 
 you pray in our parish church as well as be- 
 fore that bit of wood in your room ? No, no ; 
 the children shan't Come, now; just for
 
 240 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 once, Van. Old Aunt Bell 'cl like to see us in 
 church together, with her god-child too — come ! 
 I'm seldom ashore, and Jack Tar's life is un- 
 certain : perhaps," here his voice was almost 
 inaudible, " we may never meet again, Van — 
 never meet again ! " 
 
 He ran on for a long time thus. His mind 
 was evidently completely unhinged, and, indeed, 
 so it has continued, more or less, all night. 
 Tranquil occasionally, and always conscious of 
 our presence ; but connecting it with scenes 
 and days long passed away, — a coil of shreds 
 and tatters, poor fellow ! 
 
 Colonel Shaddock's arrival was a great relief 
 to me every way. In the first place, the kindly 
 generous old soldier did what I thought it more 
 than possible he icould do, — telegraphed to Lon- 
 don for the best medical advice, for his own 
 private satisfaction, as he said, " not that I 
 would for a moment insinuate that IMr. Julep 
 is not a most able practitioner, sir ; but another 
 opinion is always satisfactory," being almost as 
 sensitive for the little doctor's feelings as Julep 
 
 I could have been himself. Doctor will 
 
 be here this morning by the 11.50 liain. The
 
 CONFIDENCES. 241 
 
 Colonel remained the greater part of the 
 night with his old friend, in case the latter 
 should wish to speak to him relative to his 
 affairs. I also staved on the chance of the 
 sick man's needing me : threw myself on a 
 sofa in the drawing-room^ and from time to 
 time stole up to the door, and held whispered 
 consultations with Ellice. The little cabin was 
 too crowded as it was : anxious daughters glid- 
 ing in and out ; the Colonel in his arm-chair ; 
 the doctor, more grave and anxious since the 
 evening, trying by all means to allay the 
 irritation of the brain. At last, towards morn- 
 ing, by sedatives or otherwise, he fell asleep, 
 and seeing I could be of no immediate service, 
 I returned here for an hour or two. I dare 
 not, alas ! hope for more than that the poor 
 old Admiral may have a few days of unbroken 
 peace to wind up his affairs in this world, and 
 to prepare for his long journey to a better one. 
 Saturday, September llth, Ten o'clock, a.m. — 
 It is all over. Happily, as the poor orphan girls 
 will one day believe, though now they are 
 overwhelmed with their sudden sorrow. He 
 never could have recovered to be himself again, 
 
 16
 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 I understand. Had he lived his life would 
 have been a melancholy burthen. Bed-ridden, 
 certainly, the doctors say, and his mind so 
 mucli impaired, that probably much trial and 
 suffering in all ways have been spared to his 
 children, by God's mercy. Still the blow is 
 no less severely felt — as it is meant to be. 
 Heaven forbid that Christian philosophy should 
 ever steel our hearts against aiHiction, and it 
 has been a heart-rendins: sicrht to watch the 
 fading hope in that little household from hour 
 to hour. The London doctor came down on 
 Wednesday. From that time we all knew the 
 
 fate of the poor old Admiral. Doctor 
 
 did not hold out any deceptive hopes, though 
 only to the Colonel did he speak unreservedly. 
 He confirmed all Julep's views, spoke in the 
 highest terms of his treatment, and left us in 
 a couple of hours : Julep, of course, much 
 gratified, and us with the melancholy satisfac- 
 tion, that all that mortal skill could do, had 
 been done. The result was in God's hands, 
 and every little symptom was eagerly watched 
 during this and the following days. To the 
 Colonel and myself it was clear, indeed, but
 
 C'OiNFIDElSCES. 243 
 
 the poor girls clung to their hopes almost to 
 the very last. For one thing we must be for 
 ever thankful. The cloud which hung over 
 the dying man's mind, obscuring the sense of 
 his present state with confused images of the 
 past, was dispersed some hours previous to 
 his death, enabling him not only to give clear 
 directions as to his temporal affairs, but to 
 devote his thoughts to the more important 
 future. 
 
 ***** 
 
 He died very peacefully ; his heart, I truly 
 believe, is in charity with all men. 
 
 Honest simple old sailor ! Type of a race 
 that is growing rarer every day, since the 
 universal schoolmaster has boarded ship, and 
 turns out our " naval cadet" an accomplished 
 man of letters, before whom the Admirals of 
 Nelson's time might have stood abashed. I 
 do not object : far otherwise ; but the peculi- 
 arities of the old English sailor are lost in 
 the change, and there is something of rough 
 tenderness in the character, which was always 
 attractive to me from a boy. Poor old Admiral I 
 I shall think of him with regret for many a
 
 ^'44 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 clay. Not over-wise, perhaps, in any relation 
 of life ; ovcr-indulgcnt husband and father ; 
 dearly loving his bottle of port ; reckless in 
 money (as I fear) ; but withal large-hearted, 
 manly, and attaching. His love and constant 
 recollection of his wife — living again in her 
 likeness, Vanda — was to me almost poetical, 
 in that brown weather-stained old man. The 
 last words from him that were audible (the 
 cloud fell partly on him again at last) were 
 low mutterings to " make haste, for the tide 
 is ebbing fast. Heave the anchor, and bring 
 her head round, boys. A fair wind — and it 
 ain't a long voyage, Van — so good-bye, my 
 girl, and take care of yourself and of — the — 
 little— little— one " 
 
 His hand was on that " little one's" head, 
 and thus the old man fell asleep last night at 
 twelve o'clock. 
 
 Saturday Afternoon, Six o"" clock. — Vanda's 
 grief is of that wild savage kind that refuses 
 any comfort. Poor Julc]i, who has felt and 
 shown a real sympathy with them all, was 
 mufh discomfited when, after the commonplaces 
 ubual at these occasions, Vanda fiercely turned
 
 CONFIDENCES. 245 
 
 round on him, and in reply to the remonstrance 
 that she was injuring her health, desired him 
 to leave her. What could he or anyone know 
 of her sorrow ? The only creature on earth 
 who cared for her was gone. And so on. The 
 others, as might be expected, take their bereave- 
 ment differently : Ellice's brave heart gave way 
 at first, after the long tension of her nerves, but 
 she has regained something of her accustomed 
 self-control this afternoon ; she feels there is 
 so much to be done, and she alone to do it. 
 Would I had the right to lift up this and 
 all other burthens through life, and help her 
 bear them : but I have not. Well, well, 
 patience ! But it is hard to see one we love 
 devotedly, suffering as she is, and not say out 
 boldly, "■ Let me share your sorrows." My 
 heart bled to hear her broken voice, saying, 
 
 " It is so desolate to look forward, Mr. Esdaile. 
 I see so many dark clouds a-head, and to meet 
 them all single-handed ! . . . He was such a 
 tender, good father " 
 
 So he was ; and I loved her far better for 
 forgetting how little the poor old Admiral had 
 ever helped her in her struggles with Vanda.
 
 246 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Yes ! she has probably many a hard and nn- 
 gratcful task in store ; but that brave, patient 
 heart, leaning on something yet surer for its 
 strength, will carry her through every trial that 
 He may see fit to appoint. 
 
 Colonel Shaddock is sole executor of the will. 
 Thoughtful for everything, uniting a soldier's 
 precision with almost woman's delicacy of feel- 
 ing, he has made the necessary arrangements 
 for the funeral, etc., even down to the girls' 
 mourning, having sent, as he told me, to the 
 neighbouring town for a dressmaker. Feeling 
 I had no right or excuse to remain at Sunny 
 Cove (as I longed from my heart to do), since 
 my services must now yield to the Colonel's, 
 I have only called there occasionally in the 
 course of the day, to learn how the poor girls 
 were. 
 
 I have just heard accidentally that the Ash- 
 fords are off for Paris in a few days, and that 
 Count Bismark has left the Castle. I am not 
 surprised. In Vanda's present state, his remain- 
 ing was lost time. Yet I am glad : he must 
 always be a dangerous, never a profitable, neigh- 
 bour to any of us. During the last few days
 
 CONFIDENCES. 247 
 
 I have hardly had time to think of him, except 
 remotely, as of an evil warded oiF for the pre- 
 sent, and become distant. To Ellice, in all her 
 trouble, of course I said nothing of the heavy 
 secret I had in my heart to tell her, before 
 the storm-cloud of her sorrow burst. Time 
 enough for that, and all contingent evils here- 
 after. 
 
 Friday Night, Vlth Septemher. — The funeral 
 took place to-day. The three girls followed 
 their father to his grave, and it was touching 
 to see the crowds of poor who were gathered 
 in the churchyard to testify their sympathy and 
 respect. Scattered about among the graves, 
 where probably each one €ould point to the 
 resting-place of some of his kindred, they leaned 
 on the lichen-covered stones, or talked in low 
 voices over grassy mounds, waiting for that 
 melancholy procession as it slowly wound its 
 way up to the gate. I was glad, for once, that 
 Mr. Brigstock read the service. I could re- 
 main unnoticed in the background, with my 
 eyes fixed on that trembling black hood and 
 the little white handkerchief pressed convul- 
 sively to the mouth. No sound — no wail ! . . . 
 
 \
 
 348 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 But as the body was lowered and the earth 
 was closing over it, the tallest, slightest of those 
 three black hoods sprang suddenly forward and 
 leant over, held firmly back, though by another's 
 hand. 
 
 That was all. There we left him, under the 
 shadow of the unchanging yews ; a green and 
 peaceful spot, such as the old sailor, M-hen 
 tempest-tost, little thought perhaps ever to reach, 
 and may have longed wistfully for, instead of 
 the "heavy-shotted hammock shroud." Ah, 
 well ! to him it is now all one ; but to those 
 who are left behind, the certainty that those 
 few feet of ground cover all that remains of 
 him here is not an indifferent thing. He does 
 not seem quite gone, if they can steal up hither 
 in the quicL sunsets, and know that he is close 
 to them. Poor human nature ! so it is. Hard 
 to separate the spiritual from the perishing clay, 
 even to the very last. 
 
 I was asked as a friend to be present at the 
 opening of the will. It was short enough. The 
 Admiral had saved very little; the principle 
 source of his income had been his half-pay ; 
 and as he was careless in money matters, it
 
 CONFIDENCES. 249 
 
 appears that a number of small debts have accu- 
 mulated, which, when paid, will leave but a 
 very slender income for the girls. Even in 
 their small household there must be reduction, 
 so Colonel Shaddock informs me, adding, 
 
 "You see what I should like, would be to 
 beg the poor young ladies to come and make 
 their homes under my roof — plenty of room, 
 sir, and no inconvenience to me. But all things 
 considered, I doubt whether it isn't better, 
 kinder, to let them remain where they are, 
 and look after them there, as well as I can. 
 You see, sir, this is a censorious world, and 
 though I'm an old fellow, it's as well not to 
 let ill-disposed persons have the opportunity to 
 say malicious things, for the young ladies' sakes." 
 
 I declared with warmth that it was impos- 
 sible any one in Ashford could find it in their 
 hearts to say anything malicious about him ; 
 but he interrupted me. 
 
 " When you have lived as long as I have, 
 Mr. Esdaile, you'll find it wiser never to brave 
 the world's opinion, except when you can't help 
 it. I trust to God, sir, I shall never shrink 
 from doing what I believe to be right, for fear
 
 1250 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 of the world ; but we mustn't provoke its tongue 
 unnecessarily, sir, especially when the ladies are 
 concerned." 
 
 The neighbours, forgetting any little differ- 
 ences, have one and all come forward to testify 
 their sympathy with the poor girls. Sir Richard, 
 the Squire, his sons, and every gentleman in 
 the neighbourhood, attended the funeral; and 
 even Mrs. Stapylton, I hear, has sent kind 
 messages of inquiry. Nay, to the honour of 
 human nature, be it said, the Halliday girls 
 offered to help make their rivals' mourning 
 (having high mantua-making abilities, it seems) ; 
 and jNIiss Clcmmy showed more of woman's 
 tenderness to-day, when speaking of the Mon- 
 tacutes, than I had thought her capable of. 
 
 Thursday, 30ih September. — Vanda is very 
 ill. In addition to her sisters' other troubles, 
 they have this anxiety. After much persuasion, 
 she consented to see Julep, and he could not, 
 of course, refrain from observing that he had 
 told her so — he hieio how it icould he, and other 
 retributive remarks of a like consolatory nature. 
 He thinks her chest delicate, but says that with 
 care she will soon be well.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 251 
 
 The cow is to be sold, the gardener who 
 looked after it dismissed, and Linda must take 
 his place, she says : perhaps the more occupa- 
 tion each of them now can find the better. 
 Some Indian screens, a cabinet and other foreign 
 objects of value, were to have been sent to 
 London for sale ; but the Colonel discovered 
 that they were what he had long wanted, so 
 he has become the purchaser (at a fabulous 
 price) ; and now, with amusing naivete, he begs 
 that they may remain at Sunny Cove "for the 
 present," as his drawing-room is not yet ready 
 to receive them, — nor ever will be ! The kindly 
 little ruse does not of course deceive any one ; 
 but EUice knows it would wound the old gen- 
 tleman to seem to see through it ; and she has 
 the wisdom, I believe, to discriminate between 
 that right kind of pride that struggles through 
 every difficulty to independence, and the false 
 pride that rejects all help from those keenly 
 interested in our welfare. So she will continue 
 to receive daily that basket of cream, eggs, and 
 butter, and she will feign a belief in the diffi- 
 culty of finding a market for such commodities, 
 which the Colonel's delicacy prompts him to
 
 i<J52 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 hint vaguely. He seems to have a new interest 
 in life, since he can be of use to these deso- 
 late girls. Captain EUice, who is his co-trustee, 
 was prevented by severe illness in Scotland from 
 coming down to the funeral. He is a kind- 
 hearted man, and would do all he could for 
 the children of his old chum ; but not wise, 
 though he has lived so much in the world- 
 It is well, therefore, that he is content to leave 
 everything in the hands of his colleague, 
 
 I called on Mrs. Morley yesterday, and told 
 her all that had happened. She seemed much 
 relieved to hear of the Count's departure. His 
 presence here has hung like a black cloud over 
 her, ready to burst at any moment, since that 
 Sunday ; and she has never ventured, of course, 
 to church. 
 
 I saw Philip Stapylton to-day. He tells mc 
 that Jack felt the Admiral's death very much ; 
 but has only seen Linda once since, his father 
 having positively forbidden him to go to Sunny 
 Cove, and he cannot bear to exasperate the 
 Squire, who is in very indifferent health. 
 
 " Jack has a good heart, Esdailc," said I'hilip ; 
 *' and if he only has the strength to stick to
 
 COKFIDENCES. 
 
 253 
 
 the girl he really loves through thick and thin, 
 all may still turn out well." 
 Aye, if he have the strength ! 
 November 4th. — Yesterday, as I was crossing 
 the Common I saw a dark figure in the distance, 
 defined against the clear grey autumn sky, 
 which I immediately recognised and hastened 
 to overtake. It is by these chance meetings 
 now that I indemnify myself for the rareness 
 of my visits to Sunny Cove. Easy enough 
 to give plausible reasons for going there : cheat 
 others, perhaps myself, into the belief that it 
 is my "pastoral duty." I dare not tamper 
 with the danger. Only, through the Colonel, 
 I manage to have daily tidings of her well- 
 being; but when accident brings us together, 
 then I hold myself free to enjoy the delight 
 of her loved presence. She is always kind and 
 friendly : has a certain grateful regard for my 
 small services, and what I suppose must be 
 called a respect for me. Would, alas ! that 
 her manner were more distant and reserved 
 than it is. There might then be some chance 
 for me. I ask myself over and over again 
 what there is in this woman that draws me
 
 ^.'54 CONFIUENCES. 
 
 towards her l)eyon(l ;iiiy 1 liavc ever seen or 
 dreamed of,' She has so few of the faults or 
 follies men love in women : and she is apparently 
 the only thing wo never pardon — cold. But 
 is not the heart of an undemonstrative woman 
 by far the deepest and the strongest ? Because 
 it gives no sign of passionate life, is that a 
 reason why its pulses are frozen for ever ? 
 
 I overtook her and we shook hands. I asked 
 how Van da was ? 
 
 " ]Much better, only a little cough left. Mrs. 
 Stapylton, hearing she had been ill, wrote and 
 asked her to go with them to Brighton for 
 change of air. The Squire is ill, you know. 
 It was kindly meant, no doubt, but of course 
 Vanda did n 't accept." 
 
 "Why, of course? I should have thought 
 it the best thing for her in every way, — change 
 of scene to divert her thoughts a little," 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Ellice, with an ex- 
 pression of face that I have rarely seen, that 
 reminded me of her youngest sister, "but I 
 should be the last person to advise Vanda to 
 accept^ the hospitality of anyone who has behaved 
 as Mrs. Stapylton has done to us. I dare say
 
 CONFIDENCES. 255 
 
 there is every excuse to be made for her. No 
 doubt Jack's marrying Linda would be very- 
 imprudent, and a mother^ naturally, I dare 
 say, uses all her influence to prevent it : still 
 I cannot but feel that my sister has been very 
 hardly used." 
 
 " And so you are decidedly against ' imprudent 
 marriages,' as they are called. Miss Montacute V 
 I asked with some curiosity, after a pause. The 
 answer was not satisfactory. 
 
 " It entirely depends on the tastes and habits 
 of life. All general rules are absurd. No 
 one knows what poverty is till they have tried 
 it." 
 
 I was silent, and in a minute or two she 
 continued, 
 
 "Vanda, poor child, can ill stand it. All 
 the little details of close economy irritate and 
 worry her to the last degree. Indeed, her 
 health is of far less moment, I think, than the 
 state of her mind. A sullen despondency has 
 taken hold of her. She sits, her eyes fixed on 
 the fire, and cannot or will not employ her- 
 self in any way. Linda and I am obliged to 
 lead a very different life, as you may believe.
 
 on 
 
 56 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 God knows wc feel the loss of our clear father 
 deeply, but the hard actual present, Mr. Esdaile, 
 does not admit of vain repinings for the past. 
 Life is made up of to-days. I -wish my sister 
 could be brought to see this : but it is difficult. 
 I have even suggested to her the possibility 
 of our all having to do something to gain a 
 livelihood by-and-bye — wc hardly know how 
 far our reduced income will carry us yet ; 
 but it only makes her angry, and these dis- 
 cussions do harm, I'm afraid, instead of good," 
 
 That there should be discussions at all between 
 them, at such a time, is sad. If their common 
 grief has not produced unity, how will this 
 wayward girl and her sisters live together in 
 any peace or comfort hereafter? 
 
 We had reached that portion of the Common 
 where the Stapylton woods adjoin it, with their 
 fringing of gorse and brushwood. The broad 
 sandy high road crosses the property here, and 
 into this we now emerged, just as the baying 
 of the hounds and a horn among the woods 
 told us that the hunt was not far distant. Ellice 
 hastened her pace along the road towards Ash- 
 ford, naturally unwilling to meet a number of
 
 CONFIDENCES. 257 
 
 acquaintances ; but the horn and the yelping 
 grew nearer and nearer, and now we could 
 distinguish the scarlet coats, the white and liver- 
 coloured hounds sparkling among the bare 
 boughs and withered ferns. What sight prettier, 
 were we in the mood to stay and watch them? 
 But we only think of getting away ; of not 
 being overtaken and surrounded by a knot of 
 merry sportsmen, when, unfortunately, it seems 
 one has already spied us, and is cantering across 
 through briar and brake, to intercept us, while 
 his companions ride more leisurely down the 
 cover-side. It is Jack, taking the road-side 
 ditch in gallant style, and riding up, his face 
 all a-glow. Clearly he is neither thinner, nor 
 paler, for his crossings in love, and can ride 
 to hounds as well as ever. 
 
 " Caught sight of you and Esdaile, and just 
 come over, Ellice, to tell you we are off to 
 Brighton to-morrow. Governor very seedy. 
 Wrote to Liu last night : did she get my letter ? 
 Tell her that I shall be running up here again 
 before long, to look after the farm, of course ; 
 and don't you let her be down in the mouth, 
 Ellice. I say, fixncy, it's the first time Mrs. S. 
 
 17
 
 258 tONl-'IDENCES. 
 
 has been away from home lor God knows how 
 many years ; never was on a rail in her life : 
 but of course she couldn't let the Governor go 
 ■without her now ; and, by Jove ! she was very 
 near making liim post the whole way, only Phil 
 prudently observed it M'ould cost as much as 
 his half-year's allowance. How 's Van ? Been 
 in any of her tantrums lately ? Mrs. S. is sorry 
 she won't go with her ; looked on it as an 
 amende Jionorahlc, and knew there was no chance 
 of my flirting with Van. Mrs. S. declares, too, 
 she's "a very discreet young woman." What 
 do you say to that, Ellice ? Anything '11 go 
 down with her but Lin, in fact. Well, never 
 mind ! when things are at their worst, they must 
 mend, I suppose ; so, in the words of the poet, 
 I never let my pecker go down. Something '11 
 turn up, perhaps — eh ? So good-bye, Ellice. 
 God bless you ; and give Lin lots of love. Good- 
 bye, Esdaile." 
 
 And away he trotted down the road, waving 
 his hand : as light, careless, but good-hearted 
 a fellow as ever breathed. 
 
 The conversation on our way home was de- 
 sultory enough. Ellice was prc-occupicd. I
 
 CONFIDENCES. 259 
 
 do not think the interview with Jack had done 
 much to cheer her ; but she did not allude to 
 him, or to what he had said. At last the plea- 
 sure of walking silently by her side even, came 
 to an end. At the gate of Sunny Cove, I bade 
 her good-bye, and turned home. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I have just heard what has given me more 
 pleasure than any piece of news for many a 
 day. John Hurst tells me that he expects his 
 wife to be confined in a couple of months. If 
 it please God that the child live, this will be 
 the greatest consolation to them both for the 
 loss of that other little one. John seems to 
 me a changed man; his energies roused, his 
 good and tender feelings awakened, ever since 
 that dastardly assault on his wife. Another 
 cause for his anxiety at the time now becomes 
 apparent : it never occurred to me then. 
 
 "I ha' n't no fears for her. Parson; she's 
 a brave lass is my Nelly, and got well over 
 that fright she got, nigh upon two months 
 agone — you remember, sir. Well, there's the 
 crib a-waiting all ready for him now, as soon 
 as he likes to come. Somehow, I be less down
 
 260 CONFIDKNCKS. 
 
 when I looks at it now, Parson," and the honest 
 fellow's face bore testimony to his words. 
 Novejnher oOth. — 
 
 <Tw(ovcra koAAos, 
 
 Helen crops only the tips of her hair as a 
 c^ricf-ofFering on Clytemnestra's tomb, which the 
 lynx-eyed Elcctra (and every other woman) 
 perceives. Miss Tarragon stopped me in th& 
 street yesterday to call my attention to Vanda 
 Montacute and her attire, as she crossed the 
 way just opposite. Brilliant, beautiful, and 
 clearly not neglectful of her appearance, in 
 spite of her recent sorrow. Ara])litude of 
 crinoline, hair carefully crimped with net of 
 black beads, surmounted by black Spanish hat, 
 and her cheek of a brighter carnation flush 
 than before her illness. She has still a short 
 hard cough, which makes me regret seeing her 
 out so late this damp day : but she resented 
 my saying so, and her manner is more strange, 
 I think, than ever. Unnaturally defiant and 
 repulsive in one so young and who has recently 
 known so much suffering, though every now
 
 OONFIDENCFS. 261 
 
 and then I fancy there is an internal struggle 
 going on, and that, on some false principle, 
 poor girl, she nerves herself to beat down and 
 trample under foot every softening influence. 
 I would not be repelled to-day, but walked 
 alongside of her, as though I did not perceive 
 her evident desire to be alone. I tried to draw 
 her into something more than casual street- 
 conversation ; to touch the secret spring that 
 might awaken into life some slumbering impulses 
 for good ; her life being still, as I learn, a 
 waste of passionate regrets, followed by long 
 fits of obstinate and sullen listlessness. My 
 efforts were vain ; she only responded very 
 curtly. The talking was all on one side. She 
 was going to the post-office : I said I also would 
 pass round that way and see if the second 
 post had brought me anything. By so doing 
 one gets one's letters nearly an hour sooner 
 than by waiting for the tardy delivery of the 
 Postman. Except in cases of emergency, how- 
 ever, or should chance lead one near the office 
 at this hour, the custom of Ashford is patiently 
 to abide its time. That Vanda should be at 
 the trouble of walking three-quarters of a mile
 
 262 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 to receive her letters personally, struck me as 
 singular; and why should she be accompanied 
 by neither of her sisters ? 
 
 When we reached the Office (by which time 
 Vanda was extremely irritable and had snubbed 
 me repeatedly) the woman looked out from an 
 inner shop, and seeing us, Avithout asking further 
 questions, handed a letter to Vanda. My eyes, 
 which are very quick, caught a glimpse of the 
 superscription as the latter received and hurried 
 it into her pocket, and I thought — but I cannot 
 feel sure — that it resembled a small cramped 
 handwriting I had seen before. As I had no 
 longer an excuse for inflicting my society upon 
 the young lady, so obviously against her wish, 
 we parted at the door of the Post-office, and 
 I walked home. 
 
 To-day, as I met Ellice at the school, I had 
 an opportunity of settling my doubts upon 
 one point, and of determining what my line 
 of conduct should be thereupon. 
 
 ** Excuse me. Miss Montacute," I said, " if 
 I ask what seems an impertinent question. 
 The confidence you have more than once re- 
 posed in me — and of which, 1 trust, you will
 
 CONFIDENCES. 263 
 
 never find me unworthy — prompts me to do 
 so. Did you receive any letters by yesterday 
 afternoon's post? and how did they come?" 
 
 She stared, but answered at once, 
 
 " I had two letters, — brought by the Postman : 
 one from Captain EUice, and one " 
 
 "Pardon me. I was only anxious to know 
 whether you had received amj letters — and 
 through the ordinary channel. My reason is 
 this. Your sister Vanda, I am afraid, has 
 engaged herself in some foolish correspondence, 
 which she is afraid you may discover. She 
 gives directions at the Post-office, I have now 
 no doubt, that letters directed to her are to 
 be left till called for — not sent up with yours 
 to Sunny Cove. It is well you should know 
 this. Your own good sense will direct you 
 how best to proceed in this difficult matter. 
 With your sister's character, any violent oppo- 
 sition must be dangerous, I know." 
 
 "Most dangerous," said Ellice, her cheek 
 flushing, " but there are principles of right 
 and wrong that must not be tampered with. 
 If this thing actually he — but no, I cannot 
 believe it ! "
 
 264 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Thereupon, seeing t]\at her suspicions pointed 
 in the same direction as my own, I felt bound 
 to tell her that sad dismal story, which since 
 Bismark's departure I have been hoping miglit 
 remain unsaid. It has now become an im- 
 perative duty — if there be so much as a chance 
 of Vanda's intercourse with that bad man being 
 still unbroken — that she herself and all those 
 dear to her should be enlightened as to his 
 character and history. I told EUice, therefore, 
 as briefly as I could, but plainly, omitting all 
 names, the story of that life, — one of the many, 
 probably, that have been blighted by him. I 
 felt like a surgeon performing a cruel operation. 
 She winced under it, dear girl : the bare thought 
 of such things connected with her sister ; and 
 then the scenes with that sister which she knew 
 must follow, the passionate tears, the bitter- 
 ness and indignation — and he only in his grave 
 two short months ! 
 
 " God give mo strength to guide her ! " she 
 murmured. 
 
 Christmas Eve. — When I returned home late 
 this afternoon, I found a message, telling me 
 that Mrs. Hurst was confined — a full month
 
 CONFIDENCES. 266 
 
 before it was expected. They wished the child 
 to be baptized immediately, as Julep feared it 
 would not live. This was sad news. I hastened 
 to the cottage, and found John nursing the 
 tiniest brown baby I ever beheld, examining it 
 with great curiosity, and asking Julep every 
 five minutes how he thought it was getting 
 on? Better than he at first expected, — every 
 prospect now of its living, opines that great 
 authority. Nevertheless, as the Parson is here, 
 just to ease Nelly's mind, it may as well be 
 baptized, says John ; and the ceremony is per- 
 formed. Nelly, meanwhile, white and still under 
 the shadow of the bed-curtain, is just able to 
 move her grey eyes heavily towards me, and 
 thank me with a smile as they lay her baby 
 on her breast. Christmas Eve has brought its 
 good tidings to her. I knelt down and said 
 a prayer for that little household, to which 
 one has now been added; and I prayed, above 
 all, that John might be able to sing in his 
 heart, " Glory to God in the highest, and on 
 earth peace, good will towards men." 
 
 A pale watery moon was rising behind the 
 cottage as I stepped out into the mild evening
 
 266 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 air. But before I reached home a little inci- 
 dent occurred suggestive of different thoughts 
 to those pure and peaceful ones belonging to 
 the scene I had just quitted. The sound of 
 the village viraits came up merrily as I Avalked 
 down the hill; and, tempted by the warmness 
 of the evening (and perhaps by something which 
 need not here be chronicled), I turned out of 
 my direct road into the lane, at the entrance 
 of which the windows of Sunny Cove gleamed 
 out into the darkness. Now this lane leads 
 round the villasre and debouches at the further 
 end, where stands the Priory. So, after look- 
 ing up for some minutes at one of the windows 
 in that little cottage, I strode on under the 
 Priory wall, taking this circuit homewards. 
 
 Many thoughts crowded on my brain. Above 
 all, a sadness to think that the harmony of this 
 holy season should be marred by discords and 
 strife in that household of sisters. Then arose 
 also visions of a possible future, when one of 
 them should be havened from the storm. The 
 pale moon over the quickset hedge opposite 
 rose higher and higher, the upper shoots and 
 brambles now telling darkly against its silver
 
 CONFIDENCES. 267 
 
 disk. And as I walked along, I became con- 
 scious of two figures in front of me, on whom 
 I perceptibly gained, as they paced slowly under 
 the shadow of the hedge. Finally they stopped 
 altogether, perhaps at the sound of approach- 
 ing footsteps, and in another minute I was along- 
 side of them. The woman — for one was a 
 woman, I could see that, in the shadow where 
 they stood — then turned sharp round, and swiftly 
 walked, almost ran, down the lane, still keep- 
 ing under the hedge. She was muffled in a 
 veil and long cloak : impossible to distinguish 
 either face or figure. 
 
 One thing alone startled me : when she was 
 some yards distant, I heard a short, dry, 
 smothered cough. 
 
 The man had walked rapidly away in the 
 opposite direction ; and I hod caught a mo- 
 mentary glimpse of his face, which did not 
 seem wholly unfamiliar to me. A great deal 
 of black hair, and an assumption of the brigand 
 about his general appearance. "Where was it 
 I had seen him before ? Certainly we have 
 nothing answering this description in Ashford. 
 I felt more than curious, anxious, to discover
 
 268 
 
 COXFIDKNCES, 
 
 who this man was, and I hurried my pace as 
 much as possible without seeming actually to 
 dojT his steps. I kept him in sight until the 
 corner of the lane ; but when I turned into 
 the village street, he was gone : no trace of 
 him anywhere. I even acted on the impulse 
 of the moment, and inquired at each of the 
 inns what travellers are staying there, but with 
 no satisfactory results. 
 
 And now that I am at home, and writing 
 quietly by my fireside, it seems strange that I 
 should have been excited by such an ordinary 
 incident. A clandestine meeting in a lane is 
 no rare occurrence. Nor are coughs in Decem- 
 ber very uncommon. Why did I not follow 
 that figure when it turned back towards Sunny 
 Cove ? Without giving it chase, which would 
 hardly have been justified by the circumstances, 
 I could not have done so. Then as to flashy 
 black-whiskered strangers, the Great Western 
 is near enough to account for any number. 
 No, I was clearly mistaken. When I come 
 to think over it calmly, there is not a shadow 
 of ground for supposing it to be Vanda. And 
 even were it likely that Bis mark should be in
 
 CONFIDENCES. 269 
 
 the neighbourhood, this man in no way, either 
 as to height or colouring, resembled him. The 
 correspondence between Vanda and the Count 
 we have every reason to hope has been stopped. 
 Letters, on the Colonel's authority, intercepted, 
 and returned unopened. Writing on the young 
 lady's side peremptorily interdicted. Not until 
 every other means had failed, was this extreme 
 measure resorted to. Indeed, things have come 
 to a deplorable pass between the sisters, — stormy 
 scenes, passionate recrimination, and reproach, 
 in which my poor Ellice has been severely 
 tried, until the Colonel's authority at length 
 interfered. He spoke to me on the subject 
 yesterday, and we agreed that, in the present 
 state of feeling, a temporary separation between 
 the sisters would be well. The Colonel has 
 a sister resident at Bath, to whom he has written, 
 asking her to invite Vanda, on a visit of a 
 couple of months. As this sister is a sensible 
 and cheerful woman, perhaps the change may 
 do Vanda good in all ways. We must hope 
 so. In the meantime, the Colonel has been 
 attacked with his old enemy — gout, and is con- 
 fined to his bed, a little cross at being kept
 
 270 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 prisoner just at this moment, when the affairs 
 at Sunny Cove demand his personal attention 
 and care. I must see him to-morrow. If, in- 
 deed, my vague suspicion of to-night were cor- 
 roborated, then uoukl this business begin to 
 wear an alarming aspect. God forbid that it 
 be so ! 
 
 May this Christmas Eve, which brings its 
 glad tidings to so many, herald in a year of 
 peace to my beloved! May the rough places 
 be made smooth, the sore wounds healed and 
 forgotten ! 
 
 Christmas Day. — I have seen Ellice for a 
 moment. Vanda was not in church. E. says 
 she looks very ill, and is in a state of feverish 
 excitement and irritability : remains in her 
 room the greater part of the day, and scarcely 
 speaks to her sisters. 
 
 Called on the Colonel: very suffering, poor 
 old gentleman, and quite unable to move from 
 his bed. Has sent his servant to make every 
 inquiry (with caution) relative to the stranger 
 I saw last night. If he is in the village we 
 shall hear more of him. The Colonel, however, 
 agrees in thinking I must have been mistaken
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 271 
 
 as to Vanda. But he is uneasy about her, 
 and is anxious now to get her to Bath as soon 
 as possible. 
 
 ^Ith December, 3Io?iday Night, Twelve o'clock. 
 — There is no train for another hour. Good 
 God ! how slowly the last three have gone ! 
 I cannot taste the supper my good Sally has 
 set on the table; but while she is fastening 
 my portmanteau I seize this book, and must 
 try to arrange my thoughts — which will need 
 method and composure — by noting briefly the 
 events of this evening. 
 
 It was past eight o'clock when I was roused 
 by a sharp hurried knock at the hall-door. 
 I pushed away my chair and book from the 
 fire, and was on the stairs as Sally opened the 
 door, letting in a gust of wind and rain, and 
 with it a woman's figure. Her cloak was 
 dripping and so was the heavy veil which she 
 threw back as she entered. The candle flared 
 in her face — it was Ellice ! I ran down, seized 
 her hand, and implored her to tell me what 
 was the matter. It was nearly a minute before 
 she could speak. Her face was deadly pale 
 and had a fixed expression : the tongue seemed
 
 272 CONl'IDF.XCES, 
 
 to cleave to the roof of her mouth. At last, 
 in a low hoarse voice, she gasped out the 
 single word, 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 She clung hold of the banisters : then sank 
 down on the lowest steps of the stair and 
 buried her face in her hands, Sally had Avith- 
 drawn : we were alone. 
 
 " For God's sake, Ellice — Miss Montacute, 
 speak," I said ; " it cannot be — you do not 
 mean " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she moaned ; " gone, gone for 
 ever:" then suddenly starting up and looking 
 imploringly into my face, she said hurriedly, 
 " You are my only hope, Mr. Esdaile. Go 
 after her : bring her back, ere it be too late . , . 
 no — no — tcheneweT, /lowexei, bring her back ! — 
 only bring her back, poor unhajDpy child ! This 
 is what 1 have come for." 
 
 " 1 will go anywhere — all the Asorld over for 
 you. Only tell me wliat you know : a\ hen — 
 how was it?" 
 
 " She went out walking at three and she never 
 returned." 
 
 "When did you discover she was gone?"
 
 CONFIDENCES. 273 
 
 " Not till half-an-hour ago. Her door was 
 locked — so it has generally been lately. We 
 knocked several times : asked her to come to 
 dinner ; no answer, and at last we got alarmed, 
 had the door burst open, and found these 
 lines on the table." 
 
 I seized the crumpled piece of paper from her 
 trembling hand. It contained these words : — 
 
 " We could never live together in peace. 
 Forget me. Henceforward, / am dead for you 
 in this world. Believe this, and do not attempt 
 to discover me. You will not succeed. 
 
 " Vanda." 
 I looked into Ellice's face. 
 "Was I too hard with her, Mr. Esdaile ?" 
 she murmured. 
 
 " No. God knows that you were not, dear 
 Miss Montacute. Poor wretched girl ! But 
 there is no time to be lost. Do you know 
 anything more of her?" 
 
 " Nothing : but that she was met walking 
 alone on the London road." 
 
 " The up-train leaves at four. If she went 
 by that, as I suppose, she is in town by this 
 time. Have you seen Colonel Shaddock?" 
 
 18
 
 214: CONFIDENCES. 
 
 (t 
 
 I came to you first, as he is ill in bed, 
 and cannot move." 
 
 "I must go to him at once: that's the first 
 thing. There is no telegraph, unfortunately, 
 nearer than Dorminster. Too late : no use 
 now. The next train is at one in the morning. 
 "We must make every possible enquiry in the 
 meantime. I will be with you in one moment." 
 
 Presently we dashed up the street, against 
 the driving rain, EUice's arm in mine. The 
 Colonel's servant didn't hesitate to let us in. 
 No time for ceremony : T followed him at once 
 into the Colonel's bed-room, without waiting to 
 be announced ; EUice left below in the parlor. 
 Our consultation was brief and decided. I 
 told him tlic little we knew, and he agreed 
 that there was but one course. As he was 
 unable to stir, I should hasten to London in 
 his place, armed with a magistrate's warrant, 
 which he made out (A^mda being his ward 
 and under age), and the detectives should in- 
 stantly be communicated with. In the mean- 
 time he despatched his servant to the Police- 
 station, desiring that they would set every 
 inquiry on foot, and trace, if possible, the
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 275 
 
 direction the fugitive had taken. Promising 
 to return for Ellice, I then set off for the 
 Rectory as hard as I coukl. Found Mr. Brig- 
 stock at tea: Mrs. B. with the eldest child 
 there. Drew the Rector aside and told him 
 briefly the state of the case. He seemed — and 
 I 'm sure really was — heartily sorry, but when 
 it came to the question of my going in pursuit 
 of the unfortunate girl, his confirmed pomposity 
 got the better of him and he began to hum 
 and haw. As this was not a moment to mince 
 matters, I then plainly said that I held the 
 duty of trying to recover this poor wandering 
 sheep — which owing to circumstances had de- 
 volved peculiarly on me, a clergyman and an 
 intimate friend — this duty, I say, was to me 
 so paramount that all others for the moment 
 bowed before it. If I were not back in a 
 few days, I undertook to promise that Brere- 
 ton, who has so often offered to take my diity, 
 would come down here. The Rector consented 
 to this, and we parted amicably. There was 
 yet another visit to be paid. It suddenly oc- 
 curred to me that I might obtain some useful 
 hint from Mrs. Morley, as to where I should
 
 270 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 be likely to find that scoundrel Bismark (to 
 whom my thoughts of course turned first), on 
 arriving in London. I had a few minutes' in- 
 terview with her. She deplored that her pre- 
 dictions had been too well verified : she gave 
 mc every assistance that she could, — one, above 
 all, that I may find of inestimable value, per- 
 haps : also his ordinary address — his club and 
 general resorts. I then left her, and returned 
 to Ellice. She was pacing up and down the 
 room with agitated steps. 
 
 " Mr. Esdaile," she said immediately I en- 
 tered, " cannot I go with you ? I feel as if 
 some instinct would lead me to her, and that 
 no one else will find her. You don't know, 
 you can't tell the agony of my mind. It seems 
 now as if our poor father were calling on me 
 to answer for her, his darling, and that I have 
 somehow abused his dying trust. I was too 
 harsh, and I ought never to have left her. 
 What were a few passionate words ? I should 
 have borne everything from her ! " 
 
 And the agitation of the dear girl at last 
 found vent in a passionate burst of tears. I 
 was glad of this natural relief, and did not
 
 CONFIDENCES. 277 
 
 attempt to stop her sobs. It was very unlike 
 the cahn, self-possessed EUice Montacute I was 
 accustomed to see and believe in ; but the horror 
 of this event had broken down all the outworks 
 of reserve : she wept on, regardless of me and 
 of everything. Then gradually she listened, 
 while I pointed out the impossibility of her 
 accompanying me in my search, which might 
 extend beyond London, abroad perhaps ; the 
 impossibility, too, of leaving Linda alone with 
 one little maid. They must patiently and to- 
 gether abide such intelligence as I can send 
 them : twice a day, if possible. And, owing 
 to the liberal kindness of the Colonel, I was 
 able to add that no expense should be spared. 
 
 " The result is in other hands, Miss Monta- 
 cute," I added. " But be assured of one thing : 
 with all my heart and strength will I follow 
 up every clue that may lead to your unfortunate 
 sister's discovery. Do you trust me ?" 
 
 " I do ;" and thus we parted. 
 
 Up to the present moment, the facts ascer- 
 tained are these. A man answering to the de- 
 scription of the stranger I saw the other evening, 
 has lodged for the last three days at the small
 
 278 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 public-house opposite the railway station, two 
 luilcs from the village. He took his departure 
 for London this afternoon : he travelled second 
 class. By the same train, Vanda, it appears, 
 also took a ticket for London, first class. No 
 communication was remarked between them, nor 
 was any one observed to speak to Vanda. Some 
 man who chanced to see the stranger at the 
 public-house, said he recognised him as a ser- 
 vant who was up at the Castle, in the autumn. 
 It all flashed on me in a moment : the Count's 
 valet, whom I once or twice saw. 
 
 There being yet three hours before the next 
 train, I had time to go over the business at 
 greater length Avith the Colonel, and hear his 
 advice as to the manner I should proceed on 
 getting to town. I came home, threw some 
 things into my portmanteau, and am now wait- 
 ing for the fly. 
 
 London, 30th December. — Three harassing 
 days here. Our eflbrts to discover the fugitive 
 hitherto unavailing. I put myself into commu- 
 nication with the detectives immediately I ar- 
 rived. Every probable clue to the wretched 
 girl's present abode has Allied. Bismark, to
 
 CONFIDENCES. 279 
 
 whom of course I directed the detectives in 
 the first instance, is said to be in Paris. At 
 his apartments in Bury Street, they stated that 
 letters sent there were forwarded to the General 
 Post Office, Paris. They knew nothing further 
 of him. He retains his apartments ; didn't ex- 
 pect him back for some time; saw him last 
 about three weeks ago. He has been seen at 
 none of his old haunts. The Jockey Club knows 
 nothing of him. His friends believe him to be 
 abroad. 
 
 One of the railway guards thinks he remem- 
 bers that a young lady in mourning came up 
 by the evening train on Monday, and was met 
 by a tall gentleman, who drove ofi" with her 
 in a private brougham. Upon being asked how^ 
 he remembered her, among a crolvd of passen- 
 gers, he replied that it was from her having 
 no luggage, when he offered to be of any assist- 
 ance to her. 
 
 The Foreign Office, and the Austrian Em- 
 bassy have been applied to. Nothing is known 
 of the Count. No passport to include any 
 woman has been made out in his name ; nor 
 does it appear that any of those issued under
 
 280 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Other names lately, would answer to the descrip- 
 tion of the Count and Vanda. 
 
 From this I am led to believe that she is 
 still in England — probably in London ; and I 
 shall remain here until I have some certain 
 indication of her having left it. 
 
 January Gth, 1859, Thursday. — Another week 
 without material result, alas ! The few facts 
 that have come to light only confirming my 
 suspicion that the unhappy Vanda is still in 
 London or its neighbourhood. Bismark has 
 been seen. One of the Ring, who has had 
 money transactions with the Count, and knows 
 his face well, states to have seen him in a Han- 
 som cab on Tuesday last, towards dusk, in the 
 neighbourhood of Brompton. Through the 
 Colonel's liberality, who writes, urging me on 
 to spare no expense, I have offered a consider- 
 able sum to this informant, if he can obtain a 
 clue to the Count's present residence. 
 
 To-day I went again, for the third time, to 
 Bury Street. The woman was inclined to be 
 impertinent. She said she had already told me 
 everything she knew : had nothing to add, and 
 couldn't have her time taken up in this way.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 281 
 
 I slipped some money into her hand. 
 
 " Will you allow me to see the Count^s rooms ? 
 I shall not be two minutes ; " and the woman 
 surlily led the way upstairs, and threw open 
 a door on the first floor. 
 
 A small three-windowed sitting-room, hung 
 round with sporting prints. There was a stand 
 of riding-whips, and some handsomely-mounted 
 pipes, a liqueur case, cigars, French novels, 
 and a chimney piece covered with cards and 
 the fragments of notes and letters ; also a small 
 deal case in the corner of the room. My eye 
 ran over these details : only the two last seemed 
 worth particular attention. I examined the box : 
 it was open and empty ; but the printed words 
 on the card of address, " From Mrs. Smith," 
 indicated that it had contained woman's wear- 
 ing apparel of some kind. I turned to the 
 mantel-piece, and glanced over the covers and 
 shreds of writing with which it was strewed. 
 One such morsel had fallen into the grate : I 
 picked it up, — only a corner ; but it bore the 
 Ashford post mark of the 24th, three days be- 
 fore Vanda's flight. Nothing more to be learnt 
 here, so I left the house.
 
 2.S2 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Poor Ellicc ! 1 send her the barren results 
 of each clay, with a heavy heart, Brereton has 
 taken my duty, so I am easy on that score. 
 
 Januarrj 1th. — This evening one of the de- 
 tectives called. I had not seen him for two 
 days. 
 
 " Begin to have very little hope of finding 
 the parties here, sir," he said. "Haven't got 
 so much as an end of the tliread, you see, 
 sir; that's where it is. Trust me to unravel 
 it, if I had. Don't see what's to be done 
 here, unless something turns up." 
 
 " Have you seen that fellow Raikes again ?" 
 
 " Just come from him. Nothing satisfactory. 
 Quibbles, and turns round now, about being 
 mistaken, perhaps, in the party he saw. There's 
 no dependence, anyhow, on these fellows : lies 
 comes so natural to 'em." 
 
 " Well, what do you advise now ? Have you 
 nothing to propose?" 
 
 " As expense is no object, sir, I should re- 
 commend your sending me or another gentle- 
 man over to Bullin, and on to Paris, if so be 
 as any one answering to the description of the 
 parties can be heard of there. We 've written ;
 
 CONFIDENCES. 2SS 
 
 but these French fellows pay no attention to 
 our letters : it wants a 'cute man on the spot." 
 
 '* Well/' said I reluctantly, " go then ; but 
 I am still firmly persuaded they are in Lon- 
 don or its neighbourhood. Any more answers 
 to the advertisement in the Times ?" 
 
 " Four more * young ladies in deep mourn- 
 ing,' found by parties claiming the reward. No 
 go, sir." 
 
 I see no more glimmer of light than does 
 the detective. Still I adhere obstinately to the 
 belief that Bismark is in London. Leave it 
 without some definite knowledge, I am resolved 
 not. I have instituted inquiries at all the ser- 
 vants' clubs, but cannot hear that the Count's 
 valet is known to be in London. Wrote to 
 ElHce. 
 
 January llth, Tuesday. — No news from 
 Boulogne or Paris. I am beginning, in despair, 
 to think of my return. I wander up and down 
 the streets, and at night, when they are thronged 
 with haggard painted faces, the gas sometimes 
 flashes upon a profile that reminds me of the 
 unhappy girl. I stoji, turn round, and assure 
 myself I am mistaken ; and then the miserable
 
 284 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 thought occurs of what she may some day come 
 to ! So I go on from day to day, catching at 
 some straw of hope now and then, — nothing 
 solid or enduring. Rewards doubled — all to 
 no purpose. I dread my daily letters to poor 
 E. more and more. 
 
 Januartj 15 th, Saturday Night. — God be 
 praised ! I sit down at the close of this event- 
 ful week, during which I have not had a mo- 
 ment to write, with a sore heart, a throbbing 
 brain, and yet feeling deeply thankful! 
 
 Let me put my thoughts in order : they 
 need it. I shall have to give Ellice a more 
 detailed account of these sad events than I have 
 been able to do in a hurried letter; it is well 
 to set them down here in order. 
 
 On Wednesday evening towards dusk, I was 
 turning the corner of a street leading from 
 Grosvenor Square, when a cab, furiously driven, 
 met me. As it heaved perilously round the 
 curb-stone, the street lamp, just lit, fell upon 
 the face of a person inside, — hideous bloated 
 face, that I almost instantly remembered! The 
 cab was already half way down the street. 
 My excitement was tremendous, — a breathless
 
 CONFIDENCES. 285 
 
 frightful feeling that here was the object of 
 all my anxieties close at hand, and that she 
 would escape me ! I tore along, nearly knock- 
 ing down two men in my way, keeping that 
 dim object in sight, through the fog, now lost 
 for a moment as it turned down to the right, 
 now blocked up by intervening carriages. Once 
 I thouG^ht I had lost it; but as I reached the 
 opening of a narrow street, there it was again ; 
 and this time it pulled up at the door of a 
 goo^-sized house. I slackened my pace, and 
 fell to the opposite side of the way. The street 
 was silent, — no other carriage or pedestrian. 
 A short man jumped from the cab, and, with- 
 out dismissing it, ran up the steps and hurriedly 
 rang the bell. Could she be here ? Was this 
 the lurking-place we had all hunted for in 
 vain? I could hardly think it. There was a 
 brass plate on the door, the name of it undis- 
 tinguishable from where I stood. About the 
 man, however, there could be no doubt. There 
 was the seam still on his cheek that I planted 
 there the last time we met ; and the ruffianly 
 English groom was not to be mistaken under 
 his plain clothes. As the door opened, and he
 
 286 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 turned to speak to the servant, I crept under 
 the shadow of the cab, tlie better to observe 
 what passed. He stood in the hall, and spoke 
 for some minutes, asking several questions, as 
 it seemed to me, but all in so low a tone that 
 I could catch nothing. At last, just as he was 
 leaving the door, the words, " as soon as he 
 returns," fell upon my ear. He jumped into 
 the cab, with the sole direction, " Back again!" 
 to the driver, and away they rattled, but more 
 leisurely than they came. I had to decide on 
 one of two courses instantly : either call at this 
 house and endeavour to bribe the servant to 
 tell me Avhat he knew, or follow this ruffian 
 wherever he might go. I did not hesitate. 
 The servant might very possibly know nothing ; 
 at all events, this course would keep, and might 
 be pursued as well to-morrow, in case of the 
 other failing. So I clung on to the back-board 
 of the cab until I should find another, resolved, 
 at all hazards, not to lose sight of this one, 
 though it should go on half the night. Sud- 
 denly we pulled up in Oxford Street : it was 
 at a gin-palace, Avherc the refined inmate of 
 the cab, calling out to the driver to stop, went
 
 CONFIDENCES. 287 
 
 in to resale himself for a few minutes. I took 
 the opportunity to retire some yards, and hail 
 a Hansom. My instructions were to follow at 
 a certain distance, never losing sight of the cab, 
 and halting immediately that vehicle stopped. 
 
 The man got in, and off again ; down Park 
 Lane, past Knightsbridge, and turning in the di- 
 rection of Brompton. After intersecting innumer- 
 able new squares, streets, and crescents, we came 
 to a peculiarly desolate region, where I thought 
 it prudent to desire my driver to slacken his 
 pace yet further, to avoid arousing suspicion. 
 At a small, modest little villa, the cab at last 
 stopped. It was one of a row of detached 
 buildings, having small gardens in front, with 
 some acres of building land beyond. The cab 
 deposited its occupant, who entered the house, 
 while I, dismissing my Hansom at the corner 
 of the road, walked up and down for a few 
 minutes, revolving in my mind what my next 
 step should be, now that I had — as I believed 
 — tracked Bismark to his hiding-place. A light 
 burnt in an upper window. In that room, 
 Vanda Montacute probably was at this moment. 
 The object of my daily thought and nightly
 
 288 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 prayer close at hand. As I looked up, the 
 light was obscured for a moment by some dark 
 object, and the shadow of a man fell upon the 
 blmd. 
 
 Committing the success of my undertaking 
 into His hands who alone could make it pros- 
 per, I approached the door and pulled the bell. 
 A hurried step scuffled down the passage a mo- 
 ment after, and, to my surprise, the door was 
 opened wide without question or difficulty. I 
 entered boldly, passing the woman, who said, 
 as she shut the door, 
 
 " The doctor, I s'pose, sir ? 'ardly expected 
 you so soon." 
 
 "Tell the — gentleman, if you please," said 
 I, avoiding the woman's question, and I walked 
 into the drawing-room, the door of M'hich stood 
 open. A fire burnt brightly in the grate, but 
 there was neither lamp nor candle. Tlic woman 
 ran upstairs and knocked at a door. 
 
 " If you please, sir, the doctor's come." 
 
 I hear the door open ; a man's firm step 
 comes down stairs. 
 
 Bismark enters the room ; we stand opposite 
 to each otlier in the flickering firelight !
 
 CONFIDENCES. 289 
 
 He starts back ! His face, which is pale, con- 
 tracts, and becomes a shade paler. 
 
 I remarked even in those few seconds that 
 he was much altered ; a worn, haggard, anxious 
 look, that aged him in appearance by many years. 
 After a pause, during which I purposely ab- 
 stained from speaking, he recovered something 
 of his habitual sang froid, and said in a dry 
 polite tone, 
 
 "To what am I indebted for the honour of 
 this visit, Mr. Esdaile ? It is an unexpected " 
 
 " Count," I interrupted sternly, " we will 
 dispense with forms of courtesy, if you please. 
 Why I come here, you need not to be told, 
 neither does it signify how chance has led me to 
 the discovery of your hiding-place. Suffice it 
 that T am here to appeal to your conscience. I 
 charge you with having committed a most foul 
 and cruel wrong. You have brought the heaviest 
 misery and disgrace upon an honest family. 
 Yciir unhappy victim is now overhead, and, 
 if I am not mistaken, lying ill. Before God, 
 Count Bismark, how will you answer to this 
 charge ? " 
 
 He bit his lip for a moment. 
 
 « 
 
 19
 
 290 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 " Your words arc violent, Mr. Esdaile ; but 
 I forgive you. It is natural you should look 
 at this with the clergyman's views. If you 
 were acquainted with all the circumstances, and 
 knew how unhappy the dear girl was, and how 
 she " 
 
 "I don't want to hear anything about it, 
 Count Bismark. If you can palliate the first 
 great wrong to your conscience in any way, 
 you are happy ! But, sir, are you ready to 
 repair that wrong by the only means in your 
 power? What specious argument can you find 
 to excuse your marrying the girl you have 
 ruined ?" 
 
 " I shall be bold to ask, Mr. Esdaile, by 
 what authority you come here and interfere with 
 mattc'^s that do not concern you?" asked the 
 Count, with a slight flush, and losing his calm- 
 ness of manner. " The young lady is here, 
 under my protection, of her own will and de- 
 sire. You are not relation, or " 
 
 " You ascertained, no doubt, that she has no 
 near relations," I said with some warmth. " It 
 is by the authority of my cloth. Count Bismark, 
 in the first place, that I speak to you. My
 
 GuIsFlDENCES. 
 
 291 
 
 duty is to try and bring all who sin as you are 
 doing to a sense of their wickedness. Secondly, 
 as the friend, the only available one, of this 
 girl's sisters. Thirdly, I come here armed with 
 the authority of the law." 
 
 I produced the warrant from my pocket : — 
 " Miss Vanda Montacute, being only nineteen 
 years of age, can be claimed as 'an infant' by 
 her guardians. Colonel Shaddock, one of these 
 has empowered me to act for him." 
 
 The ruse man of the world was staggered : he 
 passed his hand across his brow, and said, with 
 the only touch of real feeling he had yet shown, 
 
 " So ! .... but you could not act on it, Mr. 
 Esdaile, no, even did I not oppose it to the 
 last drop of my blood. She is very ill, poor 
 darling child ! much too ill to be moved, or we 
 should be abroad long since." 
 
 " What is the nature of her illness ?" 
 
 He pointed to his chest. i 
 
 '• She burst a blood-vessel immediately she 
 came to London. I hoped she was getting 
 better -, but to-day again " 
 
 There was a violent ringing upstairs. Bis- 
 mark looked anxious.
 
 292 CON I'l FENCES. 
 
 " That is her bell : I must go to her. Since 
 you are here, Mr. Esdaile, remain. Wait for 
 me, and I will see you again when I can. She 
 will not bear me away for long." 
 
 lie left the room, and I heard his long stride 
 up the stairs, three steps at a time. 
 
 Five — ten minutes of anxious suspense. What 
 was next to be done ? Things looked as hope- 
 less as they well could : small chance apparently 
 of making any impression on Bismark. Oh ! 
 that I had the wisdom of the serpent ! That 
 I knew how to move him ! Was she really 
 so ill ? I must see her at all events, and then — 
 
 The door opened, and Bismark, with the 
 marks of recent agitation on his face, entered 
 and approached the table where I stood. 
 
 " She wishes to see you, Mr. Esdailc. She 
 knows you are here, and desires you shall hear 
 from her very lips that she will not quit me; 
 never, till death shall separate us!" 
 
 " And can you truthfully say as much. Count 
 Bismark ? Is it the faithful wish and intention 
 of your heart to remain loyal to this girl through 
 life ? Or is it the same passion you have felt 
 for a dozen other women whom you have de-
 
 CONFIDENCES. 293 
 
 ceived and forsrotten ? If vour love be some- 
 thing stronger than these, why hesitate to hallow 
 it by the only tie that can be lasting ? I do 
 not speak now of religion : we put aside that 
 for the moment. Man's laws upon you, and 
 those like you, have more influence than God's. 
 By those laws it is ordained that a man's mis- 
 tress shall be an outcast, a scorn, and a reproach. 
 Will you, in your intense and miserable selfish- 
 ness, let this poor child be such? Will you 
 wither up all her future life, and let the canker 
 of remorse eat into her heart, till death releases 
 her from her burthen of shame ? I do not envy 
 your feelings, as you stand beside the grave 
 you dare not inscribe with the name of her 
 who was neither wife nor maid ! If your love 
 is worthy the name — nay, if you have one spark 
 of honourable feeling, you will repair this foul 
 wrong by marrying Vanda Montacute." 
 
 His head was buried in his hands, but I saw 
 that he was violently agitated. Something that 
 sounded like a curse broke from his lips. 
 
 " I cannot yet, Mr. Esdaile — cannot ... by 
 and by perhaps .... I love her, mein Gott im 
 Himmel, better than I ever loved a woman in
 
 294 CONFIDFXCES. 
 
 my life ; but 1 cannot : it is no ufc ; there is 
 a barrier at present which " 
 
 A liorrible suspicion crossed my mind. " You 
 do not mean that you are married V 
 
 " No, Mr. Esdaile. But there is one," his 
 voice trembled, " whose misery 1 have been the 
 cause of, and who is now separated from lier 
 husband. I solemnly engaged myself not to 
 marry, in the case her husband should choose to 
 divorce her. He has never seen her since, and 
 may yet do so, I believe — though some months 
 have gone by . . . INIon Dieu ! I must marry this 
 woman though I love her no longer ! I never 
 did love her as I do my Vanda — never ; — and 
 now . . . ," 
 
 " From this engagement, as you consider it 
 such, she entirely and heartily frees you. She 
 would not marry you if she were a widow to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Stooping towards him, I whispered a name 
 which even the walls might not hear, and laid 
 a letter before him. ITe started. 
 
 " Have you then seen her ?" 
 
 " I have. And her last words were, * Give 
 him back that note that he wrote mc six months
 
 CONFIDENCES. 295 
 
 ago. Tell him that, while I blame myself far 
 more than him, I hope never to see his face 
 again in this world, and that nothing should ever 
 induce me to marry him.'' She added, ' Say- 
 that I charge him, moreover, by all the misery, 
 past, present, and future, he has caused me, to 
 do justice to his last unhappy victim.' " 
 
 Even at that moment, I believe the man's 
 vanity was wounded to think of the woman he 
 had once loved discarding him on these terms. 
 His head remained buried in his hands ; and, 
 misinterpreting his silence, I continued, after a 
 moment's pause, 
 
 " It is not possible, Count Bismark, that you 
 have so doubly perjured yourself as to swear 
 fidelity to Vanda while your heart is still an- 
 other's?" 
 
 He raised his head suddenly, and seized my 
 hand. " No, no ; Avhatever I may once have 
 thought, I know that I love better Vanda, — in 
 fine, I have never loved any one half as well. 
 For marriage, why, see you, I think as long as 
 a man and woman really love, — with the soul, 
 I mean, — they are married. If one is unfaithful, 
 then there is no more a real union, whether
 
 296 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 they have been to church or not. I do not 
 attach the importance you clergymen do to the 
 ceremony." 
 
 " I will not discuss these views with you now, 
 Count Bismark : they cannot at all events affect 
 your conduct on this occasion. What you con- 
 sider bound in God's eyes, you cannot refuse to 
 let the Church unite, and the Avorld sanction ?" 
 
 " No. Now that I am no longer bound in 
 honor to another, Mr. Esdaile, I will marry 
 her, because I believe it will give the poor 
 child pleasure, and because of these false views 
 the world has. But it makes no difference to 
 me. I am her husband now, Esdaile, for we 
 have sworn faith. Were I married to that other, 
 I should not be her real husband, see you." 
 
 Leaving the Count to entertain his German 
 ideas of soul-marriage without discussion for the 
 present, and relieved at the unexpected success 
 that had attended my interview, 1 silently fol- 
 lowed him upstairs. 
 
 " I can trust you," he said, pausing on the 
 first landing, " not to agitate her by your re- 
 proach — or religious talk, eh? Ellc est ires 
 faible."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 297 
 
 She was in bed, leaning on her arm, and look- 
 ing intently towards the door, as we entered. 
 I was shocked bv the change in her. Two 
 dark blue circles surrounded those lustrous eyes, 
 which w'ere deep sunk in her head, but un- 
 naturally distended and brilliant. The face was 
 wasted to half its size ; the spot of color on 
 either cheek marked a hollow instead of a 
 rounded form. A long strip of black hair, 
 escaping from its net, made the marble pallor 
 of the throat more striking. Her thin fingers 
 were twisted nervously through a pearl bracelet 
 that lay upon the bed, and they never quitted 
 hold of it while I was with her. 
 
 " What do you come here for ? What do you 
 want, Mr. Esdaile ? " she exclaimed vehemently, 
 but in a low hoarse voice that was terrible to 
 listen to. " Why have you found me out ? If it 
 is to try to get me to leave him, I won't. I told 
 them I was dead. So I am : dead to them all. 
 Dead ! Dead ! go and tell them so. I love 
 him and will remain with him. I don't care what 
 they all say, — the world — your Ashford world 
 that I hate so — yes, always hated. Now they 
 have something to talk about ! Well, tell them
 
 S98 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 I will never, tiever leave him, till he drives me 
 away ! " 
 
 I seated myself by her bedside. 
 
 " I am not going to urge you to leave him, 
 my dear Miss Vanda. I urge you both, on the 
 contrary, to remain true to each other through 
 life." 
 
 She stared at me in astonishment, her hands 
 clasped together on her bosom. " Only," I con- 
 tinued, " let your union be blameless in the sight 
 of God and man." 
 
 Her breathing came short and thick. She 
 looked wildly at Bismark, and again at me. 
 
 " What does he mean, Karl?" 
 
 " Calm yourself, Liebchen. This excitement 
 is bad for you. He means that the impediment 
 to our marriage is removed." 
 
 But even as he spoke a violent fit of coughing 
 seized her. vShe sank back on her pillow and 
 pressed her handkerchief to her lips ; when she 
 withdrew it, it was dyed crimson. 
 
 The Count rang violently for her maid ; and 
 then poured out something from a bottle on the 
 table, which he tried to persuade Vanda to take. 
 She shook her head ; and as soon as the maid
 
 co^FIDE^CEs. 299 
 
 appeared, I beckoned the Count out of the 
 room, and tokl him I thought it necessary 
 Vanda should not be excited any more that 
 night : that I would return as early as I could 
 the following day with a special licence, and 
 advised him to keep her as quiet as possible 
 in the meantime. 
 
 It was not till late in the afternoon next day 
 that I succeeded in getting the licence, and found 
 myself again at Bismark's door. Before it stood 
 a dark plain brougham ; and when I entered and 
 was about to ascend the stairs, I met a middle- 
 aged man coming nimbly down, whom I rightly 
 guessed to be the doctor. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, one word. What is your 
 opinion of the case upstairs ? " 
 
 " A clergyman, I presume, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I ought not to conceal from you that I 
 have been called in too late. They sent for mo 
 last evening. I was out of town. I should have 
 seen her weeks ago. Even then I doubt whether 
 human aid would have availed anything. But 
 the person who has attended this case seems 
 grossly to have misunderstood it. It is one of
 
 ;J00 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 very rapid decline ; but the seeds have always 
 been there." 
 
 " Good heavens ! do you mean that you con- 
 sider the case as absolutely hopeless ? " 
 
 " I can do nothing, sir. I have endeavoured 
 to prepare the Count ; and have told him it is 
 useless my coming again — I could do no good. 
 I do not think he believed me — evidently does 
 not expect a speedy termination. By being kept 
 very quiet she may indeed linger a short time, — 
 but — in short, sir, it is your duty to inform the 
 lady of her real state. I repeat that I can do 
 nothing. Good morning. Excuse me, sir. I 
 am late for an appointment," and the doctor 
 hurried into his brougham. 
 
 I had thought her very ill the previous day, 
 but the idea that she was dying had not entered 
 my mind. I had looked forward to her being 
 taken to a warm climate and slowly recover- 
 ing, and now ! . . . I stood there on the land- 
 ing, with the sad thought present, above all 
 others, of her being summoned at such a mo- 
 ment, without receiving from their own lips the 
 forgiveness of those who loved and mourned 
 for her so deeply !
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 301 
 
 The maid came down to say the Count de- 
 sired I would go upstairs. 
 
 He was sitting by the bed as I entered, hold- 
 ing her wasted hand in his, and shading his 
 eyes with the other. I saw a marked change 
 for the worse in her appearance since the pre- 
 vious day ; but, though even more excited, 
 the expression of her face was less fierce and 
 indomitable. She seemed painfully weak : it 
 was with the greatest difficulty I caught a word 
 she said ; but her eyes were never for an in- 
 stant still, and her fingers still twitched at the 
 pearl bracelet on the bed. 
 
 Bismark raised his head, and held out his 
 hand to me. 
 
 "Do at once what you come for, my friend: 
 you shall speak with her afterwards." 
 
 I drew out the licence and showed him ; then, 
 opening the Book of Common Prayer, I bade 
 him kneel down. He did so. And there, while 
 the twilight closed more and more around, I 
 read the solemn Marriage Service over them 
 in that little chamber. His responses were firm 
 and distinct. God alone knows the secret heart ; 
 but I believe he felt them. When he had to
 
 oO'i CONFIDENCES. 
 
 place the ring on her finger, he drew a tur- 
 quoise from his own. It was nnich too large 
 for her : to prevent its slipping off, she nerv- 
 ously held it with the other hand, while a smile 
 played over her feverish lips. 
 
 At the end of the service, when I offered 
 up a prayer to Him who is merciful to all 
 who truly repent, she suddenly started up, her 
 eyes flashing with somcthing'of their old fire. 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried, with her weak voice 
 torn with passion; "I do ?iot repent, — it is 
 false ! I would do it acrain to-morrow for his 
 sake," and she clung to Bismark with quiver- 
 ing hands. 
 
 It was the last struggle of the demon to re- 
 gain possession of a soul. 
 
 " God pity me ! " 
 
 She burst into tears and fell Lack exhausted 
 upon the pillow. Those tears, the first, fell 
 like rain upon parched ground. They had a 
 holy, softening influence upon the state of the 
 dying girl. After that she lay comparatively 
 calm, while I talked to her, and she joined 
 me feebly in a prayer. Her eyes were fixed 
 upon the wall whore the moon was beginning
 
 CONFIDENCES, 
 
 303 
 
 to stream through from the window in a 
 narrow shaft of light ; her hand lay tightly- 
 locked in Bismark's ; and, when I had finished, 
 after a few moments' silence, I perceived that 
 she had dropped off into a fitful uneasy doze. 
 She muttered, indeed, a broken sentence from 
 time to time, but her eyes were now closed, 
 and her breathing heavier and more equal. 
 There we two men^ sat by the bed, watching 
 and listening, and occasionally looking up into 
 each other's faces, while the shaft of moonlight 
 grew broader and broader in the room. Her 
 hand, even in her sleep, felt for the ring on 
 her finger, and moved restlessly over the pearl 
 bracelet. 
 
 " He gave it me — his first gift," we heard 
 her murmur. " There is no harm in it now, 
 father ; I am Countess Bismark — Countess Bis- 
 marTi. Let them laugh ! Come, Ellice, forgive 
 me — I could not help it — I had no one to 
 love me, when our father went. You, both of 
 you and then I loved him so much.". . . • 
 
 Then the voice became weaker, the words at 
 last inaudible, and we only heard the sleeper's 
 heavy irregular breathing. At last, towards nine
 
 304 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 o'clock, I suppose, as the distant roar of the 
 City was gradually subsiding, as the roll of each 
 omnibus came separately and far between, and 
 an occasional cab over the fresh gravel of that 
 new district was the only near sound, the ballad 
 of a street singer in the neighbouring square 
 caught my ear. Probably a professional sailor, 
 so common in the streets of London, for I re- 
 cognized one of Dibden's sea-songs as the singer 
 came nearer. 
 
 Vanda started up and listened, fixing her eyes 
 upon the moonlit wall. Her breathing became 
 more and more difficult, but she struggled to 
 speak. 
 
 ** He knows I am coming — it is his old song 
 — and he welcomes me home with it. Father ! 
 dear father ! . . . He waved me off before, and 
 I shut my eyes — and tried — not — to see him. 
 Now — now — he is — oh ! so glad — so glad ! He 
 opens his arms wide, and stands upon the shore 
 — to greet me. Father, I have made the port ! 
 — the sea is calm and sunny now — before I 
 was so tossed — such a weary — weary voyage ! 
 — but — Karl — is — now — tny husband ! " 
 
 She turned, and Hung herself passionately into
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 305 
 
 his arms ; and in that last effort, the poor 
 struggling spirit was released from all its suf- 
 fering. 
 
 She was dead. 
 
 *jC ^ 3jJ 3{C JjC 3jC 
 
 I remained with Bismark all night. No one 
 who has not beheld mourning under such cir- 
 cumstances — the mourning without lioj^e, the 
 mourning that can see no further than the 
 dark confines of the grave, knows what it is. 
 I am glad, at least, that he does not reject my 
 presence. Perhaps some chance word may grow 
 up by-and-bye and bear seed, in spite of the 
 thorns and tares. I have promised to remain 
 here until after the funeral on Monday. 
 
 Ashford, January \Qth. — Pweturned home last 
 night, after the funeral and my last interview 
 with Bismark. 
 
 To-day I have had the most painful duty of 
 all to go through, — seeing the poor girls for 
 the first time, and giving them every minute 
 particular of their sister's last moments. 
 
 They are both terribly changed. Linda's 
 appearance actually alarmed me : her face shrunk 
 to half its size, and such a wan despairing look 
 
 20
 
 306 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 in it, that one need only to see her to feel 
 that the blow has struck to her very heart's 
 core. There they sat, in the little darkened 
 room, their white faces leaning forwards from 
 the close black dresses, eagerly looking towards 
 me, their hands clasped in each other. I ob- 
 served that Ellice watched her sister, and when 
 the latter I'ose and left the room, Ellice's eyes 
 followed her anxiously. 
 
 " Your sister looks ill, I am sorry to see." 
 " It is not only this heavy trial, Mr. Esdaile, 
 but its consequences. All chance of her mar- 
 riage now is at an end." 
 
 " If Jack," I exclaimed indignantly, " is de- 
 terred by such a base consideration, he is utterly 
 unworthy of her, and the sooner she forgets 
 him the better." 
 
 " Perhaps not he himself, but his father and 
 mother will make this — this disgrace," she mur- 
 mured, lowering her eyes, " an additional plea 
 for breaking it all off entirely, more particu- 
 larly as you know they have other views for 
 him." 
 
 " Has she not seen him since ?" 
 
 " He only returned from Brighton yesterday,
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 BOi 
 
 and rode over at once; but I advised Linda 
 not to see him : it would agitate her to no 
 purpose. She knows that Jack's character is 
 not strong enough to resist the pressure from 
 without, and she accepts her fate, poor child ! 
 though not without a struggle. She will write 
 to him to-morrow, releasing him from his en- 
 gagement, and then I hope her mind will be 
 more tranquil, when the final wrench is made." 
 
 I was sorry, in my long interview with the 
 Colonel, to find that he was much of the same 
 opinion as EUice. The old soldier alluded with 
 a heightened colour, to the way in which some 
 persons (Mrs. Stapylton among the number) had 
 written or spoken on the subject of Yanda's 
 sad fate. " It was no more than was to be 
 expected." " Did we not always predict how 
 those girls would turn out?" "Could it be 
 otherwise with such a mother?" and other re- 
 marks of a similar nature, of which Miss Tarra- 
 gon was, of course, the loudest trumpeter in 
 Ashford. Such being the case. Colonel Shad- 
 dock thought the more dignified course for 
 Linda, was to let Jack be free. 
 
 " For no young woman of spirit, sir, would
 
 308 COKPIUENCES. 
 
 enter into a family where she is regarded with 
 contempt, and will have it thrown in her teeth 
 that her husband only married her because he 
 was bound in honour. If young men are what 
 they were in my day, sir. Jack will stick to 
 her all tlic more ; but let his family distinctly 
 understand that she frees him from his engage- 
 ment, — eh, Mr. Esdaile?" 
 
 I do not know what I replied ; my thoughts 
 had suddenly taken another and deeper direc- 
 tion. This discussion had led me to reflect on 
 Ellice's altered position, wliich had not struck 
 me before. Can the world be so cruel as to 
 visit their sister's sin on these poor girls ? To 
 turn coldly from them now that a heavier sor- 
 row than death has fallen on them .'' I can 
 scarcely believe it. Yet, if it be so, this will 
 be my justification, and one for which I need 
 never blush before God or man, for offering 
 her my heart's devotion, and asking if she can 
 consent to share a poor curate's lot through 
 life. God knows whether she feels for me 
 more than gratitude and regard. Sometimes I 
 iancy But no, I will build up no delu- 
 sions to-day, that may be shattered to-morrow.
 
 CONFIDENCES. 309 
 
 I have fought against them so long, against 
 them and my own heart, that I will take no 
 rash step which may put a barrier between us 
 for ever. 
 
 January 20th. — In the Times this afternoon 
 I read the announcement : — " On the loth inst., 
 of rapid decline, Vanda, the wife of Count Karl 
 Bismark." An act of reparation, unimportant 
 in itself, but which I was glad Bismark had 
 thought of doing. Those two lines of small 
 print may soothe the gossip-mongers, perhaps ! 
 They need sully their lips no more by speaking 
 of " that wretched ci'eature." The facts indeed 
 remain the same, but they belong to the story 
 of the Countess Bismark. How these women 
 do talk ! It makes me bitter to see how much 
 misery a careless word can produce, — not always 
 unkindly meant, — the offspring of that vile rage 
 for gossip that possesses nearly all societies. I 
 was beset to-day on every side by enquiries 
 concerning the poor girl. Miss Kate Halliday's 
 especially irritated me. There was a tone of 
 sublime exemption from all human passion, — 
 a moral plumage that nothing could ruffle, — very 
 distasteful to me. Even Tarragon, in spite of
 
 310 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 her vehemence and wrathful diatribes, pleased 
 me better. But why not let the unhappy sub- 
 ject of all this sleep at rest now ? . . . . Then 
 there is Jack Stapylton and Miss Forsepp, about 
 whom the village tongues are beginning to wag 
 loudly. Every word a fresh torture to poor 
 Linda, who hears it, of course — the gossips take 
 good care of that. 
 
 Called at the Priory, and found to my astonish- 
 ment that Mrs. Morley was gone — no one 
 knew where ! A few days ago, she dismissed 
 all the servants (excepting her two faithful 
 followers), with a month's wages in advance, 
 and left Ashford the same day. She has the 
 house for nine months longer, but I cannot 
 find that she held out any prospect of returning. 
 Rent, and all bills paid, to the uttermost farthing. 
 I am surprised at her not leaving a line for me. 
 After all that has passed between us, it would 
 have been natural to do so. 
 
 I did not see Ellice to-day. The little maid 
 said, when I called, that Miss Linda was unwell 
 in her room, and Miss Ellice was with her. I 
 then bethought me, having a spare hour, of walk- 
 ing over to the Hall, to have a talk with Jack.
 
 CONFIDENCES. oil 
 
 A clear frosty day, and woodcocks abundant 
 at Stapylton, so I half expected to hear Jack's 
 gun among- the woods ; but, contrary to all pre- 
 cedent, I found him sitting gloomily over the 
 fire in his dressing-gown, smoking a clay pipe. 
 
 " What 's a fellow to do, who 's thorouglily 
 miserable, Esdaile ? You know all about me 
 and Linda — you're their friend. Well now, 
 see here, Esdaile, you're a sensible feUow, and 
 no humbug about you. I don't mind telling 
 you, I 'm in a fix. I 'm very fond of her — very 
 fond of her indeed — but " 
 
 "What's the meaning of this flirtation with 
 Miss Forsepp, that all the country talks of? " 
 
 *'Why, you see, the Governor has done no- 
 thing but urge me to think of the girl for ever 
 so long. She was always over here, and I used 
 to teach her billiards, and used to ride out with 
 her ; and then Mrs. S. invited her over to 
 Brighton, and there they bothered me about her 
 more than ever. She 's a good little thing, but 
 I could never care a button for her, Esdaile. 
 Linda's the only girl for my money." 
 
 "Well, what then?" (wondering how he would 
 come to the point). ■' If this is the case, you
 
 312 CONFIUKNCBS. 
 
 have only to remain faithful, and in time all will 
 come right." 
 
 " Aye, but you see Esdailc, this confounded 
 business of poor Vanda's makes it more diffi- 
 cult than before. The old Governor 's very ill 
 too, and plagued to death about money. Lost 
 a pot of money this year. Immediately he and 
 the old lady heard of this bad business they 
 seized on it, of course, and said I couldn't go 
 and disgrace the family by marrying a sister 
 of Vanda's. Well, of course, I said, as I've 
 
 ■ always done before, that I was engaged, and 
 would wait any number of years, but would n't 
 breali. my word. And now here's Linda herself 
 goes and takes their part against me ! It's 
 deuced hard — it really is. I shall be a rascal, 
 if I give her up, I know ; but if she writes to 
 the Governor and tells him we 're no longer 
 engaged, I don't see what I'm to do. He's 
 60 much broken within the last two months, 
 Esdaile — and might go off any day — and con- 
 tradiction, you see, puts him into such a " 
 
 Jack supplied the substantive by an energetic 
 pulF at his pipe. Then he slowly drew from 
 his pocket a letter, and handed it to me.
 
 CONFIDENCES, 
 
 313 
 
 " Look here. Read that." 
 I opened the letter without reply. 
 " Dearest Jack, — I must call you so once 
 more, and for the last time ! I hope you were 
 not hurt at my refusing to see you the other 
 day, when you called. Indeed I know it was 
 better not, for your kindness might have made 
 me forget what my judgment has decided to 
 be best for us both. We must give up all 
 idea of marrying, dear Jack. I think I know 
 your heart : and though I have heard it said 
 you liked some one else, I never believed that 
 you were not true; and that has kept me up 
 until lately. We have had a heavy blow, 
 Jack, of which I cannot speak. The barriers 
 between us are raised fourfold, in consequence. 
 Not that I believe it would affect tjour conduct 
 towards me, but Mrs. Stapylton would never 
 receive me as your wife ought to be received. 
 It would lead to differences between you and 
 your family, of which I will not be the cause. 
 As to the question of money, I could disre- 
 gard that. I am almost penniless : but I 
 should not have been an extravagant wife, and 
 my love, perhaps, would have made your home
 
 314 
 
 CXJNFIDENCES. 
 
 happier than greater luxury. But the question 
 of honor and respect, dear Jack, I ought not 
 to and will not disregard, lor your sake. So, 
 dear Jack, any sort of engagement that existed 
 between us, you must consider at an end. 
 You will know how much it costs me to say 
 this, and that I have not brought myself to 
 do so without reflecting long over it. Do not 
 try and see me just yet: indeed it is better 
 not, until we can meet calmly as old friends. 
 We shall always remain so, shan't we ? and 
 I shall always pray for your happiness, dear 
 Jack. 
 
 " I write by this post to your father, to 
 inform him that you are entirely free. God 
 bless you. 
 
 "Your constant friend and well-wisher, 
 
 " Linda Montacute." 
 
 There was something so touching in the 
 girl's noble self-sacrifice, in releasing her lover 
 from what she believed now to bo a degrad- 
 ing marriage for him, that I remained lost 
 in saddening reflections for some minutes after 
 I had read and refolded the letter. 
 
 You arc not worthy of that little jewel, in
 
 CONFIDENCES. 315 
 
 my humble opinion, Jack. Not a bit worse 
 than three-fourths of the young gentlemen who 
 are popular in all the social relations of life : 
 frank, easy-going, generous ; only you have 
 not the dauntless energy, the iron force of 
 will that overcomes all obstacles in this life. 
 
 When I spoke it was not to say this, but 
 to ask what he intended doing? 
 
 " Don't know, Esdaile : can't tell, for the 
 life of me. The Governor 's let me come back 
 here for a few days, as the little Forsepp is 
 returned home, and the old party invited me 
 to make my head-quarters there, while my 
 people are absent. So the Governor was 
 pleased when I proposed coming home for a 
 few days, and urged my accepting the invita- 
 tion to Forsepp's ; but I 'm not going — not I ! 
 And so, if Linda won't see me, I don't see 
 much use in my staying here — only I know, 
 since her letter, that Mrs. S. and the Governor 
 will be at me worse than ever." 
 
 "Have you written to Linda?" 
 
 " I 've begun two letters and torn them 
 up. You see the worst of it is, I don't know 
 what to say to her, Esdaile. I can't say they
 
 316 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 would receive her, because I know they 
 would n't i and I believe it'd break the Go- 
 vernor's heart if I were to marry her to-morrow. 
 Besides, I can't live on nothini^, of course : 
 and the money market's so deuced tic^ht, be- 
 tween you and mc, that I don't sec how the 
 Governor could make us an allowance, even if 
 he would." 
 
 '' But why not let matters be as they were 
 before this melancholy affair? You are both 
 young, and can surely wait." 
 
 ""Well, but there's the money, my good 
 fellow. Debts won't wait. They grow, on 
 the contrary ; and the Governor is always 
 pointing out how comfortably the little For- 
 sepp's eighty thousand pounds would cover 
 everything. / don't know what to do," said 
 Jack, dolorously, knocking the ashes out of 
 his pipe. 
 
 " You will marry her eighty thousand pounds, 
 I suppose." 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 " Then Avrite to Linda at once — and Mrite 
 to your father also. Say that you hold your- 
 self more bound to her than ever, since mis-
 
 CONriJ)ENCES. olT 
 
 fortunes have overtaken her, and that though 
 you may be unable to claim her hand for 
 years, nothing shall tempt you to be untrue 
 to her. But, Jack, if you have not confidence 
 in your own strength, you will spare her 
 much future misery by candidly confessing 
 that, circumstanced as you are, you feel with 
 her that it is best your engagement should be 
 cancelled." 
 
 " What can I say about my mother, Esdaile ?" 
 " Say nothing. Only tell her you are con- 
 fident that things will come round, sooner or 
 later. It will take very little to re-assure her. 
 Don't you see that she only wants that? 
 Women are so brave and hopeful — far more so 
 than we are. Jack, in reality ; like the tender 
 little blossoms that weather a storm, while the 
 oaks are split and uprooted. Only promise 
 me," and I laid my hand on his shoulder, " that 
 if you do renew this chain, you will no longer 
 flutter round the flame of old Forsepp's bank- 
 notes — they'll burn your fingers — and it isn't 
 right towards that little girl, to play this sort 
 of game." 
 
 " I declare to you I '11 cut the concern at
 
 318 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 once. I '11 write to old Forscpp to-night ; and 
 if Linda won't see me to-morrow, I'll re- 
 turn to Brighton. I won't make any promises 
 to the Governor. I can't say more than that, 
 you sec Esdaile, because of the state he's in. 
 Good bye, old fellow, and thank you. You've 
 done me good. And, I say, if Linda thinks 
 it right not to see me, you tell her what I've 
 said, Esdaile." 
 
 On my return after this conversation, the 
 resolution I came to yesterday grows more dis- 
 tinct and imperative to me. Feeling as I do 
 towards Ellice, it seems now a duty to open 
 my heart to her at once, since others stand 
 aloof. 
 
 January ^\st. — I think I am the happiest 
 man in the world this evening ! 
 
 My Ellice, from her own trembling lips, has 
 confessed she would sooner share my poverty 
 than the wealth of any other man. 
 
 When I first pleaded my cause in such words 
 as I could command, and spoke of my own un- 
 worthiness, she burst into tears. 
 
 " Herbert, — Mr. Esdaile, do not talk thus. 
 Who in the world is there I can ever love and
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 319 
 
 honor as I do you ? You have been everything 
 to us in all our sorrows ; — but long before that 
 I knew you were the only person who could 
 ever really obtain an influence over me. I did 
 not think you cared for me, — I kept the secret 
 carefully in my heart. As to poverty, Herbert, 
 I am a poor man's daughter. Are you afraid 
 that I cannot make a poor man's wife?" 
 
 How the afternoon sped! And how happy 
 it made me to see the pale flush on the cheek 
 of my beloved once more. We had much to 
 talk over — less of the sad past than of our placid 
 future. Linda, with an instinct perhaps of the 
 nature of our long interview, remained in her 
 own room ; and the winter twilight surprised 
 me still sitting there on the sofa beside her. 
 
 Our engagement is, of course, kept a secret for 
 the present. So soon after her sister's death it 
 would be impossible to announce it : and this 
 is the only drawback to my present happiness. 
 For the next two months my visits to Sunny 
 Cove must be regulated with a due regard to 
 that hard task-master — "the world" — and we 
 cannot be married till May. 
 
 January 2^th. — I received a letter from Mrs.
 
 320 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Morlcy this morning, which most satisfactorily 
 accounts for her sudden disappearance ! 
 
 I append the letter to my diary, as the sequel 
 to that strange history I have written down else- 
 where. 
 
 " SouTUAMPTON, Monday, 24<A. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Esdaile, 
 
 " You will be surprised, on your return, 
 to find that I have left Ashford. The cause 
 Avas most unexpected ; but I am sure your kind 
 heart will rejoice when you learn it. A letter 
 from my most noble and generous husband in- 
 formed me that he had accepted a very high 
 appointment abroad, * Principally with a view,' 
 he wrote, * of inducing you to accompany me. 
 ' There you may forget the past, and begin a 
 
 * new life, with new faces round you. During 
 ' the eighteen months that have elapsed since 
 
 * we parted, I have had time for deep reflection 
 ' and the examination of my own heart. 1 can- 
 
 * not help feeling that, if you were led astray 
 ' by folly and excitement, I was greatly culpa- 
 
 * ble in leaving you so much alone, and in allow- 
 ' ing that post which a husband should never 
 
 * cede, to be occupied by others. Nothing can
 
 CONFIDENCES. 321 
 
 ' excuse this neglect : I acknowledge it with 
 ' shame. Let us then mutually forgive and be- 
 * gin our married life afresh.' Loving him as 
 I have always done, and more, far more than 
 ever, since I was separated from him, I could 
 respond to his appeal fervently and gratefully. 
 I left Ashford the next day, and joined my 
 husband in London. And now I believe in 
 my heart we are reunited never to be parted, 
 but by death. We sail to-morrow morning. 
 Perhaps, my dear Mr. Esdaile, you and I may 
 never meet again in this world, not for some 
 years at all events ; but I shall always retain a 
 grateful sense of your kindness. I know I can 
 trust you with my secret, which, indeed, is 
 no longer mine, but his. The facts, however, 
 if they can serve ' to point a moral,' you are 
 at full liberty to mention. They are such as 
 are commoner in women's lives than perhaps 
 you are aware of! 
 
 " I cannot close this without saying how 
 thankfully I read the announcement of that poor 
 girl's marriage, and release, ^he would never 
 have had a happy life with Bismark; though 
 a true attachment — if he is capable of one— 
 
 21
 
 322 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 might have lifted him out of the intense selfish- 
 ness that belongs to such a character. But 
 the experiment was dangerous ; and with that 
 poor girl's temperament, she would probably 
 have been miserable. 
 
 " My husband desires me to convey to you 
 his warm acknowledgments for the kind sym- 
 pathy you showed me when at Ashford. 
 " Gratefully and sincerely yours, 
 
 " Caroline ." 
 
 I am most heartily glad at the unexpected 
 good news this letter contains. If more hus- 
 bands would follow this rare example of mag- 
 nanimity, how many a broken heart might be 
 healed 1 how many a desperate course stayed ! 
 how many a home where once the fire of love 
 burned dimly, be re-warmed by mutual for- 
 giveness ! 
 
 Bismark is gone abroad ; let us hope, " a 
 sadder and a wiser man." 
 
 January 'i^tlt. — Mr. Brigstock has just been 
 here to tell me that news was received this morn- 
 ing of the Squire^s sudden death at Brighton. 
 
 Jack, it appears, left the Hall the morning 
 after I saw him. I am glad his favourite son
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 323 
 
 was with the Squire when he died. The 
 neighbourhood will regret the jovial old gentle- 
 man ; the poor especially miss the hearty " good 
 day," and inquiries after their little ailments, 
 that never failed to greet them when the old 
 grey cob came ambling down the road. I fear 
 that anxiety of mind, consequent on his money 
 difficulties, may have hastened his end. 
 
 I sometimes look around me, and ask whose 
 position is to be envied ? Certainly not Philip's, 
 the representative of an old house, inheriting 
 a noble estate, but with it, difficulties, anxieties, 
 and heavy responsibilities. Not Mr. Forsepp, 
 with all his wealth, and raised by it alone 
 into a society above his natural sphere. Not 
 Sir Richard, or any of the great landed gentry 
 about here. Poor as I am, I am thankful to 
 say I have no vain longings after these things. 
 For my Ellice's sake, I could wish the Curate's 
 narrow income admitted of many little comforts 
 from which she will be debarred ; but happiness 
 does not consist in these things. Trite as that 
 remark is, it cannot be too often repeated ; and 
 my joy is too great, increasing as it does, in 
 her presence every day, for me not to feel
 
 324 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 deeply, eternally grateful that I am what I am 
 — poor, but independent, and beloved. 
 
 February 6th. — The Stapylton affairs are 
 found to be deeply involved, as was expected. 
 A portion of the property is heavily mortgaged ; 
 and the Squire has, moreover, left debts amount- 
 ing to many thousand pounds. It will require 
 time and management to enable Philip to pay 
 these off, as he, of course intends. Mrs. Stapyl- 
 ton's jointure will be another heavy drag on 
 the estate. She intends residing at Brighton, 
 I understand, though Philip offered her a home 
 at the Hall. She and her eldest son suit too 
 little to live happily together. The younger 
 sons have very little. How about Jack, I 
 wonder ? I have not seen him since the funeral, 
 and I hear he is much cut up, poor fellow ; but 
 he and Linda had their first interview yesterday. 
 
 February 8th. — Philip called on me early 
 this morning. 
 
 " Come and take a walk with mc, Esdaile. 
 I've been for the last week with those detest- 
 able lawyers, shut up with deeds and bills, 
 and I want a breath of air and a talk with 
 YOU to rcfrcbh me."
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 325 
 
 "With all my heart. I'm sure you must 
 find a great deal of hard work, and I am glad 
 to see you are settmg vigorously about it. I 
 know how distasteful it is to you." 
 
 "Don't praise me too soon, Esdaile. I'm 
 afraid you'll find I'm a coward after all. 
 These things must be done, for they regard 
 my poor father's honor. If I cut down every 
 stick on the property, sell the plate, and every- 
 thing in the house, his debts must be paid. 
 
 After that " 
 
 "Well! After that?" 
 
 "Why, I'm thinking seriously, Esdaile, of 
 giving it all up to Jack, who'll manage it a 
 thousand times better than I should. He and 
 his Linda will live at the Hall and be a 
 capital Squire and Lady Bountiful, and I shall 
 keep a few hundreds a-year and go abroad, 
 which is infinitely more to my taste, you know 
 — and I shall come over occasionally and see 
 them." 
 
 " No, Philip, you '11 do nothing of the kind, 
 if you are the man I take you for. God has 
 placed you in a certain position, and He will 
 call upon you to render up an account of your
 
 320 coNKinr.NCEs. 
 
 stewardship. It won't do to piilm oif" the respon- 
 sibility on some one else, just because it doesn't 
 suit your tastes." 
 
 " But Jack, my dear Esdaile, is so much 
 better calcuhxted for tlic position than I am. 
 And besides, it will be the means of enabling 
 him to marry at once, which he cannot do 
 now." 
 
 " You think that an invincible argument to 
 me," I said, smiling, " who am so anxious to 
 see them married : but I say tliat a thousand 
 times rather would I have them wait for years 
 than that you should abandon your post here, 
 like a coward — as you very justly called your- 
 self, Philip. But besides this, I defeat you upon 
 another ground. It is not true that Jack is 
 in all ways more suited to be the head of a 
 large estate than yourself. Granted that he is 
 a good farmer, and that you understand nothing 
 of farming. You can learn. I have seen men 
 with all your disinclination and half your 
 capacity, master these things — and end by liking 
 them, too. Then do you think that Jack will 
 either know or care anything about the mental 
 condition of the poor ? As long as they do a
 
 CONFIDENCIOS. 327 
 
 good clay's work for him, I'm afraid he will 
 not trouble his head very much more about 
 them. Now these are days when it is no longer 
 a question of choice or opinion about Education. 
 If we don't see that they get it in the right 
 way, they will get it in the wrong. Socialism, 
 Infidelity, every sort of evil follows, if we don't 
 guard and elevate them above this by a better 
 teaching. We have talked over this before, 
 Philip, and you feel as I do. You know the 
 necessity of a wholesome education for the very 
 poorest man, and you may be of infinite use, 
 in this respect, among those who are depend- 
 ent on you. I do most emphatically repeat, 
 therefore, that the abilities God has given you 
 should be exercised in the sphere where He 
 has placed you, and no other." 
 
 "And what's to become of Jack? I might, 
 to be sure, let him have the old Grange, with 
 the farm adjoining it." 
 
 " Capital arrangement. He would then be 
 near enough for you to consult him about the 
 property, which will of course be strange to you 
 at first ; and yet you will not be so dependent 
 on him as if he were at the Hall."
 
 328 
 
 CONFIDKNCES. 
 
 " But — for some years, Esdallc — until I pay 
 everything off— he will have very little. The 
 Grange farm is not worth five hundred a-year, 
 and Jack's habits are extravagant." 
 
 " He must get rid of them. Depend on it, 
 Philip, this is a wiser arrangement for Jack's 
 happiness than encouraging his old habits, by 
 putting him at the head of a large house, where 
 he will have many temptations to expense under 
 the name of ' hospitality,' and where he will never 
 cure himself of spending more than he has. By 
 and bye, when your affairs come round, you can 
 be as liberal to him as you like ; a little wholesome 
 economy, meantime, will do him no harm." 
 
 "Well," said Philip, " I'm afraid you're right, 
 Esdailc, — you generally are. But don't go and 
 desert me now. You're not going to get a fat 
 living and cut the Ashford curacy, eh?" 
 
 " No chance of that," I replied with a smile, 
 " my home is here for the present — probably for 
 life."
 
 UONFlDENCi:S. 329 
 
 LETTER 
 
 To the Baroness Schonbokn, Dresden. 
 
 March I5th. 
 
 Thanks for your affectionate letter, my dear 
 sister ; and the interest you take in all that con- 
 cerns me. I knew I should have your hearty 
 congratulations. I knew also that you would 
 declare that you had " seen it all along." It is 
 true I did not confess the state of my own heart 
 to myself till lately, but one of the first lessons 
 you taught me was to believe in the superior 
 penetration of woman ! 
 
 I sent you that budget from my Diary, because 
 I thought it would explain to you better than any 
 letter now, the strange and sad events that have 
 brought about this happy consequence to me. 
 The dear girls have both recovered their health
 
 330 CONFIOENCF.S. 
 
 and good looks, and in some measure their spirits, 
 since I last wrote. Mrs. Stapylton, at the earnest 
 instances of her eldest son, has written to Linda 
 as her future daughter-in-law. The double mar- 
 riages will take place the same day, early in May. 
 They will of course be strictly private, on every 
 account. Colonel Shaddock has given each of 
 the girls a thousand pounds, and Captain Ellicc 
 has sent his god-daughter two hundred for her 
 trousseau. She tells me, with a smile, it is to 
 be one quite after the fashion of your country, 
 consisting principally of sheets and table-linen ! 
 
 As an advantageous purchaser has offered for 
 Sunny Cove, it has been thought best to sell 
 it, the proceeds being divided between Ellice 
 and Linda. Our future home is to be the small 
 white cottage clustered over with roses and 
 woodbine, in which Humboldt Ferrers lived last 
 summer, before he went to America. It has 
 since been untenanted. Probably on that ac- 
 count, — though the owner assures me for my own 
 deserts, — I am to have it at a very low rent, and 
 you will see how pretty Ellice will make it, with 
 her taste for arrangement. This future tense 
 moans t;omclhing more than a conventional ex-
 
 CONFIDENCES, 
 
 331 
 
 pression of confidence. Though the cottage is 
 very smallj there will always be a corner for 
 you both — pipe and baby included ; and I look 
 forward with delight to making you and my 
 beloved Ellice something more than sisters in 
 name. 
 
 Philip has given Jack the Grange and ad- 
 joining farm (which forms no part of the original 
 estate, but was bought by his grandfather, and 
 is not entailed). Jack has already begun his 
 new life by sending all his horses up to Tat- 
 tersal's except one hunter and a hack. The 
 Squire's stud was sold there last week. The 
 family plate, and — what is a greater grief to 
 Philip — the library, have also been brought to 
 the hammer. Nothing convertible into money 
 has been spared, and the proceeds will only 
 just cover the Squire's debts. The greater 
 portion of the Hall is shut up ; two servants 
 only are left. Philip lives in his tower, and 
 is, I hope, setting himself energetically to work 
 on the right road. When he is not closeted 
 with the land steward, he is walking over the 
 farms with his brother ; and he assures me, 
 he is becoming learned on the subjects of sub-
 
 332 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 soiling and drainage. To disentangle the skein 
 of difficulties in which he found himself, on 
 his father's death, requires time and courage. 
 He has still enough to do : no leisure for 
 German Philosophy, — not one mystical reverie, 
 I can answer for it, these two months past. 
 
 " We are all three setting up in life as poor 
 men," said he, with a smile, yesterday; "but 
 you and Jack have an unfair advantage over 
 me. Where I was bankrupt long ago, you 
 start with a large capital, and you will not 
 waste it, either, Esdaile, if I understand you 
 and EUice aright." 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 LONDON 
 I'riutcl l)y SMITIT, Eldbk, i C0„ l.'i, Old Builey.
 
 Go, CornMll, London, June, 1859. 
 
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 nurt the piithos (if siillciiiia iilmost inrrediblfi, 
 thrrc hns nppoarcd nothiii!; like this litllp huok of 
 pcrsunni ndveiitiirts. For ihc fli-st limo we scorn 
 forealizo thp luiiaiiitndc nf tlie nlllictions whicli 
 liavo holnlhMi niir uiihiipii.v countrjmmi in the 
 Enst. Tho tiTi-ii'lp (tnini;i oonics bcfm-c us. .•uul we 
 are hv turiio hcwihiered with horror, sliini? tu 
 
 flcrce'iiidiaimlion, niid niolted to tears 
 
 We havi- here a tale orsntleriii!? s-iieh as may have 
 been equalled, hut never surpassed. These mil 
 adventures, which no effort of the iniaifinatiou 
 can surpass, will llnd a sympathising public." — 
 Athenarum. . ,, 
 
 "Mr. Kdwnrds's narrative is one or the most 
 dcpplv interest iiiif episodes of a story of which 
 the least sti-ikiiii? portions cannot be ro;id without 
 
 emotion. lie tills his story with simplicity and 
 nianliness. anil it bears the impress of that 
 earnest and iinanvctcd reverence to the will and 
 hand of (iod. which was tlie >tay and comfort 
 of nianv other brave hearts."— f7i(((/-rt'nn. 
 
 " The" narrative of Jlr. Kdwards's sufferini; and 
 escapes is full of iiitirest ; it tells many a p iinful 
 talc, but it also exhibits a man patiiiit under ad- 
 versity, and lookiir.j to the (;<kI and Father of u» 
 all for" sfuidaiiee and support."— AV/c,-7ic Kfritv. 
 
 ".\moiia the stories of hair-brpadth escapes in 
 India this is one of the most iuterestin.i^ and 
 toucliiiia;."— ii.romiJicr. . . „ . 
 
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 " A very touchini; narrative."- iif. Gazelle. 
 
 " So accouutof it can do it justice."— G/otc. 
 
 The Chaplains Narrative of the Siege of 
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 Post 8ro, uilh a Plan of the City ai 
 
 " Mr. notion's work commends itself to us as a 
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 "A simple and toucliini? statement, which bears 
 the impress of truth in evei-y word. It has this 
 udvantauc over the accounts which have yet been 
 pul)lished, that it supplies some of those personal 
 anecdotes and ininiite details which brins the 
 CVPIits home to the uiidi istau.linn."— .-l^AcHrPKm. 
 
 " "The Chaplain's Narrative' is remarkable lor 
 Its pictures of men in amoral and reliitious nspiel. 
 during the pniitress of a haras.sin^ sie-'e and 
 when suddenly slricken down by the enemy or 
 disease."— i'/ erialor. 
 
 " A plain unvarnished record of what came 
 under a Field Cliaplain's daily observation. Our 
 aulliMr is a sincere, hard\vorkiii'.r. and Kciieroiis 
 minded man, and his work « ill be most ncceplable 
 to the friends and relations of the many (.hrislian 
 heroes whoso fate it tells, and to whose later 
 hours It alludes."— /yCU(/cc. 
 
 " A book which has value as a careful narrative 
 by an eye witness of one of the most stirriiiK 
 episo<lesof the Indian campaign, and interest as 
 
 id Siege Wor/is, price 10s. Gd. cloth. 
 
 nn earnest record by a Christian minister of 
 some of the most toMchinit scenes which can come 
 
 1 under observation."— /.iVerar.i/ Uazette. 
 
 "The speciality of llr. Kotton's narrative cnn- 
 
 ' sists in his tesliinony. not to the reckless valour 
 
 I of our men when actually under tire: oi tlmt \\6 
 hardly rci|uiie to be remiudel; but in hiscoin- 
 niPinoi-ation of tluir steady constancy and en- 
 durance under iirivation, and the spirit of 
 reliiiious Pai'iiPstness which alike inspired pff'irt 
 ill the Held, and resignalion on llio deathbed."— 
 I'rens. ... 
 
 I "A close record of tho events of the sicgc, by an 
 
 I cyo witness."— /ij-unii«!r. 
 
 "Theniilitary operations are detailed with clear- 
 
 . ness. mill the most conspicuous deeds of heroism 
 are fully described. We have several deathbed 
 scenes."— A'coiiowiiJ'^. 
 
 "These paites are full of matter which cannot 
 fail to interest a lur:!0 number of leaders of all 
 classes "—G/o/x". 
 
 "I'eriiaps the most complete account of that 
 great milltnry operation which l.asyot appeared." 
 
 ; —C'rilic. 
 
 llie Crisis in the Punjab. By Fkedecick H. Cooper, 
 Esq., C.S., Umritsir. 
 
 Post Sro, with Map, price 7s. 6d. cloth 
 
 " The hook Is full of terrible interest. The nar- 
 rative is written Willi vlttoiir and earnestness, 
 and Is full of the most traijic lulercst."— 
 JJronomift. 
 
 " One of the most intercstin^nnd spirited bonks 
 which have sprung out of the sepoy mutiny."— 
 Olo!/e.
 
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 OX INDIA AND 
 
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 With Plans. Post Svo, price 7s. 6d. cloth. 
 
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 "Col. Bourchier describes the various opera- 
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 " None who really desire to he more than very 
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 Narrative of the Mission from the Governor- 
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 mperial 8i'o, with 24 Plates (12 coloured), .50 Woodcuts, and 4 Map?. Elegantly 
 
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 ach a book is in our times a larity. Large, curious in themselves, but lor the speculations 
 
 lassive, and beautifvil in Itself, it is illustrated | they open up as to origin of the Burmese style, 
 
 f a sprinkling of elegant woodcuts, and by a and the splendour of the empire, centuries ago." — 
 
 !ries of admirable tinted lithographs Sj ectator. 
 
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 luditionof one of the most interesting divisions 
 ' Asia beyond the Gauges."— Athe'ceum. 
 " Captain Yule has brought to his narrative a 
 noivledge of many things, which is the main 
 elp to observation. He has a taste in archi- 
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 luch information on the history and religion of 
 16 Burmese. , . . His description of these 
 
 ofthose who preceded him. To all wlio are desirous 
 of possessing the best and fullest account tll.^t 
 has ever boeh aiven to the public, of a great, and 
 hitherto little known region of the globe, the 
 interesting, conscientious, and well-written work 
 of Captain Yule ■« ill have a deep interest, while 
 to the political economist, geographer, and mer- 
 chant It will be indispensable."— ixoj«i?ier. 
 
 riie Autohiograplig of Lutfallali, a JSlohame- 
 dan Gentleman, with an Account of his Visit to England. 
 Edited by E. B. Eastwick, Esq. 
 
 Third Edition, Small Post Svo. 
 
 "Thank you, Munshi Lutfullah Khan ! We 
 ave read your book with wonder and delight, 
 our adventures are more curious than you aie 
 ware. . . . But your book is chiefly striking 
 )r Its genuineness. . . . Th? stoi-y mllaid, in 
 :s di-gree, to some sort of understanding of the 
 ndian insurrection. The adventures of Jlunshi 
 .utfuUah, however strange, are of less interest 
 ban his views and opinions. The first tells us 
 hietty of an individual, the others present to us 
 
 race. Professor Eastwick has done a grateful 
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 " Kead fifty volumes of travel, and a thousand 
 mitations of the Oriental novel, and you will not 
 :et the flavour of Eastern life and thought, or the 
 est of its romance, so perfectly as in LTutfuUah's 
 lOok. The book, to be appreciated, must be read 
 rom the first to the last imse."— Leader. 
 
 "This is a remarkable book. We have auto- 
 liographies in abundance of Englishmen, Frencli- 
 nen, and Uermans ; but of Asiatics and jlahome- 
 ans, few or none. ... As the autobiography 
 if a Mahometan muUa, it is in itself singularly 
 nteresting. As the observations of an cye- 
 vitiuss of our Indian possessions and our policy 
 ind proceedings in the peninsula, it possesses a 
 
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 nemorials on the same subjects."— i7o7idai*rf. 
 
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 "Tills is the freshest and most original work 
 that it has been our good fortune to meet with for 
 long. It Dears every trace of being a most genuine 
 account of the feelings and doings of the author. 
 The whole tone of tne book, the turn of every 
 thousht, the association of ideas, the allusions, 
 are all fresh to the English reader; it opens up a 
 new vein, and many v.ill be astonished to find 
 how rich a vein it is. Lutfullah is by no means an 
 ordinary specimen ofhis race. . . . Everything 
 which contributes to eive us a right understanding 
 of the character of our Indian subjects is of im- 
 portance; in this li2ht we consider Liitfullah's 
 autobiography no less valuable than entertaining. 
 It gives, too, a few indications of the character 
 we bear in the eyes of the ■nat\yes."—Eco7ioniist. 
 
 "This veritable autobiography, reads like a mix- 
 ture of the Life and Adventure of Gil Bias, vith 
 those of the Three Calendars. . . - Every one 
 who is interested in the present state of matters 
 in India should read Liitfullah's own account of 
 himself and his people, as vieW as their peculiar 
 ai d eeneral feeling towards the Eeriugees."— 
 Globe. 
 
 "It is readable, instructive, and entertaining, 
 and it is most creditable to its a.\itiiOT."— Saturday 
 Review. 
 
 "As an autobiography, the book is very curious. 
 It bears the strongest resemblance to Gil Blasof 
 anything we have ever Tecii,"— Spectator. 
 
 7
 
 AVOKIvS rUELISHED 33 Y 
 
 NEW AVOKKS ON 
 
 INDIA AND 
 
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 Life and Correspondence of Lord Metccdfe. 
 By John William Kaye. 
 
 New and Cheap Edition, in 2 Vols., Small Post 8t'0, wilh Purtrait, price 12s. cloth. 
 
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 '• Lonl Mctoniro posspssort oxlnionliimry onpo-- 
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 discornMient of one whose fortune it was to In; 
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 midil ions which have been nnide to the present 
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 fresh passaitcsof hivjb intcrer-t, now first inserted 
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 " .Mr. Kaye's life of Lord Melcalfo is a work too 
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 Mr. Kaye has judiciously condensed that portion 
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 auirmcutalioniif that i>art sclliir.' forth Lord .Mit- 
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 '^ajjers of the late Lord JSIetcalfe. Selected and 
 
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 A. J. BAunowcLU I r., Auilior of 
 «' Anibcrliil]." :} vols. 
 
 '•The still-} isHila.ir.ilily Jovolopul. ThPiiili;ri>st 
 never M:ii;s, tlw' inr;il<"ifs ;inr imtiinil wllliiiiit 
 hciiiK ooiui.uinpiano, iiii I the iiu'iiniul wmmiii talk 
 niul iioHil-e liuni 111 tii-in^s. "—/'/■(■.■•.■<. 
 
 " It Is seldom we lliiil. even in llim prent use or 
 novel wiitin.;, so imicli tlial is jileis'iiil niid so 
 little to ohieet to us in ' Trnsl for Trnst." It con- 
 tains inuch orisiuiil lliou^-Ul iiud fresh humour. 
 
 OLD AND YOUNG. 1 vol. 
 
 " Tlie uriiir's p'lw rs of dcscripiinn nve cer- 
 taiiilv almve the average. Tilt wnliiii tlironnli- 
 out is that of awell-eiliiiated and polished seliolar. 
 . . . The tune is manly and hcivlthful."—l/«/'HiH£/ 
 llrrtiUI. 
 
 ELLEN RAYMOND; or, Up.s and 
 J)i)\VN.s. r.v Mrs. ViDAi., Autlior 
 of "Talcs' fur llic Bush," &c. 
 3 vols. 
 
 " The plot is wronaht out " i*h wonilerfnl iuse- 
 nuilv. and the dillerent characters are su>tained 
 in perfect keeping; to the ciiii."—llli(strutcd iVeics 
 ofhic Uoi-ld. 
 
 '• The ehnriictcrs arc stood, the style pure, cor- 
 reet, tirisk, and easy."— /'»•«»». 
 
 LOST AND WON. By Gkorgiana 
 M. Ckaik, Author of "Iviverston." 
 1 vol. 2iid Edition. 
 " NotliinR superior to this mvel has appeared 
 durinK the pres-iit se f.ini."— Leader. 
 
 " Miss Oraik's new story is n sool one and in 
 point or aiiility above the average of ladies' novels." 
 ^Dailu Xeics. 
 
 AN OLD DEBT. By Florence 
 
 Dawsdn. '1 \ ols. 
 
 "A powcrfiillv written novel; one of the hest 
 which has recently i.r.ne-iled from a female 
 hand. . . . The dialogue is vigorous and 
 spirited."— J/«fHi«r/ I'obt. 
 
 SYLVAN HOLT'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 r.v lloi.iMi; Lki:, Authorof " Kathie 
 Brando," &c. 2nd edition. 3 vols. 
 
 "The well-estahlished reputation of Holme 
 Lee, as a novel writer, will receive an addilioiml 
 
 Jlory from the puldicaticm of '.Sylvan Holt's 
 )aimhtcr.' It is a charmlii!? tale of country life 
 and character."— f.Vo'ie. 
 
 "There is much that is attractive in "Sylvnii 
 Holt's HanKlilor,' much that is uracefiil and re- 
 lined, mucli that is fresh, healthy, and imlural." 
 —Prcat. 
 
 MY LADY : a Tale of IIoderx 
 Like. 2 vols. 
 
 "'.'ilv I.adv ' is a fine specimen of an English 
 matriMi, exirihlliii:; that union of strength and 
 Kcntleiie^s of common sense and romance, of 
 ciicrny and (trace, which nearly approaches our 
 Ideal of wnmauliood. "—/'/''-■.*•■.■*. 
 
 ■' ■ .My l.ady ' evinces charming reeling and deli- 
 cacy of touch. II is a novel thai « ill be read with 
 Interest."— .(l<Ae««H m. 
 
 EVA DESMOND ; on, Mctatiox, 
 
 :$ vols. 
 
 "A mfire heaiiliful creation than Eva It n'Onhl 
 hedlillcull til i.iia'<iiie. The novel is undoubtedly 
 lull of Interest."— ,l/oc)i(H(/ Piml, 
 
 "There is jiower, path is, auilm-lglnality in con- 
 ception and catastrophe."— i'-dt'cr. 
 20 
 
 I'.y tile Author of " Marj:aret ; or, 
 I'rtjudicx' at lloint'." 1 vol. 
 
 " The author has a nathetic vein, and there is a 
 lender swcctues in the tone of her narration."— 
 Lender. 
 
 "It has the first reqnlKite of a work incnnt to 
 nmnse : it is amusing."— O7o6c. 
 
 "This novel is written with considerable pownrj 
 its tone is high, and the luor.il bound."— jyt»rii(«i/ 
 UeralJ. 
 
 THE MOORS AND THE FENS. 
 
 By r. G. TiiAiioKD. ;3 vols. 
 
 "This novel stands out much in the same way 
 that 'Jane Eyre' did. . . . The characters are 
 drawn by a mind which can n ali/o llctilioug 
 eliaracters with minute intensity."— i'uiurciay 
 Uevieir. , .,..,. 
 
 "It is seldom that a first Mellon i.s entitled to 
 such np|ilause as is 'The Xloors ami thcKcnii,' 
 ami wc shall look au.viously for the w riter's next 
 easa.v."— t'Wic. 
 
 " The author has the gift of telling n story, and 
 'The Moors and the Fens' will be read." — 
 AHifiiirnm. 
 
 "This is one of the most original novels wo 
 have latelt- met with. . . . The clmracters 
 really show a great deal of power."— Pre**. 
 
 GASTON BLIGH. By L. S. L.wenc, 
 
 Autlior uf " luksmere." 2 vols. 
 
 " ' Gaston Bligh ' is a good story, admirably 
 told, full of stirring incident, susliiiniiig to the 
 close the interest of a very iugi'iiious plot, and 
 abounding in clever sketehes of cliaraeler. It 
 sparkles with wit, and will reward perusal."— 
 C'li/ic. ., , , 
 
 "The story is told with great power; the whole 
 book sparkles with esprit: and the char.icters ' 
 talk like gentlemen and ladies. It Is very enjoy- 
 able reading."- Pres*. 
 
 THE THREE CHANCES. 
 
 By the Author of " The lair 
 Carew." 3 vols. 
 
 "This novel is of a more solid texture than 
 most of its contemporaries. It is full of good 
 sense, good thought, and good writing."— i>'<i/tej- 
 VI an. 
 
 "Some of the cliaraeters and nmiantic situa- 
 tions arc s'roii-'ly marked and peculiarly orisinnl. 
 ... It is the irroat ineiit of the aulhoress that 
 the personages of her tale arc huuian aud real."— 
 Lender. 
 
 THE WHITE HOUSE BY THE SEA: 
 A L«)VE Story. By M. Betilv^m- 
 Ei>WARD.s. 2 vols. 
 
 " A tale of English domestic life. The writing Is 
 verv good, irraeerul, and iinanreleil ; it pleases 
 « ith()Ut startltUL'. In the dialogue, people di not 
 harangue, but tiilk. and talk iialMrally."— C'rffic. 
 
 " "rbe narrative and scenes exhibit feminine 
 spirit and (luiet Irulaof di'linealioii."— Sjirr^//or. 
 
 "A novel made up of love, niire ami simiile, ii, 
 the form of an aulobiograpliy. — /.cfi(?fr. 
 
 MAUD SKILLiCORNE'S PENANCE. 
 
 I'lV Mai!V C. J a< k>o\. Author of 
 "The ytory of My Wardship." 
 2 vols. 
 
 "The style is n.-xtural. and displ.iys considerable 
 dramatic power."— C'ci7ic. 
 
 "It is a well concocted tale and will ho very 
 palatable to novel readers."— J/ofHi;i//J'w«<.
 
 S]MITII, ELDER J>iJNT> CO. 
 
 NEW NOVELS— contimml 
 
 THE PROFESSOR. By Cumrkii 
 Bell. 2 vols. 
 
 "■ffe think the aiithor's friends have shoTin 
 sound judgment in publishins the ' I'rnfessoi-.' 
 now that she is gone. . . . It shows the lirst 
 germs of conception, which afterwards expanded 
 and ripened into tlie great creations of her imagi- 
 nation. At the same time her advisers were 
 eiinaliy rislit wlien tlicy counselled her not to 
 jniblish it in her lifetime. . . . But it abounds 
 in merits."— Suiurclay Review. 
 
 •• The idea is original, and we cver.v here and 
 there detect germs of that power which took the 
 world by storm in 'Jane E.vre.' The rejection of 
 the 'Professor' was, in our opinion, no less ad- 
 vantageous to the youns authoress than creditable 
 to the discernment of the booksellers."— P/v«s. 
 
 " Any thing which throws light upon the growth 
 and composition of such a mind cannot be other- 
 wise than interesting. In tlie ' Professor ' we may 
 discover the germs of many trains of thinking, 
 which afterwards came to be enlarged and 
 illustrated in subsequent and more perfect 
 works."— C/'iViO. 
 
 "There is much new insight in it, m:-,ch ex- 
 tremely characteristic genius, and one character, 
 moreover, of fresher, lighter, and more airy 
 gra.ce."—Eco}ionilst. 
 
 " We have read it with the deepest Interest ; 
 and C'lnfidenlly predict that tliis legacy of Char- 
 lotte Bronte's genius will renew and confirm the 
 general admiration of her extraordinary powers.' 
 —Jiclectic, 
 
 Georgiaxa M. 
 
 RIVERSTON. By 
 
 Craik. 3 vols. 
 
 " It is highly nior.al in its tone and character, as 
 well as deeidy interesting, and written in an 
 excellent style."— Jlorjihii/ Herahl. 
 
 "A decidedl.v good novel. The book is a ver.v 
 clever one, containing much go.d writing, well 
 discriminated sketches of character, and a story 
 told so as to bind the reader pretty closely to the 
 text."— £xi! miner. 
 
 "3Iiss Craik is a very lively writer: she has wit, 
 and she has sense, and she has made in the 
 beautiful young governess, with her strong will, 
 saucy independence, and promptness of repartee, 
 an interesting picture."— Pr?ss. 
 
 " 3Iiss Craik writes well ; she can paint cha- 
 racter, passions, manners, with considerable 
 effect ; her dialogue flows easily and expressively." 
 — Daily News, 
 
 " A production of no little mark, and tiualifled to 
 interest old as well as young."— ifai/ec. 
 
 "Decidedly a clever booji ; giving hopes of a 
 capacity in the writer for better things in the 
 tatiire."—Econcmi3t. 
 
 "The author shows great command of language, 
 a force and clearness of expression not otten met 
 with. . . . We offer a welcon:e to jliss Craik, 
 and we shall look with interest for her next 
 ^\■or'k.."—Athenl^um. 
 
 FARINA. By George Meredith. 
 1 vol. 
 
 "A masque of ravishers in steel, of robber 
 knights; of wat'r-woraen, more ravishing than 
 lovel.v. It has also .a brave aiul tender deliverer, 
 and a heroine proper for a romance of Cologne. 
 Those who love a real, lively, aiulacious iiiece oi' 
 extravagance, by «ay of a change, will enjoy 
 ' Farina.' "—Athenceum. 
 
 "An original and eutert.aining book."— ir<?s<- 
 minster Revieio. 
 
 " We cordially recommend it for general pur- 
 chase and perusal."— Z)oi7^ News. 
 
 " ' Farina' cannot fail to amuse the most sober 
 minded reader."— C'r(7i(?. 
 
 " It has a true Rhenish flavour."— Prfss. 
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. 3 vols. 
 
 " The book is unquestionably clever and enter- 
 taining. The writer develops from first to last 
 liis double view of human life, ns coloured by the 
 [ anners of our age. . . . It is a tale superior 
 t(j ordinary novels, in its practical application to 
 the phases of actual \\ie."—AthencEum. 
 
 " There is a great deal of cleverness in this story • 
 a much greater kno\vledge of country life and 
 character in its various aspects and conditions 
 than is possessed by nine-tenths of the novelists 
 who undertake to describe it."—Specta'or. 
 
 " The novel is one that keeps the attention fixed, 
 and it is written in a genial, often playful tone. 
 Tlie temper is throughout excellent."— Exiimiiier. 
 
 " This is a book which possesses the rare merit 
 of being exactly wliat it claims to be, a story of 
 English country life; and, moreover, a very well 
 told story."— Lai!;/ Netrs. 
 
 "'F.elow the Surface' merits high praise. It is 
 full of good things; good taste— good feeling- 
 good writing— good notions, and high morality.' 
 -Globe. 
 
 "Temperate, sensible, kindly, and pleasftiut."— 
 Saturday Review. 
 
 "A more pleasant story we have not read for 
 many a day."— British Quarterly. 
 
 THE ROUA 
 
 Mackenzie. 
 
 PASS. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 Bv Erick 
 
 " It is seldom that we have to notice so good a 
 novel as the 'Iloua P.ass.' The story is well con- 
 trived and well told; theineidents arenaturalnnd 
 varied; several of the cliaracters are skilfuU.v 
 drawn, and that of the heroine is fresh, powerful, 
 and original. The Highland scenery, in which 
 the plot is laid, is described witli truth and feeling 
 — witli a command of language which leaves a 
 vivid \mpres'iion."—A'a lurch! y Review. 
 
 "The attractions of the story are so numerous 
 and varied, that it would be ditficult to single out 
 any one point of it for attention. It is a brilliant 
 social picture of sterling scenes and striking 
 adventures."— iwK. 
 
 "'The Iloua Pass' is a work of very great 
 promise. It is beautifully written. The romance 
 is iii'-'cnious and interesting: the story never 
 Hags."— Critic. 
 
 " The peculiar charm of the novel is its skilful 
 paiuting of the Highlands, .and of life among the 
 Highlanders. Quick observation and a true .sense 
 of the poetry in natu-e and human life, the 
 author has."— i'jumJHsr. 
 
 "A capital fiction. As a landscape novel, it Is 
 altogether deliglifful."—G/o?«i'. 
 
 " ' The Eoua Pass ' is a good novel— the best of 
 the season."— Westminster Rerieir. 
 
 " This is a very good no^e\."—Guardian. 
 
 THE NOBLE 
 
 A Chronicle. 
 
 TRAYTOUR. 
 
 3 vols. 
 
 " The ' Noble Tray tour ' is a chronicle. Interest- 
 ing for its facts, interesting for its .association, 
 and, above all, interesting and important for the 
 clear views which it gives of the modes of life in 
 'merry England,' at the eventful period to which 
 it veSeYS."—Ohserver. 
 
 "It is an Elizabethan masquerade. Shakespeare, 
 the Queen. Essex, Raleigh, and a hundred nobles, 
 ladies, and knights of the land, .appear on the 
 stage. Tlie author has imbued himself with, the 
 spirit of the times."— £eo(7er. 
 
 "The story is tolJ with a grapliic and graceful 
 pen, and the chronicler has produced a romance 
 not only of great value in .a historical point of 
 view, but possessing many claims upon the atten- 
 tion of the scholar, the antiquary, and the general 
 reader." — Post. 
 
 " The book has great merit. The portraits of 
 Elizabeth and Essex are well and finely drawn."— 
 Critic, 
 
 21
 
 AVOEIvS rUBLTSHED BY 
 
 NEW l^OYFA.S— continued 
 
 KATHIE BRANDE, By IIoumi: Lee. 
 2 vols. 
 
 " ' Kntliie BrnrKlo ' is not iiiorcly a very intorest- 
 •ina; iiovol— it is ii very wlmlrvomo one, for it 
 leaclies virtue by exiiiiiiilc."— t'rjVic. 
 
 "Thvonelioiit 'Kntliie Brnudc' there Is mncli 
 ewettiicss.nmlcniisiilcrnblepowerof description." 
 —Suturiliii/ Uerieic. 
 
 " 'Kntliie Urniide' is intemled to illustrntc the 
 pnrniiKiiiiit exi-cllcnce of duty ns n moviiK [iriu- 
 ciple. It is full of bonutics. "—i»ui/2/ Aiii». 
 
 "Certninly one of the best novels that wo have 
 lately riyMl,"-Oi(anlia)t. 
 
 PERVERSION ; on, Tin: Causes and 
 
 CONSKQLKNC'KS OF InFIDKUTY. IJy 
 
 the liitu Kev. W. J. Cu.nvimcaui:. 
 3 vols. 
 
 '• The nl)lest novel that has appeared for many 
 a day."— ii/c-ov/ Gazelle. 
 
 "This storv has n touehins interest, which 
 linsters with 'the render after he has closed the 
 \)Ouii."—.ltliCii(euin. 
 
 "The tone is uood and healthy; the roU»fii»is 
 feelins sound nud true, and well sustained."— 
 GuartlUni. 
 
 " This is n novel, written with n stroni; sense 
 both of what is amusing and what is right."— 
 £xamine>'. 
 
 " It is Ions, very loni?, since wc have read a 
 narrntive of more power than this."— Srituili 
 Qnurterlu Revimc. 
 
 "This is a good and a noble book."— iVeif 
 Quarterli/. 
 
 FRIENDS OF B O H E M lA: 
 
 oil, I'llAsKS OF LOXIJON LlFK. liy 
 
 E. M. WiiiTTY, Author of 
 Governing Classes." 2 vols. 
 
 The 
 
 "Mr. M'l.ittv is a genuine satirist, employing 
 satiiT for a aenuiue piirpose. You laiieh witli him 
 very niuili: but tiie lauuhtcr is fruity and ripe in 
 tho'imht. His stylo is serious, and his cast of 
 mind severe. 'I'he ninhor has a merriinent akin 
 ta that of Jaques and Hint of Timon."— ^/AiHa'Kw. 
 
 '"Men and women as they are, and life ns it is' 
 mii?lil be the nicitl.. of .Mr. Wliiltys 'Friends of 
 Bohemia.' Jlr. Whilty is a satiri-t. and s(-ldoin 
 fi>rfi<'ts it. His dialoi;ues are rapid and drninatie 
 ns thi'sei.f a French novel, and perfectly iiaturnl." 
 — H'ertinhii'ter Uciicic. 
 
 "'Friends of Bohemia' has the rare merit of 
 paintiim clever pictures and of being spnrl>!ing 
 and dramatic from beginning to vud.'—JJailj/ 
 A'tirit. 
 
 "Tlie b<M.k Is fresh and vigorous; the Btyle is 
 terse and lively."— A«c Quarterli/- 
 
 THE EVE OF ST. MARK. By 
 
 Thomas Douhlki^ay. 2 vols. 
 
 " ' The Kvc of St. JIark ' is not only well written, 
 but ntlroitly constructed, nnd Interesting. II ■ 
 tone is perhups loo gorgeous ; its movement ist' 
 much tliat of a masmiernile; but n mystery i~ 
 created, and a very loveable heroine is pour- 
 trnyvtV— At lienaum. 
 
 " ' The Eve of St. JInrk ' Is nn interesting .story, 
 vividly Coloured, and not a little dramatic in ii 
 constnutioi). . . . The book is really a r. ■ 
 inanee-a diorama of antique Venetian life."— 
 Leader . 
 
 "It is the work of nn artist, thougbtftilly de- 
 signed, and e.\ecu ted with elnlHinile jmiiis, in oil 
 that relates to the nccessories and colouring of 
 the time. It will belter thnn most novels of the 
 day, repai' attentive perusal."— i'rCT*. 
 
 "We can cordinllv recommend 'IhcEveofSt. 
 JIark ' ns a well told, dramatically constructed 
 talc-."- C'ri7ic-. 
 
 " In every wav a striking romance. The plot of 
 the tale is skilfully constructed, an i the startling 
 events are so dexterously introduced as not to 
 apijear improbable."— Skh. 
 
 LUCIAN PLAYFAIR. By Thomas 
 
 Mackeun. 3 vols. 
 
 "There are many trueheartcd sketches in it of 
 the hollies of our poor, and some wise ihonghts 
 about education, iiiiiialed with speculations I Imt 
 at least tend in a right direction."— i'xuwiinfr. 
 
 " The nulhor has some ernphic power, and 
 various scenes in the three volumes are drawn 
 with much vividness."— f /•««». 
 
 "It is impossible to close the book without a 
 feeling of deep respect for the writer, for the 
 imiity and elevation of his views, his earnestness 
 without bitlerncss."— G/o4e. 
 
 "The most nrdent lover of incident will find in 
 this Work enough to enchain his interest."- 
 iloniidij llenihl. 
 
 AFTER DARK 
 
 >\tillior of 
 Seek," &c. 
 
 , By "WiLKiE Collins, 
 " J5asil," " llule and 
 2 vols. 
 
 "Mr. Wilkio Collins tels a story well and for- 
 cibly—his st\le is eloriuent and plctuiestiue, and 
 he has a keen insight into character."— i/ni'j/ 
 Netct. 
 
 " No man living belter tolls a story."— X*ad<;r. 
 
 " Mr. Wilkie Collins takes high rank among the 
 few who can iiiviut a thrilling story, and tell it 
 with brief siinplieity."— G/ott. 
 
 "These stories possess all the author's well- 
 known beauty of stylo and dramatic power."— 
 New Quarter!!/ Jiccieir, 
 
 NOVELS FORTHCOMING. 
 
 COUSIN STELLA; on, Conflict. I A NOVEL. By Miss E. W. Atkin- 
 
 J{y the Authur of " Violet Bank." g^j^.^ Author of " Memoirs of t!ic 
 
 3 vols. ' „ ^ ,, • V o J 
 
 . ».r-... ..•».. r-i r. .1 4 41 «( 1 Queens of Prussia. 2 vols. 
 
 A NEW NOVEL. By the Author ol I ^ 
 
 " Tile Heir of Vallis." 3 vols. i 
 
 And other wvrfm of Fiction. 
 
 22
 
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