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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA s 
 
 i LOS ANGELES j
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE
 
 05altant$me pre;?3 
 
 BALLANTYNE, HANSON ANL) CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON
 
 THE 
 
 EXPERIENCE OF LIFE 
 
 V.Y 
 
 ELIZABETH M. SEWELL 
 
 Footprints that perhaps another, 
 Sailing o'er Life's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipvvreck'd brother, 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 LON'GFELLOW 
 
 
 NEW EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 1886
 
 
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 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I AM not going to write a tale, not at least what is usually 
 so called. A tale is, for the most part, only a vignette, a 
 portion of the great picture of life, having no definite limit, yet 
 containing one prominent object, in which all the interest is 
 concentrated. But this is not a real representation of human 
 existence. For one person whose life has been marked by some 
 very striking event, there are hundreds who pass to their graves 
 with nothing to distinguish the different periods of their proba- 
 tion, but the changes which steal upon them so naturally as 
 scarcely to occasion a momentary surprise. They hope and 
 enjoy, they are disappointed and sad, but no one points to the 
 history of their lives as containing warning or example. They 
 are born unthought-of beyond their own immediate circle, and 
 die lamented only by a few ; and we pass over their names in 
 the obituary of the day with the same strange indifference with 
 which we hear the aggregate amount of deaths in a battle ; for- 
 getting that for each individual soul in the vast multitude there 
 has been a special day of trial, a special providence and guid- 
 ance, and there will be a special day of reckoning and doom. 
 
 These thoughts have pressed much upon me of late, when 
 looking back upon my own life through a space of sixty years. 
 Not that I have any wish to write peculiarly about myself : my 
 own history is to be found in the history of others ; for I am 
 nearly the youngest of a large family. It is of them I would 
 speak, tracing their course at the same time with my own, and 
 that less with the view of exciting great interest, than with the 
 desire of describing what must be the lot of hundreds similarly 
 
 A 
 
 4654*73
 
 2 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 placed, and marking the snares into which we have fallen, and 
 the blessings by which we have been supported. 
 
 I was born in the neighbourhood of a country town ; and in 
 the same neighbourhood the greater part of my life has been 
 passed. That will at once describe to many the style of society, 
 the habits, occupations, hopes, and enjoyments, which have 
 from childhood surrounded me. My grandfather was a banker, — 
 one of a family who, for nearly a century, had carried on the same 
 business in the town of Carsdale with credit and honour. Old 
 Mr Mortimer (which is the appellation always associated with 
 my recollections of my grandfather) was a clear-headed, active, 
 speculating man, possessed of that peculiar kind of family pride 
 which is almost inseparable from our exclusive English notions 
 of respectability. He had no ambition in the common meaning 
 of the word ; no wish to retire from business, and become an 
 idle gentleman living upon his own property. I doubt whether 
 the offer of a baronetcy, or a peerage, would have raised any 
 dormant longings for rank. His banking house was his estate, 
 his unstained reputation and his monied influence were his rank ; 
 and when, as was often the case, he found himself courted by 
 persons of high position and eminence, their civilities were 
 received simply as the just tribute of respect which had for years 
 been paid to the respectability of the Mortimers of Carsdale. 
 
 With these feelings, it could scarcely have added much to his 
 self-complacency, when his youngest son, Herbert — my father 
 — soon after entering the army, married the daughter of Sir 
 Thomas Vaughan, a Yorkshire baronet of ancient descent, but 
 small possessions. I have heard that when one of his friends 
 congratulated him on the connection, my grandfather tapped 
 the huge ledger, which always was laid by his side in his bank- 
 ing office, and coolly taking a pinch of snuff, said : ' Look back 
 a hundred years ; the Vaughans have lost, the Mortimers have 
 won ; which have the most reason to be proud V Yet he was 
 pleased, I believe, that my father should many, for he was his 
 favourite son. He had but two children, and my grandmother 
 had died soon after the birth of Herbert : that was perhaps one 
 cause of his great affection for him ; another might have been 
 the peculiar character of his elder son, Ralph, a character which, 
 though it resembled his own in many respects, still differed from 
 it so much in one or two essential particulars, that I have often 
 marvelled how it could have been possible for two persons of 
 such opposite views to work together as they did for many years.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 3 
 
 My uncle Ralph has borne a memorable part in many incidents 
 of our family history ; but I must not speak of him at present. 
 
 Persons knowing little of my grandfather have occasionally 
 expressed surprise that he should ever have allowed a son of his 
 to choose the army for his profession : but it is no matter of 
 wonder to me. He was devoted to Herbert, — entirely bent 
 upon gratifying his wishes, and especially proud of his hand- 
 some face. The mere thought of seeing him in his uniform 
 would have been a considerable inducement to consent ; but 
 there was another and a really strong motive. A brother of his 
 own had been in the army, and distinguished himself greatly. 
 He was the hero of the small portion of romance which was latent 
 in my grandfather's disposition ; and the idea that his son might 
 one day revive the name of Colonel Mortimer, was, I believe, 
 sufficient to overcome every other objection. 
 
 My father was ordered to a foreign land shortly after his 
 marriage. I have often heard my mother describe the effect 
 which the last interview between him and my grandfather had 
 upon both ; the strange presentiment of evil which hung over 
 them, and the warning which formed part of my grandfather's 
 last injunctions : — ' Herbert, my boy, take care .of your wife, 
 and look after your children, and, whatever happens, don't be 
 led by your brother Ralph.' 
 
 It was a wise caution to give. My father was a person by 
 whom it was peculiarly needed. At this distance of time I can 
 look back upon his character, as it stands clearly forth from 
 amidst the shadows of the past, and judge him — always, I hope, 
 with filial respect, yet truly and dispassionately. His faults do 
 not seem now to belong to him. He has entered upon another, 
 and I may humbly trust, a better and happier existence, and I 
 can bear to retrace the course of his probation here, even in its 
 errors, since I know that its end was peace. He was indo- 
 lent ; that, I think, was his greatest defect. It does not seem 
 a very serious one at first sight ; but its consequences, when 
 indulged, must, I am sure, always be grievous. Yet it was not 
 so much physical indolence. He could endure fatigue, and at 
 times encounter it voluntarily. No one ever heard him com- 
 plain of the hardships of a soldier's life, or even say that he 
 disliked them ; but he hated thought, worry, effort of mind in 
 any form, except it might be some dreamy, imaginative abstrac- 
 tion, which with one degree of greater energy might have 
 made him poetical, but which, as it was, only served to render
 
 4 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 his society soothing and softening, and therefore to many 
 agreeable. 
 
 It was not agreeable to me ; but in mental temperament we 
 were far as the poles asunder. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe each member of my family 
 separately. It would be an endless task ; knowing them so 
 thoroughly, and having studied them so intimately, I should 
 never be satisfied with mere outlines ; and details are better 
 discovered by facts than by mere narration. I will try to give 
 these in the best way that I can ; partly from early recollec- 
 tions of my own, partly from letters and journals, which recall 
 vividly the scenes and incidents that might otherwise have long 
 since been forgotten. 
 
 And I will begin by my first recollection of a settled home. 
 Carsdale is a straggling, ill-built, yet clean and rather pic- 
 turesque country town. It stands upon the brow of a hill, and 
 commands an extensive view of a woody valley, watered by a 
 clear stream, which, about twenty miles lower down, becomes 
 navigable for barges, lighters, and the smaller-sized trading 
 vessels. There are but two really respectable streets in Carsdale 
 — High Street, of course, — there is a High Street in every town 
 in England — and Castle Street. They are built at right angles 
 — High Street horizontally ; Castle Street on the ascent to the 
 ruins of the old Norman tower from which it takes its name. 
 
 In the intermediate spaces between these two principal 
 thoroughfares are a few lesser streets, some broad lanes, and 
 many courts, alleys, and passages, not worse, but I fear not 
 much better, than are to be found in the innumerable towns of 
 a similar size and description which cover the face of our 
 country. My early home was in the neighbourhood of Castle 
 Street, on the road leading from the town to the castle, and 
 from thence to London. It was a square, white house, bright 
 with green Venetian blinds, a green door, and a close green 
 veranda. It stood back from the road in a little garden, 
 which had in front three oval flower-beds, and a gravel walk 
 leading from the house-door to the little entrance-gate. There 
 was a strip of lawn also at the side, and a tiny kitchen-garden 
 at the back, which, however, was never known to produce any- 
 thing but blighted currants and gooseberries, late asparagus, 
 that had evidently outgrown its strength, and cucumbers, which 
 from some unknown cause always ran to seed before they were 
 pronounced eatable. There was a tolerable view from our
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 5 
 
 house, for it stood high, and the town was about half a mile dis- 
 tant to the left ; but it could scarcely be called in the country, 
 so many little villas were congregated in the vicinity ; whilst 
 the causeway, which passed in front of the garden, was the 
 regular promenade for all the gay trades-people of Carsdale on 
 a Sunday, and the habitual safe resort of nurses and children 
 on week days. A little exertion would have screened us from 
 the public view ; but that was not an object of much value to 
 my father. He liked to sit at the drawing-room window after 
 church, telling us who was going by, and perhaps relating some 
 youthful adventure, recalled by the sight of the friends of his 
 childhood : and my mother humoured him in every fancy, and 
 even if she had wished for more complete privacy, would have 
 hesitated to suggest it. She was very gentle, yielding, and 
 unselfish. I can less bear to think and talk of her than of my 
 father : I loved her so very dearly, and her image, in its grace 
 and beauty, comes before me as a lovely picture, which I would 
 fain keep in all its original perfection. Not, I suppose, but 
 that she had faults, or, at least, failings. She had been bred 
 up in an atmosphere of pride and ultra refinement ; and 
 although she was too kind and good to allow her tastes to 
 interfere with the duties of her position, she certainly was not 
 calculated to guide a family through the toils of life. She was 
 not a popular person. Reserve of manner gave her often an 
 appearance of want of sympathy ; and although no one could 
 justly have accused her of exclusiveness, there was an uncon- 
 scious superiority shown in her intercourse with the Carsdale 
 society which threw many persons at a distance. 
 
 It is strange to me now to associate her with that homely 
 little white house on the Castle road, and the acquaintance and 
 friends who fill my early recollections. She could scarcely 
 have been prepared for them when she first married. My 
 father had then no idea of settling at Carsdale. He liked his 
 profession, and intended to follow it ; and the handsome allow- 
 ance made by my grandfather would have enabled him to do so 
 with ease if his family had been small. The circumstances 
 which induced him to change his plan, and the consequences 
 resulting from them, were first understood bv me when I was 
 about thirteen years of age. Some events and some conversa- 
 tions stamp themselves indelibly upon the memory. At the 
 very moment when they take place, we feel they can never be 
 forgotten.
 
 6 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 We were living in the white house — Castle House, as it was 
 called. We had been there about five years. Our family con- 
 sisted of seven children — two boys and two girls older than 
 myself; one boy and one girl younger. A series of misadven- 
 tures had befallen me from my infancy. I had fallen out of 
 the nurse's arms, and broken my arm and injured my back, so 
 that I was never able to walk far. I had been attacked with 
 scarlet fever, and reduced to such a state of weakness that my 
 life was despaired of. Hooping-cough had followed upon the 
 measles, and left a delicacy of constitution which caused my 
 health to be a constant subject of anxiety. I was one of that 
 numerous race who are set apart from their earliest childhood 
 for patient endurance. Very early I was taught to understand 
 my lot ; very early also I learnt to be thankful for it. But it 
 made me thoughtful beyond my years ; and at the age of 
 thirteen I had begun to reason upon the events of life, and to 
 read the character, and ponder upon the words and actions of 
 the individuals with whom I was brought in contact. 
 
 My elder brothers and sisters went to school. Vaughan and 
 Reginald to a grammar school, Caroline and Joanna to a day 
 school. Herbert and little Hester were kept at home. My 
 father made Herbert learn the Latin grammar, and thought he 
 educated him. My mother superintended my work, and 
 heard me read French, and left to my own discretion whatever 
 else I might choose to study or teach ; for Hester was always 
 considered my pupil, and a large portion of Herbert's instruction 
 also fell to my share. This was the state of our household at 
 the period I have mentioned. 
 
 I was sitting in the dining-room one morning after breakfast; 
 it was our school-room, in fact, for the only apartment which 
 could have been strictly appropriated to that purpose was very 
 small, and used by my father partly as a study and partly as a 
 dressing-room. I always liked the dining-room ; for it had a 
 French window at the farther end, opening upon the side-lawn, 
 which gave me a pleasant feeling of being in the country ; and 
 as I sat by myself looking upon the ruins of the old castle, I 
 could always find amusement in thinking of its bygone history, 
 and the tales and legends associated with it. It was nothing to 
 me then that our dining-room carpet was faded from age and 
 constant wear, or that the walls were dingy, or the festooned 
 chintz curtains, of a creeping brown and yellow pattern, more 
 shabby than those of our neighbours, Home was really home,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. '/ 
 
 in its highest and purest sense ; the paradise of my brightest 
 joys and holiest affections, and my mother was the angel of 
 goodness and beauty who blended with it the charms of a 
 higher existence. 
 
 There I sat on that morning, ensconced in the deep recess, 
 trying to master the confusion of names in the histories of the 
 Persian kings ; whilst Hester, then about four years old, seated 
 on a little stool at my feet, was learning a lesson in words of 
 one syllable. It was her favourite position ; and I had become 
 so accustomed to it, that I used to fancy I could never learn my 
 own lesson properly, or understand what I was reading, unless 
 I could feel her little head leaning against my lap, and from 
 time to time pass my hand over her glossy brown curls, and 
 see her sweet, bright little face looking up into mine, with its 
 expression of wondering respect for my superior wisdom. 
 Herbert, I believe, was with my father in his study ; he was 
 generally there for about an hour in the morning. 
 
 We heard the garden-gate shut ; and Hester jumped up and 
 ran to the front window to see if any one was coming ; I don't 
 think I looked up, for I cared little for visitors, and knew we 
 were not likely to be interrupted in our lessons. ' It is only 
 uncle Ralph,' said Hester, in a disappointed tone; ' he has such 
 a great heap of papers.' ' Never mind,' I replied rather quickly, 
 ' Uncle Ralph's papers are nothing to you ; learn your lesson 
 like a good child, and don't move again.' Hester reseated 
 herself, and we went on with our occupations in silence. I 
 heard my uncle's step as he went to my father's study ; and 
 Herbert was sent away to learn his lessons by himself. He 
 looked into the dining-room and told, us that uncle Ralph had 
 brought the November mist with him— an expression which he 
 had learnt from Reginald, but which I thoroughly understood — 
 and then ran away. I am sure I had a presentiment of some- 
 thing untoward that morning, I felt it so very difficult to fix my 
 attention ; in fact, the idea of the November mist could not but 
 be disagreeable. We always felt the effects of these autumnal 
 interviews, though we never knew what caused them. 
 
 It must have been nearly an hour before we were again dis- 
 turbed, for I know that Hester had said her lessons, and read, 
 and been sent into the garden to play, when the door of the 
 dining-room opened very hastily, and my father and uncle came 
 into the room together. 
 
 My uncle Ralph was what might be called a pleasant-looking
 
 8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFL-. 
 
 person : he was tall and well-made, and his face was handsome, 
 — full and round, like that of a man at ease with himself and 
 with the world ; he had a high forehead, rather receding, a 
 bald head, a clear blue eye, a smiling mouth ; and he had also 
 that which is a great charm to young people — a soft voice, and 
 smooth, cordial manner. His dress was always rather peculiar. 
 He wore a blue coat of an old-fashioned cut, which no one ever 
 thought of persuading him to remodel; his cravat was tied 
 in a bow, very neat, but very odd. He had gaiters instead of 
 boots, and very square-toed shoes. Some might have called 
 him, at first sight, a gentleman of the old school. To me, how- 
 ever, he was always the sharp, determined, eager man of business 
 of the nineteenth century. As far back as I can recollect, my 
 impression of my uncle was of a man to be feared ; and as I 
 grew older the feeling strengthened. If he took notice of 
 me, I wondered what he was wishing to gain by it : if he left 
 me to myself, I thought I must have displeased him, and he 
 would get me into disgrace. Whatever he said, I, by degrees, 
 learnt to suspect a secret reservation ; whatever he promised, I 
 was sure he could find some way of evading it. And yet there 
 was not a single action with which I was acquainted in those 
 early years that I could have entirely blamed. He had such 
 high-sounding, kind, plausible reasons for all he did, that any 
 person sitting in judgment upon him might have acquitted him 
 of intentional wrong. When he came into the dining-room that 
 morning, I withdrew myself farther into the recess, hoping to 
 escape his notice. He saw, and nodded to me, but he was not 
 in a mood to honour me with more notice. The November mist 
 had plainly gathered over him, and over my poor father also. 
 They were wishing apparently to find some paper or letter, for 
 my father drew out a large tin-box, which was kept in a closet 
 by the fireplace, and told me to go and ask my mother for the 
 key. I went, and returned almost immediately. My uncle 
 stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece. My father knelt down 
 and lifted the box with difficulty to the table. I waited for a 
 moment to know if I could do anything else, and was then 
 ordered to run away. I went back to the recess, rather cross. 
 ' Why,' I thought, ' did uncle Ralph let papa have all the 
 trouble, and not offer to help him ?' 
 
 ' I can't find it,' were the words which again withdrew my 
 attention from my book. They were spoken by my father, in a 
 tone of singular petulance. ' Indeed,' replied my uncle, taking
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OP LIFE. 9 
 
 a pinch of snuff ; and he walked up to a little bookcase by the 
 side of the fireplace, and carelessly took down a volume from 
 one of the shelves. A sigh from my father followed ; and it so 
 increased my irritation against my uncle that I deliberately 
 closed the book I was reading, and stood up, meaning to offer 
 my help. My father's voice, however, stopped me. ' It is no 
 use arguing the point, Ralph,' he said, 'the letter is not neces- 
 sary. You know as well as I do what the sum was.' ' Excuse 
 mc/ and my uncle smiled, and showed a set of very white 
 teeth j ' we differ upon the point. You say it is the interest of 
 five-and-twenty thousand pounds, which at four per cent, 
 would be a thousand a-year. I say it is the interest of twenty 
 thousand.' 
 
 ' Then why have I been deluded up to this time ? ' exclaimed 
 my father ; ' how comes it that I have received the interest of 
 five-and-twenty thousand for the last four years ?' 
 
 ' Nay, really, my dear fellow, indeed you must not ask me 
 such a question ; brotherly affection, feeling, everything, would 
 induce me to cash your cheques when you drew them, though 
 you might go a little beyond the mark. Only when you demand 
 as a right what is clearly only a question of kindness, you must 
 expect me to be a little, a very little startled.' 
 
 My father stood up, and impatiently kicking the box of papers 
 away, threw himself into an easy-chair. 
 
 ' You must just let me recall the matter to your memory a 
 little more clearly, my dear Herbert,' continued my uncle, in 
 a tone which was quite paternal in its patient forbearance and 
 condescension. ' It is now five years— five years, I think, pre- 
 cisely ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' interrupted my father ; ' go on.' 
 He had, I suspect, the same dislike which in after years I 
 felt myself to my uncle Ralph's very long, candid, and exact 
 statements. 
 
 ' Pardon me, you must give me time,' continued my uncle ; 
 ' it is better at once to put the matter into a business-like form, 
 that there may be no future misunderstandings. Nothing ca** 
 be more painful than differences of opinion on such points 
 between relations.' My father sank back in hio chair with a 
 resigned air, and my uncle went on. I cannot give his state- 
 ments in his own words ; I did not understand them all at the 
 time, and I have no doubt they were involved in a mist of 
 technicalities. But the facts which I gathered from what was 
 
 S> 1
 
 io THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 then saia, and from after-conversations upon the same subject, 
 were to the following effect. Between four and five years 
 previous, my grandfather, being in a declining state of health, 
 and anxious to have his favourite son settled near him, had 
 persuaded my father to sell his commission and settle at Cars- 
 dale, under the promise of a considerable increase of income to 
 be enjoyed during my father's life, and fifteen thousand pounds, 
 and possibly much more, in actual possession at my grandfather's 
 death. The question now at issue was as to my father's life 
 income. My uncle said it was the interest of twenty thousand 
 pounds ; my father declared it was five-and-twenty. It was a 
 question seemingly easy of decision, but it was a family matter; 
 there had never been any settled legal arrangements. My 
 grandfather had, indeed, named the sum in a letter, the letter 
 for which my father had been searching ; but beyond this he 
 had done nothing. All the arrangements had been confided to 
 my uncle Ralph. My grandfather soon afterwards fell into a 
 state of imbecility ; and my father's indolence and habitual 
 spirit of procrastination induced him to trust entirely to my 
 uncle, and take no step for the final settlement of the business. 
 When he wanted money he drew it, often to an extent beyond 
 his just due, even if that had been what he believed it ; for 
 he was careless and profuse both by nature and education. I 
 doubt, indeed, if he ever kept an account-book in his life ; 
 and but for my mother's thoughtfulness, he might have spent 
 double his income without pausing to consider what he was 
 about. 
 
 This state of things had gone on without interruption, as I 
 before said, for more than four years. With such a large family, 
 even the fortune which my father deemed his own was only 
 enough to keep us in moderate comfort ; and although there 
 was always a floating idea that we were to be rich when my 
 grandfather died, and to leave Castle House, and take a large 
 place in the country, and keep a number of servants, and horses, 
 and carriages, I suspect that the prospect to my mother became, 
 year by year, more and more indefinite. I know, at least, that 
 she was always checking our extravagant notions, and remind- 
 ing us that whatever might be our hopes for the future, we had 
 only sufficient for the necessaries of life at present. 
 
 From time to time I imagine little differences had arisen 
 between my father and my uncle, evidenced to the general life 
 only by the November mists ; but such a settled fog of gloom
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. i i 
 
 as was visible on this morning to which I refer, I had never 
 before remarked. 
 
 My uncle having recapitulated the outline of the business 
 facts in the tone in which he would have read aloud a legal 
 document, marking the dates of different little incidents from 
 the time the arrangement was first proposed so exactly, that I 
 thought he must have learned them by heart, turned to my 
 father with a smile of quiet triumph, and said, ' And now, my 
 dear Herbert, I should like to hear what you have to bring 
 forward in reply.' My father looked up in surprise, and answered, 
 ' You don't touch the point ! ' 'I scarcely see,' replied my uncle, 
 ' what is to do so. My poor father's letter might be an evidence 
 of his intention, but it could give no legal claim ; and, in fact, 
 I feel it would tell against you. Eight hundred a year was 
 what he always said to me.' My father, without venturing to 
 reply, began another search in the box. ' It is useless to vex 
 yourself, my dear fellow,' continued my uncle ; ' these matters 
 are easily settled between brothers. I have only wished to show 
 you that you are not quite, not thoroughly exact ; that, accord- 
 ing to your own statement of your claims, you have received 
 more, I might say a good deal more, than was actually due ; 
 and, therefore, if we come to a legal question — which, of course, 
 however, we never shall — you might be rather a loser than a 
 gainer.' My father sighed ; my uncle contracted his mouth 
 into the proper expression of fraternal sympathy, and went on, 
 ' I can quite enter into your disappointment. Eight hundred 
 a year is not a large sum at the present moment ; it involves 
 some care in household matters. My good sister-in-law, I am 
 afraid, was not brought up to be economical. You might, 
 perhaps — I don't say it with the least feeling of unkindness — 
 but you might, perhaps, have done better by marrying a person 
 more accustomed to superintend domestic matters ; how- 
 ever ' My father started up : ' Well, Ralph, we won't 
 
 talk any more.' ' As you wish, it may be better not,' was my 
 uncle's reply ; and he walked to the door, turning round when 
 he had half opened it to add, ' You must not inconvenience 
 yourself, my dear fellow. We shall make all straight in the 
 end, I have no doubt.' My father neither smiled nor spoke in 
 reply ; but when he heard the front-door close behind my uncle, 
 he uttered an ejaculation of thankfulness.
 
 12 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE same afternoon I was sitting in a curious old-fashioned 
 apartment in a house at the lower end of the High Street 
 of Carsdale. It was the residence of my great-aunt, my grand- 
 father's only sister, Miss, or, as she was commonly called, Mrs 
 Sarah Mortimer. Aunt Sarah was my godmother. I had been 
 named after her ; of course, therefore, I looked up to her with 
 respect. But without this species of traditionary reverence, aunt 
 Sarah could never have been considered as an ordinary person. 
 Her very appearance was against it. The slender, tall, though 
 bent figure, the face wrinkled with age, but so decided, clever, 
 and strikingly benevolent in its expression ; with the dress of 
 the pattern of fifty years back, the rich, dark, silk gown, the 
 handkerchief neatly folded over the neck, the brown cloth 
 mittens, the exquisitely white cap, with not a crease of the lace 
 frill out of place ; — no, if I had not been aunt Sarah's godchild, 
 and as such the recipient of her warnings and her counsels, 1 
 must have looked upon her as a person apart from others. 
 
 She had lived by herself ever since the death of her parents ; 
 at least, she had done so till within a few years of the period to 
 which I refer, when, a fall having rendered her even more infirm 
 than might have been expected at the age of seventy, she en- 
 gaged a lady to reside with her as a companion. Aunt Sarah's 
 life was always described as having been uneventful ; its one 
 great sorrow being the death of her brother, Colonel Mortimer : 
 but in conversing with her, I always felt that outward circum- 
 stances do not form the history of existence. 
 
 In pursuing her even course, she had lived far more earnestly, 
 and to a far higher purpose, than hundreds who have been held 
 up to the world's admiration as heroines of fortitude and energy ; 
 and there was something peculiarly touching in the deep, silent 
 love, so common that it was scarcely thought of or remembered, 
 which clung to her brother's memory through years of loneli- 
 ness, and gave the charm of a woman's feeling to a character 
 which was masculine in its strength of will and vigour of action 
 
 After the death of her mother, aunt Sarah was offered a home 
 with my grandfather ; but the offer was made for her comfort, 
 not for his, and she declined it. Her spirit was too independent 
 for the restraint which such a position involved, unless she had 
 been upheld by a sense of duty.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE GF LIFE. 13 
 
 So she resisted the offer of companionship and remained in 
 her former home, the dark, red brick house, with stone facings, 
 and a few evergreens in front, at the bottom of the High Street. 
 
 There was always a romance to me, as a child, about aunt 
 Sarah's house, and about her life also. I never could under- 
 stand how she passed her time, or what pleasure she had, or 
 how she had any money to live upon. Yet she kept three 
 servants — an old housemaid, and a still older cook, and a kind 
 of half-gardener, half-butler, whose age might have been dated 
 from the antediluvian world. 
 
 What the servants did was as great a marvel as anything. 
 Such a very long stone passage led to the kitchen, and such a 
 range of out-of-the-way offices lay beyond it, they seemed to be 
 quite cut off from the rest of the house. And there was always 
 some secret brewing, or baking, or washing going on, or some 
 repast with an unknown name to be provided ; for, of course, 
 three servants, with nothing else to do, had no resource except 
 to eat, and five meals a day was the ordinary allowance — break- 
 fast at eight, luncheon at eleven, dinner at one, tea at four, and 
 supper at eight. The domestic arrangements of that household 
 were mysteries which no experience of after-years has enabled 
 me to fathom ; only I know that no dinners were ever so nicely 
 dressed as aunt Sarah's, that the home-made bread was a 
 delicacy, the equal of which I can never expect to taste again ; 
 that the roast chicken and mashed potatoes, which I always 
 chose when I was asked what I Avould have for dinner, seemed 
 to have a peculiar flavour, not to be met with elsewhere ; and 
 that the Oliver biscuits, in the small, deep, old china dessert 
 plates, were to my belief then never bought at any shop in 
 Carsdale, for I very often tried to find them out, and never 
 could succeed in procuring any which were exactly similar. 
 
 My mother was not very well that afternoon, and had sent 
 us for a walk with the servant ; and as there was shopping to 
 be done, we went into the town. I was not in a very happy 
 mood, for I was disappointed at not being with my mother, and 
 I was sure too that something was vexing her. She had spoken 
 to me rather impatiently, which she scarcely ever did un- 
 less when sorely tried by home annoyances, and had com- 
 plained of headache, to which I knew she was not at all sub- 
 ject. Being in Carsdale, it was right to go and see aunt 
 Sarah ; it would have been a treasonable offence to neglect 
 such a common mark of respect ; so we passed down the hot,
 
 14 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 steep Castle Street, and, casting furtive glances at the large 
 house, with numerous closed windows, adjoining the bank, 
 where my grandfather was lingering out his last days in quiet, 
 unconsciousness of care, turned, as if by instinct, into High 
 Street, and stopped at my aunt's door. 
 
 We entered the house without knocking or ringing at the 
 street-door. It was a licence accorded to our superior good 
 conduct, for we were always particularly well behaved in aunt 
 Sarah's presence, and I do not remember that even a scramble 
 for caraway comfits, or a game of ball with oranges, ever led us 
 beyond the bounds of sober satisfaction. 
 
 My aunt often used to pat our heads, and say we were quiet, 
 good children ; but I never liked the expression, for it touched 
 my conscience, and gave me an impulse to confess that we were 
 often noisy and naughty at home. She was very pleased to see 
 us when we walked into the room, after duly tapping at the 
 door of the parlour, where she was sitting ; the drawing-room 
 being never used except on state occasions. Miss Cole, her 
 companion, a gentle, lady-like person, about five and thirty 
 years of age, had been reading a paper in the ' Spectator,' whilst 
 my aunt diligently knitted. The paper was just finished, so 
 that we were no interruption ; and I daresay Miss Cole was not 
 at all sorry to be released from her duty, and allowed to refresh 
 herself by a little walk in the narrow strip of garden behind the 
 house, for the sun poured in at the windows, and the room was 
 very warm. As usual, we were asked a good many questions, 
 and were regaled with a piece of home-made cake, and Herbert 
 and Hester found amusement for a considerable time in the 
 ornaments upon the mantelpiece, particularly in the figure of 
 the old monk, who acted as aunt Sarah's barometer, and 
 always put his cowl on his head when it was going to rain, and 
 the wonderful pig made of indian rubber, to say nothing of the 
 tiny wax dolls who danced on the wires of the old harpsichord, 
 whilst I played ' Little Bo-peep ' to them. These were never- 
 tiring delights to them ; but I had advanced rather beyond 
 such pleasures ; and when aunt Sarah, having exhausted all 
 her powers of amusement, suggested that they should go and 
 finish the shopping that was to be done, and that I should stay 
 with her and rest, I was quite pleased at the distinction. I was 
 always old for my age, and on that day my mind had certainly 
 made a shoot. An incipient dread of my uncle Ralph had 
 grown into positive dislike, and a misgiving that my father and
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. i 5 
 
 mother were not always happy, into a determined resolution of 
 finding out what was amiss, and never resting till I had done 
 something to help them. These thoughts were so much in my 
 mind, that when I sat down on the window-seat by aunt Sarah's 
 arm-chair, and began to watch the people passing along the 
 street, instead of amusing myself with their dress, or way of 
 walking, or wondering what they were saying to each other, as 
 they stopped to hold a few moments' conversation, the question 
 which most frequently suggested itself was, ' had they an uncle 
 Ralph to worry them.' Aunt Sarah went on with her knitting, 
 not troubling herself to talk to me ; we were accustomed to this 
 kind of silent sociability, and I was always too fond of follow- 
 ing my own ways quietly to wish for notice. We did talk at 
 last, however, and I began, after having surveyed for some 
 minutes an old beggar woman, who was nearly sinking under 
 the weight of a basket she was carrying. ' Aunt Sarah, how 
 old are you?' ' Seventy, child, my last birthday.' ' And 
 how old is uncle Ralph? ' ' Forty-five the last 17th of Novem- 
 ber.' I suppose I sighed, for my aunt's next question was, 
 1 What is the matter?' ' I wish you were uncle Ralph, and 
 that uncle Ralph were you, aunt Sarah,' I replied. ' Don't talk 
 nonsense, child ; what good would that do you ? ' There was 
 no severity in aunt Sarah's tone, though there was a little 
 abruptness in her words, and I answered boldly, ' I should like 
 you to have the good many years to live, and not uncle Ralph.' 
 My aunt turned round suddenly, and looking at me keenly, 
 through her large silver-mounted spectacles, exclaimed, ' What's 
 'in the child's head now?' The quickness startled me, and I 
 murmured out something about her being so kind ; but I did 
 not like the sentence, for I felt it was an evasion, and after a 
 moment's pause, I added, ' We don't like uncle Ralph as we do 
 you, aunt Sarah, and we never go to see him.' ' The way of 
 the world,' muttered my aunt, shaking her head, ' what they 
 can get, that 's it.' ' I shouldn't like uncle Ralph for what I 
 could get ever,' I exclaimed, rather indignantly. ' Wait till 
 you are tried, child,' answered my aunt, and a peculiar smile 
 came over her face, a sort of internal smile which just curled 
 the corners of her mouth, but did not give the least brightness 
 to her eye, and died away in a sigh. I began to think she was 
 displeased, for she sat for several minutes after this thinking 
 and not working ; and I tried again to amuse myself by gazing 
 out of the window ; but the unconquerable pertinacious spirit,
 
 1 6 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 which was one of my distinguishing characteristics in those 
 early days, made me pursue the subject even at the risk of 
 getting into disgrace. 
 
 ' Is uncle Ralph rich? ' was my next question. ' That's as 
 may be/ was my aunt's prudent answer ; ' take what you have, 
 Sally, and don't trouble yourself about what doesn't concern 
 you.' ' But it does concern us,' I replied ; ' because, if uncle 
 Ralph is rich, he might give papa some more money.' My 
 aunt put her hand on my shoulder, and holding me with a 
 grasp which gave double effect to her energetic words, said, 
 ' Listen to me, child, and when I am dead and gone remember 
 what I say. Don't be a burden upon any one ; you have head 
 and hands, use them.' ' But uncle Ralph ought to help ; he 
 ought to give papa money if he is rich,' I exclaimed, angrily, 
 for I felt as if my aunt's words were, in some indirect way, an 
 imputation upon my father. ' Never mind uncle Ralph, child ; 
 ' if he has money, that is no business of yours. Let him have 
 it, but never be too proud to work.' ' No, indeed,' I replied, 
 eagerly ; * if I could work — if I might do anything for poor 
 papa.' ' Very well,' and my aunt patted my head- approvingly ; 
 ' only keep to it, and when you are a grown-up woman look to 
 yourself, and never be a burden, and remember aunt Sarah.' 
 
 Miss Cole came into the room just then with our nurse and 
 the children, and the conversation was stopped, but its effects 
 remained. ' Look to yourself, and never be a burden,' I re- 
 peated to myself, as I put on my bonnet to go. I tried to 
 understand all that the words meant, but I had only an indis- 
 tinct impression. They gave me, however, a brave, determined, 
 independent feeling, such as one might imagine to inspire a 
 soldier with courage on the eve of a battle. I fancied them 
 my motto, and I liked to think they could apply to me. 
 
 A mere mockery they might have seemed to any one who 
 looked at my thin, sallow face and slight figure ; but my aunt 
 Sarah understood me. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AS I wrote the last few sentences, I thought to myself, how 
 very worldly that kind of advice and resolution will ap- 
 pear to many people — how proud and self-confirlent ; but I do
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. j; 
 
 not think it would be a fair judgment to pass. The quality of 
 advice depends very much upon the person from whom it pro- 
 ceeds. That which would be pride in one case is only proper 
 energy in another. My aunt Sarah was a Christian to the 
 fullest extent of that all-comprehensive title ; old-fashioned, in- 
 deed, in some of her notions, prejudiced against what she 
 imagined innovation, but humble, devoted, and self-denying to 
 an extent which I have only lately begun to understand and 
 appreciate. Some of the best and truest lessons of the ' wis- 
 dom that cometh from above' were learnt by me from her lips, 
 and even as a child I never for an instant imagined that when 
 she endeavoured to rouse my spirit, and inspire me with con- 
 fidence in my own powers, she ever meant to put aside that 
 first basis of all right exertion, trust in Him who alone can 
 make it prosper. 
 
 Her short, sharp maxims of worldly policy were therefore 
 never misleading, for I learnt insensibly to give them their due 
 check and counterpoise. Even if she had never said anything 
 directly bearing upon the subject of religion, the very sight of 
 her reverent manner, when I read with her, as I frequently did, 
 the Psalms for the day, would have been sufficient to impress 
 me with deep seriousness. She always stood at those times, 
 her hands folded together, and her eyes never moving from the 
 page before her. Not that the book was necessary as a guide. 
 She could repeat the greater part of the Psalms by heart, and 
 always knew those which were appointed for each day. I 
 never now read the Psalms for the eighteenth morning of the 
 month, without thinking of her. They were her great favour- 
 ites, and it was with a touching solemnity of feeling that she 
 would follow my voice in a deep whisper, as I read aloud the 
 words of the Psalmist, ' The days of our age are three score 
 years and ten, and though men be so strong that they come to 
 four score years, yet is their strength then but labour and sor- 
 row, so soon passeth it away and we are gone.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah's influence was certainly more important to me 
 than any other at that time, and for many years after. It would 
 be tedious to relate all the incidents of those childish days, even 
 if I could remember them. Those I have mentioned have been 
 selected, because, although trifling in themselves, they stamped 
 a definite impression upon my, as yet, unformed character, 
 which I can trace to this hour. From that period I began to 
 watch more narrowly the course of our domestic affairs, and 
 
 B
 
 1 8 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIEE. 
 
 even in a measure to understand them. No great changes, in- 
 deed, followed the conversation which had so awakened my 
 suspicions of evil. My brothers and sisters continued at school, 
 and we kept the same number of servants, and lived very much 
 in the same style as before, professedly careful, but really the 
 reverse ; but through all I could see that my mother was un- 
 easy. Every now and then I caught accidentally the last words 
 of private conversations between her and my father, the burden 
 of which was, almost invariably, economy. My brother, Regi- 
 nald, the careful member of the family, a shrewd, clever boy, 
 about a year older than myself, was generally sent to the bank 
 with my father's cheques ; because, for some unknown reason, 
 my father never would go himself, though the walk into the 
 town might have seemed a pleasant occupation for an idle man. 
 Reginald was careless of reproof, and endowed with a most in- 
 domitable will, yet he seldom returned from these money 
 errands without declaring to me in private, that nothing should 
 induce him to go again ; the bank was such a dingy hole, and 
 the clerks were so awfully sour, and uncle Ralph so repelling 
 with his short ' hem ! ' and his frowning forehead and hasty, 
 ' There, run away, boy, and don't come again/ Some one else 
 should go next time. But when ' next time ' came, the ' some 
 one else ' was not to be found, and Reginald still undertook the 
 unpleasant business. My grandfather lingered in a state of 
 second childhood much longer than any one anticipated. 
 Naturally he must have had a very strong constitution, and 1 
 think all of us, except myself, inherited it. 
 
 My uncle Ralph, with the help of a partner, managed his 
 business and lived in the same house, a sufficient excuse for the 
 circumstance to which I had referred in my conversation with 
 aunt Sarah, that we were never invited to visit him. There is 
 something peculiarly startling to children in the sight of im- 
 becility. Age is always associated in their minds with reve- 
 rence, and neither my father nor mother were willing to run 
 any risk of shocking us by an interview with my poor grand- 
 father, which my uncle always declared could not be guarded 
 against, if we were ever admitted to the house. Doubtless, if 
 my uncle had been fond of children, he would have found some 
 way of seeing us alone, for the house was large and rambling ; 
 and that part of it appropriated to my grandfather was sepa- 
 rated from the other rooms by a long passage, and there was 
 besides a garden at the back, where my grandfather was never
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 19 
 
 seen except at stated times ; but there were always objections, 
 and no one thought of obviating them, and so we lived on 
 totally apart, except on the occasion of my uncle Ralph's busi- 
 ness visits to my father. During this time my two elder sisters 
 were completing their education at a very tolerable school in 
 Carsdale, where they were allowed as a favour, and in conside- 
 ration of a long-standing family acquaintance, to attend as day- 
 boarders. I must own, I often envied them. It seemed as if 
 it must be so pleasant to work with other girls with the stimulus 
 of emulation, and the hope of at length excelling. I plodded 
 on by myself, and, I can believe now, learnt what I did attempt 
 much more thoroughly than I should have done at school. 
 
 But my sisters were then, to my eyes, prodigies of skill and 
 accomplishment. Caroline, who was four years older than 
 myself, was remarkable for a peculiar kind of prudential clever- 
 ness, which, if she had been thoroughly well educated, might 
 have been turned to very good account. I never knew any 
 one who could seize the difficult points of an intricate question, 
 and make doubtful cases as clear and convincing as she could. 
 Hers was a mind which seemed to watch and understand all 
 that was going on, and know exactly what every one meant, or 
 was wishing for. She could calculate to a nicety the effect of 
 her own words, and could always prophesy the line of conduct 
 which her companions would pursue. She was not accom- 
 plished, or elegant, or pretty, or really well-informed, yet, by 
 some marvellous tact, she managed to pass for all. Whatever 
 she wore was so well chosen and so neatly put on, that one 
 forgot in the good taste of the dress any personal defects in the 
 wearer. Whatever she said was brought forward at such a 
 happy moment, that if had twice the value of an ordinary ob- 
 servation. She never hazarded anything. If she sat down to 
 the piano, she played a merry country dance or quadrille, and 
 people said, ' Miss Mortimer's music was so inspiriting, it was 
 quite a treat.' If she drew, she copied some good pencil draw- 
 ings, and was praised for her bold style ; if she ventured upon 
 points of history or general literature, she was certain to have 
 made herself quite mistress of the facts connected with them 
 before she ventured to allude to them ; or, if they were brought 
 forward in general conversation, she was judiciously silent, till 
 enough had been gathered from the remarks of other persons 
 to allow of her offering a safe, general observation, which im- 
 plied that she knew all that was to be known. I do not re«
 
 20 THE EXPERIENCE OE LlEE. 
 
 member ever to have heard her confess herself ignorant upotf 
 any subject, or make a single remark which could be turned to 
 ridicule. 
 
 My mother was not in the least able to cope with a character 
 like this. She was so affectionate, simple, straightforward, and 
 humble-minded, that I am quite sure she not only did not 
 understand Caroline, but she was afraid of her. We all, indeed, 
 had a habit of deferring to her ; and this may, perhaps, have 
 increased the great fault of her disposition — selfishness. Some 
 characters expand, but never rise; others rise, but never expand. 
 The former are clever and useful, but worldly ; the latter are 
 earnest and devoted, but narrow and superstitious. Caroline 
 belonged to the former class. She had no high aims or motives, 
 and though she would allow of their existence, it was always 
 with a smile at their delusiveness. I believe she set out in life, 
 in her life at school even, with a determination of making her 
 way by herself and for herself; and unquestionably she succeeded, 
 as regards this world, entirely. 
 
 Joanna was in all respects unlike Caroline. Outward appear- 
 ance must always have an effect upon character, and I have 
 sometimes amused myself by fancying what my two elder sisters 
 would have been, if Caroline had possessed Joanna's decided 
 beauty, and Joanna been gifted only with Caroline's sturdy com- 
 pact figure, and square, intelligent features. For Joanna was 
 beautiful from childhood : her long fair curls, and transparent 
 complexion, and brilliant blue eyes, began the work of mischief, 
 I have been told, at four years old, when she used to stand be- 
 fore the glass and say < pretty.' My father and mother, all of 
 us indeed, were so proud of her, I can never wonder at the faults 
 which showed themselves as she grew up. From my earliest 
 years I was an enthusiastic admirer of beauty. One of my 
 peculiar pleasures in being with my mother was the delight I 
 took in looking at her sweet face ; and Joanna was more than 
 pretty — she really was lovely. Her figure, too, was good ; and 
 Iier manners were very agreeable, when she could be kept quiet 
 and free from self-consciousness : that spoilt her very much, but 
 she showed less of it at home than when in society. I could 
 see but few defects in her in those days, though she was as re- 
 markable for want of tact as Caroline for possessing it. She was 
 variable, and moody, and fond of excitement, and exceedingly 
 alive to the opinion of the world, and fearful of being un- 
 fashionable or deficient in style or manner ; but she was livery,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 2 1 
 
 affectionate, and open-hearted, and I loved her too well and too 
 humbly to think of blame. 
 
 Caroline and Joanna were seventeen and eighteen when they 
 left school. It was Caroline's own wish to remain as long as 
 her sister. I think school must have been an excitement to her, 
 and that she did not wish to go through the ordeal of a twelve- 
 month's recluse life before she went into society. She was 
 anxious to step from the school-room into what, for her, was the 
 gay world, at once ; and though the expense which the arrange- 
 ment involved was a matter of serious importance, Caroline's in- 
 fluence was so great that it» was agreed to without much difficulty. 
 I cannot help smiling when I think what our notions of society 
 were then. We had never known anything of it except at 
 Carsdale ; and there it was limited almost entirely to the resi- 
 dents in the town. My father's indolence, and my mother's 
 wish to be economical, prevented them from enlarging their 
 acquaintance ; and our intercourse with our country neighbours 
 was carried on by yearly or half-yearly morning visits, which 
 brought with them neither pleasure nor profit beyond the excite- 
 ment of a drive in an open fly to any of us who were allowed to 
 go. My mother's family, I always understood, were persons of 
 rather a fashionable cast, but they were all married, and dis- 
 persed in different parts of the world ; and I never heard any- 
 thing of them, except by occasional letters. Some of these did 
 now and then give us an idea of a different style of amusement 
 from the dulness of Carsdale dissipations ; but we were all con- 
 tented with our lot there : the least event was a novelty, and I 
 believe Caroline and Joanna looked forward with as much in- 
 terest to their first evening party — given by Mrs Blair, the wife 
 of a physician in Carsdale — as if it had been a prelude to the 
 delights of a London season. 
 
 I am afraid there was no simplicity in this. Simplicity can- 
 not be a question of large or small rooms, costly furniture or 
 plain, splendid entertainments or homely ones. The daughter 
 of a nobleman may be simple in the midst of luxury, and the 
 daughter of a lawyer or a clergyman full of pretension in a home 
 of only ordinary comfort. 
 
 There may be greater risk in the one position than in the other, 
 but even upon this point I have learnt to be sceptical; or at 
 least to inquire whether when the Bible warns us of the danger 
 of riches, it does not include the easy opulence of respectability, 
 as well as the extravagant refinement of the highest classes.
 
 22 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Certainly my experience of Carsdale society did not lead me 
 to suppose that homeliness was necessarily unpretending ; or 
 that an education, without accomplishments, must form a strong, 
 sensible character. But this is merely forestalling the opinion 
 of after years. At the time of which I am writing I thought 
 little upon any subjects of that kind. The period was ver'y im- 
 portant to me, but from a cause totally unlike that which gave it 
 interest to my sisters — I was preparing for confirmation. 
 
 What first made me think seriously about religion I cannot 
 tell. Is it not indeed a deep mystery why and how the mercy 
 of God vouchsafes to waken us, either early or late, to a sense 
 of the true end of existence ? Perhaps illness had rendered me 
 thoughtful ; perhaps my frequent visits to aunt Sarah had in- 
 sensibly inspired me with something of her own earnestness ; 
 or, possibly, the insight into family cares, which I had attained, 
 had darkened what would otherwise have been my brilliant ex- 
 pectations of the future. I do not know how all this was ; but 
 I am sure that at that time religion was not the governing 
 motive of my family. My dear mother, indeed, was an excep- 
 tion, but she was so reserved that it was with difficulty she could 
 bring herself to speak upon the subject even to her children, and 
 her natural timidity of character often, I suspect, made her 
 yield to the wishes of others against her better judgment. We 
 went to church twice every Sunday, and had family prayers 
 every morning ; in the evening, for some reason I could never 
 understand, it was not considered practicable. When we were 
 little children we said our catechism and collects to my father 
 on a Sunday evening, and looked at the pictures in an old 
 family Bible ; but beyond this we had little direct instruction. 
 
 I believe myself that, humanly speaking, it was from aunt 
 Sarah I derived all my deeper feelings of this kind. Amongst 
 other things I remember being particularly struck with the care 
 she took to enable Miss Cole to attend the Wednesday and 
 Friday services, in Carsdale Church, though she was a great deal 
 too infirm to go herself. 
 
 There is something in every household to which all other ob- 
 jects or pursuits must give way. In aunt Sarah's it was reli- 
 gion. It was impossible to be long with her without discover- 
 ing it, and this sort of deference in action was infinitely more 
 impressive than any words. 
 
 My brothers and sisters felt it as well as myself, though in a 
 less degree. Caroline, who always laughed at what she called
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 23 
 
 over-strictness, used to declare that aunt Sarah had trained 
 even her canary bird to keep quiet on its perch when the Bible 
 was brought out. 
 
 Aunt Sarah was certainly the person who sympathised the 
 most openly with the feelings which the thought of my confir- 
 mation excited in me. For several weeks I went regularly to 
 be examined by Mr Benson, the rector, on which occasion I 
 answered questions from the catechism, and listened to a set of 
 lectures addressed to me, in common with the other candidates 
 for confirmation. But Mr Benson was an old man, who had 
 never been accustomed to interfere in any way with the better 
 class of his parishioners, and when my mother first introduced 
 me to him, particularly, before my examination, I remembered 
 he offered at once to give me a ticket, saying he was sure that 
 the child of such admirable parents must be well prepared. It 
 was from my own choice that I attended the confirmation 
 classes, as they were called, for I was determined to gain all the 
 instruction I could. My mother said, in her quiet way, that 
 she should be glad for me to go ; but aunt Sarah warmly ap- 
 proved of my determination, and used to make me dine with 
 her every day after I had been to Mr Benson's, that she might 
 hear all he had said, and give me a little help from her own 
 experience. Such curious, pithy pieces of advice I received 
 from her at those times ! I wish I could remember them in her 
 own words ; but they worked themselves, as it were, into my 
 mind, and became so much a part of myself that I cannot now 
 separate them from the opinions formed from my own knowledge 
 of life. ' Order, child, that is the main thing/ she used some- 
 times to say to me. ' Seek ye first the kingdom of God ; first 
 in time, first in place. The world is in a tangle ; God means 
 us to put it straight : he tells us how ; if we won't listen, it will 
 be in a tangle all our lives.' 
 
 This notion of order was a very favourite one of hers. She 
 was wonderfully neat, not merely from taste but principle ; for 
 she was a deep thinker in her quaint way ; and I really believe 
 seldom even folded up a handkerchief to put it aside in her 
 drawer, without some allusion in her own mind to what she 
 called the typical meaning of this necessary daily duty. 
 
 I am not orderly myself, though I am an old maid ; it is not 
 in my nature ; but I know I should have been much worse if it 
 had not been for aunt Sarah's injunctions ; and certainly as re- 
 gards the mind, I have been struck constantly with the wonder-
 
 24 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ful assistance which the principle of seeking the kingdom of 
 God first affords in deciding questions apparently belonging only 
 to this world. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE day of my confirmation was the day of Mrs Blair's ball, 
 my sister's first party. There was a very odd medley of 
 feeling and occupation in our house on that morning. The con- 
 firmation was not set aside or forgotten, for in its way it was 
 almost as great an excitement as the ball. The Bishop was to 
 have luncheon at Mr Benson's ; and Herbert and Hester stood 
 at the drawing-room window nearly an hour after breakfast to 
 watch for his carriage. A great many persons, whose children 
 were to be confirmed, were expected from the countiy, and my 
 mother thought it a good opportunity of showing attention 
 easily ; and therefore prepared a sort of cold dinner, which 
 might save our servants trouble, and allow of any chance visi- 
 tors being invited. Her notions were very simple, but Caroline 
 and Joanna were determined that if their friends did come they 
 should find everything in proper style. They arranged the 
 dishes on the table themselves, and not only gathered every 
 flower in the garden to fill a glass vase for the centre, but even 
 made interest with aunt Sarah's old Richard to send a few 
 choice roses. It was with great difficulty that I was allowed to 
 remain quietly in my own room. I do not think I should have 
 been but for the interposition of little Hester, who always had 
 an instinct as to my wishes, and persuaded Caroline and Joanna 
 that she could make a much better waiting-woman than I could, 
 because I was so soon tired. 
 
 I remember listening, as I stood at the door of my little bed- 
 room within the nursery, to the unusual noises in the house, 
 the rushing up and down stairs, the raised voices, the clatter 
 of trays and glasses, and plates, the roll of the cai-riages driving 
 into the town, and feeling very disturbed and uncomfortable. 
 Certainly the world was, as aunt Sarah had said, in a tangle, 
 and how was I to put it right ? I shut my door and sat down 
 to read for a quarter of an hour, before I put on my things 
 to go to church. In whatever state the world might be, there 
 was no doubt that my first duty was order in my own mind.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 25 
 
 Whilst I was thus engaged my mother came into the room. She 
 wanted to know if I was ready. She wished to go early, she 
 said, for there were one or two things wanting for dinner, and 
 she must order them as we went into the town. I suppose 
 something in my countenance showed that this sort of business 
 proceeding was not quite in accordance with the tone of my 
 mind, for she stopped in the middle of a sentence, and said that 
 she would not trouble me just then about such things, only I 
 must be ready soon. And then she produced a very prettily 
 bound Prayer-Book, such as had been given to my sisters on 
 their confirmation, and offered it to me with a most fond kiss, 
 and a whispered prayer that God would bless me and make me a 
 good child. This was all I desired from her at that moment. I 
 could not have talked to her even if she had given me the op- 
 portunity. I was contented to know that she had an especial 
 thought for me in the midst of the bustle of the day ; and after 
 thanking her with tears in my eyes', I began to prepare for 
 church. As I went down-stairs, I heard my mother call Caroline 
 aside, and ask whether Fanny, the parlour-maid, could not go 
 into the town for what was wanted ; but Caroline negatived the 
 idea instantly, and said that Fanny was wanted a hundred ways 
 at home, and that there would be quite time enough to go to a 
 few shops before church ; so my dear mother yielded, as she 
 almost always did, to Caroline's decided will. 
 
 How very little I understood what was passing in my own 
 mind that morning ! At the time it seemed as if I was in a per- 
 plexing dream, struggling to retain certain feelings which were 
 constantly escaping from me. I liked seeing the town full ; and 
 I was interested in going into the shops, and hearing orders given 
 for unusual things, and I felt a consciousness of being noticed as 
 about to take part in a ceremony in which every one I met was 
 interested ; my white dress and straw bonnet, with new white 
 ribbons, marking me out as one of the children to be confirmed. 
 And yet in the midst of all this distraction and even vanity, I was 
 very much bent upon collecting my thoughts, and sadly distressed 
 when I found myself wandering from my confirmation vow to the 
 question, how all the people who were expected at luncheon 
 would manage to find room in our small dining-room? My father 
 joined us at the church door, and patted my shoulder affec- 
 tionately, and then took me into the church, and placed me 
 where he could see me. I hoped I should have been quiet there 
 at least, but I was not ; the same confusion of ideas followed me,
 
 26 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and the service was, what the preparation had been, a struggle in 
 which I believed myself utterly to have failed. Yet no, — I will 
 not say that entirely. Even then, though grievously vexed with 
 myself, something in my own heart told me that I had not failed. 
 I was in earnest, heartily in earnest. I had entered upon 
 the battle of life, and I was resolved, through God's assist- 
 ance, that, cost what it might, I would bear myself bravely to 
 the end. 
 
 Doubtless strength was then given to that feeble but steadfast 
 resolve, however little I could at the moment perceive it. 
 
 My father and mother walked home with me. Numbers of 
 persons came up to us, and I was asked again and again 
 whether I had been confirmed ; the inquiry being generally 
 followed by the hope that my mother and sisters would be at 
 Mrs Blair's party. I kept close to my mother's side, and was 
 very silent, and tried to say over to myself part of the 1 1 9th 
 Psalm, which I had lately been endeavouring to learn ; but I 
 think I envied my sisters a little, and felt as if they were more 
 free to do as they chose than myself. 
 
 When we reached home my father and mother gave me a kiss, 
 and said they liked going to church with me, and that they were 
 sure I should be a good girl ; and then my father strolled into 
 the garden to see who was coming up the road, and my mother 
 went to the dining-room to observe how the luncheon had pro- 
 gressed during her absence. The house-bell rang fourteen times 
 in the course of the following half-hour. Herbert counted the 
 number, and would have come to my room to tell me of it if 
 Hester had allowed him. But she had constituted herself my 
 guardian, and was determined, she said, that I should not be 
 teased. So I was allowed to remain by myself, and when luncheon 
 was ready, and my father sent to me to come down, Hester 
 carried him a petition that I might have some cold chicken taken 
 up to me, and presently brought it to me herself, and spread a 
 cloth on a little table, and waited upon me as carefully and 
 silently as if I had been really her mistress. At other times 
 she would have talked and laughed incessantly; for she was the 
 merriest-hearted child I ever met with, but she had infinite tact, 
 and saw in a moment that it was my wish to be quiet. I am 
 afraid it was a wish of duty more than inclination. I should 
 have liked very much to see the luncheon, and I thought to 
 myself several times what a cheerful party there must be down- 
 stairs ; but I felt that it would do me harm to be with them, for
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LI1 27 
 
 it would untone my mind, and I could not bear the thought of 
 placing myself voluntarily in the way of temptation. 
 
 That one slight self-denial I have often thought upon with 
 great gratitude; because I am sure its effects were not slight. It 
 gave me what, I suspect, we all want more almost than anything 
 else at the beginning of life — a consciousness of moral strength ; 
 and with strength came hope and happiness. I went down-stairs 
 when luncheon was over ; my father wished it ; but I had set 
 myself apart in my own mind, by my hour's solitude, and the im- 
 pression remained with me as a safeguard, when I was obliged to 
 return to common life. Our visitors did not stay very late. The 
 greater number had several miles to go before they reached home. 
 One elderly lady, however, remained at my mother's request. She 
 was engaged to be at Mrs Blair's party, and having been offered 
 a seat in a friend's carriage had come into the town early, and 
 did not quite know what to do with herself all the afternoon. 
 She was a cheerful, talkative person, very good-natured, and not 
 requiring any effort for her entertainment. If she had been at 
 all stiff, I really think my mother would never have summoned 
 courage to press her to stay, for she was quite tired herself with 
 the unusual efforts of the luncheon party, and extremely nervous 
 at the prospect of the evening. 
 
 Miss Cleveland saw this, and would not let her remain in the 
 drawing-room to talk and be civil, as she said, but sent her away 
 to her own room to rest. ' Sarah and I shall be very good com- 
 pany for each other,' she added, much to my surprise, and a little 
 to my horror, and my mother smiled, and told me to take great 
 care of Miss Cleveland, and make her quite comfortable ; and 
 accepting the permission given her, went away. 
 
 ' So, my dear, you have been confirmed,' said Miss Cleveland, 
 commencing the conversation, when my mother had gone. She 
 said it in such a merry voice I began to feel as if confirmation was 
 the easiest, most cheerful duty I had ever been called upon to take 
 part in; and when I looked up there were a pair of little spark- 
 ling black eyes fixed upon me, forming such a curious contrast to a 
 faded complexion, and some large stiff flaxen curls, that I felt an 
 almost irresistible inclination to laugh. ' There were a good many 
 people at church, I daresay,' continued Miss Cleveland. ' I 
 remember quite well when I was confirmed, it was the 1 8th, — I 
 recollect exactly, because of Anna Strong's birthday — the 18th 
 
 of September, seventeen hundred and , but I must not tell 
 
 tales upon myself, my dear : when you are as old as I am, I hope
 
 a 8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 you will know how to keep your own counsel cleverly.'' I had 
 listened with a hope of eliciting some interesting facts, respecting 
 Miss Cleveland's early history, but she was satisfied at having 
 fixed the date, and rushed away from the subject at a right angle, 
 under the fear, I suppose, of exhausting it. 
 
 Mrs Blair's ball was the next topic, and on this she was 
 more communicative. She told me what I did not know before, 
 that Mrs Blair and she were distant cousins — Clevelands both 
 of them ; a very good family ; a Yorkshire family, old friends 
 of the Vaughan's. This was an interesting piece of informa- 
 tion, for I had always had a romantic notion of my mother's 
 family, perhaps from having heard so little about them. My 
 mother being the youngest, had been kept in the nursery almost 
 till the time of her marriage, and had never had much inter- 
 course with her sisters, who were considerably older and had 
 married long before her. 
 
 Miss Cleveland was full of anecdotes, very small ones, neither 
 very clever nor very exciting, but amusing to a girl not quite 
 sixteen, who liked to hear the least details concerning the daily 
 life of her unknown relations. After she had described to me 
 the particularity of my grandmother, which I had sometimes 
 heard my mother mention, and the misdeeds of some of my 
 uncles, and the virtues of my aunts, who she informed me had 
 all been her very particular friends, I ventured to inquire whether 
 she ever saw anything of them now : No, she replied, very 
 seldom, sadly seldom. After Sir William's (my grandfather's) 
 death, the family had been so broken up. The present Sir 
 William kept very much to himself, and Mrs Eversham, the 
 eldest sister, was in India, and Mrs Dixon was in Scotland ; 
 and Mrs Colston, who was a widow, had such bad health. No, 
 she never saw anything of them now, but she often regretted it, 
 and she liked of all things to come and have an hour's chat 
 with my mother about old times. Sometimes she had almost 
 made up her mind to ask Mrs Colston to come and see her, but 
 she did not know how it was, she was so busy, and had such 
 numbers of engagements, she never could find the right time. 
 < But I think, I do really think I shall ; yes, I am nearly sure 
 I shall,' she added, the smile upon her lips spreading itself like 
 a sunbeam over her face. 
 
 There was a pause : Miss Cleveland seemed to be maturing 
 some vast project, whilst her usually cheerful-looking features 
 contracted into an expression of grave thought. I ventured
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 29 
 
 presently to observe that it was a pity my aunt Colston had no 
 children. ' Yes,' and Miss Cleveland shook her head ominously ; 
 ' it is a great pity, my dear, a pity in more ways than one. 
 People say she is quite devoted to that niece of her husband's, 
 — that Horatia Gray.' I repeated the name involuntarily, with 
 an accent of surprise : I did not remember ever to have heard 
 it before. Miss Cleveland looked at me, as if doubting whether 
 my ignorance were real or feigned, and then, after a short con- 
 sideration, continued, ' Ah ! my dear, I see how it is ; your 
 mother is a wise woman, she does not trust little folks with 
 affairs that don't concern them. I daresay Horatia Gray is a 
 very clever girl, and people know best how to manage their 
 their own concerns ; but I must say that I like justice. I like 
 relations to be considered in due order : Horatia Gray is no 
 relation of Ann Colston's, it is quite untrue to call her so ; she 
 is nothing in the world but a sort of step-niece of the Major's, 
 and he never took to her, or knew anything about her, for her 
 connections were quite beneath him. If you reckon in that 
 way, we are all descended from Adam.' After delivering this 
 wonderfully clear oration upon the subject of relationship, Miss 
 Cleveland put on her spectacles, and took up her work ; and, as 
 I was just then called out of the room, the subject was dropped, 
 and was not again resumed. 
 
 My recollections of that evening, Mrs Blair's evening, as we 
 used to call it, are very vivid. I can fancy now, that I see 
 'before me my mother, in her handsome figured silk of a pale 
 dove-colour, and my sisters in their white muslin dresses, with 
 pink sashes, and white roses in their hair ; and Miss Cleveland, 
 with a wonderful cap, which spread itself out in wide wings, on 
 each side of her head, and a splendid salmon-coloured satin 
 gown, which I felt persuaded must originally have been intended 
 for a presentation at court. It was a complete romance to me 
 to look at them ; it seemed as if they were all about to start on 
 some unknown adventure. I had before me a bright, though 
 confused imagination of a very splendid room, and dazzling 
 lights, and brilliant colours, and of Joanna as the heroine of the 
 night, who was to excite universal admiration. I do not think that 
 I had any wish to go with them ; gaiety of that kind was never 
 very attractive to me, for I was of a shy disposition, and con- 
 scious of being very plain. Besides, it was more in accordance 
 with the solemnity of the morning that I should be the Cinder- 
 ella, waiting upon others, than the sharer in their pleasures.
 
 30 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 was contented to be allowed to stay in the room whilst my 
 sisters were dressing ; and hold the pins, and thread needles, 
 and go about with messages. And it was not till my mother 
 gave me a parting kiss, when the fly was announced, and told 
 me I looked pale and good for nothing, and had better go to 
 bed early, that I remembered I had been standing and running 
 about for the last hour and a half, and was very tired, and hud 
 a terrible headache. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Sarah,' said Caroline, as she was about to follow 
 my father and Miss Cleveland to the carriage. She looked as 
 thoroughly self-possessed as if she had been accustomed to 
 excitement for years. ' Good night, dear,' said Joanna, giving 
 me a kiss, ' we are so much obliged to you for helping us.' My 
 brother Vaughan, who considered himself a man, though he was 
 a year younger than Caroline, patted me on the shoulder, called 
 me ' Cenerentola,' and passing his hand through his hair, told 
 me to go and fetch his great-coat, as he and my father intended 
 to walk. They were gone ; the house was very quiet ; for 
 Herbert and Hester had been sent to bed, and Reginald was 
 spending the evening with a schoolfellow. I was alone with the 
 two ends of unsnuffed candles testifying to the economy of the 
 household ; the unreplenished fire, which ' would do very well 
 for Miss Sarah till bed-time ; ' the undrawn curtains, and the 
 comfortless-looking table, upon which stood an inkstand, a few 
 books, two or three empty coffee-cups, and a plate with a stray 
 slice of very thin bread and butter. I sat myself down in an 
 easy-chair, and leant my head upon my hand, and felt very 
 unhappy. It was not only that I was solitary, that my head 
 ached, that the excitement of the day had been too much for me. 
 
 Doubtless these circumstances all contributed to depress my 
 spirits, but there was a wretchedness above and beyond all ; a 
 sort of presentiment that the present hour was the type of my 
 future life. Sickly, plain, and indifferently educated, what 
 better could I expect than to live in shade, whilst others glit- 
 tered in sunshine ? To what duties could I look forward, except 
 those which were scarcely deemed worthy of thanks ? What 
 pleasures could I anticipate, but such as might be obtained 
 from the reflected enjoyments of my more fortunate sisters ? 
 The candles burnt more and more dimly, the fire sank lower in 
 the grate ; I said to myself that I would go to bed ; but I 
 could not summon energy to move, and my bed would not, in 
 fact, have been a resting-place ; for the nervous headache from
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 31 
 
 which I was suffering would not, I knew, allow of my sleeping 
 before the usual time. I remained in this state for about a quar- 
 ter of an hour. I had not drunk tea, and it would have been 
 a refreshment to have some, but a solitary meal in a dreary 
 room was more than I could encounter. 
 
 The clock struck the half hour, — half-past eight. Hester, 
 perhaps, was awake. I would just go and give her a kiss and 
 say good night, and then, perhaps, go to bed myself; but I had 
 not quite made up my mind upon this point, when the door 
 softly opened, and Hester in her little night-dress and slippers, 
 with a shawl thrown round her shoulders, stole into the room. 
 ' Mammy, dear/ she said, using the term of endearment which 
 she had given me ever since I began teaching her her lessons, 
 ' don't be angry ; nurse said I might come ; please don't be 
 here all alone ; nurse says your head aches.' I took her up in 
 my lap, and half scolding her for not being in bed, wrapped 
 her shawl more closely round her, and covered her feet with my 
 dress ; and then, leaning back in my chair, rested her head 
 upon my shoulder, and looked at her innocent face with an 
 indescribable sense of consolation. 
 
 She was not a pretty child to strangers ; her features were not 
 sufficiently regular, but she was very pretty to me. It might be 
 that the responsibility which I always felt about her, the idea 
 that she was a trust especially confided to me, gave her a 
 peculiar charm in my eyes ; but I never in those days thought 
 that any face could have the expression which those deep, dark- 
 gray eyes, with their long eyelashes, gave to Hester ; and her 
 smile, which came and went like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, 
 could make my heart thrill with pleasure even in its most gloomy 
 moments. She lay with her little hand in mine, and said she 
 was so comfortable, might she only stay with me ? But I could 
 not consent, it was not good for her ; and I told her she must 
 go to bed and to sleep. ' And leave you here alone, without 
 your tea, and a headache. Mammy, dear, it was very naughty 
 of them all to go away.' I put my hand before her mouth to 
 stop her, and told her no one was naughty — it was nobody's 
 fault, it could not be helped. 
 
 The last words seemed to strike her. ' Can't be helped ! ' 
 she repeated, and she sat up and looked round her. ' Must you 
 sit here and be miserable ? ' I could scarcely help laughing at 
 the energy cf her tone, but again I repeated that it could not 
 be helped ; it was not worth while to give trouble to the ser-
 
 32 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 vants. ' But let me do it, let me help you ? ' and before I could 
 stop her, she had sprung from my lap, and was standing by the 
 table, looking round to see what was first to be done. The 
 shawl fell off her shoulders, and, as I wrapped it round her, 1 
 said in a tone of half reproof, ' It won't do. Hester, you must 
 not stay here, Mamma would not like it ; you must go to sleep, 
 and I must be miserable, as you call it.' ' Must you ? ' she 
 again repeated, with an air of strange thoughtfulness ; and 
 looking fixedly in my face, she said, ' Who told you you must ? ' 
 My only reply was a kiss ; and lifting her in my arms, I carried 
 her to the nursery, and left her with a last promise that I would 
 come and look at her again, and say ' quite good night.' 
 
 What a marvellous force is at times imparted to a few seem- 
 ingly chance words. ' Must be miserable,' I said to myself as 
 I stood once more alone in the drawing-room. Was there 
 really any must ? In answer, I stirred the fire, snuffed the 
 candles, rang the bell, and begged that I might have my tea 
 brought up directly ; and after putting the chairs in their 
 proper place, smoothing the table-cover, and arranging the 
 books, sat down to rest in a comfortable chair by a bright 
 blaze, and felt that in spite of my headache there certainly was 
 no ' must be miserable for me,' that evening. I remember 
 these trifling incidents, because they were my first experience 
 of a truth which has since been continually brought before me. 
 Trial in some shape or other has followed me from my youth, 
 but there has been no < must ' be miserable. The must, if I 
 believed it to exist, was of my own creation, — a phantom which 
 had only to be rightly confronted, and it vanished. 
 
 I spent a really pleasant half-hour by myself, enjoying my 
 tea, which lessened the pain in my head, and thinking over all 
 that had been going on in the day. If I could have put down 
 my reflections upon paper, they would, I suspect, have been a 
 strange medley. The confirmation ought to have been upper- 
 most, and I did really try to keep it so, but other ideas would 
 force themselves upon me: — the luncheon, and Miss Cleveland, 
 and what my sisters were doing, and especially that mysterious 
 Horatia Gray, whose name had impressed itself upon my 
 imagination, as connected with something deceitful and unjust, 
 almost more because I had never heard her mentioned before, 
 than from anything which Miss Cleveland had told me. 
 
 I determined at first to ask my mother about her the very 
 next day, but upon consideration I felt afraid. There seemed
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 33 
 
 to be some family secret, purposely kept from us. My mother 
 did not converse much about our relations, and this Horatia 
 Gray might be the cause. 1 thought of talking to my sisters, 
 but Joanna was so thoughtless she would tell every one who 
 came near her what had been said ; and Caroline was so autho- 
 ritative and determined, that probably she would worry my 
 mother, and make her acknowledge more than she liked. So 
 I resolved to keep my own counsel, and find out in my own 
 way, if a favourable opportunity should offer itself, — not 
 through Miss Cleveland, that would not be honourable to my 
 mother ; but, by some means which I could feel to be right, I 
 would, if possible, know Horatia Gray's history, what she had 
 done, and where she lived, and why my aunt Colston was fond 
 of her when she was no relation. 
 
 I am glad to remember that, in spite of the interest attached 
 to her, Horatia Gray was not my last thought when I laid my 
 head upon my pillow. Persons who in these days are carefully 
 taught and directed, might have smiled at my vague efforts at 
 self-discipline ; but I look back upon them with great grati- 
 tude, and can feel at this day the benefit of some rules which I 
 made for myself — I scarcely knew why, only I had an impres- 
 sion they were right. 
 
 One was, never to allow my mind to dwell upon anything 
 worldly, if I could help it, after I had said my prayers. The 
 resolution was not in general very easily kept, but the very 
 endeavour was something, particularly just then when I saw 
 enough in my own mind to make me sadly dissatisfied. I had 
 looked forward to my confirmation as an event which was to 
 work some great change in me. I had risen in the morning 
 with the idea that the day was to be especially devoted to 
 religion, a fresh starting-point, as it were, from which I might 
 date a succession of good deeds for a long life. The day had 
 come and was gone, and when I looked back upon it, I could 
 recollect nothing but a few prayers, at the best very wandering, 
 a few wishes, a slight self-denial, lost in a crowd of vain, 
 curious, idle thoughts, and careless, sometimes hasty words. 
 
 Was the next day to be like it ? I cried myself to sleep with 
 disappointment and self-disgust, and longed to go back and be 
 a child again with my confirmation yet to come.
 
 34 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE workmen's bell, at six o'clock, woke me the next 
 morning. One of the chief minor trials caused by my 
 ill health was that I never could rejoice in the gladness of the 
 early sunshine. It was always a kind of mockery of my aching 
 limbs, and feverish heavy headache. Still I was accustomed 
 to rise early, for I had a great deal to do before breakfast. I 
 was expected to dress Hester, and assist in dressing my 
 mother, and I was also called upon to hear Herbert his Latin 
 lesson, that he might not get into disgrace when he went to 
 repeat it to my father after breakfast. Besides this, Reginald 
 was required to be at school in good time, and it generally fell 
 to my lot to collect his books and hurry him when he was likely 
 to be late. 
 
 It never entered my head that my duties were harder than 
 those of others, for I always liked being useful, and, generally 
 speaking, was happier, and I believe better for having a good 
 deal to do, and no time to think of being ill ; but everything 
 certainly was at cross purposes that morning. Such complain- 
 ing, and lamenting, and scolding went on ! The house seemed 
 quite metamorphosed. My mother rang her bell to beg we 
 would all be very quiet, and Reginald immediately contrived to 
 let his bag of school-books roll from the top of the stairs to the 
 bottom. It took some minutes to collect them, and he de- 
 clared he would go without them, and leave them for Vaughan to 
 bring after him when he went, as he was at that time accus- 
 tomed to do, to read for some hours with the Rector of Carsdale. 
 Vaughan peeped out of his room, evidently just out of bed, and 
 in the very worst humour for study, and vowed he would not 
 touch them ; he was not going to read that morning, and, if 
 he had been, he had no notion of being made a slave to a 
 younger brother ; the assertion being followed by a noisy alter- 
 cation, which frightened Joanna out of her sleep, and made 
 Hester cry ; until at length the affair was ended by an im- 
 perious command from my father, that Reginald should be off 
 that moment, or he would horsewhip him. 
 
 So it went on during the early part of the day. One strayed 
 down after another, looking pale and pettish, and finding fault 
 with the cold, late breakfast, and no one but myself seemed at 
 nil inclined for occupation. My mother really was very tired,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 35 
 
 and lay upon a sofa, whilst Miss Cleveland sat by her, netting, 
 and discussing the party, and Caroline and Joanna professed 
 to read and copy music ; every five minutes, however, leaning 
 back in their chairs yawning, and remarking what a very pretty 
 dress Miss Somebody wore, or how very badly Mr Somebody 
 danced, or how very strange it was that Mrs Somebody-else 
 had not been present. The party was pronounced to have 
 been very pleasant. Joanna had danced the whole evening, 
 and Caroline might have done so if she had chosen it. There 
 were a good many county people there, and they had been very 
 agreeable, and particularly civil to my mother — in fact, as 
 Caroline observed, and the observation was seconded by Miss 
 Cleveland, it was quite clear that it would be our own fault if we 
 did not have our choice of the best society in the neighbourhood. 
 
 My mother looked up at this speech, and, with what for her 
 was a slight tone of satire, asked what was meant by the best 
 society. ' The best ! oh, every one knows what the best 
 society means/ answered Miss Cleveland, hurriedly ; whilst 
 Caroline added, decidedly, ' That which is not to be found in 
 Carsdale.' ' It seems to me, my dear/ said my mother, in her 
 very low, quiet voice, ' that Carsdale society is just as good as 
 any other as far as we are concerned.' ' My dear Fanny ! ' 
 exclaimed Miss Cleveland, in horror. ' My dear mamma ! ' 
 repeated my sisters in one breath. ' Just as good/ continued 
 my mother, firmly. ' Do you mean/ inquired Miss Cleveland, 
 as she allowed her netting to fall upon the floor, and bent for- 
 ward eagerly, ' that Mrs Travers and the Miss Simpsons, and 
 old Mr Lawson and Major and Mrs Dormer, are as valuable 
 acquaintances for your girls as Sir Henry Greeson's family, or 
 Colonel Lorimer's, or Lady Emily Rivers ? ' 
 
 ' We will put aside Lady Emily Rivers/ replied my mother ; 
 ' I should like my children to know her. As to the others, I 
 really see no difference between them and the Carsdale people, 
 except that they have houses in the country and the others 
 have houses in the town.' ' Oh ! then, I understand, — I per- 
 ceive/ said Miss Cleveland, turning round to my sisters with a 
 meaning smile, and twinkling her bright, little, round eyes, 
 ' your mamma is ambitious for you, my dears ; nothing under 
 a title will do, I see. Well, perhaps she is right — better soar 
 high at once.' ' Perhaps it would be better not to soar at all/ 
 was my mother's answer, spoken with unusual energy. ' My 
 children are ladies by birth, and I wish them to be ladies in
 
 36 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 feeling ; they will never be so if they try to be anything but 
 what they are. My dears, you have no rank, and you are not 
 likely to have any money, and you live in a country town ; that 
 is your position, and nothing that you can do is likely to alter 
 it.' < Yet you wish them to know Lady Emily Rivers,' said 
 Miss Cleveland, looking utterly bewildered. * I wish them to 
 know any one who is good and unpretending,' said my mother. 
 Her head fell back languidly on the sofa, and to my great dis- 
 appointment the conversation dropped. 
 
 I had never heard my mother express herself so openly before ; 
 and when I thought over what she had said, I could not under- 
 stand it. She was so reserved, and so seldom made remarks 
 upon other people, that it was difficult to know whom she liked 
 or disliked ; yet I was nearly sure that she did not wish us to 
 see many persons, or to join in the tea-drinking parties, which 
 were frequent in Carsdale ; and we had never formed what 
 could be called an intimacy with any young people of our own 
 age in the place. Joanna had tried frequently ; but my mother 
 professed to have a dread of school friendships, and the ac- 
 quaintances which my sisters made at school were never kept 
 up at home. I had often heard this accounted for as the con- 
 sequence of my mother's exclusiveness. People had hinted it 
 before me when they little supposed I could hear, or, if I did 
 hear, could comprehend. It was sometimes called pride ; and 
 I was rather pleased with the term. It reminded me that my 
 mother's family was an old one, and that my grandfather was 
 a baronet ; and I had grown up insensibly with the idea that 
 we were rather out of our place in Carsdale, and ought to mix 
 more with what were called county people ; and sometimes I 
 tried to persuade myself that as we did not live actually in the 
 town, and had a little garden attached to our house, and a 
 lawn, we had a fair right to be on an equality with them. I 
 did not conjecture, like Miss Cleveland, that my mother was 
 ambitious ; in fact, I was too young really to think upon the 
 subject ; but I certainly did believe that she was very par- 
 ticular, and would prefer the society of persons of rank and 
 fortune if she could have it. 
 
 The few observations, however, which she had just made, set 
 at nought all my preconceived notions. That county people 
 and town people should be placed together, and Lady Emily 
 Rivers excepted only because she was good and unpretending, 
 was a classification which disturbed my ideas of the orders of
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 37 
 
 society as much as the natural system in botany must confound 
 the ancient followers of Linnaeus. I was pondering upon this 
 subject whilst working diligently at a new frock which I was 
 making for Hester, when my father came into the room with a 
 newspaper in his hand. He read the Times every day as a 
 matter of regular business, when Herbert's lessons were over. 
 He wanted the Times of the day before, he said ; where was it ? 
 There was an advertisement in it which he wished to see. The 
 Times had been sent to aunt Sarah ; it always went to her after 
 my father had finished it. He looked annoyed, and my mother 
 said, half laughingly, ' It would be a good occupation for you, 
 my dear, to walk into Carsdale and ask for it ; you have not 
 seen aunt Sarah this week.' ' No, impossible.' He always said 
 ' no ' first, by a sort of instinct, but it ended in my mother's 
 finding a number of commissions to be executed, all of import- 
 ance, which induced him to think it worth his while to exert 
 himself, and he agreed to go if I might go with him. 
 
 Of course we took the short way : a short way is always pre- 
 ferred, whether one is in a hurry or not ; it is a victory gained 
 over time, if not over anything else. It led us across some 
 fields into the outskirts of Carsdale, amongst new red brick cot- 
 tages in rows, with scraps of untidy gardens and broken palings 
 before them ; and then we turned into a narrow lane, one I had 
 not often been through before, — it was another short way. 
 There were tall, old, dingy houses on one side ; on the other 
 a high wall, enclosing a garden, the trees of which were seen 
 beyond. 
 
 We were about half-way through the lane, when a number of 
 oxen were driven into it. They looked very wild, and there was 
 only a boy with them. I seized my father's arm, and seeing I 
 was frightened, he stopped at a closed green door at the corner 
 of the wall, and opening it by a private key entered my grand- 
 father's garden. Twice before in my life I had been there, and 
 only twice, and that several years before ; but I was not likely to 
 forget it. The broad walk under a row of lime-trees, the hedge 
 of laurels dividing the flower-beds and the kitchen-garden, 
 and the grim, prison-looking building at the farther end of the 
 inclosure, were all in their several ways unlike anything I had 
 seen elsewhere. My father stood at the door looking into the 
 lane. One of the animals was becoming unmanageable, and 
 the people who were near began to run. My father shut the 
 gate ; and, after a moment's thought, said we would go through
 
 3 8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 the garden, and pass out the other way, so we turned down the 
 lime walk, and walked towards the house. 
 
 A strange, quiet look it had, all shut in to itself ; one could 
 have fancied one's self far away from a town. The windows were 
 very high and narrow ; one or two had bars across them. When 
 I asked ' why/ my father said, shortly, that it was for fear of an 
 accident ; the windows belonged to my grandfather's apart- 
 ments, and once he had nearly fallen out. I inquired if he was 
 there still. ' Of course,' was the reply, and my father hurried on 
 before me. 
 
 We entered the house through a glass-door. It opened into 
 a little ante-room ; the walls were stuccoed of a faded sea-green 
 colour ; the floor was covered with old matting ; green baize 
 folding-doors shut out the rest of the house. My father opened 
 them rather cautiously. I saw that there was a small hall be- 
 yond, with a broad oak staircase on one side. Just then we 
 heard a door shut, and there was the sound of footsteps. My 
 father told me to wait in the ante-room ; he was going to speak 
 to uncle Ralph, but he would return directly. It must have 
 been my uncle whom we had heard approaching, for before my 
 father closed the folding-doors again I recognised his voice. 
 My father and he said a few words in an under-tone, and then 
 they left the hall, and the sound of their footsteps died away in 
 the distance. There was a deep stillness when they were gone, 
 broken only by an old clock which struck the quarters in a harsh, 
 husky tone. I wondered why it should trouble itself, as there 
 seemed no one near to listen. The spiders I saw had spun 
 their webs over the ceilings — doubtless no one had thought it 
 worth while to demolish them ; the birds flew past the window, 
 but not one paused on the wing ; — they must have known that 
 in that place no hand would be open to provide for them. 
 
 What a strange, low moaning that was which came to my 
 ear ! I thought at first it was fancy — the wailing of the wind, 
 a noise in the street ; but the day was calm and cleai", and the 
 murmur of the busy little town would not so rise and die away. 
 I heard it still — louder, more prolonged ; the moaning as of 
 some one in pain. It came from above, from a room which 
 must be nearly over the hall. I thought I heard some one 
 moving— at least, I was sure there was the tap, as of a stick, 
 upon the floor, followed by its fall ; and then again another and 
 a. louder moan; and pushing open the folding-doors, I rushed 
 up the stairs. When I reached the top I was in a large lobby,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 39 
 
 into which several doors opened, and, guided by the sound, I 
 opened that which was opposite the head of the staircase. It 
 admitted me into an empty bedroom ; but one which, from the 
 articles lying on the dressing-table, seemed as if it was in daily 
 use ; and I guessed at once it must be my grandfather's. I 
 was frightened then, partly from a sense of intruding where I 
 had no right to be, partly from the natural awe which my poor 
 grandfather's state of imbecility had long tended to produce. 
 
 Yet I could not go back, for the moaning still continued, 
 though fainter and less frequent, proceeding apparently from a 
 room within the bedroom. The door which separated the two 
 apartments was closed. I knocked, but received no answer. 
 In my simplicity I called ' grandpapa/ and waited, hoping to 
 be told I might go in ; but the moaning had ceased then, and 
 all was silent, save the beating of my own heart, which in its 
 nervous pulsation seemed to bear away all my remaining pre- 
 sence of mind. I turned away, not daring to enter ; but my 
 foot slipped, and I fell to the ground, and as I rose up I in- 
 voluntarily pushed the door open. My grandfather — for I 
 knew it must be he — was resting in a large arm-chair r with hL 
 back towards me ; his head was leaning against the side of the 
 chair, and upon the ground lay his stick, I drew near ; he did 
 not turn or move. ' Grandpapa,' I said, very softly ; and I 
 stood at the back of the chair. I did not think he was asleep 
 — I did not think anything — but I felt. ' Are you ill, grand- 
 papa?' I repeated; and I advanced a few steps nearer to the 
 front. I was going to touch his hand, but my eye fell upon his 
 face 
 
 They say that my scream of terror rang through the whole 
 house. When they came to my assistance they found me 
 stretched upon the floor, cold and insensible as the lifeless form 
 of him whose spirit had thus suddenly departed to the unseen 
 world. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF what immediately followed that terrible shock, I can tell 
 but little. My nerves were so completely shaken by it, 
 that for weeks no one dared to approach the subject. Part of 
 the time I kept to my bed, and I believe I was threatened with
 
 4 o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 a serious illness. I remember that I could not bear to be left 
 alone for an instant, and that my mother slept on a sofa by my 
 bedside, ready to soothe me at any moment ; for my brain was 
 haunted by images of terror, and whenever I fell asleep I woke 
 in agitation and alarm. This over-excitement diminished 
 gradually, at least, its external symptoms did. Care and kind- 
 ness—that devoted kindness which a mother's love alone seems 
 capable of bestowing — strengthened my nerves, and enabled 
 me to exercise more self-command. 
 
 I was considered pretty well, as well as usual, and I came 
 down-stairs and mixed with the family, and returned to my 
 ordinary employments : no one at home guessed that any more 
 lasting effects would follow from all I had gone through. The 
 medical man who attended me said, indeed, that I was growing 
 thin, and ordered me tonics, and made me eat meat twice 
 a-day ; and my mother took care that I should attend to his 
 orders ; but no one really was anxious about me. A person 
 who is always ill does not excite anxiety. I cannot wonder that 
 I was so soon passed by ; there was enough going on at the 
 time to occupy the thoughts of every one. 
 
 My grandfather's death was a great event. It brought to a 
 point a maze of unsettled questions, in which a large number 
 of persons were interested, and it was conjectured that it would 
 produce some great change in the family circumstances, which 
 would raise us from a mere sufficiency to competency, if not 
 affluence. The first thing I fully understood when I left my 
 room, and was considered equal to taking part in all that went 
 on, was, that although my grandfather's will had caused some 
 annoyance and disappointment, yet we were certainly richer 
 than before, and were therefore not likely to remain at Castle 
 House. My father, it seemed, had been looking at a good- 
 sized family villa, situated on the outskirts of a hamlet belong- 
 ing to the village of Hurst, about two miles and a half from 
 Carsdale; and if moderate terms could be obtained, we were 
 likely, in due course of time, to remove there. 
 
 Caroline and Joanna were in ecstasies at the prospect, and 
 even my father was roused to eagerness whenever the subject 
 was approached. My mother was the only person who held 
 back. She could not see, she said, the wisdom of any sudden 
 move. Castle House was sufficiently large, and with a family 
 growing up, and expenses certain to increase, she could not but 
 think it better for us to remain where we were for a few years at
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 41 
 
 least. Let Vaughan and Reginald be sent to college, and make 
 their way there ; and let our accounts with the bank be brought 
 to a close, so that we might clearly know what our prospects 
 were ; then, if it was thought desirable, she should not object to 
 a change ; but in the uncertainty in which all things were as 
 yet, she could not bring herself to look upon the idea favour- 
 ably. My father acquiesced in theory ; in practice he went 
 every day to East Side (our new home that was to be), planned 
 new windows, new fences, a new back entrance, and a green- 
 house, and came home to sleep away the evening in his easy- 
 chair ; whilst my uncle Ralph managed the affairs not only of 
 the bank, but also of the family, as best suited his own purposes. 
 As far as I was concerned, the proposed change seemed of 
 very little consequence, though I have no doubt that I did not 
 really know my own mind, and fancied myself more indifferent 
 than I actually was. But I was in a strange, unnatural, excited 
 state, underneath my very quiet exterior ; and there were feel- 
 ings working within me which made all things appear unreal. 
 That startling meeting with Death ! — for the first time, in so 
 awful a form, — I could not forget it ; it haunted me still, though 
 the first terror was gone. I found myself looking at myself, 
 looking at others, not as they were, but as they would be. 1 
 began to judge the smallest events by their supposed conse- 
 quences ; to estimate every pleasure by the value which it would 
 retain in my last moments. All which could not bear that 
 ordeal was, to my eye, worthless. From the external I turned 
 to the internal world, — my own mind, my habits of thought, my 
 self- training. I read scarcely any book but the Bible, and spent 
 hours by myself in meditation and prayer. Then alone I felt 
 safe, ready for death ; that death which was before me at all 
 seasons, in the midst of all occupations, checking me in every 
 pursuit, and casting a shade over all that would otherwise have 
 been enjoyment. 
 
 My mother now and then found me crying by myself in my 
 own room ; and, when I could give no reason for being de- 
 pressed, she naturally enough fancied me nervous, and gave me 
 sal volatile and sent me out for a walk. She could scarcely 
 have suggested a worse remedy. To walk with Herbert and 
 Hester was, in fact, to walk alone, for I had given up trying 
 to amuse them, and made them run on before me, whilst 1 
 wandered on by myself thinking. Yet I was not yielding to 
 dreaminess voluntarily : I would have done anything that was
 
 42 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 put before me as a duty ; and, when I sometimes walked through 
 a back street in Carsdale, and saw the miserable human beings 
 collected there, — the ragged children, the untidy women, the 
 faces haggard with illness and poverty, my longing to help them 
 grew so intense as to be actual suffering. The idea of removing 
 to East Side became by degrees more formed. 
 
 The first intention had been to rent the place ; but it was 
 afterwards proposed to buy it. The investment was considered 
 good, and my father declared that the change would be econo- 
 mical. He should be able to farm a little, which would be a 
 pleasant and profitable amusement ; and, by keeping cows and 
 pigs, and eating our own mutton and our own vegetables, we 
 were to live at a much less expense than at Castle House. In 
 point of situation, he added, the two places were not to be com- 
 pared. East Side stood on a hill, on the borders of a common : 
 a walk on the common every morning would be just the thing 
 for me ; in fact, it would make the difference of having no 
 doctor's bill at the end of the year. If that alone were con- 
 sidered, it would be the wisest thing we could do to remove 
 there : and, to my surprise, I found suddenly one morning that 
 the house was taken for me, — solely for me. My sisters suffered 
 a few expressions to escape them which indicated that they 
 hoped to see more society in consequence ; but they were in- 
 stantly stopped. There was to be no change whatever, my father 
 said ; no increase of establishment, no folly and finery ; we 
 went for health, and we were to live a strictly retired, country 
 life. My dear mother smiled ; but, now that I recall the smile, 
 I think it was rather sad. 
 
 At the close of that conversation, my father was called out of 
 the room to talk to a man who wished to be our gardener at 
 East Side, for we had no regular gardener at Castle House. 
 One week after, and strange faces filled the house ; upholsterers' 
 men were taking down the beds, carpenters' men were removing 
 the fixtures, charwomen were in every room, doing everything 
 for everybody. The hum of voices, the clatter of heavy shoes, 
 the clang of hammers, the rattle of crockery and glass, began at 
 six o'clock in the morning, and continued, without interruption, 
 till evening. Each hour the chaos increased. Herbert and 
 Hester occupied themselves in antiquarian researches ; they 
 dived into chests and closets, and brought out torn spelling- 
 books, covers of boxes, long-forgotten toys, — treasures which 
 had for some months been searched for in vain. My mother
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 43 
 
 and I wasted, I should think, at least an hour a day together in 
 settling what should be kept and what should be burnt ; and 
 when I was left alone, I wasted a good deal more. Though the 
 things themselves were mere rubbish, they were full of associa- 
 tions : they sent my thoughts back to the past, and, as I sat in 
 the nursery window-seat, turning them over in my lap, I felt as 
 if that past was about to die. 
 
 Days went on, and we did not seem at all nearer the end of 
 our work ; if it decreased at Castle House, it increased at East 
 Side : the intercourse between the two places was incessant. 
 My mother's face lengthened as she found one morning that the 
 original plan for the greenhouse was increased one-third, and 
 that it would be necessary to turn the road to give space for it. 
 There were very good reasons for both suggestions. When we 
 were making alterations, it would be folly, every one said, not 
 to make them good ; the money might as well be thrown away, 
 as employed in doing what would certainly be altered the next 
 year ; and, with regard to the greenhouse especially, if it were 
 built too small, it would be impossible to heat it properly, and 
 we might as well have none at all. 
 
 My mother was taken over to East Side the next day to see 
 the greenhouse, or, rather, the spot where it was to be. Dr 
 and Mrs Blair, from Carsdale, went with them. They were very 
 much interested in the changes at East Side ; so were a great 
 many of our friends. Parties were made constantly to see it : 
 it was a convenient distance for a short drive ; and, as the days 
 were drawing in, they liked to call upon us first, and have 
 luncheon, and drive over afterwards, taking any of us with them 
 if we wished to go. We had given up regular dinners ever 
 since the packing began, but there was luncheon to be had in 
 the dining-room all day ; and, though the house was gradually 
 being dismantled, no one was particular, and our friends 
 laughed, and chatted, and ate, and drank all the more merrily 
 because there was no formality. A great attraction at East 
 Side, I am sure, was the walled garden. The fruit that year 
 was particularly fine, and one of my father's reasons for hasten- 
 ing the purchase of the place was, that it seemed a pity to lose 
 the advantage of the garden. Fruit and vegetables always sold 
 so well in the Carsdale market, that he calculated we might 
 make a very good profit from them. I was never told how 
 much fruit was sold, but I know we revelled in peaches and 
 nectarines at home, and loaded our friends with baskets-full, 
 whenever they went to East Side.
 
 44 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 I was not a witness of the last removal. About ten days 
 before we permanently left our old home, I was seized with 
 violent headaches, caused, I imagine, by weakness and over- 
 fatigue. They came every day at a certain hour, and lasted a 
 certain time, and then left me so ill and depressed that I could 
 not make any exertion, or bear the least noise. Of course 
 Castle House was not a proper home for me under such cir- 
 cumstances. Mr Stone, the medical man, recommended a 
 change to the seaside, but that was out of the question ; for 
 there was no one to go with me, and no money to spare for my 
 expenses if there had been. A good deal of consultation went 
 on at different times, and at last some one suggested that per- 
 haps I might go and stay with aunt Sarah. Unquestionably I 
 should be quiet enough there. Joanna, indeed, declared that I 
 should die of dulness. My dear mother disliked the idea of 
 parting with me, and was afraid that aunt Sarah's old-fashioned 
 ways would be trying to an invalid ; but I overruled every 
 objection. The thought of the quiet parlour, and the house in 
 which every footstep could be heard, was rest and refreshment 
 to me. I had no energy for employment more exciting than 
 aunt Sarah's daily reading and knitting ; and if she would let 
 me creep up and down the broad pavement which divided her 
 long strip of garden, I was sure I should not wish to go farther, 
 unless, perhaps, it might be to church with Miss Cole. I did 
 think I should like to go there, for I had seldom been at a 
 week-day service. 
 
 My impression of the last day spent at home is a painful one, 
 — it is connected with my uncle Ralph. My mother had urged 
 my father not to let the bills we were incurring run up, and he 
 had promised he would not. Some of the accounts owing were 
 sent in according to order ; afterwards there was to be a weekly 
 settlement. The bills, naturally enough, exceeded the calcula- 
 tions, and my father protested he had been imposed upon. 
 My uncle Ralph happened to come in at the time, and my 
 father insisted upon their being shown to him, much to my 
 mother's annoyance. I was packing up some little parcels in 
 the same room, and heard all that passed. My father proposed 
 to my uncle that the bills should be paid at once, and said he 
 would draw the money and get rid of them, and that the work 
 which remained to be done should be managed differently, 
 according to some specified agreement beforehand. My mother 
 seconded the idea warmly ; it seemed quite a relief to hei . I 
 left the room supposing that all was settled. When I went
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 45 
 
 back again I found them still in full discussion. The old ques- 
 tion of the bank affairs had been in some way or other mixi d 
 up with the payment of these bills. I believe my uncle recom- 
 mended that they should not be paid just then, because it was 
 not desirable to draw more money than was absolutely neces- 
 sary till the bank accounts were made up, — till, to use his 
 favourite expression, we could all see our way clearly. It would 
 be likely to make a confusion in the accounts. My mother 
 could not, she said, see the necessity for the delay. The bills 
 were certainly heavy ; but not so heavy as to make them of real 
 importance in a large banking concern. It would be impossible 
 to make more economical arrangements for the future, if the old 
 accounts were not settled first. My uncle put on his blandest 
 smile, regretted that from her early education she could know- 
 but little of business, and gently suggested that the affair in 
 question was a gentleman's concern only. My dear mother 
 yielded, as every one did when there was a difference of opinion 
 with uncle Ralph, and in the most polite manner possible, — for 
 lie always showed her great deference in manner, — he collected 
 the bills, placed them in her hand, and seeing her turn to the 
 door as if she was going away, though I do not believe she had 
 any intention of doing so, opened it, and all but bowed her out 
 of the room, my father standing by passive. 
 
 My mother sat down in my father's dressing-room, and fairly 
 cried with vexation. I followed, doing my best to comfort her. 
 When my father came in about five minutes afterwards, he told 
 her that it was quite the best arrangement to make ; he had had 
 a little talk with my uncle, and there would very shortly be a full 
 settlement of everything. It was a matter of kindness to my 
 uncle not to worry him just then ; and with our great claims 
 upon the bank, the bills would easily be paid at any time. My 
 mother asked, had my uncle stated what the amount of our 
 claims would be when our old debts were paid ; had he men- 
 tioned what we really were to depend upon ? What a senseless 
 question ! My father grew quite impatient. How could any 
 one tell ? A business like theirs would take months to settle. 
 But there was not the least occasion for her to trouble herself. ' 
 We might have been living a little beyond our income before, 
 but it would all be right now. There would unquestionably be 
 a large sum due to us, though, as my uncle had just been say- 
 ing, it would be excessively unwise to take it out of the bank, 
 unless it could be better invested ; and, in fact, that was what
 
 46 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 
 
 my uncle was just then anxious about. He had plans which 
 might be of immense advantage to us, and till they were 
 settled it was desirable not to draw more than was absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 I thought of course that my father was right, and my mother 
 did not contradict him ; though I heard her say, as she went out 
 of the room, 'If we could only pay our bills at once, Ave might 
 learn to be economical for the future/ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WENT to aunt Sarah's that same afternoon : a fly which 
 -L took some of our party to East Side carried me and my 
 trunk into Carsdale on its return. I remember it particularly, 
 because, as my father gave me the money for the driver, he 
 turned to my mother and said it would not do to go on paying 
 at that rate. He should look out for a little low phaeton which 
 we might drive ourselves, and which would take us in and out 
 of the town as often as we liked for nothing. 
 
 Aunt Sarah always dined at two o'clock. When I arrived, 
 she was sitting with Miss Cole at a table covered with a spotted 
 black and red cloth, and on which stood two decanters in 
 painted stands, a curiously-shaped china bottle, a china basket 
 with Oliver biscuits, and the small deep broad-rimmed plates 
 which I so particularly admired. The room looked very com- 
 fortable, and the fire blazed brightly, and there was an air of 
 great neatness about it. I must, I suspect, have looked cold 
 and out of spirits, for aunt Sarah took both my hands in hers, 
 grasped them tightly, fixed her eyes upon me for nearly half a 
 minute, and then telling me I was a poor little body and half 
 starved, bade me sit down by the fire and take some mulled 
 elder wine and a biscuit. 
 
 Miss Cole suggested that the mulled wine might make my 
 head ache if I was not accustomed to it, but it was aunt Sarah's 
 infallible recipe for all the bodily ills of life, and I drank the 
 wine without further question. Then came a string of short 
 queries as to home concerns — what was doing, and what was 
 planning, and when we were to move to East Side ; all of which 
 I answered to the best of my ability, aunt Sarah at every pause
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF J.li 47 
 
 muttering ' Umph !' and beginning the following sentence with 
 'Well, child, and what more?' When I had told her all I 
 could think of, she observed, with a grim smile, which yet had 
 something very kind and hearty in it, ' And so, Sally, you are 
 come to stay here with your old aunt for a week ; you must be 
 very good, remember. Molly and Betty don't like being put 
 out of their ways.' Betty, a stout, bright-faced, elderly woman, 
 dressed in a brown and white cotton gown, with a muslin hand- 
 kerchief pinned over her neck, was just then taking away the 
 dessert ; but she stopped at the parlour door with a tray in her 
 hand to remark that Miss Sarah was not likely to be so much 
 trouble as the little ones. She and Molly had been saying that 
 very day that it was a good thing Miss Hester was not coming, 
 for the very last time she was there she had picked the lemon 
 plants in the garden all to pieces. 
 
 Verbenas were lemon plants in those days. These lemon 
 plants were Molly and Betty's great treasures — large, low, 
 spreading plants in flower-pots. I never see any like them 
 now, and never find any with the same scent. I took the hint, 
 which I knew was intended, promised I would not touch the 
 lemon plants without leave, and then asked if I might go to my 
 bedroom to put away my things. This bedroom I had rather 
 dreaded ; it was so very tidy and so intensely white — a white 
 paper, white dimity curtains to the four-post bed, white dimity 
 window-curtains, white dimity coverings for the arm-chair with 
 an upright back, which was placed by the fire-place, and for 
 the elbow-chairs of painted mahogany, which stood by the 
 drawers and the bed. The only thing I felt an interest in was 
 an engraving of the death of Lord Nelson, with a skeleton print 
 by its side, which formed a key to the different heads in the 
 picture. I had studied that attentively whenever by any chance 
 I had gone into the room, and had learned a good deal of history 
 from it indirectly, as it had stimulated me to learn all I could 
 of the events which it represented. It was a most agreeable 
 surprise to find a cheerful fire lighting up the spare room, 
 ordered, as Miss Cole informed me, expressly by aunt Sarah, 
 who, though she would have scorned the notion of a fire for 
 herself, except in the depth of winter, thought I was but a puny 
 thing, and had always been used to be spoilt. I set to work to 
 unpack my box, and then I drew the arm-chair near the fire, 
 and leaned my head against the hard back, and felt myself in 
 quiet luxury.
 
 48 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 But it was not luxury very long. About half-past five o'clock 
 my headache came on — throbbing, shooting, distracting, taking 
 away every power of thought or exertion. When Betty came up 
 to tell me that tea was ready, I was lying on my bed, scarcely 
 able to speak. Aunt Sarah sent Miss Cole to see me, but she 
 could do me no good,, and I was again left to myself. 
 
 When the pain went, after about two hours of terrible suffer- 
 ing, I was, as usual, wretched. Such desponding fancies I had 
 — such recollections of the naughty things I had done in my 
 childhood ! I knelt down and tried to say my prayers, but I 
 could only cry ; it seemed as if all my words had left me. I 
 thought I ought to remember every wrong thing I had ever 
 done, or it would not be forgiven ; and I tried to do so, but 
 the moment I began to think, all sorts of questions of casuistry 
 rose up in my mind. I opened the Bible to read the evening 
 lessons, but that only made me worse. The words suggested 
 impious doubts, which I could neither conquer nor argue 
 against, and I closed the book in horror, feeling that I was too 
 guilty to be worthy either of prayer or of the word of God. 
 
 It was nearly nine o'clock before any one came to disturb 
 me. Then Betty stole in very quietly with a cup of hot coffee 
 and a biscuit, and begging to know if I should like a sandwich. 
 I refused everything. I did not want to eat ; I could not 
 touch the coffee ; I had no wish to see any one. As I said 
 the words, I felt they were ungracious; so I sent my love to 
 aunt Sarah, and thanked her, and wished her ' good night.' 
 
 About ten minutes afterwards, I heard a slow, heavy, plod- 
 ding step upon the stairs. Aunt Sarah was going to bed. She 
 and Betty had a little colloquy in the passage, and I heard 
 Betty say, ' It 's no mortal use, ma'am ; much better leave her 
 to herself; she'll go to sleep, and be quite well to-morrow;' 
 to which aunt Sarah made no reply, except by coming into 
 my room. I sat upright in the arm-chair, and looked as well 
 as I possibly could. I smiled even, and, before a question was 
 asked, remarked, of my own accord, that my headache was 
 quite gone. 
 
 ' That 's well,' said aunt Sarah, and she sat down opposite 
 to me. ' I think I had better go to bed now,' I continued. 
 ' To bed, child ! why, you 've been in bed all the evening. 
 Why don't you eat ? ' she added quickly. ' I don't want any- 
 thing,' I replied. ' Do you mean to starve ? ' exclaimed my 
 aunt, and she caught hold of my hand to feel my pulse.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 49 
 
 I don't know what the result of her examination might have 
 been, but when it was over she rested her hands upon her knees, 
 and bending forward to look at me more narrowly, said, ' What 
 have you been doing by yourself all this time?' 'I tried to 
 read,' I said, whilst my eyes filled with tears. ' Umph ! the 
 Bible,' said my aunt, glancing at the open page. ' There was 
 nothing else to read,' I replied, dreading to enter into any 
 explanation of my feelings. ' Umph ! ' again repeated my aunt ; 
 ' do you never read the Bible except when you 've nothing else 
 to do?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! indeed, sometimes, very often — that is, when I 
 can,' I exclaimed, in great confusion. ' Why can't you speak 
 out, child ? ' interrupted my aunt. ' It 's easy to say yes or no.' 
 ' I read the lessons generally,' I said, trying to command my 
 nervousness. ' That 's well ; did you read the lessons to-night?' 
 
 ' I began a little, and then I left off, because ' I was on 
 
 the point of saying I was interrupted — it would have been true 
 in the letter, and not in the spirit. Betty's coming into the 
 room had once interrupted me, but that was not the reason of 
 my leaving off. I stopped. ' Because what ? ' asked my aunt. 
 < Because — I don't know — I can't read ; I can't do anything,' 
 I exclaimed ; and I burst into tears. 
 
 My aunt stretched out her hand and rang the bell. Betty 
 came to the door. ' Make the coffee hot, and bring it up, and 
 the biscuits,' said my aunt. ' You will eat, Sally,' she added, 
 tapping my shoulder. ' I can't, indeed I can't, aunt Sarah,' I 
 replied, ' I only want to go to bed.' ' You will do as I bid you, 
 child.' But though she spoke roughly, she gave me a kiss. 
 
 The coffee was brought : my aunt poured it out herself, 
 scolding Betty because the milk was not hot ; and, putting the 
 spoon into my hand, told me not to be foolish, but to drink it 
 up. I had not power to resist ; and, indeed, after the first 
 effort I could not help owning that it was very nice. ' To be 
 sure it is,' replied my aunt ; ' what should I have ordered it for, 
 if it was not ? Do they let you go on in that senseless way at 
 home, crying and starving yourself to death ? ' I smiled, and 
 my aunt's face brightened : and, patting me on the back, as she 
 would a favourite horse, she encouraged me to go on, telling me 
 it was better than any medicine, and would send me to sleep in 
 no time. ' I wish you would go to sleep yourself, aunt Sarah,' 
 I said ; ' I can't bear keeping you up in this way, and giving you 
 so much trouble.' ' Trouble ! ' repeated my aunt, ' why, what 
 
 D
 
 50 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 else can one have in this world ? It's made up of it ; and if 
 people won't go to trouble, trouble will be sure to come to them. 
 Drink your coffee, Sally, and don't be foolish.' 
 
 The coffee was drunk ; my aunt took the cup from my hand, 
 and put it down on the table, with a triumphant ' There ! ' 'And 
 now good night, dear aunt Sarah/ I said, ' and thank you a 
 thousand times.' She remained silent, leaning upon the ivory 
 stick which she always used when walking or standing. Her 
 wrinkled face was quite beautiful in its expression of earnest 
 thought. ' It wouldn't hurt either you or me, Sally,' she said 
 presently, ' to have a chapter in the Bible read. Miss Cole 
 shall come and read to us.' Of course I could not object. 
 Miss Cole was sent for, and the second evening lesson was read. 
 Then she paused, and looked at my aunt. ' Miss Cole always 
 reads some church-prayers to me before I go to sleep,' said my 
 aunt ; ' she shall read them here to-night.' Miss Cole and I 
 knelt, my aunt stood — she had not been able to kneel for years 
 — her hands crossed as she rested upon her stick, her whole 
 look and attitude that of the most simple but intense devotion. 
 
 Miss Cole read the Confession, the Lord's Prayer, the second 
 Collect in the evening service, the Thanksgiving, and the con- 
 cluding blessing. After a few minutes we stood up : ' God 
 bless you, child,' said aunt Sarah, as she bent to kiss me : ' you 
 won't say any more prayers, or read any more to-night. Get to 
 bed as fast as you can ; Miss Cole will come and see if your 
 candle is out safe.' I did as I was told : I was not happy, but 
 I was thankful to have some one to obey. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AUNT SARAH always had her breakfast in her own room, 
 but Miss Cole read prayers to the servants. I was care- 
 ful to be down in time, for I knew it would be a great offence 
 to be late ; and besides, I very much disliked being considered 
 an invalid. Miss Cole was a quiet person, and our repast was 
 a silent one ; but all the more agreeable to me. When it was 
 over, Miss Cole said she should be going to church at eleven, 
 as it was Wednesday ; should I like to go with her ? ' Yes, 
 certainly, if I might— if aunt Sarah would not object ; ' and Miss
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LI1 5 1 
 
 Co!c smiled at the doubt, and begged me to amuse myself till 
 half-past ten, and get ready for church when I heard the first 
 bell. 
 
 I wandered out into the gardcn ; an oblong piece of ground, 
 surrounded by a high wall, and overlooked by the attic windows 
 of many of the houses in the town. It was divided in the 
 middle by a broad pavement, which was terminated by a pair 
 of closed gates, opening into a court, and from thence giving 
 an exit to the back street. The ground on each side of the 
 pavement was cut up into small plots, encircled by box edges, 
 and intersected with earth walks, so narrow that there was 
 scarcely room to walk in them. I liked the garden excessively, 
 it was so cheerful : the flowers were quite luxuriant, interwin- 
 ing one with the other till the whole was a mass of colour. And 
 there was such a curious mixture in it — little quiet corners for 
 lilies of the valley and wood strawberries ; raspberry and goose- 
 berry bushes in the neighbourhood of fraxinellas and jonquils : 
 I never knew where to look for anything in it, and was con- 
 tinually stumbling upon something new. To go round the 
 garden was like making a voyage of discovery. I did not make 
 any discoveries on that day, however ; I only sauntered up and 
 down the pavement, stopping every now and then to enjoy the 
 scent of Molly and Betty's lemon plants, and not thinking of 
 anything — only feeling that I was quiet. 
 
 The bell for church struck out, and I went in-doors to get 
 ready. I met aunt Sarah on the stairs ; she kissed me kindly, 
 but did not ask me how I was, and bade me not be late for 
 church. I think I was a little disappointed that she seemed so 
 soon to have forgotten what I had been suffering. 
 
 We left the house the very moment the second bell began. 
 It was a market-day, the town was rather full, and every one 
 we met seemed in a bustle. I noticed particularly two or three 
 country gentlemen I knew riding down the street, and the mayor 
 and Mr Stone talking eagerly at the corner, and Mrs Blair 
 walking fast, as if she had a good deal of business on her hands. 
 Just for a moment I fancied they were all afraid of being late 
 for church ; but it was a silly fancy. We went into the church ; 
 cold, dim, and vast it seemed to me. 
 
 Aunt Sarah's pew was in a side aisle, and the heavy galleries 
 and arches, and oddly placed windows in the old building, as 
 seen from it, seemed to have no form or design. One's eyes 
 wandered amongst them till they appeared interminable. We
 
 52 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 were very early. Miss Cole knelt long : I envied her ; I felt 
 that she owned the influence of the place, so did I ; but to her 
 the result was devotion, to me it was superstition. The foot- 
 steps of about a dozen persons were heard as they stole into the 
 church, but I saw no one except a very decrepit woman, and 
 a sickly boy, in a seat opposite. The sounds of the gentle 
 opening of the door, and the occasional slow tread, were very 
 ghostly ; a strange sort of horror crept over me, as if we all 
 were spirits, not human beings ; and I looked at Miss Cole 
 kneeling so motionless before me, and longed to touch her that 
 I might be sure she was a living creature. The bell ceased, 
 and the clergyman began the service. The words were natural, 
 more natural than any others, yet they were altered to my ears ; 
 they were veiy impressive, like a voice from the dead. I thought 
 those who had come to listen to and join in them must be very 
 good, — I forgot that I was one of them. 
 
 We went through the Confession ; the responses were but a 
 low murmur. I was afraid of the sound of my own voice, and 
 I repeated them in a whisper ; but they were just what I wanted 
 to say, for the burden of my offences lay heavy upon my heart. 
 The service seemed short. The stillness in the church when it 
 ended was very pleasant to me, and I feared to have it disturbed; 
 but one by one the little congregation rose, and glided out of 
 the building quietly as they had entered, and we followed the 
 last of all except the clergyman. When we came to the door I 
 looked back into the deserted church ; the distant corners were 
 in deep shadow, and I could not trace the outline of the aisles, 
 the whole building was so irregular; but it struck me as very 
 large, as if it must be intended as a home, a resting-place for 
 hundreds. I wondered why it was not so. Miss Cole stopped 
 at the door, and began speaking in a low voice to the sexton's 
 wife, and I sat down on the step of a pew near, for several of 
 the old pews in the lower part of the church were raised some 
 inches from the ground. We could not have remained more 
 than a few minutes, but they were much longer in my imagina- 
 tion. My mind travelled back to other years, — the day when 
 the foundation-stone of the church was laid, the men who had 
 been employed in the building, — who they were, what their lives 
 had been, what had become of them, — whether I should ever 
 see them, where and what I should be when I did see them ; 
 and the thought made me dizzy, and I covered my face with my 
 hands, and prayed God to have mercy upon nre. A bright ray
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 53 
 
 of sunshine was streaming into the building when I looked up 
 again. It came from a window high in the roof, and I saw the 
 blue sky through it, and fancied it the eye of an angel gazing 
 upon me in love ; and on again my thoughts travelled, I know 
 not where, — only I know that Miss Cole's gentle touch startled 
 me at length as if from a happy dream. 
 
 As we left the church we observed a lady and gentleman 
 standing by the porch ; the gentleman was the clergyman of 
 the parish, the lady I thought I knew, but I could not at that 
 moment recollect where I had seen her. She was tall and 
 slight, dressed quite plainly, in a dark silk gown, a shawl, and 
 a straw bonnet, and appeared to be about thirty years of age. 
 There was an air of great repose and ladylike simplicity in her 
 manners ; but it was her face which struck me, so indescribably 
 sweet it was in its expression, yet without a single feature re- 
 markable for actual beauty. The eyes were gray, the hair was 
 rather dark, the nose pointed, the mouth small ; that was all 
 the description which could be given, but my eyes were riveted 
 upon her as if by a fascination. Purity, unworldliness, — the 
 bright hope of a life that had been singularly happy — the un- 
 wearied charity of a heart that never owned a thought of self — ■ 
 I can see them now, when I recall her image, written upon her 
 countenance in indelible, unmistakable characters ; but I could 
 not read them then, I could only feel them ; and when the clergy- 
 man stopped Miss Cole and begged to know if he might intro- 
 duce Lady Emily Rivers, who was wishing to see aunt Sarah 
 upon a matter of business, I felt a pang of disappointment at the 
 thought that she was no stranger concerning whom I might in- 
 dulge my romance, but only a lady with whom my mother had 
 already formed a slight acquaintance, and whom I had often 
 heard mentioned in words of general praise as a particularly 
 nice, amiable person. Miss Cole appeared a little surprised at 
 the introduction, but its motive was soon explained. There 
 were some questions to be asked about a poor family in the 
 town. No one knew so much about the poor of that district as 
 Mrs Sarah Mortimer ; so Mr Benson said, and he made a bow 
 to Lady Emily and walked away. 
 
 I thought of aunt Sarah sitting helpless in her arm-chair, 
 and knitting, and wondered what he meant. We walked 
 slowly up the street, Lady Emily asking a few questions re- 
 specting my aunt's health, and making inquiries for my father 
 and mother in a way which made me feel that she did not for-
 
 54 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 get civility in charity. She was so very simple in all she said, 
 that Miss Cole's shyness was quite vanquished. When we 
 reached home Lady Emily was allowed to wait in the little 
 back parlour till my aunt was prepared to see her. I do not 
 think it entered either Miss Cole's head or mine that it would 
 have been more fitting to usher her up-stairs to the drawing- 
 room ; that piece of attention was reserved for more fashionable 
 visitors, who were generally received by Miss Cole alone. 
 During the few minutes we were together, I found myself telling 
 Lady Emily a good deal of my family history. It was an in- 
 voluntary impulse, for she asked few direct questions, except 
 those which I suggested myself; indeed, she showed no 
 curiosity, though a great deal of interest. I do not think she 
 once cast her eye round the room to look at the prints and 
 pictures ; and certainly she made no observations which could 
 in any way be called personal. Miss Cole soon returned, and 
 took Lady Emily with her. I went to my own room ; I was 
 there for about a quarter of an hour; and then I went down-stairs 
 again, fancying that Lady Emily must be gone. But when I 
 opened the parlour door I saw she was still there, and I drew 
 back. 
 
 Aunt Sarah called me in. ' Come in, child ; we are not 
 talking secrets : ' and I went in, not sorry to have another inter- 
 view with our new visitor. Lady Emily smiled a recognition, 
 and went on with what she was saying, and I took my work 
 and sat down opposite to her. Her manner to my aunt was 
 very striking, it was so entirely respectful,- — I might almost have 
 called it reverential; for it was the manner of a child to a parent. 
 And as the conversation continued, I scarcely wondered at it. 
 They talked of the poor people in a part of the town which I 
 never visited ; the most wretched part of Carsdale. Mr 
 Rivers, I found, had lately become the owner of the property, 
 and was wishing to improve it. Lady Emily entered into his 
 views, but they were both desirous of gaining a thorough know- 
 ledge of the people as the preliminary step. My aunt had a 
 large manuscript book open before her, and Miss Cole was 
 examining it for her. It contained a list of houses and inhabi- 
 tants, the number of children, the occupations of the parents, 
 their necessities and their characters. Lady Emily also held a 
 list of names in her hand, which she was comparing with the 
 book. 
 
 But there was little occasion for that. My aunt knew almost
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LTEE. 55 
 
 every one, without referring to notes, — who were extravagant, 
 and who were provident, what had been done for them, and 
 what more was required. She was a complete parish note- 
 book ; and as she went on with her short comments, I in- 
 voluntarily laid down my work, and fixed my eyes upon her in 
 wonder. She looked up at me with her keen glance, and 
 beckoned me to her side. ' This is my business and Miss 
 Cole's, Sally,' she said, pointing to the book. ' Every one 
 must work, you and I, and Lady Emily Rivers, and all of us. 
 God has made me helpless in body ; but I thank Him I am 
 not helpless in mind.' ' No, indeed !' escaped Lady Emily's lips, 
 but she checked herself, and added, ' Only at your age, my clear 
 madam, I should have thought youwould have required more rest.' 
 'And I shall have it, my dear,' said my aunt, laying her wrinkled 
 hand kindly upon Lady Emily's. ' But rest, even now,' said Lady 
 Emily ; and I thought the tone of her voice changed ; ' surely it must 
 be desirable ; this constant thought for others must be very weari- 
 some.' ' There is an appointed term for man's life/ replied my 
 aunt. ' I have passed beyond it. My dears, when death 
 seems as near to you as it does to me, you will know why the 
 old should work.' ' But, aunt Sarah, you can't go and see all 
 these people,' I exclaimed. ' To be sure not, you silly child ; 
 but Miss Cole can go for me. What should I do with a dis- 
 trict by myself ? There, go back to your work,' she added, 
 motioning me from her, goodnaturedly, ' and let us go to ours. 
 Have we finished your ladyship's list?' They returned again 
 to the papers — aunt Sarah as quick, and eager, and sometimes 
 as sharp in her observations, as if Lady Emily had been a child 
 requiring to be taught her duty ; and Lady Emily as humble 
 and respectful, — no, far more so than any child. 
 
 The task was ended. Lady Emily rose to go. My aunt stood 
 up also. 'You will give my compliments to Mr Rivers,' she said, 
 ' he has begun a work he will never repent ; I honour him for 
 it.' Lady Emily held out her hand ; ' I may come and see you 
 again, dear Mrs Mortimer — may I not, even when I have no 
 business ? ' ' There will be a chair and a welcome for you 
 always. God bless you ! ' and my aunt took Lady Emily's hand 
 in both hers. 'An old woman's blessing can do no one 
 harm.' 
 
 The door was closed, and I drew my chair nearer to aunt 
 Sarah, and hoped she would tell me what she thought of Lady 
 Emily Rivers. But there must have been other and unusual
 
 56 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 subjects pressing upon my aunt's mind, as she leant back in her 
 arm-chair, with her hands folded together, and her eyes partially 
 closed. I could have fancied she was casting a backward 
 glance to the course of her long life ; perhaps recalling the work 
 that had been done, the way in which it had been done, the 
 account that was soon to be rendered of it. At least, when she 
 woke up from this quiet mood, she heaved a deep sigh, and I 
 heard her murmur to herself, ' Enter not into judgment with Thy 
 servant, O Lord, for in Thy sight shall no man living be 
 justified.' 
 
 Miss Cole, who had left the room with Lady Emily, now came 
 back to remind my aunt that it was time for her to take her few 
 turns in the garden before dinner; but, contrary to her usual 
 precision, aunt Sarah seemed inclined to linger. She was 
 evidently much captivated by her new acquaintance, for, with- 
 out replying to Miss Cole's suggestion, she observed, 'That's a 
 good woman ; what do you say of her, Miss Cole ? ' ' She is 
 particularly pleasing,' was the gentle answer. ' I don't like 
 that ; I like something more hearty. She 's a good woman, 
 she takes the world as she finds it, and does the best she can 
 with it.' I looked up rather in astonishment at this new 
 virtue. 
 
 Aunt Sarah slowly raised herself from her chair, and as she was 
 going to leave the room, assisted by her stick and Miss Cole's arm, 
 she came up to me, and tapping me on the shoulder said : ' You 
 don't know what I mean by taking the world as you find it.' 
 ' No, indeed ! ' I replied, I am afraid a little pertly, ' I never 
 knew that we could take it any other way.' 
 
 ' Live and learn,' replied my aunt ; ' you are but a chit now. 
 There's not one woman in twenty, there's not oae in fifty, who 
 would do what Lady Emily Rivers is doing. Listen to me, 
 Sally : some years ago, Fisherton district in Carsdale was a 
 good, decent sort of place ; and there was a rich man, Green 
 was histname, who had the property, — much such a person in 
 point of fortune as Mr Rivers. One day he came to call on 
 my brother — your grandfather, when I was there too. It was 
 like a sermon to hear him talk about churches and schools. 
 When he was gone, I said to your grandfather : " John, that 
 man will be a blessing to Fisherton." Your grandfather was a 
 shrewd man, Sally, and he laughed and said, " He '11 never do a 
 thing till he has a world of his own to work in." And so it 
 was ; he had the property for six years, and all that time he was
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 57 
 
 planning what he -would do if he had a clergyman after his 
 mind, and books after his mind, and poor people and children 
 just what he thought they should be ; and the end of it was, 
 that he took a fit of disgust because it was none of it to his 
 mind ; and he sold the property, because, he said, there was 
 nothing to be done with it ; and the man who bought it was a 
 worthless scamp, and Fisherton was ruined. That man, Sally, 
 did not know that it was his duty to take the world as he found 
 it, and do the best he could with it.' My aunt went for 
 her little walk, and I sat still at my work and thought upon her 
 words. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TIME passed very quickly at aunt Sarah's; I had been there 
 a fortnight, and thought it but a few days. We break- 
 fasted, and read, and walked, and dined, and rested, at stated 
 hours, and to-day seemed like yesterday in its quiet occupations. 
 My headaches continued, though they were not quite so intense ; 
 so also did that far worse pain, the aching of the mind, though 
 insensibly the keenness of the anguish was dulled ; — how i 
 could not say, yet, it might be, that to live with those whose 
 faith was unclouded, and who showed that it was so, uncon- 
 sciously strengthened my own. My aunt never talked to me 
 about myself. Her chief anxiety was that I should work, — I 
 do not mean needlework, though she was very particular about 
 that, and especially made Miss Cole teach me how to knit a 
 pair of worsted socks for Hester; — but there was always some- 
 thing to be done for somebody. 
 
 Miss Cole used to laugh, and declare that her office would be 
 quite a sinecure, if I was made to wait upon my aunt, and keep 
 the district accounts, and write notes, and look after the house- 
 keeping ; but aunt Sarah, though she owned it was hard upon 
 her, seemed resolved to have her own way. ' Begin learning 
 your lesson now there is an opportunity, my dear/ she said one 
 day when poor Miss Cole had been complaining rather more 
 seriously than usual ; ' it will take a good long time to make it 
 perfect, and it is one which we must all learn when we are old 
 — to sit powerless, and be thankful.' Something of business 
 went on all day till about five o'clock in the evening, the time
 
 5 8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 when my headaches usually came on. Then aunt Sarah would 
 make me lie down on the unwieldy sofa, placed against the wall 
 in the front parlour, and bid me not move, because Miss Cole 
 was going to read the evening lessons. It seemed wrong at 
 first, and I begged to sit up, and read too, but I was stopped 
 with a peremptory ' Lie down, child, and be quiet,' and I lay 
 down, weary with the day's exertions, and finding an indescrib- 
 able charm in the soft monotony of Miss Cole's voice, and 
 generally at last fell asleep, with a happy, tranquil sense of re- 
 posing under the shelter of an Infinite Power. 
 
 My wakings, however, were not quite so pleasant ; I was 
 sure I ought to have attended more, and I felt bound in con- 
 science to confess it ; but aunt Sarah never took much notice of 
 these confessions ; all she would say was, ' Don't trouble about 
 it now, Sally, you are not going to be read to all your life ; 
 Miss Cole, please ring the bell for tea.' And tea came, and the 
 hissing urn, and the wide cups of dragon china, and the plate 
 of toast set down on the stand before the fire ; and my aunt 
 had her cup half filled, and completed it with a decoction of 
 sage-leaves, poured out from the smallest of all silver teapots, 
 and then turning to Miss Cole, began, ' Now tell me what you 
 have been doing ; ' and in a few minutes I again forgot myself, 
 and thought only of the poverty of Carsdale, and the measures 
 that were to be taken for its relief. 
 
 For I, too, was gradually learning to have an interest in aunt 
 Sarah's poor people. Some I had visited with Miss Cole, of 
 others I had heard the sad, often eventful histoiy. I was be- 
 ginning to form my own opinions about them, and occasionally 
 I ventured to differ from Miss Cole, and once when I did, aunt 
 Sarah gave me an approving nod, and said, 'That's right, 
 Sally ; you are as wrong as you can be ; but it does none of 
 us any harm to have a mind of our own, when we don't pride 
 ourselves upon keeping it.' Miss Cole read aloud after tea. 
 
 Aunt Sarah was a reader of modern as well as of ancient books, 
 but on this occasion she insisted upon going back to some of 
 her first favourites, which she said I should never know any- 
 thing about if left to myself. Sometimes we had a paper from 
 the ' Spectator,' sometimes from the ' Rambler,' now and then 
 one of Addison's or Mason's plays ; and once, as an especial 
 treat, Shakspeare's ' Julius Caesar.' There was nothing excit- 
 ing in it all ; if there had been, Miss Cole's quiet voice would 
 effectually have neutralised the effect ; yet I liked it. I was
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 59 
 
 carried back to the past, instead of being urged forward to the 
 future. The quaintnesses of style were a relief to me ; I lived 
 with the learned and the old, and leaned upon them, and my 
 mind was strengthened by the intercourse. 
 
 And so, as I have said, a fortnight passed away. Lady Emily 
 Rivers did not call again, and there was nothing to interrupt 
 the quietude of my life, except „the notes and messages from 
 home : even these were less disturbing than might have been 
 anticipated ; my mother's thoughtfulness prevented it. I had 
 been sent to aunt Sarah's for rest, and rest she was resolved I 
 should have. A few purchases in the town were all I was re- 
 quired to undertake. Messages to Castle House were beyond 
 my power, and I was spared them. 
 
 But the fortnight was ended, and I was to return — no, not to 
 return, I was to go, to something new, confusing, exciting, pos- 
 sibly irritating. I was sure that it would be so ; and even the 
 idea of the novelty of East Side did not reconcile me to the 
 labour which I foresaw there. 
 
 I was seated at work alone with aunt Sarah, when my 
 mother's note arrived, reminding me that the following after- 
 noon I should be expected at home. In it she called me her 
 darling, and said she was longing to have me with her ; and 
 yet, loving my mother devotedly, I laid down my work and 
 turned aside that aunt Sarah might not see my tears. ' Come 
 here, child, what are you crying for ? ' said my aunt sharply. 
 My tears were stopped in a moment. If she had said, ' What 
 makes you unhappy ? ' they would have been a deluge. ' What 
 are you crying for ? ' repeated my aunt, and she adjusted her 
 spectacles and turned them directly upon me. 
 
 Of course, I answered, ' Nothing/ and smiled, or tried to do 
 so, and began to knit Hester's sock as if my life depended upon 
 its being finished in the course of the day. ' Nothing means 
 nothing. People don't cry for nothing. What does your 
 mother say ? ' I put the note into her hands. 
 
 There was a visible relenting in her features. ' Umph ! 
 Thursday ; why can't she let you stay till Saturday ? ' 
 
 ' If I might — I wish she would let me/ I began. ' No, she 
 is right,' continued my aunt, dashing my hope to the ground ; 
 ' they are always busy on Saturday.' Yes, indeed, they would 
 be busy ; how well I knew that ! — unless East Side was to be 
 very unlike Castle House, Reginald would be at home all day, 
 and require incessant attention ; Hester and Herbert would
 
 60 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 have a holiday, and we should all dine at one o'clock, and have 
 a long, noisy tea at six ; and my mother would have a bad 
 headache ; and Caroline would be cross, and Joanna say she 
 hated Saturday ; and, after tea, nurse would come up to me, 
 and ask if I could help to look over the linen, which the washer- 
 woman had just brought home : and, at eight o'clock, I should 
 assist in putting the children to bed ; and then I should do some 
 plain work till ten o'clock, and go to bed, too. ' You are not 
 going to be a spoilt child, Sally,' said my aunt, seeing my coun- 
 tenance change at this reference to the busy Saturdays. She 
 was not angry with me, I knew by her tone ; and I ventured to 
 say, ' It is you who have spoilt me, aunt Sarah, if I am spoilt.' 
 1 Spoilt children are selfish,' continued my aunt, unheeding my 
 implied compliment ; ' I hoped something better from you.' 
 She spoke of me as if she thought me a child, and I felt pro- 
 voked. ' I am quite willing to go home whenever my mother 
 sends for me,' I replied. ' Don't tell stories, Sally ; you are not 
 willing.' < Indeed, aunt Sarah, I am,' I replied ; ' I wish to go 
 home to be of use.' ' And fret yourself and them into a fever. 
 Take my word for it, Sally, if you go home as you are now, 
 you will be more trouble to your mother than all her other cares 
 put together.' < O aunt Sarah ! ' and I felt my cheek flush. 
 ■ Yes,' repeated my aunt, ' more care than all her other cares 
 put together. Sally, your mother rests upon you, you can't 
 mean to fail her.' 
 
 There was a depth of earnestness in her tone which struck 
 me much. Without waiting for me to reply, she went on, ' You 
 are one of a large family, a poor family, — there are too many of 
 you to be rich. Large families are trials ; your mother loves 
 you all, but you are trials. Who is to help her I don't know. 
 Caroline will help herself, but that won't take care of all of you ; 
 and Joanna will sit and look at her pretty face all day ; that's 
 no good, unless some one else looks at it too. And there's 
 Hester, a mere baby ; and the boys, — Vaughan not willing to 
 lift his finger if he can help it ; and Reginald just like Caro- 
 line ; and Herbert not out of the nursery ; whilst you ' 
 
 ' I can help her, I must — I will,' I exclaimed. * With red eyes 
 whenever she wants a pair of stockings mended,' observed aunt 
 Sarah. 
 
 She said it so maliciously, yet so kindly, that in spite of being 
 heartily provoked with myself, I could not help laughing. ' Ah ! 
 laugh if you will ; laughing helps us through the world,' said my
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 61 
 
 aunt, ' but crying drags us back. And now, Sally, if you can 
 laugh when you go home, you are fit to go.' 
 
 ' I had better begin to cry then, aunt Sarah,' I replied, ' for 
 you know I should like to stay here.' ' Then you would be a 
 mopy, puny, weak girl.' ' What ! leading such a useful life 
 with you and Miss Cole and the poor people ? Oh no, aunt 
 Sarah.' ' A mopy, puny, weak girl,' repeated my aunt, ' and 
 I'll tell you why, Sally, because' — and the tone of her eager 
 voice was subdued into solemnity, ' it is not God's will that you 
 should be here. Whoever goes against His will must be weak.' 
 ' If I had good health like the others,' I said, ' it would be dif- 
 ferent ; but it is that which makes me feel out of my place at 
 home. I cannot help my mother when I wish it ; and as you 
 said just now, aunt Sarah, I am often more care to her than all 
 the others put together.' ' I did not say. you were more care, 
 I said you might be,' replied my aunt ; ' speak truth next time, 
 Sally.' ' But it is true/ I continued, ' that I have no strength.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah interrupted me. ' When I was your age, Sally, 
 I was once standing by a great river which was rushing to the 
 sea, and I watched a strong man, in a small boat, labouring to 
 push it up the stream : he had little more power than a baby. 
 And I watched a young boy in another boat, playing with the 
 water, so it seemed : but the current of the stream was with 
 him, and his light strokes had a force which bore him on swiftly 
 as the wings of a bird. I thought then, and I think now, that 
 the will of God is as the force of that rushing river ; to sail 
 with it is strength, — to strive against it, weakness.' 
 
 As she paused, I ventured to say, though more timidly than 
 before, that I hoped I should try to do God's will wherever 
 I might be. ' To do His work, you mean,' replied my aunt ; 
 but that is not what He requires of us : His will is our duty, 
 not His work, that will be done without us.' I looked up, in- 
 quiring her meaning. ' What is the work we do ? ' continued 
 my aunt ; ' to give a morsel of food to a starving child ! One 
 word of His, and thousands can be fed with a few barley loaves 
 and two small fishes. To nurse a sick fellow-creature ! He 
 does but speak, and the dead are raised to life. God does not 
 want our work, Sally, but He does want our will. When we 
 give it, we give all ; when we withhold it, we give nothing. 
 Think of that, child, by yourself. He willed your place in your 
 own family.' 
 
 I saw that she was tired with the unusual earnestness of the
 
 62 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 conversation ; and when she leant back and was silent, I rose 
 and left the room, thinking she might be inclined to sleep. 
 
 I strolled out into the garden. It was a most delicious sum- 
 mer afternoon ; even amidst the smoky atmosphere of a town, 
 its influence was felt — more felt than any one would imagine 
 who has always been accustomed to the country. Not only the 
 light glancing on the flowers, or touching the wings of a butter- 
 fly, were rejoicing to me ; but even the flickering sunshine on 
 the tiles of the neighbouring houses was pleasant, and I felt 
 envious of the sparrow who had perched himself upon the attic 
 window of Dr Blair's house, which overlooked my aunt's gar- 
 den, and wished that like it I could climb to the highest point 
 and sit at my ease and gaze upon the world below me. Yes, 
 aunt Sarah's was a very happy home ; yet I felt less pain at the 
 thought of leaving it, than I should have done before we had 
 talked together. I sat down on one of the stone steps leading 
 from the garden to the laundry, and, gazing steadily upon the 
 sky, endeavoured to realise to myself the idea of that Irresistible 
 Will, in which I had been told I was to find the strength for 
 my own weakness. 
 
 It was dangerous ground, I knew that instinctively ; but I 
 could not bear to feel that there was any subject on which I 
 dared not think, and I went on — first, in all humility ; then 
 with a difficulty in my mind, anxious to solve it ; then, after 
 having answered it partially, struck as by a dagger's thrust, so 
 great was the pang, with a doubt suggested by the very answer 
 
 I had given myself; then but I need not go on. Those 
 
 only who have known the racking misery of a mind striving to 
 satisfy itself by its own reasoning, in questions which faith alone 
 can answer, will understand the torture of that next half-hour, 
 and the terrible gloom that overshadowed me, when, raising my 
 head, which, in the intensity of thought, I had buried in my 
 hands, I looked again upon the dazzling sky. 
 
 I did not look long. Miserable though I was, I still had the 
 consciousness of duties to be performed, and I rose and walked 
 slowly into the house, to prepare for going out with Miss Cole. 
 I walked slowly, for I was thinking still. I said to myself that 
 I would stop, but I had no power to control my mind. I felt 
 myself so wicked, so intensely wicked, so unlike eveiy one in the 
 world. I longed that others should know me to be what I knew 
 myself; I fancied I could better bear my doubts if they were 
 not secret, and a sudden impulse urged me, and I stopped at the
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 63 
 
 parlour door and thought I would go to aunt Sarah — go to her, 
 confess what I was, beg her to hate me, to send me from her, to 
 give me any suffering, but only to listen to me and know me. 
 The door was partly open ; aunt Sarah was alone, standing, 
 leaning on her stick, in front of a picture of her brother, Colonel 
 Mortimer. She had been taking her solitary walk, as she called 
 it — slowly moving about the room to relieve the weariness after 
 long sitting in one posture — and, as she stood, I heard her re- 
 peating to herself : ' The Lord is my light and my salvation, 
 whom then shall I fear ? The Lord is the strength of my life, 
 of whom then shall I be afraid ? ' 
 
 I walked up-stairs. Who was I that I should venture to in- 
 trude my doubts into the presence of a perfect faith ? I closed 
 the door and knelt, but I could not pray ; the wretchedness of 
 my mind grew more intense, and bodily anguish was added to 
 it, for my head ached fearfully. Yet the words which I had 
 heard followed me. I found myself repeating them without 
 thinking of their meaning ; and then they framed themselves, 
 as it were, into a prayer, and I said, ' Lord, be Thou my light 
 and my salvation, then shall I not fear : be Thou the strength 
 of my life, then shall I not be afraid.' Another moment, and 
 the rush of doubt was upon me again ; but I was not helpless 
 as before. The first prayer had been little more than mechani- 
 cal ; the second was made with a strong concentration of the 
 mind upon the words used, and an equally strong, almost phy- 
 sical repression of the rising doubts, and the hour of darkness 
 was over. I was exhausted, saddened, trembling, as one who 
 has escaped a deadly peril and knows that the danger may re- 
 turn at any moment ; but it was over — the fulness of faith was 
 for the time restored to me. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MY father came from East Side the next day in the pony- 
 chaise, the new one which he had just bought. It 
 stood some time before the door. I do not know whether aunt 
 Sarah noticed it at first, but I quite well remember my father's 
 asking her what she thought of it ; and her quick turn of the
 
 64 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 head, and short answer : ' It might do for Lady Emily Rivers.' 
 My father took it as a compliment. 
 
 My aunt's parting manner was very affectionate, but not 
 pitying. She said she was glad I had had a rest ; I should 
 have another whenever I wanted it. She was glad, too, that I 
 was going home ; it was good for girls to be useful. She hoped 
 I should manage to knit the heel of the socks properly ; if I 
 found myself puzzled I had better write to Miss Cole : then, as 
 my father left the room and I drew near to kiss her, she passed 
 her hand over my forehead, and looking at me earnestly, said, 
 ' God bless you, my child : don't think, but pray : — now go.' 
 
 It was an extremely pretty pony-chaise certainly — very low, 
 very light, and roomy ; too roomy to admit of being drawn by 
 the little forest pony, which there had been some notion of hav- 
 ing, in order to save the tax. Sorry as I was to leave my aunt, 
 I was not insensible to the pleasure of driving gaily through the 
 street, with the knowledge that not only the children, but the 
 grown-up people I met, were likely to envy me. Particularly 
 I enjoyed stopping at the shops, hearing orders given to the 
 shopmen, who came bowing to the door ; or receiving neat 
 parcels, tied up in brown paper, which were to be stowed away 
 upon or under the seat. There were a great many of them I 
 thought ; but then we were living in the country now, so it was 
 necessary. 
 
 Uncle Ralph's was the last place we went to. The old house 
 had been slightly repaired and modernised since my grand- 
 father's death ; not sufficiently indeed to give any foundation 
 for the general report that Mr Ralph Mortimer was going to be 
 married ; but enough to make it what might be called comfort- 
 able. The bank almost joined it ; that is, it joined the wall ot 
 the garden, from which there was a private door leading into 
 the counting-house. My father told a boy to stand by the pony, 
 and left me in the chaise whilst he went to speak to my uncle. 
 I was leaning listlessly back in the pony-carriage gazing upon 
 vacancy, and if I thought at all, fancying how pleasant it would 
 be to give Hester a kiss when I reached home, when a lady 
 and gentleman rode leisurely up the street. They did not par- 
 ticularly attract my notice, but the lady drew in her horse as 
 she came near, and, to my surprise and pleasure, I was ad- 
 dressed by Lady Emily Rivers. 
 
 She made many kind inquiries after my aunt and my mother, 
 and seemed interested in hearing that I was going home, and
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 6$ 
 
 hoped to see me there soon ; and then she turned to the gentle- 
 man and introduced him as Mr Rivers ; and he, too, said he 
 intended to come to East Side soon, for he considered now that 
 we were near neighbours. There was nothing in it all but mere 
 civility, yet it charmed me, — it was so simple and hearty ; and 
 Mr Rivers looked fit to be the husband of Lady Emily, with his 
 regular, handsome features, and expression of honest, English 
 sincerity. I did not venture to say much in reply, and longed 
 for my father to come to my assistance ; but as I turned my 
 head to look for him, when Lady Emily was going to say good- 
 bye, the reins which I held were violently jerked from my hand, 
 and the pony dashed down the street. There was a scream 
 from the bystanders — a rush from all quarters to my rescue. I 
 saw the danger, yet, strange to say, I alone was unmoved. 
 We were nearly at the bottom of the street ; a cart was stand- 
 ing there ; in another minute I should be thrown against it. 
 I prayed that God would save me, and then I looked about for 
 help. It was very near. The reins in falling had caught in 
 one of the parcels with which the pony-chaise was crowded, and 
 were within reach. I seized them with my strongest effort, 
 guided the pony away from the cart, and we passed without 
 accident. Immediately afterwards a man succeeded in stopping 
 the animal, and I was safe. 
 
 Then, for the first time, I felt how frightened I had been ; 
 and when my father, who had rushed after me, took me into a 
 little shop and made me sit down, I felt quite faint. It was 
 very foolish, I knew, and I was heartily ashamed of myself, 
 and apologised, but I was answered with a burst of praise. I 
 had shown such coolness, such presence of mind — I was a per- 
 fect heroine. Lady Emily and Mr Rivers were present ; I 
 looked at the former in utter amazement ; she was terribly pale ; 
 her lips were pressed together, as if she was afraid to trust her- 
 self to speak, but she bent down, and said as she kissed me, 
 * Let me do it, I am so infinitely grateful. I was the cause of 
 it, but, next to the mercy of God, I may thank you for your 
 own safety.' 
 
 ' It was an accident which might have happened to any one,' 
 said Mr Rivers, ' but we may all be thankful there is no mis- 
 chief. Lady Emily's whip touched your pony just as we were 
 riding off,' he added, addressing my father, ' and at the same 
 moment a boy crossed the street with a barrow, and the animal 
 took fright ; but there was nothing that ought to have startled 
 
 E
 
 66 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 it if it had been well trained. Is it a new purchase ?' ' Quite 
 new/ my father replied ; he was a tolerable judge of horses 
 himself, and he had had the opinion of a friend ; he could not 
 believe there was anything amiss. 
 
 Mr Rivers doubted, and a little more conversation upon the 
 subject followed, which gave me time to recover myself, and I 
 then insisted upon entering the pony-chaise again and being 
 driven home. 
 
 Both Mr Rivers and Lady Emily were urgent against this ; 
 and I could see that the pony's character was much doubted. 
 Their own carriage, they said, was in the town ; it had brought 
 the governess and the children in, and it should call for us, for 
 East Side was on the road to Lowood. 
 
 But my father would not hear of such a notion. He was 
 much obliged, he said, but I was too brave to be made 
 cowardly by petting ; and if I liked to go with him I should. 
 I went to the door of the shop, ready to set off. Lady Emily 
 followed, entreating me not to venture if I was in the least 
 afraid, and assuring me that the carriage should be ready for 
 me instantly ; but I was resolved. I will not say that there 
 was nothing of vanity in the resolution, but there was also a 
 real, and, I hope, an innocent pleasure in the exercise of my 
 newly-discovered courage, and a sincere wish not to alarm my 
 mother by allowing my father to return without me. 
 
 Mr Rivers stood by the pony till my father was seated by 
 me, and Lady Emily gave me a warm shake of the hand, and 
 wished I could make her as brave as myself, and we drove off. 
 
 That was a very bright evening at East Side ; it stands out 
 prominently amongst my early recollections : I can recall my 
 mother's kiss of deep tenderness as she met me in the entrance- 
 hall, her smile of half fear, half satisfaction, as our little adven- 
 ture was repeated ; the eagerness of my elder sisters at first 
 to take me over the house, and their pause of wonder when 
 my father bade them make much of me, for I was worth some- 
 thing ; with Reginald's rather scornful proposal that three 
 cheers should be given for the new heroine ; and my little 
 Hester's whisper, as she held my hand tight in both hers, that 
 she would say thanks when she went to bed, because her own 
 Mammy was safe. 
 
 It was good for me doubtless that I was not the only wonder 
 at home that evening or the next day. East Side was new 
 again to every one else as soon as it was new to me, and the
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 67 
 
 whole family followed me from room to room to hear my 
 remarks. 
 
 It was impossible not to be pleased with the place : the 
 situation was lovely, commanding a view of the town, suffi- 
 ciently near to give interest without disagreeable details, and 
 overlooking the rich country beyond, with the silvery line 
 of the river to brighten it ; and as regarded the size, the very 
 genius of prudence herself must have been lenient in criticising 
 it, for it was exactly suited to us. The house was of stone, 
 with a front, three windows wide, and two small projecting 
 wings. There was a very fair-sized drawing-room with a bow- 
 window containing a comfortable mixture of the old furniture 
 of Castle House, and two or three plain, but really good addi- 
 tions of a more recent date. The dining-room which adjoined 
 it was a little larger ; whitewashed, because a part of the 
 entrance passage had been taken into it, but likely to make a 
 very useful room. On the other side of the passage was a 
 room which might be library, breakfast-room, or school-room, 
 as required ; and a small study, sufficient for my father's 
 papers, and a refuge for him when he wished to be quiet. My 
 mother pointed this out to me with the greatest satisfaction, for 
 it was so hard for him, she said, to have no room for his books, 
 and in which he might see people alone. I looked at her thin 
 face, and wondered what shelter she had provided for herself, 
 but that was the last thought that ever would have entered her 
 mind. But the bedrooms were the great comfort ; they were 
 so many and so well contrived, giving plenty of space for every 
 one, and leaving a spare room for a visitor. My father made 
 me remark this now, and whispered something to my mother 
 which caused her to smile, and I thought I heard the names, 
 Mrs Colston and Horatia Gray. 
 
 I was taken to my own room last ; two beds were in it. ' For 
 Hester and you,' said my mother ; and the child squeezed my 
 hand, and told me she had lain awake a whole hour the night 
 before, longing for me. ' And there is a small dressing-room 
 within, Sarah/ added my mother, opening a door. 
 
 My dear mother, how she had thought of and cared for me ! 
 My own prints, my books, my small vase of flowers standing 
 on a little table which had been a legacy from a godmother ; — 
 I was at home in it at once ; and as I looked round, aunt 
 Sarah's words recurred to me, ' Sally, your mother rests upon 
 you, you can't mean to fail her.'
 
 68 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 I went to bed that night with a new spirit infused into me. 
 My thoughts were not of myself, but of others — how I would 
 work, strive, live for those whom God had given me, die for 
 them if need were, and He called me to it. I gazed at my 
 sallow, sickly features, marked with the traces of that physical 
 weakness which had so often made me sit down in despair, 
 and I smiled, for I had been told that I was brave, and I felt 
 within myself that the words were true. The next instant I 
 saw that I was presumptuous, and I knelt to repeat again the 
 prayer which was becoming my watchword against evil : 
 ' Lord, be Thou my light and my salvation, then shall I not 
 fear : be Thou the strength of my life, then shall I not be 
 afraid.' 
 
 I was walking round the garden at eight o'clock the next 
 morning with my father. He was very desirous that I should 
 see the place thoroughly, and give my opinion upon the im- 
 provements he was planning — perhaps I ought more strictly to 
 say, agree with him as to their necessity ; for nothing would 
 have surprised and annoyed him more, than to receive the least 
 hint that his notions were either not good or not prudent ; and 
 I, of course, was too young to suggest anything of the kind, 
 but I was not too young to feel. Girls of fifteen and sixteen 
 are much deeper thinkers, and have much quicker perception 
 than the world in general gives them credit for ; and though 
 my father repeated again and again, ' You see, Sarah, one 
 must do the thing thoroughly when one is about it — it will 
 never do to have all this fuss of labourers and workmen over 
 again,'- — I still was perverse enough to have a lurking doubt, 
 which I scarcely realised to myself, whether there was any 
 necessity beyond his own will. 
 
 That without doubt was thoroughly engaged on the side of 
 improvement, and it was the one thing which satisfied me. He 
 so entirely enjoyed what he was doing, that he was quite a 
 different penson — active, cheerful, and interested in everything 
 and everybody ; the change to East Side seemed to have given 
 him new faculties. This could not but please me. His life in 
 that dining-room at Castle House day after day, the study of the 
 newspapers, and the little walk into the town, could not be as 
 good for him as this healthy, out-of-door occupation ; and I 
 heartily agreed with him that we should all be very much better 
 for removing to the country. 
 
 I had a long conversation with my mother in the course of
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 69 
 
 the day, which rather damped my enjoyment. The excitement 
 which my father delighted in was too much for her. The in- 
 cessant, petty troubles which harass a woman's life, and of 
 which men know little or nothing, had been patiently borne at 
 Castle House, because they had, as it were, fitted themselves 
 into their place. 
 
 At East Side they had assumed new forms, and my mother's 
 gentle spirit was unequal to cope with them. She was glad I 
 was come back, she said, for many reasons. Cotton, the new 
 housemaid, objected to help nurse in looking after Herbert and 
 Hester's clothes. It was not mentioned in the agreement, un- 
 fortunately, but it had always been reckoned upon as part of 
 the housemaid's duty. Cotton had agreed to try if it could be 
 managed, but she was sulky, and nurse was very much put out, 
 and talked about having a girl from the Carsdale school to assist 
 her : ' and that you know, Sarah,' continued my mother, 'would 
 be an increase of expense; and we really must not have it. So 
 I told nurse we would wait till you came home, and then, per- 
 haps, you would be able to take a little of the work yourself ; 
 or at least you would look after the children, and give them 
 more time. Then another thing troubles me. Your father has 
 made an agreement with a man about the garden ; he is to 
 give him low wages, and let him dine in the kitchen, and Drake 
 does not like it, and says it makes the kitchen dirty, and will 
 be more expense in the end ; but your father has set his heart 
 upon ordering all out-of-door matters, so I can't interfere.' 
 
 My mother paused : she had kept the worst grievance till 
 the last. ' One more thing, Sarah ; I don't mean to find fault, 
 I am sure ; but I don't think dear Joanna quite sees things as 
 I do : very naturally ; but she, and indeed Caroline too, have 
 such a notion of our being able to give dinner-parties. Joanna 
 declares we must do it if we mean to have any society, and so 
 I know we must ; but then I want them to wait. We must 
 learn exactly how matters stand with the bank, before we incur 
 any more expenses ; and I can't get your uncle Ralph to settle 
 anything. I don't know how it is ; I never can tie him down 
 to the point, and yet I am sure there are great arrears to be 
 made up.' 
 
 My mother sighed heavily. I kissed her, and called her 
 my sweet mother, and told her not to trouble herself ; and then 
 I proposed to go and talk over the work-question with nurse, 
 and suggest to my sisters that we could not give dinner-parties
 
 7o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 till the dining-room was papered, so that Joanna's own sense 
 might tell her it was nonsense to think about it now. My 
 mother's face brightened at the latter idea ; it was tangible. 
 No, we could do nothing till the dining-room was papered, 
 and that could not be for another year, and in that time — My 
 mother wandered off into futurity, and I went to my sisters. 
 
 They were in the drawing-room. A pile of visiting cards lay 
 on the table. Caroline was arranging them. 
 
 ' We may as well put them in order at once,' she was saying, 
 as I came into the room ; ' they will help to refresh our memo- 
 ries, and we must keep mamma up to returning visits regularly.' 
 ' Yes, indeed,' replied Joanna ; ' it never will do to go round 
 once a-year as we used to do ; and when we begin giving parties 
 we shall be in a great puzzle if we are not careful. We are just 
 as likely as not to ask people to dine whom Ave never take the 
 trouble to call upon.' ' Not very likely to commit such a mis- 
 take as that, I hope,' said Caroline ; ' at least, whilst I am at 
 home.' ' Which will be for many years to come,' observed 
 Joanna. ' We shall see,' was the reply ; and Caroline went on 
 arranging the cards. 
 
 ' Carsdale, to-morrow ! ' said Joanna, ' one would cut it if one 
 could ; but papa talks so much about old friends.' ' We must 
 not make ourselves absurd,' observed Caroline, shortly ; ' living 
 at East Side won't give us better society all at once.' ' Then 
 what does it give us?' asked Joanna, opening her lovely blue 
 eyes in astonishment. ' The means of obtaining it,' said Caro- 
 line, ' if we make good use of our opportunities. It is mere folly, 
 Joanna, to run on as you do about dinner-parties and society. 
 They will all come by and by, but this is not the moment for 
 teasing my father and mother about them.' 
 
 ' Oh ! thank you, Caroline,' I exclaimed, coming forward ; 
 but I was stopped in the middle of my sentence by Caroline's 
 smile of wonder. 
 
 1 You here, Sarah, my dear ! We thought you were in the 
 school-room. What do you thank me for?' I blushed and 
 hesitated. ' For saying there are to be no dinner-parties ?' 
 asked Caroline, patronisingly ; ' but you need not distress your- 
 self, my poor child ; they won't be for you for many a long day.' 
 
 She turned away from me and went on with her lecture. 
 ' You know, Joanna, nothing can be so silly as doing things 
 before the time. Do you remember the Pocockes, Mrs Blair's 
 relations ? How the girls at school quizzed them, because
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 71 
 
 directly they got their money they set up a splendid carriage, and 
 two smart footmen in fine liveries. People said it would have 
 come all very 'well by degrees, but the change was too sudden. 
 Now I don't at all want the same remarks to be made upon us. 
 As some one, I forget who, was remarking to me the other 
 day, — it is not what persons do, but when they do it, which is 
 of consequence in the world. 5 
 
 Joanna was silenced, but she pushed the visiting cards pet- 
 tishly aside, and walked out of the room. Caroline, quite un- 
 disturbed, collected them together again, made me read the 
 names over, and wrote them down on a slip of paper, in the 
 order in which the visits were to be returned. It seemed a 
 good opportunity of giving some of my mother's suggestions, 
 and I observed that it was vexing of Joanna to make such a 
 fuss about parties, when every one was so busy. 
 
 ' Yes, vexing if one chose to be vexed with it,' replied 
 Caroline, indifferently ; ' but Joanna is one of those persons 
 whom it is never worth while to trouble about. It is very easy 
 to put her aside.' ' But, indeed, Caroline,' I replied, ' if you 
 would talk to her a little, and bring her round, it would be a 
 great comfort to mamma.' 
 
 Caroline interrupted me : — ' My dear little preacher, what is 
 the use of talking to people who won't listen ? Besides, Joanna 
 is not so very wrong ; we must have parties by and by. Just 
 go back to the school-room and learn your lessons, and leave 
 Joanna and me to settle our own affairs.' 
 
 Certainly there was no use in talking to people who would 
 not listen. I went away. In the passage I met my father, 
 who asked if I would go with him into the garden ; he was just 
 marking out some flower-beds, and he should like, he said, to 
 hear what we all thought of them before they were finished. 1 
 threw my apron over my head instead of a bonnet, took a 
 parasol which was lying on the hall table, and followed him. 
 The new gardener was waiting for us on the lawn, spade in 
 hand. He was an extremely untidy-looking man, and I did 
 not at all wonder at Drake's dislike to having him in the kitchen. 
 Whilst my father was planning shapes, cutting off corners, 
 sharpening angles, and measuring distances, I stood by, think- 
 ing of my mother's annoyance. My father was a great deal too 
 busy to remark what I did ; and as for my opinion, he never 
 thought for a moment of asking it ; so I stood by him patiently, 
 longing for the gardener to be away, that I might have an op«
 
 72 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 
 
 portunity of saying what was in my mind. The man did go 
 after a little while. A large bell rang, in true country style, and 
 the servants were summoned to their dinner. There could not 
 have been a happier opportunity. 
 
 He was scarcely out of sight, when I exclaimed : ' O papa ! 
 that dirty man ! he is not going to dine in the kitchen ! Drake 
 never will bear it.' ' Drake will bear whatever she is told to 
 bear, my dear/ said my father, abruptly, ' or she will not live 
 with me.' 
 
 Again silence was my refuge. I lingered for a few moments 
 not to show my annoyance ; and then saying that I must go 
 and see about the children's dinner, walked slowly and discon- 
 solately into the house. 
 
 Luncheon was ready, but no one was ready for it. My father 
 never ate luncheon, my mother was often late, often busy with 
 letters, and Caroline and Joanna had generally something to 
 occupy them at that hour more than at any other time ; and 
 the children — it was their dinner — they ought to have been 
 ready, unquestionably. The meat was growing cold. I went 
 up-stairs to call them, and met them half-way, rushing down at 
 full speed. They raced into the dining-room, and seated them- 
 selves in their high chairs • then, with a look of shame, jumped 
 down and said grace, not irreverently, but a great deal too 
 quickly. Herbert put out his hand to take some bread— his 
 fingers were covered with ink. Hester's pinafore, too, was 
 very dirty, and her hair untidy. I stopped Herbert as he took 
 up his knife and fork, and told him to go up-stairs, and have 
 his hands washed. 
 
 < Nurse was not up-stairs,' he said ; ' she was at dinner in 
 the kitchen, and he could not get the ink off himself, and it did 
 not signify- — nobody was there to see.' ' Every one is so busy 
 at East Side,' said Hester, looking up at me, as if to beg me 
 not to be angry. 
 
 Yes, every one was busy. I began to have a perception that 
 I ought to be busy too ; though it might not be in the way of 
 teaching either my father or my sisters their duty. 
 
 1 took both the children up-stairs myself. A little rubbing 
 made Herbert's hands at least passable ; and a brush and a 
 clean pinafore converted Hester again into what she was by 
 nature, a very nice-looking child. My next inquiry was about 
 lessons. Little enough had been done since the removal to 
 East Side.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 73 
 
 1 Papa never has time to hear me my Latin,' said Herbert. 
 ' And mamma told us we need not trouble about lessons till 
 you came home,' observed Hester. ' And you have not done 
 any, then, since I went away?' I asked. 'No,' answered 
 Hester. ' Joanna was going to hear me one day, but she had 
 a headache. I don't think she likes lessons.' ' And Caroline 
 made me say " Propria qua maribus" twice,' continued Her- 
 bert, ' and she said I said it very badly ; and I was to have 
 another lesson, but I never did.' 
 
 It was clear that my authority in the lesson department, at 
 any rate, was not likely to be disputed ; so I made the chil- 
 dren bring their books to me after dinner, and we sat down 
 together, and I made out a little plan for them — what they 
 were to do each day, and at what hour ; and in the middle of 
 it my mother came in to luncheon, and kissed me, and said I 
 was a comfort to her; and for the time my spirits revived. 
 
 But the recollections of the day were very unsatisfactory 
 when I went to my room at night. What was the use of 
 making Herbert and Hester go right when everything else was 
 going wrong ? I thought over the evening, how worn my 
 mother looked when Joanna, with her very bad taste, would 
 bring up again the dreaded subject of the dinner-parties ; and 
 how very unpleasant Caroline's manner was — so imperious, 
 it quite seemed to crush my dear mother ; and there was 
 Vaughan's dandyism also, which had induced my father to speak 
 to him sharply, and make him sulky ; to say nothing of the 
 little instances of Reginald's cautious eye to his own interest, 
 which showed themselves continually. I began to think that 
 large families were trials both in what they did and what they 
 did not do. But it was the being left to myself which troubled 
 me the most. If I had been called upon to teach in a school, 
 or do any definite work, I thought I could have undertaken it 
 willingly ; but this unsettled position, nothing marked out, no 
 duties but those which I chose for myself, and no one to say 
 whether I did them well or ill — the life of a housemaid, I 
 thought, would be preferable. 
 
 That was my second day at East Side. My spirits and my 
 tone of mind, it will be seen, were variable as the winds. I 
 make no excuses for myself. I was not well and strong, there 
 might have been something in that ; but my character was in 
 a transition state, and there was the great cause of the evil. 
 The third day came a visitor, Lady Emily Rivers — almost a
 
 74 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 visitor to me, for she begged particularly to see me. I had a 
 little dread of being obliged to act the heroine again, for I was 
 beginning to be rather ashamed of the ' much ado about no- 
 thing,' especially since Reginald had quizzed me so unmerci- 
 fully. But Lady Emily had excellent taste, she never was per- 
 sonal in her remarks, even to a child ; and we talked about 
 the pony and the pony-chaise, and roads, and distances, with 
 scarcely any reference to myself. Lowood was within a walk 
 for ordinary people, and Lady Emily asked me to come over 
 and see her the first day I could ; and when my mother ex- 
 cused me on the score of not being strong enough, she gave 
 me one of her most bewitching smiles, and hoped the pony 
 would bring me safely. Another request was on her lips, but she 
 did not make it then. She would not have given my mother the 
 pain of refusing before me, if it had been necessary ; but in the 
 course of the next day, a note came with a request that I might 
 be allowed to dine and sleep at Lowood the following Monday ; 
 if so, Lady Emily would come herself and fetch me, or at any 
 rate, send the carriage for me. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LOWOOD was a large, square, red brick house, with stone 
 facings, of about the date of George II. ; its principal, 
 and indeed, only ornaments, being a handsome flight of wide 
 stone steps, and the arms and crest of the Rivers family carved 
 in stone over the heavy entrance-door. The house stood rather 
 high, with a sheet of water in front, and some lovely pleasure 
 grounds extending a considerable way on one side. At the 
 back was a small but very picturesque park, enclosing the ruins 
 of an old castle, and encircled by woods of large extent. The 
 gray tower of the village church was seen half-hidden by trees, 
 close to the park gate ; and the parsonage, a modern house, 
 slightly gothicised, immediately adjoined it, forming, in spite of 
 its red brick walls, a very pretty object, from the creepers, 
 myrtles, and deep crimson roses, which in the course of a few 
 years had contrived to cover it. 
 
 How like a hundred other houses and villages in England to 
 the common eye ! how unlike every other place which memory
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 75 
 
 can paint, or imagination conjure up, to mine ! I stood in the 
 hall at Lowood for the first time, alone ; Lady Emily had been 
 detained at home unexpectedly by letters, and was not able to 
 come to East Side for me herself. I was very nervous ; the 
 chive had given me time to conjure up a host of fears, and they 
 wore not diminished by the sight of the tall footman who ap- 
 peared at the door, and assisted me out of the carriage. Small 
 as I was, I felt dwindled to an absolute atom, as I followed him 
 across the great marble hall, and through a passage of seem- 
 ingly immeasurable length to the drawing-room. 
 
 A very cheerful room it was, crowded with furniture; choice 
 pictures, cabinets, and books in profusion ; and the view from 
 the three lofty windows over the garden and across the water 
 to the distant country was, for every-day enjoyment, as pleasant 
 as it was possible to desire. 
 
 But what the room, or the view, what, in fact, anything was 
 like, just then, I had not the most remote idea. I saw nothing 
 but Lady Emily, who was writing a letter with her back to the 
 door, and to whom I dreaded to make myself known. The 
 servant repeated my name, and she started up, pushed aside 
 the paper, came up to me, and my shyness was over. Who 
 could shrink from those soft tones of welcome, that fascinating 
 smile of cordial pleasure, those words of kindness, of which it 
 was impossible to doubt the sincerity. Can it be merely the 
 dream of years, magnifying, to increase its regrets for the past, 
 which bids me look around the world now, and sigh that there 
 are none like her ? 
 
 Lady Emily made me wait down-stairs till she had finished 
 her letter ; she would not treat me as a stranger, she said ; and 
 she begged me to unfasten my bonnet, and gave me a book 
 which she thought would amuse me ; and so a quarter of an 
 hour passed. Then it was nearly luncheon time, and telling 
 me that Mr Rivers scolded her for being always late, she hur- 
 ried me to my room, helped me to arrange my dress, and when 
 1 was ready, went gaily before me down the broad but shallow 
 oak-stairs, stopping on the way to tell me again how kind she 
 thought it of my mother to spare me to her. 
 
 We went into the dining-room, an oblong apartment with 
 three windows in it, and very like the drawing-room, which 
 might have made a very good drawing-room in fact, if it had 
 been differently furnished, and looked to the south-east instead 
 of the north-west. Mr Rivers was there, with the governess,
 
 76 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and two children ; the eldest a girl about eight years of age, 
 the other a boy of six. Mr Rivers was very polite, but rather 
 grave, the governess excessively quiet, the children full of 
 wonder at the sight of a stranger. I began to feel nervous 
 again ; the chairs were so heavy they were quite cumbrous to 
 move ; and the knives and forks were particularly large and awk- 
 ward to handle ; and when the covers of the dishes were taken 
 off, I could not quite tell whether the meat was beef or mutton, 
 and could only make a choice by saying ' Some of that, if you 
 please ; ' and then the footman handed me vegetables, and in 
 helping myself, I spilt some on the floor. I daresay Lady 
 Emily did not guess what I was feeling, but luncheon was cer- 
 tainly a penance. If I had been six years old it would not have 
 signified, but at sixteen it was too absurd not to be more at 
 
 my ease 
 
 I was to see the grounds in the afternoon, Lady Emily said, 
 and we must walk into the village if it would not be too much 
 for me ; and when luncheon was over we went up-stairs again 
 to get ready. I heard the hall-bell ring whilst I was putting 
 on my bonnet, and dreaded visitors ; but I had not caught the 
 sound of a carriage, and I thought it better to venture down. 
 I met the governess and the children in the passage by the 
 drawing-room, and heard that some one was come, ' they did 
 not know who, but it was very provoking, mamma would be 
 kept so long ; ' and the governess, seeing, I suppose, that I 
 looked shy and uncomfortable, proposed that I should go into the 
 garden with them and walk about near the house till Lady Emily 
 was at liberty. The children ran up and down the straight, broad 
 walk, forming an avenue at right angles with the house, and the 
 governess and I walked side by side, saying what a fine day it 
 was, and how pretty the grounds were, and how much pleasanter 
 it was to live in the country than the town ; and the governess 
 asked me how far it was to East Side ; to which I replied about 
 two miles across the fields, and three by the road ; and in this 
 lively conversation we indulged for about ten minutes, when We 
 saw Lady Emily and two ladies come out of the house, and 
 walk towards a path which led by a short way through the 
 shrubbery to the village. They were approaching us, and I 
 drew back, and being screened by the shade of a large Por- 
 tugal laurel, was not seen. But I had a full view of all three 
 myself. 
 
 By L*ady Emily's side walked Miss Cleveland, bright, fresh,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 77 
 
 and wrinkled — a complete winter rose ; her flaxen hair care- 
 fully arranged in firm, close curls around her face, her straw 
 bonnet elaborately ornamented with blue and brown ribbons, 
 and a light Maltese shawl, showing very much to advantage 
 upon a lavender-coloured silk dress. 
 
 A little in front, the path being too narrow to admit of ihrce 
 persons walking together, came a lady, who might have been six- 
 and-twenty, eight-and-twenty, or even thirty years of age. Per- 
 haps the correct conclusion would have been six-and-twenty. 
 My first impulse on seeing her was to turn to my companion 
 with the exclamation, ' how extremely handsome ! ' but a second 
 glance checked me. Yet it was a very striking face ; the 
 features rather large, but all good ; there was a high forehead, 
 not very projecting, but from its squareness giving firmness to 
 the shape of the face ; a long, not too long, nose ; a very well- 
 formed mouth, perhaps rather too large, but showing within a 
 row of white and even teeth ; raven-black hair, glossy, and 
 braided so smoothly that not a hair was out of place ; and — I 
 have kept the distinguishing mark purposely to the last — a most 
 marvellous pair of black eyes. I can describe them only by the 
 word which was afterwards used in speaking of them to me ; — 
 they were strong eyes ; deep, piercing, glittering ; seeing every- 
 thing at every moment ; conscious of all things external ; 
 equally conscious of every thing internal ; an actual embodi- 
 ment of mind, vivid, energetic, resolute, bold; — but I will 
 not forestall ; I may not have seen then all that I think I can 
 remember. 
 
 The pictures of our first interview and our last with our 
 dearest friend or our greatest enemy, would probably represent 
 two utterly distinct individuals. But one impression I know 
 never altered ; it was that of the rustling nature of the lady 
 before me ; her silk dress rustled I am sure, it was impossible 
 that it should not — rich, and smooth, and lined, and flounced 
 as it was ; and her bonnet must have rustled with that under- 
 sound peculiar to a new bonnet just out of the milliner's hands : 
 but there was a mental rustling also — a murmur of self-gratula- 
 tion upon knowledge of the world's ways and fitness for the 
 world's gaze, such as no doubt die silk dress and the bonnet 
 would have confessed to if they had been gifted with the power 
 of speech. I did not say ' how handsome,' even to myself, 
 when Lady Emily and her visitors passed by me, and stood for 
 a few moments by the closed gate at the end of the path ; but
 
 78 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 I watched the firm tread of the stranger, without once with- 
 drawing my eyes, and when she spoke, I heard every word of 
 the full-sounding voice, and remembered what was said as if it 
 had been addressed to myself : — ' Thank you — you are very 
 kind, but I had better not intrude upon my poor little cousin 
 just now, I shall have many opportunities of making her 
 acquaintance.' Miss Cleveland, I thought, would have spoken, 
 but no opportunity was given her. 
 
 As Lady Emily opened the door, the stranger stood back 
 with an air so decided, that Miss Cleveland was forced to go 
 forward, and then I heard the last words, ' Yes, we are going 
 into the town, I have made Miss Cleveland trust herself to me, 
 for I have been accustomed to drive all my life, and we have 
 some shopping to do ; a little housekeeping. In small house- 
 holds, you know, shopping is an amusement as well as a 
 business.' 
 
 The garden-door was closed. Lady Emily came slowly up 
 the walk, looking, I thought, somewhat discomposed. I had a 
 longing to know who the stranger was ; the words ' poor little 
 cousin ' had struck me personally. I knew they could not apply 
 to myself, but it was just the way in which I was sure I might 
 be mentioned. Lady Emily made no remark upon the visitors, 
 though she said she was sorry to have kept me waiting, and we 
 set off for our walk. 
 
 I fancied Lady Emily was a little inclined to be silent ; but if 
 she was, she did her best to shake off the feeling ; and as we 
 wandered on through the shrubbery, she pointed cut the rare 
 trees and the pretty views, and gathered several choice flowers, 
 trying at the same time to make me at home with her and give 
 me confidence in conversation by allusion to my own home and 
 daily pursuits ; whilst every now and then she would say a play- 
 ful word to the children, or add a remark to the governess, so 
 that not one of the party could feel neglected. An English 
 shrubbery has always had a peculiar charm to me. In those 
 days I had seen very few, and the grounds at Lowood were like 
 a scene of enchantment to me. Vistas of green lawn, smooth 
 as velvet, lost beneath the shade of a solitary spreading beech 
 or chestnut ; gravel walks winding amongst thickets of delicate 
 shrubs ; bright colours fixing the eye on the precise spot where 
 colour was most needed, or leading it on to some beautiful point 
 of distance, some glimpse of the blue sheet of water, or some 
 opening in the woods ; it was a fairy land, bright, yet withal
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 79 
 
 sad and restless, as all beauty must be, since it is mourning for 
 and seeking after perfection. 
 
 ' I must take you into the village,' said Lady Emily, opening 
 a little gate which led through the churchyard. ' There is 
 nothing to admire in it, but I promised to look in at the dame 
 school to-day.' 
 
 I followed, without much thought where I might be led ; the 
 novelty was quite sufficient to charm me. An ivy-covered 
 tower was the most remarkable object about the church ; and 
 there were also some good decorated windows in the chancel ; 
 in other respects the building had been defaced by modern 
 additions. The churchyard was kept very neatly ; that was 
 its greatest beauty. Once there must have been a stone 
 cross in it ; but the cross itself had been broken down, and only 
 the old worn steps remained, and the pedestal, upon the top of 
 which was a sun-dial. 
 
 Lady Emily looked at the church with pride and pleasure. 
 ' It is such a beautiful old tower,' she said, ' there is not 
 another like it in the county. We mean to cut down some 
 shrubs in the plantation, so as to have a view of it from the 
 house.' 
 
 I looked also and admired. The windows were pointed ; 
 that I thought was all that was required for church windows ; 
 and the ivy over the tower was one of the most picturesque 
 things I had ever seen. One of the children was told to run 
 to the other gate and ask the sexton for the key. We sat down 
 in the porch waiting for it. ' There can be nothing like an old 
 English village church, I am sure,' said Lady Emily; ' nothing, 
 I mean, which has the same effect upon the mind. I do so 
 wonder how the dissenters bear their new meeting-houses ; 
 they must miss so very much pleasure.' 
 
 Miss Warner, the governess, suggested that it must be the 
 spirit which induced the erection of the building that gave it the 
 charm. ' Yes,' and Lady Emily paused ; ' but I doubt if I 
 could ever thoroughly delight in a new church ; or, at least, the 
 pleasure would be of a very different nature.' ' Different in 
 kind, but equal in degree probably,' said Miss Warner. Her 
 tone was peculiar, as if she had some meaning understood by 
 Lady Emily ; but whatever she might be thinking of was left 
 unexplained, for the sexton and the child just then appeared 
 with the keys. 
 
 f We have a kind-hearted old rector,' said Lady Emily ; as the
 
 80 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 sexton unlocked the door, ' but the church is not filled as it 
 should be. The farmers' pews, you may observe, take up a 
 good deal of room.' No doubt they did take up a great deal 
 of room ; three occupied at least one fourth of the nave. ' But 
 it is a large church, there is space for two hundred more than 
 actually come to church,' said Lady Emily; — ' it is strange the 
 people should be so carried away by dissent.' Miss Warner 
 remarked that they felt more at home at the chapel ; she had 
 heard them say so. ' I don't know why that should be,' ob- 
 served Lady Emily ; ' the church was the home of their fore- 
 fathers, before dissent was heard of.' ' Dissenting preachers 
 are energetic,' said Miss Warner. ' Yes, yes,' replied Lady 
 Emily, with an air of deep thought ; ' yes, they are energetic' 
 ' They talk to the people in language that can be easily under- 
 stood,' continued Miss Warner. ' Yes,' was again the only 
 reply. ' They have service on other days besides Sunday, and 
 so bring religion publicly into the affairs of the week,' said Miss 
 Warner, ' and ' — -Lady Emily looked up quickly, for her almost 
 hastily — ' they mix with them daily, and know all their needs.' 
 
 A bright smile, yet not unmingled with melancholy, stole over 
 Lady Emily's face, as she said, addressing me, ' We are begin- 
 ning an old discussion : Miss Warner prophesies that all the 
 religion in England will in another fifty years be found amongst 
 the dissenters ; but I am not going to tire you with the subject. 
 You will be much better engaged in looking at the church.' She 
 stood in the porch, whilst we walked round the building; and 
 when we returned to her, we found her conversing with a short, 
 portly, elderly gentleman, dressed in black, evidently the rector 
 of the parish. 
 
 1 He was quite flattered,' he said, ' that she had been doing 
 the honours of his church, and hoped it had been properly 
 admired. One of the oldest churches in England, they say,' he 
 observed, speaking to me as the stranger, — ' a Saxon founda- 
 tion, but I don't pretend to be an antiquarian. A most 
 picturesque church tower too — magnificent ivy — a perfect tree. 
 Has Lady Emily shown you the stem ?' 
 
 We walked round to look at the enormous ivy trunk. I 
 thought Miss Warner kept a little aloof; her manner induced 
 me to regard our new acquaintance more attentively. He 
 was a handsome man ; his nose was good, his forehead was 
 high, his mouth expressed great benevolence : his appearance 
 struck me on the whole as something venerable. He talked a
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 81 
 
 good deal, rather loudly, wandering from one subject to another 
 without much connection, and what he said did not give me 
 any great idea of his intellect. But Lady Emily was so 
 respectful and deferential, I felt he must be something superior. 
 
 As he stood against the church tower fidgeting witli his 
 walking-stick, and sometimes tapping it on the head of a tomb- 
 stone, Lady Emily made some inquiries about a sick man. 
 
 ' Ah, poor old John !' said the rector, ' his work is done. I 
 sent him some broth yesterday ; but he could not eat it. He 
 will never want much more in this world. But perhaps your 
 ladyship's cook may be more successful than mine.' ' We will 
 try,' said Lady Emily — ' have you seen him to-day?' 'Why, 
 no, no; I saw him — let me see — Wednesday week, I think; 
 his wife sent for me. I never thought he would have lived till 
 this time. Poor old John ! — I had a good hearty shake of 
 the hand from him. Well ! we must all follow some day or 
 other.' ' Is it true, Mr Graves, that the dissenting minister 
 has been to him every day ?' asked Miss Warner. ' Very prob- 
 able ; those fellows get about everywhere ; — but I must wish 
 you good morning, Lady Emily. I promised Dame Bartley's 
 lame boy the first handful of gooseberries I could gather ; and 
 you know a parson, as they call us, must not break his word.' 
 He drew from his pocket some splendid gooseberries, which Lady 
 Emily declared far surpassed any in the garden at Lowood ; 
 and then made his bow, and walked away, an inch taller, as 
 he declared, for the compliment to his horticultural success. 
 
 ' The dissenters are indefatigable,' said Miss Warner, when 
 the rector was out of hearing. Lady Emily walked on as if 
 she did not hear. 
 
 We went through the churchyard into the village. It was a 
 pretty village, with neat cottages and gardens, forming rather a 
 long street, and terminated by a large inn — ' The Rivers' Arms,' 
 before which grew a splendid elm-tree. But the most promin- 
 ent object was the dissenting meeting-house, a red brick build- 
 ing, square and ugly to the utmost extent of ugliness, and bear- 
 ing upon its front, on a white stone, an inscription, recording 
 the date of its erection, only two years previous. A handbill 
 against the door gave notice that a sermon would be preached 
 there that same evening. 
 
 I suppose I must have looked rather intently at it, for Lady 
 Emily noticed the direction of my eye, and observed, with the 
 same half-melancholy smile which I had before remarked, ' Mr 
 
 F
 
 82 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Graves' abomination ! He sometimes tries to persuade us that 
 our leniency is the reason why dissent abounds in the parish. 
 He says if he were the squire, he would not have a tenant on 
 his estate a dissenter ; he would turn them all out. But Mr 
 Rivers can never come round to this view of treating the evil.' 
 
 'It is fortunate he does not/ remarked Miss Warner, 'for 
 infallibly he would find two new dissenters spring up for every 
 one that he ejected.' I thought she spoke sharply, and not 
 quite respectfully, and I watched Lady Emily's manner as she 
 replied. But the unfailing gentleness was not irritated. ' It is 
 a deep-rooted evil,' she said, with a sigh — ' no one seems to 
 know how to deal with it. If the bad people in the parish were 
 dissenters, I should not be surprised ; but it is the best who 
 are led away — the neatest, most industrious, most honest ; — I 
 can't understand it. The only hopeful thing in the place,' she 
 added, laughing, ' is our little dame school — the thirty children 
 who we are sure will go to church on the Sunday.' ' Because 
 pains are taken with them on the week-days,' said Miss 
 Warner. 
 
 ' Lady Emily teaches in her little school herself once a week,' 
 she continued, addressing me, ' and she allows me to go there 
 once, and we have the children to the house on a Sunday, to 
 hear them say their catechism and collects, and they go from 
 thence to church. It would be hard if they were to turn 
 dissenters.' 
 
 ' They would,' said Lady Emily, ' if we were not strict. The 
 first rule they are called upon to keep is that of attending 
 church.' ' A rule which would have excited a rebellion in the 
 village,' said Miss Warner, ' if Mr Graves' advice had been fol- 
 lowed, and a law enacted that no child who came to the school 
 should ever attend the dissenting meeting-house.' ' Mr Rivers 
 saved me from that mistake,' said Lady Emily. ' I saw no 
 difference myself till he pointed it out to me ; — and I was 
 extremely anxious to please Mr Graves.' ' But is there any 
 difference ?' I asked. ' Is it not just the same thing in the end 
 whether children are forbidden to attend the dissenting meet- 
 ing-house, or whether they are obliged to go to church ? ' 
 
 ' Precisely the question I asked myself,' replied Lady Emily, 
 ' so I will answer it by a question which Mr Rivers put to me : — 
 Is there not a considerable difference between attacking our 
 neighbours and strengthening ourselves?' I did not, at the 
 instant, see the application, and Lady Emily went on. i By
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 83 
 
 attacking dissent we increase it ; that I have learnt by experi- 
 ence. I might have learnt it from history — the history of the 
 church — if I had ever thought as I ought upon the subject. 1 1 
 is the lesson of all persecutions, whether on a large or a small 
 scale. If I had told the people that they must promise never 
 to take their children to a meeting-house, they would have re- 
 fused, for the mere pleasure of showing they had a will of their 
 own ; as it was, they were all willing to say they should go to 
 church.' 'Then would you do nothing against dissenters ? ' 1 
 asked in surprise ; ' would you let them all have their own 
 way ?' ' If they would let me have mine/ said Lady Emily. 
 
 ' Yes,' exclaimed Miss Warner, eagerly, ' if you could carry 
 out your way with proper help, not with a sleepy, droning rec- 
 
 tur, and' Lady Emily interrupted her, with more of 
 
 severity than I thought she could have assumed : ' Pardon me ; 
 we will leave this subject for the present. Now, Francis, Alice, 
 who will reach the milestone the first ?' And as we stood back 
 to let the children start on their run, I heard Miss Warner say 
 to Lady Emily, ' I was very wrong, exceedingly forgetful ; I 
 trust you will excuse it.' Lady Emily smiled, and held out her 
 hand in token of peace, but I fancied she looked graver than 
 before. 
 
 The dame school was held in a good sized room belonging 
 to the cottage of the village baker. The baker's wife was the 
 mistress — a tidy, middle-aged woman, whose chief fitness for 
 her office appeared to consist in a pair of large silver-mounted 
 spectacles, which gave a decidedly fierce look to what would 
 otherwise have been a meek and lamb-like countenance. The 
 children learnt reading and spelling, writing and arithmetic, and 
 the church catechism. The girls could hem and sew neatly, 
 and the boys were taught to knit. I observed that their read- 
 ing lesson was taken from a little book upon ordinary subjects, 
 not the Bible : that, I was told, was read to them every day. 
 Two or three of the elder girls were trying to read well enough 
 to be trusted with it themselves, but this was not to be till they 
 should cease to require an actual lesson. 
 
 It was a very unpretending little school. I do not know that 
 there was anything else to remark in it, except perhaps that the 
 girls' hair was particularly neat, and cut short behind ; but one 
 thing struck me in Lady Emily's way of talking to them. No 
 one would have supposed from anything she said, that it was 
 her school — founded, supported and governed bv her, What
 
 34 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 
 
 the rector would like, and what he would think, were the pro. 
 minent points in all she said. I whispered my surprise to Miss 
 Warner, as I asked whether the rector really took such a great 
 interest in the school, and was answered by a sarcastic smile, 
 and ' Lady Emily tries to believe he does. She entices him 
 here once a week by conjuring up a little business to consult 
 him upon; and then makes him hear the children read. It 
 keeps up appearances.' 
 
 ' I dare say Mr Graves would have looked in upon you him- 
 self this afternoon, Mrs Brown,' said Lady Emily, as we were 
 going away, ' but he had a little business to attend to. He pro- 
 mised to take his first gooseberries to poor little Tom Bartley, 
 and he did not like to disappoint him : I wonder, children, 
 whether when you grow up to be men and women, you will 
 learn to keep your promises, and take trouble, like the rector, 
 for a sick child. Don't you think it was very good-natured of 
 him?' A general murmur of approbation ran through the 
 whole school, and I heard besides a whisper from one or two of 
 the elder children, 'He'sa very kind gentleman always.' 
 
 We returned home through some fields, a very pretty country 
 walk, which brought us back to Lowood by a lane opposite to the 
 gate at which Miss Cleveland and her friend had made their exit. 
 A gentleman and a servant in a gig were coming down the road, 
 and a pony chaise was advancing the contrary way. We stopped 
 in the lane to let them pass. 
 
 ' That must be Miss Cleveland,' said Lady Emily, looking at 
 Miss Warner ; ' and I think,' and she turned to me, ' my dear, 
 you ought to know, that gentleman is your uncle, surely ? ' 
 
 I had fancied so before ; uncle Ralph's peculiar dress was not 
 easily mistaken. The two carriages drew up just before us. 
 Lady Emily appeared embarrassed ; perhaps she thought I should 
 like to speak to my uncle, but that was the last wish which ever 
 entered my head. 
 
 ' It may be better to wait,' said Lady Emily, in an apologetic 
 tone, 'as I saw Miss Cleveland just now.' I made no answer; 
 the sight of uncle Ralph riveted my attention, it always did. He 
 threw the reins to the servant and alighted. ' Ah ! Mr Ralph,' 
 I heard Miss Cleveland say, in her sharp, little voice, which 
 sounded like the twang of a treble harp-string, < who would 
 have expected to meet you here, away from your office ! not five 
 o'clock yet ! ' ' Business, my dear madam, business,' replied 
 my uncle — < lady's business, too.' he added with a smile and
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 85 
 
 an elaborate bow The pony became fidgety, and Miss Cleve- 
 land grew fidgety likewise. ' Poor little thing ! pretty creature ! 
 quiet now, quiet,' said my uncle. He patted the pony twice as 
 much as was necessary. ' Better let it go, Mr Ralph ; please 
 let it go, it wants to get home.' 
 
 ' It will stand perfectly well if it is properly managed,' ob- 
 served the unknown lady, Miss Cleveland's companion ; and 
 before my uncle could prevent her, she was out of the carriage 
 standing by the pony's head. The creature became quiet di- 
 rectly. ' A young lady who can manage herself and other 
 people too, I perceive,' said my uncle, with one of those strange 
 smiles which had quite as much malice as sweetness in its com- 
 position. 'A very clever young lady, I assure you, Mr Ralph, 
 an acquaintance of yours, or who ought to be — a relation; that 
 is, a connection of a connection — Miss Horatia Gray.' 
 
 My uncle's hat was lifted from his head with an air of the 
 most profound respect. I do not know what he said ; I did 
 not listen. I do not know how much longer they kept us wait- 
 ing in the lane. We crossed the road and entered the shrub- 
 bery. Lady Emily took me up-stairs to my room, and said 
 something about dinner time. The moment she had left me I 
 gave vent to my excessive surprise by walking up and down 
 the room repeating ' Horatia Gray ! ' 
 
 My cogitations, if such they may be called, were interrupted 
 by the entrance of Cookson, the lady's-maid. She was come 
 to offer her assistance, she would be happy to dress me before 
 her ladyship was ready, if it was not inconvenient. My heart 
 sank. A housemaid would have been the greatest possible 
 comfort : I could have made her unpack my little box, and 
 prepare the few things I required, whilst I lay down on the sofa 
 to rest before dinner ; but this black-haired, black-eyed, brilliant - 
 complexioned lady's maid, with her smart French cap and her 
 dress the very perfection of neat fashion, what could I do with 
 her, or what could she do with me ? ' I • was very much 
 obliged,' I said ; ' very sorry to trouble her ; I could really do 
 
 very well ; I ' She cut short my sentence by lifting my 
 
 box into a chair, and unfastening the cord. Very silly no doubt 
 I was then, very young also ; I should not feel the same now 
 if a regiment of lady's-maids were ransacking every box and 
 closet in my house : but at that moment I had the most vivid 
 and painful perception of all the little economies of my toilette 
 apparatus.
 
 86 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 I watched her as she took out one by one a number of little 
 newspaper parcels, containing articles which should properly 
 have been placed in a dressing-case ; and as she laid them on 
 a table, and I fancied I saw something like a smile pass over 
 her face, it was with the utmost difficulty I could prevent my- 
 self from telling her instantly to leave me. She repeated the 
 question, would it be convenient to me to be dressed then ? I 
 had not the courage to say no, though my head was beginning 
 to ache, and a quarter of an hour's rest would have been of 
 incalculable service ; so I seated myself in a chair and resigned 
 myself to the operation of having my hair arranged. How I 
 longed for a book ! it would have been an excuse for silence. 
 Did lady's-maids expect one to talk to them ? What ought I 
 to say ? how should I begin ? Her nimble fingers had twisted 
 my sandy locks into innumerable and unimaginable plaits and 
 bows before I ventured to remark that the weather was very 
 fine. 
 
 ' Very, ma'am ; have you been walking far ? ' The tone im- 
 plied a decided willingness for conversation. ' Round the 
 shrubbery and into the village, and home by a lane,' I replied. 
 ' Turnham Lane, opposite the green gate,' observed the com- 
 municative Cookson. ' I saw my lady and Miss Warner standing 
 there as I was looking out of the blue-room window.' 
 
 ' We were detained by carriages in the road,' I said, not at 
 all knowing how to pursue the conversation. ' Oh ! yes, 
 ma'am, I saw them too — Miss Cleveland and Miss Gray.' 
 ' Miss Gray ! ' I could not help repeating the name, for my 
 curiosity was excited. ' Do you know her ? have ever you seen 
 her before, I mean ? ' 'In London many times, ma'am, she used 
 to come to Eaton Square with Lady Charlotte Morton ; that is 
 my Lady's sister, ma'am, perhaps you know. She is very much 
 afflicted, — Lady Charlotte; her health is dreadful ; a widow lady 
 too ! and very young she is to be a widow. Miss Gray used 
 to be with her as a companion like ; she came continually last 
 spring when we were in Eaton Square.' ' But she is not living 
 with Lady Charlotte now,' I observed ; ' she is,' I was going to 
 add, ' living with my aunt ; ' but an instinct of propriety checked 
 me. 
 
 I felt that the conversation was becoming too free and personal. 
 
 ' Miss Gray is a very civil-spoken young lady,' continued 
 Cookson. ' People said she had a temper, and that she went 
 off from Lady Charlotte in a huff, because she wanted to have
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 87 
 
 the upper hand ; but I don't pretend to know about it. She 
 
 and Lady Charlotte'- I could bear this no longer; but 
 
 rising from my seat, rather to the detriment of the last hair-pin, 
 which Cookson was settling in its position, I put on my dinner 
 dress, and begged her to be quick, as I should be sorry to keep 
 her from Lady Emily, and the first bell had rung some minutes. 
 1 think she had tact enough to perceive that I was not inclined 
 for any more confidences respecting Miss Gray. She certain ly 
 dressed me speedily and pleasantly ; and shall I own the truth ? 
 succeeded in gaining my kind feeling, if not my good opinion, 
 by observing that my dress was so well made, she should have 
 thought it had come from London ; and then white always 
 looked so nice for young ladies. 
 
 Dinner was by no means as alarming an undertaking as lun- 
 cheon. I was prepared for the size of the knives and forks, and 
 accustomed to the sight of the men-servants. Mr Rivers talked 
 a good deal and very agreeably ; and once or twice when I 
 ventured to express an opinion, or ask a question, I could see 
 that he was interested, and took trouble to explain his own ideas 
 and draw out mine. He was one of the most calm-judging 
 men I ever met. At that time I did not understand my own 
 impression of him ; but his conversation had a peculiar effect 
 upon me. It gave me a feeling of confidence, the same kind 
 of satisfaction to the moral sense, which the perception that two 
 and two make four gives to the mathematical sense. Whatever 
 opinions he expressed were based upon incontrovertible reason- 
 ing, clear and extensive, as well as deep ; and, what to me at 
 that time was a comfort beyond anything he could imagine — he 
 owned that upon some points he was contented not to form an 
 opinion ; but to remain undecided, it might be for years. 
 
 The idea was very resting to my restless, eager, hard-working 
 mind, which would think, and puzzle, and distress itself because 
 the secrets of the universe were not revealed to it. If Mr Rivers 
 could remain in doubt upon the social and political problems 
 which were brought before him every day, I might also be satis- 
 fied to have some religious problems left unsolved. As I said 
 befb/e, I could not after that first day's acquaintance have 
 described the effect of Mr Rivers' character upon my own, but 
 I can trace it now ; as we can recall, when looking upon a 
 finished picture, the first stroke of the outline which gave an 
 indication of what the work would be. 
 
 Lady Emily and myself sat alone in the drawing-room after
 
 88 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 dinner ; I was beginning to feel so much at home with her, that 
 I thought I might venture to ask her some questions upon the 
 subject which was so much in my thoughts ; and after a pause 
 in the conversation, I broke the silence by inquiring whether 
 she knew how long Horatia Gray had been staying with Miss 
 Cleveland. 
 
 Her reply was another question, put rather quickly. ' Do you 
 know her so well, my dear ? I thought you had never met.' 
 ' We always call her Horatia Gray,' I said ; ' she is a kind of 
 cousin.' ' Yes,' — Lady Emily's face betrayed dissatisfaction, — 
 ' Miss Cleveland told me so to-day.' ' She has never been 
 staying with us,' I continued. ' I don't think any one has ever 
 seen her except mamma ; and I do not mean that she is a real 
 cousin ; she is a step-niece of Major Colston, who married my 
 aunt.' 
 
 Lady Emily could not help laughing. ' My dear child, if you 
 adopt all your distant connections you will have a family as large 
 as a Scotch clan. But do you then really know nothing more 
 of Miss Gray than her name ? ' 
 
 ' I know that my aunt is very fond of her,' I replied ; ' and I 
 thought Miss Cleveland did not like her. It is very odd that 
 she should be staying there, and my aunt not have told me any- 
 thing about it. I thought Horatia never left her.' ' Mrs Colston 
 is coming to Miss Cleveland's next week, so I was informed to- 
 day,' said Lady Emily, and then she paused : and my curiosity 
 becoming too great for my prudence, I said, ' Cookson told me 
 you knew her.' 
 
 Lady Emily evidently strove hard to repress a rising feeling 
 of annoyance, as she replied, — ' Cookson is too fond of gos- 
 siping. Miss Gray was eight or nine months with my sister in 
 London. My sister required a companion, for she was in deli- 
 cate health and much out of spirits ; but they did not quite suit. 
 The position is a very difficult one for both parties.' 
 
 Lady Emily's manner was such as to prevent any further 
 questions ; and I was heartily vexed that I had alluded to the 
 subject ; for I felt I must have given the impression of having 
 encouraged Cookson in her idle communications. The conver- 
 sation nagged after this. Lady Emily became thoughtful, and 
 presently left the room, and I heard her say to Mr Rivers, whom 
 she met in the hall, that she wished to speak to him. They 
 were absent for ten minutes or more ; tea was brought in, and 
 Miss Warner made her appearance at the same time, and tried
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 89 
 
 to make mc talk, but I was not inclined to say anything ; and 
 I did not very much like her, she struck me as so sharp and 
 criticising. 
 
 We had music after tea ; Lady Emily and Mr Rivers sang ; 
 they were both passionately fond of music. I did not quite 
 know before whether I was or not, but I had no doubt then. 
 The two voices, so perfect in harmony, so exquisitely true and 
 simple in taste, lingered on my ear with a remembrance of sur- 
 passing sweetness. I was asked to play myself, and, of course, 
 declined. Lady Emily did not press me then, but said I must 
 try when I was alone with her the next day. I fancied her 
 manner colder than before, and felt certain she was disappointed 
 with mc. Naturally she would be, if she imagined I could 
 gossip about her visitors with the lady's maid. The idea dis- 
 tressed me, not merely from mortified vanity, but Lady Emily's 
 kindness was fast winning my affection. I could not bear to 
 think that I might have displeased her ; and my first prejudice 
 against Horatio Gray deepened, I fear most unjustly, as I felt 
 she had been, however indirectly, the cause of this false im- 
 pression. 
 
 My head had been aching all the evening, and worry of 
 mind so increased it, that, at last, I must have shown by my 
 countenance that I was suffering. Miss Warner remarked I 
 looked pale. Lady Emily begged me to go to bed, and blamed 
 herself for having made me walk too far ; and when I still in- 
 sisted upon staying up as long as every one else, Mr Rivers cut 
 short the discussion by ringing the bell for prayers. 
 
 ' Good night, dear child,' said Lady Emily, as she took me 
 to my room, and lighted the candles on the dressing table, and 
 looked round to see that nothing was wanting for my comfort — 
 i Cookson shall come to you.' ' Oh, no, thank you, indeed I 
 never have any help. I don't want Cookson at all,' I exclaimed, 
 with much more eagerness than the occasion justified. ' She is 
 a good-natured, kind-hearted creature,' said Lady Emily — ' a 
 little forward and talkative. 3 ' Do you really think her forward? 
 I am so glad. I mean,' I said, laughing from shyness, whilst 
 my face became crimson ; ' that is, I did not want her to talk 
 about Horatia Gray.' Lady Emily comprehended in an instant. 
 ' My poor child ! and has that been upon your mind all the 
 evening ? ' She stooped down and kissed me. I shall never 
 forget the kiss ; and I threw my arms round her, and said, ' I 
 could love you so mutfh, if you would let me.'
 
 go THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 I WAS at East Side again the following day, occupied as if I 
 had never left it. I will not say that I did not feel the con- 
 trast with Lowood, but the feeling did not make me unhappy. 
 I was already beginning to learn that all situations in life have 
 their duties and their cares, and that the form in which these 
 are sent to us must be, comparatively, a matter of indifference. 
 Lady Emily worked in her sphere ; I was anxious to work in 
 mine. We had therefore mutual interest ; and the conscious- 
 ness of this made me look upon Lowood without repining, 
 whilst the hope that I was acquiring a new and valuable friend, 
 gave a charm to my daily life. 
 
 Great curiosity was naturally expressed as to what I had done 
 and said, and how I had enjoyed myself. Caroline's questions 
 were principally in reference to the amount of attention I had 
 received ; Joanna was eager to learn how many servants were 
 kept, and how Lady Emily was dressed in the evening ; whilst 
 my dear mother, as she sat down by me on the sofa, and put 
 her arm round my waist, hoped that her darling's head had not 
 ached ; and was only anxious to learn that I had not walked 
 too far, and had slept well. 
 
 For myself, all this questioning rather teased me. It did not 
 touch the point in which my own pleasure had been found. No 
 one, not even my mother, seemed to understand that Lady 
 Kmily and myself could have anythmg in common. They could 
 not, indeed, imagine why the invitation had been given, except 
 that Lady Emily was proverbially kind-hearted, and might have 
 pitied me because I was out of health, and therefore wished to 
 give me a little change ; and with this belief I allowed them to 
 remain satisfied. It would have appeared the utmost amount of 
 conceit to suggest that the society of a young, insignificant girl, 
 like myself, could afford any pleasure to a person like Lady 
 Emily Rivers ; and yet, in my heart, I felt that it must be so. 
 Mere pity could never have induced her to express such pleasure 
 in having seen me, and beg that I would write and let her know 
 whenever I wanted a few days' change of scene. I did not 
 know why she liked me, but I was quite certain that she did ; 
 and I buried the certainty in my own breast, dreading lest it 
 might be destroyed if I brought it forth to the light ; and then,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 91 
 
 in order to give the conversation another turn, I mentioned 
 Horatio Gray. 
 
 My mother, it seemed, had already heard of her arrival. A 
 letter from my aunt had been received that morning, saying, that 
 it was her intention, very shortly, to visit Miss Cleveland ; and 
 that her niece — my mother unconsciously laid an emphasis on the 
 word, as she read the sentence from the letter — was already there. 
 
 ' It is so absurd in my aunt calling Horatia her niece,' ex- 
 claimed Caroline, — ' a step-niece of her husband ! It is really 
 too silly ; and her own real nieces are nothing to her.' 
 ' Horatia was left lonely and unprovided for,' said my mother, 
 gently, ' and your aunt is very benevolent.' 
 
 ' And she will be adopting us all as cousins,' I heard Caro- 
 line mutter to herself, as she walked away ; whilst Joanna grew 
 rather excited, and wished Horatia would come, for we really 
 made so few acquaintances, it would be a treat to look upon a 
 new face. ' You saw her yesterday, Sarah,' said my mother, a 
 little anxiously. ' Oh, yes, you saw her ; what was she like ? 
 — what was she dressed in ?' asked Joanna. ' Your aunt thinks 
 her very handsome,' said my mother. Joanna's face grew 
 cloudy. 'Oh ! she is handsome ! and conceited too, I 'dare- 
 say ; and prides herself upon knowing the ways of the world, 
 and dressing well. I am sure she will not be to my taste.' 
 
 I could not avoid laughing. ' Well, Joanna,' I said, ' it is 
 certainly not worth while for me to waste my time in descrip- 
 tion, since you know so much about her ; but she is handsome, 
 certainly ; and she does dress well ; — well, that is, in a certain 
 way,' I added, with some hesitation — ' she dresses remarkably, 
 rather.' ' I was afraid so,' said my mother. ' O mamma,' ex- 
 claimed Joanna, ' you know all about her, even to her dress, 
 and you have never talked about her, or told us anything, or 
 seemed to care whether there was such a person in existence. 
 We won't trust you any more, indeed we won't;' and an arch 
 smile passed over her face, which lit it up with an expression of 
 such beauty, that my mother's eyes rested upon her with de- 
 light. 
 
 • I have not talked about her,' replied my mother, ' because 
 I have very little to say. She was Major Colston's step-niece, 
 ■ — that you know ; and she was left without any money, and 
 went out for some time, as a companion to Lady Somebody — I 
 forget the name.' 
 
 ' Lady Charlotte Morton/ I observed, — ' Lady Emily Rivers'
 
 92 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 sister.' ' Oh ! that is the reason she called then,' observed 
 Joanna, in the tone of a stage aside. 
 
 ' I don't know exactly why she did not remain with this lady,' 
 said my mother ; ' but soon after she left her, Major Colston 
 died, and your aunt being alone, Horatia went to live with her ; 
 and as her own connections are not good, I daresay she was 
 very glad to be adopted, as it were, into your aunt's family : 
 that is her history.' 
 
 ' Not all, mamma,' I was about to exclaim, for I was certain 
 my mother knew at least enough to have imbibed an unfavour- 
 able impression ; but I hesitated, for I felt that it was not fair 
 to press her to say more. If I ought to know her opinion of 
 Horatia I was sure she would tell it me ; if I ought not, it was 
 my duty to remain satisfied with ignorance. Joanna, 1 think, 
 did not see as I did that my mother was reserved in expressing 
 her opinion. She looked disappointed for a moment, and then 
 ran away to try on a new bonnet. 
 
 Several days passed, and neither Miss Cleveland nor Horatia 
 Gray called, and nothing was heard of my aunt Colston. My 
 curiosity was rather dying away, having nothing to keep it up, 
 and Caroline and Joanna were both engrossed with other ob- 
 jects. Caroline had now assumed her full position as the eldest 
 daughter, entitled to give opinions and consult her own con- 
 venience ; and she exercised her power without mercy. Society 
 was her object ; and she was resolved to have it at any cost. 
 Every day brought discussions about ■\ isits and invitations ; 
 and, notwithstanding my mother's faint struggles for a quiet, 
 inexpensive life, I could not but see that we should inevitably 
 be drawn into a round of dinner company, not only near, but 
 distant, which must make a considerable inroad into my father's 
 yearly income. 
 
 Society, as Caroline continually urged, was the one thing 
 necessary for the family prosperity. It was essential for 
 Vaughan, who was far too clever to be thrown away upon the 
 people of Carsdalc ; it would be the means of softening Regi- 
 nald ; and for herself and Joanna — what prospects could they 
 have, if they shut themselves up at home, and confined them- 
 selves to the fourth-rate acquaintance of a little country town ! 
 Since we had removed into the country, and had, as it were, 
 taken a new position in the world, it would be the height of 
 folly not to avail ourselves of our advantages ; therefore, — this 
 was the conclusion of a speech a propos to an invitation to dine
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 93 
 
 at a house seven miles off, — there was nothing to be done but 
 to send an acceptance, and so avoid any further doubt. And 
 Caroline seated herself at the writing-table, — looked at my father 
 and mother, as if her arguments were unanswerable, — wrote the 
 acceptance, and that point was settled. To do her justice, she 
 was perfectly sound in her own arguments, according to her 
 own views. She had one object in life — a wealthy marriage. 
 Unquestionably it was more likely to be attained by entering 
 into society, than by living a life of retirement. 
 
 I knew her object ; she did not conceal it. 1 knew Joanna's : 
 — admiration now ; marriage by and by. Sometimes I asked 
 myself, what was my own ? 
 
 East Side was an unfortunate distance from Carsdale : it was 
 too far to allow of my walking into the town and back again the 
 same day. I had never thought of this till we went to live 
 there ; and at first I fancied it would not signify, because my 
 father would drive me in as often as I wished it. But the pony- 
 chaise was continually in use for visits ; so much so, indeed, 
 that we were obliged to have recourse to the carrier to bring 
 backwards and forwards the small things which were wanted 
 for housekeeping. My mother complained of the weekly 
 carrier's-account ; but the cook said it was impossible to help 
 it, because there was no store-room. My mother had never 
 thought about a store-room ; it had not been necessary when 
 we lived in the town. My father was certain it would be easy 
 to build one in a space between the pantry and the kitchen. 
 My mother feared it would be an expensive business — three 
 outer walls would certainly require to be built. ' Not half as 
 expensive as the weekly carrier's-account,' said my father. And 
 he planned his store-room one morning after breakfast, because 
 it was a rainy day, and he could not go into the garden ; and 
 gave orders for it in the afternoon, because the builder happened 
 to call, and it was a pity to lose the opportunity. 
 
 But that is a digression : the store-room was not my trouble, 
 but the impossibility of oftener seeing aunt Sarah. I did not 
 go into Carsdale for a week after my visit to Lowood. Then I 
 received a note in aunt Sarah's upright, square, but trembling 
 handwriting : 
 
 ' Dear Child, — I want to see you. Ask your mother to 
 let you come to me to-morrow to dinner, at two o'clock : and 
 you can sleep here. — Your affectionate great-aunt, 
 
 ' Sarah Mortimer.'
 
 94 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 No one who did not know the effort it was for aunt Sarah to 
 form a letter with her hands crippled by rheumatism, could 
 have understood why my heart throbbed with delight as I read 
 the little note over and over again. It must have been a real 
 wish to have me with her, which could make her write herself ; 
 and it is such a great pleasure to be able to give pleasure. I 
 had never thought till lately that I could do so. I used to be 
 pitied and fondled as a child, but I was growing too old, and 
 my spirit was too independent to wish for that any longer. 
 
 A new, faint light dawned upon me. Perhaps I was to live 
 for others. Perhaps, if I did not marry — and it was absurd to 
 suppose that I ever should, such a sickly, unattractive, unin- 
 teresting person as I was — I was still to have an object in life ; 
 to be the help, the comfort, the sympathising friend, the un- 
 wearied watcher in sickness and suffering ; not first in affection 
 ■ — and human weakness, for the moment, won the mastery, and 
 tears rushed to my eyes, as I thought that none would ever love 
 me best ; — and then the longing that was to find no resting- 
 place on earth, ascended upwards to heaven, and the words 
 came to my mind : < As the Father hath loved Me, so have I 
 loved you.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 1 WALKED into Carsdale the following day, with my father, 
 and was seated at aunt Sarah's dinner-table, precisely 
 as the clock struck two. My mother and Caroline were gone 
 in the pony-chaise to call at Lowood. I cannot say how plea- 
 sant it was to me to find myself again in the quiet room with 
 aunt Sarah and Miss Cole, and old Betty waiting upon us. It 
 seemed an age since I had left it ; and my aunt appeared to 
 think it long too, for she smiled at me several times, and said 
 it was natural to see me there ; — she and Miss Cole were 
 neither of them as gay as they once were, and they wanted 
 something young about them. 
 
 ' But Sarah has been quite a grand lady since she went 
 away,' observed Miss Cole ; — ' she won't want to come back 
 to Carsdale after visiting at Lowood.' 
 
 ' Sarah is not such a little goose,' said my aunt ; < visiting at 
 Lowood will never put her out of conceit with Carsdale. \l it
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 95 
 
 did, she should never go there with my consent. Betty, take 
 the fish away, and bring the mutton ; the child has eaten no- 
 thing yet.' ' Lowood does not seem so very different from Cars- 
 dale,' I observed : ' that is, aunt Sarah, Lady Emily Rivers does 
 not seem so very different from you.' ' When folks arc travel- 
 ling the same road,' said my aunt, ' they must pass the same- 
 places. Lady Emily and I find the same things to think of 
 and talk about, though she lives in a large house and I live in 
 a small.' 
 
 ' And what did you do all the day at Lowood ? ' inquired 
 Miss Cole, wishing, I could see, in her kind way, to draw me 
 out. ' We will hear all about it after dinner,' said my aunt ; 
 and she made a sign to Betty to remove the cover from the leg 
 of mutton. Miss Cole took the hint ; and no more questions 
 about Lowood were asked before the servant. Nor, indeed, 
 was the subject referred to again till I was left alone with my 
 aunt in the afternoon. Then she made me take the square 
 green and black footstool, worked in the homely period between 
 mediaeval tapestry and modern Berlin patterns, and seating my- 
 self at her feet, tell her all I had been doing since I went away. 
 An occasional ' hem ' from time to time marked her attention, 
 but not her opinion. 
 
 'Well, child,' she said, when I had ended, 'and what do 
 you think of it all ? ' 'I don't know/ was my reply ; ' there 
 is not very much to think about, except that Lady Emily is 
 better and kinder than almost any one I have ever seen.' 
 ' And you are sixteen,' said my aunt, patting my shoulder. 
 ' Yes, very nearly.' ' And you have never been out of Cars- 
 dale. Well ! keep your faith ; it is safer to think too well than 
 too ill of the world, and Lady Emily Rivers is a good woman. 
 But how are you getting on at home? ' ' Tolerably,' I answered ; 
 ' I never manage to do what I wish ; and very often I don't know 
 what I ought to do.' 'Grope on,' said my aunt; 'it is good 
 exercise.' ' But I am not quite old enough to grope by myself.' 
 I replied, ' I should be much better, I am sure, if I had my 
 work regularly ordered for me,' ' Then you would be much 
 better in your own world than you are in God's world,' answered 
 my aunt. ' Don't you think, Sally, that if it would really be 
 good for you to have your work ordered for you as you say, He 
 would have arranged that it should be.' ' Yes,' I said, quickly ; 
 and then, after a little thought, I added, ' but the irregularity 
 often comes from other people's faults ; those can't be God's
 
 96 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ordering.' ' But they are His permitting, and He can bring good 
 out of them. Trust me, Sally, though it is a good thing, and a 
 necessary thing, for some minds to have their work put straight 
 before them, it is just as good and as necessary for others to have 
 to search it out.' ' If one could but succeed in the search/ I 
 said. ' Begin in earnest, and you must succeed,' replied aunt 
 Sarah. ' The first thing you need is regularity. Take some 
 duty ; let it be the children's lessons, and fix its place in the 
 day ; never mind if everything else is irregular; only do one 
 thing always at the same hour, and you will have taken a first 
 step, and a most important one, in the management of time.' 
 ' And if I had not the children's lessons ? ' I said. ' Then let it 
 be some steady reading. When you have settled one thing it 
 will be easy to fix another. If you find a duty come to hand at 
 a certain hour naturally, make up your mind that it shall be done 
 at that hour ; and if there's a time in the day when needs must 
 that you should follow other people's wills, then settle with your- 
 self that it shall be given up as a matter of right, and so irregu- 
 larity will become regular.' 
 
 ' But that will not help me to find out my duties,' I replied ; 
 ' which is what I want to do.' 
 
 ' That is the speech of a silly child,' said my aunt. ' People 
 are puzzled about their duties because they mix them up in a 
 heap, and can't see one from another. One day they take a fancy 
 for visiting poor people ; and the next day they think it would 
 be a fine thing to study ; and the day after they have a mind to 
 work for a friend ; and just as the new duty comes in the old 
 one goes out. But if each as it came up had its place settled, it 
 would be pretty sure to be done, and the mind would be left clear 
 to see if there was room for others.' 
 
 ' I suppose that may be so,' I said, ' but the difficulty in 
 leading this kind of life in a family is, that one is so in- 
 terrupted.' 
 
 ' Of course ; and there lies the very good of a large family and 
 plenty of wills. A person who has learnt to lead a steady active 
 life at home, with all the bustle of home fussing and disturbing 
 him, knows a good deal more about guiding himself and guiding 
 others too, than one who has had the clock to help him all his 
 life. But, Sally, there 's a danger in setting your heart upon 
 being too regular in your ways ; as there is in most other things. 
 Regular folks wear out the patience of their best friends, when 
 they set up their stiff fashions for idols, and make others bow
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 97 
 
 down to them. And there 's selfishness, and wilfulness, and dis- 
 obedience too, in us, when we will follow our own laws because 
 we have made them ourselves, and set aside those which God 
 gives us by the orderings of His Providence. Make your plans, 
 child, but make them of leather, not of stone; and specially don't 
 think it 's a sin to break through them if there's a call to do so ; 
 nor consider it a cardinal virtue to keep them if you are allowed 
 to do it. Plans and rules are good things, but an earnest heart 
 is better than all.' 
 
 ' I am afraid there will not be much opportunity for regu- 
 larity,' I said, 'if we have aunt Colston and Horatia Gray 
 staying with us.' ' Umph ! they are coming, are they ? ' said 
 aunt Sarah, her countenance becoming discomposed. ' Yes, we 
 must ask them,' I replied ; ' and it will be a great pleasure to 
 mamma ; she has not seen aunt Colston for years.' 
 
 ' And her step-'niece-in-law is coming with her, is she?' said 
 aunt Sarah. 
 
 I laughed at the newly-invented connection, and answered, 
 1 We cannot help asking her.' ' More 's the pity,' said aunt 
 Sarah ; ' why doesn't Mrs Colston come by herself, and see 
 how you are going on?' ' Poor Horatia Gray !' I exclaimed, 
 ' what a prejudice there is against her ! I have not heard a 
 single person speak a good word for her yet.' ' I never saw 
 the woman,' replied my aunt ; ' but I don't see why your 
 mother's sister isn't to come to East Side without her. How- 
 ever, it is all well enough if your mother likes it.' ' I don't 
 think mamma does like it,' I said ; ' I am sure she would rather 
 have aunt Colston by herself ; but I believe Horatia Gray is 
 quite necessary to my aunt's comfort.' ' It's the fate of rich 
 folks most times,' replied aunt Sarah ; ' they lean on others to 
 help them till they can't get on by themselves.' 
 
 ' Is aunt Colston rich ? ' I exclaimed, quickly. ' Surely,' re- 
 plied aunt Sarah, ' rich for a person who has no one to provide 
 for but herself. Did you never hear your mother say so?' 
 ' No, never,' I answered, ' or at least never that I remember.' 
 1 She had some money from legacies and some from her hus- 
 band, so I have heard say,' continued aunt Sarah ; ' but no 
 matter about that.' 
 
 Then after a little consideration, she added, ' You '11 none of 
 you ever be rich, Sally ; make up your mind to that.' ' I don't 
 think we shall,' I replied; ' at least my mother is always telling 
 me we never shall.' ' She 's a wise woman and a good Christian,' 
 
 G
 
 98 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 said my aunt ; ' and she can't do better than bring you up to 
 depend first upon God, and then upon yourselves. My money, 
 you know, dies with me, and if you could have it, it would not go 
 far among so many ; but trust me, Sally — I have seen much of 
 the ways of life — there's more honour and more profit both for 
 this world and the next in fifty pounds gained by your own 
 labour, than in five hundred doled out by the pity of others.' 
 
 I did not understand all that was in aunt Sarah's thoughts, and 
 the motives which induced her to make the observation ; but it 
 rested in my mind, connected in a vague way with the idea of 
 Horatia, whom I looked upon as destined naturally to be as rich 
 as aunt Colston. We did not dwell long, however, upon these 
 topics ; they were not suited to aunt Sarah's taste. Lowood and 
 Lady Emily were much more interesting to her and to me also ; 
 and she made me repeat again what was done in the village, and 
 what had been said about the dissenters. I think she must have 
 had some perception of the effect such a subject was likely to have 
 upon me ; for she was very anxious to know whether any one had 
 conversed with me about it; and seemed satisfied when she found 
 that Lady Emily disliked arguments, and would not enter into 
 them with Miss Warner. Yet with all her keenness she did 
 not penetrate quite to the inner workings of my mind. The sub- 
 ject of dissent had occupied me and done me harm, for it had 
 tended to increase my previous perplexities. Home occupations 
 and cares, pressing though they were, did not unhappily save 
 me from my own peculiar trials. They might distract my 
 thoughts for a time, but an hour's leisure or any attempt at 
 serious reflection was liable to bring back the rush of doubt 
 from which I had already suffered so much, and the least dis- 
 cussion or difference of opinion on religious topics naturally 
 augmented the evil. 
 
 Dissent had never been brought before me strongly till I went 
 to Lowood. I had been baptized into the Church, educated 
 and confirmed as a Church person. Hitherto it had been of no 
 consequence to me. But now it had assumed a tangible form. 
 I saw it as an active, progressive power, working with some 
 secret influence which it seemed that no one could withstand. 
 Miss Warner's prophecy, that in the course of the next fifty 
 years all the religion in England would be found amongst 
 dissenters, haunted me whenever I endeavoured to fix my 
 mind upon serious subjects, and frequently so confused my 
 notions of truth, as nearly to bring back my former agony c{
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 99 
 
 doubt. It must have done so, but that happily, I ought to say 
 providentially, I was learning how to deal with my own mind. 
 The very magnitude of the danger had compelled me to battle 
 with it. I had crushed thought once by prayer, and I could do 
 so again. I did do it — how often, with how terrible a struggle. 
 none knew or suspected. The history of such a conflict is for 
 the Eye and the Mercy of God ; it would not even have been 
 referred to here, but that, perchance, it may strengthen some 
 sinking under the same trial, to know that it may be met, even 
 in early youth, without argument, without sympathy, without 
 external aid, but simply with the force of prayer, and the strong 
 will to crush the very shadow of a rising doubt, and that the 
 end is peace, and the conviction not only of faith, but of reason. 
 And now farewell to that great anguish for evei I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A LI ST of commissions came from East Side the next 
 morning. They took me out early into the town, for 
 they were all to be executed before dinner. My father was to 
 drive in for me in the pony-chaise in the afternoon. There was 
 some meeting to be held, and the town was very full. I was 
 quite giddy with the number of vehicles passing up and down 
 the street ; but I had taken the precaution to settle the order of 
 my shopping beforehand. First to the grocer's, then to the 
 stationer's, then to the fishmonger's, then to the linendraper's, 
 where I was especially directed to match some very unmatch- 
 able silk ; and at last, and it was quite a relief, into a back 
 street to inquire whether Joanna's silk dress would be ready for 
 me to take back to East Side. I was very tired when I reached 
 this last place ; and as Miss Green, the dressmaker, went up- 
 stairs to inquire, as she said, how much more the young women 
 had to do to Miss Joanna's dress, I sat down in the waiting- 
 room to rest. It was a dull little room, painfully neat ; the 
 paper was a light drab colour, with a square pattern of darker 
 drab lines upon it ; five or six prints in black frames hung 
 round the walls ; they were good prints, line engravings, and 
 seemed to tell of past days of prosperity : a mahogany chiffon- 
 jere, rather tarnished, stood on one side of the room, with a
 
 ioo THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 row of books upon the top, amongst them ' Bunyan's Pilgrim's 
 Progress/ ' Baxter's Saints' Rest,' ' Robinson Crusoe,' ' A Col- 
 lection of Psalms and Hymns,' a large volume of ' Sermons," 
 ' Sandford and Merton,' and some numbers of the ' Lady's 
 Magazine.' A set of black horsehair chairs and a horsehair 
 sofa completed the furniture. I fell into a reverie. What 
 would life be in such a spiritless house ? What objects could 
 it have ? How could any one bear to rise morning after morn- 
 ing to the view of the same narrow street, the same blank wall 
 ■ — the wall of a great brewery ? only an occasional cart, a 
 chimney-sweeper, a dustman, or a few ragged children scream- 
 ing in their play, to break the dull monotony ? 
 
 'Ah ! my dear Sarah, what a surprise !' Miss Cleveland's 
 voice dispersed my meditations on monotony to the winds. A 
 whole influx of people entered the little waiting-room — Miss 
 Cleveland foremost, with her Horatio Gray; behind, I was cer- 
 tain, my aunt Colston ; and in the background Mrs Blair and 
 my sister Caroline. There was a general burst of laughter at 
 my look of excessive astonishment. Miss Cleveland protested 
 I had been asleep, and bade me wake up and welcome my 
 relations. I confess there was something dreamy in my sensa- 
 tions as I advanced, not feeling quite sure whom I was to 
 address, or what I was to say. 
 
 ' Your niece Sarah, my dear Mrs Colston,' said Miss Cleve- 
 land ; ' you remember what a wee baby she was when you last 
 saw her.' 
 
 A tall, well-dressed, line-looking woman, having a strong but 
 rather harsh resemblance to my dear mother, took my hand 
 kindly, kissed mc on the forehead, and said, in a tone so like 
 my mother's, that I could have imagined she herself was speak- 
 ing to me, ' It is a satisfaction to see any one grow up after 
 such a sickly childhood, though Sarah does not look very strong 
 now.' 
 
 'And your cousin Horatia, Sarah,' continued Miss Cleveland. 
 I felt an inward shrinking from the coushiship. ' Sarah and I 
 know each other quite well, I am sure,' said a deep, determined 
 voice, and a hearty shake of the hand accompanied the words ; 
 ' I have heard of her a hundred times, and I daresay she knows 
 every line of my face.' < I don't see how that should be,' said 
 Caroline, brusquely, ' as she never saw you before in her life.' 
 ' Oh, but there is a certain instinct in connections and relations; 
 cousins know all about each other at once. Dear aunt Colston
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. ioi 
 
 has described you all again and again, from first to last.' ' She 
 could not have described Sarah/ said Caroline, ' for she never 
 saw her since she was a baby.' 
 
 Horatia laughed ; and the merriment was as hearty as the 
 shake of the hand. 
 
 ' Well, we know each other now, at any rate, and a very 
 satisfactory knowledge no doubt we both find it.' 
 
 ' May I say how-d'ye-do, too," asked Mrs Blair meekly, as 
 she glided her thin figure between the wall and Horatia's silk 
 flounces. ' Ah, my dear Mrs Blair, I beg ten thousand par- 
 dons ; ' and Horatia, rustling to the further end of the room, 
 insisted upon dear aunt Colston's sitting down to rest in the 
 the black arm-chair. 
 
 Mrs Blair, having inquired for aunt Sarah, went up-stairs 
 with Caroline, and Miss Cleveland then began to inform me 
 how it was that anything so curious should have occurred as a 
 family meeting and introduction in little Miss Green's waiting- 
 room. My aunt, I found, had arrived only the evening before ; 
 the first visit naturally was to East Side, where they had spent 
 more than an hour, a delightful hour according to Miss Cleve> 
 land, looking over the wonderful improvements in the place. 
 Then — it was so fortunate — Caroline wished of all things to 
 come into Carsdale ; she said she must call on Mrs Blair, and 
 there was a vacant place in the back seat, for Horatia drove so 
 beautifully, they did not want any servant ; so they had a 
 charming drive, and went at once to Mrs Blair's ; and there — 
 most strangely things turn out — they found that Mrs Blair had 
 business at Miss Green's and Caroline had also, so they all 
 walked together. 
 
 ' And a gentleman with us,' added Miss Cleveland, ' Mrs 
 Blair's brother-in-law, the great merchant; only he would have 
 been a little in the way at a dressmaker's, so we sent him to the 
 bank, and said we would call for him on our way back.' ' Who 
 do you say that gentleman is who came with us ? ' inquired 
 aunt Colston. ' Mr Blair, the merchant, I don't know what 
 merchant exactly. He has a great warehouse somewhere in 
 the city — a good, worthy man, wonderfully rich.' ' His riches 
 prosper with him, if one may judge from his size,' said my 
 aunt ; ' I never saw such a giant.' 
 
 Miss Cleveland held up her finger for silence, for Mrs Blair 
 and Caroline were coming down the stairs. A discussion now 
 went on as to what was next to be done : ' We could not walk
 
 io2 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 up and down the streets in a body/ aunt Colston said, l or we 
 should look like a regiment. Could not I come with her and 
 Horatia ? she had seen nothing of me ; and we might all meet 
 at Mrs Blair's at two o'clock.' 
 
 Horatia seconded the proposal warmly : but I excused my- 
 self on the plea of being obliged to dine with aunt Sarah ; and 
 after a little more conversation, from which I understood that 
 aunt Colston and Horatia were invited to stay at East Side at 
 the end of the following week, the party broke up. 
 
 Mrs Blair and Caroline offered to accompany me to aunt 
 Sarah's door. They would pass the bank on their way, and 
 might, as Mrs Blair expressed it, pick up her brother-in-law. 
 
 ' Rather a large atom to pick up,' I could not help whisper- 
 ing to Caroline, as Mr Blair came out from the bank. He 
 was really a portentous man ; not in one way, but in all ways 
 — height, size, whiskers, manner, voice ; a giant in everything 
 but intellect, and not deficient in that as regarded the clever- 
 ness of making money. One could read at once in his sharp 
 eye and square forehead, the energetic, yet cautious character 
 which would have many aims and enter into many speculations, 
 but which would so well calculate the chances of profit and 
 loss, as scarcely ever by any error of judgment to fail of 
 success. He came out of the bank with my uncle Ralph. 
 The contrast between the two was very amusing — my uncle, 
 so softly gracious and bland, so very much, both in manner 
 and dress, the staid, precise gentleman, older than his age, 
 standing firmly upon the rock of a century of respectability ; 
 and Mr Blair, the representative of a younger generation, 
 pompous and noisy, requiring nothing for support but the 
 knowledge of his own success, and the possession of a hundred 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 ' Good bye, my dear sir,' said my uncle, grasping Mr Blair's 
 hand, as he was in the habit of grasping the hands of all for 
 whom he had to transact business. ' You may quite depend 
 upon me, I will write by to-day's post.' 
 
 ' Thank you, sir, much obliged ; I shall be back in London 
 myself soon, then you shall hear from me. Now, Mrs Blair;' 
 and he stared at me, and offered his arm to his meek little 
 sister-in-law, who drew back, and Caroline and Mr Blair 
 walked up the street together. I pitied Caroline, but my pity 
 was thrown away. She was fitted for any position in life ; for 
 she had but little timidity, and very few real dislikes. Mr
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 103 
 
 Blair's jokes were endured heroically, and even kept up by a 
 little quiet bantering in return ; and as we parted company at 
 aunt Sarah's door, Mrs Blair could not refrain from saying to me in 
 a low voice, ' Well, I must own your sister Caroline does manage 
 to make herself agreeable to every one.' I thought for an 
 instant that she meant to imply that I had done the contrary, 
 but Mrs Blair was a great deal too good-natured for sarcasm. 
 
 Oh, the repose of aunt Sarah's parlour after that bustling 
 morning ! how very pleasant it was ! refreshing to mind and 
 body. I liked to tell her all I had been doing, for she was not 
 at all insensible to the concerns of her neighbours ; and 1 
 made both her and Miss Cole laugh by describing my bewilder- 
 ing introduction to aunt Colston. But that half hour's rest was 
 soon over, and dinner followed, and the packing of my little 
 carpet-bag ; and the pony-chaise came to the door, and my 
 father stayed for about ten minutes out of respect to aunt Sarah ; 
 and in another half hour I was at East Side again, and my 
 short-lived visit was amongst the things that have been ; so 
 at least I thought then ; but I have since asked myself whether 
 there is really any has been ; whether all thoughts, and words, 
 and deeds, however simple, do not live in their effects so as 
 never to cease to be ; even as the stroke of the artist's pencil 
 is past in a moment, yet endures for ages. One thing is certain, 
 that w8 are what we have done, and that there is no action in 
 life which has not tended" to make us what we are. It is the 
 thought of age. The young do, but they seldom pause to 
 think what they are doing ; they work continuously, but they 
 seldom inquire what it is their work is creating. 
 
 ' So, Fanny,' said my father, addressing my mother on the 
 Friday evening which followed my visit to aunt Sarah, ' so your 
 sister and Miss Gray will be here to-morrow. What do you 
 mean to do with them ?' ' Make them at home and comfortable, 
 I hope,' said my mother, smiling. My father threw down his 
 book, and yawned. ' They will find it rather dull, I am afraid. 
 Yaughan, my good fellow, what are you reading?' 'A novel, 
 sir,' replied Vaughan. ' Foolish reading for a young man who 
 talks of going to college. Let me see, you go up for matricula- 
 tion in two months' time ?' 'I believe so, sir.' 'You ought to 
 have gone up a year ago. I am afraid it will tell against you, 
 this being so late/ 
 
 My father spoke rather testily. My mother looked up with 
 a consciousness of something not quite comfortable.
 
 ro4 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 'Will it really be so soon?" she said, gravely. ( I don't 
 know how it is I have miscalculated so much. I fancied we 
 were to have him at home at least three months longer.' 
 
 Hester, who was sitting upon Vaughan's knee, with a pencil 
 and a piece of paper before her, gave him a kiss, and asked 
 him to take her with him. He patted her head, and went on 
 reading ; the novel was very engrossing. 'It is a terrible 
 expense,' said my father ; ' I can't see how Ave are to manage 
 it.' ' And there is so little to be gained by it,' observed 
 Reginald. ' Except being like other gentlemen,' said Vaughan, 
 without raising his head. ' You may be that if you choose it 
 without going to college, my dear boy,' remarked my mother. 
 ' I don't mean that I should not be very sorry for you not to 
 go, but if your father could not afford it, I see no reason why 
 you are to be the less a gentlemen, supposing, of course, that your 
 conduct and manners give you a right to the name.' 
 
 ' Many persons are gentleman who have never been at 
 college,' observed Caroline. ' Mr Blair, for instance,' said 
 Joanna, laughing. ' I heard him say to-day that he was thank- 
 ful he was not indebted to any dons or professors for the 
 success he had had in life. It was all his own doing from 
 beginning to end.' ' And very much to his credit,' replied 
 Caroline. 
 
 I could not help saying that I thought it depended upon the 
 kind of success. 1 did not see that merely making money was 
 much to any person's credit. Caroline turned round upon me 
 hastily : ' If you mean to be a philosopher, Sarah, you must 
 recollect that making a fortune requires energy, and persever- 
 ance, and prudence, and judgment, and some of the most 
 valuable qualities in human nature; and these do deserve credit.' 
 ' Yes,' I said, ' if they are not marred by selfishness.' ' I can't 
 see why all persons who make money are to be called selfish 
 directly/ continued Caroline ; ' to me there is just as much 
 selfishness in extravagance.' ' Mr Blair is extravagant in some 
 things,' said Reginald ; ' I heard him boasting to-day of the 
 sums he gave for the best champagne.' ' If people can afford 
 to pay for the best champagne, they have a right to drink it, in 
 my opinion,' said Caroline. ' How is trade to be supported if 
 no one spends any money?' 
 
 ' Hurrah for Mr Blair's champion,' exclaimed Reginald. 
 ' through thick and thin ! a regular electioneering supporter ! * 
 Caroline coloured. ' You are talking about what you don't
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 105 
 
 understand, Reginald,' interrupted my father. ' There is nothing 
 
 lo laugh at in Mr Blair ; he is a hardworking, honourable man. 
 I only wish any one of my sons had the prospect of doing as 
 well in life as he has done — Vaughan, for instance. Better be 
 in a merchant's office gaining an honest livelihood, than pre- 
 tending to pore over books and starving.' 
 
 1 Certainly, if there is any pretence in the matter, or any 
 starving,' interrupted my mother, mildly, yet in a tone of some 
 annoyance ; ' but we hope better things from Vaughan ; and, 
 besides, my dear Herbert, you are the last person who would 
 endure to see one of your sons a pompous, money-making man 
 like Mr Blair.' My fathers reply was stopped by the ringing 
 of the house-bell. My uncle Ralph was announced. My 
 father's countenance fell. ' Candles in my study, William,' — 
 we had a man-servant now that we were at East Side. ' Win- 
 should he come at night?' 1 heard him mutter to himself. 
 
 My uncle entered the room — so blandly, so kindly, it was 
 really touching. ' Ah ! such a pleasant young party, it was 
 delightful to see them, and all occupied. There was nothing 
 like occupation, useful occupation. He was quite sorry to 
 disturb us all — he was only come for a few minutes — just half 
 a dozen words with my father.' He declined sitting down, and 
 my father led the way to the study. 
 
 The interview lasted for at least an hour. Hester went to 
 bed ; Vaughan fell asleep over his novel ; 1 played a game of 
 chess with Reginald, and was beaten. At the expiration of the 
 hour my father returned alone. My mother scrutinised his face, 
 and so did I, but we were both of us puzzled. One thing, how- 
 ever, was a great relief — we saw no signs of a family calamity. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I THOUGHT my father was particularly cheerful when we 
 met the next morning at breakfast, and my mother very 
 much the reverse. She exerted herself to conceal that she was 
 uncomfortable, but she couki not hide her feelings from me. 
 Happily, there was generally enough going on to distract our 
 thoughts, and the expectation of receiving my aunt and Horatia 
 gave conversation and interest to us all. My own occupations
 
 106 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 were, besides, a great assistance to me. I had settled myself 
 decidedly in the school-room with Hester and Herbert, and 
 worked with them regularly as their governess. The office was 
 in some degree self-appointed, but every one was willing to 
 yield it to me, and though I felt myself sadly unfitted for it, 
 yet I was sure that any regular employment was better for the 
 children than the desultory life they had been leading ever 
 since we removed from Castle House. Besides giving them 
 regular hours for lessons and for play, I also took them out for 
 a walk every afternoon ; and though all this made me often 
 feel over-worked, and left me little leisure for my own studies, 
 I could not think that it was labour thrown away. Setting 
 aside the children's improvement, — and they certainly did im- 
 prove, — I could not but see that I was easing my mother's 
 mind, and introducing order into the household. The children 
 being no longer dependent upon the servants either for dressing 
 or walking, the domestic arrangements went on more smoothly, 
 and, I hoped, also more economically, since extra help could 
 not now be as constantly required. 
 
 Mrs Blair and her brother-in-law called in the course of the 
 day. Mr Blair, being an idle man for the week, did not, I sus- 
 pect, quite know what to do with himself. To busy people a 
 holiday is often a considerable perplexity. It is a reason, I 
 think, for making it a part of education to give children holi- 
 days, and leave it to themselves to find employment. Mr Blair 
 had clearly never been taught what to do with himself on a 
 holiday ; so he drove over to East Side every other afternoon, 
 and lounged about the garden and the two fields, and gave my 
 father his notions of farming. What he knew of farming I 
 will not pretend to say, but there was something in his dog- 
 matical manner which commanded attention, and my father 
 listened patiently whilst Mr Blair harangued as he paced round 
 and round the garden, and Caroline and Mrs Blair followed 
 and asked ct propos questions. 
 
 That day, however, my father and Mr Blair walked alone, 
 earnest in conversation, and Mrs Blair lingered in the drawing- 
 room, and begged she might not disturb any one ; my mother, 
 looking care-worn and fagged, sitting with her and discoursing 
 upon the little nothings which formed the staple commodity of 
 Mrs Blair's mind ; and in the midst of it all arrived my aunt 
 Colston and Horatia, just at the moment to prevent my escap- 
 ing for a walk with the children.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIEE. 107 
 
 Sensible people must be agreeable ; that is the theory of 
 human nature. Practically, sensible people, so called, are 
 very often not agreeable. Why is a problem to be solved 
 for each individually ? I am inclined to think myself, that it 
 is because very often they arc not humble, therefore not 
 sensible. 
 
 Aunt Colston's sense was proverbial. The tone in which, 
 after giving my mother a kiss, and spending about a quarter of 
 an hour in preliminary conversation, she said, ' And now, my 
 dear, if you please, Horatia and I will go to our rooms, and 
 not interfere with the order of your arrangements,' was decisive 
 as to her own opinion upon the point. There was to be no 
 lingering about and wasting of time ; every one was to do what 
 every one had to do : and aunt Colston walked up-stairs, and 
 Horatia followed, half-apologising to my mother for my aunt's 
 not having brought a maid, by saying that she liked to do 
 everything for her herself. Meek little Mrs Blair was quite 
 crushed by this display of order and energy. I am sure she 
 felt it must be an offence to wander any longer in that leisurely 
 way up and down the veranda, gathering verbena leaves and 
 balm of Gilead ; and no doubt it was a vision of aunt Colston's 
 eye, gazing at her from the bedroom window, which made her 
 so suddenly insist that it was growing very late, and her 
 brother must really drive her home directly. 
 
 I happened to be in the drawing-room as Mr Blair and my 
 father came in from their walk. My father had a restless im- 
 patience of manner which he could scarcely control. He was 
 particularly cordial to Mr Blair, and yet really hurried him 
 away ; and when he was gone he hastened back to the draw- 
 ing-room, and seeing only my mother and myself there, ex- 
 claimed, — •' Well ! Fanny ; it is quite settled.' 
 
 My mother looked very vexed, and pointed to me as a 
 caution, but he was too excited to care for my presence. 
 
 < Never mind, never mind,' he said, quickly ; ' what signifies 
 the child's knowing what every one must know soon ? ' A 
 sudden thought flashed across my mind. Mr Blair had pro- 
 posed for Caroline. ' I would as soon take Sarah's judgment 
 as that of any person I know,' said my mother, gently. ' Well, 
 then, let her give her judgment,' continued my father. ' Tell 
 me, Sarah, which will be best, — for Vaughan to go to college, 
 spend my money and his own time, and do nothing ; or be 
 placed in a position where he may make a fortune, and be«
 
 io8 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 
 
 come, if he chooses, a wealthy landowner, and, it may be, a 
 member of Parliament ; who knows ? ' 
 
 I was silent ; — a little disappointed that I had made a wrong 
 guess, and very much puzzled to answer a question which I felt 
 certain was not fairly put. 
 
 ' There can be no question,' continued my father, with some 
 irritation of tone ; ' and, in fact, there must be no question. If 
 what Ralph says is true, and we are living beyond our means.' 
 ' I have never yet been told what our means are,' said my mother. 
 ' It is the point I am always urging Ralph to come to.' ' Leave 
 that to me, my dear,' replied my father. ' As Ralph says, — 
 ladies always fancy that accounts can be made up in a day. But 
 you need not disturb yourself. The investment he proposed to 
 me last night will bring in five-and-twenty per cent, in another 
 year, though it may cripple us a little now.' ' I dread mining 
 investments,' said my mother. 
 
 My father grew suddenly prudent before me, and turned the 
 conversation into its former channel. ' Well, Sarah, what do 
 you say ? Should you like to see Vaughan a rich man, and a 
 member of Parliament ? ' 
 
 ' Not if he is to be like Mr Blair,' I replied ; — whilst my 
 mother added, eagerly, ' And you must remember, Herbert, that 
 if you force upon him what he hates, he will do nothing.' ' He 
 will do nothing anywhere it is my belief,' exclaimed my father ; 
 and he walked out of the room. 
 
 I had only time for a few words with my mother, before the 
 dressing-bell rang, and we were obliged to get ready for dinner. 
 1 learnt, however, that this scheme of placing Vaughan in Mr 
 Blair's office had originated with my uncle — that he was exceed- 
 ingly urgent for it ; in fact, almost insisted upon it. His prin- 
 cipal argument was, that college expenses were very high, and 
 the profession of a barrister, for which Vaughan was originally 
 intended, very unpromising ; whilst in an employment like Mr 
 Blair's, there was an opening for unbounded wealth. ' Your 
 uncle talks a great deal also of economy,' said my mother. ' I 
 wish he would let us have our money to ourselves, and not per- 
 suade your father to enter into mining speculations.' I wished 
 so too, most heartily. 
 
 There was a lull in our domestic anxieties for the first fortnight 
 of Aunt Colston's visit. I heard nothing more of uncle Ralph's 
 schemes or Mr Blair's money. Mr Blair himself returned to 
 London, and the absence of his visits no one regretted. Aunt
 
 THE EXPERIEXCE OE LIFE. 109 
 
 Colston pronounced him a shrewd, but commonplace man ; 
 Horatia mimicked his pompous voice ; Caroline said nothing, 
 but went into Carsdale as often as she could, to manage any 
 shopping that was wanted, and have luncheon at Mrs Blair's. 
 It is curious to watch in a family, and even in one's own mind, 
 how quickly one set of interests can supersede another. A 
 month before, Lady Emily Rivers, and our country society, 
 were all-engrossing ; then came the farming plans, and Mr 
 Blair ; and now, every one in the house was, more or less, 
 occupied with Mrs Colston and Horatia. It would have been 
 difficult, indeed, for it to be otherwise. Who could forget, or 
 be insensible to the presence of aunt Colston's vigilant, piercing, 
 ubiquitous eye, or Horatia's cheerful, hearty, decided, managing 
 spirit ? By the end of the first week of their visit, I began to 
 have serious doubts whether any person in the house but them- 
 selves had a right to offer an opinion or express a will. Cer- 
 tainly, I could not but feel that we had been all our lives doing 
 everything in the wrong way. 
 
 ' Here ! my dear Sarah,' said my aunt, coming into the 
 school-room, after returning from a drive into Carsdale with 
 Caroline, ' I have brought you a little book — a French gram- 
 mar ; vou use a very bad one.' I had not the remotest idea 
 that she had ever seen the book I used. ' Always teach from 
 the best books, my love, and be methodical both in the manner 
 and the time of teaching, and you will teach well.' 
 
 ' It does not do for governesses to sit up late at night, read- 
 ing ; does it aunt ? ' said Horatia, with a merry laugh, as she 
 looked up from correcting a sum of Herbert's, which I had 
 never asked her to trouble herself with. 
 
 1 That is indeed a very bad habit,' said my aunt gravely. ' I 
 trust, my dear Sarah, you never indulge in it.' ' It makes people 
 get up late in the morning ; doesn't it, Sarah ?' said Horatia, 
 in the same tone of good-natured raillery. ' Sarah gets up 
 earlier than any one,' exclaimed Herbert, bluntly. 
 
 ' Hush ! my dear little Herbert ; good boys never inter- 
 rupt,' — and aunt Colston put her hand upon Herbert's shoulder 
 reprovingly, and held it there till the boy's face became crimson 
 •with anger. ' Sarah ! my love, you ought always to be in bed 
 by half-past ten, and up at six. If you are feeling ill, perhaps 
 half an hour longer may be allowed. Take example from your 
 cousin Horatia. I hope, Horatia, you will be able to persuade 
 Sarah to walk with you every morning before breakfast.' I was
 
 no THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 afraid, I said, that would be impossible. I was always engaged 
 with the children before breakfast. ' Oh ! very good ; you read 
 the Bible with them, I suppose ? ' ' It is a pity you allow them 
 to gabble over the words as fast as I heard them doing this 
 morning/ said Horatia, carelessly. ' You know, aunt, what 
 a habit of reading fast I had acquired, till I came to live 
 with you, merely from never having been corrected as a 
 child.' 
 
 ' Yes, I remember quite well ; no habit can be more dis- 
 tressing or irreverent, whether in old or young people. Sarah, 
 no doubt, will take your remark as kindly as it is meant, and 
 profit by it.' 
 
 Was I very mean-spirited not to defend myself? But really 
 I did not know what to say, for I had the greatest possible 
 dislike to making excuses and apologies. I had always fancied 
 before that I was very particular about the children's reading, 
 and it was only that very morning I had found fault with them 
 for hurrying over the last verses of the chapter, when Horatia 
 came into the room and interrupted us. 
 
 ' What system are you following in your reading ? ' continued 
 my aunt. ' The children have lately been in the habit of 
 reading the second lesson for the morning service,' I said, 
 ' Very well, a very good idea for a beginning.' ' Very good,' 
 repeated Horatia ; ' only children require a little questioning 
 and explanation.' 
 
 ' Certainly, certainly,' continued my aunt ; not giving me 
 time to say that I endeavoured to do both. ' I know a very 
 good little book of questions on the New Testament, which I 
 will give you, my love. Horatia, remember that I purchase it 
 the next time we go into the town. I take much interest in your 
 efforts, my dear Sarah ; and I have no doubt they will be 
 profitable, both for yourself and your young pupils.' 
 
 Aunt Colston departed, and Horatia and I were left alone 
 with the children. I am ashamed to remember how proud and 
 angry I felt. Horatia glanced at me several times, and at last, 
 seeing that I walked away to the window to recover my good- 
 humour, she followed me. ' What, moody, Sarah ! I am 
 afraid it was my fault. I ought to have remembered that young 
 governesses don't like to be interfered with ; but come, we will 
 kiss, and be friends.' 
 
 She gave me a kiss. I really could not return it, and I have 
 no doubt I showed great annoyance, when I said, — ' It is not
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 1 1 1 
 
 interference I dislike, Horatia ; but suggestions which are not ' 
 I paused. 
 
 ' True,' added Horatia, perfectly untouched by the accusa- 
 tion. ' My good cousin, you must let other people be a judge 
 of their own impressions. I spoke very innocently ; I only 
 spoke as I thought. Aunt Colston knows me quite well — she 
 never dwells upon anything I say in my off-hand way, and I 
 can see she is wonderfully taken with you. You will be a 
 decided rival before long, if you go on as you have begun.' 
 The school-room door opened ; — aunt Colston looked in once 
 more. She wanted Horatia directly. ' Coming instantly,' 
 was the reply — ' only, aunt, just stay for one minute, and put 
 this poor child into good humour with me.' ' I trust that is 
 not required,' and with a stately step my aunt moved across 
 the room. ' You must remember, my dear Sarah, that what- 
 ever I or Horatia may say is solely with a view to your improve- 
 ment. We wish to make our visit an advantage to you ; but 
 it will be far otherwise if you allow temper to interfere with the 
 good you might otherwise derive from the advice of persons 
 older and more experienced than yourself. Believe me, my love, 
 there is nothing so needful as humility for a young person aim- 
 ing at proficiency as an instructress of childhood. 
 
 Oh dear ! how much rather I would have heard aunt Sarah 
 say, ' Sally, don't be a goose ! ' And how I shrank involun- 
 tarily from a sentence beginning with ' Believe me, my love ! ' 
 The conversation I have just narrated is but a specimen of the 
 kind of annoyance to which I was continually subject. Of 
 course I did not like aunt Colston, yet I could not help feeling 
 respect for her. If she had not been so bent upon doing every one 
 good, I might really have admired her ; for she was exceed- 
 ingly well informed, and her remarks were often valuable, 
 though, unfortunately so well rounded, that they slid down the 
 palate of one's mind without leaving much flavour behind. If 
 we had been left alone, too, I think we might, as the saying is, 
 have ' got on.' She was a true-minded woman. I do not 
 use the word with the cant meaning of the present day — which 
 is generally, to my notion, no meaning at all ; but I intend to 
 express that she said what she meant, and meant what she said. 
 Though, at times, I felt she was prejudiced, self-opinionated, 
 and narrow-minded, still there was nothing mean in her char- 
 acter ; nothing to despise. There were many points upon 
 which, I am convinced, we could have met and sympathised, if
 
 1 1 2 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 — it is a very large ' if,' — it proved to be the ' if ' of my life 
 — if it had not been for Horatia Gray. How, or why, or when 
 she managed it, I could not tell ; but, in some way or other, 
 Horatia Gray was always interposing between myself and aunt 
 Colston's good opinion. I am sure she did not bring any open 
 accusations against me. I should have heard of them directly 
 if she had ; for aunt Colston again and again repeated the ob- 
 servations which were made about me ; and there was not any- 
 thing tangible to say. But they were a singular mixture of that 
 ' faint praise,' which, as the strong, well-known proverb im- 
 plies, is more injurious than censure, and hints of decided, 
 serious, and indulged faults. To have said anything in self- 
 defence would have been useless ; in fact I should only have 
 done myself harm by it ; for after what my aunt called my 
 exhibition of temper, on the occasion to which I have referred, 
 I was always stopped when I attempted to explain any mistake, 
 by a warning that my besetting sin was pride, and that I was 
 bound to listen without reply, as an act of self-discipline. 
 
 But the visit, it may be said, was to be short ; my aunt and 
 Horatio were not living with us ; how could it be of much con- 
 sequence to me whether I was judged justly or unjustly ? 
 
 I do not think it would have been very important to me 
 individually. I liked praise and approbation at the moment, 
 but I was far too busily engaged in controlling and conquering 
 the faults which daily humbled me in the sight of God to allow 
 any human opinion to have a lasting influence upon my happi- 
 ness. I was what I was before God ; all else was a delusion, 
 which must, sooner or later, pass away. But I was the 
 favoured one of the family, the peculiar exception, the one 
 bright spot in my aunt Colston's estimation. She had not 
 been with us ten days before I perceived that her vigilant eve 
 had scanned every weakness and infirmity, registered every 
 hasty word, noted every omission, seen fully and clearly what, 
 as a family, we were, and what we ought to be. 
 
 Alas ! there was but too much truth in the remarks which 
 she sometimes vented upon me ; but they were very bitter to 
 hear. Indolence, extravagance, want of order, love of ease, a 
 desire of mixing in society above our position, a weak vanity, 
 a taste for sarcasm — it was all true. We were many in num- 
 ber — we each had our peculiar failings. When brought to- 
 gether they made a startling appearance. But it was hard, 
 very hard, to lay them before one individual, and that one
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 113 
 
 nearly the youngest of all. It was cruel to direct a child's 
 attention, even by a hint, to the faults of a parent ; merciless 
 to compel me to realise what before had only been the suspi- 
 cions of evil in my brothers and sisters. But aunt Colston 
 prided herself upon her sense. Jt was her mission, she thought, 
 to reprove and direct. No doubt she acted according to the 
 dictates of her own conscience — and the guidance of Horatia 
 Grav. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 * TV I V DEAR SALLY, — Lady Emily Rivers is to come and 
 i- > J- see me to-morrow ; you may come too, if you like. You 
 may walk in, and Lady Emily will take you back in her carriage. 
 I don't want any one else. I send you my blessing, and I am 
 your affectionate great-aunt, Sarah Mortimer.' 
 
 The note excited a commotion. I stupidly forgot that it was 
 exclusive, and allowed it to go the round of the luncheon-table ; 
 Horatia having expressed a great wish to see the writing of that 
 ' dear old great-aunt of ours.' 
 
 I saw aunt Colston's colour rise as she read it. ' Mrs Sarah 
 Mortimer need not be afraid of our intrusion, I am sure,' she 
 said, pointedly. ' I did myself the honour of calling four days 
 since, and was informed she was not well enough to see me.' 
 
 ' It was quite true that aunt Sarah was ill that day/ I said, 
 ' for Miss Cole sent me over a note to tell me so.' ' Our name- 
 sake and godchild is always kept well informed of our dear old 
 aunt's movements/ said Horatia, with a laugh, which it would 
 have been hard to call sarcastic, though it irritated me almost 
 beyond endurance. 
 
 ' Mrs Sarah Mortimer is no doubt a very estimable old lad) - / 
 said aunt Colston ; ' we must not forget that she is aged. Aged 
 people have their peculiarities. I am glad to find, my dear 
 Sarah, that you have so conducted yourself as to win the appro- 
 bation of a person advanced in years.' 
 
 ' And you are a protegee of Lady Emily Rivers also, I find/ 
 continued Horatia ; ' you really are fortunate.' ' Lady Emily 
 is very kind to me/ I replied. ' I don't quite know what you 
 mean by my being a protegee? ' Lady Emily likes having 
 ■protegees; doesn't she, aunt?' continued Horatia. 'She is 
 
 H
 
 114 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 always talcing up something new.' ' I am afraid she is a little 
 inclined to be fickle,' replied my aunt ; ' at least, judging from 
 what you have told me.' ' Yes, I was her pet once,' said Ho- 
 ratia ; but that was in the days " lang syne." I wish you joy 
 of her friendship, Sarah, as long as it lasts.' 
 
 She rose and left the luncheon-table. My aunt turned to 
 my mother. 
 
 ' I should scarcely think it desirable, Fanny, to encourage a 
 great intimacy between a young girl like Sarah and a person of 
 Lady Emily Rivers' age and position. Independent of charac- 
 ter — and I have reason to believe that Lady Emily is, as I just 
 now expressed it, fickle— I have constantly observed through 
 life, that unequal friendships are apt to have an injurious effect. 
 They make young persons discontented with their homes, and 
 encourage longings for advantages beyond their reach. I 
 should, therefore, advise that this acquaintance with Lady 
 Emily be kept within careful limits.' My mother smiled, and 
 quite agreed in the danger of unequal friendships in ordinary 
 cases. ' That is satisfactory. I am glad we take the same 
 view of the case.' 
 
 Aunt Colston followed Horatia's example ; and as the door 
 closed behind her, I exclaimed, ' Oh mamma ! are you in 
 earnest ? ' ' Quite, my child, — in ordinary cases ; the question 
 is, whether this is an ordinary case.' ' Lady Emily Rivers is 
 not an ordinary person,' I said. ' No,' and my mother gave 
 me a gentle kiss ; ' and I hope my Sarah is not quite like every 
 one else.' 
 
 ' But what would make you object ? ' I continued, fearing 
 that aunt Colston's influence might be too great for my mother 
 to resist. 
 
 ' If Lady Emily were a young person of your own age, I 
 should rather dislike an intimate acquaintance,' replied my 
 mother. ' I should think that on her part it might be a pass- 
 ing fancy, merely the result of circumstances, and that greater 
 experience of the world would show her that she could find more 
 suitable friends in her own station. I should dread disappoint- 
 ment for you then.' ' But as it is,' I began, anxious to have 
 her full approbation. 'As it is, Lady Emily has seen enough 
 of life to form her own opinion, and take her own course. If 
 she likes you, she does so reasonably, and unless you change, 
 she is not likely to do so. Besides, it is not a title, or large 
 rooms, or a number of servants, but character and taste, and
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE I.IEE. 115 
 
 daily occupations, and a certain style of society, which constitute 
 inequality in its objectionable sense. Whilst Lady Emily is 
 what she is, and lives as she does, devoting herself to her family 
 and the poor, I should never be afraid of your being with her.' 
 
 A weight was removed from my mind ; bvit I still dreaded 
 aunt Colston's influence, and hated Horatia's insinuations. The 
 latter, however, it was not possible to believe for an instant, 
 when again in the company of Lady Emily. Her simple, hearty 
 pleasure, at seeing me, was unmistakable. How could I allow 
 anything which a person like Horatia Gray could say to weigh 
 against it? Besides, Lady Emily was so fond of aunt Sarah, 
 and aunt Sarah was so won by her. There could be no idea of 
 patronage, or making a protegee in that case, whatever there 
 might be in mine ; so I dismissed the unpleasant idea from my 
 mind, or rather, buried it in a dark corner amongst many other 
 of Horatia's unpleasant suggestions. 
 
 Lady Emily had come into Carsdale on the old business of 
 the Fisherton district. She and my aunt were busy with it 
 when I arrived. Lady Emily had lately received a rather large 
 legacy, with which she was anxious to do something that might 
 be permanently beneficial. Amongst other plans, she talked of 
 establishing a girls' school. Aunt Sarah was not very much 
 charmed with the notion at first. ' A parcel of idle children 
 collected together,' she said, ' would do each other more harm 
 than good ; and as for teaching the girls to write, — they would 
 only learn to spend their time in love-letters and such folly.' 
 Lady Emily bore the discouraging remarks very patiently, and, 
 after some playful discussion, induced her to allow that, ' if other 
 folks — dissenters, and so forth — taught, why it might be as well 
 for church people to teach too.' 
 
 ' Then the question is, how we are to teach,' continued Lady 
 Emily. ' You had better write a book about it,' said aunt Sarah. 
 Lady Emily laughed. 
 
 ' If I had money to spend upon a school,' continued aunt 
 Sarah ; ' and it is what I never shall have ; it should not be a 
 school for everybody, but for somebody.' 
 
 ' But the wants of everybody are so pressing,' said Lady 
 Emily. ' What everybody can have, nobody cares for,' replied 
 my aunt ; ' but what only somebody can have, everybody is 
 striving after.' ' I don't quite see how this is to meet our diffi- 
 culties in the present instance,' observed Lady Emily. 
 
 ' Your ladyship wants to do good to your people,' said my
 
 Ii6 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 aunt. ' Do you want to do large good, or lasting good ? ' 
 ' Both, if I could,' replied Lady Emily. ' But that can't be, 
 unless there is a gold mine at Lowood.' ' Well then ! it mint 
 be lasting, I suppose ; ' and Lady Emily looked a little dis- 
 appointed. ' Lasting is large,' continued my aunt ; ' if it 's not 
 wide, it 's deep.' ' Yes ; but one does not live to see it. I 
 don't mean that as an argument, only as an expression of a feel- 
 ing which is natural, though I am afraid it is wrong.' ' All the 
 safer for us that we don't see it,' replied my aunt, ' if we only 
 set to work the right way.' ' And what is the right way ? 
 What would be your way ? ' 
 
 ' My dear,' and aunt Sarah laid her hand earnestly upon 
 Lady Emily's ; ' God forbid that I should call my way the right 
 way. His way is the right way — faith and prayer.' 
 
 ' Yes, but you have some notions ? ' 
 
 ' An old woman's fancy,' said my aunt, ' when she has nothing 
 better to think about. They have set up a school here, in 
 Carsdale ; a large school I hear it is, — seventy boys, and sixty 
 girls : fifty years hence they may be doubled. I think sometimes 
 what will come to them all, when I hear them trooping by, hal- 
 looing and shouting ; not that they mean any harm, poor little 
 bodies. They can't all be good, nor a half, nor a third part, 
 probably ; and the bad do harm to the good ; and so they all, it 
 may be. get little profit in the end. But I have thought, some- 
 times, that I should like to go into that school, and pick out the 
 best — those that had been tried, that had gone through it, and 
 come out with some hope of good ; and that if I could take 
 them away, with a character to stand upon, and set them apart, 
 and help them to keep it, and teach them sober, honest ways of 
 gaining a livelihood, and then send them out to service, with a 
 fair name, and a good stamp upon them ; — if it were only half 
 a dozen at a time that could be so chosen, it seems — God knows 
 whether it would be so — that the example of those six would 
 raise the character of the sixty.' 
 
 ' It is a subject to be thought about,' said Lady Emily : but I 
 saw that the idea of devoting her means to the few, rather than 
 the many, was discouraging to her schemes of benevolence. 
 
 ' Yes, to be thought about, much, and very carefully. Doubt- 
 less there would be great difficulty attending it.' 
 
 ' And it would be a very small good after all, I am afraid,' 
 said Lady Emily. 
 
 ' If it is to cease with your ladyship's life,' replied my aurit ;
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. i i 7 
 
 ' but my old woman's dreams have gone further than that. More 
 at once, and less every year, for those who can afford it, will do 
 the deep good, though not the wide. If such a school were 
 founded, and endowed, it might be that it would cripple your 
 means for many years ; but it would go on from generation to 
 generation ; and when you were sleeping in the dust, the children 
 would " rise up and call you blessed." ' 
 
 'But six only out of such a large population/ said Lady Emily. 
 ' I said six because I would think of the smallest number. But 
 let it be six. See how those six would act upon the others. 
 Every child in that large school would know, that by doing her 
 best, there was a hope of rising to what would and must prove a 
 respectable position in life. Such a knowledge must have an 
 effect.' ' But there would be many disappointments,' said Lady 
 Emily. 
 
 ' That is the imperfection of us vain mortals,' replied my aunt. 
 ' There is but One who can give the same blessings to all. Yet 
 the child who had tried to be one of the six, and failed, would be 
 better off than if she had never tried at all.' ' I should fear 
 there might be a difficulty and an opening for partiality in 
 making the selection,' said Lady Emily. 
 
 ' Not if we choose to profit by our forefathers' wisdom,' re- 
 plied my aunt. ' Why do our public schools go on, one gener- 
 ation after another, and, bad as they are, turn out good and 
 wise men ? Because they are governed by laws, and not by 
 individual will. Every child that knows right from wrong, 
 honours a law ; — there is dignity in it.' 
 
 Lady Emily shook her head doubtfully. < You want a Solon 
 to make the laws,' she said. 
 
 ' If Solon is dead,' said my aunt, ' we must do without him. 
 But your ladyship won't take to the notion yet. I like you all 
 the better for it. Think it over and talk to wiser folks, and then 
 come to me again, and say, if you choose, that you don't agree. 
 I shall be glad to see you all the same, for mine is but a notion 
 in the clouds ; only,' and aunt Sarah bent forward and spoke 
 more eagerly, — ' let me tell you a wish that often comes when 
 I sit in my arm-chair, and think of what this country has been, 
 and what it may be. It is to give to the children of the poor, 
 that which many a time saves the children of the rich — station 
 and self-respect. Now, a school, exclusive in the good sense, 
 —exclusive of evil, that is, — gives self-respect ; and a school, 
 independent and lasting, gives station. A child is raised by
 
 1 1 8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 belonging to it. There is something to lose, — therefore there is 
 something to hold ; and the effort of holding exercises the moral 
 principle, and helps to make good men and women. It is a great 
 thing for this country, — may be, much of the best part of what 
 folks call national character, comes from it, — that we have a 
 floating rank, not hereditary, formed by our old endowments, 
 our colleges and schools, to which the middle classes may hope 
 to rise. We want the same thing for the poor. It won't keep 
 them from starving, — but it will give them a reason for trying 
 not to starve.' 
 
 ' If the government would but come forward ! ' exclaimed 
 Lady Emily. 
 
 ' It 's not the government's business, that I can see,' replied 
 my aunt ; 'it's the business of private persons ; and it has always 
 been done by private persons. Even if it has been the work of 
 kings and queens, it has been in their private, not their public 
 capacity. Governments, English governments at least, don't so 
 much do good, as prevent evil; and, perchance, they are right; 
 at any rate, as the world goes, they can't help themselves. 
 Individuals create, governments uphold and check; and if the 
 time should come when governments should take upon them- 
 selves to do more, the chances are that their work would fail. 
 ■ — However, that 's only my own notion ; so I need not trouble 
 you with any more of such talk, but God guide you to the right, 
 my dear, and prosper it.' 
 
 Lady Emily rose to go. She had business in the town, she 
 said ; and when it was finished, she would return for me. 
 
 ' And you won't stay and dine when we dine ?' said my aunt. 
 ' Sally hasn't had time to say a word to you.' ' She has not 
 wished to say much, I suspect,' said Lady Emily, smiling ; ' but 
 we shall be able to talk, when we drive home.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah looked at me affectionately. ' Your ladyship is 
 very good to the child,' she said : ' it gives me comfort some- 
 times to think so ; she'll be sure to want a friend in life, for a 
 large family brings large cares.' 
 
 ' She has a kinder and better friend, now,' began Lady 
 Emily ; but aunt Sarah interrupted her. ' For to-day, not for 
 to-morrow. Your ladyship will, please God, be her friend when 
 aunt Sarah is, — where she must be soon, — in her grave.' 
 
 Lady Emily lingered ; unwilling, as I observed she always 
 was, to say good-bye. Betty came in to lay the cloth for dinner. 
 
 * JMow sit down,' said my aunt to Lady Emily, pointing to a
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. i j 9 
 
 chair ; sit clown and rest for a few minutes longer, — and Betty, 
 don't fidget with the knives and forks, but bring dinner. Your 
 ladyship will just eat a slice of roast lamb, and drink a glass of 
 port wine, and then get up and go away. Sally, find out Miss 
 Cole, and take this to her,' and she gave me a bunch of keys, 
 ' and bid her make haste.' ' Please stay,' I said to Lady Emily, 
 as I went away, and I saw she could not refuse. 
 
 That was a very pleasant little dinner, for in spite of aunt 
 Sarah's permission to Lady Emily to go whenever she wished, 
 she waited till the cloth was removed, and dessert placed upon 
 the table. We conversed upon many subjects, and few persons ; 
 and my thoughts were entirely withdrawn from the anxieties of 
 home. I dare say I was particularly sensible of the quiet sim- 
 plicity and cordiality of the party, in contrast with aunt Colston 
 and Horatia. 
 
 Lady Emily had a singular faculty for harmonising herself 
 with other persons, and yet preserving her own tastes and 
 opinions. By the time dinner was over she seemed as natural 
 an inmate of aunt Sarah's parlour, as if she had been accus- 
 tomed to dine there eveiy day of her life. She knew also how 
 to make herself perfectly at home without in the least infringing 
 upon the respect due to aunt Sarah's age, and position in her 
 own house ; and even Betty's countenance, which had assumed 
 a grim severity when she was called to wait upon a stranger, 
 softened beneath the charm of Lady Emily's smile and voice, as 
 she begged to have a small piece more of the home-made bread, 
 which was so particularly nice. 
 
 ' I may take Sarah with me into the town, may I not ?' said 
 Lady Emily, when dinner was ended. ' Since I have been 
 naughty, and left my business for to-day, I think I must give 
 myself up to pleasure, and do only just a very little shopping ; — - 
 go and buy my children some new dresses, amongst other things, 
 and Sarah shall help to choose them.' 
 
 ' Put your bonnet on quickly, Sally,' said my aunt, ' and don't 
 keep Lady Emily waiting.' 
 
 I was ready in a very few minutes, and hastened down-stairs. 
 Aunt Sarah and Lady Emily were conversing together, but they 
 stopped when I came into the room ; yet I heard Aunt Sarah 
 say, ' I don't like the look of the woman, she is too bold ; I saw 
 her flaunt down the street two days ago.' 
 
 A ring at the bell. Lady Emily looked alarmed at the pro- 
 spect of visitors.
 
 120 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 Show the people up-stairs, and ask Miss Cole to go to them, 
 Betty,' said Aunt Sarah to the servant, who was beginning to 
 remove the dessert dishes, ' and don't let any one in afterwards. 
 Miss Cole is set free in the afternoon,' she added, turning to 
 Lady Emily, ' and I go and lie down for an hour.' 
 
 Betty was in a very blundering mood. She only caught the 
 latter half of the sentence imperfectly. ' Her mistress was 
 engaged,' I heard her say. ' Engaged, is she ? That is unfor- 
 tunate.' It was my father's voice. Aunt Sarah sent me out to 
 speak to him. He was just come in from East Side — Joanna and 
 Horatia were in the town — he had walked in with them — he was 
 come on business to aunt Sarah, which would only keep her a 
 few minutes. Aunt Sarah called out, ' Come in, Herbert ;' and 
 my father went in, and Lady Emily and I departed. 
 
 We walked clown the street in silence. A train of thought 
 was suggested to me by this sudden visit of my father, and the 
 mention of business, and I could not shake it off. 1 had scarcely 
 looked at him, yet I had noticed that his face was cloudy, some- 
 thing as it might be under the influence of the family November 
 mist. That affair of Vaughan's was hanging over our heads yet, 
 and, until it was decided, one way or the other, I knew neither 
 my father nor mother would be at ease. Lady Emily allowed 
 me to be silent, since I wished it. We went from shop to shop 
 making purchases, and I liked being with her. and was amused ; 
 but I still went on brooding over some distant future, and doing 
 what certainly was very useless, and I suspect was very wrong, 
 . — allowing myself from one slight occurrence to build up a 
 whole fabric of possibilities. Our last business Mas at the 
 linendraper's, to choose the children's dresses. Whilst wc were 
 there, Joanna and Horatia came in. Lady Emily bowed to 
 Horatia, and shook hands with Joanna, who instantly drew me 
 aside. 
 
 ' Such a storm there had been, since I was away ! Aunt 
 Colston was furious ! and so interfering ! What possible busi- 
 ness could it be of hers ? What right had she to give an 
 opinion ? There never was such a woman ! ' — and then, eager 
 to repeat all news, whether good or bad, Joanna gave me, in a 
 torrent of confused words, the clue to my father's mood. 
 
 A note from Mrs Blair, enclosing one from her brother-in- 
 law, had again brought forward the question of Yaughan's 
 prospects. It was necessary to make a decision. Aunt Colston 
 had been present when the matter was discussed. My mother
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 12! 
 
 was decidedly against Mr Blair's ofrice, even if Vaughan did not 
 go to college. Vaughan himself was resolute; my father waver- 
 ing ; aunt Colston, indignant at the idea of a man with a large 
 family, and, according to his own statement, an income only just 
 sufficient to meet present expenses, hesitating for a moment. 
 'Common sense!' repeated Joanna, 'if she said "Common 
 sense!" mice, she did fifty times. I am sure I shall hate com- 
 mon sense for ever, if it is to bring such storms.' ' And was 
 Horatio present?' I asked, with a little angry curiosity. ' Oh, 
 yes, of course ; family business is for family ears, as she always 
 says ; so she came in, just as if it was her own concern ; but 
 she did not say much, except to repeat every now and then, 
 that no doubt our expenses must be great, with so many to pro- 
 vide for, and put out in life ; and living in such a comfortable 
 house, with a nice garden, and servants, and a pony-carriage, 
 and all the luxuries of life. What she meant by it all I don't 
 know, but aunt Colston preached a sermon upon every word ; 
 and we were told that it was the duty of girls in our station to 
 be useful, and mend our clothes, instead of sitting down with 
 our hands before us, as if we were to inherit fortunes. 
 
 1 The only one, she said, who had any notion of work, was 
 you, Sarah.' 'And could mamma hear all this?' 1 said, indig- 
 rantly. ' Oh, it did not all come out before her. Papa was 
 called away just as it began, and mamma went after him, and 
 then aunt Colston had it all her own way ; and such a lecture ! 
 you may think yourself fortunate you were not there ; but then, 
 you are a favourite.' 
 
 'And what was determined on?' I inquired, as Joanna 
 paused, breathlessly. ' I am sure I don't know, and don't much 
 care. Papa said he should walk into Carsdalc, and Horatia 
 and I said we would go with him, and he was very grumpy, and 
 did not speak a word, except to tell us that he had business with 
 aunt Sarah.' 
 
 ' And where was Caroline, all the time ? ' ' Caroline is so 
 odd,' replied Joanna ; ' I don't think she opened her lips, except 
 when mamma declared that Mr Blair was unlike a gentleman ; 
 and then she coloured up, and said, in her short way, "His father 
 was a clergyman." 
 
 ' And what brought you into Carsdale this afternoon ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! nothing very particular ; but you know we shall be at 
 two dinner parties next week, and Caroline and I agreed it 
 would not do to wear our old dresses ; so I just came in to look
 
 122 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 at Long's patterns, and see if there was anything that would 
 do.' 
 
 Joanna moved away, and I did not like to ask more, for I was 
 not yet fully raised to the rank of an elder sister of the family. 
 
 Yet, whilst Lady Emily was looking over some plain gingham 
 dresses for her children, I could not help remarking the hand- 
 some, bright coloured silks which were laid before Joanna and 
 Horatia; 'terribly dear,' as I heard Joanna say; whilst Horatia 
 added, carelessly, ' Dear things are often the cheapest in the 
 end.' We went out of the shop before any purchase was made. 
 Lady Emily shook hands with Horatio at parting, but her manner 
 was very cold, and I could see that she did not share the regrets 
 expressed loudly, or rather I should say deeply — for Horatio's 
 voice was decidedly masculine — that they had not met when 
 Lady Emily called on Miss Cleveland. Horatio hoped, how- 
 ever, to see Lady Emily again ; for she was really longing to 
 do so, that she might have a talk with her about dear Lady 
 Charlotte. 
 
 ' We will turn into this street, Sarah,' said Lady Emily, as we 
 left the shop : ' the carriage will not be ready for the next 
 quarter of an hour.' It was a very quiet street, at the extremity 
 of the town, and it ended in a country lane between green fields 
 and hedges, where we could walk without interruption. 
 
 After we had gone some little distance, Lady Emily said to 
 me abruptly, as if she was making up her mind to begin a 
 disagreeable subject, ' You have had time now, Sarah, to see 
 something of Miss Gray ; how do you like her ? ' 
 
 ' I can't bear her,' I exclaimed, hastily ; and then checking 
 myself, I added, • that is, I don't very much fancy her.' Lady 
 Emily laughed. ' Perhaps the first exclamation was the true 
 one, Sarah. But you will not mind telling me honestly, because 
 I should not ask from curiosity?' 'I wanted to talk to you 
 about her,' I replied, ' but I was a little afraid. I fancied, when 
 I was at Lowood, you did not like it.' 
 
 ' I do not like Cookson's gossiping,' answered Lady Emily ; 
 ' but hearing your opinion, or giving my own, is something 
 very different from that. You would not care to speak of Miss 
 Gray, neither should I, if you were not likely to be thrown with 
 her.' 
 
 ' She interferes,' I said ; ' I don't know any other fault.' 
 
 ' Xo doubt she does,' continued Lady Emily, thoughtfully. 
 Then, after a little consideration, she added, ' You won't think
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 123 
 
 me" interfering, I hope?' 'Oh! no, no/ I exclaimed; 'how 
 could I ?' ' But you have a kind mother, who is always watch- 
 ing over you ; I could not bear to think I was in any way in- 
 truding, by giving advice ; only in this case I hope I may be 
 right. Your aunt Sarah told me it would be better to say what 
 I had to say to yourself first ; therefore ' again she hesi- 
 tated-—' I want you to be upon your guard — not to be led, that 
 is, and to be independent.' ' Independent of Horatia, or of 
 every one ?' I asked. 
 
 ' It was thinking of Miss Gray which first put the caution 
 into my mind,' replied Lady Emily. ' She is very clever, and 
 she has a very free manner, which gives the notion of sin- 
 cerity ; but I should be sorry for her to have an influence in 
 your family as she had in my sister's, for I fear she might not 
 use it well. You see, Sarah,' she continued, speaking more 
 freely, ' I cannot go to your mother and say this sort of thing 
 — it would be an insult ; but I think I may venture to do so to 
 you, because I know so much more of you. I saw a good deal 
 of Miss Gray at one time, and for a little while I fancied she 
 was sincere, though blunt, and we were very good friends then ; 
 but I found, afterwards, that I was mistaken. She manoeuvred 
 to raise an unpleasant feeling between my sister and myself, 
 solely to suit her own purposes. My sister was an invalid, and 
 could not undertake the management of her own affairs, which, 
 in consequence, devolved upon me ; and this displeased Miss 
 Gray, and she tried to make my sister jealous and suspicious, 
 and pretended that I wished to make quite a slave of her, and 
 not let her have a will of her own, and all kinds of absurdities, 
 which a person in weak health was likely to listen to. I never 
 discovered that she told absolute untruths, but she misrepre- 
 sented painfully. She does not know that I know all that went 
 on ; but my sister was far too open-hearted and too fond of me 
 to conceal anything from me long ; and the end was that we 
 found an excuse for Miss Gray's going away. I do not know 
 enough of your family and your affairs to see how she could in- 
 jure you; but I would earnestly warn you, my dear, not to trust 
 her too far.' Lady Emily paused. 
 
 I tried to thank her for her kindness ; but I could not help 
 adding, ' I wish, with all my heart, she had never come near 
 us.' 
 
 ' It vexes me to have made you suspicious, Sarah,' said Lady 
 Emily. ' I was suspicious before,' I replied ; ' I never could
 
 124 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 endure her.' 'And I have made matters worse,' continued Lady 
 Emily. ' I hesitated a long time before I ventured to say what 
 I have. Of course, I do not wish you to keep this from your 
 mother; in fact, I told you in order that you might tell her; but 
 I will beg as a great favour that any opinion of mine may go no 
 further. 5 
 
 We turned again into the town. I could see that Lady Emily 
 was thoroughly uncomfortable. ' One longs to be always sure 
 of having done right,' she said. ' This is one of the cases in 
 which it is so difficult to decide. But I should have doubted 
 much more if Miss Gray was not likely to live near you. I 
 stopped, suddenly. ' Horatia Gray ! to live near us ! ' 
 
 ' Surely you knew it,' said Lady Emily. ' Miss Cleveland 
 told me three days ago that it was your aunt's purpose.' 
 
 My heart sank. ' I must indeed have appeared interfering, 
 if you did not know that,' continued Lady Emily. ' It was the 
 fact which decided me upon speaking ; and even then I should 
 not have done it, without your aunt Sarah's permission. I talked 
 to her about it a long time to-day, before you came.' 
 
 'Aunt Colston near us ! in the village ! ' I said, not paying the 
 least attention to Lady Emily's apologies : ' There is no house 
 for her,' and hope revived. ' She has a fancy for that cottage 
 with the pretty garden, half-way between Carsdale and East 
 Side; so Miss Cleveland says,' replied Lady Emily; 'and means 
 to take it from next spring, when the people who live there now 
 are to leave it. Your uncle Ralph, I believe, found it out for 
 her ; but, really, Sarah, I feel as if I had been betraying confi- 
 dence. I had not the smallest idea that it was not a plan known 
 and decided upon.' ' I wish — I wish with all my heart that 
 they had never come near the place,' I repeated ; whilst a dread 
 came over me — of interference, and suggestions, and constant 
 questionings and spyings. 
 
 ' Dear child, wishes are. sometimes wrong,' said Lady Emilv, 
 ' or I could wish too, for your sake ; but if cares come, and 
 you are tired and want rest, you will think of a little bedroom 
 and a hearty welcome ready for you always at Lowood, will 
 you not ?' I gave her a kiss in the lane — I could not help 
 it. Just then I could not have disliked any one, not even 
 Horatia Gray. " » 
 
 We drove home ; we passed the cottage. Horatia and 
 Joanna had stopped there on their return ; they were standing 
 by the gate looking at it. p -y their side was my uncle Ralph.
 
 "HE EXPERIENCE OE LIEE. 125 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I MUST pass on to the Christmas of the following year — a 
 clear, frosty, exhilarating Christmas — when the roads were 
 hard, and even, and tempting ; and the first breath of the outer 
 air was a shock which one did not know whether to dread or to 
 enjoy ; and the sunshine looked brightly upon the world, like a 
 friend who would give smiles though he could not give deeds ; 
 and one lived in a state of perpetual doubt as to whether to be 
 happy or miserable. A merry Christmas ! — merry at East 
 Side, where, for the time, care was cast aside, and, as if by one 
 consent, we had agreed to think only of present enjoyment — ■ 
 merry at Lowood, where Mr Rivers and Lady Emily had col- 
 lected a few of their especial friends — merry in the cheerful 
 parlour, where aunt Sarah and Miss Cole sat by a blazing fire, 
 reckoning how much of the same comfort they might be the 
 means 0/ giving to their fellow-creatures — merry also at Clifton 
 Cottage, the residence, as the new country guide-book expressed 
 it, of Mrs Montague Colston. 
 
 ' If we fix upon Tuesday, we shall have no one,' said Joanna, 
 drawing the arm-chair closer to the fire, as we all sat round it 
 in the dusky twilight, and placing her feet upon the fender ; 
 ' a parly the day after the county ball is absurd.' 
 
 The scene was aunt Colston's drawing-room. Shall I de- 
 scribe the apartment ? — I think not. Who that has ever heard 
 of aunt Colston, might not imagine how proper everything in 
 her house would be ; how well chosen the carpet, sober in 
 colouring, and rich in material ; how substantial and handsome 
 the book-cases in the recesses by the fire-place ; how admirable 
 the order of the well-bound books ; how exact the number of 
 the chairs, and the proportions of the sofas, with their beauti- 
 fully neat chintz coverings ; what space there would be to move 
 about in, not one table too many, nor a vase nor a stand that- 
 could be inconvenient. Aunt Colston's house was the embodi- 
 ment of aunt Colston's mind ; could it be other than correct ? 
 
 And could Joanna, then, sit with her feet on the fender, and 
 talk about an evening party, in such a. house, and such a 
 presence ? Poor Joanna ! she had little perception of the in- 
 dividual peculiarities and proprieties of life. Aunt Colston's 
 severe face and well-directed hints were quite lost upon her ; 
 and not even when, upon one occasion, as she lounged back in
 
 126 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 an arm-chair, a pillow was sent for, that she might be more 
 comfortable, did she perceive the sarcasm that was implied. 
 She went on talking now in her usual careless way, as she sat, 
 as I said, around the fire, in the beginning of January. We had 
 been dining at the cottage, Caroline, Joanna, and myself. It was 
 becoming a duty required of some of us, at least once a week ; 
 and on other days, it might be two or even three out of the seven, 
 my aunt and Horatia dined with us. I do not know what other 
 people may think of such family meetings, but these were to me 
 very trying. Aunt Colston was coming — therefore we were not 
 to make any other engagements. She criticised our mode of 
 living ; therefore we were not to have anything which might 
 seem extravagant ; but she was particular in the dressing of a 
 dinner ; therefore special instructions were to be given to the 
 cook not to let the mutton be too much roasted. She did not 
 like early dinners ; therefore, whatever might be our wishes, we 
 were not to dine before six o'clock. She was not fond of read- 
 ing aloud ; therefore we were to put aside our books for the 
 evening ; but she liked cheerful society ; therefore we were all 
 to exert ourselves to talk. Persons may laugh at us for sub- 
 mitting to such a yoke ; but I doubt if any one could have 
 escaped it. The power exercised over us was indefinable ; no 
 one knew exactly where it began, or where it ended. It would 
 have required a much more vigorous mind than my father's, and 
 a far more selfish spirit than my mother's, to make any resist- 
 ance. And then aunt Colston was so kind, she made us so 
 many presents, she was so sensible, so well-informed, she had 
 such good judgment — this I heard said every day — it was quite 
 a duty to show respect to her. And so it was, and the atten- 
 tions required were but trifling ; it would have been an unkind- 
 ness not to show them. The fault really was not so much in 
 aunt Colston, though I confess I think she was inconsiderate, 
 as in the mistaken idea that near relations can go in and out of 
 each other's houses whenever they like, and not disturb the 
 domestic arrangements. As our old nurse used sometimes to 
 say to me, when she was particularly worried : ' In or out, that's 
 what I like. Let people live in your house, or out of it. If 
 they are in the house, one knows what to do for them ; and if 
 they are out of it, they can do for themselves ; but it 's past 
 bearing to go on in this way.' 
 
 To confess the truth, I was a little inclined sometimes to agree 
 with her. The visits to the cottage I generally escaped ; I was
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 127 
 
 not strong enough to risk the night air in an open pony-chaise, 
 and though my aunt kept a little close carriage, it was rather 
 troublesome to ask for it often ; so that I was generally the one 
 to remain at home, whilst Caroline and Joanna went. They dis- 
 liked it, probably, less than myself, for Caroline was indifferent 
 to my aunt's stiffness, and Joanna was insensible to it; and they 
 neither of them shared my feelings about Horatia's insincerity. 
 Joanna, indeed, professed to be fond of her, and Caroline agreed 
 with her on many points. On the evening, however, to which 
 I refer, a special invitation had been sent to me, which I could 
 not think of refusing ; and the carriage came for me at five o'clock, 
 and leaving Herbert and Hester in the highest delight, because 
 they were to have an early tea with papa and mamma and 
 Reginald, I drove off, rather I think, upon the whole, liking the 
 change in spite of Horatia. 
 
 And we had dined, and after dinner we sat round the fire, and 
 then it was that Joanna, sitting with her feet upon the fender, 
 made the memorable speech to which I have twice before referred. 
 It caused aunt Colston to say, in her most resolute tone, ' My 
 dear Joanna, I should like to be told what effect a county b.iil 
 can have upon a child's party.' 
 
 ' Oh ! but it is not merely a child's party,' replied Joanna ; 
 ' we meant to have some grown-up people.' ' A child's party, I 
 was informed it was to be,' continued my aunt ; ' your mother 
 told me so.' ' Oh, yes ! dear mamma ! she thinks so now; but 
 she won't think so long, will she, Horatia ? ' 
 
 < Not if you girls have set your hearts upon the contrary,' said 
 Horatia, her voice sounding as if it came from under the floor ; 
 ' there are no girls in England, are there, aunt Colston, who have 
 their own way as much as they all have at East Side ? ' 
 
 ' More than is desirable, I fear,' said my aunt. 
 
 I knew at once, from her tone, that a storm was brewing. 
 < Really, Joanna,' I said, ' you have made up your mind very 
 quickly about this party ; no one else has heard of anything 
 except inviting a few children to keep Hester's birthday.' 
 
 ' The few children can't come alone, my dear Sarah,' observed 
 Caroline ; ' therefore their papas and mammas muet come with 
 them ; and if they are all going to the county ball, they won't be 
 able to come, and so, Joanna, for once, is quite right.' ' I cannot 
 see this necessity for enlarging the contemplated party,' inter- 
 posed my aunt; and she sat quite upright, as was her wont when 
 particularly excited. ' A child's party is very well ; the children
 
 123 THE EXPERIENCE OE E/EE. 
 
 come early and go early ; their nurses accompany them; they eat 
 bread and butter, and play in the school-room. When your mother 
 asked my opinion as to the desirableness of giving little Hester a 
 treat on her birthday, as a reward for good behaviour, I assured 
 her I saw no objection ; but my decision would have been far 
 different, if I had foreseen that the first idea was likely to ex- 
 pand into anything like a regular entertainment.' 
 
 We were silent. O, Joanna! why had she ever broached the 
 subject ? 
 
 Horatia sat reckoning with her fingers: 'One, two, three, 
 four, five — yes ; it will be the fifth party in the course of three 
 weeks : if you are not the very gayest people I ever met with ! ' 
 1 am afraid I spoke hastily. 
 
 ' Horatia, begging your pardon, I think that is an exaggeration ; 
 
 I should like to know ' ' Hush ! my love, hush ! control 
 
 yourself; Horatia is not in the habit of exaggerating. Tell 
 your cousin, my dear Horatia, what the parties are to which you 
 refer.' 
 
 Horatia laughed. « My dear aunt, you will only harrow up 
 the poor child's sensitive little mind ; she tries so hard to believe 
 all her family angels of wisdom and sobriety.' 
 
 ' I try to believe them what they are,' I replied, as uncon- 
 cernedly as I could ; ' but it is not a question about the family, 
 but about the parties we have had lately which I want you to 
 answer.' 
 
 ' What does it signify, Sarah?' interrupted Caroline. ' I dare- 
 say we have had five parties, and, if it should be necessary, we 
 must have five more. If persons have a number of acquaintances, 
 they must take trouble to keep them up. You know yourself 
 that we have had twice as many invitations since we moved to 
 East Side as we had before; we take in the country now as well 
 as the town.' 
 
 The subject was dropped. I was learning not to be pertina- 
 cious even in self-defence. Horatia proposed to ring for 
 candles, and left the room, humming the air of < Partant pour 
 la Syrie.' 
 
 When we were preparing to return home that evening, aunt 
 Colston called me into her room. She was grieved, she said, to 
 see that my naturally hasty temper was not kept under more 
 strict control. Horatia might have been wrong, — it was pos- 
 sible though not likely, — for she was in general scrupulously 
 exact ; but she might in this instance have erred in her calcula-
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 129 
 
 tions ; still it was no reason for sharp expressions and an angry 
 tone. The facts alluded to were, indeed, substantially correct ; 
 we were a gay and thoughtless family. It might seem severe to 
 call us extravagant, but it was her own opinion that we were so, 
 all of us, without exception. 
 
 What answer was to be made to such a sweeping accusation ? 
 I attempted none. 
 
 ' I have now been with you many months,' continued my 
 aunt, ' constantly associated with you ; I can be under no mis- 
 take. I see no economy in the household, no thought for the 
 future, — nothing but a wilful determination of living for the 
 present. Whether, at the present moment, my poor sister could 
 arrange her affairs better, I cannot pretend to say. If she had 
 carried out a systematic discipline in childhood, doubtless you 
 would all have been different. As it is, the children are fast 
 escaping parental control. Beginning with your brother Vaughan' 
 
 An exclamation escaped me which I repented the next 
 
 instant ; ' Vaughan can have nothing to do with this offence' 
 
 My aunt waved her hand for silence. ' I do not choose to 
 be interrupted, Sarah. Beginning with your brother Vaughan, 
 supported at college by Mrs Sarah Mortimer.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, aunt Colston,' I said, — and I hope I 
 really tried to be patient, and speak respectfully, — ' but my 
 father bears all Vaughan's expenses, except forty pounds a 
 year, allowed by aunt Sarah.' 
 
 ' Mrs Sarah Mortimer, of course, knows her own affairs best,' 
 replied my aunt ; ' but I should have supposed a woman of her 
 age and long experience of the world, would have hesitated to 
 uphold a young man like Vaughan in a proud and absurd dis- 
 like to a situation in which he might have gained affluence, and 
 have been a help rather than an incumbrance to his family.' 
 
 ' Aunt Sarah did not wish to uphold Vaughan in pride, I am 
 sure,' I ventured to reply ; ' I heard her myself say that if it 
 had always been proposed to him to be a merchant, and he had 
 never before objected, she should have thought it his duty to 
 submit ; but that she considered it incumbent upon parents to 
 keep faith with their children, and therefore, as he had always 
 been brought up with the idea of going to college, she was 
 anxious to assist my father in fulfilling his engagement.' 
 
 ' Very plausible,' replied my aunt, with a short, dry cough ; 
 ' I wish I could add, very sensible. But I do not wish to dis- 
 tress you, Sarah, by any remarks upon your aged relative ; I 
 
 I
 
 130 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 have only to observe now, that, beginning with your brother 
 Vaughan, and ending with your sister Hester, there is not one, 
 except perhaps Reginald, who is not lamentably profuse in per- 
 sonal expenditure. I feel it my duty to state this opinion and 
 give this warning ; I shall leave it to you to communicate it to 
 your brothers and sisters.' 
 
 Aunt Colston was right ; — that was the provoking part of the 
 interview. 
 
 Of course, then, we gave up the idea of a large party, and 
 contented ourselves with inviting a few children to keep Hester's 
 birthday. 
 
 No. I cannot say by what infatuation, or wilfulness, or 
 thoughtlessness, we always contrived to do the very thing which 
 we at first declared to be extravagant ; but so it was. One re- 
 solute will in a family, whether in man or woman, parent or 
 child, governs it. My father might demur, my mother suggest, 
 Joanna might complain, and I might argue, but if Caroline set 
 her heart upon any single thing, that thing was done \ and 
 Caroline had determined that we should give a large party, and 
 a large party we were to have. 
 
 I cannot say that I disliked the idea ; it is very long before 
 worldly prudence can get the better of youthful spirits, and at 
 my age it would have been difficult not to enter into any scheme 
 of enjoyment. Besides, I could not see with aunt Colston's 
 eyes. I had misgivings that all was not quite what it should 
 be in our mode of living ; but I did not think that one party 
 more or less could make any material difference. What Caro- 
 line herself urged, when my mother talked of expense, appeared 
 to me reasonable enough ; it was not curtailing in one thing 
 which would do any good, and one large party would serve 
 the purpose of ten smaller ones, and be in the end decidedly 
 economical. 
 
 And so it might have been, if we could have kept our plans 
 within due limits ; but they swelled daily. First it was to be a 
 carpet dance for the children ; then for the brothers and sisters 
 who might accompany them ; then a carpet was troublesome, 
 and it must be taken up, and if this was done, people would 
 expect good music, and a regular dance, and then we must have 
 a supper. And so the idea grew, hour by Jour, till at length 
 even Caroline herself was startled at the magnitude which it 
 assumed. She was curiously quiet and self-possessed all the 
 time ; not in the least excited, or seemingly much interested.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 131 
 
 I never saw a person enter upon pleasure more methodically. 
 In this she was totally different from lioratia, who, from the 
 moment she found we were determined upon the party, in spite 
 of aunt Colston's warning, appeared to throw herself heart and 
 soul into our plans. ' Exceedingly good-natured of dear Horatia,' 
 as my aunt observed, ' so unselfish, setting aside her own feel- 
 ings and wishes.' And aunt Colston stood aside with a sober 
 and mournful gaze, and Horatia laughed and told us before her 
 that we were naughty, and obstinate, and horribly extravagant ; 
 and as soon as she was absent, urged all kinds of petty expenses 
 which were certain to be playfully brought forward against us at 
 the first opportunity. 
 
 Aunt Sarah smypathised with us to a certain extent ; if she 
 had not, I might have been more doubtful of the wisdom of 
 our proceedings than I was. She murmured and grumbled 
 a little at first, and told us we were silly bodies, and walking 
 was much better exercise than dancing ; but when she found 
 the party was determined upon, she assisted us in sundry ways, 
 saying, as she one day put ten pounds into my hand : ' There, 
 Sally, I can't give that to your mother, she would be affronted ; 
 but Caroline is housekeeper, so tell her to pay the music folks, 
 and let me know what it all costs. It 's Christmas time,' she 
 muttered to herself, I suspect as a half apology for such weak- 
 ness. 'Young things will skip about at Christmas ; but mind, 
 Sally,' she added, assuming a severe tone, ' no folly and non- 
 sense ; have what you want, but don't have more.' 
 
 The warning and the kindness together were not thrown 
 away. Caroline was quite wise enough to know that aunt 
 Sarah would not be trifled with. She spent the money as it 
 was intended ; gave a proper account, and the music was the 
 best managed, most prudently ordered part of our proposed 
 entertainment. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE day of the party drew near ; the press of business was 
 great ; Joanna had gained her point in postponing the 
 dance till people had had time to recover from the county ball ; 
 and, in consequence, the answers to the invitation were upon 
 the whole satisfactory. This was setting aside the excuse of
 
 1 32 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Hester's birthday ; but the whole thing was so entirely altered 
 from its original intention that it did not much signify. The 
 children, delighted at the excitement, were quite willing to re- 
 linquish any special festivities for themselves, and were satisfied 
 with having a continual holiday, because there was so much to 
 be done. It is very pleasant to give one's self up for a little 
 while to this kind of merry bustle ; very pleasant, that is, when 
 one is young, and when care has not settled itself so firmly in 
 one's heart as never to be displaced by any outward circum- 
 stances. I do not think I ever spent a more light-hearted three 
 days than those preceding our grand party. We were all bent 
 upon one object, — all willing to work to the utmost. My 
 mother rejoiced to see us happy ; my father liked anything which 
 roused him ; Caroline was thoroughly satisfied in her position 
 as commander-in-chief, issuing orders, and receiving willing 
 and prompt obedience ; and the rest of us, including Vaughan, 
 who was at home for the Oxford vacation, were in a state of 
 perpetual wonder and delight at our skill in nailing up ever- 
 greens, and making artificial flowers. As for aunt Colston, she 
 kept to her cottage, whilst Horatia wandered backwards and for- 
 wards to criticise and report progress. 
 
 1 You are getting on famously, I see,' she said, as she ap- 
 peared suddenly in the dining-room on the first day, when we 
 began our work of ornamenting. 
 
 ' We shall do by and by,' said Joanna, not even turning round 
 to look to her, so entirely was she engrossed in twining some 
 evergreens round a stand upon which lights were to be placed. 
 ' Aladdin's palace will be nothing to yours,' continued Horatia : 
 ' and in what form are you great ladies going to appear on the 
 night of this celebrated/^.?' 'Our own, I hope,' I said laughing: 
 ' you would not have us to come forth as Eastern princesses, I 
 suppose.' ' Indeed ! I don't know, — I doubt if anything less 
 will suit you.' 
 
 ' I have a new white muslin frock,' said Hester, whose mind 
 had been much occupied that morning with the business of 
 trying it on. 
 
 ' Have you indeed, little one ? ' and Horatia stooped down 
 and gave her a kiss ; ' and has sister Sarah a white muslin 
 frock too?' 'Yes; but Sarah's is not new,' said Hester. 
 ' Sarah won't have a new frock.' ' Oh ! fie ! fie ! — not have a 
 new frock on such a grand night ! They will take sister Sarah 
 for a housemaid.'
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 133 
 
 Hester coloured crimson. ' They may take her for what 
 they like,' she exclaimed, ' but they won't make her so. She 
 never looks like a housemaid, does she, Herbert ? ' The 
 two children stood up, side by side, prepared boldly for my 
 defence. 
 
 1 Sister Sarah teaches spirit to her pupils at any rate,' said 
 Horatia, with a laugh. ' Never mind, my pretty children, sister 
 Sarah 's a wise woman, and knows what she 's about.' 
 
 I don't know what there was in the tone of this observation 
 that struck me unpleasantly, but I was foolish enough to reply, 
 ' that I certainly did know what I was about. I was anxious 
 to save my money, and make an old dress do instead of a new 
 one.' ' Vastly sapient ! ' replied Horatia ; ' quite beyond out- 
 age. What do the elder sisters say to the old white muslin 
 dress ? ' 
 
 <0 Sarah !' exclaimed Joanna, who had been attracted by 
 the last observation, ' you can't really be so absurd ! the notion 
 of making yourself such a figure ! Why, the dress is a year 
 old.' 
 
 ' I have worn it very little,' I replied ; ' and I am having it 
 altered. The great advantage of a dress of that kind is, that 
 when it is washed it looks as if it was new.' ' Oh, no/ replied 
 Joanna. ' Caroline, do come here and listen to what Sarah 
 says.' 
 
 Caroline came forward with the air of decided good judgment. 
 ' Well?' was all she condescended to say. 
 
 ' It is merely the question of new lamps for old in Aladdin's 
 palace,' said Horatia. ' Our sapient princess thinks the old 
 lamp the most valuable ; and doubtless she has the best of 
 reasons for such a conclusion.' 
 
 The sarcastic smile on her face was intolerable to me. I had 
 naturally a quick temper, and I have no doubt that although I 
 did not speak, my countenance showed that I was considerably 
 annoyed. 
 
 ' One would wear sackcloth to be thought a saint, would one 
 not ?' continued Horatia, turning away from me and addressing 
 Joanna. ' I don't know,' replied Joanna, honestly ; ' I should 
 not like it.' ' St Anne, St Margaret, St Lucy,' continued Hor- 
 atia ; < I don't think I ever heard of a St Sarah. Did you, 
 Hester? Sister Sarah will be the first saint of the name.' 
 
 Hester looked at her in perplexity. 
 
 ' I dislike this kind of bantering very much, Horatia,' I said ;
 
 134 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ' I shall really be obliged if you will stop it.' Horatia laughed 
 merrily. ' Touched, I declare ! but saints should never be out 
 of temper. She won't be Saint Sarah if she talks so, will she, 
 Hester?' 'Run to the school-room, and fetch my scissors, 
 Hester,' I said ; ' and Herbert, go too, and see if you can find 
 another sheet of coloured paper.' 
 
 ' And now, Horatia,' I added, when the children were gone, 
 ' will you let me say seriously that I dislike this conversation 
 before the little ones. I can't reply to it, or I should lose my 
 temper ; so you will oblige me, I am sure, by not repeating it.' 
 
 ' Then you will oblige me by not wearing a shabby old dress.' 
 I really could not be angry a moment longer ; her tone was so 
 exceedingly good-natured ; but I was not going to yield though 
 I smiled. I said she ' must allow me to be obstinate, and take 
 my own way.' ' And you must allow me to take mine,' and she 
 ran out of the room, calling out ' Good-bye ; I quite forgot, it 
 will be dinner time.' 
 
 We were lingering the next morning in the school-room 
 after breakfast, the dining-room being now useless, when a 
 large mercer's parcel was brought in and laid upon the table 
 before me. It contained half a dozen handsome but expensive 
 dresses. A lady had directed them to be sent to East Side for 
 Miss Sarah to look at. 
 
 ' Horatia must have ordered them,' said Joanna, examining 
 them leisurely. Was I to be pleased or angry ? ' They are 
 very beautiful,' I said, ' but they will not do for me. Now, 
 Caroline, what are we to set to work upon ?' 
 
 'This would be the very perfection of a dress for you, Sarah;' 
 and Joanna took the silk out of the parcel. ' I should wear it 
 once, and put it by for ever,' I replied. ' Please, Joanna, 
 don't unfold any more.' ' Only this one.' 
 
 I was going away, but the door opened, and aunt Colston 
 and Horatia came in. Horatia rushed up to the table, as if 
 the sight of the silks had quite overpowered all thought of 
 civility. ' Are not they enchanting dresses ? — fit for a duchess !' 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 f Fit for a duchess, indeed,' observed aunt Colston, solemnly. 
 ' I am much obliged to you for sending them, Horatia,' I said, 
 ' for I knew at once it must have been your thought ; but really 
 I am sorry you gave the people the trouble ; you know I never 
 intended to have one.' ' O Sarah ! Sarah ! what shall we say 
 next !' and Horatia held up her finger, in playful threatening.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 
 
 j>> 
 
 1 You should have made up your mind yesterday, Sarah,' 
 said my aunt : ' it is a long distance from Carsdale to East 
 Side.' 
 
 ' It is entirely Horatia's doing,' I began ; but Horatia caught 
 up my words : ' Yes, entirely my doing — entirely my choice ; I 
 spent half an hour yesterday afternoon in looking at the hand- 
 somest dresses in Long's shop ; there were no others at all 
 equal to these.' 
 
 ' No,' observed aunt Colston, her tone deepening in solem- 
 nity, — ■ they must have been by far the best in the shop, and 
 the most expensive. It is a great pity, Sarah, that you should 
 have allowed them to be sent out, if you had no intention of 
 making a purchase. Still, though I very much dislike this 
 fickleness of determination, I confess that I shall think better 
 of your sober judgment if you keep to your determination, and 
 resist the temptation.' 
 
 I felt more cross at the word ' temptation' than I can possibly 
 describe. Temptation ! it was no temptation to me. I could, 
 as far as I was concerned, have seen the silks thrown into the 
 fire, without a shadow of regret. Not being able to trust 
 myself at the moment with a reply, Horatia answered for me. 
 — ' It is easy to resist temptation, when there is a good motive,' 
 she said, with a very peculiar emphasis. ' I am sure, aunt, 
 that for the sake of pleasing you, Sarah would give up the most 
 splendid dress that ever was made.' 
 
 ' You are very kind, my dear, to say so. I only wish I could 
 think that I had the influence which you imagine ; things would 
 be different from what they are;' and aunt Colston sighed 
 deeply. I really could not allow this absurd scene to go on ; 
 and feeling that my words were likely to be taken up and 
 diverted to a contrary meaning, I contented myself with quietly 
 closing the parcel. ' Self-command, I see,' observed my aunt, 
 with a look of approbation. I fear it was praise very ill 
 deserved. 'And now to the scene of the future festivities !' 
 said Horatia. Aunt Colston drew back. ' You won't have 
 anything to do with such naughtiness, aunt?' said Horatia. 
 laughing. l You won't see how many beautiful stands for wax 
 candles Joanna has been ornamenting ? — and you won't give 
 your opinion about the coloured lamps ?' 
 
 ' I prefer not, my love ; what I do not approve I have no 
 wish to sanction by my presence. When I have seen my sister, 
 I shall return to the cottage.' She had no sooner left us than
 
 136 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Horatia once more unfastened the parcel. ' Now, Sarah, don't 
 be angry, but you really must have one of the dresses. They 
 are not at all expensive of their kind ; and, in fact, I was so 
 sure you would take one, that I gave it as a reason for sending 
 them out.' * 
 
 ' Then, indeed, Horatia,' I exclaimed, ' you gave a reason 
 which you had no right to give. I beg your pardon for saying 
 so ; but I am not going to be teased into an extravagance.' 
 
 ' Or into displeasing aunt Colston,' said Horatia, with that 
 same indescribable smile of withering sarcasm which I had before 
 felt it so difficult to bear. 
 
 Her meaning flashed across me suddenly. ' You think I 
 have an object in winning aunt Colston's favours,' I exclaimed. 
 
 Horatia was silent for a moment ; then she said, in a tone 
 still determined and calm, and utterly unlike her usual brusque 
 indifference, — ' Your own conscience will best answer that 
 question.' I doubt whether any mind can in a moment rise 
 superior to a sudden and vague accusation. She spoke so 
 strongly, that I actually hesitated to deny the charge. ' It may 
 be of little consequence to you,' continued Horatia, her manner 
 evincing the same inward but thoroughly controlled excitement, 
 ' whether or not you succeed in gaining that which I have con- 
 sidered my place in aunt Colston's estimation. You have a 
 father and mother, brothers and sisters, — you live in the midst 
 of friends and luxuries. — I have nothing ; — nothing,' she re- 
 peated ; and she sat down and leant her head upon her hands. 
 I stood by her quite bewildered. 
 
 ' My dear Horatia,' I said, ' you really are conjuring up a 
 phantom to distress yourself. What have I to do with gaining 
 aunt Colston's esteem ? Of course, I should be glad for her to 
 like me, but it is impossible for me ever to come in your way ; 
 and what has all this to do with buying a silk dress ? It really 
 is absurd to make such a fuss about a trifle.' 
 
 ' Yes, absurd, — quite absurd,' she exclaimed, starting up. 
 ' How foolish I was to speak ! Yet if you were in my place, — 
 but we wont talk of it,' — and there came a deep sigh. ' We 
 will forget all that, Sarah. So you won't take the dress 
 after all ? Well, you are very wise ; I wish I could be the 
 same.' 
 
 I was not very wise. I was excessively weak ; but I was 
 not eighteen, little used to the ways of the world, shrinking with 
 the most acute feeling from the least suspicion of a double
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 137 
 
 motive. I fancied that by one act I might convince Horatia of 
 the folly of her suspicion ; and, quite forgetting the warnings I 
 had received from Lady Emily Rivers, I said as she began 
 slowly to fasten the string round the parcel, — ' There is no 
 hurry ; I can think about it.' 
 
 'As you like,' said Horatia, carelessly, yet unfastening the 
 string again ; ' it is of no consequence. I must contrive an 
 excuse for the trouble the people have had ; ' and, without 
 another word, she left me. 
 
 My mother came into the room very soon afterwards. I was 
 still standing at the table, looking at the open parcel, feeling 
 that it was silly to be undecided, but urged by an impatient 
 longing to do something which might, as it were, clear myself 
 from suspicion. ' Doubting about the new dress, my child ? ' 
 she said, in the tone of gentle fondness in which she always 
 addressed us. ' Suppose we go shares in the expense. I should 
 not like to see you different from your sisters.' 
 
 It was only a half satisfaction which I felt ; I had been so 
 thoroughly annoyed : yet I do not think my mother noticed my 
 manner. I thought I would tell her all that had passed ; but 
 it seemed unkind to Horatia ; so I kissed her, and thanked 
 her, and we chose the silk. When Horatia came back, I said 
 that my mother wished me to have it, and had taken half the 
 expense. ' Oh ! very well ! ' was the reply. I did not know 
 till afterwards that it was Horatia who had suggested, in my 
 mother's presence, how much I wished for the dress ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 1 A ND to-morrow, you young, silly things are going to jump 
 l\ about all night, instead of lying quietly in your beds. 
 are you ? ' said aunt Sarah, speaking to Hester, who had walked 
 with me into Carsdale on some housekeeping business, no one 
 else being at leisure. 
 
 Hester clapped her hands in glee ; ' Yes ; and Herbert and 
 I are to sit up as long as ever we like ; and there are to be so 
 many people ; and the dining-room looks so lovely ! ' 
 
 ' And you mean to enjoy yourself too, do you, Sally ? ' con- 
 tinued aunt Sarah. ' I hope so,' I said ; but my voice could
 
 133 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 not have been very cheerful, for I was feeling far from well ; 
 the fatigue of the last few days had been too much for me, and 
 Horatia's uncomfortable suspicions had depressed my spirits. 
 
 ' Here, child,' said aunt Sarah, pointing to the footstool, 
 which had become my accustomed seat whenever I was with 
 her ; < sit down and rest yourself, and have a quiet mind for a 
 few minutes, if you can ; and, Hester, run away and see what 
 Molly and Betty are doing.' 
 
 Hester complied willingly, for the two old servants petted her 
 uncommonly, and allowed her to do anything she liked, except 
 touch the lemon plants ; and her happiness was complete when 
 she was told to ask Molly to give her some bread and butter, 
 and to draw some beer into the great earthenware cup, the 
 figure of a stout little man, which usually went by the name of 
 Toby. 
 
 ' And now, Sally, what is the matter ? ' said my aunt, when 
 Hester was gone. 
 
 I could not help smiling as I answered, — ' Something, aunt 
 Sarah, for you won't let me say, nothing.' ' To be sure not, 
 child. Nothing is for fools or babies.' ' Well then, aunt Sarah, 
 it is a weary world ; and I have a pain in my back, and a head- 
 ache, and I think I should like to lie down and go to sleep.' 
 
 ' Umph ! you are not used, Sally, to look glumpy because 
 your head aches ; that is not it. What have you got on your 
 mind ? ' 
 
 ' That I am not as good as I should be,' I replied. 
 
 ' You will live a pretty long time before that 's off your mind ; 
 maybe the thought will grow worse as you grow older. Speak 
 out plainly, child, and say what is the matter.' ' I would if I 
 could,' I said, ' but I really don't know. I am sure, though, 
 you understand the feeling, when everything seems to go wrong, 
 and yet there is nothing particularly amiss.' 
 
 ' To be sure I do ; every one does. But I will tell you how 
 I manage, Sally, when it comes. I sit down ; — years ago I 
 might have knelt down ; for we are truer with ourselves when 
 we kneel than when we sit ; — and I make it a business to find 
 out what is the matter. If it 's a fault of my own, I say a prayer 
 for myself ; and if it 's a fault of other people's, I say a prayer 
 for them ; and if it 's neither one nor the other, why then I send 
 for the doctor.' 
 
 ' And if it is all three ! ' I said. 
 
 4 Why, I take all three remedies. So now, child, set to work
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 139 
 
 and think.' ' I don't believe it requires much thought,' I 
 replied ; ' I know quite well I am cross ; and that must be 
 my own fault.' ' Yes, surely ; whatever troubles us, if we are 
 cross we are wrong.' ' But I will tell you what, aunt Sarah,' I 
 said, ' it is easier to be good-tempered in a small family than a 
 large.' ' Possibly ; but that is no excuse.' ' You are veiy hard 
 upon me,' I exclaimed, laughing ; ' you won't let me have the 
 shadow of an apology.' 
 
 ' I thought you wanted to find out what you were wrong in,' 
 answered my aunt. ' Well, perhaps I do ; but still I should 
 like to make a good case for myself, if I could ; and with so 
 many brothers and sisters, and so many things to do and to 
 think of, and not too much money to do it all with, home is 
 trying, aunt Sarah.' 
 
 ' It wouldn't be trying to an angel, Sally,' said my aunt. 
 
 I sighed — it was my only answer. 
 
 ' Home life, such a life as yours, is very trying, Sally,' con- 
 tinued aunt Sarah. ' An old woman like me, sitting in an arm- 
 chair all day, I daresay can't tell half how trying ; but it 's not 
 the things themselves which are in fault ; it 's because we don't 
 let them do the work they are intended for. Cross words are 
 meant to make us gentle, and delays teach patience, and care 
 teaches faith, and press of business makes us look out for minutes 
 to give to God, and disappointment is a special messenger to 
 summon our thoughts to heaven. If, when they all come, we 
 would seek not to run away from them, but to learn God's lesson 
 in them, we should soon leave off calling them trying.' 
 
 ' And if we find we always are running away from them ?' I 
 risked. ' Then there lies the fault ; and we had best pray God 
 to forgive it, and set ourselves to mend it ; and remember, 
 child, we all have some lessons to learn ; if they are not many, 
 they are long, and that is the difference ofttimes between large 
 families and small, old people and young ; but it all comes to 
 the same end.' ' Then we must never allow that others are in 
 fault,' I said. 
 
 i What makes you talk such nonsense, Sally ? I daresay 
 at East Side they are in fault all day long ; Caroline, and 
 Joanna, and the rest of them, and that Miss Gray at the head ; 
 and if they are worrying, you may be sorry for them, and have 
 a thought of them when you say your prayers : but that is all 
 your business with them, and when it is finished you have no- 
 thing to do but to make the best use of the trouble for yourself.'
 
 i4o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ' I think it would be easier,' I said, ' if the worries were not 
 so constant ; but they actually haunt me. I find myself think- 
 ing of them all day long.' ' Then turn them out by others,' said 
 my aunt. I looked up at her to ask her meaning. ' People 
 who are much troubled with home worries,' she continued, 
 ' grow tired of fighting with them always in the same way, how- 
 ever good the way may be, as a man would be sick at heart if 
 he had to fight a giant always with the same weapons ; and 
 then they sit down idle, and the worries gain the day. But if 
 there are other troubles ready at hand to take their place, why 
 it makes a change, and gives fresh spirit and ease, if it 's only 
 by shifting the effort from the right hand to the left.' 
 
 ' I don't think I quite understand,' I said. 'There is nothing 
 difficult in it, child. The worries come to me, sometimes in 
 my arm-chair ; — troubles about all of you, or Miss Cole — and 
 thoughts of things that may happen when I am in my grave : 
 but if there comes a knock at the door, and a starving woman 
 asks for a loaf of bread, why that 's a new care, and it turns the 
 old ones out ; and after a time I go back to them quite fresh. 
 Depend upon it, Sally, people who have two sets of troubles are 
 better off than those who have only one.' 
 
 ' Then the best thing I can do,' I said, ' is to find out some 
 sad distress to think about in another family. I cannot see 
 how it is to be done though, for I know little enough of the 
 people about us.' 
 
 ' Then the sooner you do know, the better,' continued my 
 aunt. ' That we did not know, will never serve our turn when 
 the Great Day of account comes.' 
 
 I was struck with the seriousness of her manner, and felt 
 rather ashamed of excusing myself by saying that I had so 
 much to do at home it had never occurred to me that it could 
 be a duty to think of anything beyond. 
 
 'It's a common blunder enough,' observed my aunt, ' and 
 no wonder such a child as you should fall into it. Besides, it 
 is not your duty to go about and preach to the poor people like 
 the clergyman ; nor to build their cottages, and see that they 
 have plenty of work, and don't starve, like Mr Rivers.' 
 And what else is to be done then ? ' I inquired. 
 
 ' Where there 's a will there 's a way,' replied my aunt. 
 ' Your mother is a kind-hearted woman, I know, and finds out 
 a good deal that is going on about her ; go and ask her if you 
 can do anything to help ; and there is Lady Emily Rivers, too,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIEE. 1 4 r 
 
 she has half a parish on her hands ; tell her you would like to 
 make a baby's frock, or a flannel petticoat, or to do something, 
 no matter what — she will put you in the way ; and by and by 
 you may get to know something about the people and their 
 troubles, and then you '11 begin to feel that there 's something 
 in the world to care for and think about outside your own gate ; 
 and so, by heeding other people's worries, maybe you '11 forget 
 your own. Not, Sally, that forgetting one's own is the reason 
 for doing the kindness, but it 's the blessing which God grants ; 
 and many a time when we are swallowed up with care, it 's 
 just because we have not taken His method for getting rid 
 of it.' 
 
 ' You will let me say one thing to you, aunt Sarah, won't 
 you ? ' I replied, ' for you know I like to do everything you re- 
 commend, but I do not think you can imagine how very little 
 time I have to myself.' 
 
 My aunt turned slowly round in her chair, and stretching out 
 her hand to a bookcase which stood close to her in a recess 
 near the fireplace, took from it a volume of the works of Jeremy 
 Taylor. Then carefully adjusting her spectacles, she read to 
 me the following passage : — ' He that is in debt is not excused 
 from giving alms till his debts are paid, but only from giving 
 away such portions which should and would pay them, and such 
 which he intended should do it. There are crumbs from the 
 table, and the gleanings of the harvest, and the scatterings of 
 the vintage, which in all estates are the portion of the poor ; 
 which, being collected by the hand of Providence, and united 
 wisely, may become considerable to the poor, and are the 
 necessary duties of charity.' ' That, Sally, was the saying of a 
 sensible man ; and, being sense, it holds good for everything ; 
 for time as well as alms. Time may be owed ever so entirely 
 as a duty at home ; but the fragments belong to the poor, and 
 we are bound to see that they have them. There is no excuse 
 for any one — not for a lawyer, nor a merchant, nor a states- 
 man ; for if it can't be given in deeds and words, it can and 
 must be in prayers. And now, child, that I have put the 
 notion into your head, just ask yourself, when next you think 
 about such matters, whether, perchance, when you are what 
 you call cross, it is not because you harp too much upon your 
 own troubles, and give too little heed to other persons'.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah's observations required some consideration to 
 enable me fully to comprehend and carry them out, but they
 
 142 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 certainly had the effect of diverting my thoughts from myself, 
 as I set out with Hester for Miss Green's house, in the back 
 street ; and as I walked along, I found myself watching the 
 poor people who passed by, pondering what the trials of their 
 lives might be, and wishing that I could at once see some 
 straight and easy way for relieving them. So far the conversa- 
 tion had done me good ; but I am not sure whether perfect rest 
 would not have been better for me. I felt more and more un- 
 well as I went on, giddy and inclined to be faint ; and when 
 we reached Miss Green's, my first request was for a glass of 
 water. Hester looked frightened ; and Miss Green begged me 
 to lie down on the black sofa ; but I persuaded myself that I 
 was better, and proceeded to business. 
 
 The dress was brought down ; as Miss Green remarked, in 
 true dress-making phraseology, it was ' very genteel.' Hester 
 was in ecstasies ; ' her darling Sarah had never worn anything 
 so beautiful before !' It had been tried on the day previous, 
 but she insisted upon seeing me in it again ; and I confess that 
 I was not unwilling to gratify her. There is, I suspect, a plea- 
 sure in wearing a new dress, independent of personal vanity ; 
 somewhat derived from the neatness and stiffness, somewhat 
 more from the satisfaction of seeing one's own well-known form 
 and features, under a new combination, like the change of the 
 figures in a kaleidoscope. But be that as it may, I put on the 
 dress, and Miss Green pulled and adjusted, with pins in her 
 mouth, ready for any emergency, and decided that it wanted a 
 very little taking in at the waist, and then it would quite do ; 
 and I twisted myself round, and looked over my shoulder, into 
 the large pier-glass, and felt decidedly pleased, but terribly 
 giddy ; and a knock at the door. ' Only the Miss Mor- 
 timers, ma'am. Miss Green will attend to you directly ' 
 There was an arrival. Horatia Gray, — with her my aunt Col- 
 ston. I do not think I spoke. I am certain I felt guilty. 
 ' We have just finished trying on Miss Sarah's dress,' said little 
 Miss Green. She began unfastening it. Aunt Colston stood 
 rigid as a statue, with her cold eyes fixed upon my handsome 
 silk. Horatia came up, and in a loud whisper said, that I 
 was queen-like. She smoothed down the folds of the dress as 
 she spoke. The touch was intolerable. I sat down on the 
 sofa, partly to escape from it, partly because I felt so ill. I 
 have a clear remembrance of aunt Colston's look, — determined 
 and contemptuous ; — but that was all, and I fainted away.
 
 Tllli EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. i.n 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE long anticipated party was fully attended, — the rooms 
 were beautiful, — the lights brilliant, — the music was good, 
 and the dancing kept up with spirit. I heard it all from others ; 
 but I was not present myself. My mother, and aunt Sarah. 
 and the doctor, and even my own sense, considered that I 
 should be much better away from such a scene of excitement ; 
 and after the first feeling of disappointment was over, I was 
 well satisfied with the decision. I flattered myself that my ab- 
 sence was regretted, for though I never danced, and was not 
 equal to much fatigue, I was a useful Cinderella on such occa- 
 sions, and was able to manage many little troublesome duties 
 which would have interfered with the enjoyment of others. 
 Poor little Hester, I really believe, did not recover her spirits 
 again ; and many and piteous were the requests made that she 
 might come and sleep at aunt Sarah's to keep me company. 
 The evening over, — the pleasure gone by, — and every one 
 turned with satisfaction to the thought that there was one per- 
 son to whom all the little incidents of the party might be re- 
 peated, and who, it was quite certain, would take an interest in 
 them. A perfect levee of visitors appeared at aunt Sarah's on 
 the following day : very few were admitted ; but the members 
 of my own family were naturally the exception ; and Caroline 
 and Joanna drove into Carsdale in the afternoon, for the ex- 
 press purpose of satisfying my curiosity. They came just when 
 aunt Sarah was lying down, and Miss Cole was gone out ; so I 
 had them to myself in the parlour. Nothing, they said, could 
 have gone off better. Every one was delighted. They had not 
 heard of one contre-temps ; and aunt Colston being away, all 
 were at their ease. I had never believed that aunt Colston 
 would stay away, though she had threatened to do so ; and I 
 expressed some surprise that Horatia had not persuaded her 
 after all to relent. 
 
 ' Relent,' exclaimed Joanna ; ' if she did, it would be for the 
 first time in her life ! But we did not want her ; and Horatia 
 knew that very well ; and, moreover, something has gone 
 more wrong than usual the last few days ; we are all wofully 
 out of favour, you especially ; and she actually talks of letting 
 her house for a month or six weeks, and going up to London. 
 Business, she says it is, which obliges her to go ; and then she
 
 144 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 looks very mysterious, as if she wished us all to ask what 
 business ; but we take care not to do that.' 
 
 ' But letting a house is not such an easy matter in Carsdalc,' 
 I said. ' That is settled,' observed Caroline, shortly. ' Mr 
 Blair has taken the cottage.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes,' and Joanna's eyes sparkled with eager amuse- 
 ment ; ' I forgot to tell you. Last evening, when nearly all 
 were arrived, and we were wondering what had become of Mrs 
 Blair, the door was opened twice as wide as there was any 
 occasion, and in walked Dr Blair and Mrs Blair, and, rising 
 like a great giant behind them, Mr Blair ; so, of course, our 
 dear elder sister was in the height of felicity, and devoted her- 
 self to the man-mountain all the evening, and gave up dancing, 
 and played two rubbers of whist, and won them both ; and the 
 end was, that they managed, somehow or other, to make a 
 most comfortable arrangement, by which the man-mountain is 
 to take aunt Colston's house for six weeks, and an unmarried 
 sister is to come there, and he himself is to be up and down 
 constantly. What they all mean by it I don't pretend to know. 
 Caroline is the only one in their secrets ; but, certainly, I never 
 saw more devoted attention than our two friends give and 
 receive.' 
 
 ' You don't mean really, Caroline; that you like Mr Blair?' 
 I said, a little startled at this information. 
 
 ' That is a question I shall answer to him when he chooses 
 to ask it,' replied Caroline, haughtily, ' but to no one else.' I 
 required no other reply. ' Well, I don't know that Caroline is 
 so wrong after all,' observed Joanna, jumping, as was her wont, 
 to a rapid conclusion, and expressing it without reserve. 
 ' People must be married if they mean to be happy. I should 
 not choose such a man as Mr Blair myself; but then tastes 
 differ, and anything is better than being an old maid.' 
 
 ' Like aunt Sarah,' I observed, rather pointedly. ' Oh ! you 
 are bewitched with aunt Sarah. I never will argue with you 
 about her.' ' Aunt Sarah is a very good person,' observed 
 Caroline ; f but there is no question that she would have held a 
 much higher position in general estimation if she had been 
 married.' ' That I doubt,' was my answer. ' Then you argue 
 against acknowledged facts,' replied Caroline. 
 
 ' Yes,' added Joanna; ' only think for a moment how every 
 one laughs at old maids, and how silly they make themselves, 
 and how cross they are ; it is absurd, Sarah, to stand up for
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 145 
 
 the race, as if you had made up your mind to belong to them.' 
 ' Aunt Sarah is neither silly nor cross,' I said. ' No; but she 
 is an exception ; you won't find one old maid in a hundred like 
 aunt Sarah.' ' But still,' I said, ' the fact of there being one 
 such old maid as aunt Sarah, proves that it is possible for 
 single persons to be superior.' ' Oh, yes, possible, but not 
 probable. And,' continued Caroline, ' I still assert, that if a 
 woman is respected when she is single, she will be yet more 
 respected if she is married.' 
 
 The sound of aunt Sarah's walking-stick was heard, as, 
 assisted by Betty, she came down the stairs. Caroline went 
 forward to offer her help, for she never neglected an attention. 
 Aunt Sarah took her arm, and was placed in her chair by the 
 window, and then began to question them about the party, 
 whilst I sat silent, thinking upon the subject we had been dis- 
 cussing. It was a puzzling one, for I felt, with Caroline, that I 
 had, in a great measure, argued against acknowledged facts ; 
 yet the idea of there being necessarily any inferiority in a single 
 life was so repugnant to my love for aunt Sarah, and perhaps 
 also to my secret persuasion of being destined to the same lot 
 myself, that I could not bear to entertain it. I thought and 
 thought, and perplexed myself more and more, and forgot that 
 my abstraction was not likely to escape aunt Sarah's vigilant 
 eye, till I was roused by a gentle tap on the shoulder with the 
 long walking-stick, and an inquiry what my poor, little, tired 
 brain was working at now. 
 
 ' Sarah is settling whether she would like to be an old maid,' 
 exclaimed Joanna, forgetting that the subject might not be 
 agreeable. 
 
 ' I don't think Sally is troubling herself with anything so 
 silly,' replied my aunt. 'Why should she try to settle what is 
 sure to be settled for her?' ' Oh ! but it is not quite settled 
 for us,' replied Joanna. ' They say there is no woman who 
 could not have been married, if she had chosen it.' ' As she 
 may choose to be hanged,' said my aunt. ' We all have that 
 kind of choice.' 
 
 ' Oh ! but you would be so particular, aunt Sarah,' continued 
 Joanna. ' Particular ! child,' replied my aunt, quickly ; ' and 
 if people are not particular when they are asked to marry, when 
 are they to be particular ? You can't buy a new husband as 
 you can a new dress.' ' That is what I think, aunt Sarah,' I 
 said. ' Joanna declares women must be married if they mean 
 
 K
 
 146 THE EXPERIENCE OE EJEE. 
 
 to be happy ; and Caroline says,' I paused, for I felt the 
 
 colour rise to my cheeks. ' Go on, child ; ' and aunt Sarah 
 smiled, and tapped me again on the shoulder ; ' you can't talk 
 upon such a subject to a better person than an old maid of 
 seventy-four.' 
 
 ' Well, then,' I continued, regardless of Caroline's frowns, ' if 
 you really won't mind what I say, do you think if one is not 
 married, one shall not be so much respected ? ' 
 
 ' That is a difficult question,' replied my aunt ; ' maybe there's 
 a wiser answer than mine to be given to it.' She turned the 
 pages of her Bible, and read, — ' " The unmarried woman careth 
 for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body 
 and in spirit ; but she that is married careth for the things of 
 the world, how she may please her husband." There's a better 
 chance of respect, Sally, in setting one's self to please God than 
 to please man.' 
 
 1 Oh ! then, aunt Sarah is going to turn Roman Catholic, and 
 say that people ought not to marry,' exclaimed Joanna. . 
 
 ' Aunt Sarah is not going to do anything of the kind,' said my 
 aunt, in a tone of unusual severity, which made poor Joanna 
 shrink. ' Aunt Sarah thinks that when God, in His providence, 
 gives affections, and points out the way to marriage, He wills 
 that people should follow that way ; but she thinks, also, that 
 when He sees fit to withhold the affections, and block up the 
 way, it is in order that the heart may be given to Him un- 
 divided.' ' But persons, generally, do not think in that way, 
 aunt Sarah,' I said. 
 
 'No, Sally, and therefore the question you asked was diffi- 
 cult to answer. It is no use to try and believe that folks who 
 live for this world think as much of single people as of married 
 ones, because in nine cases out of ten they don't, any more than 
 they think as much of a poor man as of a rich ; and if single 
 women live for this world, they must be judged by the rules of 
 this world.' ' Which is the case with most of them,' said 
 Caroline. ' Yes, poor things,' said my aunt, ' they can't see 
 what they are meant for, and so they are always pining for 
 what they can't get, and dressing, and talking, and skipping 
 about as if they were eighteen ; and then folks laugh at them, 
 and no wonder.' 
 
 ' Well, aunt Sarah,' observed Joanna, ' you have not con- 
 vinced me that it is not better to be married.' * I never wanted 
 to convince you, child ; I don't want to make people think
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 147 
 
 about themselves at all, but just take what's ordered for them. 
 But 1 do wish to make all you young things feel that to be an 
 old maid is to be able to live to God, and work for your fellow- 
 creatures in an especial manner ; and I do wish to make you 
 think it so much of a blessing, that you would never put out 
 your little finger of your own accord, merely to escape from 
 it. Not that you will think so,' she added, in an under- 
 tone, ' unless Sally takes to profiting from her old aunt's ex- 
 perience.' 
 
 ' But one thing more, aunt Sarah,' I asked ; ' as you say that 
 unmarried persons can give themselves especially to doing good, 
 would it be right to make up one's mind not to be married ? ' 
 ' And so take the ordering of things into your own hands,' 
 answered my aunt ; ' that can never be right, Sally. God knows 
 whether we are fitted for a single life ; and if it does not do us 
 good it will do us harm.' ' But we must make the choice,' I 
 said. ' Refusing an offer of marriage is in our own power.' * But 
 the circumstances which make us refuse it are not,' replied my 
 aunt. ' If you don't care for the man, or if your parents object, 
 or if there's any other very good reason for saying no, why 
 those are plain marks that it's not meant you should marry ; 
 but if a man comes to you, and says he's fond of you, and he's 
 a good man, and your parents like the notion, and you like him, 
 it would be just setting yourself against the ordering of Provi- 
 dence to declare that you would be better for a single life. 
 How can you, or I, or any one, tell what we shall be the better 
 for ? God's duties are the best for us ; that we may be quite 
 sure of, always.' 
 
 ' Women are better off than men in that respect,' I said, 
 ' because they have only to accept or refuse. I should be in 
 such a dreadful fidget, if I were a man, before I made an offer, 
 thinking if I was doing right.' 
 
 Caroline and Joanna laughed heartily at this speech ; but my 
 aunt, though a smile rested upon her lips for a moment, 
 answered gravely, — ' Yes, Sally, you are right, it is less of a 
 responsibility, and, in a certain way, it makes the way plain and 
 easy. To have an offer made is, at first sight, a reason for 
 accepting it. It is not right in a woman to throw away a man's 
 love and make him unhappy, if she feels she can return it as 
 he wishes. So, child, if ever you have an offer, and it's a good 
 and right one, and such as you like, and your conscience ap- 
 proves, say " yes," and be happy ; but if there are things against
 
 148 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 it, or if you can't take to it kindly, say " no," and be thankful.' 
 Caroline sat in silent thought whilst my aunt was speaking ; 
 her manner was that of a person whose opinions were 
 thoroughly made up. Joanna, I thought, paid but little atten- 
 tion. She was looking out of the window the greater part of 
 the time, and now broke in upon the conversation with the 
 intelligence that aunt Colston and Horatia were walking down 
 the street, and would be at the door in a few minutes ; they 
 were coming, she knew, to wish me good-bye. 
 
 ' What 's that for ? ' said aunt Sarah. Joanna explained as 
 well as she could ; but aunt Sarah was perplexed by these 
 sudden movements. Joanna watched them as they came nearer, 
 laughing at Horatia's manly walk, as she called it, and counting 
 the number of her flounces. ' I wonder who would ever marry 
 her,' she said. ' What a managing wife he would have ! ' 
 ' Horatia gives out that she never intends to marry,' said 
 Caroline. Joanna moved away from the window, ' They are 
 gone into Long's shop, I declare. Now, Sarah, there is just 
 time for me to tell you something about Horatia's notions of 
 marriage. She gave them out to us with a story about herself, 
 the day before yesterday, when we were talking of Caroline 
 
 and' ' Be quick with your story, Joanna,' said Caroline, 
 
 ' or they will be here.' ' Well ! ' Joanna drew a long breath, 
 as she always did before beginning a long story; 'she professed 
 to divide men into two parts, — that was it, wasn't it, Caroline?' 
 ' Two parts ? yes,' replied Caroline ; and taking up the story, 
 she continued it, being apparently afraid to let Joanna have the 
 opportunity of speaking again. ' It is only one of her wild 
 notions, which she puts forth to make people think she is odd 
 and clever. Years ago, when she was quite a child, she was 
 talking to an old Frenchman, who used to come to her father's 
 home, — a good sort of old man, whom she teased a great deal ; 
 so one day she said to him, " Now, Monsieur, wouldn't you like 
 to marry me ? " And the old man shook his head at her, and 
 said, " Ah ! Miss Horatia, if any one were to come to me with 
 a pistol in one hand, and Miss Horatia Gray in the other, 
 rather than be shot ; " — and he shrugged his shoulders, and 
 left her to draw the inference.' 
 
 ' Yes, that was the story/ interrupted Joanna ; ' only she 
 told it so absurdly, and she declares she gave him a kiss 
 directly, because it was such a good notion, and ever since she 
 has divided men into two parts, — those whom you would rather
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 149 
 
 be shot than marry, and those whom you would rather marry 
 than be shot, — and she protests there is no other choice.' 
 
 ' Then the woman has made up her mind to accept the first 
 man that asks her,' said aunt Sarah. 
 
 A thundering knock at the door ! Aunt Colston's knocks 
 were always thundering. ' Had I not better see them up- 
 stairs ? ' I said to aunt Sarah. ' No, child, why should you ? 
 They won't be here again soon.' My sisters rose to go ; Joanna 
 whispered to me, that she wished me joy of the visit. I felt very 
 nervous, for I had a clear recollection of the silk dress, and the 
 severe eye that had rested upon me in Miss Green's shop. 
 
 Aunt Colston came into the room with her most dignified 
 air. Horatia stood behind to give a passing tap on the 
 shoulder and a whisper to Joanna; and then followed, with 
 the rush of a whirlwind. 
 
 ' We scarcely dared to promise ourselves this pleasure, my 
 dear madam,' said Mrs Colston, taking aunt Sarah's hand, 
 graciously. ' It was very good of you to let us in,' added 
 Horatia ; ' we were very much afraid you would be lying 
 down.' ' The girls tell me you are going to London,' said 
 aunt Sarah. ' I wish you a good journey.' ' Thank you, my 
 dear madam, sincerely.' Aunt Colston turned slowly to me. 
 ' Sarah, we are come to bid you farewell.' Her tone was 
 mournfully severe, and I laid down my work to listen. ' Busi- 
 ness of an important kind calls me to London, — business that 
 must not be delayed, — and about which I have at length, after 
 much thought, made my final determination. You will have 
 my best wishes, Sarah, and I trust when we meet again, I shall 
 find you restored to health.' 
 
 < The child will do well enough, if she is kept quiet,' said 
 aunt Sarah ; ' but there is so much going on in a large family, 
 that it 's hard work to be quiet.' ' Certainly, as you remark, 
 my dear madam, there is a great deal going on in a large 
 family, such a family as my poor sister's especially. It is 
 difficult to say where the fault lies.' 'In the number of young 
 folks about, I should think,' said aunt Sarah. < Yes, as you justly 
 observe, the number of young people must be one cause ; but 
 there is something more, I am afraid ; — a want of order — that 
 order which I have always understood Mrs Sarah Mortimer 
 strongly upholds.' ' And not the want of order merely,' ex- 
 claimed Horatia ; < they are such a laughing, talking, wild set, 
 I never see any business going on there.'
 
 ISO THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 Folks who go at chance moments seldom do know much of 
 the work of a house,' said aunt Sarah ; ' for the most part they 
 interrupt it.' ' Well ! that may be,' replied Horatia, care- 
 lessly ; ' but all I know is, that East Side is the most idle 
 house I ever was in ; and as for the last week, the confusion 
 has been enough to turn one's head. Still it was a great pity, 
 Sarah, that you were not there last night ; we were excessively 
 sorry.' 
 
 1 Pardon me, Horatia,' observed aunt Colston ; ' I cannot 
 entirely agree in that sentiment. I trust your cousin was better 
 employed, and that silence and reflection have been good 
 monitors.' 
 
 ' Sally had a very bad headache all day yesterday,' said aunt 
 Sarah ; ' so it was not the very best time for thinking.' 'Then 
 we must hope for the future ; though, unfortunately, young 
 people do not consider the errors they have committed until 
 they are brought before them by their consequences.' 
 
 The voice and manner were so stern that I could not help 
 taking some notice, and, resolving to be bold, I said, ' You are 
 vexed with me about that silk dress, aunt Colston, but it really 
 was not my fault.' ' Whose was it then ?' inquired my aunt. 
 I could not say, ' My mother's,' and felt perplexed how to reply. 
 ' You need not trouble yourself with explanations,' continued my 
 aunt. ' I know exactly how it occurred ; a mother's fondness 
 for a weak child is unfortunately nothing new. But we will pass 
 it over ; the less said upon the subject the better. Good after- 
 noon to you, my dear madam ;' and she stood up and shook 
 hands with aunt Sarah. ' Farewell, Sarah.' An icy kiss was 
 imprinted upon my forehead. ' It is not one fault of which 1 
 feel that I have cause to complain, but many.' 
 
 ' If Sally has done wrong, she is very sorry for it, I am sure,' 
 said aunt Sarah ; ' but if she says there is a mistake, there must 
 be a mistake.' ' Excuse me, my dear madam, it is a difficult 
 case : one involving principles more than details. I have no 
 time now to enter into particulars. You must trust me when I 
 say that your favourite niece was, in this instance, decidedly in 
 fault.' Once more the hand was held out to aunt Sarah. It 
 was taken and retained, and, looking fixedly in her face, aunt 
 Sarah said, ' I wish you good-bye and a pleasant journey, Mrs 
 Colston ; and when you and I are judged, I hope it may be by 
 One who will have time to " remember mercy." ' Aunt Colston 
 turned pale with anger, but she exercised great self-command,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. i 5 1 
 
 and merely answering, ' I trust it may be so, my dear madam,'" 
 she left the room. 'Good-bye, dear Mrs Mortimer/ said 
 Horatia, in her loudest tone ; 'we shall meet again soon, I dare- 
 say. ' Good-bye, Sarah, love,' and the kiss which followed al- 
 most echoed in the room ; ' keep up your spirits when we are 
 gone.' 
 
 ' And now, Sally, what is it all about ? ' was aunt Sarah's 
 natural question, when wc were by ourselves. I told her, as 
 nearly as I could remember, all the particulars of my misde- 
 meanour, but they were so trifling that my recollection of them 
 was confused. It was astonishing to me, indeed, how the sud- 
 den burst of indignation on aunt Colston's part could have 
 arisen. I had neglected no wish of hers ; the question of the 
 dress had never been discussed before her ; and, even if it had 
 been, surely my mother was the person to be consulted. I 
 should have felt excessively angry, but that I was quite sure she 
 was acting under a misconception of the truth. Aunt Sarah, 
 however, did not quite agree in this excuse, when I ventured to 
 make it. It was every one's business, she said, to be fully 
 satisfied as to facts before an accusation was brought forward, 
 and to hear all that could be said in defence before venturing to 
 condemn. ' But you were wrong in one thing, Sally/ she added ; 
 ' you ought to have spoken out to your mother. It is false 
 charity which makes us hide what our betters have a right to 
 know. Your mother would have helped you out of the mischief 
 then, instead of into it. But it's the silliest business I ever 
 heard ; and if you had had a grain of sense in your head, you 
 would have been up to the woman.' ' Up to whom, aunt 
 Sarah ?' I asked. 
 
 She looked at me a little wonderingly, and then said, ' Give 
 me a kiss, child, and don't be afraid of Horatia Gray.' 
 
 I saw aunt Colston and Horatia once more. I went out for 
 a little while late in the afternoon, with Miss Cole, and we ob- 
 served them standing at the entrance to the Bank talking to my 
 uncle Ralph. It struck me, just for a moment, that my uncle 
 seemed to be consulted in all their affairs, for they were con- 
 tinually having business to settle with him ; but it seemed 
 natural, too. Every one in Carsdale had more or less business 
 with uncle Ralph. I was only glad that I had none. My dread 
 of him was increasing rather than lessening, though I really saw 
 very little of him. But ever since the great difference of opinion 
 upon the question of sending Vaughan to College, there had been
 
 152 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 a marked coolness between him and my mother. With my 
 father his influence was as great, or even greater, than ever. 
 
 The mining speculation, I knew, had been entered into, 
 though I did not understand to what extent. Now and then I 
 heard my mother ask how affairs were getting on in the West, 
 and my uncle was always full of hopes, which cheered my father 
 and made him launch into some trifling extravagance. There 
 was no definite advantage as yet, that I could see ; but, as my 
 uncle said, ' Women were so impatient, they had not the least 
 head for business.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 I DID not know till my aunt and Horatia were actually gone, 
 what an oppression their presence had been. My mother 
 was especially relieved ; there was a continual struggle in her 
 mind, when aunt Colston was present, between the affection of 
 a sister, and the wish to show respect, and the irritation caused 
 by perpetual interference. ' I don't think it can be a good 
 thing for relations to live very near together, my dear,' she said, 
 when I remarked that we seemed to have more time to our- 
 selves, now that there was no reason for going backwards and 
 forwards to Clifton Cottage. ' I used to regret very much, 
 when I was first married, that my own family were so far 
 away, and certainly it would be pleasant to have them some 
 thirty or forty miles nearer, but I should never Avish them now 
 to be close in the neighbourhood. Half the delight of seeing 
 them would be gone if we could meet every day, and yet we 
 could not be entirely one, like persons living in the same house, 
 and so little differences would be apt to arise. If ever any of 
 you marry,' and she paused and looked thoughtful and grave, 
 ' I don't wish you to settle quite near me.' 
 
 It was her gentle way of expressing what I am sure she felt 
 most acutely ; and subsequent experience has only confirmed me 
 in the truth of her opinion. 
 
 There may, and must be many exceptions; but, as a general 
 rule, I very much question whether different branches of the 
 same family are either the happier or the better for constant, 
 daily intercourse. 
 
 The question of marriage was one which, at this time, was
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 153 
 
 in all our thoughts. Three days after aunt Colston's departure, 
 Miss Blair, a middle-aged lady, kind-hearted and agreeable, 
 and more refined than her brother, took possession of Clifton 
 Cottage, and Mr Blair, as he had promised, came from London 
 continually, and spent several days with her. Caroline's opinion 
 was decided as to his intentions, — so decided that, at first, it 
 pained me. 1 knew little about the etiquette of such matters, 
 but it went very much against my taste to hear her discussing, 
 with Joanna, the probabilities of the proposal which both felt 
 sure was coming. I doubted, also, if Caroline could have any 
 real, deep feeling, when she was able to talk in such an open 
 way, and the idea of marrying without such a feeling seemed to 
 me not merely dangerous, but wrong. 
 
 It was all very puzzling to me ; but it was so strange to 
 think of any one of us being likely to be married, and I was so 
 sure I should never be married myself, that I was quite willing 
 to allow I might be mistaken. I had read a few novels, and 
 in them people always fell in love and were very unhappy before 
 they were married ; but in real life it might be different, and 
 persons might go on smoothly to the last moment, and walk 
 gently into marriage without having to scramble through hedges 
 of difficulty, with the chance of being pricked to death with the 
 thorns. 
 
 So, after a little reflection, I made up my mind that my 
 ignorance must be in fault, not the taste or delicacy of my elder 
 sisters ; and, once having admitted the idea that Caroline was 
 attached to Mr Blair, I looked upon him with a more friendly 
 eye and did my best to like him. 
 
 It was a hard task, such a pompous, uninteresting person he 
 was ! I was obliged, again and again, to reckon up all the 
 virtues I had been able to discover in him, — a certain amount 
 of kindness of heart, for instance, worldly honour and integrity, 
 an outward respect for religion, — before I could bring myself to 
 endure his presence with anything like patience. Regarding 
 him merely as an acquaintance, I hope I could have been more 
 charitable ; but when I thought he might become my brother- 
 in-law, his least offences were magnified. What my dear mother 
 thought all this time, I did not well understand. She could not 
 have been blind to what was going on, for Mr Blair's attentions 
 were becoming the common talk of the neighbourhood ; but she 
 never made the least allusion to the subject, and neither did 
 my sisters before her. Probably she was influenced by some
 
 154 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 private wish expressed by my father; as he unquestionably was 
 influenced by my uncle Ralph, who, from the very beginning, had 
 encouraged the intimacy. I strongly suspect, indeed, that my 
 uncle was the first person who put it into Mr Blair's head, or 
 rather into that of his sister-in-law, that Caroline might prove 
 a desirable wife for a wealthy merchant, to whom money was 
 nothing, but who wanted a good-looking, lady-like, well-edu- 
 cated person, to be at the head of his establishment, and make 
 his house agreeable to his friends. 
 
 My mother watched Caroline anxiously, that I saw ; but she 
 never interposed to prevent any meetings or attentions ; and 
 the only indication I could discover of her feelings was, when, 
 on one occasion, she spoke strongly against parents interfering 
 with their children's happiness, when their affections were 
 engaged. ' She should never know a happy moment/ she said, 
 ' if she allowed any personal dislike to a marriage to put a stop 
 to it. Her children must judge for themselves; she would give 
 them her advice if they wished it, but she believed that in such 
 cases advice was useless.' 
 
 The opinion agreed well with the principles upon which my 
 mother had educated us, and the independence of thought and 
 action which she had allowed us. I cannot bear to blame her ; 
 yet I feel now that a little more restraint in childhood might 
 have accustomed us to a greater deference to her opinion as we 
 grew up, and in the end have prevented many serious evils. 
 
 It must have been a great effort to her, however, to remain 
 as passive as she did. Mr Blair was the last person she could 
 have liked as a son-in-law; their tastes and habits and opinions 
 were perpetually at variance. But when she once saw that 
 Caroline's wishes were in his favour, she must have believed 
 there was nothing left her but to acquiesce. 
 
 And so we went on, day after day ; always expecting that, 
 before night came, the proposal would be made and the affair 
 settled. Joanna grew impatient, for the expectation of the 
 excitement of a marriage had very much neutralised her first 
 objections ; but Caroline was still satisfied. ' She knew Mr 
 Blair quite well,' she said. ' He was a man who never did 
 anything hastily. He had important business just then to 
 settle; when it was concluded, she had not the smallest doubt, 
 he would come forward.' I believed her, for I knew that from 
 Mrs Blair she had opportunities of learning more than we 
 could; and the belief pained me. I tried to think the event
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 155 
 
 might be for her good, and, if goodness and happiness were to 
 be found in wealth, I knew she had a fair prospect before her. 
 But there was something in my own heart which told me that 
 marriage cannot be passive in its effect upon the mind, — that 
 if it does not raise, it must lower the character ; and Caroline's 
 disposition, there was no doubt, had a tendency downwards. 
 Mr Blair was not a person to give her higher views of life and 
 its duties. He would, so I feared, sink her first to his own 
 level, and then they must both mutually drag each other lower 
 and lower. 
 
 I was full of these thoughts when I went to spend a few days 
 at Lowood. I had been asked there shortly before, at the time 
 of some Christmas festivities ; but obstacles had been inter- 
 posed, chiefly by aunt Colston and Horatia, and the visit had 
 been deferred. 
 
 My mother was always willing to spare me, and undertook 
 herself to superintend the children's lessons whilst I was away ; 
 but I was only to be absent for a few days. On former occa- 
 sions, the contrast between the cares of East Side and the re- 
 pose of Lowood had never pained me ; but now, with the vision 
 of Mr Blair before me, a member of the family, I was less inclined 
 to think happily of home ; and, I confess, I felt a little envious 
 of the ease, the quiet, cheerful occupation, the care for others and 
 not for themselves, which were remarkable in the daily life of Mi- 
 Rivers and Lady Emily. There were troubles at Lowood ; far- 
 mers were discontented, and labourers did wrong, and plans for 
 the improvement of the estate failed, and Mr Graves, the rector, 
 was constantly doing something he had better not have done, or 
 omitting to do something which he ought to have done. The 
 work was up hill, like all human work, but the home was peace 
 and rest. I thought then, that it would be happy for us if our 
 lives could be the same. I think now, that the education which 
 God gives, is, and must be, the best for each individual char- 
 acter; and if I had to live my life over again, and could be 
 offered my choice of its trials, I would ask for precisely those 
 which have been sent me. 
 
 Yet I was wrong in saying that Lowood was entirely peaceful. 
 There was one great care in it about that time, — one I had 
 foreseen myself for some time,— the governess did not suit. 
 Persons who have to scramble through the world, and pick up 
 education when and how they can, and are compelled by cir- 
 cumstances to bear with what they do not like, and make the
 
 156 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 best of what they cannot afford to alter, may think this a trifling 
 grievance. But in a small and wealthy family, where every 
 thought is for the children, and the grand object of life is their 
 improvement, it is felt to be, what indeed it always must be, a 
 matter of essential consequence. Miss Warner's acidity was 
 becoming unbearable. I was astonished myself, that Lady 
 Emily bore with it as long as she did. Miss Warner was a 
 good woman, I really believe, but she was not perfect any more 
 than other good people, and her peculiar characteristic,— -a keen 
 eye to other persons' imperfections, — which did not at all imply 
 that she was blind to her own, — showed itself in a mournful and 
 impatient lamentation over the evils of life, and especially the 
 sins of the clergy. 
 
 No doubt there was in those days a great deal to complain of; 
 no doubt there is a great deal still, though much less than there 
 used to be. Lowood was not by any means an exception to 
 the rule which then generally prevailed ; the parish was very 
 much neglected, and, in spite of Mr Rivers' exertions, the dis- 
 senters were gaining ground. Miss Warner's heart was better 
 than her head ; she argued from facts before her eyes, and, be- 
 cause the dissenting teacher was a more zealous man than the 
 parish priest, she argued, as many have done before, and arc 
 likely to do hereafter, that Dissent must be right, and the Church 
 wrong. 
 
 ' And you see, Sarah,' said Lady Emily, as she announced to 
 me, on my arrival, the fact of Miss Warner's departure, ' it 
 would be impossible for me to have a dissenting governess for 
 my children ; so she is gone.' I was selfishly very glad to hear 
 it ; I should now have Lady Emily to myself without interrup- 
 tion. ' I can't express the effect that perpetual mourning over 
 the state of the Church has upon me,' said Lady Emily. 'Mi- 
 Rivers declares that if Miss Warner had stayed much longer, 
 I should have turned dissenter too.' ' Not with Mr Rivers to 
 keep you firm,' I said. ' Well, that would have been some 
 support, I must own,' said Lady Emily ; ' for I actually be- 
 lieve that if every other person in England were to turn dis- 
 senter, Mr Rivers would remain unmoved.' 
 
 Mr Rivers was writing in the same room ; he laid down his 
 pen at this speech, and said, with a smile peculiar to himself — ■ 
 very kind, yet a very little satirical : ' Of course I should ; why 
 is truth to be less truth because John Simpkins or Thomas Jones 
 chooses to say it is not truth ? ' < But if John Simpkins is an
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 157 
 
 angel of goodness,' said Lady Emily, ' his opinion of what is 
 truth will have considerable weight.' ' Certainly it will, because 
 the world is an unreasoning world ; and therefore, my dear 
 Emily, after talking with good John Simpkins, the Independent, 
 to-day, I shall be an Independent ; but to-morrow, when I meet 
 with Thomas Jones, the Baptist, who is a still better man, I 
 shall turn Baptist ; and the next day, after a little more con- 
 versation with William Smith, the Quaker, who is the best of 
 all, I shall unquestionably be a Quaker. You see we may have 
 a religion for every month in the year, if we like it, and all of 
 them equally true.' 
 
 1 It is very puzzling,' said Lady Emily ; ' Christianity itself 
 made its way in the heathen world by the holy lives of its first 
 teachers.' 
 
 ' No, my dear Emily ; I beg your pardon, but that is a great 
 mistake, and very serious in its consequences. Christianity 
 made its way in the heathen world by external witness, by 
 miracles and testimony.' 
 
 ' And by holiness — surely, by holiness also,' exclaimed Lady 
 Emily. 
 
 ' By holiness as a corroborative testimony, but as nothing 
 more.' 
 
 Lady Emily seemed unwilling to assent, and I felt with her. 
 I had an intense veneration for the early saints, and I could 
 not bear to hear the value of their witness thus, as it seemed to 
 me, depreciated. 
 
 ' Do you not see,' continued Mr Rivers, ' that the same 
 argument which holds good in the present day, must be equally 
 good for every age ? If you now smile at the notion of turning 
 first Independent, then Baptist, and then Quaker, because the 
 teachers of these sects happen to be good men, so you might, 
 if a heathen, have despised the notion of giving up your former 
 guides for Christian teachers. You might have said, " Socrates 
 and Plato were excellent persons ; why am I not to be con- 
 tented with their instructions, but to follow instead the apostles 
 of Christ ? " ' 
 
 ' Because Christianity taught so many things infinitely im- 
 portant, which Socrates and Plato knew nothing of,' observed 
 Lady Emily. 
 
 ' But this only goes to prove what I assert, that external, not 
 internal, testimony is the witness to truth. The teaching of the 
 apostles was infinitely important, for it concerned truths only to
 
 153 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 be learnt by direct communication with heaven. If they were 
 not so learnt, the apostles were bad men, professing a falsity. 
 Let them have appeared ever so just, pure, devoted, self-deny- 
 ing, they were impostors. Now, what was the proof of their 
 inspiration ? ' 
 
 1 The power of working miracles,' replied Lady Emily. 
 
 ' Yes, unquestionably ; the miracles — the external sign. The 
 question of goodness was something distinct and additional ; if 
 it were not so, the same doctrines would have been truth when 
 preached by St Paul, and untruth when preached by Demas — 
 because the one was a good, and the other a bad man.' 
 
 ' The great difficulty in all this,' said Lady Emily, < is, that 
 we have no miracles now.' 
 
 ' Grant the principle,' replied Mr Rivers ; < that is all I re- 
 quire. As to its application, I allow it is more difficult at the 
 present day than it was then. It requires thought and study, 
 more than most people are willing to give to such subjects, to 
 see that historical testimony, and the corroborative witness of the 
 Bible, stand to us now in the place of the miracles of the Early 
 Church. But if we will acknowledge that we do require some 
 such support, we are safe ; if not, woe to the English Church ; 
 for when temptation comes, her children will fall away. They 
 will be, in fact they are fast becoming, Baptists, Quakers, 
 Socinians, Infidels, anything and everything, according as the 
 fancy seizes them.' 
 
 ' One thing more, only one, let me say,' urged Lady Emily. 
 ' You know I am not arguing for victory like Miss Warner. If 
 the children of the Church do fall away, it is the fault of the 
 Church.' 
 
 ' Then, when you and I neglect our duty, Emily, our children 
 may disobey us.' 
 
 Lady Emily smiled. < I see you will allow us poor, discon- 
 tented people no excuse.' 
 
 ' No, but I will give you what is better than excuse, — hope. 
 If there is truth in the English Church, she must rise again ; and 
 as the Church rises, Dissent will fall.' 
 
 ' And with that hope you leave us,' said Lady Emily as Mr 
 Rivers took up his papers and walked away ; ' and with that 
 hope, Sarah, you and I will leave the subject ; it always vexes 
 me. And now tell me, dear child, how you are going on at 
 home, and how is aunt Sarah ? • 
 
 The first question brought a long answer in reply. Lady
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 159 
 
 Emily, I felt, could understand my annoyance, as regarded 
 Horatia, and I talked openly to her about it. I saw that, like 
 aunt Sarah, she was inclined to take up my cause more de- 
 cidedly than I did myself. I thought Horatia troublesome; she 
 thought her manceuvering. 
 
 Mr Blair's was not such an easy topic. I had no right to 
 betray my sister's feelings, though I longed to have the sym- 
 pathy which Lady Emily was always so ready to give. Some- 
 thing was said, however, about his having taken aunt Colston's 
 house, and then a smile passed over Lady Emily's face, and 1 
 suspect over mine too, and the secret was betrayed. 
 
 Miss Cleveland had told her the marriage was a settled 
 thing. < I thought of you, Sarah, directly I heard of it,' said 
 Lady Emily, ' and whether you would like it.' ' You would 
 know that without asking me,' I replied, ' if you had ever 
 seen Mr Blair ; but it is not settled, and that is the reason 
 1 cannot endure talking about it. People do not generally 
 talk about the offers they expect before they are made — do 
 they ? ' 
 
 ' Only a little, just to their very intimate friends,' said Lady 
 Emily, looking amused at the question ; ' and I suppose, if there 
 is any real love in the case, they never talk about them at all.' 
 I must have looked grave at this speech, for she remarked it, 
 and added, — -' There may be great respect, great esteem 
 though ; I daresay your sister feels a great deal more than she 
 expresses.' ' I don't know,' I said : ' perhaps I shall under- 
 stand it all better by and by, as I grow older. Only I had a 
 kind of notion, '• — I hesitated. 
 
 ' What notion, dear child ? ' and Lady Emily drew me towards 
 her, and gave me a kiss. ' I like to hear all the notions that 
 come into your little head.' ' I always fancied,' I said, ' that 
 people ought to love each other very much indeed, more than 
 any other persons in the world, before they married, and that 
 they only married because they loved each other. But Caro- 
 line's notion seems to be that the marriage is the great thing, and 
 not the love. I daresay I don't explain myself properly.' ' Yes, 
 you do, quite. Yours is the young notion. Caroline's is — not 
 the old one exactly, but the worldly one,' ' Then which is right ? ' 
 I asked eagerly. ' Yours, without doubt ; I only trust you will 
 never lose it.' < There is no fear of that,' I said ; ' I never could 
 marry any one whom I did not love more — more than I love 
 any one now, except mamma and aunt Sarah.'
 
 i6o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 So you think, Sarah ; and so almost all girls of your age 
 think ; but they grow older, and no persons, perhaps, come in 
 their way whom they like, or if they do like them, they are not 
 able to marry, and then they become impatient, and fancy they 
 shall be old maids, and that frightens them, and they begin to 
 think that they were too particular.' 
 
 ' I am not afraid of being an old maid,' I said ; ' every one 
 tells me I am sure of being one.' 
 
 1 I do not say I wish you may not be one,' replied Lady Emily ; 
 ' though I know myself the blessing of being a most happy wife 
 and mother. But if I were talking to my own child, 1 should 
 entreat her never to allow herself to dwell upon marriage as the 
 object of life. Dignity and delicacy sink, I cannot say how 
 sadly or how rapidly, when once that idea takes possession of 
 the mind ; and for happiness — there is not a more miserable 
 being in existence than a woman past the first excitement of 
 youth, aiming at being married for the sake of being married ; 
 — so unsatisfied, so envious, so neglectful of present duties, so 
 lowered in tone and principle, — O Sarah ! I would rather, — 
 yes, indeed, I say it most calmly, — I would far rather see you in 
 your grave, than know that you could live to become what I 
 have seen others, solely from the indulgence of this one false, 
 degrading principle.' 
 
 ' Then you will not look down upon me when I am an old 
 maid,' I said ; and at the moment the hope crossed my mind that 
 I should be told I was sure of not being one. 
 
 No such consolation, however, was given me. Lady Emily 
 only laughed, and said, ' Quite the reverse — I shall honour 
 you. You will be able to be, what I always intended to be 
 myself— only, unfortunately, I met with Mr Rivers — a pattern 
 old maid.' 
 
 ' And if I meet with a Mr Rivers too ? ' 
 
 ' Then marry him by all means.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IT is interesting, whilst looking back upon one's past life, to 
 trace, as one often can, the words and seemingly trifling 
 incidents which have left lasting effects upon the character. It
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIEE. 161 
 
 makes the existence of every day much more important ; for 
 who can avoid reflecting upon the amount of good or evil for 
 one's self or others, which may be involved in petty occurrences 
 and passing observations, when experience has warned us of 
 their consequences. 
 
 Perhaps there is no age at which this formation of the mind 
 from common circumstances goes on so rapidly as in the tran- 
 sition state between childhood and womanhood, — seventeen, 
 eighteen, nineteen. A careful observer, it may be, would in very 
 many cases be able to prophesy the bent of the whole life from 
 the direction which it then takes. The impressions of child- 
 hood are deep and lasting, but they are external to us ; and 
 education, in its true sense, can never be external, for, in fact, 
 we educate ourselves. The ideas which we collect, ponder 
 upon, remodel, and engraft in our own minds as our own pro- 
 perty, are those which influence, and therefore educate us. And 
 these are not the ideaS brought before us directly by books or 
 teaching, but imbibed, like the air we breathe, for the most part 
 insensibly, as we learn to exercise our own powers of thought 
 and observation. And we may remark that, in most cases, the 
 tendency of the young is to rise to the level of the highest and 
 purest minds with which they are brought in contact. Even 
 in the untaught heathen there is the wreck of a perfect nature, 
 the appreciation of moral goodness ; how much more then in 
 the baptized enlightened Christian ! And so it happens that 
 occasional intercourse with persons thoroughly pure minded and 
 devoted, at the age when the character is forming, will often 
 elevate the whole moral tone, and in the end counteract the evil 
 of weeks, months, and even years of more apparently direct 
 influence. Except as regarded my mother, I could not say that 
 the principles of my family were high or unworldly ; and habitual 
 reserve in her case counteracted much of the good which I 
 might have derived from being with her. I do not see how 
 I could have escaped imbibing the same ideas as my elder 
 brothers and sisters, if it had not been for aunt Sarah and 
 Lady Emily. But I never returned from a visit to Carsdale or 
 to Lowood, without feeling that I had risen, not in my own esti- 
 mation, or the opinion of the world, but in the aim and object 
 of life. It was not that I had received formal instruction, or 
 rules, or advice. If such were brought before me, it was acci- 
 dentally, either from sympathy, or because the course of con- 
 versation naturally gave rise to them. There was no attempt 
 
 L
 
 1 62 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 at direct control or reproof, and thus the suggestions which, 
 made criticisingly and reprovingly by aunt Colston, would have 
 fallen, I fear, upon an unwilling ear, glided, as it were, into my 
 mind, took root unnoticed, grew up so insensibly, that I fancied 
 them my own, and at last became the fixed laws and motives of 
 my life. 
 
 I was very glad to have had those conversations with Lady 
 Emily and aunt Sarah about marriage. They gave form to my 
 own floating ideas ; for I had thought upon the subject, — all 
 girls do and will think about it more or less, — and I had felt 
 that there was something repugnant both to my principles and 
 tastes in the way in which it was commonly talked of, as the one 
 thing without which a woman must be lonely and wretched, and 
 almost despised. Yet all I had ever heard, or read, or seen 
 hitherto, was against me; my dear mother's silence, and known 
 indifference on the matter, alone excepted. 
 
 Miss Cleveland, bright and active though she always was 
 herself, made a point of warning my sisters not to wait too long 
 before they were married. Mrs Blair could discover the very 
 earliest prospect of an engagement. Aunt Colston discoursed 
 upon the desirableness of having daughters well settled ; even 
 uncle Ralph, when he ventured upon a joke, used to tell Joanna 
 not to say ' no ; too often. And in novels — if the few I had 
 read were to be taken as any true description of life — there was 
 nothing else worth a moment's thought. If women were not 
 married, they were either soured by the disappointment, and 
 lived to be the torment of their friends ; or, after concentrating 
 into a few years the sorrows of a long life, they invariably died 
 of consumption. 
 
 And was this then the true statement of the case ? If the 
 opportunity of marrying from affection should be denied me, 
 must my existence be indeed so lonely, so burdensome? Were 
 the years that must elapse between youth and age to be spent 
 in undignified striving after an unattainable good ; or in dis- 
 contented repinings at the lot which it had been the will of 
 God to appoint for me ? and was there no mode of escape from 
 such wretchedness but that of sacrificing taste and feeling, by 
 consenting to be the wife of the first man of ordinary respect- 
 ability who would give me the honour of his name, and a share 
 of his fortune? 
 
 Then indeed was this world all in all ; — marriage its hope, 
 marriage its joy, marriage its intention and its end.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 163 
 
 And ' in heaven there shall be neither marrying nor giving 
 in marriage.' 
 
 The last morning of that visit at Lowood I spent in talking 
 to Lady Emily about her school, for a school she was going to 
 establish, as I knew from the beginning she would, according 
 to aunt Sarah's notion. The plans were very unformed ; for a 
 work which was to last, it was hoped, for years, required 
 months of thought and preparation. It was to begin on a 
 small scale, as small as aunt Sarah had proposed. Mr Rivers 
 would hear of nothing which was not perfectly safe and within 
 compass. The first expenses must, he said, be great. How- 
 ever large might be the estimate in such cases, it was invariably 
 exceeded. Six girls could be clothed, boarded, and educated, 
 he knew, for the sum proposed ; but more might bring debt, 
 and with debt there would be some sacrifice of principle to 
 expediency. Lady Emily was very good and patient under 
 these restrictions, and satisfied herself with the hope that as 
 years went on the number might be increased, as it would be 
 the object to which all her savings would be directed. Yet I 
 could see that it was with difficulty she could persuade herself 
 to direct all her energies to the six, instead of planning for 
 twenty. Mr Rivers was obliged again and again to remind 
 her that unless the foundations were well laid the superstructure 
 must fall to the ground. And, what was still more trying to 
 her, I found that the advantages of the school were not to be 
 exclusive to the Fisherton district. This had been her favourite 
 plan, but it was impracticable. Mr Rivers asserted it was 
 undesirable. If the selection was really to have any effect 
 upon a large number, it must be made, not from the children 
 of a certain district, but of a certain preparatory school ; and 
 this school could be no other than that which had lately been 
 established in Carsdale. Besides, to make so great a distinc- 
 tion between two parts of the same town would lead in the end, 
 he feared, to trickery and discontent. The rule would be 
 found unwise, and in the end even those who were called upon 
 to carry it out would be compelled to devise means for evading 
 it. ' Take the materials which lie before you, if possible, my 
 dear Emily, in all cases,' said Mr Rivers. ' Time and thought 
 have already been expended upon them, and it would be wrong 
 to cast them aside ; and, especially, do not be exclusive in 
 your charities whenever, without a sacrifice of principle, you 
 can be the contrary. Help the Carsdale school, and all the
 
 1 64 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 people of Carsdale will be willing to work with you, and ar 
 impetus for good will be given to the whole town. Set up a 
 private school of your own for the Fishcrton district, and people 
 will say, " It is Lady Emily Rivers' school, and we have 
 nothing to do with it ;" and they will fold their hands and sit 
 idle all the more, because they are not as rich, and cannot do 
 the same.' ' But that unhappy Carsdale school,' said Lady 
 Emily, ' it is so indifferently managed.' ' Merely because no 
 one takes an interest in it,' said Mr Rivers. ' The moment 
 you go with a boon to offer them, you will see that the whole 
 thing will be changed. You have nothing to do but to make 
 your conditions, state what are the qualifications you require 
 for those who are to be your own children, and then see what 
 the effect will be. I venture to say that you may in the end 
 entirely remodel the national school if you wish it.' ' Yes, if I 
 wish it,' said Lady Emily ; ' but that kind of power is the last 
 I desire to exercise.' 
 
 1 And so, most probably, it will be just that which will be 
 put into your hands,' replied Mr Rivers. ' However, since you 
 object to power, I will tell you what I conceive to be absolutely 
 essential to the well-being of your own school — that your re- 
 sponsibility should, after a certain time, be shared.' 
 
 ' With you always, of course,' said Lady Emily, ' but not 
 with any one else.' 
 
 ' Yes, with three, or even four or five others. I do not say 
 who at this moment, except that one must be, ex officio, the 
 rector of Carsdale.' 
 
 ' Poor old Mr Benson,' said Lady Emily. ' I think he is a 
 safe person.' 
 
 ' His safety has nothing to do with the question,' said Mr 
 Rivers. ' If he were the Pope, he must be one of the trustees.' 
 
 ' And convert my children into Roman Catholics,' said Lady 
 Emily. ' No, excuse me, that could never be.' 
 
 ' Not convert them into anything, I hope,' replied Mr Rivers. 
 ' Make your laws, not only for the governed, but the governor. 
 His duty, then, will be, not to create laws, but to uphold them. 
 Remember that James II. might never have been forced to 
 abdicate if he had only kept to his engagements. However, 
 that is talking nonsense. A rector of Carsdale must be now 
 an English Churchman. All I mean is, that if you wish your 
 school to last, you must lay down certain general principles, 
 never to be violated, and. then engage yourself, with others, to.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 165 
 
 maintain those principles. You must be a constitutional, not 
 a despotic monarch. And you must provide that after your 
 death your constitution shall be respected, by enacting it as 
 one of your fundamental laws that persons shall always be 
 appointed to see that it is respected. Your school may en- 
 large by that means safely. Other persons, in after years, may 
 give to it without being able to touch the principles upon which 
 it is founded, and so it may expand to be what you long to 
 make it now, but are not able.' 
 
 1 Well/ said Lady Emily, ' all I entreat is, that I may not be 
 obliged to go shares with Mr Benson just yet in anything.' 
 
 i No ; keep your power in your own hands for the present : 
 make very few rules, and don't convert them into laws till you 
 have tried them ; but when you have tried them, remember that 
 you must die, but that your work, we hope, is to live.' 
 
 ' He is so dreadfully prudent and thoughtful,' said Lady 
 Emily, turning to me. ' You and I, Sarah, should have col- 
 lected our children, and appointed our mistress, and fixed upon 
 the dress, and begun our work by this time.' 
 
 ' And be obliged to begin it all over again this day twelve- 
 month,' said Mr Rivers, laughing. ' Confess, now, Emily, that 
 I have saved you from more than one difficulty in your life, by- 
 being what you call dreadfully prudent.' 
 
 ' Saved me from many — from every difficulty,' said Lady 
 Emily, earnestly ; and as he bent down to kiss her forehead, 
 tears started to her eyes ; and with a forced laugh she said : 
 ' Now, go away and leave us. Sarah and I want to settle 
 whether my girls are to wear blue frocks or brown.' 
 
 That was rather an important discussion for me, for it involved 
 my executing a little commission in Carsdale the next day, and 
 led to an entreaty that I might do anything else that could be 
 useful, and a hesitating request from Lady Emily that I would 
 copy some papers for her and help her in some needlework ; and, 
 if my mother did not object, now and then go and see some old 
 women who lived at Hurst, the village to which East Side and 
 the hamlet adjoining it belonged, and who were tenants of Mi- 
 Rivers ; and in this way, before I left Lowood, I found that a 
 new set of small interests had sprung up ; and as I drove home, 
 instead of thinking of Mr Blair and Caroline, and domestic 
 anxieties, I pleased myself with dwelling upon the new school, 
 and the delight I should have in helping Lady Emily with her 
 poor people.
 
 1 66 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 It was well that I had given my mind that rest. When I 
 entered the house, I found my mother grave and tearful, my 
 father excited — -Joanna in a flutter of unseasonable wonder and 
 high spirits — Caroline a little more stately, a little more silent. 
 Mr Blair had proposed and been accepted. I had lost my 
 sister, that was my first thought — not whether Mr Blair loved 
 her, not whether she would be happy. It was the first break 
 in the family, and how we should miss her ! And I went to 
 my room and cried bitterly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 EIGHTEEN and eight-and-twenty ! I doubt if any other 
 ten years of life can make as great a difference in our 
 way of looking at the events of this weary world. Eighteen 
 — thoughtless, eager, trusting, expecting. Eight-and-twenty — 
 anxious, regretful, fearing and doubting. It is not a happy age, 
 eight-and-twenty ! It is too old, and too young. Youth is not 
 passed, but it is passing, and that rapidly ; and we have not 
 yet made up our minds to part with it ; and age is not come, 
 and the way that leads to its looked-for rest is long and dark, 
 and toilsome. And how the cares of a family seem to multiply 
 in those ten years ! What a definite form the shadows of mis- 
 fortune have assumed ! How well, in looking upon them, we 
 can trace the errors of the past both in ourselves and others, and 
 how clearly prophesy the burden which must be borne, it may 
 be, through life, as their consequence. 
 
 They are very important years. Let them be well spent in 
 acquiring self-knowledge, self-mastery, self-discipline, and the 
 hardest struggle of life is over. We are as soldiers armed for the 
 battle, and when the guides of our youth are taken from us, and 
 we are left to stand alone and act for ourselves, amidst the great 
 vortex of human affairs, we shall find energy from the very great- 
 ness of our difficulties, and be supported by the consciousness 
 of possessing the only true power — not our own, but His upon 
 whom we lean. 
 
 I have been told that I was never young — that I was always 
 thoughtful beyond my age, my character early formed, my 
 opinions for the most part fixed before I was twenty. I do not
 
 THE EXPERIENi E OF LIFE. 167 
 
 know how this may be, but I am certain that the brightness of 
 the summer day, and the long twilight of the dusky winter, are 
 not more unlike than were my Views and hopes at eighteen and 
 at eight-and-twenty. 
 
 True, I early saw that life was not unclouded, and that home 
 had many cares ; but the power of vivid enjoyment was then so 
 great that, except at the moment when anxieties w r ere pressed 
 by circumstances upon my attention, they were for the most 
 part forgotten. What I could not remedy I had no call to 
 think upon, and I trusted — that is the boon, the fairy gift of 
 youth, the secret of its exquisite happiness — I trusted in the 
 judgment of others, for I had not yet learnt to fear that my own 
 might be of equal value. 
 
 Yet ten years may, in the eye of the world, make but little 
 difference in the outward condition of a family. Ten years 
 passed over us at East Side, and none marked the changes that 
 were working amongst us, save in the wrinkles on my father's 
 cheek and the silvery threads which glistened in my mother's 
 dark brown hair. Or if their children were spoken of, it was to 
 contrast the bright loveliness of my sweet Hester with the still 
 more perfect beauty which Joanna still retained, or to remark 
 upon me that it was w r onderful how little alteration time made 
 in persons of my complexion and sickly appearance. 
 
 My eight-and-twentieth birthday found me with Hester in 
 London, guests of our sister Caroline. Outwardly, ten years 
 had made a greater alteration in Caroline than in any of us. 
 ' Mrs Blair looks quite as old as her mother,' was the common 
 remark when Caroline came to Carsdale. But it was not so 
 much in feature as in manner that the alteration was percep- 
 tible ; — in that matronly, business-like air which it is often most 
 amusing to observe even very young, lively people assume as 
 soon as they have a house of their own. My mother, after five- 
 and-thirty years of married life, was not by any means as 
 entirely the mistress of her family and the woman of importance 
 as Caroline. 
 
 A husband, and six children, and a good house in Harley 
 Street, and servants, and a carriage, and an increasing circle of 
 acquaintance — Caroline certainly had a great deal to do and to 
 think of. And she neglected nothing^nothing, that is, which 
 the world required. She had accomplished the objects for which 
 her husband had been urged to marry her ; she had raised him 
 in society, she had made his parties agreeable, set herself against
 
 1 68 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 awkward acquaintances, toned down his manners, and gained 
 him respect by a prudent liberality in charitable subscriptions. 
 1 An excellent wife,' as Mrs Blair of Carsdale always said, 
 congratulating herself upon her own wisdom in having obtained 
 such a gem for her brother-in-law. ' An excellent mother,' as 
 said all the mammas of Harley Street and Portland Place, and 
 the other streets, and places, and squares which were included 
 in the circle of Caroline's visiting-list. And as an excellent wife 
 and mother Caroline always comported herself. There could 
 not have been more orderly children than my six little nephews 
 and nieces ; all round, and rosy, and neat, and quiet ; with a 
 good nurse to take care of them in the nursery, and a methodi- 
 cal, unobtrusive governess, to teach them all that the nine- 
 teenth century required in the school-room. 
 
 They were my chief interest in my visits to Harley Street. 
 Yet the feeling had more pain than pleasure in it. They were 
 very like their parents, and let the world praise as it might, I 
 never returned from a fortnight or a month's intercourse with 
 Caroline and her husband without an overpowering depression at 
 my heart. 
 
 It is sad, most sad, to watch the outlines of a character 
 gradually becoming harder and more rigid in worldliness. We 
 can see the indications of what it may be in childhood even, 
 but a thousand things may happen to alter, and mould, and 
 reconstruct it. There will always, indeed, be the same disposi- 
 tions, but they may be differently balanced. But it is not so in 
 middle age : then, unless some great shock, upon which none 
 can reckon, should alter the whole bias of the mind, it takes a 
 definite form for good or evil. Frivolity becomes fixed indiffe- 
 rence to serious thought ; care for self becomes utter neglect of 
 others ; love of money becomes avarice. Caroline had cared 
 first for herself, then for her family, at East Side : now she 
 cared for herself alone. Mr Blair had prided himself upon 
 money for the luxuries which money could give : now he was 
 bent upon its acquisition as in itself the great end of life. The 
 faults were not visible to the world, but they were fearfully so 
 to me ; and the tone of their society, the atmosphere in which 
 they lived, was, in consequence, so oppressive to me, that I 
 could with difficulty make up my mind to endure it to the 
 length of my promised visits. Yet they were very kind to me ; 
 they always made me welcome to their house, and my birthday 
 was a day of festivity, to be kept in my honour by a holiday
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 1C9 
 
 for the children, who were also to wear their best clothes, and 
 go for a drive in the park. Hester made me a present besides, 
 a little bag of her own working ; but birthday presents were not 
 the fashion in Harley Street, though they had never been for- 
 gotten at East Side. In spite of the many happy returns of the 
 day that were wished me, I should have felt very lonely that 
 morning without Hester. Perhaps I was growing too anxious, 
 but I had not liked the last letters from home. ' My father 
 was complaining of not feeling well,' my mother said ; ' she 
 could not persuade him to have advice ; he thought it was only 
 a cold.' Very simple words ! perhaps meaning very little, 
 perhaps meaning a great deal. It was not strange that they 
 should strike me with peculiar force upon my birthday, for such 
 days never leave us at rest in the present ; they always send us 
 back to the past, or onwards to the future ; and as I sat at work 
 in the back drawing-room, with the scent of the pleasant flowers 
 in the little conservatory to refresh me, and the rattle of the 
 carriages in the streets, not sufficiently near absolutely to dis- 
 tract me, I pondered much and deeply upon my own prospects 
 and that of those dear to me. I had long known that some 
 great change must come upon us before many years were over. 
 Even if I had ever entertained the idea that ' to-morrow should 
 be as this day, and much more abundant,' the experience of 
 eight-and-twenty years must have fully opened my eyes to the 
 delusion. My sanguine father had ceased to speak of the 
 probability of riches ; for there had been money sunk in the 
 mines which had never appeared again, and year by year his 
 countenance had become more care-worn, and my mother's sighs 
 more audible, and the influence of the November mists had 
 been felt more keenly, as my uncle Ralph's visits increased in 
 length and frequency. Poor, then, we might be, very poor ; 
 for the larger portion of our income was dependent on my 
 father's life. And if we were poor, who was to help us ? Not 
 Mr Blair — it would be a vain humiliation to ask when the ex- 
 perience of every day and every hour proved that there was no 
 heart to give. Not Vaughan — he was struggling for a bare 
 subsistence at the bar ; or rather not struggling — he was giving 
 way to his natural indolence, wasting his talents and his time 
 whilst indulging himself in the tastes which he deemed essential 
 to a gentleman. Not Reginald — he was in Mr Blair's office, 
 following Mr Blair's footsteps. Not Herbert — good, and clever, 
 and affectionate though he was, his education had been left
 
 17 o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 imperfect, because the entanglement of my father's affairs had 
 interfered with his being sent to college, and what to do with 
 him was a question which it was becoming every day move 
 difficult to settle. 
 
 My mother's relations were, for the most part, poor them- 
 selves. My uncle, Sir William Vaughan, was a stranger to us, 
 and report spoke of him as being deeply involved. Aunt Col- 
 ston and uncle Ralph would be unwilling, aunt Sarah would be 
 unable, to help us. There was, indeed, no one to depend upon 
 but myself ; and as the thought forced itself upon me, fully and 
 plainly, my spirit rose, and the full energy of my mind seemed, 
 lor the first time, realised to myself. 
 
 I had but little physical strength, but my health had improved 
 with advancing years ; if I could never hope to be strong, yet at 
 least I was comparatively relieved from the nervous, depressing 
 symptoms to which I had been subject in early youth. My 
 education had been very imperfect : but the power of education 
 was in my own will. I had proved it by the lessons I had set 
 myself, the histories I had read, the routine of study which I had 
 followed, with many interruptions, yet, upon the whole, diligently 
 and successfully, for the last ten years. If I had taught myself, 
 I might hope to be able to teach others ; and, as the idea gained 
 force, words spoken by aunt Sarah many years before, and which 
 had often since recurred to my memory, stamped, as it were, the 
 seal upon my resolution : ' There is more honour and more 
 profit, both for this world and the next, in fifty pounds gained by 
 your own labour, than in five hundred doled out by the pity of 
 others.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah was right in that, and I would prove it. What- 
 ever might happen, we would never depend upon our relations. 
 Joanna might be a burden, but Hester would never leave me 
 alone ; and if adversity came, it should at least be softened to my 
 mother and to all, as far as my efforts could soften it ; for what 
 had I else to live for. 
 
 I thanked God that I had given no ' hostages to the world/ 
 either in affection or dependence upon its enjoyment, which could 
 now draw me back from any sacrifice. I was free ; free to give 
 my heart to Him, my time and my labour to my family. 
 
 So, doubtless, the prospect of a life of incessant work and care 
 was lightened of half its trial. If I had ever indulged the hope, 
 or been tempted by the prospect of happiness in married life, it 
 would have been far more trying to look forward to years of toil
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 171 
 
 and privation, carrying me, probably without rest, to the time 
 when labour would cease, because the power of labour would be 
 over. But owing, I suppose, to my own want of attraction, and 
 the fastidious taste which could never meet with the perfection of 
 which it sometimes dreamt, I had reached the age of eight-and- 
 twenty, not only without having had the opportunity of marriage, 
 but without having seen a single person who, I felt, could make 
 me happy in such a life. Joanna was always falling in love, and 
 had several times been on the verge of an engagement, at least, 
 according to her own account. Vaughan was frightening us 
 continually with visions of an imprudent marriage ; even Regi- 
 nald had his decided preference and fixed intentions. I was 
 sure I must be very cold-hearted, but I certainly had not the 
 power of seeing what others saw, or feeling what others felt. 
 1 had met with several excellent, superior men ; if they had paid 
 me attention, I daresay I might have been flattered, and fallen 
 in love with them ; but as they did not, I was quite willing that 
 they should devote themselves to other persons, and always re- 
 joiced when the fact of their marriage enabled me to convert 
 them from ordinary acquaintances, with whom it was necessary 
 to be upon one's guard lest the world might talk, into hearty 
 friends, with whom one might be quite at one's ease. 
 
 But it may be asked, why, when looking forward to such a 
 probable necessity for exertion, did I so entirely set aside any 
 cxpectation of comfort or aid from my aunt Colston ? Surely 
 ^he, as my mother's sister, would be bound to come forward in a 
 case of difficulty. It would be a very natural question. I was 
 almost surprised myself to find how entirely I overlooked aunt 
 Colston in my considerations as to the future. But there is an 
 instinct, truer than reason, which teaches us who will and who 
 will not be our friend in the day of adversity. Aunt Colston had 
 become less and less to us every year. She spent a certain period 
 during the summer at the cottage, and professed to call it her 
 home ; but her health had long been declining, and in the winter 
 the place was pronounced too cold for a residence. My aunt 
 herself liked the cottage, and would willingly have remained 
 there, declaring that by keeping in the house, and taking care to 
 have her room always of an equal temperature, she could manage 
 to get through the cold weather perfectly well. But the idea 
 was always opposed by Horatia, who expressed the greatest alarm 
 whenever it was suggested, and succeeded at last not only in 
 keeping my aunt away during the winter, but also for the greater
 
 i?2 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 part of the year. The seasons which she did spend there were 
 almost always those in which I happened to be from home. If I 
 was on a visit to Caroline, or if, as had once or twice been the 
 case, I was invited to enjoy a summer excursion with Lady Emily 
 Rivers, or, in fact, if I had any engagement, known tolerably long 
 beforehand, I was sure to hear that aunt Colston and Horatia had 
 been at the cottage ; and as certain it was that hints, interfer- 
 ences, and complaints followed. When we did meet, Horatia 
 and I were very good friends. It seemed, indeed, to be one of 
 the great rules of her life never to allow herself to quarrel with 
 any one, whatever cause she might give for quarrelling with her. 
 The suspicious jealousy which she had once so incautiously, as I 
 supposed, expressed, seemed lulled to sleep ; though I could not 
 fail to observe that I did not advance in aunt Colston's estima- 
 tion, and that my intimacy with Lady Emily Rivers especially 
 had by degrees become as frequent a subject of personal censure 
 as the habits of extravagance which were so constantly imputed 
 to the family at large. 
 
 Vanity, sycophancy, discontent with my station in life, ex- 
 clusiveness, — I had lectures upon all these subjects, sometimes 
 in conversation, sometimes in writing. Not, indeed, that I was 
 directly accused ; but I was written and talked at, and, as a 
 natural consequence, I became shy, uncomfortable, and reserved, 
 especially as regarded Lowood ; and my reserve was construed 
 into want of affection, and — the evil increased daily — the 
 separation became wider and wider. 
 
 It was the more provoking because I felt that such a prejudice 
 was strongly against my aunt's natural character. With her keen 
 worldly prudence, she would have been among the first to approve 
 cf a friendship which, whilst it introduced me to the society of 
 persons remarkable for goodness, talent, and refinement, entailed 
 no expensive habits, and interfered with no domestic duties, but 
 gave me just the change and interest which my indifferent health 
 and the pressure of family cares needed. There must be 
 some other influence at work, and it could be no other than 
 Horatia's. For Horatia was now what she had been ten years 
 before; only, I think, a little more brusque, a little more openly 
 interfering and sarcastic ; perhaps, also, a little soured in her 
 views of life. She had had many disappointments, some only 
 guessed by her friends, some openly avowed. She had been 
 twice engaged to be married, but still she remained unmarried. 
 There could not have been any deep regret in either case. The
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 173 
 
 first engagement was broken off on a money question, raised by my 
 aunt, but approved by herself. The second was a hasty offer, as 
 lustily accepted, and ending in a mutual conviction that it was 
 better to separate and seek for happiness elsewhere. The gentle- 
 man knew where to look for his consolation, for he married six 
 weeks afterwards : Horatia was not so fortunate ; but she 
 laughed loudly, and begged her friends to congratulate her upon 
 her fortunate escape. 
 
 She was now eight-and-thirty, dependent upon my aunt, and 
 becoming every day more entirely bound to her. Illness often 
 makes even unselfish people exacting, and aunt Colston, never 
 inclined to yield her own wishes, had been so long humoured by 
 Horatia, that her presence was become an absolute essential of 
 life. If Horatia wished to be married now, she had not the 
 opportunity, for my aunt never went into society, and could 
 receive but few visitors at home. Her life was so monotonous 
 that I often marvelled how Horatia could bear it, but her spirits 
 never failed, and with all her faults I could not help admiring the 
 energy of mind which enabled her to bear up against the daily 
 harass of an exacting disposition, aggravated by a failing con- 
 stitution. All that ever seemed to distui-b her was the idea of 
 any interference with the position which she occupied in my 
 aunt's household. Her jealousy on this point was so great that 
 we scarcely ever ventured to take the most trifling liberty at the 
 cottage. If my aunt was out of the room we never even rang the 
 bell, or asked for a glass of water, without an apology to Horatia, 
 for we knew that she considered it an attention which was her 
 due. ' Very absurd,' we often said it was ; ' but still if she 
 liked it, it did not signify to us.' My mother, I think, was the 
 most fretted by Horatia's manner. It was very galling to a 
 sister to be under this species of subjection, and she was roused 
 once to make some observation about it to aunt Colston. But 
 the answer was decisive. ' Horatia has acted as my child for 
 many years. When a mother is ill, the child must naturally 
 take the mother's place.' 
 
 This title of aunt Colston's child was that on which Horatia 
 prided herself; and I could have felt with her if I could have 
 been sure that the feeling of professed affection was sincere. 
 But there was a parade of duty connected with it which was 
 offensive to me ; and, I daresay also, I was inclined to be 
 severe because it always served as the nail upon which to hang 
 one of the many lectures bestowed upon myself. ' Horatia is
 
 174 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 indeed a true and devoted daughter/ wrote aunt Colston to me, 
 once when she heard that I was to go for a six weeks' tour in 
 Wales with Lady Emily Rivers. ' I could wish that all were 
 like her ; — no selfish seeking of her own pleasure, no neglect of 
 home duties. Her attentions are unwearied ; and I am thank- 
 ful to say that she is contented to remain in the station of 
 usefulness in which she has been placed, and never allows any 
 vain longings for the ultra-refinements of rank and wealth to 
 draw her away from the wholesome occupations of ordinary life.' 
 Very true and very right, doubtless. But what was it to me ? 
 Did it mean that I neglected my domestic duties ? Conscience, 
 with its many, many reproaches, comforted me upon that point. 
 It comforted me when I sat by myself in the back drawing- 
 room in Harley Street, on my eight-and-twentieth birthday, and 
 took a review of my past life. With all its trials and its fears, 
 my home was not now the cause for anxiety which it once had 
 been. If we had been extravagant, we were daily becoming 
 more careful ; if we had been too fond of society, we were daily 
 learning to live to ourselves, and find amusements within our 
 own circle ; if we had as a family — for I can never allow that 
 it was my mother's case — been thoughtless of the welfare of 
 the poor, there were those then living, both at Carsdale and 
 East Side, who would bless our name during life, and, it might 
 be, stand forth as witnesses of our care for them in the Great 
 Day of account. And I felt, I knew, that through the infinite 
 mercy of God, my influence had in some degree been instru- 
 mental to this change. It had come very gradually from slight 
 beginnings ; partly, I had reason to hope, from my own inter- 
 course with Lowood, and the little help I had been enabled to 
 give to Lady Emily in her charities. My mother had worked 
 alone till then, thinking me perhaps too young to engage in 
 such duties ; but when she found that I was willing and anxious 
 to undertake them, she gave me both assistance and advice ; 
 and the sense of companionship roused her own energy, and in 
 the end acted also upon my father. He was a kind-hearted 
 and very generous man, with religious tastes, though not strictly 
 religious principles. He never neglected cases of distress which 
 were brought before him ; and when my mother and I sought 
 them out, his indolence was overcome, and he made an effort 
 to relieve them. Even this was a comfort to me ; it was far 
 better that his leisure moments, which were many, should be 
 spent in devising plans for the relief of suffering, even if they
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 175 
 
 were beyond his power to carry out, than in dreaming over tbe 
 politics of the day, or exerting himself only to mark out a new 
 flower-bed, or pull down an ugly fence. But disappointment 
 deepened this first impulse for good. He was disappointed in 
 Yaughan. He had dwelt upon the thought that his eldest son 
 would distinguish himself at college ; and Vaughan, indolent 
 like himself, lounged away his first terms in the society of a few 
 friends of wealth and rank, spent twice the money which he 
 ought to have done, and then in desperation read so hard that 
 he worked himself into a nervous fever, and barely escaped 
 being plucked. 
 
 And this beginning was the history of the continuation. 
 Vaughan at the bar was what Vaughan had been at college. 
 My father lost all confidence and all hope. If my brother ever 
 managed to support himself, it was all, he said, we were to 
 expect ; and then he sat down in his arm-chair, and brooded 
 over the nothingness of the world's expectations, and might 
 have sunk into useless misanthropy, if the kindness of his dis- 
 position had not from time to time been goaded into exertion. 
 
 I was quick in perceiving the advantage to be gained, and 
 though my mother's tenderness often made her shrink from 
 paining him by telling him of suffering which he could not 
 relieve, 1 felt myself that the pain was more wholesome than 
 the cure. The feelings were not permitted to evaporate in mere 
 sympathy. If he could not give money, he could give time ; 
 and we persuaded him to become a member of some of the 
 Carsdale societies, and to use his interest with his friends when 
 he had no means of doing any good in any other way, and so 
 by degrees his thoughts were directed into a new channel. And 
 then at last came the real change which I was longing to see. 
 
 Present duties made him look back upon the years when 
 they had been omitted, and sorrow for one neglect touched the 
 conscience with regard to others. He said little, but I saw a 
 yearly increasing care for religious duties, greater energy, 
 greater watchfulness ; and though I had observed for some 
 time the fact, to which my mother's eyes were just becoming 
 opened, that his health was failing, I looked forward to the 
 future as regarded him with calm and cheerful hope. My 
 mother herself was less anxious upon worldly matters than for- 
 merly ; her gentle character was gaining strength by trust. I 
 did not fear that her spirit would sink under poverty ; but her 
 affections were intense ; and when I thought what she might
 
 176 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 have to suffer I could only pray that God would support her. 
 Joanna perhaps was my greatest care. She was still so un- 
 disciplined, living for gaiety and admiration, and sighing be- 
 cause, as time went on, and the habits of the family altered, 
 she had less opportunity of receiving them. At one time I had 
 feared that she might influence Hester, who was excitable, 
 eager, impetuous, and often carried away by feeling ; but there 
 were strong, counteracting safeguards, most especially in the 
 general tone of our home circle, and the affection which united 
 the two children, as they were still called, Herbert and Hester. 
 They were so happy in each other, that they had no cause 
 to seek for interest elsewhere. I am afraid I was a little 
 proud of Herbert, because I had, in a measure, educated him 
 myself; I had given him, that is, the stimulus and support 
 which his desultory home studies needed. I had read and 
 studied with him, much more for his sake than my own, and 
 the labour bestowed had been abundantly repaid. If he could 
 only have the same advantages as Vaughan, I felt that he would 
 be all that my father had once expected of his eldest son. And 
 oh ! how difficult it was to keep down the rush of reproachful 
 and bitter regret, as I felt that his prospects for life might be 
 ruined by the faults of others. 
 
 He himself was willing to do anything. He would have 
 worked like Reginald with Mr Blair if it had been required ; 
 but there was no opening for such employment. One out of 
 the family was sufficient, Caroline said ; and I did not in the 
 least desire to contradict her. One out of the family was, in my 
 own opinion, one too many, judging by Reginald, who had be- 
 come a cautious man of business, wrapt up in self, and dreaming 
 of nothing but profit and loss even before he was five-and- 
 twenty. Reginald was the one amongst all my brothers and 
 sisters for whom I had the least sympathy : I often blamed 
 myself for it, and, whenever I was in London, tried to draw him 
 out and make him fond of me. But efforts of that kind seldom 
 succeed. We were totally uncongenial, and had been so from 
 infancy. We never could see things in the same light, or fix 
 our affections upon the same objects ; and he was so shrewd, 1 
 am sure he saw that my manner was forced when I tried to take 
 an interest in the things which interested him. And I am cer- 
 tain, also, that he felt my ophiion, though it had never been ex- 
 pressed. Some persons have a remarkable faculty — an instinct 
 it seems — for discovering what others think of them. Reginald
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 177 
 
 had a great wish to be respected ; and he knew that I did not 
 respect him, and so my presence was galling to him. 
 
 And for myself — it is never well to speak of one's self — yet, in 
 this instance, perhaps it may be allowed ; for if work was to 
 be done, and to me alone was granted the power to do it, it 
 was necessary to look closely into my own character, and in- 
 quire fully into its capabilities. What effect, then, had these 
 ten important years of life had upon myself? They had not 
 altered, but they had deepened and widened my principles and 
 opinions. They had, I hope, enlarged my charily for the 
 faults of others, by affording me a clearer insight into my own : 
 they had dispelled many illusions, disappointed many expecta- 
 tions, given me a calmer, though a sadder, view of life ; but 
 they had also — and this was the great work which I felt they 
 had accomplished, when I stood in thought upon the brink of 
 futurity, and looked into the dark gulf below — they had given 
 me a consciousness of power. 
 
 I was then self-confident, self-trusting. May He who reads 
 the heart forgive me if I deceive myself in repelling the charge. 
 I had, indeed, sometimes been told that I was clever, and I felt 
 that in the eyes of the world I might appear good. I had in- 
 fluence with my family : my father listened to me ; my mother 
 rested upon me ; my brothers and sisters consulted me. I had 
 influence out of my family, at Lowood, at Carsdale, in private 
 circles, even amongst persons whose character and talents en- 
 forced respect. I saw it all plainly. Sometimes I compelled 
 myself to look at it, imagining, with a painful self-mockery, the 
 words of praise, the lavish approbation that might be bestowed 
 upon me ; and then carrying my thoughts on, and on, and on, 
 — beyond life, beyond the grave, beyond the quiet world of rest, 
 till I stood before the judgment-seat of Heaven, and saw my- 
 self ' wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked,' 
 sinking beneath the load of secret sins, and the burden of that 
 delusive praise, the falsity of which I had at times made my 
 own by delighting in it. 
 
 God only knows the awfulness of such moments : God only 
 knows the unspeakable rest of casting away the consciousness 
 of self, the mask of this world"s flattery, and reposing beneath 
 that ' Shadow of a Great Rock in a weary land,' the thought 
 of a Saviour. No ; if there were moments when praise was 
 sweet, and deference was dear, there were others when they 
 were the crushing weight which bowed my spirit to the dust; 
 
 M
 
 178 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 the mocking, haunting phantoms of evil, from which I would 
 have fled into the wilderness, and hidden myself from the sight 
 of all men, to live alone with God and the sorrowful memories 
 of my sins. 
 
 It was not, I trust, self-confidence, in its wrong sense, which 
 enabled me to contemplate the future without dread ; but the 
 feeling, thankfully acknowledged, that He who watched over 
 me, whilst placing trial before me, had also put within my 
 reach the means of meeting and overcoming it. My thoughts, 
 therefore, though they were serious, were not sad ; and when 
 Hester came in and put a stop to them, I doubt if she had the 
 least suspicion from my countenance what their nature had 
 been. 
 
 Her presence acted, as it always did, like a sunbeam. 
 
 Certainly she was wonderfully winning and pretty. It could 
 not have been merely my sisterly partiality which made me look 
 at her with such delight. There was an indefinable charm in 
 the varying expression, the brilliant, yet softened, flash of her 
 gray eye ; so deep in its hue, and shaded with such long dark 
 fringe, that the colour was often mistaken for hazel ; and the 
 small mouth, with its bewitching smile, said so much even when 
 she was silent ; and the dimple on her cheek was so childlike 
 and joyous ; one might have known, before she uttered a word, 
 how light-hearted would be the tones of her voice, and how 
 clear and soft would be the music of her ringing laugh. And 
 she was so exquisitely graceful too,— her little head was placed 
 so beautifully upon her long neck, and her slight figure was so 
 well proportioned, and her movements had such a natural ease, 
 and with it all, she was so quick in comprehension, so simple 
 in her humility, so loving and unselfish, and, even in her faults, 
 so candid and forgiving — if she had been my pupil only, I must 
 have delighted in her ; as my sister — the child whom I had 
 almost nursed from infancy, the special charge entrusted to me 
 by my mother — I prayed that my love might not be idolatry. 
 
 ' Alone, mammy darling ! ' she said ; and she sat down on 
 the arm of my chair, and, putting her arm round my neck, 
 looked up into my face with a half-laughing, half-reproachful 
 smile — ' Oh fie ! you told me you were going to have the chil- 
 dren with you, or I never would have gone away to my own 
 room to write.' 
 
 ' They were here for a few minutes,' I said ; ' and then 
 nurse came for them, to try on some new frocks. But have
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 179 
 
 5011 finished your letter?' ' Not quite; I wanted to know 
 whether you had any message.' ' Only to beg Joanna to write 
 directly, if she thinks there is any reason for our return : or, 
 stay, I think I will add one line myself to my mother.' ' What a 
 dear, little, anxious, troubled spirit you have, my poor mammy ! 
 What put into your head that there could be any reason V 
 ' My mother's letter,' I replied. ' If my father is ill, she will 
 tire herself to dcatli in nursing him.' 
 
 ' I did not sec much about papa's being ill,' said Hester, 
 rather in a tone of alarm as she took up the letter which was 
 lying on the work-table. She glanced through it hastily, and 
 read aloud, ' " He has had a cold, and complains of general 
 weakness ; but I cannot persuade him to see Dr. Blair." Was 
 there nothing more?' ' Nothing,' I replied; and I felt almost 
 ashamed of my fears, though I knew also that the general 
 weakness had been the complaint of months past. 
 
 ' You see, mammy dear,' said Hester, ' that, if you sit alone,, 
 and conjure up fancies, it will undo all the good of the change 
 to London. So we won't think anything more about our home ; 
 but we will put on our bonnets, and go out, and enjoy ourselves, 
 and then we shall do quite well, as Dr Blair says, when he 
 orders a mustard plaister ; ' and she rubbed her hands together, 
 and looked so absurdly like Dr Blair, that, in spite of my anti- 
 mimicry principles, I could not possibly help laughing. 
 
 ' And, moreover,' said Hester, looking at the letter again, 
 ' if we only go in the right direction, and choose the right hours, 
 and do all the other things that ought to be done, we may — 
 who knows ? — we may meet Lady Emily Rivers.' ' Lady 
 Emily !' I exclaimed. ' O Hester ! how absurd ! why, she 
 is at Lowood ! ' 'Is she ? ' Hester pointed to a postscript, 
 which I had overlooked. ' Lady Emily Rivers was here yes- 
 terday, offering to take anything to town for you, though she 
 doubts if she shall be able to see you, as they are only to be 
 away a week.' ' I wonder what brings her to town,' I said ; 
 ' she dislikes London so much.' 
 
 Hester's bright face assumed an air of pompous gravity, and 
 her voice changed into the fullest, most oracular tones, as she 
 replied : ' A woman of business, my dear sister, is never mis- 
 tress of her own time.' ' Hush ! Hester. How naughty 1 
 Caroline will hear you.' ' And recognise our dear brother ? 
 You like to hear me call him brother, don't you ? ' and she 
 laughed, and gave me a kiss. ' I don't like to hear you speak
 
 1 80 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 of him at all : you never do so with any respect.' ' What a 
 libel ! and it was only yesterday that Reginald and I agreed 
 he was worth double any ordinary brother, for that there was 
 substance enough in him to make two at least.' I looked really 
 grave at this, and told her that it was always dangerous to give 
 way to mimicry and idle talking ; and that it must be espe- 
 cially wrong to encourage Reginald in laughing at Mr Blair, for 
 he was under such great obligations to him. She looked sorry, 
 and confessed she had forgotten ; but as she ran away to dress 
 for walking, she put her head in at the door again, and said, 
 seriously : ' You know, mammy, if there is a debtor's side of 
 the account-book, we may be quite sure there is a creditor's 
 too, and some day there will come a day of reckoning.' 
 
 Hester was more right than I chose to acknowledge to her. 
 If Mr Blair was conferring benefits on Reginald, it was certain 
 that he was not doing so at any loss to himself, for I had heard 
 him say several times that Reginald did his own work and 
 that of a clerk besides. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 I DID not really expect to see Lady Emily Rivers ; and I 
 fancied at first I did not wish to see her, because the inter- 
 view would be tantalising ; but, notwithstanding, I looked into 
 every carriage that drove by, hoping she might be in it. We 
 were seldom in London together ; and when we were, our inter- 
 course was very different from what it was in the country, for 
 the circles of our society were far apart. Lady Emily came to 
 stay with her father, and had her own friends and acquaintances, 
 in a sphere much above that of Mr Blair and Harley Street, 
 and, in consequence, I saw but little of her. I never expected, 
 or indeed wished, that it should be otherwise. In a place like 
 London, where it is impossible to know every one, the selection 
 of society is naturally made according to the rank and circum- 
 stances of individuals. Caroline did not visit any of Lady 
 Emily Rivers' friends ; and if she did not, I could not, for I 
 never felt the smallest wish to separate myself from my family. 
 But I confess that I was pleased and happy when I found that 
 Lady Emily made a point of coming to see me whenever we
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 181 
 
 happened to be in London at the same time, and of taking me 
 with her, if possible, to any particularly interesting sight. It 
 was much more agreeable to be together in this way than it 
 would have been to be asked to a grand dinner-party ; and the 
 few hours spent with her had been amongst some of the brightest 
 spots in my London visits. 
 
 Hester was full of prophecies that we should meet Lady 
 Emily that morning. We knew the shops to which"* she was 
 accustomed to go ; and, after paying two or three visits, I was 
 persuaded to walk to a bookseller's, where she was often to be 
 found, upon the chance of her being there. L T pon considera- 
 tion, I began to wish that we might meet either her or Mi- 
 Rivers. I thought they might tell us something about home, 
 and anxiety was still latent in my mind, though Hester's cheer- 
 fulness for the time overpowered it. We were walking leisurely 
 along, through a quiet street, when a pretty little open carriage, 
 drawn by a pair of beautiful ponies, drove by us. A gentle- 
 man and two ladies were in it ; but we scarcely looked at them 
 in our admiration of the horses. Just, however, as we were 
 turning a corner into another street, a sharp cry was heard, 
 followed by an eager rush of people. Some accident had hap- 
 pened, and without consideration, we hastened back a few steps, 
 to see what it was. There was a great crowd, and we were 
 pushed, and jostled, and frightened, and could understand 
 nothing except that one of the ponies had fallen. The gentle- 
 man was standing by it with the servant : the ladies were gone. 
 It seemed that there was no other mischief. Hester looked 
 pale, and I insisted upon her going home, and certainly heartily 
 wished myself there ; for the crowd that had gathered, though 
 perfectly orderly, was exceedingly disagreeable. We tried to 
 advance ; but as we had to pass by the spot which was the centre 
 of attraction, it was very difficult. Hester once or twice begged, 
 in her gentle tones, that she might be allowed to go on ; but no 
 notice was taken of the request ; and, half-laughing at the ab- 
 surdity of our position, yet blaming myself for having so foolishly 
 placed ourselves in it, I begged her to wait patiently. She was 
 too eager, however, for this, and, moreover, a little alarmed at 
 being so unmercifully pressed upon ; and, by continuing her 
 efforts, had made some progress, when the crowd separated, to 
 make way for the gentleman who, having given directions to his 
 servant about the pony, was now at liberty to rejoin his com- 
 panions. They were in a shop near, and as a passage was opened
 
 1 82 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 for him without difficulty, it seemed a good opportunity for 
 setting ourselves free. Hester tried again to soften the heart of 
 a substantial-looking farmer, just in front of her, begging pardon 
 very politely, but might she be allowed to pass ? Her efforts 
 attracted the notice of the stranger, and, seeing that we were 
 ladies, and unprotected, he stopped, made the people move aside, 
 and, suggesting that we had better follow him, took us to the 
 place where his own friends were waiting. It happened to be 
 a shop which I had several times been into with Lady Emily 
 Rivers, and as we sat down to rest for a few minutes, and give 
 time for the crowd to disperse, I took the opportunity of asking 
 whether she had been there that morning. Our new friends 
 turned round rather quickly as the name caught their attention. 
 The gentleman smiled, apologised for the observation, but, — if 
 we were wishing to see Lady Emily, she would be there, pro- 
 bably, almost immediately. They had made an engagement to 
 meet her. His features struck me immediately. The likeness, 
 which I had scarcely thought of noticing before, was easily 
 perceptible. He must be her brother, Mr Beresford, who I 
 knew had lately returned from abroad. Of course we soon made 
 an acquaintance and entered into conversation. He was very 
 much younger, and more decidedly good-looking, than Lady 
 Emily. I suppose I was prejudiced in his favour ; but he cer- 
 tainly took my fancy particularly : there was so much of her 
 ease, and kindness, and simplicity about him. One or two 
 things he said gave me an idea that he was wanting in depth 
 of character ; but it was unfair to judge on- such a very slight 
 acquaintance. The two ladies a little puzzled me at first ; they 
 were a mother and daughter ; but I did not hear their name . 
 The mother was rather stately ; the daughter very pleasing and 
 gentle, but not pretty. They were, in some way, related to, or 
 connected with, Mr Beresford, that I soon found ; and, after 
 about ten minutes' conversation, I decided in my own mind that 
 he must be engaged to the young lady, or wishing to be so, for 
 his attentions were very marked. 
 
 It was rather an amusing little episode in the morning's 
 adventure, especially with the prospect of seeing Lady Emily at 
 its termination ; and, though she delayed longer than I expected; 
 I was easily persuaded to wait. She came at last, alone, hurried, 
 and anxious, having just heard of the accident. Hester and I 
 kept in the background. How had it happened ? was any one 
 hurt ? was Sophia frightened ? would they not all come at once
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 183 
 
 to Giosvenor Square? She was so full of thought for them, that 
 she did not perceive the presence of any other person, till Mr 
 Beresford laughingly begged to introduce two ladies, whose ac- 
 quaintance he had just had the pleasure of making. The cordial, 
 affectionate greeting that followed — how delightful it was in the 
 frigid atmosphere of London ! It made me feel at home again, 
 which I never thoroughly did in Harlcy Street; and when Lady 
 Emily insisted on our going with them to see a splendid private 
 collection of Indian curiosities, I could not make up my mind to 
 refuse. A message was despatched to Harley Street, to say where 
 we were to be found, and Lady Emily's carriage having conveyed 
 the stately lady, Mrs Spencer Grant, who was rather over- 
 fatigued, to her own house, returned again for us. 
 
 I had been absent from East Side more than a month — a 
 long time for the growth of the dear, though trifling, interests 
 of home; and Lady Emily and I had much to say to each other, 
 for East Side and Lowood had many things in common. But 
 it was impossible to talk whilst rattling through the noisy streets : 
 we contented ourselves with making the attempt half-a-dozen 
 times, and as often giving it up, till we found ourselves in the 
 long Indian gallery ; and then, whilst Hester, Miss Grant, and 
 Mr Beresford set forth on a journey of discovery, to see what 
 was most worth seeing, Lady Emily and I walked slowly up and 
 down the room, not absolutely unmindful of the curiosities, but, 
 I fear, more engrossed in our own affairs than in them. 
 
 ' Hester looks quite lovely this morning/ said Lady Emily, 
 her eye following the party as they walked away. ' You say 
 that to please me,' I replied, laughing : ' you know my weak 
 point.' 
 
 ' No, I never flatter any person's weakness, least of all in the 
 question of beauty ; but Hester is charming ; like a rosebud 
 with the dew upon it, as my poetical brother would say. She 
 is so entirely fresh. But tell me how did you hear I was to be 
 in town ? I did not know I was coming up myself till the day 
 before yesterday.' 
 
 ' My mother writes me word of everything, especially every- 
 thing that concerns Lowood,' I replied. ' Oh, yes, I forgot ; I 
 saw them all at East Side, after paying an inspecting visit to 
 my new mistress and my eight girls, at Carsdale ; eight there 
 are now, Sarah, actually admitted, thanks to aunt Sarah and 
 Dr Blair. 
 
 ' I always thought Dr Blair a very kind-hearted man,' I said.
 
 1 84 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 Decidedly sensible,' observed Lady Emily, with a merry 
 laugh ; ' he is so captivated with the last little housemaid we 
 have sent him from the school, that he insists upon giving us 
 rive guineas a year for the next five years ; and aunt Sarah's 
 five makes ten ; so the eighth girl was duly elected last 
 Thursday. But 1 really must not begin talking about the 
 school, or I shall never stop. I want to say something more 
 about your own concerns. When do you go back ?' ' When I 
 am sent for,' I replied ; ' unless I take fright, and set off sud- 
 denly. To confess the truth, I am not quite comfortable about 
 my father.' ' He is not looking well,' observed Lady Emily, 
 gravely. ' No, and he has not been well for some time, and 
 my mother now says he is weak. I never like that kind of 
 weakness which comes on no one knows why.' 
 
 Lady Emily looked still more thoughtful, and said, ' Mr 
 Rivers remarked to me, the other day, that he was altered ; 
 but you should try and get him away from East Side ; make 
 him come up to London, and stay with your sister, and have 
 advice.' ' Yes, if one could ; but — there are a great many 
 " buts " in the world;' and I sighed involuntarily. 'And a 
 special number at East Side, I am afraid,' said Lady Emily. 
 ' I wish I could help you, Sarah, dear.' 
 
 ' I don't know that we have more " buts " than the rest of the 
 world,' I replied ; ' only one goes on thinking sometimes, and 
 you know I am eight-and-twenty to-day; so I am bound to 
 think, for I am growing old.' ' Eight-and-twenty ! are you 
 indeed? How time flies! It must be more than fourteen 
 years ago since you and I met in Carsdale church : how well 
 1 remember the day ! ' ' And since you talked to me in aunt 
 Sarah's little back -parlour,' I said. ' And since I made 
 acquaintance with aunt Sarah,' continued Lady Emily : ' that 
 was a memorable day for me.' 
 
 I did not venture to pursue the subject ; something rose up 
 in my throat, and nearly choked me. Lately I had felt as if I 
 could scarcely bear to talk of aunt Sarah. ' She is looking 
 wonderfully well,' continued Lady Emily; and then she glanced 
 at me, and I felt that tears gathered in my eyes. Lady Emily 
 pressed my hand affectionately. ' You must not forestall 
 sorrow, dear child,' she said. ' Aunt Sarah may yet be spared 
 to us for years.' ' Yes, 1 know it ; I do not forestall sorrow 
 generally, I hope ; but one cannot shut one's eyes to facts, and 
 one care brings another, and change must come.' ' Yes, to all
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 185 
 
 families,' said Lady Emily ; ' that is one thing which makes 
 single life more sad than married life. The first break-up of 
 home, when people marry, comes happily and hopefully ; when 
 they are unmarried, it is the one long sorrow of life.' ' And so 
 much the better, as aunt Sarah would say/ I replied, forcing 
 myself to smile ; ' the fewer tics to this world the better.' 
 
 ' If one can bear to think so ; but you will bear it, Sarah, for 
 you have learnt to loosen them early.' 
 
 ' I cannot venture to say,' I replied. ' It is very well to sit 
 down and think beforehand how one shall act and how strong- 
 minded one shall be ; but I suspect it will be very different 
 when the trial actually comes. Besides, I have ties, nearer 
 and dearer, I sometimes think, than they ought to be ; or at 
 least making me more anxious than they ought. My mother 
 is so very unable to bear up against sorrow ; and the children, 
 — my own two children,' I added, with a smile, — ' Herbert and 
 Hester, — it is impossible not to think of what their future 
 may be.' 
 
 'They will be sure to do well,' said Lady Emily, 'brought up 
 as they have been.' ' They promise to do well,' I answered ; 
 ' but I am faint-hearted enough to shrink from the prospect of 
 suffering for them, though I think I could bear it for myself. 
 Hester, especially, does not look fitted to bear the roughnesses 
 of the world, does she ? ' ' No, indeed ; less so than most 
 people, — less than my cousin, Sophy Grant, for instance ; ' and 
 Lady Emily looked towards the farther end of the room, where 
 Hester and her new friends were together. Miss Grant and 
 Mr Beresford were talking with some animation ; I fancied 
 they were having a mock quarrel. Hester stood by with a 
 smile of amusement upon her lips. 
 
 ' They always carry on that kind of bantering conversation,' 
 observed Lady Emily ; ' I wish they would turn it into some- 
 thing more serious.' ' Mr Beresford seems inclined to do so,' 
 I said, — and then I felt myself blush, with the consciousness of 
 having made a thoughtless observation. But Lady Emily was 
 very unreserved upon the subject. ' They were not,' she said, 
 ' actually engaged ; but it was quite evident they liked each 
 other, and it would be a very desirable connection. They were 
 distantly related, and family, and estates, and all worldly 
 circumstances suited. It would be a marriage approved on 
 all sides. Not that any of those things would weigh with me,' 
 continued Lady Emily, ' if I did not think them suited. But I
 
 1 86 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 really do believe they would do each other good. Sophy ig 
 the best and steadiest little creature in the world, and would 
 give him just the firmness he wants ; and she is an immense 
 admirer of genius, which he certainly possesses ; so one should 
 have reason to hope that the two halves would make a perfect 
 whole. I only wish she was rather prettier ; he has such an 
 intense admiration of beauty ; and it makes him a little — I 
 must own the truth, though I am so fond of him— a very little 
 fickle.' 
 
 I was amused at this information, which gave me a new sub- 
 ject of thought ; and I laughed, and told Lady Emily that, as 
 she had let me into her confidence, I should expect to be kept 
 fully informed of the progress made. ' Oh ! you will judge for 
 yourself,' was the reply; ' they are both going to stay with us. 
 My brother has been promising us a visit for the last ten 
 months, ever since he came from abroad, where he has been 
 living with an uncle for I cannot tell how many years. We 
 have tempted him at last with the hope of meeting Sophy ; and 
 indeed, I came up to London on purpose to chaperone her to 
 Lowood, Mrs Grant not being able to accompany her. But 
 come, we really must not spend all our time in talking : I shall 
 be closely cross-questioned as to all I have seen when I return 
 home.' We walked round to the different cabinets, and were 
 soon joined by the rest of the party. I thought Miss Grant 
 particularly pleasing ; her good sense and information were 
 shown so very simply, and Hester, I could see, was strongly 
 inclined to make friends with her, — showing her inclination, 
 however, by teasing her rather unmercifully with questions, 
 which brought out all she knew. I thought Mr Beresford must 
 be struck with Miss Grant's superiority to the generality of 
 young ladies of her age ; and he certainly listened to all that 
 went on very attentively. 
 
 It was a mixture of curiosity~and real interest which made 
 me watch them so much ; but the occupation of my thoughts 
 was certainly good for me ; it prevented me from becoming 
 morbidly fanciful about home.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AN hour was gone before I could have imagined it possible. 
 Lady Emily insisted upon taking us round by Harley 
 Street. She was determined, she said, to have as much of me 
 as she could, for she probably should not see me again whilst 
 she was in London, every day having its engagement. ' But 
 we shall be together again, very soon, at Lowood, I hope,' she 
 said, as we parted. ' I am sure you cannot be spared much 
 longer from home.' ' And you must return whilst I am there,' 
 added Miss Grant, addressing me, but looking at Hester. 1 
 could scarcely restrain a smile at the quickness with which the 
 favourable impression had mutually been formed. Hester 
 looked delighted, and they shook hands like the truest and 
 oldest friends ; and Mr Beresford shook hands also, and hoped 
 to have the pleasure of meeting us again. 
 
 We found Caroline unusually disturbed in mind. Mr Blair 
 had asked some gentlemen to dinner unexpectedly ; and every 
 mistress of a house knows how perplexing and irritating such a 
 circumstance is, where sufficient time for preparation has not 
 been given. 
 
 She scarcely asked any questions about our proceedings, and 
 was annoyed because one of us had not remained at home to go 
 with the children into the park. It was rather hard for them, 
 she said, on a birthday, not to have some special pleasure. It 
 did not strike me at the moment why she did not go herself. I 
 scarcely know how it was, indeed, but it seldom entered my 
 head that she could put herself out of her way for the children ; 
 and yet she always talked eagerly about them and their 
 pleasures. I went to my room, reproaching myself for selfish- 
 ness. 
 
 Hester came to me before I was dressed for dinner, full of 
 the pleasure of the morning. Her new friend was really charm- 
 ing, — so extremely clever, and so good-natured, and warm- 
 hearted, and Mr Beresford admired her, she was sure. He 
 had talked indeed little, except in that jesting way ; but he had 
 listened most attentively whenever Miss Grant was speaking. 
 She was enchanted at the prospect of their being at Lowood, 
 for Miss Grant knew all about us, and had said that Lady Emily 
 had promised her some pleasant acquaintances when she went
 
 ifl8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 there. ' And that may — I think it may — have meant me as 
 well as you, don't you, Sarah ? ' she added, a slight blush tinge- 
 ing her transparent complexion. I could not help contrasting 
 our appearance as we stood, side by side, before the large glass, 
 and thinking how singularly unconscious she was of her own 
 attractions. But I allowed her to put me first, as she always 
 did ; indeed it would have been useless to try and make it 
 otherwise. She was so fond of me that I really believe she saw 
 beauty in me. 
 
 We dined rather later than usual, for Mr Blair was particu- 
 larly engaged, and Caroline wished to give the cook sufficient 
 time. I sat in my room reading and thinking after Hester left 
 me. The incidents of the day had cheered me, and I was not 
 inclined for any mournful prophecies. My last impression was 
 of Hester's bright, loving face, and Lady Emily's words that she 
 must do well in life. I hoped and thought that after all it 
 might be so. She might marry happily, and so my anxiety 
 about her would be at an end ; and then I smiled at my own 
 inconsistency, — at the acknowledgment, which I thus uncon- 
 sciously made, that married life was happier than single. Yet 
 I did not know, upon consideration, that I was inconsistent. I 
 had never said to myself or to others that either state was in 
 itself happier or better than the other, — but only happier or 
 better as God appointed it for individuals ; and it might be, 
 as regarded Hester, that marriage would be a good. She 
 was always learning and trusting, and subject to impulses from 
 without. Marriage might give to her what Lady Emily had 
 said it would give to Mr Beresford, — firmness. But whom 
 could she marry ? whom should I like her to marry ? Persons 
 long past the thought of such an event for themselves will dwell 
 upon it for those they love. But it is not good or wise. I 
 went on thinking for a long time, till the old cloud of care came 
 back, and just then arrived the letters of the evening post. 
 
 A note in my uncle Ralph's handwriting ! I tore it open. 
 
 ' My dear Niece, — I shall be in Harlcy Street at half-past 
 eight precisely, and shall hope to find you prepared, according 
 to notice. — Your affectionate Uncle, Ralph Mortimer.' 
 
 What a most perplexing little document ! I ran down-stairs 
 to Caroline. She was in the drawing-room waiting the arrival 
 of her guests. Her usual equanimity was restored — -and she 
 took the note without observation — read it, and said coolly, 'He
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 189 
 
 is coming to carry you back with him.' ' Yes. I guessed that ; 
 but why ?' ' There was the opportunity for an escort, and they 
 did not like to lose it,' said Caroline. So it might be, certainly; 
 but I was not satisfied. It was a London post-mark. Uncle 
 Ralph, then, was in London ; he must have come up yesterday. 
 1 thought it very strange my mother had not given us warning ; 
 and who did the ' you ' mean ? Was Hester included ? and 
 when were we to go ? I could not help being a little provoked 
 with Caroline, she was so extremely quiet. I knew that the 
 circumstance could not be much consequence to her ; yet she 
 saw I was worried, and she might have given me a little 
 sympathy. 
 
 I left her and went to Hester. Strange to say, she first put 
 a thought into my head which frightened me. There must be 
 something wrong at home, she said. This sudden recall was 
 so unlike my mother's consideration. I remember — how indeed 
 could I ever forget ? — the horrible feeling of dread which came 
 over me; how I reasoned, and argued against it; how I scolded 
 Hester for looking pale ; how I laughed at the spectre we had 
 conjured up ; and yet, down, down in the depths of my heart 
 how the heavy load remained. 
 
 If it had been any person but uncle Ralph I might have cared 
 less ; but the old childish fear still lingered. Hester said we 
 ought to think of packing ; but there was no time before dinner ; 
 and it seemed foolish to trouble ourselves about it till we knew 
 more. I could not bear the thought of the party ; it seemed 
 as if I must sit alone and think ; but I made Hester go down 
 into the drawing-room, and told her I would follow. Soon 
 afterwards, however, Reginald came to my room, and Vaughan 
 with him. Vaughan was going to dine in Harley Street, and 
 had Come, he said, to have a gossip with me before dinner. I 
 was glad to think he could have any pleasure in being with me, 
 and let him rattle on with Reginald as they liked. They did 
 not in the least share my anxiety. Uncle Ralph, they declared, 
 was thinking he was writing to a clerk, and took it for granted 
 I should do as I was told, without wanting explanations. As 
 for dreading the sight of him, they had passed beyond that age 
 now, they were happy to say ; and then they rambled off to a 
 number of absurd reminiscences of their early days, and 
 Reginald's horror of his bank visits. 
 
 ' If you are going home to-morrow, Sarah,' said Reginald, 
 ' I venture to say that you have aunt Colston and Horatia to
 
 rgo THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 
 
 travel with you.' 'Aunt Colston is at Hastings/ I said. 'No, 
 begging your pardon, she is in London. I saw a note from 
 her to Mr Blair only this afternoon, mentioning that she was 
 passing through London, on her way to Carsdale. There will 
 be a treat for you ! ' ' Our venerated and venerable uncle, and 
 our respected and most respectable aunt/ exclaimed Vaughan, 
 ' what a pity they don't make a match.' ' My dear Vaughan/ 
 1 said, trying to keep my countenance, ' I really will not have 
 you talk so ; it makes me think you neither venerable nor re- 
 spectable.' ' Besides, it is doing uncle Ralph such injustice, in 
 the way of taste/ observed Reginald. ' If you had said our 
 cousin Horatia, instead of our aunt Colston, it would have been 
 nearer the mark.' 
 
 Vaughan actually shouted with delight at the idea. ' Well ! 
 I would give something to see that ! Horatia Gray and uncle 
 Ralph ! Wouldn't I go to the wedding ! ' ' Young Celadon 
 and his Amelia ! a matchless pair !' said Reginald, not allow- 
 ing a muscle of his countenance to move. 
 
 ' I really wish you would not put such absurd notions into 
 one's head, Reginald/ I said ; ' they are always remembered 
 at some awkward moment, and then one is sure to do or say 
 something one ought not.' ' I don't see why it is absurd/ 
 replied Reginald, as he took up the note, and examined it care- 
 fully ; and then, drawing out a pocket-book, looked at a me- 
 morandum in it : — ' 33 Mortimer St. Mrs Montague Colston's 
 address. Now, then' — and he pointed to my uncle's date — 
 ' 33 Mortimer St. Mr Ralph Mortimer's address — corrobora- 
 tive evidence at least.' 
 
 Just for the moment I was startled ; but it was nonsense to 
 build so weighty a belief upon such a trifle. I merely said that 
 ' nothing could be more natural than that the same business 
 should have brought them both to town, and that they should 
 have met in the same house.' 
 
 ' Well ! well ! we shall see/ answered Reginald, looking 
 very oracular. ' People who live in London town see more 
 than people who live in country town, that 's all.' ' Come, 
 Sarah, we will have a bet upon the subject/ said Vaughan — 
 ' five shillings.' ' To be paid in white gloves on the wedding 
 day/ continued Reginald. I laughed, and told them I never laid 
 bets, and if I did, it should not be upon so senseless a subject; 
 and just then the dinner-bell rang, and we went down-stairs. 
 
 It was a very senseless subject, certainly — fur too senseless
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 191 
 
 to be remembered for ten minutes together ; yet it quite fast- 
 ened itself upon me. I do not know that I am particularly 
 superstitious ; but uncle Ralph and Horatia had always seemed 
 to me my evil geniuses. To have their names coupled, even in 
 jest, was odious to me. But it was in jest undoubtedly ; for 
 what sympathy or congeniality could there be between a merry, 
 dashing, independent mannered woman, like Horatia, and a 
 prim, soft-spoken gentleman of the old school like my uncle ? 
 I scolded myself for my folly, and began to talk diligently tu 
 my next neighbour ; but, although I succeeded at last in ban- 
 ishing Reginald's ludicrous idea, I did not banish the painful 
 impression of impending evil. Time went on, and the dinner 
 went on also — fish and soup and entremets, and the ' piece de 
 resistance] only equalled in massiveness by the figure of Mr 
 Blair behind it ; and there was much talking of bank-stock, 
 and consols, and lucky speculations, with a few observations 
 upon politics, as connected with mercantile safety. The gentle- 
 men on each side of me, after paying me the necessary atten- 
 tions, joined in the whirl of conversation, and I was left to eat, 
 to think, to dream. 
 
 It did appear to me a dream— those mingled voices, those 
 words of deepest interest, those eager faces round the long 
 table, with the glittering silver and glass, and the dazzling 
 lights. Were they dreaming, or was I ? Were we beings of 
 one world, or of two ? Had the things I saw about me any 
 value, or were they mere phantasms, tinsel, delusions ? What 
 was this existence about which all were so eager ? — what did it 
 mean ? — what was its object ? I thought till my senses grew 
 dizzy ; and then another idea possessed me — one which had 
 often pressed upon me — that we all must have a certain num- 
 ber of words to say in our lives, and that every time we spoke 
 the number grew less ; and I listened to the quick conversation 
 with a feeling of terror, as if the very accents of our lips were 
 the summons to eternity. 
 
 There was a peculiarly sharp ringing clock in the house ; it 
 marked the hours with chimes. It was at some distance from 
 the dining,room, but I heard its clear sounds above all the 
 tumult of voices. Half-past eight ! Caroline remarked the 
 time. I heard her tell one of the servants to light the candles 
 in the drawing-room, and when Mr Mortimer arrived to say 
 she would be with him immediately. And the conversation 
 continued as before, and the knock and the ring came, and
 
 193 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 some one went up-stairs, and Caroline looked at me and smiled, 
 and said, ' Shall we go, Sarah?' And we walked out of the 
 room to all appearance unconcernedly. 
 
 Uncle Ralph was standing with his back to the door of the 
 drawing-room ; he turned round slowly. His bland smile was 
 there, yet his look was strange. 
 
 ' I — I ' it was almost the first time in his life we had ever 
 
 heard him hesitate. ' I hope you are ready/ and he looked at 
 our evening dresses with some surprise. ' Ready for to-mor- 
 row, if you wish it,' said Caroline. ' But can't they be spared 
 longer?' 
 
 My uncle's eye glanced quickly from one to the other. I 
 saw there was a mystery, but before I could speak, Hester had 
 caught his arm, and entreated to be told the worst. 
 
 ' Not the worst, my dear niece. Sit down, compose your- 
 self.' He placed her on the sofa. The moments seemed ages. 
 
 'Is anything the matter at East Side?' asked Caroline, 
 deliberately. ' Nothing material — nothing, we hope, material ; 
 but surely Joanna has written.' ' Oh no, no ; if you would 
 only tell us ! only put us out of suspense ! ' I exclaimed ; and 
 Hester clasped her hands tightly together, and her face became 
 of a deadly paleness. ' There has been a mistake,' said my 
 uncle. ' Joanna told me she had enclosed a note for you in 
 one she wrote to Miss Gray, which I gave her this morning. 
 Miss Gray was to send it to you.' ' But what have you to 
 tell? Is my father ill?' 
 
 It was Caroline's question, for I literally could not find words 
 to utter. 
 
 ' He has had a severe attack undoubtedly, arising, the doctors 
 say, from determination of blood to the head. We must hope, 
 though, that he will rally ; for such attacks often pass off.' 
 
 ' And my sisters are to go down to-night ?' said Caroline, with 
 her wonted quick, cool thought, seeing the whole case in a mo- 
 ment. ' To-night, by the mail, I hoped. I came up by the 
 mail last r.ight ; having business to transact for Mrs Colston 
 to-day, the arrangement was a convenient one.' I sat down by 
 Hester, and put my arm round her, and whispered to her to 
 rouse herself, and, turning to my uncle, forced myself to ask 
 the question I dreaded to have answered. 'Was my father in 
 sense?' 'Not yet,' was the reply; 'but the doctors had said, 
 there was every prospect of amendment.' The words had hope 
 in them for every one else ; they had none for me. ' Come,.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 193 
 
 Hester,' I said, 'wc must go up-stairs and pack ;' and she fol- 
 lowed me like a child. 
 
 We collected our things, and arranged them in haste. Daw- 
 son, Caroline's maid, helped us. Caroline herself remained 
 down-stairs to make tea for my uncle. Now and then we made 
 some observations about the packing, or left necessary messages 
 and orders. Hester cried bitterly ; but I had no tears, only 
 the heavy, heavy weight upon my brain, which made me feel 
 as if the least effort at thought was impossible. 
 
 We did not go again into the drawing-room. When our 
 trunks were ready we went into the nursery, and kissed the 
 children, and then wc sat down in my bed-room till the hackney- 
 coach which had been ordered should arrive. I thought how 
 Hester would bear the journey, and I sent Dawson to ask 
 Caroline if she might have some biscuits put up for her, and if 
 she would lend her a warm shawl ; there was a little relief in 
 thinking about her comfort, and something of the horrible weight 
 for the moment passed away. 
 
 ' The coach is at the door, dears,' said Caroline, entering the 
 room. She was much softened, and her eyes glistened. I 
 kissed her passionately ; I felt as if I must take her, as if I 
 must take them all with me. ' Wc shall hear by to-morrow's 
 post,' said Caroline. ' Reginald and Vaughan will go down if 
 the accounts are not better.' 'And you?' 'I shall wait till 
 you let me know more. I could be no good, I am afraid.' 
 The chill was upon my heart again, and I hurried away. Mr 
 Blair and my brothers were in the hall. Vaughan was very 
 much overcome ; he could scarcely speak. Reginald was care- 
 ful to remind us, if we wrote to him, to direct to the office, 
 and not to Harley Street. We were handed into the coach by 
 Mr Blair, and in another minute we were rattling through the 
 bustling, lighted streets, on our way to the inn where we were 
 to meet the coach. My uncle had taken the precaution to 
 secure our places, which was fortunate, for the coach was very 
 full, and two persons were turned away. The only vacant 
 seat in the inside was occupied by a gentleman, who wrapped 
 himself in a cloak, and hid his face, and slept nearly the whole 
 night. I slept, too, at times, if that can be called sleep which 
 was a maze of waking thoughts, incoherently mingled. I felt 
 that the great trial of my life was near ; and my mind plunged 
 forward desperately into the future, and then, recoiling with 
 terror, found its rest and its safety in prayer. How thankful I 
 
 N
 
 i 9 4 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 was then that I could pray ! — that I had learnt to pray at all 
 moments and under all circumstances. Even in my half-dreamy 
 state, the habit remained as if it were instinct, and I found 
 myself waking from my short and troubled attempts at forget- 
 fulness with the words of the Lord's Prayer filling my mind, 
 and suggesting thoughts of comfort and trust. It was a stormy 
 night ; the wind whistled and howled, and torrents of rain beat 
 against the windows and plashed heavily upon the pavement, 
 as we stopped at the different towns to change horses. We 
 were wet even in passing from the coach to the long, dingy 
 room of the inn, at which we were to remain for about twenty 
 minutes and have coffee and refreshments. A supper was pre- 
 pared there. The other passengers sat down at the table, and 
 ate and drank heartily ; and there was an overpowering smell of 
 brandy and water, and a good deal of vulgar talking, and laughing, 
 and scolding the waiter j and Hester looked distressed, and begged 
 that we might go into a room by ourselves ; but there was no 
 fire in any other apartment, and I was afraid that her dress 
 was damp, so I made her stand by the fire, and we ordered 
 some coffee ; and my uncle said it was comfortable and pleasant, 
 and then Hester put down her cup, and the tears came faster 
 than ever. We were in the coach again, hurrying on, by dark, 
 heavy masses of trees, which gave a deeper darkness to the 
 night ; and long lines of hedges, scarcely to be traced, except 
 when a faint gleam from the crescent moon struggled through 
 the stormy clouds ; and by lone, still cottages, and villages and 
 towns, solemn and death-like ; and when the cold, blue light 
 of morning gleamed in the far horizon, and the forms of the 
 trees and hedges were distinguished by a misty outline, and the 
 sharp, chill wind made us draw our cloaks about us, I saw that 
 we were within about twelve miles of Carsdale. I thought then 
 that I must watch every turn in the road, and count the mile- 
 stones, and satisfy my eagerness by anticipation ; but the weari- 
 ness of the long night won the victory, and when, at length, we 
 drove into Carsdale, I had forgotten all my cares in overpower- 
 ing sleep. 
 
 My uncle had suggested that we should go to his house and 
 have breakfast, and drive over to East Side afterwards ; but 
 this I would not hear of: a carriage was therefore ordered for 
 us immediately. One ray of comfort met us in the information 
 given by the waiter at the ' Red Lion,' where the coach stopped. 
 He had heard the previous evening, that Captain Mortimer was
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 195 
 
 not worse. This my uncle declared was all that we could expect, 
 and he cast off his look of care in consequence. 
 
 ' The heavy trunk must be sent over by the carrier,' he said, 
 as we stepped into the post-chaise, which was the principal 
 vehicle then for hire in Carsdale. ' Yes, sir, you may depend 
 upon it.' ' And send word to the Bank that I am returned,' 
 continued my uncle. * Stay, I think I had better write a note ; ' 
 and he went back again into the inn, and wrote a message to 
 his clerk, whilst we waited, leaning back in the carriage, and 
 trying to hide ourselves from the gaze of the few passers-by 
 who were to be seen at that early hour in the streets. 
 
 ' Will he never come ? ' said Hester to me, in a hollow voice. 
 She looked worn out with fatigue. ' Patience,' was my answer; 
 but I could scarcely feel patient. Perhaps I did him injustice, 
 and his business really was important. But he came at last, 
 and was quite in spirits, as he said himself, when he patted 
 Hester on the shoulder, and told her she must cheer up, or they 
 would think she was sorry to leave London. He talked the 
 whole way, and principally about aunt Colston and Horatia, 
 but I scarcely knew a word he said, and did not remember the 
 subject till afterwards. 
 
 We drove up to the house through the fields, which my father 
 had taken so much trouble to plant, — which, perhaps, he would 
 never see again. The place looked very quiet and lonely ; the 
 storm was over, and the sunshine was flickering upon the lawn, 
 and making the raindrops glitter ; and the mists were floating 
 heavily away, discovering the beautiful wooded country beyond 
 Carsdale, with the silvery line of the river winding through the 
 valley. But it was a beauty I could not feel. We passed the 
 iron gate, which swung to with a melancholy sound, and our 
 approach was announced by the bark of the old house-dog in 
 his kennel, silenced directly by the gardener in an under-voice. 
 Then, as we drew near, the carriage stopped at a little distance 
 from the house, because there was a pole placed across the road 
 to prevent it from going farther. 
 
 I looked up at the front of the house ; all the blinds were 
 down, but that might well be so early in the morning. ' We 
 will go round to the back-door,' said Hester ; and we stole 
 round as noiselessly as possible, and made our way into the 
 kitchen. Nurse was there preparing some arrow-root over the 
 fire. The saucepan fell to the ground as she saw us. ' Miss 
 Sarah ! Miss Hester ! thank heaven you are come.' ' Is he a
 
 196 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 great deal worse ? — tell us all at once,' we exclaimed. ' He has 
 had another fit,' was the reply. My uncle turned away and 
 left us. Hester seemed quite overwhelmed ; for myself, after 
 the first sharp pang, I did not know that I felt anything. I 
 made nurse give us all the details. The evening before he had 
 seemed better, and the doctor had spoken more cheerfully ; but 
 about three hours ago another fit had come on. He had rallied 
 again, but a third attack they said would carry him off. 
 
 Carry him off ! — where ? I thanked God there was no terror 
 in the question. I asked for my mother. My anxiety was 
 almost greater for her than for him. She would not leave him, 
 nurse said. Just then she was lying down in his room, and 
 Joanna was with him. He was not sensible. He had not been 
 sensible from the beginning, except for a short time the day 
 before, when he had asked for us, and wished we were at home. 
 The callous feeling was gone. I burst into tears, and then I 
 was better. 
 
 Hester wished to see him at once ; but I insisted upon her 
 going to bed. We could not disturb my mother when rest was 
 so precious to her, and, from all accounts, there was no imme- 
 diate cause for alarm. I said, also, that I would lie down my- 
 self, and that nurse should get us some breakfast. It did not 
 seem that it would be possible either to sleep or eat ; but one 
 thing was certain, that if we did not, we should be utterly use- 
 less. Hester fortunately was obedient to me now as in the 
 days of her childhood. If it had not been so, I should scarcely 
 have persuaded her to do what was absolutely necessary for her 
 health ; but she consented, upon the promise of being called if 
 there was the slightest change. 
 
 I waited for more than an hour, trying to sleep, and then I 
 became so nervous that I could not bear to be alone, and 
 stealing gently through Hester's room, I went down-stairs to my 
 father's chamber. My mother and Joanna were standing by 
 the bed, both looking fearfully haggard, and my mother's eye 
 had a fixed stare, which shocked me far more than illness. Joanna 
 kissed me, and cried, and said she was very thankful I was 
 come. My mother suffered me to kiss her, but she did not 
 speak. It was not strange to me. One glance at the wreck 
 of a few hours almost paralysed me. ' He was better yester- 
 day,' said Joanna. I could make no answer. Death was 
 written on every feature. 
 
 It would be useless and most painful to recall all the trying
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 197 
 
 scenes of those next few hours. Though years have since passed 
 away, the keenness of their anguish has outlived time and 
 change, sorrows and joys. I dare not go over them in detail. 
 My father never woke to consciousness again. He did not 
 suffer — so at least we were assured by those who attended him 
 — but it was very terrible to watch the appearance of agony. 
 It was far too much for my mother ; but she would remain with 
 him, and we could not persuade her to take rest or food. He 
 lingered all that day, growing gradually weaker and weaker. 
 About twelve o'clock, Joanna went to her room, utterly ex- 
 hausted, and I wrote the necessary letters, and then made 
 Hester take my place, and went myself into the garden, and 
 even tried to lie down again and sleep. One thing I had long 
 before determined upon, that when I should be called upon to 
 take part in such scenes of trial, I would never allow myself to 
 add to them by self-neglect. It was not sleep that I had, but 
 it was something like it, and it enabled me to go to Joanna 
 afterwards, and give her comfort, and receive comfort in return. 
 The great burden had fallen upon her, for Herbert was away, 
 on a visit to a friend ; and she, so it seemed, was the least able 
 to bear it. The first attack, she told me, was sudden, as he 
 was sitting, after dinner, the evening before the last. My 
 mother had sent instantly for my uncle, and settled that he 
 should go up to London for us, by that night's mail ; but my 
 father was somewhat recovered before he started, and Dr Blair 
 had given a more favourable report. In the hurry of the 
 moment Joanna had forgotten to put up the note which was to 
 have been sent to us the next morning, to tell us all that had 
 happened. My uncle, Joanna said, had done all that was 
 absolutely necessary ; but he had insisted upon his business 
 and his engagements so strongly, that if he had not actually 
 intended to go to town, she did not think they could have asked 
 him to put himself out of his way. He it was who had per- 
 suaded my mother not to sent for Vaughan, and Reginald, and 
 Caroline, saying, that the illness was most probably merely 
 temporary ; but she had herself written to Herbert, and had no 
 doubt that he would return immediately. My mother, she 
 added, had been very sanguine at first, but the second attack 
 had completely upset her ; she had not been at all like herself 
 since. 
 
 ' And my father ' — it was the question I was most anxious 
 to have answered — ' in his intervals of consciousness, did he
 
 1 98 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 know his own state ? ' ' Yes, perfectly/ Joanna said ; ' his 
 articulation was imperfect, but his reason was quite clear. My 
 mother had read prayers to him, and he had made her under- 
 stand that he should like to see Mr Miller, the clergyman of 
 the parish.' ' And did he see him ? ' ' No ; Mr Miller was 
 out when he was sent for, and before he arrived the second 
 attack had come on.' 
 
 And such were the chances of preparation upon a death-bed ! 
 Joanna's next words were the best — the only comfort I could at 
 that moment have desired. < Poor mamma thinks he had a 
 foreboding of illness. Last Sunday was the Communion Sun- 
 day ; and when we all came back, he walked round the garden 
 with her, and said how thankful he was to have had the oppor- 
 tunity of going, and how differently he thought about that, and 
 about all things of the kind now, to what he used to do. And 
 then she said he would talk about the future ; and he told her 
 he meant to have some arrangements made with uncle Ralph, 
 which he hoped would make us all more independent, if any- 
 thing happened to him. Mamma was a little sad after the con- 
 versation, and Herbert and I remarked it, but she assured us 
 there was nothing more than usual to make her so ; and papa 
 himself was quite cheerful.' 
 
 I was relieved to hear that ; whatever troubles might be in 
 store for us, I was thankful that he should be spared the pain 
 of dwelling upon them. 
 
 Herbert came in the course of the morning. It was a great 
 comfort to have him with us. Young though he was, he had 
 the thought and consideration of a man. My mother, too, was 
 a little roused by seeing him ; she had learnt lately to depend 
 a good deal upon him, and he could do more with her than 
 almost any one. He persuaded her to walk once round the 
 garden with him, but she would not talk. Uncle Ralph was 
 backwards and forwards once or twice during the day, but he 
 was always in a hurry. He told us that we ought to write to 
 aunt Colston and Horatia, and hasten their coming, for they 
 were to return almost immediately to the cottage. Joanna and 
 Hester objected strongly, and said that it would worry my 
 mother ; but she was not in a state to be disturbed by any 
 person's presence or absence, and I was anxious to avoid any- 
 thing like the appearance of a slight : so I wrote a note to my 
 aunt myself, and, as it was rather late, sent Herbert into Cars- 
 dale with it, and told him to go and see aunt Sarah. I longed,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 199 
 
 I cannot say how much, to go with him. One quarter of an 
 hour's conversation with her would have been an inexpressible 
 relief; there were so many, many things which I could have 
 said to her, and to no one else in the world. 
 
 He brought me back a few lines from Miss Cole. Aunt Sarah 
 was very anxious and distressed, and had had a bad night, and 
 could not write herself ; yet there was a line in pencil at the 
 bottom ; ' The God of the fatherless bless my child, and give 
 her comfort : so prays her great-aunt Sarah.' 
 
 We had no regular dinner that day. There was no one to 
 think about it ; but as it grew dusk, and my father was a little 
 less restless, Herbert and I had some coffee together in the 
 drawing-room, and sat there for about half an hour conversing. 
 We spoke very calmly of the future — what our prospects were, 
 and what we should all do. There was nothing we could not 
 talk about, except the one great trial. The most painful sub- 
 jects, — separation, poverty, humiliation, — were all brought for- 
 ward ; we had no fear of distressing each other. He was pre- 
 pared as I was for any difficulties. The obstacles in the way of 
 his education had suggested them long before, and some hints 
 given by my uncle Ralph had confirmed his fear. I was very 
 sorry for him at first, — more so than for any one else, except 
 my mother, — but after a few minutes' conversation, I felt as if 
 there was no cause to grieve. He was so entirely contented, so 
 simply trusting, and with it all so energetic, I felt that a bless- 
 ing must attend him. If we could only save my mother from 
 suffering, all would be well. On one point we were both agreed 
 — that, as far as any authority was left with us, we would no 
 longer have any mysteries. If poverty was our lot, we would 
 face it ; how, we could not foresee, but we were sure that a way 
 would be opened to us. 
 
 These were Herbert's last words of consolation to me, as he 
 rose to go up stairs ; but still he lingered, leaning his head upon 
 the mantelpiece, and I stood by him, with my arm upon his 
 shoulder, wondering that I could feel such confidence in one 
 who, but a few years before, I had myself taught and guided. 
 So we remained for some moments, — silent and listening to 
 silence, — the room, with its deep crimson paper growing darker 
 and darker in the twilight, and only an occasional gleam from 
 the nearly extinct fire, giving form to the furniture. And I bent 
 down and kissed him, and felt the scalding tears which were 
 rolling down his cheek, — and the burden grew heavier upon my
 
 2oo THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 own heart, for what would I not have borne to spare him 
 sorrow ? 
 
 There was a gentle step upon the staircase,- — in the passage, 
 — a pause,— and a soft voice said, ' Sarah.' Herbert and I 
 went to the door. A lamp was burning on a table in the hall : 
 its light fell upon Hester's face. I think she said, ' Come ; ' 
 but our eyes met, and we did not need words. 
 
 He died half an hour afterwards. God supported both him 
 and us. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 YES, my mother was supported : if she had not been, she 
 could not have lived. Those were mournful, horrible 
 days. 
 
 They came, — all of them, — Vaughan, Reginald, Caroline, 
 Mr Blair, Horatia Gray, — all but aunt Colston, who was not 
 strong enough, they said, to bear the trial. They came to show 
 love and respect, and they looked sad, and sometimes shed tears ; 
 and then they walked round the garden, and talked ; and the 
 days were long, and they tried to read, but shut up their books 
 when Hester, or I, or Joanna came into the room. My uncle 
 Ralph was with us a great deal, and advised, and ordered, I 
 dared not ask what ; but Herbert said to me, that, if I would 
 only keep away with my mother, I might trust all to him. So it 
 was all done, — that fearful all, — and Hester and I stole un- 
 noticed into the darkened room day by day, and knelt by the 
 bedside, and prayed in silence, and drawing aside the white 
 covering, looked upon the pale face, rigid in its deep peace, and 
 then gave the kiss which never could be returned, and went 
 away, feeling as if we had never known before how dear we 
 were to each other. 
 
 My mother saw scarcely any one except Herbert and myself. 
 In the morning, and at night, indeed, the others went to kiss 
 her, but she could not bear anything like conversation. Caro- 
 line was bent upon rousing her, and this I knew she could not 
 bear ; Joanna was really unwell, and had not the strength, 
 either of mind or body, to enable her to give comfort ; and I 
 was afraid for Hester to be too much with her ; for she was so
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 201 
 
 young and excitable, that I knew she would suffer afterwards, 
 however she might try to keep up at the time. 
 
 It was better for me, I daresay, to be obliged to do what 1 
 did, though at times the oppression seemed almost more than I 
 could endure. But it was quietness and stillness, and gave me 
 occupation without bodily fatigue. I used to sit in my mother's 
 room nearly all day, reading to myself, or to her, first the psalm 
 and lessons for the day, and then other psalms, or very often 
 chapters from the Book of Job. She used to vex herself that 
 she could not attend ; but I saw that even the sound, the ex- 
 quisite poetry, was, unconsciously, soothing to her ; and it 
 struck me, more than ever, how mercifully the infirmity of 
 human nature has been provided for even in the very language 
 of the Bible. Now and then I wrote a letter, or told her I had 
 received one, but she never asked to see them. Her mind was 
 scarcely conscious of anything that went on externally ; yet she 
 did not repine in the least. The few words she did say expressed 
 the most entire conviction of the mercy which had ordered her 
 trial ; but she was quite stunned by it, and seemed willing to 
 leave everything in our hands, to be settled just as we might think 
 best. 
 
 Occasionally there were terrible bursts of agony, but those 
 were almost better to me than the silent apathy ; — I could 
 calm them by giving her a few drops of laudanum, and then 
 she would beg me to read prayers to her. Once I asked if she 
 would let Mr Miller come to her, but she could not make up 
 her mind to that. She had never talked to him, or to any one, 
 with unreserve ; and I felt sure, in my own mind, that the 
 suffering which had brought her to this state was as much 
 physical as mental. 
 
 Nothing was said about family arrangements all this time ; 
 ■ — nothing at least which I heard. I thought, once or twice, 
 that Caroline seemed inclined to talk to me, but I avoided the 
 subject. One sad week of rest I felt we must and ought to 
 have. 
 
 But the day came at last. It was all over. He was laid to 
 rest in the quiet village churchyard at Hurst, and life without 
 him was to begin. 
 
 I said to Herbert, when we were alone together in the after- 
 noon, that I should like, before any of the general discussions, 
 which must take place, should begin, to have a private conver- 
 sation with my uncle Ralph. I dreaded his mystifying ex-
 
 202 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 planation, and I thought it possible he might still wish to 
 persuade my mother to give up all arrangements to him. We 
 should have no right to interfere with such a plan, if she approved 
 of it, for all my father's property was, we knew, left to her ; but 
 it was certain that our influence would have "Teat weight. 
 Herbert said he would talk to him that evening ; and I felt 
 better, even when this was decided upon, for suspense and un- 
 certainty were making me quite ill. 
 
 My mother was lying down just then. I hoped she was 
 going to sleep, and I made Hester sit with her, whilst I went 
 out a little into the garden. I was afraid of meeting any one, 
 and instead of going across the lawn, I made my escape by the 
 back-door into a shrubbery behind the house, which was not 
 generally frequented because there was no view from it. It 
 had been a favourite resort, however, of my father's, and he 
 had made a moss-house in it, and used to spend many morn- 
 ings there in the summer, reading and writing. The moss- 
 house was very neglected-looking now, for the seats were damp, 
 and the wind had blown a number of dead leaves into it ; but 
 it was quiet, and out of the way ; and when I saw my father's 
 clasp-knife lying on the rough table, it gave me a feeling of 
 satisfaction to be there, as if I was showing my respect for him, 
 by visiting the place he had liked. 
 
 I had been in the moss-house about twenty minutes, when I 
 was annoyed by hearing voices in the shrubbery. I could not 
 exactly make out whose, but I sat up in the darkest corner, and 
 tried to conceal myself behind some straggling branches of 
 clematis, and the persons, whoever they were, went by without 
 noticing me. I fancied they were Caroline, Horatia, and uncle 
 Ralph ; but I was not sure. The thought of them disturbed 
 me very much. I no longer felt alone, and was considering 
 what other place I could find more free from interruption, when 
 my solitude was really broken in upon by the entrance of 
 Horatia Gray. She came in, glancing sharply round, to be 
 sure that nothing else was hidden in the corners, and then, in 
 a tone of loud sympathy, expressed her surprise and regret at 
 finding me there all alone. ' It was so bad for me,' she said ; 
 ' bad in every way ; and they all felt it so much ; they wished 
 so extremely to have me more with them.' 
 
 I had been in attendance upon my mother, I replied ; that was 
 the real reason of my absenting myself; though, certainly, we must 
 all feel at such times that occasional solitude was a great luxury.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 203 
 
 1 Yes, occasional, of course ; but you know, Sarah, it is very 
 much your way to like to live alone ; and really just now, when 
 there is so much to be done and thought of, it will be necessary 
 for all to exert themselves.' 
 
 She looked at me with an expression I could not define, — it 
 seemed partly to be curiosity. ' Perhaps,' I said, ' a little rest 
 and quietness may not be a bad preparation for work.' ' Perhaps 
 not, a little ; and if — if you really are prepared for work.' ' I 
 hope I am,' I said. ' I do not know what I have ever said or 
 done which should give you a notion that I am not prepared.' 
 
 ' Oh, nothing. I did not in the least mean to imply that. 
 Every one knows you are wonderfully energetic. But, as I 
 have learnt from experience,' and her voice became suddenly 
 and almost painfully melancholy, ' in these cases there is so 
 much to be settled, that it is well to rouse one's self at once to 
 what is necessary.' ' I believe I am quite ready,' I said. ' No 
 doubt, to-morroW we shall have much to arrange, but to-day is 
 rather soon.' 
 
 I stood up to go, for I was afraid my mother might be want- 
 ing me ; and, besides, I had an unconquerable dislike to talking 
 about family affairs with Horatia. A stronger will than mine, 
 however, compelled me to remain. 
 
 Horatia touched my arm, and said, half-playfully, ' Sit down, 
 can't you ? just for five minutes. It is not often I see much of 
 you.' I obeyed. ' I must be going back to aunt Colston the 
 day after to-morrow,' continued Horatia ; ' I meant to have 
 gone to-morrow, but I could not make up my mind to leave 
 you all till your plans were formed ; and aunt Colston, too, will 
 be so anxious to know what you intend to do.' 
 
 ' It may take longer than one day to decide that,' I said. 
 * Yes, so your uncle, Mr Mortimer, observed just now, when he 
 was talking to me upon the subject.' Uncle Ralph talking to 
 Horatia about our private affairs ! Why was I so intensely 
 irritated ? 'He takes a very kind view of matters,' she added, 
 ' as I need not say to you he would. He is very anxious not to 
 distress you.' 
 
 I prayed that I might be patient ; it was all I could do. 
 
 ' You see, Sarah,' Horatia continued, sympathisingly and 
 confidentially, < things can be said to you which it would be 
 impossible to say at once to the others. Caroline has little 
 concern in them, and poor Joanna and Hester ' 
 
 ' You are very good, Horatia,' I observed, interrupting her,
 
 204 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ' to trouble yourself about us, but the subjects of which you 
 speak concern us all equally, and perhaps we can understand 
 them better than you can. When the fitting time comes we 
 shall all be ready to hear what is to be said of them.' ' Cer- 
 tainly, certainly — you must pardon me ; I had not the slightest 
 intention of interfering. I am quite sure you will all do every- 
 thing that is right, but I was only anxious — in fact, from what 
 your uncle said, I was sure it would be kinder to prepare your 
 mind beforehand.' 
 
 'For what?' There was no means of escape, and I felt 
 desperately bent upon coining to the point. ' He did not 
 exactly beg me to tell you, but he said it must be known before 
 long,' replied Horatia. She paused for a moment, and then 
 went on rapidly, ' I suppose you will scarcely expect to be told 
 that your father has left — nothing.' Her eyes were fixed upon 
 me as she spoke ; they seemed to expand in size, and deepen 
 in strength of expression, but I did not shrink from them. 
 ' Thank you,' I replied ; ' I knew it to be probable.' 
 
 I spoke the words quite calmly. But the pulsation of my 
 heart seemed to stop, and I felt very faint. We were both 
 silent for some moments. At last I said, ' Forgive me for leaving 
 you. If there is more to be learnt, it will be better told me by 
 my uncle.' I did not trust myself with another word, scarcely 
 with another thought ; but when I was beyond her sight, I 
 hurried into the house, rushed to my room, bolted the door, 
 and, kneeling down, prayed more earnestly than I had ever 
 prayed before, for faith in God and charity to man. 
 
 They were sorely, sorely needed. I had thought myself pre- 
 pared, but I was not. Nothing ! no help ! no support ! It 
 must be untrue — it must be an exaggeration — their way of 
 putting the case in the worst form ; and if it were not so, why 
 was I thus told of the fact ? Why was it left to a person out 
 of the family, who had no right even to give an opinion, to 
 inform me of it ? I felt myself humiliated, insulted. The 
 thought of Horatia's sympathy was galling to me beyond the 
 power of expression. But I had not betrayed myself. She had 
 not known, she never should know, the extent of the shock she 
 had given me. 
 
 Alas, for the pride that would fain assume the garb of virtue ! 
 I became aware of it when I tried to repeat the Lord's Prayer. 
 I could not say ' Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them 
 that trespass against us.'
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 205 
 
 The fact startled me. I thank God that I saw my danger. 
 There was a false principle at work within my heart, which, if 
 I yielded to it, might mar my whole future character. Once 
 indulge in pride and suspicion, and both principle and judgment 
 would be warped, fatally for prosperity in this world — it might 
 be fatally for happiness in another. 
 
 Yet it was very hard to bring myself to a right mind. The 
 effort of thought which I compelled myself to make, before 
 considering the fact thus suddenly communicated, was intense. 
 
 For my uncle and Horatia were selfish, and guided by private 
 motives and interest. The experience of years had proved it, 
 and I could not therefore avoid distrusting them. Where, then, 
 did right prudence end, and wrong suspicion begin ? It seemed 
 impossible to decide. 
 
 But I turned to myself. Was I then so faultless ? Were there 
 no haughty independence, false sensitiveness, tendency to hasty 
 judgment, in my own character ? And might not these faults 
 lead me to misconstrue, and to imagine insult where none was 
 intended ? Conscience witnessed against me, and suggested 
 what, in after trials, was, I believe, through the mercy of God, 
 my great safeguard against uncharitableness. 
 
 Knowing that I suspected others, I saw that I was bound first 
 to suspect myself. If offence was given, I was not to shut my 
 eyes to the fact ; that, I knew well, only increased the secret 
 bitterness ; but I was to put side by side with it the fair ex- 
 tenuations which a disinterested person might see, and I was to 
 believe them rather than my own feelings, because I knew my- 
 self to be prejudiced. Again I thought over my interview with 
 Horatia. She had done me no harm. She might have in- 
 tended me a kindness. I do not say I believe she did, but 
 without further evidence I had no right to indulge the contrary 
 opinion, and by degrees self-reproach became more powerful 
 than anger, and my troubled spirit found rest in the acknow- 
 ledgment of my own faults. 
 
 I was summoned down-stairs to the dining-room. The room 
 looked full : Caroline and Mr Blair talking together in an under- 
 tone ; Vaughan leaning back in my father's arm-chair, with his 
 eyes half-closed ; Reginald standing with his back to the fire, 
 grave but watchful ; Horatia, with Joanna's hand in hers, seated 
 near the table ; Herbert opposite to her, mechanically turning 
 over some papers. Hester only was absent. In the centre, at 
 the head of the table, sat my uncle Ralph, busied likewise with
 
 206 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE 
 
 papers, which he touched with a tremulous hand, not once rais- 
 ing his eyes till Herbert said, ' Sarah is here/ and motioned me 
 to sit down in a chair by his side. 
 
 Uncle Ralph looked up then, and coughed shortly. < We are 
 met ; ' — he glanced quickly round the room ; — < I think we are 
 all here, except my dear sister, who begged to be excused, and 
 little Hester. Well ! that will not signify : — we are met to read 
 my poor brother's will.' He took up the paper, adjusted his 
 spectacles, and broke the seal. There were no looks of anxiety 
 or expectation ; we had all known long before what the contents 
 would be. My uncle read the short statement in a clear voice. 
 All the property, of whatever kind, was to be my mother's ; sub- 
 ject, of course, to the payment of my father's lawful debts; to be 
 disposed of according to her will, at her death. 
 
 Mr Blair was the first to make an observation. ' Well, then, 
 sir, this being done, I conclude that all arrangements will be 
 with Mrs Mortimer. Therefore, Caroline/ turning to his wife, 
 ' it may be as well for us to return to town to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Unquestionably ; but before we go my uncle might be able 
 to give us some definite notions as to the amount of the pro- 
 perty. It is a question which does, in a measure, concern us v 
 as in the event of my mother's death, it will naturally be divided 
 equally.' ' A difficult inquiry that, my dear niece/ replied my 
 uncle, ' involving many complicated questions. No one can 
 hazard an opinion as yet. I will look over our accounts with 
 care, and lay the statement before the family at the earliest op- 
 portunity.' 
 
 I had an eager impulse to speak, but Herbert touched my 
 arm and kept me silent. ' Then we may go, I suppose/ said 
 Joanna, withdrawing her hand, I thought rather willingly, from 
 Horatia's caresses. ' Yes, we may all go, I suppose/ observed 
 Caroline, with a disappointed air ; ' though, I confess, I should 
 have been glad to have had a little more information.' 
 
 Vaughan came forward and said we were all much obliged 
 to my uncle for the trouble he took in these business matters. 
 He was sure everything would be settled in the most comfortable 
 way. He was himself obliged to go back to town immediately; 
 but if he could be of the least use, he should make a point oi 
 returning. In fact, if it were not for my uncle's being on the 
 spot, he should have felt it his duty to stay. As the eldest son, 
 he knew that great responsibility rested upon him, and he was 
 not in the least wishing to shrink from it. He was very grave
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 207 
 
 as he said this, with a little air of self-consciousness about him, 
 which might have amused a stranger. Just then Herbert was 
 called out of the room. All moved when he moved. Reginald 
 lingered by the table, and offered to help my uncle in looking 
 over any accounts, as he should be with us for a day or two ; 
 an offer which was graciously received, but neither accepted nor 
 declined. 
 
 ' Come into the garden with me, Sarah ; we shall both be the 
 better for a little fresh air/ said Horatia, tapping me on the 
 shoulder. ' This room is terribly hot ; ' and she stirred the fire, 
 and opened the window. 
 
 I felt my courage sinking ; no words can tell how I dreaded 
 a private conversation with uncle Ralph, but I knew that Her- 
 bert had intended I should have it. ' Thank you,' I replied, 
 ' but I cannot come now ; I wish to speak with my uncle alone.' 
 I said the words pointedly, that they might not be misunder- 
 stood ; and, with what I imagined to be a meaning glance at 
 uncle Ralph, Horatia left the room. 
 
 My knees trembled violently. I was forced to sit down. My 
 uncle still fidgeted with the papers, and, without looking up, said 
 in his most conciliatory manner, though I fancied that his voice 
 was slightly husky, ' Well, my dear niece, what little business 
 have you to talk about ? ' 
 
 ' I wish to speak about my father's affairs,' I said, for I was 
 desperate in my boldness. ' Hem ! perhaps it may be better to 
 defer the matter for the present. It is a question for the whole 
 family, not for one individual.' ' But you have already spoken 
 to one individual,' I exclaimed. ' You have told Horatia Gray; 
 what right had she to know before us ? ' He knitted his brows 
 angrily for a moment, but recovered himself quickly. ' Your 
 cousin Horatia has been hasty, but I excuse her. She sug- 
 gested, from the kindest motives, that it might be well to give 
 you warning first, as we agreed that your strong mind would be 
 the best fitted to prepare the minds of your mother and sisters. 
 I fully agreed with her, but I did not intend that the communi- 
 cation should be made until after the family meeting we have 
 just had. These things are always better managed quietly, with- 
 out disturbance, — without risk of painful excitement.' 
 
 Horatia Gray ! what right had she to such confidence ? It was 
 the feeling still first in my mind, but with great effort I kept it down. 
 
 ' If my father has really left nothing,' I said, ' it is desirable 
 that we should immediately see a statement of his accounts.'
 
 208 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ' Precisely ; the very thing I am most anxious for ; but you 
 see, my dear little niece, and he patted a huge account-book 
 with his forefinger, ' these necessary documents require a long 
 time to be made clear, — clear, at least, to inexperienced eyes. 
 You will find everything perfectly exact, — debtor and creditor — 
 debtor and creditor ; '- — he turned over the pages rapidly, draw- 
 ing his hand across ominous lists of figures. ' Accounts that have 
 gone on for so many years,' he continued, 'must, to a certain de- 
 gree, be intricate ; but you will find upon inquiry that nothing 
 can be more plain — I wish I could say more satisfactory.' 
 
 ' And my father has then actually left nothing ? ' I said. 
 
 ' That may be a strong way of stating the case ; there may 
 be a balance. There may — it is possible ; I am afraid I can 
 give you but little hope, but still we will not despair. The fact 
 is, my dear niece, your poor father lived— you know, and I 
 know, and we all know, — he lived up to his income, and beyond 
 his income ; and there were little speculations — he always liked 
 the excitement — perhaps I was weak, and did not set my face 
 against them as I ought ; but it is hard for a brother to interfere 
 — we all have our weak points ; and, indeed — but I need not 
 trouble you with all these particulars now ; you shall see them 
 by and by, in figures, black and white. Perhaps, in the mean- 
 time, you will just hint to your poor mother, and your brothers 
 and sisters, the state of the case, — just hint it cautiously.' He 
 piled his books one upon the other, and added : ' Might I just 
 have them taken into your poor father's study ? I thought I 
 might work a little at them this afternoon, as, of course, I shall 
 not be at the Bank.' 
 
 Uncle Ralph in my father's study ! Tears, which I could not 
 control, rushed to my eyes. ' Poor child ! — poor dear ! — it 
 certainly is very sad, but we all must have our trials in this evil 
 world, and when you have lived as long as I have you will 
 understand more about it. However, I have no doubt you will 
 all do much better than you think for.' He was going away, 
 but I prevented him. 
 
 ' Uncle Ralph, will you tell me one thing : how much money 
 had my father allowed him by my grandfather ? ' 
 
 He gazed at me in excessive surprise. ' I scarcely understand 
 your inquiry, my dear niece. Your poor father had a very hand- 
 some allowance, but he never lived within his income. The 
 interest of certain sums was set apart for him^twenty thousand 
 pounds.'
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF IJFE. 209 
 
 c Five-and-twenty, was it not ? ' I said, for my mind had 
 travelled back through the long vista of years to the dining-room 
 at Castle House, and the conversation which had so indelibly 
 stamped itself upon my memory. A lightning gleam of intense 
 indignation flashed from my uncle's eyes, followed by the 
 smoothest, softest breath of expostulation. ' My dear little 
 niece, you are, — pardon me for saying so, — but you arc getting 
 beyond your depth. It is much better for women never to 
 meddle in affairs of this kind. Your brothers and I will settle 
 everything, depend upon it, and we will do you quite justice ; 
 only keep up your spirits, and trust to us.' 
 
 He kissed my cheek, and left me. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE result of that interview may be told in few words. I 
 did not hint cautiously to any one but my mother. I found 
 Herbert first, and laid before him the facts I had gathered, and 
 then together we communicated them to all the rest, except 
 Hester. My private opinions I kept to myself. I do not 
 believe that any one, except Joanna, was very much surprised. 
 The most ordinary amount of common sense would have been 
 sufficient long before to prepare them. Vaughan was really 
 grieved for those upon whom the burden was to fall. Caroline 
 and Reginald, I could see, were anxious to learn what plans 
 would be suggested, and how much inconvenience would come 
 upon them; but the chief thought of all was for my mother, 
 and to me was unanimously deputed the task of breaking the 
 intelligence. I found her reading, or perhaps more truly, endea- 
 vouring to read. She was very much altered ; her widow's cap 
 gave a peculiar fixed repose to her features, as if she had 
 severed herself from all connection with common life, and had 
 entered upon an existence of saintly contemplation. It would 
 have been more easy to talk to her about business the day 
 previous. She was excited then at times, and had spoken to 
 me of my father; now her heart lay buried with him, and it 
 seemed profanation to call it back to earth. Yet I was sure it 
 ought to be done at once. Vaughan, Mr Blair, Reginald, were 
 
 o
 
 2io THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 all thinking of leaving us ; before they went, it would be natu- 
 ral and right to give her the opportunity of consulting them, or 
 at least of talking over everything with them, if she wished it. 
 And they would not be satisfied if it were not so. I made an 
 excuse for having been so long away, and said I had been 
 engaged — there had been so many things to settle, and my 
 uncle had requested us to meet together. Yes, she observed, 
 very calmly, to read the will. She was thankful my uncle had 
 not wished her to be there. ' It would have been a great trial 
 for you, dear mamma/ I said. < It was very sad for us all; 
 and one would rather not ask you to think of business, only it 
 cannot very well be helped.' ' You must all think about it 
 now,' she answered. < It concerns you more than it does me.'. 
 
 ' It concerns every one very much, I am afraid,' was my 
 reply. ' Uncle Ralph has been talking to me a little.' 
 
 Her countenance changed directly. ' Cannot Vaughan 
 settle it all without troubling your uncle ? ' she asked. ' Vaughan 
 does not understand it,' I said. ' No one can understand it 
 except my uncle.' ' I suppose so ; it was all trusted to him,' 
 observed my mother, half speaking to herself. < I would much 
 rather that Vaughan should manage it, and so we all would,' I 
 continued; 'and we must hope he will by and by. But we 
 must learn a good deal first from uncle Ralph, who is busy 
 looking over accounts now.' 
 
 I paused for a moment, hoping she would ask some definite 
 question; but she said nothing, and I went on. < The accounts 
 must be very complicated. Uncle Ralph showed me a great 
 book just now, in which they were kept. I am afraid there 
 must be a good deal to arrange with the bank.' ' Yes, it must 
 take a long time/ said my mother; but there was not the least 
 interest in her tone. 
 
 ' We must hope, though, that my uncle will not delay at all/ 
 I observed, ' for it is quite necessary for us to know exactly 
 what we have to depend upon; and, if it should be very small' 
 — — I paused, and looked at her anxiously. ' Should you be 
 exceedingly miserable, dear mamma, if we were obliged to go 
 away from East Side ?' 
 
 I saw her lip quiver, but she did not give way in the least, 
 and only said, < I would do what you all think right, my dear.' 
 
 I kissed her pallid face, and called her my own sweet mother, 
 and told her we had but one wish to make her comfortable ; 
 and she roused herself then a little, and asked what uncle Ralph
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OP LIFE. 2 1 1 
 
 thought. ' He does not seem to imagine there will be much,' 
 I said, ' we have always been at such great expenses.' 
 
 'Yes,' replied my mother, mournfully; 'but I never could 
 
 make ■ he never would think about them. He longed so 
 
 to give yv a all pleasure.' 
 
 ' Yes, i.ideed, he did,' I said ; ' our lives would have been 
 very different if he had not thought for us ; but we will bear 
 up, dear mamma, whatever happens. I am sure we shall 
 never be left without help.' 
 
 No, she replied, she was quite satisfied about that ; she was 
 sure all would be ordered for the best, and she was quite con- 
 tented. The few short years she had to live would be the same 
 for her everywhere. She turned the pages of her book again, 
 and I saw she could not bear any longer dwelling upon the 
 subject. I did not feel that I had really made her comprehend 
 the truth. She was not in a state to realise it ; but I had 
 taken the first step towards it ; and when I thought she could 
 be left again for a little while, I went away to find Hester. 
 
 Telling her was, I think, worse than anything, just at first. 
 The very probability of being obliged to leave East Side was so 
 dreadful to her ; and it was such great pain to feel that one 
 was darkening the brightness of her young life ; but she was 
 entirely unselfish ; and unselfish persons are always more 
 reasonable than others, unless, perhaps, upon the subject of 
 self-sacrifice. When I put before her what I believed to be the 
 true state of the case, and she saw how much depended upon 
 quiet, good judgment, and energy, she at once nerved herself 
 for the occasion, threw herself, as I had always felt sure she 
 would, into my plans, and became, next to Herbert, my chief 
 support. Joanna alone was inconsolable ; and what was still 
 more vexatious to me, she would not see the truth. She could 
 not understand, she said, how a man like my father, who had 
 always had sufficient money, should leave nothing. She was 
 sure there must be some mistake. She wished Vaughan and 
 Reginald would look over the accounts themselves. And if 
 the worst came to the worst, she saw no reason for leaving East 
 Side. We might live there with only two servants, or one even, 
 if we chose it. It was absurd to suppose we should starve, with 
 uncle Ralph bound to come forward and help us, and Caroline 
 and aunt Colston rolling in riches ; of course, they would make 
 some arrangement between them. As for me, I always looked 
 to the worst side in everything ; and she really could not
 
 212 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 depend upon my judgment; in fact, she would go and talk to 
 uncle Ralph herself. I prevented her from doing this, but I 
 did not argue the matter with her ; and leaving her, went to 
 my own room to rest and think. 
 
 All departures, except one, were deferred for another day, that 
 my uncle might be able to bring the accounts into some definite 
 form before the separation of the family took place : that one, 
 to my intense relief, was Horatia's ; a summons from aunt 
 Colston called her back to London, and she set off alone. We 
 had scarcely spoken since our trying interview, except to inter- 
 change necessary civilities. The utmost stretch of charity could 
 not prevent me now from believing that she had willingly been 
 the person to communicate our ill-fortune, and the confidence 
 which existed between her and my uncle was offensive to my 
 taste and jarring to my feelings. I avoided her society, and 
 she saw it. We parted coldly ; and I did not think myself 
 bound to use words which were not sincere, by hoping we should 
 meet again. When she was gone, I felt that I could better 
 bear whatever pain might further be in store for us. 
 
 Notwithstanding my uncle's assertions, that the accounts 
 were complicated, I was quite sure, in my own mind, that he 
 knew perfectly well how they stood, and would be able, at any 
 moment he chose, to place them clearly before others. 
 
 And so it proved. Month after month my father had drawn 
 the sums he needed, or fancied he needed ; and month after 
 month they had all been registered by my uncle. At the close 
 of each year my father had groaned over his bills, put them 
 aside, and forgotten he was in debt ; at the close of each year, 
 my uncle had duly cast up his accounts, noted the balance, and 
 brought forward the overplus, with interest duly reckoned to the 
 day, to the creditor side of the page. This had been the course 
 of proceedings till the time of my grandfather's death. Some- 
 thing of a settlement had then taken place. My uncle had taken 
 care that the sums advanced should be replaced, and my father, 
 finding himself, in consequence, considerably poorer than he 
 had supposed, had been persuaded by my uncle to enter into 
 speculations which promised to be advantageous, and by which 
 he hoped to regain what he had lost. The history of these 
 speculations was not given us, but we all knew that they had 
 been unprosperous. My uncle asserted that they had been 
 carried on at my father's express wish, — that he had assisted 
 him against his better judgment. It was a fact which none
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 2 1 3 
 
 could now controvert, and which, indeed, it was not necessary 
 to controvert, the result was all that we required to be informed 
 of, and it was told in one word, — ruin ! 
 
 So the case was put before us, in general words, when we 
 were once more summoned to the dining-room. My uncle was 
 most especially anxious to prove that every statement he had 
 made was correct, and Reginald and Mr Blair, as the two most 
 competent persons, were invited to inspect the accounts. 
 
 The proposal was quite indifferent to me. I was sure that 
 no flaw would be found in the figures. Vaughan agreed that it 
 might be well to have an inspection, as a matter of form, Mr 
 Blair being one of the executors of my father's will ; but he 
 was evidently not inclined to take any trouble himself, — the 
 only question which he asked was, whether any surplus, how- 
 ever small, was left. 
 
 My uncle put on a very grave face ; regretted, extremely, 
 to be obliged to communicate such disagreeable intelligence ; 
 but it was better at once to be open upon these subjects. There 
 was a considerable sum due to one of the mining companies — 
 three thousand pounds ; he believed he was correct. Mr Blair 
 and Reginald would judge whether there had been any mistake. 
 
 I leant back in my chair, and a mist gathered in my eyes ; 
 yet I heard my uncle's words distinctly as he went on. It was 
 undoubtedly a large debt, but he trusted there might be the 
 means of liquidating it. East Side was, indeed, heavily mort- 
 gaged to himself — (that, alas ! I knew) — but the furniture of 
 the house, — handsomer, perhaps, than in prudence it should 
 have been ; the farming stock, small though it was ; the garden, 
 would all produce something ; and he had left unconsidered the 
 marriage settlements, which, in justice, would go to liquidate 
 the claim. It was with the greatest possible difficulty I could 
 command myself. Justice ! yes, I knew it was justice. My 
 uncle Ralph would never have proposed anything that was not 
 justice. I looked at Caroline and Mr Blair. It seemed scarcely 
 possible that they could sit by and hear of the necessity of 
 touching the marriage settlements, — the small, the very small 
 sum which was all my mother could call her own — and not come 
 forward with the smallest offer of help. Yet they did ; they 
 declared it was fortunate there was such a resource. Mr Blair 
 even said it was lucky the case had not gone on further ; he 
 meant, that it was lucky my father died when he did. I in- 
 voluntarily put the words into their true form, and prayed God
 
 214 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 to forgive me for it. Vaughan came up to my chair, and leant 
 over it, and kissed me. I felt so fond of him, I forgot all he 
 had ever done amiss, and begged him not to go away from us. 
 A pause of embarrassment ensued. My uncle rose, pointed to 
 his books, and said, with a half smile, and a bow to Mr Blair, 
 that he left them in his charge, and he walked away. Mr 
 Blair and Caroline, calmly grave, followed him. 
 
 And they were all then monsters, — unnatural, hard-hearted, 
 unfeeling ! No ; they were only selfish. 
 
 We were not an unkind or quarrelsome family. We ex- 
 pressed a good deal for each other, and, in a certain degree, 
 felt it. But light and darkness are not more different than the 
 two different kinds of sympathy, — the external and the internal. 
 
 Vaughan, Caroline, and Reginald, felt that we were all in- 
 volved in one common calamity, and so, looking upon the sur- 
 face of events, we were. They gave, therefore, exactly the 
 amount of pity which they felt they ought to receive ; but they 
 were not themselves overpowered with grief at my father's death, 
 nor ruined by the state of his affairs, and they did not compre- 
 hend why any other member of the family should feel what had 
 happened more than themselves. It was very distressing, they 
 said, — excessively sad for my mother, — but it was a comfort to 
 think that we had all talents and energy, and could exert our- 
 selves. It might be up-hill work at first ; but we should be 
 able to take pupils, or do something to help ourselves, and in 
 the meantime there was no instant pressure. There would, no 
 doubt, be a small surplus when everything was sold, and my 
 uncle would make the best arrangements for us. No one, 
 indeed, could be more considerate : he was anxious to give the 
 property a fair chance of realising its full value. Indeed, it 
 seemed probable that the place, being so pretty, and so nicely 
 furnished, would sell or let, furniture and all, which would be 
 decidedly more advantageous than running the risk of an 
 auction. As to our future home, Carsdale would of course, be 
 the best place. We had several friends there, and living in a 
 town would be cheaper than being in the country. They had 
 no doubt that we should find some comfortable little house 
 which would suit us, and my mother would like the excitement 
 of marketing and shopping for herself. 
 
 It was quite a pleasant little picture which Caroline drew of 
 our future life, as she stood in the hall, on the morning of her 
 departure, wrapped in a handsome travelling-cloak, and giving
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 1 1 5 
 
 her last words of comfort ; and Reginald added his also, and 
 said that he was sure any certainty was better than uncertainly, 
 and that we should, as a family, be much better off when we 
 knew exactly what we had to depend upon. Vaughan, I 
 thought, was not quite so confident in his expectations of our 
 happiness ; but he said he would write to us often, and come 
 and see us whenever he could. And so they drove off and we 
 were left, not to pictures, but realities. 
 
 And oh ! the difference ! the silent house, — the oppressive, 
 mournful recollections of past joys, — the fancy that one heard 
 his voice, or his step, and the thrilling pang, on remembering 
 that it could not be, — the self-reproaches that we had not made 
 him happier, — the overwhelming feeling of desertion at the re- 
 collection that there was no one now whom it was a duty for 
 my mother, as well as ourselves, to lean upon ! It was well for 
 my sister and my brothers, living away, their homes undis- 
 turbed, their daily pursuits uninterrupted, to talk of sympathy, 
 and think they gave it ; but the actual feeling the power of 
 throwing themselves into our minds, seeing as we saw, and 
 understanding what we suffered, was as far from them as from 
 the stranger who had never even heard of our existence. 
 
 But I did have sympathy, — real, cordial, internal sympathy 
 at last. Lady Emily Rivers came to see me. One hour's con- 
 versation with her was rest and strength. She comprehended 
 all — the grief, the loss, the loneliness, the responsibility, the 
 hourly and increasing pain at the prospect of leaving East Side. 
 When, at last, I gave way entirely, and owned that I was heart- 
 sick and miserable, Lady Emily did not think I was com- 
 plaining. She did not give me a lecture upon resignation, or 
 tell me how many comforts I had left ; but she threw herself 
 heartily and in sincerity into my position, and kissed me 
 tenderly, and said it must be very hard to bear : and when she 
 had thus soothed me, she gently turned my thoughts from my- 
 self to Him, who knew the full extent of the trial, and who 
 would never have sent it but in mercy ; and I felt that, with 
 Him to comfort me, I could never be really desolate. 
 
 It was the difference between the Bible and the world. The 
 Bible says, ' rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with 
 them that weep.' 
 
 The world says, ' rejoice with them that ought to rejoice, and 
 weep with them that ought to weep.' What that ought is it 
 leaves to itself to judge.
 
 216 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Yet Lady Emily's last speech brought with it most painful feel- 
 ings. Her brother and Miss Grant, she said, were at Lowood. 
 They had both begged to be remembered kindly to Hester and to 
 me. 
 
 Through what a life of thought and feeling I went back in 
 that short sentence ! Ten days ! Could it be possible that it 
 was only ten days since I had seen them ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 AND so it may be thought that all this time I had forgotten 
 aunt Sarah. She was not immediately involved in our 
 sufferings, and it might seem that hourly anxieties had inter- 
 fered with my remembrance of her. Then I should have 
 forgotten that which, next to prayer, and my Bible, was now, 
 during my mother's state of depression, my greatest stay in life. 
 True, I had not seen aunt Sarah, and had not been able to 
 write to her more than a few lines daily, to tell her how we were, 
 but the hope of soon seeing her was my daily comfort in my 
 perplexities. 
 
 These assumed gradually a more definite form. As my mother 
 roused herself to understand our situation, her calmness of mind 
 became fretted into a nervous impatience, which was most dis- 
 tressing. It was in a measure physical, I knew ; but the great 
 aggravation of every trial was the idea that we might at that 
 very moment be incurring a debt to my uncle for our household 
 expenses. She would form the most extravagant plans for escap- 
 ing from the possibility of such an obligation, talk over them 
 eagerly, then become angry with herself for her unreasonableness, 
 and, perhaps, end by a fit of depression, which was far worse to 
 witness than the previous excitement. The distrust which she 
 had felt of my uncle all her life, and which had been controlled 
 by her own right feeling, now gained the upper hand, in conse- 
 quence of her physical weakness. The subject on which she was 
 continually dwelling was the way in which my father had been 
 persuaded to speculate. It was a sin, she said; my uncle knew 
 well that the speculations were dangerous ; if it were not so, he 
 would have entered into them himself; but he took advantage of 
 my father's careless, generous temper, made him run the risk,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 2 1 7 
 
 and when there was any advantage to be gained, seized upon it for 
 himself. This she was certain of, from transactions which she 
 knew had passed between them. I had little doubt she was right. 
 Herbert and I made a point of looking over the accounts ourselves, 
 with a faint hope that we might find some mistake; but, as far 
 as we could understand, there was nothing of the kind. The only 
 thing which struck me was, that they were kept upon the reckon- 
 ing that my father had, from the time of his leaving the army, 
 been entitled to eight hundred a year, whereas I never could 
 divest myself of the belief that the sum was intended to have been 
 a thousand. There was no good in thinking of the matter, no 
 remedy could be brought forward now, and I knew, besides, that 
 eight hundred had been the sum mentioned in my grandfather's 
 will. Yet the idea weighed upon me, and merely to prevent my- 
 self from thinking upon the subject so much, I determined to say 
 something to aunt Sarah. With her clear head and accurate 
 memory, as regarded those past years, I thought I might hope to 
 receive some assistance, if it were only by being told that my 
 conjecture was untrue. Perhaps it was better to have this definite 
 business to occupy my thoughts, when at last I was able to go to 
 her, than to be at liberty to give way to the recollections which 
 might otherwise have unnerved me. She was very much agitated 
 herself on seeing me, and could not speak for several moments ; 
 but when I took off my bonnet and sat down by her, she took my 
 hand in hers, and said, ' God bless you, my child, Sally ! my 
 troubles are nearly over, but I would be young again to save you.' 
 I succeeded in controlling my tears, and began to tell her how we 
 all were — my mother especially. She asked the most minute 
 questions, such as I should never have imagined before would 
 have entered her head, and all showing a marvellous perception 
 of what the state of our household must be; and then at length 
 she said, looking at me as if to read my mind, and see the amount 
 of firmness which I possessed, ' And so, Sally, you are poor now ; 
 what are you going to do ? ' 
 
 ' Live in Carsdale, and take pupils, if we can,' I replied. 
 ' Umph ! there is nothing else to be done ; but who is to help 
 you ? ' ' Hester will — and Joanna may,' I added, hesitating a 
 little. ' And Caroline, with her fine house in Harley Street ; and 
 Reginald, with his sharp head ; what are they going to do ? ' 
 ' I don't know,' I replied ; ' we have not talked over any plans 
 yet. But, aunt Sarah, there is one thing upon my mind which 
 I want to set right to my own satisfaction before I trouble my-
 
 2 1 8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 self about anything further. There is a debt, my uncle 
 says.' 
 
 ' A debt !' and aunt Sarah's eyes flashed with all the sharp- 
 ness of youth. ' What do you mean by that, child?' ' I 
 mean that there is really money owing to some mining com- 
 pany. I don't know exactly how it could have been ; but poor 
 papa never looked into his affairs.' 
 
 ' And uncle Ralph did for him,' muttered aunt Sarah ; ' go 
 on, child.' ' It does not so much signify how it arose,' I con- 
 tinued, ' but it exists, and that is the weight upon us all ; and 
 the question is, how to get out of it.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah leant forwards, listening intently ; but she did 
 not interrupt me. ' East Side is mortgaged to my uncle,' I 
 continued, struggling to keep down the feelings which nearly 
 choked my utterance as I said the words ; ' but the furniture 
 and everything we have will be sold, and there will be the mar- 
 riage settlements : perhaps they make matters straight. But 
 the end will be, that we shall be left without a penny in the 
 world. It would be so great a help if my mother had some- 
 thing — something, however small, of her own, — and I hoped 
 she would. I used to fancy that my father's income was larger, 
 I once heard that from the time he left the army he was to have 
 a thousand a year.' 
 
 ' Yes, surely,' said aunt Sarah, gravely. ' But uncle Ralph 
 says no ; that it was eight hundred always.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah turned round upon me so sharply, that she almost 
 startled me. ' When did he say that, child ? ' ' Yesterday ; 
 at least he implied it ; and it must be correct, because there is 
 my grandfather's will to prove it.' 
 
 ' The interest of five-and-twenty-thousand pounds, at four 
 per cent., for his life, and fifteen thousand besides in actual 
 money at your grandfather's death ; that was the promise,' 
 said aunt Sarah. ' Who saw the will !' ' Mr Blair and 
 Vaughan. Uncle Ralph wished it.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah's face expressed a struggle of conflicting feelings. 
 I saw she would not trust herself to speak till she had con- 
 quered them. Then she said, ' Put away the thought from your 
 mind, Sally, it 's a temptation.' ' Yes, : I replied, ' I will, if God 
 will give me strength. I long that it had never entered my 
 head.' 
 
 ' Your grandfather talked to me about Herbert's coming 
 home,' continued my aunt. " I remember the time well. It
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 219 
 
 never suited my notions. If a man set out to be a soldier, he 
 had better have kept to it. We were not made to be weather- 
 cocks ; ' and she added, with a sigh, as she glanced at the 
 picture of Colonel Mortimer, ' there was one who had gone 
 before him whom it would have gladdened us all to see him 
 like. But your grandfather was growing old, and he wanted 
 him. He told me what he would give him. He sat in that 
 chair, where you are sitting now, and he had a letter from 
 Herbert in his hand, and I said to him, " Whatever you give, 
 put it down in writing." ' 
 
 ' There was something about it in a letter, I am sure,' I said; 
 and I related the scene which I remembered at Castle House. 
 ' May be, — a letter,' replied my aunt ; ' it was always his way, 
 and Herbert's too. Precise as the church clock about other 
 people's affairs, and vague as the winds about their own. But 
 no good ever came of it, or ever will. You may thank God, 
 Sally, that your father and your uncle did not part hating each 
 other.' ' I am thankful,' I said, ' for I feel now how hard it 
 is to bear the thought of having been unjustly treated.' 
 
 ' There 's no injustice,' said my aunt. ' Ralph never was 
 unjust to anybody. Put him into a court to-morrow, and he 
 would come out clear.' ' Still,' I said, ' it is strange how the 
 mistake should ever have arisen ; and strange that my uncle 
 should have allowed my father to persevere in it.' 
 
 ' He did not allow it,' said my aunt ; ' you yourself heard 
 him mention the contrary.' ' But I do not think my father ever 
 thoroughly understood he could not have it,' I answered. ' He 
 always drew what he wanted ; and I recollect that day my uncle 
 implied he should not be very strict in his reckoning. He said, 
 such matters were easily settled between brothers.' 
 
 ' Easily till the day of settlement comes,' said my aunt, ' and 
 then there is not a worse case in Christendom. " A brother 
 offended is harder to be won than a strong city." The promise 
 ought to have been put in black and white at the beginning, so 
 that there might have been no difficulty or doubt in the matter.' 
 ' My father was so very confiding in his disposition,' I said. ' I 
 am sure he never could have made up his mind to do anything 
 which would appear like suspicion.' 
 
 ' What ! not to see after his own affairs ? ' exclaimed my aunt. 
 ' Why, it 's nothing but a plain duty. I tell you what, Sally, I 
 have seen a good deal in my days, and heard a good deal of 
 family quarrels, and there's not a surer way of causing them than 
 not being exact in money questions.'
 
 220 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 I daresay you are right,' I said; ' but there is an immense 
 difference between brothers and sisters, and other people. What 
 is quite natural in one case, seems a want of generosity or trust 
 in the other.' 
 
 ' And what is the end ?' said aunt Sarah. ' People begin by 
 being over trusting, and end by being suspicious. No, Sally ; 
 you have had a warning, — be thankful things are not worse 
 than they are. You are all friends now, and you have not 
 quarrelled with your uncle ; keep your thoughts to yourself, and 
 keep your wishes in your own heart, and then buy a large ac- 
 count-book, and put down every penny you spend ; don't be a 
 coward, — afraid of being called fidgety or suspicious ; but if 
 things are to be done, make them be written down in black and 
 white. The day will come when your brothers and sisters will 
 bless you for it. And remember one thing,' she added, as the 
 door opened, and Martha appeared to know if she might lay 
 the cloth for dinner, ' you would have been a great deal worse 
 off if your uncle Ralph had not been exact.' 
 
 ' Should we ?' I felt doubtful. 'Yes ; you would have sus- 
 pected injustice, and maybe dishonesty, and you would have 
 said it, and been at daggers drawn with your uncle for life.' 
 
 I do not think I felt very much the reverse then ; but, at 
 any rate, the feeling was hidden in my own breast, and might 
 therefore be the more easily subdued. 
 
 I was disappointed after that conversation. I had no reason 
 to be so ; but, insensibly, I had buoyed myself up with the idea 
 that aunt Sarah would suggest something which might confirm 
 my wishes, and even put me in the way of obtaining them. 
 But there was no hope of that now. We were left solely to our 
 own resources, and no time was to be lost in determining our 
 future plans. I cannot say what an aggravation to the bitter- 
 ness of this period was my uncle Ralph's apparent considera- 
 tion. He was at East Side every day, entering into our con- 
 cerns with all the interest that we could have shown in them 
 ourselves. We were obliged to tell him where we had been, 
 who we had seen, what letters we had received ; and it was all 
 I could do to prevent him from visiting my mother's room and 
 talking over events with her. The only person he disliked con- 
 versing with was myself. We had an instinctive feeling of 
 aversion, and yet we were for ever brought into contact, for the 
 burden of our arrangements naturally devolved upon me. The 
 harassing thought during that time was, that we were daily in. 
 curring a debt to my uncle, which, when everything was settled,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 221 
 
 we might not be able to pay. Butchers and bakers wanted 
 money, and I was obliged to ask him for cheques. They were 
 given, not unkindly, but never without an injunction to be eco- 
 nomical, and a request that he might look over our housekeep- 
 ing book. I could willingly have picked stones at a shilling a 
 day, if it had been possible to avoid the pain of this dependence ; 
 but it was my trial, specially needed, I knew, by my naturally 
 proud spirit, and I tried, as aunt Sarah had long ago taught 
 me, to learn the lesson appointed for me. Still, it was a duty, 
 for every one's sake, to free ourselves as soon as possible; and 
 now that my mother was a little more accustomed to the thought 
 of leaving East Side, it seemed right to seek for some house in 
 Carsdale to which we might remove. My notion was to begin 
 a day-school. It was the only thing which could be done at 
 once without risk, and I had known it answer in Carsdale be- 
 fore. It would not support us comfortably, but it would help 
 us on for the time; and to have taken pupils in our own house 
 at once, would have involved an outlay which would have been 
 dangerous. The idea was generally approved. We heard 
 from Caroline and Reginald more frequently than usual. 
 ' They were very desirous,' they said, ' to know how we were 
 going on, — exceedingly anxious about my mother, — quite sure 
 we should do all that was right. It was such a good thing that 
 my health was so much better ; they felt that all depended upon 
 me, and they hoped I should take care of myself. I must eat 
 and drink, and take sufficient rest, and not worry myself. Over 
 anxiety was my fault.' Horatia also wrote, ' We were con- 
 stantly the subject of conversation between her and aunt Col- 
 ston. They both sent their very best love, and thought that 
 just for the present the day-school might be good ; but eventu- 
 ally we should, of course, look to something better. They had 
 a notion that there was a house in Castle Street which would 
 suit us, — they had often said it was a charming place for a 
 school. Horatia only regretted that she was not able to give 
 us her assistance on the spot. She should have been so glad 
 to help us in looking out for a house ; but aunt Colston was 
 exceedingly unwell, and kept in London by her medical man. 
 In fact, there was considerable cause for uneasiness.' The 
 postscript of the letter was a message to uncle Ralph, Mr Mor- 
 timer, as he was called ; ' that she had managed the little busi- 
 ness they had been talking over, and meant to write to him soon 
 about it.'
 
 222 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Vaughan was less communicative than the rest, and when he 
 did write, he was less cheerful. ' He could not,' he said, 'fix 
 his attention upon business, and he thought a little change would 
 do him good ; so he was going for a few days' shooting into the 
 country with a friend. He grieved more than he could tell for 
 us, and did not like the notion of a day-school ; it was not what 
 we ought to undertake. Why did we not at once begin upon a 
 proper scale, and if necessity compelled us to do something of 
 the kind, do it in the best way ? He also trusted entirely to me 
 for my mother's comfort and my sister's support ; begged me 
 to drink plenty of port wine, and recommended meat for 
 breakfast, both of which he had tried himself with great suc- 
 cess when overworked. Especially, I was to keep my mind 
 easy.' The letters were brought to me at the same moment as 
 the weekly bills ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HO RATI A was right. That house in Castle Street would 
 do admirably for a school. I said so to Hester, though 
 scarcely enduring the thought of whose suggestion I was follow- 
 ing ; and we settled that we would say nothing to my mother, 
 but go and look at it. Accordingly, we drove into Carsdale 
 the first day we could. Our acquaintances looked at us with 
 interest, and stopped, and inquired for my mother ; and the 
 shopkeepers, I saw, fancied we were going to make purchases. 
 It was all very like old times, as we passed quickly through the 
 streets, for there were just the same faces and the same sounds 
 and sights, and the world was going on precisely in its old 
 course. There was a gulf between us, but no one saw it or 
 seemed to see it. I thought I knew the outward appearance of 
 the house in Castle Street ; I used to fancy it rather pleasant- 
 looking, with its two large bow-windows, and the few shrubs 
 before it ; but it looked completely altered now, — so old, so 
 dirty, unpainted, and decayed — it was like another place. 
 Hester's composure nearly gave way when we went into it. 
 She was doing all she could to keep up her spirits, but 
 sorrow was very new to her. The rent was too high, that was 
 the great objection, though Hester said it would require a fortune 
 spent upon it to make it habitable. She did not yet understand
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 223 
 
 what a desperate case ours was. The woman who had the care 
 of the house insisted upon our going all over it, though I was 
 sure from the first moment that it would be more than we could 
 undertake ; and when she found that we were not willing to come 
 to an agreement, she grew sulky, and was almost impertinent. 
 As we left the house, Hester asked if that would not do for one 
 day; there could be nothing else in Carsdale that would suit us ; 
 might we not wait upon the chance of hearing of something 
 else ? But I would not yield. The next day would be just as 
 trying as the present ; and we could not expect houses to be 
 pointed out to us, ready prepared, when we would not take the 
 trouble to search for them — so we went on. Some lodgings we 
 looked at. I did not think they would suit, yet it was well to 
 leave nothing neglected. But we were unsuccessful in all. We 
 were obliged, before we went back, to go to Long's the linen- 
 draper's ■ and at Long's we met Lady Emily Rivers. She 
 asked us to walk with her to Miss Green's, and then she stopped 
 and hesitated a little, and added, we should meet Miss Grant 
 there, and perhaps her brother. I saw she was afraid we 
 might dislike seeing them, and I did shrink from it, but it would 
 have been silly to give way to the feeling. We must meet our 
 friends before long, and the sooner the effort was made the 
 better ; and, besides, it might be a little pleasure to Hester. 
 
 Miss Grant was more than ever pleasing to me ; it was really 
 a relief to my spirits to see her. She was a person whose 
 sincere goodness was so evident in everything she did or said. 
 I am sure the most suspicious person could have found nothing in 
 her to distrust. Talking to her and to Lady Emily carried me 
 back for a little while over the gulf, and I felt as if it might be 
 still possible to live for something besides duty and endurance. 
 But we are so selfish, both in our sorrows and our joys ! There 
 was Miss Green standing by us, looking very pale and ill, and 
 in deep mourning, and I never thought about her, or remarked 
 anything peculiar in her manner, till she said to Lady Emily, 
 in a melancholy voice, that she was afraid she should not be 
 able to undertake any more large orders, as she was going to 
 remove from the house and give up the millinery business, and 
 keep only to dress-making. That speech did attract my atten- 
 tion, and awakened self-reproach, for I saw she was suffering 
 from some great grief. Sophia Grant had a peculiar faculty 
 for bringing people out and making them talk about themselves ; 
 and she said a few words which evidently touched poor Miss
 
 224 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Green's heart, and in a few minutes her story was told in detail. 
 She had just lost an only sister, her great help — in fact, the 
 managing person of the business. She had not the skill to 
 keep it on by herself, and she could not afford to pay any one 
 to take her sister's place, and therefore she was going away. 
 She had lived in the house, she told us, twelve years, and was 
 very fond of it ; but of course she could not remain there with- 
 out business. It was a very good house. There was the 
 show-room up stairs, and a work-room besides, and several 
 bedrooms, for some of the young women who worked for her 
 lived with her. 
 
 A pang shot through me ; perhaps the house would do for us. 
 I was superstitious also. The day of that first meeting with 
 aunt Colston, I had wondered what interest life could have in 
 such a house; now, perhaps, I was to try. I asked a few more 
 questions about the house. Miss Green's face brightened up a 
 little. It had been her chief difficulty, as she had a lease of 
 two years remaining ; if she could find any one to take it, it 
 would be, she said, a great help to her. Furniture and all she 
 would either part with, or let at a reasonable rate, if she could ; 
 for she must go into a lodging herself, and the person she 
 wished to be with had only furnished lodgings. Did we know 
 of any one whom the house might suit ? she should be so very 
 much obliged ; and she begged us to walk up-stairs and look 
 at the other apartments. Hester came behind, and asked me, 
 in a low voice, where I was going, surely I could not think the 
 house would suit us. I merely said that there was no harm in 
 going over it, and I saw that Lady Emily approved, though she 
 was very grave and sad. The house was really pleasant in the 
 upper rooms, and the show-room would do very well for my 
 pupils. If it had only been in another street it would have been 
 just the thing ; but how would my mother bear the sight of the 
 blank wall of the brewery ? And, as if to mock me by the con- 
 trast, there came before me the remembrance of the lovely view 
 from East Side ; the woods and the river, and the distant hills, 
 with the glorious sunshine streaming upon them, and the glad, 
 pure sky above them. My poor mother, with her delight in 
 freedom, her appreciation of beauty, how could she bear the 
 change ? 
 
 Miss Green, I saw, observed my manner with anxiety ; and 
 when she told us what the rent would be, added, that she did 
 not think there was any other house in Carsdale to be let so
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 225 
 
 cheap. That, indeed, I felt certain of, and I said she should 
 hear from me in a day or two. She was very grateful, and 
 owned it would be a great comfort to know that the house was 
 disposed of; but a most mournful expression came over her 
 face at the same time, and she said it would be a terrible trial 
 to leave the house, she dreaded to think of it. Yes, the black 
 chairs, and the black sofa, and the mahogany chiffonier, had 
 all a charm for her ! 
 
 ' Don't you think it will do ? ' I said to Lady Emily, as we 
 turned away. ' If it is necessary it should,' was her reply ; 
 ' but, Sarah, you must consider your mother.' ' Certainly,' I 
 replied ; ' and I would do so to the utmost ; but it will be no 
 kindness to let her incur expenses which will add to the load she 
 has already upon her spirits. I would not take a house in such 
 a situation if it could be helped ; but if there is no choice, what 
 are we to do ? ' 
 
 ' It seems hard,' replied Lady Emily, ' that with so many re- 
 lations, there should be such a necessity.' ' My mother will 
 never bear dependence,' I replied. ' But she is dependent upon 
 you.' ' That is different,' I said, ' it is not dependence, it is 
 merely receiving what is her due.' ' And you will sink under 
 it all,' continued Lady Emily. ' You are looking very unwell 
 now.' 
 
 I did not feel ill, that is, not more so than usual, and I put 
 aside the idea directly, and asserted that I should be quite equal 
 to the burden. Lady Emily seemed very doubtful, and said 
 what my brothers and sisters had said, that I was over anxious, 
 and needed rest and quietness of mind ; but then she added, 
 that she hoped I should be able occasionally to come to Lowood, 
 for a holiday, from Saturday till Monday, at least ; and though 
 I saw no hope of any such change, it comforted me to think 
 that there was some one in the world who, besides recommend- 
 ing rest, would put me, if possible, in the way of obtaining it. 
 
 Hester and Miss Grant were all this time walking together. 
 Hester was talking with something more approaching to anima- 
 tion than I had yet observed. I was so pleased to see her 
 pleased, even for a moment, that I willingly acceded to Lady 
 Emily's proposition, that she should remain with them whilst 
 they were in the town, and meet me at aunt Sarah's in two 
 hours' time. 
 
 1 I am glad, too, for Sophy's sake,' added Lady Emily. ' She 
 has been talking so continually about Hester.' 
 
 P
 
 226 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 A natural connection of ideas made me ask where Mr Beres- 
 ford was. 
 
 ' In Carsdale, I believe,' said Lady Emily ; ' at least, we left 
 him at the turnpike, with the understanding that he was to find 
 occupation for himself in the town whilst we were at the dress- 
 maker's. Wherever Sophy is, you may be tolerably sure that 
 he is not very far off ; and here he is.' 
 
 Mr Beresford came up to us just as we were at the corner of 
 the street where we were to separate. His cordial shake of the 
 hand was full of his sister's quick sympathy ; and he congratu- 
 lated Sophia upon having Hester as a companion, with an air of 
 sincerity which made me feel still more kindly towards him. I 
 recollected Lady Emily's observation as to his admiration of 
 beauty, and wondered whether the contrast of the two would 
 strike him. Hester's face, calmed and saddened, was even more 
 winning now than in its gay loveliness, whilst Sophia was not 
 looking her best, for she wore rather an unbecoming bonnet ; 
 but I would not have given her beauty- — it would not have 
 suited her character. Perhaps Mr Beresford thought the same. 
 
 ' Good-bye,' I said to Lady Emily, * and thank you for 
 having given me half-an-hour's comfort.' Mr Beresford turned 
 round quickly. ' You are not going to leave us so soon ? ' 'I 
 am, but not my sister, if Lady Emily will kindly take charge of 
 her for another hour.' ' Oh ! ' — his politeness embarrassed 
 him. He did not know whether to be glad or sorry first ; but 
 I helped him out of his difficulty, by saying something myself 
 about wishing I could stay, which of course he echoed, and 
 then we parted company. Mr Beresford offered his arm to his 
 sister ; Hester and Miss Grant walked on together, and I 
 pursued my way to aunt Sarah's. 
 
 I was on the other side of the gulf then, lonely, weary, and 
 sick at heart. The burden that was upon me seemed almost 
 overpowering. For a moment I thought that it was hard I 
 should be called upon to bear it ; and then I remembered my 
 mother, and reproached myself bitterly for my want of resigna- 
 tion, and for not being willing to work to any extent for any 
 length of time for her. 
 
 Aunt Sarah was not at all well that day. She was growing 
 very feeble, and her lameness made it a great exertion to her to 
 move. Miss Cole had once or twice, lately, tried to persuade 
 her not to come down-stairs, but to sit in the drawing-room 
 instead ; but she would not hear of it. ' Her own place,' she
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE.. 227 
 
 said, 'in her own house, — that was all the change she wanted, 
 — and she wished to have it to the last ; and when she was 
 past having it, she would take to her bed, and prepare for the 
 home where she should never want change.' 
 
 But she was often very late in getting down-stairs ; and 
 when I reached the house at one o'clock, she was only just 
 placed in her chair. Her face brightened up at seeing me, as 
 I used to please myself with thinking it always did, and Miss 
 Cole told me she had mentioned several times that she wished 
 I might come. So I felt myself a welcome visitor, which is 
 always a comfortable consciousness, and I could have been 
 cheered, only the face I loved was so shrivelled, the eyes were 
 so sunk, the hands so thin and cold. She had not had her 
 usual reading that morning, and before she would ask me any 
 questions, Miss Cole and I stood by her, and went through the 
 morning psalms, and each of us read one of the lessons. 
 Formerly she used to follow us with her own book, but her 
 sight had become very dim lately. She repeated the alternate 
 verses of the psalms, however, without a mistake. 
 . When the reading was finished and the books were put 
 away, and Miss Cole had left us together, she looked at me 
 with one of her former quick glances, and said, ' Now, Sally, 
 begin ; ' and in regular form — a form which I had naturally 
 fallen into — I went on without interruption, telling her all I 
 thought she would care to know. I must, I suppose, have 
 betrayed a good deal of what had been passing in my own 
 mind, for when I paused she said, [ It won't do, Sally ; you 
 can't go on leading this kind of life, it will kill you.' ' But, 
 dear aunt Sarah,' I said, ' how is it to be helped ? If I do not 
 do the things, who is there that will ? ' 
 
 ' True enough,' she replied, ' more 's the pity. And so you 
 mean to teach the children at Betsey Green's house, when you 
 get there ; but where will you find them ? ' 
 
 ' Mrs Blair,' I said, ' would probably send me her two little 
 girls, for we had often talked about their education.' ' That 
 will be two ; suppose you have ten, it won't be so much help.' 
 ' No,' I replied, < and that was the point which vexed me ; but 
 still I was sure that such a beginning would be better than 
 entering into large expenses, as we must do if we took boarders. 
 As to work, I did not think about it ; all that I cared for was 
 to support my mother.' ' And who made it your duty to sup- 
 port her ? ' asked my aunt, a little sharply. I did not answer,
 
 228 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 for I really did not quite understand her. ' Which is the 
 nearest related to your mother of all her children?' continued 
 aunt Sarah. 
 
 I smiled — of course we were all related in the same degree. 
 ' Then, of course, you have all got the same duty, was the 
 rejoinder. I sighed ; it was very true, but it was not much 
 comfort. ' My brothers have enough to do to support them- 
 selves, and Caroline has a family,' I said. 
 
 'And have not you enough to do to support yourself?' 
 replied aunt Sarah ; ' and as to Caroline, she has enough for 
 her children, and plenty to spare.' ' But ' I said, ' it is very 
 well to argue the case in theory, but it will not do in practice. 
 Some one must undertake the labour and the responsibility ; 
 and as no one else seems willing to come forward, or, indeed, 
 except Caroline, seems able to do so, why I must.' 
 
 ' Undertake as much labour as you like, child, — work from 
 morning till night if you will, — but never undertake a responsi- 
 bility which does not belong to you. If you do, you will surely 
 rue it.' ' But it comes naturally with the labour,' I said 
 ' No, Sally ; you are wrong. This is how the case stands : — 
 there are seven of you, brothers and sisters, all equally able to 
 work, all having an equal duty. Some of you may make more 
 money, and some less, and so some may give more and some 
 i3S.3 ; but the duty of giving is the same share for each, and 
 if you take all the shares, you do wrong to them and wrong to 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' I think, aunt Sarah, you would feel differently if you were 
 in my place,' I replied. 
 
 ' Then, Sally, I should be an idiot ; and, what is more, I 
 should be punished for it. I will tell you what will surely come 
 to pass, if you don't act wisely in this matter. You will begin 
 by allowing that it is your duty to support your mother, and 
 they will all praise you, and thank you, and call you an angel; 
 and by and by, you will find that you can't support her, and then 
 you will go to them and ask for help, and maybe they '11 give it ; 
 but they won't think they are giving to her, but to you; and so 
 they will talk about debt and obligation, and you will know that 
 there is no obligation, and say they are unjust ; and they will be 
 angry, because they have never learnt to see their duty clearly, 
 and then you '11 quarrel. No, child, — take your own share, and 
 let them take theirs, and then see if you can't make the world 
 go smoothly between you.'
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE, 229 
 
 C I am afraid,' I said, ' I should like to feel that I was labour- 
 ing to support my mother and sisters by my own exertions.' 
 
 'Ah ! there it is,' replied aunt Sarah; 'we can all be martyrs 
 as we fancy, but we can't be sensible men and women. Your 
 sisters, indeed ! why are not they to support themselves?' 'They 
 will, in a certain way, ' I said, ' if they live in the same house, 
 and help me with the children.' ' To be sure ; but mind you 
 make them help ; and make them feel that it is their business.' 
 ' They are neither of them very competent, I am afraid,' I said, 
 'and Hester is not at all strong.' 'And so, if Hester grows 
 sickly, and runs up a doctor's bill, I suppose you will think that 
 is all your concern too.' 'It will seem so,' I replied, 'if we are 
 living in the same house.' 
 
 ' Why, Sally,' exclaimed my aunt, ' you are a greater goose 
 than I took you to be. What has living in the same house to do 
 with the matter ? Does it make Reginald, and Vaughan, and 
 Caroline, one whit less Hester's brothers and sisters ? ; ' No, 
 
 but it makes a difference in feeling, and ' ' What ? ' ' Perhaps 
 
 my brothers may be wishing to marry, and not be able to afford 
 the money.' ' And perhaps you may be wishing the same, what 
 then ? ' 
 
 The question was unanswerable; though I smiled at the sup- 
 position. ' Wishing to be married is a fine excuse for a good 
 many things,' continued aunt Sarah ; ' but it is not a true one. 
 When we have taken care of the relations whom God has 
 given us, then is the time to begin to think of forming new ones 
 of our own ; but that is neither here nor there. Do you see 
 now, Sally, that it 's only reason to say that you are not one 
 whit more bound to support your sisters than your brothers 
 and Caroline are ? ' 
 
 ' We must hope that we shall all be able to support ourselves,' 
 I said, trying a little to evade the question.. ' Hope, if you like, 
 only make up your mind what you will do if hope fails ; for it 
 will be the same case here as with regard to your mother. If 
 you allow yourself to be held responsible for more than your fan- 
 share of the family burden, the time will come when you will all 
 quarrel, and the sin of the quarrel will lie at your door.' ' I 
 don't think I should ever quarrel with any of them,' I said. ' But 
 you will feel unkindly, and you will think them ungrateful, and 
 what is to prevent them from finding it out ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! aunt Sarah ! ' I exclaimed, ' I wish you had never 
 said these things to me, they make me feel so hard and selfish;
 
 230 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and I could work with such pleasure for them all, and never let 
 them know that it was a trouble.' 
 
 ' And half kill yourself with anxiety,' said aunt Sarah ; ' and 
 then turn round upon them ; and think, if you did not say, " See 
 what I have done, how I have sacrificed myself for you ; " and 
 what do you think they would answer ? " We never asked you 
 to do it." ' 'No, no,' I exclaimed, ' there is not one of them 
 who would say so.' 
 
 ' Then they would not be human beings,' replied my aunt. 
 ' They might not say so in words, any more than you might ; 
 though the chances are that they would ; but they would think 
 it. It is only a form, Sally, of putting persons under unfair 
 obligations. You ask a man for five pounds and he gives you 
 five hundred, and ruins himself. What right has he to turn 
 round upon you, and say that you are bound to him hand and 
 foot because he acted like a fool to please you ? You would not 
 have allowed him to do it, if you had known it. And so with 
 your brothers and sisters, if you let them go on thinking you 
 can manage without their help, when the time comes that you 
 can't manage it, — and you will surely work yourself ill,— there's 
 not one who won't feel he has a right to complain instead of to 
 be thankful.' 
 
 I still felt disinclined to yield the point. It was contrary to 
 the dreams of self-sacrifice in which I had for years indulged, 
 and whatever my reason might say, it still did appear to be a 
 cold and selfish view of the duties allotted to me. Yet aunt 
 Sarah was certainly an unprejudiced judge, and her experience 
 of the world had been much greater than mine. I could not 
 put aside her notions as I might those of another person ; but 
 I tried to make her alter her opinions by bringing forward what 
 I considered the impossibility of taking a different line of con- 
 duct from that which I had proposed. 
 
 ' I could not,' I said, ' ask my brothers and sisters for help ; 
 if they offered it, well and good; but to ask was impossible.' 
 
 ' And why impossible ? ' was her reply. ' Because you have 
 what the world calls a generous mind. But remember, good 
 people, — and I call you good, not because you are so, but 
 because you wish to be so, — good people sin in their virtues, as 
 well as bad people in their vices. Generosity is a valuable 
 quality, but justice is so too; and, maybe, one is better than 
 the other, because the world thinks less of it. And if you ever 
 wish to be generous, you must begin by being just, — just to
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE EIEE. 231 
 
 yourself as well as to your neighbours. Here/ she added, and 
 she took up the Bible, ' I will show you what will satisfy you 
 more than anything I can say. See how St Paul acted when 
 he was giving up what was his fair right for the good of the 
 Church. Did he let folks go on fancying that it was only his 
 duty? No, Sally; he was far too wise a man for that. 5 She 
 made me turn to the 9th chapter of the 1st Epistle to the Cor- 
 inthians, and read, ' Mine answer to them that do examine me, 
 is this, Have we not power to eat and to drink ? Have we not 
 power to lead about a sister, a wife, as well as other apostles, 
 and as the brethren of the Lord and Cephas ? Or I only and 
 Barnabas, have not we power to forbear working ? Who goeth 
 a warfare any time at his own charges ? Who planteth a vine, 
 yard, and eateth not of the fruit thereof? or who feedeth a 
 flock, and eateth not of the milk of the flock ? Do ye not 
 know that they which minister about holy things, live of the 
 things of the temple, and they which wait at the altar, are 
 partakers with the altar ? Even so hath the Lord ordained 
 that they which preach the Gospel, should live of the Gospel. 
 But I have used none of these things.' ' Now, Sally,' said my 
 aunt, as I concluded, ' if you had been in St Paul's place you 
 never would have said that. You would have gone on working 
 till your death, and not ventured a word for fear of being 
 thought ungenerous.' 
 
 I smiled and allowed myself to be half conquered. 
 
 ' You must be quite conquered before you leave me,' con- 
 tinued my aunt. ' There 's a little vanity and a little cowardice 
 at the bottom of it all. Vanity and cowardice,' she repeated, 
 and she smiled and tapped me kindly on the shoulder. ' Vanity, 
 because you like to think what a character you will have for 
 doing so much for your family; and cowardice, because you 
 can't bear the chance of black looks.' 
 
 She stroked my head while she spoke, as she used to do 
 when I was a child, and she had been scolding me, and wished 
 to make friends again. I told her she was very hard upon me, 
 and I would not own she was correct till I had thought more 
 about it ; but, in the meantime, I must bring her to acknowledge 
 that St Paul worked in spite of his words. 
 
 ' To be sure,' she answered, { and so must you work too ; 
 only don't let other people sit idle. And now, child, when you 
 go home, think over what your needs are likely to be, raid how 
 they are to be provided ; and remember that it must be joint
 
 2 32 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 shares for your mother, and those who have the most must be 
 made to give the most. When you 've settled the matter to your 
 own conscience, come to me and I '11 tell you what my share 
 will be.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 I DO not think even aunt Sarah knew what a task she had 
 imposed upon me. I felt quite disheartened. Not that I 
 had ever in my heart imagined that the day-school would 
 support us, let me work ever so hard, but I was very little 
 accustomed to business, and I had a vague idea that, in some 
 way, when the little property which my father possessed was 
 sold, there would be a surplus, and with this I hoped we might 
 manage, especially as I did not think that my brothers and 
 sisters would really allow the whole burden to fall upon me. 
 Hester would work, and the others would make us presents, I 
 was sure. Even Mr Blair might, if Caroline suggested it ; and 
 this would be kind in them, and dutiful to my mother. But to 
 claim any assistance as a duty, was so repugnant to every 
 cherished feeling, that not even aunt Sarah's assertion could 
 thoroughly convince me it was a necessary step. Still I did 
 what she had desired, and the result was, as might have been 
 expected, very alarming. My uncle had ordered the furniture 
 and farming stock to be appraised, so that we had a fair know- 
 ledge of their value. It was very much what he had imagined, 
 and after giving up the settlement money, there was a prospect 
 of being relieved from the old debt to him, and from the new 
 ones which we were at the time incurring for our housekeeping. 
 But the future was very hopeless. I summoned Herbert to my 
 counsels, and related the conversation with aunt Sarah. He was 
 a curious mixture of shrewdness and open-heartedness, and saw 
 much more quickly than I did where the comparative duties of 
 the different members of the family began and ended. 'Of 
 course,' he said, ' my mother's comfort was the common care of 
 all her children. She ought to have a hundred a year provided 
 for her. Caroline ought to give fifty.' 
 
 I started back in consternation. ' Ask Caroline to allow my 
 mother fifty pounds a year! I should as soon hope to prevail 
 upon the Prime Minister to give her a pension.' Herbert only
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE EIEE. 233 
 
 smiled, and wrote down Caroline's name on a slip of paper, 
 with ,£50 opposite to it. Reginald, .£20, followed : he had a 
 good salary and he could afford it. Vaughan, .£15 ; his pro- 
 fession was not very lucrative, and varied a good deal. It 
 would not do to overtax him. Herbert, £\$. 
 
 I caught the pencil from his hand and exclaimed, ' O 
 Herbert, this is too silly, why you have not a penny in the 
 world ! ' 
 
 ' But I am going to have, I am going to be usher in Mr Har- 
 rison's school, with sixty pounds a year.' 
 
 I could not speak, — I did not know till that moment how 
 proud I was. 
 
 ' 1 saw Mr Harrison yesterday,' he continued, ' and we all 
 but settled it.' ' Without asking any person's advice ? ' I said ; 
 ' 1 don't think that was quite wise.' 
 
 - He looked a little disconcerted for an instant, and then an- 
 swered : ' You know, Sarah, we are just now in such a plight 
 that we must think for ourselves ; there is no one to think for us. 
 As for false pride, we had better put it away and forget it as 
 soon as we can. And as for true pride, if there is such a 
 thing, though you always tell me to call it self-respect, I feel as 
 much for myself as you can for me. But, in my own opinion, 
 it is far more humiliating to go on living at the expense of those 
 who can't afford it, or else incurring an obligation which one 
 may never be able to repay, than it is to accept an honest 
 means of supporting one's self, though it may not be exactly that 
 which the world would say one was born to expect.' 
 
 He was right in principle, — I could not hesitate to acknow- 
 ledge it, but boy-like, he had been hasty. ' Was there really 
 nothing else ? ' ' Yes, the Bank. He had been offered a clerk- 
 ship in the Bank, and refused it.' I gave him a kiss, and 
 thanked him with all my heart. 
 
 ' I am glad you think I was right,' he said, a glow of satis- 
 faction brightening his face. ' My uncle was very pressing, 
 and said a great deal about the satisfaction he should feel in 
 helping us. But, somehow — is it very wrong, Sarah ? — I think 
 I could go out as a day-labourer and be happy, but I don't 
 think I could bear to be working with uncle Ralph.' 
 
 ' No,' I said, earnestly, ' not if he were to offer you five 
 hundred a year now, and a share in the business by and by.' 
 ' I thought over the matter a good deal afterwards,' continued 
 Herbert ; ' and at first it seemed wrong, and as if one was in-
 
 234 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 dulging fancies and suspicions. But, really, I am not suspi- 
 cious. I am quite sure that all which goes on at the Bank is 
 strictly honest — not honourable, but honest — I don't believe 
 there is a wilful flaw in the accounts from one year's end to an- 
 other ; but it is the grasping, covetous spirit, which I never 
 could stand : to be mixed up with it — to have to do the dirty 
 work of such a business — it would fret my life out. You know 
 my father never encouraged the notion when it was proposed 
 before. Now, at Mr Harrison's I do know what I undertake, 
 and it is not the kind of work I dislike, and I mean to study 
 hard and be very saving.' 
 
 ' Upon sixty pounds a year, with fifteen pounds deducted for 
 my mother,' I said ; ' but never mind, go on.' ' I shall save, 
 because I have made up my mind I will,' replied Herbert : 
 ' and with hard study and careful habits, a man must do some- 
 thing in life.' ' Yes, undoubtedly, if he does not trust to him- 
 self.' He looked grave. ' I am afraid that is a little my 
 way, but I shall try against it ; and, Sarah, one thing which 
 weighed with me about going to Mr Harrison was, that he is 
 really a good man. I should have been much more anxious to 
 talk to you about it if I were not sure of that. Every one in 
 Carsdale, you know, respects him, and Mr Benson's new curate 
 says he never met with such a first-rate person in his line. I 
 like that new curate uncommonly.' 
 
 How old Herbert made me feel ! With his eager energy 
 and buoyancy of spirit, he was already creating something like 
 pleasure for himself out of the dreary future. The new curate 
 was an excitement to him. I had never even heard there was 
 such a person. I was assured, however, now that he was a 
 capital fellow, and had given excellent advice, and shown him- 
 self exceedingly inclined to be a friend ; all which might be 
 very true, but a cautious elder sister was disposed to be rather 
 less trusting. So, in spite of Mr Malcolm's recommendation, I 
 told Herbert he must in no way consider his plans fixed till we 
 had talked them over with my mother. 
 
 I went again to aunt Sarah the next morning. She approved 
 of the calculations, and would not agree with me that it was 
 putting more upon my brothers and sisters than they were bound 
 to bear. At the present moment, Joanna, Hester, and I were 
 absolutely penniless. It was absurd, therefore, she said, to expect 
 us to contribute. If eventually we should be able to do more than 
 actually support ourselves, we should of course be called upon
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OP LIFE. 235 
 
 to add our share. ' All will go well, Sally,' said my aunt, ' if 
 you have clear notions of comparative .duties. Half the silly 
 actions we sec in life are done because the wrong duty is put 
 first. It 's a bounden right to attend to home claims before we 
 entangle ourselves with others abroad ; and to provide for your 
 mother is the first business of you all, and next to that comes 
 the seeing that each of you has the means of comfortable liveli- 
 hood ; and if it should so be that any one is unable to have it — 
 not unwilling to work, mind, but unable — then it's a claim upon 
 the others to take care of that one. Marriage, personal com- 
 fort, and everything else must be put aside, and even charities 
 and plans of good ; always remembering that the fragments of 
 our time and money are the portion of the poor.' Something 
 else she was going to say, but she checked herself, and bade 
 me take a pen and a sheet of paper, and sit down and write to 
 Caroline. 
 
 It was the most difficult letter I ever wrote in my life. I be- 
 gan sentences, and stopped, and tried to twist them differently, 
 and tore up the paper, and never seemed to advance a step 
 further, till aunt Sarah, who had been watching me, said, 
 ' What 's the use of all that scribbling, child ? It won't make 
 the matter better or worse ; and ten to one it won't be honest. 
 Begin in a straightforward way at once, and say you have been 
 talking with Herbert, and with me too, about what you are all 
 to do, and that they will all feel with you that it is a duty to 
 make your mother comfortable, — and then ask at once for fifty 
 pounds a year. Caroline will be just as well pleased, or as little 
 pleased, as if you wrote her three pages about it. Depend upon 
 it, Sally, none but babies like pills wrapt up in sugar — it makes 
 them sick.' 
 
 I thought in my own mind that a great many of us were babies, 
 and required the sugar ; but the hint helped me, and, in as simple 
 and matter-of-fact words as I could use, I related, without pre- 
 amble, all that had passed, especially taking care to mention that 
 the plan met with aunt Sarah's approval. Letters were also 
 despatched to Reginald and Vaughan, and when this was done, 
 aunt Sarah made me come and sit by her again, and said, ' And 
 now, Sally, since I 've taken upon myself to talk so much about 
 other folks' duties, perchance you may have a care to know what 
 I think of my own.' 
 
 ' I am quite sure,' I said, ' that you will give us all the assist- 
 ance you can ; but I know you have but a small income for life,
 
 236 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 and we certainly have no right to claim anything from you as 
 long as we can manage without it.' 
 
 ' That 's as you think, child ; now we '11 hear what I think. I 
 am dropping into my grave, Sally, fast — faster, maybe, than you 
 or any one can think— and when people come near the end of a 
 long journey, it 's a pleasure to look back and see how they 've 
 fared through it. God has been very merciful to me. He has 
 given me always enough and to spare, and all my life, from the 
 first moment I had what I call my own, I had a wish to offer Him 
 a thank-offering. I was about as old then as you are now ; and I 
 thought a good deal of what I should do, and perchance I might 
 have done wiser in seeing to the giving away of the money during 
 my life, instead of leaving it to others ; but that 's as folks think. 
 I was afraid of myself, and I thought I might be a fool, and 
 marry ; and so I put my offering out of my own power, and in- 
 sured my life for little enough, but as much as I dared, and 
 settled that the money should be His who lent it at my death. 
 What it should go for, I knew He would point out ; and of late 
 years I fancied it might be right that it should add to Lady 
 Emily's school, and many a talk we've had about it. But 
 there 's another way now ; God will have it for the poor chil- 
 dren in the end, but He has another work for it to do first, and 
 it 's yours, Sally, yours and Joanna's, and the child Hester's, as 
 long as you need it.' Her voice was firm at first, but when I 
 tried to say what I felt, and thank her, her countenance changed 
 and her lips trembled, whilst she said, grasping my hand, ' It 
 will give you a roof over your heads, and then you will think of 
 aunt Sarah.' 
 
 The weakness was but momentary, however ; she was herself 
 again directly, and, with all the clearness and precision which 
 might have belonged to the very prime of life, she explained to 
 me more distinctly her intentions. The interest of the sum — 
 forty pounds— would, she thought, be about sufficient to provide 
 for the rent of any moderate house which we should engage. It 
 might even leave a little over. Till the insurance became due 
 at her death, she would provide the same sum out of her own 
 income. The capital of the insurance was to be placed in the 
 hands of the trustees of Lady Emily Rivers' school, to be em- 
 ployed by them as they might think best, but the fixed interest 
 was to be paid to Joanna, Hester, and myself, as long as we 
 remained unmarried ; afterwards the whole was to revert to the 
 school. < Only, Sally,' added aunt Sarah, as she concluded
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 237 
 
 her explanation, ' remember it is the money of the poor ; and 
 though it 's not for us blind mortals to tie others down by con- 
 ditions more than we can help, yet, if God should evci give 
 you enough without it, in His sight you will have no claim 
 upon it.' 
 
 A way certainly seemed opening to us out of our difficulties. 
 With my mother provided for, and a house rent-free, the pro- 
 spect of the future would not be utterly despairing. My great 
 anxiety was for the answers to the London letters. They did 
 not come on the day I expected, and I conjured up a host of 
 disagreeables, — refusals, perhaps, and complaints of my sug- 
 gestions, — painful to myself, and ending in coolness, if not in 
 anger. My mother was beginning to inquire about our plans, 
 and this made me the more desirous to put something definite 
 before her. It was not easy to satisfy her in any way just at 
 that time. She was very eager to have our affairs settled, but 
 she did not seem to have the spirit or power to take the manage- 
 ment of them into her own hands. And so, also, her dread of 
 seeing persons was quite painful, and yet she would urge our re- 
 moving to Carsdale, where, of course, we could not expect any- 
 thing like the quietness of the country, as if all her hopes in life de- 
 pended upon it. In one way this eagerness was a help ; it softened 
 the pain which we should otherwise have felt in talking to her 
 about the removal. We had fancied that she would either very 
 much have objected to Miss Green's house, or else have been 
 totally indifferent to all places ; but, to our surprise, she ex- 
 pressed a strong opinion upon the subject. She must have 
 quietness, she said ; and though, with her unselfish thought for 
 us, she would have given up her own wishes to secure us a better 
 house, and a more cheerful situation in Castle Street, yet we saw 
 that her preference was for the back street, and the blank wall 
 of the brewery ; and this decided us, — at least, it decided Her- 
 bert, Hester, and myself. Poor Joanna was too overwhelmed 
 by the state of affairs to join in any of our conversations, and 
 would, I feared, prove a great obstacle to our schemes. It was 
 her duty to work, as aunt Sarah had said ; but I felt sure that 
 she would not do so, if she could possibly avoid it. Sometimes, 
 I thought whether she could be persuaded to give music lessons ; 
 she really played and sang very nicely, — music was her one 
 talent, — and I knew several persons in Carsdale who would be 
 likely to give her occupation. She always talked in a mournful 
 way, as if she was condemned to help me ; but I hs-d no hope
 
 238 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 of her being really useful, and, besides, Hester would be all the 
 aid I should actually want in the school, for as yet I had only 
 the promise of Mrs Blair's two little girls, and the hope of three 
 others. 
 
 The idea latent in Joanna's mind, was, I could see, that she 
 might go and live in London with Caroline, and then she should 
 marry. When I was very much fretted, I used to wish with all 
 my heart that it might be so ; but I always blamed myself after- 
 wards. It might save me from care, but it could not be as 
 good for her own mind, for the atmosphere of Caroline's house 
 was anything but desirable for her. It would have been com- 
 paratively easy to fulfil her duties and my own too, if the day 
 had but been long enough ; for it is always less difficult to do 
 things one's self, than to persuade those who are unwilling to do 
 them ; but I had rather a clearer perception than formerly of 
 the mistake people commit when they undertake business which 
 does not rightly fall to their share, and therefore, though much 
 against my inclination, I ventured to propound to Joanna the 
 necessity of doing something for herself, and the possibility of 
 giving music lessons, either at home or not, as might seem best, 
 but the former if possible. I could scarcely help smiling, 
 though my sense of justice was keenly wounded, at the tone 
 which she immediately assumed. It was cruel, she said, to re- 
 mind her of her dependent state, and exceedingly hard that she, 
 an elder sister, should be the one forced to sacrifice everything. 
 Why did I not give music lessons myself? I was just as com- 
 petent as she was. It was very well for me to talk about exer- 
 tion, when I was going to sit at home by my own fireside, and 
 take just the occupation which was brought to me. I had no- 
 thing to bear, but I always put myself first, and considered my- 
 self before others. 
 
 There was nothing to be said to such accusations, except that 
 if she preferred taking my duties, I was very willing to begin 
 giving music lessons ; — an unfortunate observation, which only 
 made matters worse, as she said, it was a mere mockery to talk 
 in that way, for I knew perfectly well that she could not teach 
 French and Italian. Certainly I did know it; so I was silenced, 
 and thought it best to go away, and leave the suggestion to work 
 its way by itself. It was a very trying afternoon that followed, 
 silence and tears being the order of the day, varied by grievous 
 lamentations that she was not married, and assertions that she 
 would rather work as a housemaid than give music lessons. All
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 239 
 
 my anxiety was to prevent her from vexing my mother, who was 
 quite sufficiently distressed by the idea of the day-school ; but 
 before night Joanna had worked herself up into such a state of 
 excitement, that, without preparation, she rushed into my mother's 
 room, interrupted Hester in reading, and insisted upon being 
 told whether I had any right to say she was to go out as a music 
 mistress. I felt so guilty ! Almost I repented having broached 
 the subject. My poor mother became nearly hysterical, and 
 went to bed quite ill. I do not know what other people may 
 think, but to me these arc the real trials of life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE London letters came the next morning. My hand 
 trembled so much when they were brought, that I could 
 scarcely break the seal, and, moreover, I was obliged to give 
 fresh offence to Joanna, by begging her not to look over my 
 shoulder whilst I was reading them. 
 Caroline's was the first. 
 
 1 My dear Sarah, — I received your letter the day before 
 yesterday, but did not think it well to send an answer immedi- 
 ately ; in fact, I could not do so without consulting Mr Blair. 
 We should, of course, be most willing to give you any assist- 
 ance possible, but the sum which you propose strikes us both 
 as being unreasonably large. We feel that the burden ought 
 to be borne by all in equal proportions, and we do not see why 
 application should not be made to aunt Sarah and aunt Colston. 
 Indeed, it must be a question for consideration, whether, having 
 a family to support, we ought fairly to be reckoned upon at all. 
 I shall be glad to hear from you again, when your plans are 
 further matured : in the meantime, Mr Blair and myself will 
 think over the subject. Our best love to my mother and all.— 
 Ever affectionately yours, ' Caroline Blair.' 
 
 Reginald's was the next. 
 
 1 My dear Sister, — I received your letter of the 12th in- 
 stant, and in answer to your application for twenty pounds per 
 annum for the support of my mother, I shall be quite inclined 
 to give my fair share, if you find at the end of the year that you
 
 240 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 are behind-hand. But Caroline and I have had a talk upon the 
 matter, and we both think it unwise to enter into pecuniary- 
 engagements, until you have seen how far you are able to do 
 without such assistance. 
 
 ' Give my love to my mother, and to every one at home, and 
 believe me to remain your affectionate brother, 
 
 ' Reginald Mortimer.' 
 
 Then came Vaughan's. 
 
 1 My dearest Sarah, — Your letter gave me much pain. It 
 is, indeed, most sad, that after years of comfort and prosperity, 
 such trouble should have fallen upon my dear mother, and upon 
 you all. I only wish it were in my power to come forward 
 largely, but you well know what up-hill work a barrister's pro- 
 fession is. With continual exertion, it is scarcely possible to 
 provide for necessary expenses, unless one is peculiarly for- 
 tunate ; and under such circumstances, I scarcely feel myself 
 justified in making the promise you desire, however much I 
 might wish it. Yet I shall trust to send you some little help 
 from time to time, and you may be assured that your happiness 
 will be always uppermost in my thoughts. Give my very best 
 love to my dear mother, and tell her I trust to be able to run 
 down and see her in the course of the next two months. She 
 will be glad to hear that I am much better, and enjoyed my 
 shooting. I have just made a capital purchase of a new gun, 
 which I shall hope, with Mr Rivers' permission, to make trial 
 of at Lowood. A kiss, and a great deal of love to you three 
 dear girls, and all kinds of good wishes for Herbert. — Ever, my 
 dearest Sarah, your most affectionate brother, 
 
 ' Vaughan Mortimer.' 
 
 I took the letters to Carsdale, and read them out to aunt Sarah. 
 
 'Be patient, Sally,' was her comment; 'they've all got a 
 squint in their minds.' It took some time to rectify the squint, 
 but it was done at last ; not, however, by me, but by aunt Sarah. 
 The last letter which she ever wrote in her life was written on 
 that occasion to Caroline. It was the work of two days, but she 
 insisted upon not dictating, but writing it with her own hand. 
 
 ' My dear Niece and Nephews, — Your sister Sally showed 
 me your letters. Being the oldest living member of the family, 
 you will, no doubt, listen to what I have to say about them. 
 Your sister Sally does not want your help ; she is going to live 
 at Betsey Green's house in Cross Street, and teach Mrs Blair's
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 2AI 
 
 two children, and we hope some others ; and Joanna will take 
 care for herself, and Hester for herself. You are not asked to think 
 about them now, though, if need were, it would be your business 
 to help them ; but, as dutiful sons and daughters, you are to 
 take care that your mother has money enough to be comfortable. 
 Mr Hale, the lawyer, will pay the rent of Betsey Green's house 
 for me every year ; that will be forty pounds, which I give to my 
 nieces Joanna, Sarah, and Hester Mortimer. 
 
 ' If you think right to trouble Mrs Montague Colston for help, 
 it will be just the labour of writing the letter, which you may 
 very well do ; but, any way, as dutiful children, to whom God 
 has given food and clothing, and something to spare, you will, 
 doubtless, see that it's right to make your mother easy, and that 
 God's blessing will follow upon it, which I pray Him to grant you 
 always. This being the last letter that it 's likely He will be 
 pleased to let me write, I beg you all, for love's sake, and your 
 soul's sakes, to attend to it ; and I remain, as ever, your affec- 
 tionate great-aunt, SARAH MORTIMER.' 
 
 Aunt Sarah's influence in the family was greater even than I 
 had imagined. It was the result of many years of respect, and 
 the same things which, said by me, would probably- have been 
 disregarded, or have caused annoyance, were received from her 
 with attention ; and, at length, produced a practical effect. 
 Caroline's answer was careful and conciliatory. She still 
 insisted upon the duty of applying to aunt Colston, but pro- 
 mised, if the application failed, to make good the sum required 
 herself. Vaughan and Reginald also agreed to add their 
 share. 
 
 The answer to that application was destined never to reach us. 
 Aunt Colston was very ill. Horatia opened her letters. What 
 use she made of the privilege we could only guess; excuse fol- 
 lowed excuse, promise succeeded promise ; but the drift of every 
 letter was, that my aunt could not attend to business, and that 
 when she was better, Horatia would mention the subject. I do 
 not think any one, except myself, felt how jarring was the fact 
 of Horatia's being the medium of communication upon such a 
 subject ; all that the family in general were anxious for was, 
 that the question should be settled. I was sure that it never 
 would be. 
 
 As it was impossible, however, in our present circumstances, 
 to go on without some fixed arrangements, it was at length, 
 
 Q
 
 242 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 though not without difficulty, agreed, that Caroline and my 
 brothers should advance the whole sum needed for the time 
 being. If aunt Colston could hereafter be induced to give her 
 aid, they were to be to the same extent released from the 
 obligation. 
 
 It was not till this conclusion was arrived at, that I felt the 
 full value of aunt Sarah's advice. Whilst the matter was pend- 
 ing, the excuses and delays were so fretting, that I was again and 
 again tempted to entreat that nothing more might be said about 
 it. I would have pledged myself madly, at times, to any amount of 
 responsibility, to save myself from the painful feelings excited by 
 them. But when the final arrangements were completed, and 
 Reginald, who had undertaken to manage the matter, sent the 
 first cheque, all was changed. I forgot the excuses and want of 
 thought which had been shown, and felt only that we had all 
 done what was right, and were working for one end, and had one 
 common anxiety. I expressed myself cordially when I wrote, 
 and my sister and brothers were pleased, and threw themselves 
 more into our concerns than they had ever done before. The 
 circumstances which I had so feared would disunite us, tended, 
 in reality, to link us more closely to each other. If anything had 
 been wanting to convince me that we had done wisely, it would 
 have been found in my dear mother's satisfaction. The way in 
 which she received the offering made her, was something I can 
 never forget. Her children's love seemed the one thought 
 which overpowered all others. She knew nothing of the trouble 
 or the delay, and saw only that those to whom she had devoted 
 her life were anxious, so far as lay in their power, to repay her 
 affection. Caroline wrote a note to her at the time, which was 
 exceedingly valued. Feeling and dutiful sympathy were ex- 
 pressed in it, for Caroline knew well what it was fitting to say ; 
 and my dear mother, who had always fancied her cold, was so 
 cheered and soothed, that her spirits from that moment began 
 to rally. 
 
 I thought of what the case would have been it I had acted 
 differently ; the burden which would have rested upon myself, 
 the sense of injustice, the difficulty I should have felt in being 
 grateful for any chance offer of help, — all, in fact, which the 
 longing for self-sacrifice, and the wish to avoid the pain of making 
 a just claim might have brought upon me. There was only one 
 deep regret in my own heart. I betrayed it whilst reading 
 Caroline's note aloud to my mother. My labour was to be for
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 243 
 
 myself, not for her ; and yet I would have worked as a slave to 
 give her one hour of comfort. When I read, 'it is an offering 
 from Vaughan, Reginald, Herbert, and myself,' tears involuntarily 
 gathered in my eyes, and I said, ' I can do nothing.' My dear 
 mother kissed me as I knelt beside her, and the first smile 
 which I had seen since my father's death crossed her face. 
 ' My choice blessing,' she said ; ' they give me of their means, 
 you give me yourself.' 
 
 Those were bright and peaceful moments in the midst of a 
 great struggle and a most heavy trial. My mother kept up 
 wonderfully till the last day of leaving East Side ; but it was 
 curious to see how very much she was learning to rest upon us. 
 Even as regarded Herbert's engagement with Mr Harrison, she 
 would give no strong opinion ; though on one point she went 
 entirely with us — she thoroughly disapproved of the Bank. My 
 uncle, in his heart, I suspect, was glad ; but he shook his head, 
 and said that it was a young and hasty decision which Herbert 
 would live to repent, and that persons who threw away their 
 friends, must not expect to find them again in a hurry. Herbert 
 was respectful, but firm ; but they did not like each other the 
 better for the offer having been made and refused. 
 
 Herbert went to Mr Harrison's ; he was a little too hopeful, 
 I was afraid, as to the comfort he should find there, but it was 
 the only alternative, and I was extremely glad to have him 
 settled near us, and able in a degree to provide for himself ; 
 and then Mr Malcolm, the curate, had offered to read with him, 
 and the acquaintance promised to be profitable in every way, 
 for Mr Malcolm was excessively earnest and hardworking, and 
 likely to raise his tone of mind : altogether I felt there was 
 much to be thankful for. 
 
 But Betsey Green's house, as aunt Sarah always called it, was 
 still a great weight upon my spirits. Perhaps, I might have 
 made up my mind to the blank wall of the brewery ; but the 
 horse-hair sofa and chairs, the mahogany chiffonier, and the 
 dark prints hanging upon the drab-coloured paper, were very 
 oppressive. I was ashamed to feel what a slave I was to such 
 trifles ; and yet I hope there was some thought for my mother 
 too. We were very much alike in our perceptions of the com- 
 fort or discomfort of a room, and had always been accustomed to 
 consult about the placing of tables and chairs in the best manner. 
 There was little enough now to consult about, and I looked 
 forward really with fear to the first effect of her new home.
 
 244 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 We dared not remove anything from East Side ; all the 
 furniture had been appraised, and was considered to be under 
 my uncle's charge. He did not say what he intended to do 
 with it, but I heard him remark one day that he had some- 
 times thought of taking the whole himself, and letting the place 
 ready furnished. I tried not to think what I should do if I 
 were in his place ; it made me uncharitable. The day for our 
 departure was fixed. We had nearly packed up the few things 
 which were our personal property, and dismissed all our ser- 
 vants, except our old nurse. Retaining her was rather a 
 sacrifice of. wisdom to feeling. She was not, by any means, so 
 competent for work as a younger person would have been, but 
 it would have quite broken her heart, and more than half broken 
 ours, to part ; and she knew a little about cooking, and was an 
 admirable person in illness, and willing to live with us for the 
 wages we could afford to give ; and, in fact, as we all said, we 
 were quite sure if she went away one day she would come back 
 to us the next, and therefore we had no alternative. 
 
 Five pupils were promised me. They were each to give me 
 twenty pounds a year, and I was to teach them French, music, 
 Italian, and, as advertisements say, all the branches of English 
 education. My conscience was a little uneasy as to my quali- 
 fications, but I believed I knew more than the governesses who 
 had taught the children before, and I was certain that I had a 
 full intention of being careful and diligent. The idea of begin- 
 ning was not at all pleasant, but I tried not to let Hester see 
 it ; and as to my mother, she was too good to distress herself 
 long, whilst she saw that we were trying to do our duty ; and 
 the prospect of independence, at whatever cost it might be ob- 
 tained, was by degrees reconciling her to our undertaking. 
 
 I had been into Carsdale very often while all the arrange- 
 ments were going on ; not because there was so much to be 
 done, as from a kind of restlessness which made me eagerly 
 seize on any excuse for bodily exertion to remove the weight 
 from my mind. Of real business there was but little. Few 
 changes were to be made at East Side — few at the house in 
 Cross Street. Yet I went there constantly, and looked at the 
 little parlour, and sometimes moved the chairs, and even 
 brought the horse-hair sofa out of the recess, and placed it 
 against the wall fronting the window, and fancied I made the 
 room a little brighter. One thing I remembered could be done 
 at the last. Miss Cole would gather some fresh flowers from
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 245 
 
 aunt Sarah's garden, for the little porcelain vase, on the clay we 
 took possession : and flowers always make a room cheerful. 
 Aunt Sarah would not allow me to go to the house any more at 
 last. It was a foolish waste of spirits, she said. There was 
 nothing to be done, and I should only make my eyes red with 
 crying and vex my mother ; and Lady Emily, who happened 
 to be with her one day, seconded her advice. But the last day 
 of all it was really necessary to go ; and I had put on my 
 bonnet, and ordered the pony-chaise with a sad heart, knowing 
 that I should never have an excuse for doing so again, and was 
 making some memoranda as to things not to be forgotten when 
 the Lowood carriage drove up to the door. I expected to sec 
 Lady Emily, but instead, I received a request that I would be 
 so very kind as to go and speak to Miss Grant, just for one 
 moment. She was alone and a little embarrassed, and hurried 
 in manner, fearing she had taken a liberty ; but she did not 
 like to go in, she said, because it might be an intrusion upon 
 my mother. She was come with a most earnest request that 
 Hester might go back to Lowood with them. Lady Emily 
 thought, when we came to consider matters, we should not 
 object. She would have come herself, but she was in a very- 
 great hurry, and had been obliged to stop at Hurst, at one of 
 Mr Rivers' cottages. Mr Beresford was with her, and they 
 were all going into Carsdale, and would call for Hester on their 
 way back. Lady Emily hoped to see me in Carsdale, as she 
 knew I meant to be there. If I would go to aunt Sarah's the 
 first thing, she would make a poinf of meeting me there. I had 
 only to fix the hour. The last request was very easily granted ; but 
 Hester's visit to Lowood was a different thing. She had never 
 been anywhere without me. It seemed a great step, allowing 
 her to go for the first time. Yet what could there be to object 
 to ? There was no one at Lowood except the family, and 
 Sophia Grant, who was quite one of themselves ; and it would 
 save Hester a great deal of pain in leaving East Side. I could 
 not find any reason against the proposal, and yet I had a sin- 
 gular dread of her accepting it, especially as I knew my mother 
 would agree to whatever I decided upon, unless, in her desire 
 to give Hester pleasure, she might try to overrule my objections. 
 Sophia watched my doubtful face, and urged her petition more 
 eagerly. Lady Emily had said that Hester might be more 
 wanted at home the next week, and Sophia herself might be 
 called away from Lowood at any moment. If there was no
 
 246 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 very great reason to the contrary, it would be such an immer.ie 
 favour ! Still I hesitated. 
 
 ' Here comes Mr Beresford,' said Sophia. ' Two to one ! 
 We shall be sure to gain the day.' Mr Beresford had been 
 sent to inquire the cause of the delay. ' He considered the 
 question settled,' he said ; ' for his sister would accept no re- 
 fusal.' ' But she will accept a sensible reason,' I replied ; and 
 then I felt myself caught by my own words, for I had really no 
 sensible reason to give. 
 
 Mr Beresford pleaded very strongly for Sophia's pleasure, 
 looking round, at the same time, to see if Hester was near. 
 He declared that she ought to be allowed to decide for herself, 
 for he was sure she had both age and wisdom. 
 
 Hester just then came out to the door, and I was amused 
 and at the same time a little provoked at the way in which 
 she hurried by Mr Beresford to speak to Sophia. She was 
 almost rude, though I knew, quite unintentionally ; but he did 
 not appear to remark it, and seemed only pleased to watch the 
 cordiality of their meeting. The question was settled, then, at 
 least so far as it could be without my mother's sanction. When 
 it had once been proposed to Hester, it would have been wrong 
 to interpose obstacles without real necessity, and she ran in- 
 doors to obtain the final ' yes,' and returned almost directly 
 with the intelligence that • Mamma was charmed that she should 
 go.' 
 
 ' Then Lady Emily is to meet you at your aunt's, at three 
 o'clock,' said Miss Grant, addressing me. ' Yes, if she would 
 be kind enough ; I should be most glad to see her.' 
 
 ' And we will call for you, Miss Mortimer, at half-past four,' 
 added Mr Beresford, speaking to Hester ; ' good-bye for the 
 present ; ' and he shook hands with her, and gave me a bow, 
 because I was not near him, and they drove off. 
 
 ' Mammy, dear, why are you so grave ? ' said Hester, as we 
 stood upon the steps together. ' There is enough to make one 
 grave; is there not?' I replied, trying to smile. 'Yes, indeed,' 
 and she heaved a deep sigh ; ' but I thought there seemed some- 
 thing particular.' ' No, nothing.' 
 
 And it was nothing that I could say, — nothing that I under- 
 stood ; but I wished that I was going to Lowood with her.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LADY EMILY was punctual to her appointment. Aunt 
 Sarah had just finished dinner when we arrived, nearly 
 at the same moment. I think it struck us all painfully how 
 like it was to old times. And there was the old conversation, 
 too. We were to have a little girl from the Blue School,* as 
 Lady Emily's school was called, to help nurse in the mornings; 
 for this was one of the arrangements by which the children 
 were practised in household work. The school had increased 
 since the first foundation, for all persons who approved of it 
 were admitted as subscribers, and by this means eight, instead 
 of six children only, were boarded and educated. There had 
 been some drawbacks, as might naturally be expected ; but, 
 upon the whole, the institution had prospered wonderfully. 
 The instruction was very simple, much below what in these 
 days is considered essential. The children were taught read- 
 ing, writing, arithmetic, and needle-work ; and learnt to make 
 their own beds, scrub their own floors, wash their own clothes, 
 and cook their own dinners. They were taken to church regu- 
 larly on the Sundays, and besides, on Wednesdays, Fridays, 
 and saints' days. They learnt their collects, and said their 
 catechism, and were regularly instructed in a knowledge of the 
 Bible ; and as soon as they were old enough, they were allowed 
 to attend, from eight till twelve, at the houses of the respectable 
 families in Carsdale, who were subscribers to the school, and 
 so were practised in household work on a larger scale. When 
 they had thus gained some knowledge of a servant's duties 
 they were placed out at regular service. 
 
 Each girl, on leaving the school, was provided with a Bible 
 and Prayer-Book, a 'Whole Duty of Man' (in those days a book 
 held in high esteem), and two sets of clothes. If she kept her 
 place for a twelvemonth, and received a good character, she 
 was entitled to the further reward of a sovereign. The great 
 objection raised against the school, at the beginning, was the 
 dress. It was very plain, and scarcely, in those days, singular, 
 though, of course, it was likely to become so as years went on. 
 The poor people themselves found fault at first, and some of 
 
 * The original idea of this .school was taken from an institution set on foot, 
 towards the close of the last century, at Newport in the Isle of Wight, but which 
 has no connection with the National School.
 
 248 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 the ultra-philanthropic liberals of Carsdale talked about badges 
 of poverty, and enlarged eloquently upon the sin of having dis- 
 tinctions of any kind ; but Lady Emily and Mr Rivers went on 
 their own way undisturbed, and in the course of a very few 
 years the current of public opinion was entirely in their favour. 
 The dress was a mark of honour, and stamped the children at 
 once as well-conducted ; and I am sure it tended to keep them 
 out of much mischief, for when they were sent into the different 
 families to learn household work, the fact of being marked by 
 dress forced them to be careful. Strangers, even, could watch 
 their conduct, and report it if it was amiss. For myself — I sup- 
 pose I must not be considered an unprejudiced judge — a plan 
 suggested by aunt Sarah, and carried out by Lady Emily, could 
 scarcely fail to approve itself to my mind ; but, undoubtedly, 
 facts were in favour of the school. 
 
 The girls educated in it were, for the most part, modest, dili- 
 gent, and well-principled ; they were constantly sought after 
 for domestic service ; and the common saying in Carsdale was, 
 ' If you can have a Blue School girl, you are sure of a good 
 servant.' The effect upon the National School also was satis- 
 factory. There was something for the children to aim at ; and 
 those who stood as candidates for admission to the Blue School 
 received, even if they failed, a certificate of good conduct, ac- 
 cording to their respective merits, which marked them out as 
 deserving of encouragement. It is not to be supposed that 
 such an arrangement provided against all possibility of disap- 
 pointment, or did not at times involve what might have seemed 
 an over-rigid observance of rules. No child was allowed to 
 enter the Blue School before eleven, or after fourteen years of 
 age. There were occasionally cases in which this rule shut out 
 a girl whom it appeared desirable to admit, but it was quite 
 impossible to provide against such accidental circumstances, 
 and in these cases the disappointment was softened, as much 
 as possible, by the certificate of good conduct. So, again, 
 when a choice was made on the occasion of a vacancy, the 
 laWs sometimes appeared stringent. The children were re- 
 quired to have been in the National School a certain time, to 
 have received a certain number of good marks, to be able to 
 pass a fair examination. It sometimes happened that illness, 
 or the misconduct of parents, prevented these requirements 
 being complied with ; and it seemed hard, then, that the chil- 
 dren should suffer.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. z\<) 
 
 Lady Emily was sometimes, on these occasions, inclined to 
 blame the rules ; but Mr Rivers would never allow her to alter 
 them, and aunt Sarah tried to make her contented with them. 
 
 ' We needn't try,' she used to say, ' to make better laws than 
 the laws of God's providence. Good laws and a bad world 
 can never be quite square ; but it *s not the laws which want 
 mending, but the world.' 
 
 But this is a long digression, only I have a great affection 
 for the Blue School, and a pleasant remembrance of the tidy 
 little figures, with their dark-blue gowns, and white capes, and 
 straw bonnets, which I have so often watched on their way to 
 church ; and I like to think of the old-fashioned house in the 
 back street, with the image of a Blue Girl over the doors ; and 
 the sensible, straightforward mistress having a personal affection 
 for her children, as she always called them ; and, besides, our 
 little maid proved a most valuable assistant in our household, 
 and became eventually a regular servant, and remained with 
 us till she married. It would have seemed almost ungrateful 
 to pass her over without mention ; but I must now return to 
 aunt Sarah's parlour and Lady Emily Rivers. 
 
 The first subject of general conversation, when the affair of 
 the school was settled, was Hester's invitation to Lowood. Lady 
 Emily was half afraid I might have been vexed at the idea of 
 losing her just when we were going away from East Side ; but 
 it Avas the only opportunity they were likely to have of offering 
 her a quiet visit, as in the course of the next fortnight several 
 other persons were expected. 
 
 ' And I hoped too,' she added, ' that Hester might be spared 
 a little pain by the arrangement.' 
 
 I suppose my manner was not very cordial, for aunt Sarah 
 scolded me, and told me I had forgotten how to say ' thank 
 you ; ' and Lady Emily insisted upon my telling her exactly 
 what my objections were. I had none to make— I could think 
 of none — but I smiled, and owned that, being the first time I 
 had ever allowed my child to go away from me I had conjured 
 up a little anxiety for the occasion. 
 
 ' That 's your fault, Sally, — forestalling trouble,' said my 
 aunt. ' God gives you medicine as you need it. Sometimes 
 it 's sorrow, sometimes it 's care, and sometimes it 's over-much 
 business. He orders it in fit portions, at certain times ; but it's 
 your fashion to take it all at one time, and then, of course, it 's 
 too much for you.'
 
 2 So THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 I do not really think there can be anything to be anxious 
 about now/ continued Lady Emily ; ' only Mr Rivers and my- 
 self there — two old married people — and Sophia Grant, and 
 my brother, who leaves us to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Does Mr Beresford really go so soon ?' I inquired. ' Yes,' 
 replied Lady Emily, ' and much to his own annoyance, I 
 suspect.' She smiled as she said this, and I ventured to 
 remark, that ' I supposed the temptations of Lowood would be 
 too great for him to remain long away.' 
 
 ' One would imagine so, to judge from appearances,' answered 
 Lady Emily. 'But one must let all these things take their 
 course — men don't like to be interfered with. My brother says 
 he shall be absent, probably, a fortnight.' 
 
 The news was a relief to me ; I did not know why. I cast off 
 all thoughts about Hester, and returned to the ordinary business 
 of life. The afternoon was wearing away, and I was wishing to 
 go to Cross Street, to be quite sure that everything had been 
 made as comfortable as it could be. Aunt Sarah did not 
 object, as she had clone lately, and Lady Emily offered to go 
 with me. She liked to know exactly what we were proposing 
 to do, and I told her of all we had settled for my mother, and 
 we made a few calculations as to the household expense, which 
 gave me hope that if Joanna could be persuaded to do her part, 
 we might manage tolerably well. It was a very great blessing 
 having some one who could understand and help me in all 
 these points ; and Lady Emily, for the time, seemed to have no 
 thought except for me. But my heart sank, I confess, as I 
 opened the door of our new abode. I could scarcely believe 
 that I was not going to order a new dress, as in the old times. 
 Nurse had been sent to prepare everything for us, but she did 
 not come to open the door ; and instead, appeared a char- 
 woman, with her sleeves tucked up to her elbows, who had been 
 occupied in scrubbing the floors. 
 
 Sounds of knocking and hammering were to be heard, which 
 were very incomprehensible, and brought a vision of carpenter's 
 work and carpenter's bills — all about nothing, — and I turned 
 to Lady Emily to express my annoyance, but she had gone on 
 before me ; and when I opened the parlour door, she was in 
 the middle of the apartment, talking to a man with a hammer 
 and nails in his hand. And the room ! The change was the 
 most marvellous of the kind that I could have imagined. A 
 bright paper, bright curtains, a pretty carpet, a comfortable
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 251 
 
 sofa, a round tabic, a cottage piano, a little bookcase, quite 
 filled, a vase of flowers, ornaments for the mantelpiece — it was 
 as pleasant a room, always excepting the blank wall of the 
 brewery, as could possibly be devised. The fairy to whom we 
 were indebted for its transformation, I recognised directly. Lady 
 Emily's deep blush and embarrassed air belonged rather to the 
 person who receives, than the one who confers a favour. She 
 was full of apologies. She only trusted, she said, that we should 
 not consider it a liberty ; but it had been such great pleasure 
 to Mr Rivers and herself; and she had asked aunt Sarah's 
 -anction, so that the fault must not be considered her own, if 
 jhe had ventured too far. 
 
 ' Aunt Sarah said that the house belonged to her three 
 nieces/ added Lady Emily ; ' and I thought, therefore, that 
 we might, for old acquaintance' sake, venture to put a few little 
 ornaments into it.' 
 
 The sentence was repeated twice, and I quite understood 
 her, and thanked her for myself and my sisters. My mother's 
 name was not mentioned, though it was of her that we all 
 thought. 
 
 We then went over the house. The old furniture of the 
 parlour had been removed, partly into the school-room, and 
 partly into the little back-room, which was to be used as a 
 dining-room, and which now began to assume a habitable ap- 
 pearance. Here, -also, a careful consideration had given us 
 some dining-room chairs, and new curtains, and in the school- 
 room I found a pair of globes ; yet I was scarcely allowed to 
 say what I felt. If we would only accept, and forgive the 
 liberty, that was all which Lady Emily desired. Persons who 
 live surrounded by luxury, or even those who have always been 
 accustomed to the reverse, can scarcely imagine what a differ- 
 ence there was in my feelings when I went again into the 
 drawing-room, and imagined my mother inhabiting it. I hope 
 Lady Emily believed what I could not have found words to 
 say. Half the sadness of the change that had befallen us was 
 gone, for the moment, with the consciousness that her affection 
 could never alter. 
 
 We left East Side. I pass over the details of the last night 
 and the last morning. I suspect we were all peculiarly endowed 
 with the organ of locality, and our feeling for the inanimate 
 objects surrounding our home was really a personal attachment. 
 And we had made the place, in a great degree, what it was. We
 
 252 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 knew every plant and flower, and had associations with every 
 turn in the walks, every glimpse of the distant country. If we 
 had left East Side under happy circumstances, the day of 
 departure would have been very sorrowful ; but we had given 
 up ease for care, brightness for gloom, mirth for sadness and 
 tears. So, at least, it then seemed, for the clouds had departed 
 from the days that were gone, and we saw them soft and bright, 
 shadowed only by the mists of memory. Even the satisfaction 
 of knowing that the home we loved would pass into the hands 
 of persons who would appreciate it was denied us. The place 
 was to be let, and its next owner would probably set little value 
 upon the things which to us were full of remembrances. It was 
 hard not to feel a little bitterly when I saw my mother standing 
 regretfully by her own little work-table, and opening the empty 
 drawer ; and I thought of Lady Emily furnishing our drawing- 
 room, and uncle Ralph exacting to the very last penny, and 
 marvelled that beings of the same flesh and blood should be so 
 different. 
 
 We went into Carsdale late. My dear mother was very quiet 
 and silent ; she tried not to distress us by showing her grief, 
 but it was too plainly legible in her face. We had a close 
 carriage for her, and she sat back in it, with her eyes closed, 
 and never opened them till we stopped at the door of the little 
 house in Cross Street. Joanna cried nearly the whole time, and 
 was continually begging me to keep my head back, lest some 
 one should see me. My own tears were all inward ; I knew 
 that if I once gave way, I should be unable to recover myself. 
 Nurse had lighted candles in the drawing-room, and made the 
 fire blaze brightly, so as to show it off to the best advantage. 
 I had buoyed myself up with the hope that the prettiness of the 
 room would strike my mother, and, for the moment, please her ; 
 but a blank chill came over me as she just looked round for a 
 moment, evidently scarcely seeing anything, and then told nurse 
 to have the trunks taken up-stairs, for she should soon be going 
 to bed. I felt then how difficult, how next to impossible, it is 
 to enter into the depths of another's grief. There were times, 
 and this was one, when all thought, all fear and regret, were 
 swallowed up in the consciousness of the one great loss she had 
 sustained in my father's death. We could do nothing for her 
 then but leave her to herself, and to the comfort which solitude 
 only can give. 
 
 She did come down, however, to tea, and we placed her in an
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 253 
 
 arm-chair by the fire, and went on talking, without addressing 
 her, and now and then she was induced to make an observation 
 herself; but we did not venture to say that the room was pretty, 
 or to express any hope of finding comfort in our new home. She 
 was not in a state to bear it, and I had been obliged to exact a 
 promise from Joanna that she would not draw her attention to 
 the furniture. It was a very, very oppressive evening — I have 
 had none like it since. But I was thankful that Hester was at 
 Lowood. 
 
 A week will sometimes do what, at a distance, seems as if it 
 must be the work of months. A week saw my mother domesti- 
 cated every morning in the school-room, listening to the lessons, 
 and apparently taking a little interest in them ; and a week 
 made me feel, that if we could only have a sufficient number of 
 pupils, so as to save us from anxiety in money matters, life, as 
 it still had duties, would still have pleasures. There was a great 
 satisfaction in the independence, the consciousness of exertion, 
 the definite occupation, even when the labour of teaching was 
 irksome, which it was not always ; and I was sure, besides, that 
 in time I should become fond of my pupils. Our house was 
 really comfortable, and the new furniture contributed more 
 than any arguments to make Joanna cheerful. My mother, 
 also, after the first mournful evening, admired it as much as I 
 could possibly have wished, and dwelt upon the point which I 
 was always most desirous of impressing upon her, — Lady 
 Emily's kindness to us. I could not have endured that she 
 should feel it as an obligation to herself; and, indeed, it was 
 what Lady Emily herself had especially wished to avoid. Sad 
 as the time was, it was not without hope ; and with hope, what 
 may not be endured ? 
 
 When Hester came back from Lowood, after the visit of a 
 fortnight, I was afraid that the change to her would awaken my 
 mother's sympathy, and arouse the deep regrets which were still 
 latent in her mind. But sorrow to the young is very unlike 
 what it is to the old ; and Hester's light-heartedness was of that 
 kind which I believe is scarcely ever entirely overcome. She 
 was charmed with the furniture, interested in the children, a 
 little proud, and a little amused, at the requirements of some of 
 the parents, and relieved to find that Joanna was willing to help 
 me by giving the children music lessons. That she should con- 
 sent to work at all was a great point ; and Hester did not feel, 
 as I did, that it was Joanna's duty not to choose the work she
 
 2 54 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 liked, but to undertake that which would be the greatest assist- 
 ance in a pecuniary way. I could have managed the music 
 lessons of my own pupils without her ; but whenever anything 
 was said, as to her having pupils of her own, she always stopped 
 the observation by reckoning up all she had done in the day, 
 and adding, that she really could not undertake anything more. 
 
 The Lowood visit had no perceptible effect upon Hester that I 
 could discern, and I blamed myself at first for my absurd 
 anxieties. There could be no doubt, she said, of Mr Beres- 
 ford's intentions, or of Miss Grant's feelings. Everything said 
 or done by her, she was certain, had reference to him, and, on 
 the plea of their being cousins, he wrote to her every other day. 
 Her visit had been very pleasant, for Sophia had made her 
 share all her pursuits ; amongst other things, they had learnt a 
 great deal of poetry. Hester suspected it was to please Mr 
 Beresford, for he was devoted to it, and was constantly writing 
 to Sophia about it. 
 
 Mr Beresford, she added, had returned two days before she 
 came away, and on one of these days Sophia had been obliged 
 to go out with Lady Emily alone, to pay some visits ; and Mr 
 Beresford went out too, but he came back before them, and was 
 very kind to her, and read aloud, just as much as if Sophia had 
 been there. I thought, as I looked at Hester, that it was better 
 for her mind to be teaching little Kate and Emily Blair than to 
 be sitting in the drawing-room at Lowood, hearing poetry read 
 aloud by Mr Beresford ; and again the old anxiety came over 
 me. But Hester was unaltered, and Mr Beresford was all but 
 engaged. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ' \A/' HEN is tlie East Side business t0 be settled?' Aunt 
 V * Sarah asked me the question every time I went to 
 see her, and so did Lady Emily, whenever we were alone, for 
 upon the sale of the East Side furniture depended the settle- 
 ment of all our affairs. Mr Rivers was strong in his opinion 
 that it was worth more than the valuation, and urged us to 
 have a London appraiser ; but it had been left entirely in my 
 uncle's hands, and my mother did not like to do what would 
 appear suspicious. And besides, as she said, if the London
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 255 
 
 man did not value it at more, there would be all his expenses 
 to pay, and nothing gained. 
 
 My uncle put off the sale from time to time, in the hope, he 
 said, that the house and furniture would let together. But no 
 offer was made ; and all this time I felt sure, in my own mind, 
 that my uncle was reckoning interest against us, and would, 
 sooner or later, bring forward an increased claim. He had 
 paid the money due to the mining company, so our debt now 
 was to him. What I wished was, that he would buy the furni- 
 ture himself for the sum named in the valuation ; but he did 
 not appear to like this notion. The furniture, he said, would 
 be no use to him, — we must have patience. I did not in this 
 instance consider patience to be a virtue, and I talked to Mr 
 Rivers, and was persuaded by him to urge Vaughan to inter- 
 fere ; but it was one of those interminable family affairs which 
 can only be surpassed by a suit in Chancery; and week after 
 week went on and nothing was done. 
 
 It was during this state of things that we received intelligence 
 of the increasing illness of my aunt Colston ; not, however, 
 from Horatia, but from my uncle Ralph. He came to see us 
 one morning, just as we were sitting down to breakfast, and 
 mentioned having heard it accidentally in a letter of business ; 
 he did not say from whom ; neither did he give us any reason 
 to apprehend immediate danger. She was much weaker, he 
 said, than she had been before, and not equal to seeing any one 
 — so he had heard ; and as she had been ill so long, and was 
 not young, such symptoms were a cause for anxiety. This was 
 not a very much worse account than we had heard long before, 
 but it frightened my mother, and made her write herself, and 
 offer to go up to London and be with her. 
 
 The next day's post brought intelligence that aunt Colston was 
 dead ! That was a veiy painful and bad business. I would fain 
 not be unjust, or suspect evil without proof, but we had great 
 cause for complaint. If Horatia really kept us in ignorance of 
 my aunt's state, as she said, to save us from increased anxiety, 
 when we had already so much to bear, it was a great error of 
 judgment ; but I could never myself accept that excuse. Such 
 thoughtfulness was unlike her general character ; and, more- 
 over, it was accompanied by misstatements which nothing could 
 justify. When aunt Colston was said, some weeks before, to 
 be too ill to read her own letters, Caroline offered to go and see 
 her ; but this was prevented on the plea that excitement would
 
 2 >6 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 be injurious ; and from that time we were told she was getting 
 better, and hoped to come to the Cottage. Now and then 
 messages were sent us, full of delays, but giving us no cause for 
 suspecting that my aunt was not at least recovering her 
 usual state of health ; and yet all this time she was, we found 
 afterwards, rapidly sinking. What she knew of us must, I 
 imagine, have been as little as we knew of her. Whatever 
 might have been her failings, she was not a person to neglect 
 my mother, or act with wilful injustice ; yet she appeared to 
 have done both. 
 
 My brothers went to the funeral. My uncle Ralph went 
 also. I did not know what relationship he claimed to be 
 entitled to show this mark of respect. When he returned he 
 brought back, by Horatia's request, a copy of my aunt's will, 
 and a letter in her own handwriting addressed to me. 
 
 Both were dated ten years previously, but there was a post- 
 script to the letter, added about a year before her death. I read 
 the letter with very different feelings now from those which I 
 should have had whilst my aunt was living. Death softens the 
 dark shadows of a character, and brings out vividly its brighter 
 lights. Now, when aunt Colston could no longer vex me, I 
 believed that I had been often harsh in my judgment of her, 
 and I blamed myself for having in moments of pique or thought- 
 lessness given occasion for the very severity which I con- 
 demned. Yet the letter had all her peculiarities. It began by 
 a history of her own motives in coming to East Side, narrated 
 in round sentences, which might have been printed without a 
 word of correction. 
 
 ' It was/ she said, ' with a view of studying the character of 
 her sister's family, in order to form a fair estimate of the claim 
 which they had upon her consideration. Her dear child, 
 Horatia, had already in those early days gained her true affec- 
 tion ; but, however she might desire to evince a sense of her 
 high qualities, by treating her as a child by birth, as well as by 
 adoption, she did not wish to put aside the claims of others 
 more immediately connected with her. If we required and 
 deserved help, she had been quite willing to give it. But ' — 
 then followed a description of what we were, or what aunt 
 Colston believed, and Horatia persuaded her, we were ; — a 
 strong likeness, but grievously caricatured ; the result being, 
 that our style of living showed that we were in no need, or that 
 if we were, it would be a mere waste of money to offer it to us.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 25/ 
 
 Either we were rich or we were extravagant ; in both cases 
 equally unsuited to participate in aunt Colston's bounty. Sh~ 
 had, indeed, at one time believed that her determination would 
 be different. Upon a short acquaintance, she had hoped that I 
 should prove the exception to the common character of 
 the family ; but late events had proved my vanity and insta- 
 bility of purpose ; and as we were not likely to need money 
 except for the purposes of idle luxury, she deemed it her duty to 
 leave her fortune in hands which she was assured would know 
 how to employ it rightly. The bulk of her property (about 
 eight hundred a year) was therefore given to Horatia Gray ; 
 but, as a mark of sisterly affection, my mother was to receive a 
 legacy of two hundred pounds ; one hundred pounds being also 
 left to me as the fortunate individual who was considered to 
 deserve, not the most praise, but the least blame. The post- 
 script stated that the lapse of nine years had in no way 
 altered my aunt's opinion as to the right disposal of her property, 
 especially as she had reason to believe, from observations 
 made by my uncle Ralph to Horatia, that my father was 
 likely to leave a considerable fortune from some successful 
 mining speculations. 
 
 What a mist seemed to pass from my eyes as I read this 
 letter ! Horatia's character, her aim, her special dislike to 
 myself, appeared, as if in a moment, revealed to me. Doubtless 
 she had had one fear in life — that we, that I, more particularly, 
 might come between her and my aunt's fortune. Well ! she 
 had gained her object ; and I am thankful to be able to say 
 from my heart that I did not envy her its attainment. The 
 uppermost thought in my mind, when I laid down my aunt's 
 letter, was gratitude for the mercy which had sent us assistance 
 at the very time we most needed it. My aunt's legacy would 
 have been thrown away if it had come a year sooner ; now it 
 would enable us to look forward for many months without 
 uneasiness. 
 
 As to my uncle's false statement of our prospects, it perfectly 
 bewildered me. What motive could he have had for it ? Yet 
 it was only hearsay, and I tried to believe that Horatia might 
 have misunderstood him. My mother's first feeling, when I 
 showed her the will and the letter, was like my own, — gratitude 
 to God. Wounded sisterly affection and regret for us followed. 
 Not that she was disappointed ; that could not be when she 
 had never expected anything ; yet it was very tantalising to 
 
 R
 
 253 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 think that, but for prejudice and misrepresentation, we might 
 now have been beyond the reach of pressing care. 
 
 But aunt Sarah set that feeling right both for her and for me. 
 1 People's faults,' she said, ' are their own, but their conse- 
 quences are God's. Not all the prejudice in the world could 
 have kept you from money, if it had been His will that yfcHi 
 should have it. And remember, Sally, that poverty teaches 
 faith, and faith is a mine of wealth, which no one has ever yet 
 got to the bottom of.' 
 
 Dear aunt Sarah ! her words come to my remembrance all 
 the more frequently, as I feel how soon there will be none to 
 recall. 
 
 Her infirmities were rapidly gaining ground upon her, but her 
 powers of mind were astonishing, and I even fancied that her 
 perceptions grew more keen as her physical strength decayed. 
 For her sake I was quite satisfied to be living in Carsdale. I 
 saw her every day ; it was my rest when my pupils were gone ; 
 and my mother saw her also. Aunt Sarah was the only person 
 whose house she could be persuaded to enter ; and I pleased 
 myself with thinking that they were learning to know and 
 estimate each other better than they had ever done before. We 
 had a year of quietness, if not of happiness, after that stormy 
 period which succeeded my father's death ; yet, interrupted, as 
 regarded myself, by a circumstance which, if it had occurred a 
 few years before, might have changed the whole current of my 
 life. After we had been in Carsdale about three months, I 
 received an offer of marriage from a clergyman, living in the 
 neighbourhood, whom I had frequently met at Lowood. He 
 was a person whom I thoroughly esteemed, and liked, personally, 
 more than any one I had ever seen. If we had met when we 
 were respectively twenty and thirty, instead of nearly thirty and 
 forty, I might probably have given him a still warmer feeling. 
 As it was, I will not pretend to say that the necessity of refusing 
 did not give me a great pang. But to leave my mother and 
 sisters was impossible ; and he was not rich enough to offer 
 them a home, or give them, indeed, any assistance. If we had 
 married we must have lived for ourselves alone. He offered to 
 consider it an engagement, and wait the course of events. But 
 this I decidedly objected to. He was not young, and I was 
 sure, from my knowledge of his character, that it would be for 
 his happiness to marry at once. I esteemed him all the more 
 for seeing, as I did, that my prior duty was to my own family,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OP LIFE. 259 
 
 and for giving me help to bear the sacrifice I was making, 
 rather than in urging his own feelings against it. That shows, 
 I suppose, that he was not desperately in love, as people call 
 it ; but I felt myself that the feeling was much more sterling 
 than the affection which can think only of its own gratification. 
 
 There was a curious mixture of sadness and relief in my 
 mind when the affair was quite at an end, and he had left the 
 neighbourhood, as he did almost immediately. My spirits had 
 been so worn, that I actually dreaded the thought of any change, 
 even though it might be for happiness. I felt as if I had not 
 the power of beginning life again, — as if it would be, in a cer- 
 tain way, going backwards, creating interests for this world, 
 when all my object hitherto had been to loosen them. And yet 
 it was very pleasant to think of resting upon another, instead 
 of depending upon one's self ; and the idea of an affection 
 exclusively one's own was more tempting than words can tell. 
 I did not wonder at persons wishing to be married ; but the 
 day-dream was kept under, and nothing was said by me, to any 
 one, of the circumstances which led to it, and in time it ceased 
 to give me pain. 
 
 He went to Australia directly afterwards, and married the fol- 
 lowing year. He has probably never heard of me since, but I 
 often see his name mentioned as one of the most hard-working 
 of the Australian clergy, and it soothes me to think that the only 
 feeling approaching to love, which I ever bestowed upon any 
 man not of my own family, was given to one deserving of it. 
 
 That was the only very important event in my life which I 
 ever kept from aunt Sarah. It was not that I feared she might 
 disapprove my decision, but I wished to spare her unnecessary 
 pain, for she was extremely fond of me, and it would have been 
 hard for her to bear the thought that I had lost a prospect of 
 happiness. It was just possible, also, though I did not think 
 it probable, that she might have tried to induce Caroline to 
 come forward more largely with assistance, and then the whole 
 thing would become known to my mother, which was what I 
 especially wished to avoid ; so I kept my secret in my own 
 breast. Yet I own I was a little galled, for the moment, by 
 hearing the next week that Reginald's salary had been raised, 
 and that he was therefore at liberty to look out for a wife. 
 Notwithstanding all that had been done, the family burden did 
 not fall quite equally. However, that was not a thought to be 
 encouraged ; and, besides, even if my sisters had been pro-
 
 260 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 vided for, it would have made my mother wretched to part 
 from me. 
 
 One other circumstance I must mention as occurring about the 
 same time — an offer made by Mr Rivers for the purchase of East 
 Side, which, to our excessive surprise, was refused, because my 
 uncle wished to have the place and the furniture himself. And 
 nothing had been said to us before, but we had been led to 
 believe that my uncle's chief anxiety was, like ours, to find a 
 purchaser, or, at least, a tenant ! My mother was really in- 
 dignant, and begged to know how long my uncle had made up 
 his mind upon the subject. But, as usual, there were no tangible 
 causes for offence. There had been some little difficulties in 
 the way, we were told, and until they were put aside, it seemed 
 better not to talk about it. He took it for granted that we 
 should part with the furniture for the sum at which it had been 
 valued. My mother acquiesced ; it seemed that there was 
 nothing else to be done ; but we found, some time afterwards, 
 that Mr Rivers would have taken the farming stock separately, 
 and have given fifty pounds more for it than my uncle offered. 
 I asked Lady Emily why application had not at once been 
 made to my mother ; but she said that Mr Rivers thought it 
 could be of no use, as he was assured, when talking to Mr Hale, 
 the lawyer, to whom my uncle had referred him, that Mr Mor- 
 timer had completed the purchase of the whole. That was a 
 loss of fifty pounds to us ; and, moreover, my uncle laid claim 
 to an interest of five per cent, upon our debt from the time cf 
 my father's death till the day that the sale was completed, 
 which swallowed up the small surplus that would otherwise 
 have been left. 
 
 It would be hard to say how intensely bitter were the feelings 
 sometimes excited upon these subjects. I could have forgiven 
 far more easily, if my uncle had been openly dishonourable. It 
 used to worry me very much to know whether I really was in 
 charity with him ; but aunt Sarah made my mind easy by 
 telling me not to try and rake out my feelings and look at them, 
 but to judge myself by acts — whether I checked myself in think- 
 ing and talking upon these causes of offence ; if I did that, 
 the feeling would be kept down, and I should find that I was 
 quite ready, when occasion required, to do my uncle a kindness. 
 As for endeavouring to think that wrong was not wrong, I 
 might just as well endeavour to persuade myself that the sun 
 was black.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 261 
 
 One of our greatest comforts all this time was in having 
 Herbert settled so near us. His life at Mr Harrison's was not 
 perfect happiness, but there was nothing which could not well 
 be borne, and he was cheerful and hopeful, and, for the present, 
 whilst his friend Mr Malcolm remained in Carsdale, I was sure 
 he would have no wish to leave the place. We saw a good 
 deal of them both upon the whole : Herbert's half-holidays 
 were always spent with us ; and then Mr Malcolm was asked 
 to drink tea ; and they often came to us on a Sunday evening. 
 Their society enlivened my mother, and was very agreeable to 
 me. Mr Malcolm was a person whom no one could be with, 
 and not derive benefit, if it were only from the effect of his 
 exceeding earnestness of purpose. But he was a very thought- 
 ful person also, and many of his ideas were new and interesting. 
 1 did not always agree with them, especially on our first ac- 
 quaintance, and we often had arguments upon abstract ques- 
 tions ; but even if occasionally I fancied that I came off the 
 conqueror, I was still impressed-with my antagonist's quickness 
 of perception and powers of clear reasoning. What, I think-, 
 he chiefly wanted, was an acquaintance with common life and 
 common modes of thought. He had lived in the atmosphei e 
 of a college till he insensibly reasoned as if all the world was a 
 college also ; but a little intercourse with general society would 
 soon correct this. And he had the best possible ingredient for 
 the formation of a superior character ; he was thoroughly 
 humble, and, to my great satisfaction, never talked of himself. 
 Yet he did more than I could have supposed it possible for 
 any one man to do. Mr Benson was now so old, that the 
 whole care of the parish devolved upon the curate, and he 
 worked indefatigably. The Carsdale people woke, as it were, 
 from a long sleep, and, for the first time in their lives, began 
 to perceive that the Church was a real and active power, 
 capable of enormous influence, and claiming peculiar privileges. 
 They did not quite like their new state of consciousness ; it 
 interfered with their former habits, and made them uneasy, and 
 Mr Malcolm was for some time very unpopular. But the 
 most inveterate prejudice could not have withstood his practical 
 goodness, and even the Dissenters were forced to confess that 
 the curate was ' a true Christian.' It would take a long time 
 to trace the effect of his opinions upon the persons who came 
 within their reach. They certainly had a great influence upon 
 me, though I did argue and find fault with him. They made
 
 262 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 me study, and think of religion in a way which I had never 
 done before, — controversially, I suppose I must call it ; yet 
 the result was decidedly practical. Many of the old difficulties 
 which had harassed me in the early days of my intercourse at 
 Lowood, — questions which Miss Warner used to bring forward, 
 and speculations as to the real errors of Dissent, were now 
 made clear to me. I had always been a church person from 
 taste, now I was one from principle, and I could feel an essential 
 difference in my own mind in consequence. My thoughts were 
 carried away from myself. I had interests and sympathies 
 beyond the sphere of my own immediate circle, and I lost much 
 of the fear of loneliness and isolation which had before occa- 
 sionally depressed me when looking forward to the future. 
 Those were external blessings ; the internal cannot now be 
 spoken of. Sometimes church subjects were discussed at 
 Lowood, when I went there from Saturday till Monday ; and 
 I confess that my opinion of Mr Malcolm's sense was strength- 
 ened by finding that his opinions were those upon which Mr 
 Rivers had been acting all his life, though Lady Emily con- 
 fessed to me that she had never thoroughly understood them 
 before. 
 
 With aunt Sarah I was never controversial. ' There are 
 stirring days coming, Sally,' she would say to me ; ' God show 
 you all the right way. For me there is but one way : to say 
 my prayers and be kind to my neighbours, and wait for death. 
 Nevertheless, that young Mr Malcolm is a good man.' 
 
 And Mr Malcolm would marry Hester ! — that, of course, was 
 in my mind, if it was not in his. I do not say that it was not; 
 that is, I did not do anything to excite or encourage a feeling 
 on his part, but I owned to myself that I did wish it might 
 come naturally. I suppose no person, situated as I was, could 
 have helped wishing it. Very young, very lovely, very impul- 
 sive, Hester was just the person for whom one might imagine 
 that a happy marriage was the event above all to be desired. 
 If she could like Mr Malcolm, and if Mr Malcolm could like 
 her, and if he could have a living, then I should be thankful ; 
 but I saw no signs of any of these circumstances as yet, and in 
 the meantime I waited contentedly, being quite sure that the 
 ordering of events was in the hands of One who loved my 
 darling far better and far more wisely than I did.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 I^HE winter passed quickly, and the spring came with its 
 soft breezes and blue skies — spring such as it used to be 
 twenty years ago. I sighed the more for the green meadow -> 
 and open common at East Side, because my dear mother felt 
 the oppression of our small house and the atmosphere of a 
 town ; and I began to understand, what I never would believe 
 as a child, that, unless the world is very bright, autumn and 
 winter are less trying to the spirits than spring and summer. 
 
 I wondered why East Side was unoccupied ; I was so fond 
 of the place, that it seemed wonderful it should not attract 
 everybody. But it was not let, and we did not understand that 
 it was likely to be. My uncle had it kept in beautiful order, 
 and I heard that the early vegetables were the best in Carsdale 
 market ; but none were sent to us. Happily we did not miss 
 them, for we were constantly supplied from Lowood. Clifton 
 Cottage also was kept up well ; from time to time it was said 
 that Horatia Gray was coming to reside there, but I did not 
 think it likely. Now that she had money and freedom, I 
 fancied she would be anxious to go to some gayer place. We 
 did not hear much from herself personally, but my uncle 
 occasionally gave us notice of her movements. Perhaps I did 
 not think she would come, because I did not wish it. I dreaded 
 meeting her above all things, for I felt that her presence would 
 excite so many wrong feelings. 
 
 My pupils had holidays for five weeks in the summer, and 
 Lady Emily tried to persuade me to spend a portion of the time 
 at Lowood. I refused at first, for I did not like to leave my 
 mother, but I was not feeling well, and wanted change, and at 
 length I consented to go. If I had been easy about my home, 
 I should have enjoyed the idea, but I feared at first that 1 
 might be much wanted. Joanna was very trying to us all at 
 limes ; she was still so fretful and restless. More than a year 
 had passed since we began our new life, and we were not at all 
 nearer the point of persuading her really to exert herself. I 
 had heard from several persons that they would be thankful to 
 send their children to us for music lessons, but Joanna still 
 asserted that she had no time to bestow upon them. She could 
 consent to work, as she called it, for me, but she could not 
 make up her mind to own that she was bound to work for her-
 
 264 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 
 
 self. It was too great a humiliation ; yet she could see no 
 humiliation in giving pain, and adding to the burden of those 
 who were already too often sinking under care. The effect of 
 thus wilfully shutting her eyes to her duties was exceedingly 
 distressing. She was quite aware that it was wrong, and the 
 consciousness made her so unhappy, that she would sit in her 
 own room and cry, as if she was the most miserable being on 
 the face of the earth ; all the time deluding herself by laying 
 the blame of her depression upon the change in our circum- 
 stances. It grieved me very much, I cannot say how much, to 
 see day after day passing from her, and laying up an arrear of 
 neglected duty which would surely, sooner or later, rise up 
 against her. It was wretchedness for this world as well as for 
 the next ; for she could find no enjoyment in the little incidents 
 which were a relief to us, all her wishes being fixed upon 
 impossibilities. We kept a great deal of this from my mother ; 
 but if it had not been for Hester, I really do not know how I 
 should have borne it. 
 
 But I was to go to Lovvood and forget all troubles, and 
 Hester promised to make my mother happy. Herbert had 
 holidays also, and was able to devote himself to her, and pro- 
 mised to bring Mr Malcolm frequently ; and Joanna was en- 
 gaged to spend a few days with Mrs Blair. And when these 
 arrangements were made, I hoped all might go well, and set oft' 
 for Lowood with that feeling of satisfaction which only those 
 can enjoy who live under a constant pressure of work and home 
 cares. 
 
 We were to drive out by East Side. It was my own wish. 
 I had actually never before summoned courage to visit it since 
 we left it. The evening was lovely ; a few white clouds 
 flickering across the sky, and giving the most exquisite effects 
 of light and shade to the distant view. The foliage of that 
 year was a peculiarly rich green, for we had had rather a wet 
 spring, and the summer had burst upon us, as it were suddenly, 
 and there had been no time for dust or the effects of a scorch- 
 ing sun. I thought I had never seen East Side look more inviting. 
 The lawn had been newly mown, and the flowers were coming 
 into perfection, and the place looked thoroughly cared for ; 
 the fences having been well trimmed, and the gates freshly 
 painted. I was almost faint with the sinking of the heart 
 which came over me, when we left the carriage to walk up to 
 the house. Lady Emily, wno was with me, hesitated about ac-
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 265 
 
 companying me, but there was no feeling which I could not 
 share with her, and she drew my arm within hers, and we went 
 on together. 
 
 Most painfully beautiful it all was — so calm, and quiet, and 
 free — the air loaded with delicious scents, the birds singing 
 gaily, the cattle feeding in the meadows before the house, and, 
 in the distance the misty town, and the river flowing on its 
 noiseless course. We stood in silence, gazing at the view from 
 the porch, till at length I turned away, saying, ' One does one's 
 self no good by regret, and it is wrong.' ' Yes, wrong to re- 
 gret/ said Lady Emily ; ' but not wrong to hope ; and the 
 happiness that is past is, we know, only the prophecy of happi- 
 ness to come.' I looked again at the view with a different eye, 
 and remembered that beauty is, of all things, the type and 
 earnest of Heaven ; and my heart was comforted. We walked 
 round the house. I found myself recalling, in the most minute 
 particulars, the circumstances which had attended my last sad 
 arrival at home on the day of my father's death ; and I went 
 round to the back-door alone, and stood there as I had then stood, 
 and fancied I heard nurse's exclamation of surprise, and the 
 fatal information which had taken from me my last hope. It 
 was all horribly real to me again ; yet the impulse to give my- 
 self pain was irresistible. The back-door was left a little ajar, 
 and I entered the house. The woman who had charge of the 
 place was not in the way, and I went on along the old familiar 
 passage, and through the swing door, till I stood in the entrance- 
 hall. Then I heard the sound of voices near, but I supposed 
 it to be Lady Emily speaking to the gardener, and without 
 hesitation I proceeded to the drawing-room. As I threw 
 open the door, I saw a gentleman and lady seated on a sofa 
 by the window, and recognised my uncle Ralph and Horatia 
 Gray. 
 
 I must have looked thunderstruck. I know I did not speak ; 
 and I know also that Horatia blushed ; — the first blush I had 
 ever seen upon her cheek. I do not think even then that I 
 quite understood what the circumstance implied. 
 
 ' This is a very unexpected pleasure, my dear niece,' said my 
 uncle ; ' very unexpected, indeed.' 
 
 ' Unexpected on all sides,' exclaimed Horatia : ' Sarah would 
 as soon have thought of seeing the Great Mogul here as me.' 
 ' Yes indeed,' I said, making an effort to recover myself ; ( you 
 have certainly taken us all by surprise.'
 
 266 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ' A very agreeable surprise,' said my uncle, with a smile and a 
 bow, which made my blood curdle. 
 
 ' I came to the cottage this afternoon,' continued Horatia, in 
 her usual off-hand way ; < and as Mr Mortimer and I had a 
 iittle business to transact, he was kind enough to meet me there, 
 and we just strolled up to East Side together. It is a pleasure 
 to see the old place again.' 
 
 ' A pleasure we shall often enjoy, I trust,' said my uncle ; 
 ' and we shall be glad to see our friends also.' 
 
 We / I looked from one to the other for an explanation. 
 Horatia threw open the window, and declared it was intensely 
 hot. My uncle cleared his throat, began a speech and stopped, 
 and then to my consternation, putting his hand upon Horatia's 
 shoulder, said, < My dear, you must assist me : we must together 
 claim your cousin Sarah's congratulations for the future Mrs 
 Ralph Mortimer.' 
 
 The furniture of the room, the pictures, the people, seemed 
 to swim before my eyes. I sat down, and actually gasped for 
 breath. Horatia gave me no time to reply. She came for- 
 ward and kissed me, and laughed as only Horatia Gray could 
 laugh. 
 
 ' An astounding event, is it not, my poor Sarah ? To think 
 of your old cousin Horatia being engaged to be married ! 1 
 declare I don't quite believe it myself; but one never knows 
 what foolish things one shall be tempted to do in one's life.' 
 
 ' Not foolish, but very wise,' said my uncle ; ' at least in the 
 opinion of one most fortunate individual;' and again his smile 
 was so extremely distasteful to me, that I was tempted to jump 
 up and run away. Yet I felt that I must command myself, and 
 say something, and I managed to express that, although I was 
 naturally enough surprised, yet I trusted such an event might 
 be for their mutual happiness. 
 
 ' And the happiness of others also, we trust,' said my uncle ; 
 f for we have a little plan which I think must be generally ap- 
 proved.' He paused. 
 
 ' You will come and see us here, dear Sarah, won't you?' 
 said Horatia. ' Here ! do you mean ? Are you going to live 
 at East Side?' I exclaimed, the whole extent of the evil, if such 
 it might be called, flashing upon me suddenly. ' Well, we 
 think of it,' said my uncle; 'we think, upon the whole, it would 
 be most desirable. It is rather far from Carsdale, but I hope I 
 can manage to make my arrangements so as not to render it a
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 267 
 
 great inconvenience; and dear Horatia is so fond of the country ; 
 and, in fact, we thought that for every one — your poor dear 
 mother, and every one — it would be a comfort; so we have 
 been talking it over, and I think we shall manage it. I think 
 you may reckon upon it.' 
 
 ' You don't say anything, Sarah,' said Horatia; ' do you 
 disapprove?' No, I did not say anything; I felt that I had 
 no right to disapprove, — yet the idea was odious to me. ' It 
 is not a question for me to decide,' I replied, when I could 
 trust myself to speak; 'it must depend upon your own con- 
 venience. As regards my mother, I fear it can be of little con- 
 sequence to her into whose hands the place passes.' And, as I 
 said this, I stood up to go. ' Ah ! well, we shall get over all 
 that old feeling,' exclaimed Horatia; ' Ralph and I have talked 
 it well over.' I felt myself biting my lips with irritation. 
 
 ' Yes,' said my uncle, ' with dear Horatia's kind thoughtful - 
 ness, I have every hope that we shall prevail upon your poor 
 mother to overcome these little regrets.' I held out my hand 
 to take leave. ' Good-bye, uncle Ralph,' I said, unconsciously 
 laying a stress upon the word ' uncle.' Horatia's laugh again 
 echoed through the room. ' Why, Sarah, I shall be your aunt, 
 I declare ! I never thought of it before. Aunt Horatia ! — ■ 
 how will it sound?' < Very strange.' I said the words from 
 my heart, and hurried away. 
 
 Oh ! the unspeakable relief of being alone !— in the free air 
 — with the unsullied loveliness of nature — beneath the purity of 
 an unclouded sky ! I waited for a few moments under the 
 beech-tree by the entrance of the shrubbery, to collect my 
 thoughts, and then rejoined Lady Emily, who was walking up 
 and down near the carriage. 
 
 ' I thought you were lost,' she began ; but a glance at my 
 countenance showed her that something was amiss. She 
 fancied I was ill, and entreated me to get into the carriage. 
 But I could not hear of that, — I was full of one idea, that I 
 must return to Carsdale. I could not leave my mother to hear 
 the news by accident, or when I was not present. 
 
 Lady Emily's annoyance, when I told her of my interview, 
 was more openly betrayed than she wished. My uncle was too 
 nearly related to me to admit of a free expression of her feel- 
 ings ; but they escaped from her involuntarily. All that she 
 said of Horatia was, ' She has manoeuvred cleverly, yet not as 
 I should have expected.' Lady Emily did not know her as I
 
 2 68 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 did ; she did not understand how little Horatia was called 
 upon to sacrifice. Cold, selfish, domineering, with a very large 
 portion of worldly wisdom, she had calculated her chances of 
 happiness well for this life. My uncle would be her slave, — a 
 younger man might have been her master ; and, as mistress of 
 East Side, she would have what we once possessed and had 
 lost. Even Horatia herself would not, I suspect, have acknow- 
 ledged how large an ingredient in her satisfaction was the 
 thought of triumphing over those whom she had once looked 
 upon as rivals. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 IF it had been possible to feel amusement upon such a 
 subject, it would have been absurd to watch how soon the 
 subject of my uncle's engagement with Horatia became the one 
 absorbing topic of interest in Carsdale and its neighbour- 
 hood. The remarks made upon it came to us partly through 
 Mrs Blair, partly through Miss Cleveland, who still paid us 
 occasional visits, and was as merry and good-natured, and in 
 appearance as young as ever. One was the purveyor of news 
 for the town, the other for the country. Strange, wonderful, 
 ludicrous, were all epithets applied to the projected marriage ; 
 but these soon toned down ; — people's minds became accus- 
 tomed to the idea of Mr Ralph Mortimer a married man, and 
 they began to perceive that it was really the best thing that 
 could be done — an old bachelor's life was so melancholy, and 
 Miss Gray was not so young herself, and she would prove an 
 admirable manager, and really be an acquisition in the neigh- 
 bourhood, for she was very clever, and always made herself 
 agreeable. As to their living at East Side, there could be but 
 one opinion upon that point ; it was unquestionably the best 
 possible arrangement, and no doubt Mr Mortimer had always 
 contemplated it, and that was the reason he had so long delayed 
 trying to let it. So clever of him, and so cunning too, not to 
 mention a word of his secret to any one ! — though all the world 
 were wondering what he was at. It was, indeed, a matter of 
 general congratulation that East Side was still to be inhabited 
 by one of the family.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 26 c, 
 
 Oh dear ! I wished the world would give up congratulations 
 upon subjects it knew nothing about ! — marriages especially. 
 
 My dear mother was more patient a great deal than I was. 
 Perhaps I may add, as a little excuse for myself, that she was 
 not quite so much tried, for she was able to keep to her room, 
 and decline seeing visitors, whereas I was obliged to receive 
 every one. But I must also do Horatia the justice to say, that, 
 as far as my mother was concerned, she behaved very well. If 
 she had the smallest feeling for any of us it was for her ; and 
 my mother's calm face and widow's dress must have procured 
 for her outward respect, even from a person quite devoid of 
 ordinary tact, which certainly was not the case with Horatia. 
 But when alone with us — and she made it a point of professed 
 kindness to call whenever she could — the triumphant spirit 
 showed itself without restraint. The projected improvements at 
 East Side — the press of business — the flattering congratulations 
 —we were deluged with them. It was ' dear Ralph and my- 
 self ' — and ' our garden ' — and ' our greenhouse ; — and ' our 
 farm ' — and even ' our poor people ' — and ' our school ' — for 
 Horatia was taking up the useful and benevolent line, as befit- 
 ting her new position, and, of course, schools and poor people 
 came first on the list of duties. 
 
 No wonder the Carsdale world praised her ; no wonder it 
 was said to me, five times in the course of one week, that the 
 future Mrs Ralph Mortimer was a charming woman. I do not 
 know what I might not have been induced to say myself at last 
 from hearing it so often repeated, if Horatia had not taken such 
 a deep interest in the welfare of my pupils, and insisted upon 
 sending us presents from East Side. 
 
 ' A basket of vegetables, ma'am, with Miss Gray's compli- 
 ments.' ' Some flowers, ma'am, from East Side.' ' Miss Gray's 
 love, and she has sent Miss Hester the cuttings she promised.' 
 The messages were daily ; and what could one do but be grate- 
 ful ? only that, as aunt Sarah said, ' the woman had no business 
 to give away, as her own, things which did not yet belong to 
 her.' 
 
 The marriage was not to take place for some weeks. If my 
 own pleasure had been consulted, it should have been immediate. 
 All I longed for was to have it over, and be saved the annoyance 
 of preparation, and the dread which was always hanging over 
 me of being asked to be bridesmaid. Clifton Cottage was to be 
 finally disposed of after Horatia's marriage ; and in the mean-
 
 270 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 time a great deal of the best furniture was removed to East Side. 
 This involved some more little presents — old stray tables and 
 chairs, which would have been a desight at East Side, but were 
 offered to us as perfect treasures. Amongst them,' however, 
 came one day a box of which I had long desired the possession ; 
 the identical box which used to stand under the table in the 
 dining-room at Castle House. It had always contained family 
 papers, and some of my father's letters, and, after his death, I 
 had made a special application for it ; but my uncle objected to 
 letting any one have it, till Mr Blair and Vaughan had looked 
 over the contents ; and I was told by them that the letters were 
 all about business, and things which I had no concern with, and 
 that I had better leave them where they were for my uncle to do 
 what he liked with them ; and so the box remained in a closet 
 in my father's study, till Horatia Gray gave a sudden order that 
 the closet should be cleared, and the servants, by mistake, sent 
 us in what they naturally considered our own property. Once 
 in possession, and I was not to be persuaded to part with it 
 again. Horatia discovered the mistake, and begged that the 
 box might be returned ; but we informed her that the papers 
 were my father's, and therefore very interesting to us, and we 
 begged to keep them. She took the matter coolly, said, of 
 course, if we liked to trouble ourselves with a box of old papers 
 in our small house, we could do as we chose, but that there was 
 plenty of room for them in the lumber-room at East Side ; and 
 so, as far as she was concerned, the matter ended. I was sure 
 she would not say anything to uncle Ralph, and I was equally 
 sure that Ave should not ; and Herbert and I undertook, with 
 my mother's consent, to examine the contents of the box at our 
 leisure. The letters were, as we had been told, for the most 
 part, letters of business, and if we had had no clue to their 
 meaning, they would probably have appeared unimportant. 
 There were a great many letters from my uncle, many from 
 persons connected with the mining speculations, and some few 
 copies, which my father had made, of his own answers. We 
 arranged them in order, and then proceeded to study them. 
 They would have made a curious illustration of the way in 
 which a true but weak character can be ruined by one that is 
 cunning and unscrupulous. 
 
 My father's extravagance had at first provoked my uncle, but 
 after a time lie had learnt how to take advantage of it, not only 
 by reckoning a high interest, but in other ways. My father,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 271 
 
 being in his debt, was in his power, — forced to follow his ad- 
 vice, — forced to enter into the schemes proposed. When these 
 were likely to prosper, my uncle paid himself, both the capital 
 and interest of the debt, by taking my father's shares at a low 
 rate, and then allowed him to incur fresh obligations which were 
 to be redeemed at the same rate. He had certainly calculated 
 most carefully. As far as we could afford, — that is, til! we wei 
 nearly ruined, — he had given us credit ; after that, as the letters 
 proved, he had refused any more assistance, and so the last debt 
 had been incurred to the mining company. Herbert actually 
 groaned as the evidences of all this trickery on one side, and 
 credulity and thoughtlessness on the other, were brought to light ; 
 but we both agreed that we would say nothing of the conclusions 
 we had arrived at. No good could result from mentioning them. 
 We should only pain my mother, and increase her feeling against 
 my uncle. If there had been facts to bring forward, which would 
 have given us any claim to assistance, it might have been dif- 
 ferent ; but we both said that no actual injustice had been com- 
 mitted ; and the conduct of which we complained was of a 
 nature of which no human tribunal can take cognizance. 
 
 We had sat up late together, and Herbert was just saying that 
 lie must go back to Mr Harrison's or he should get into disgrace, 
 when, in replacing the letters in the box, I discovered a small 
 packet, which had been tied up with some copies of accounts. 
 Herbert proposed to leave them till another day, for they were 
 discoloured, and would be troublesome to decipher ; but I was 
 very much wishing to finish the business at once ; it was so dis- 
 agreeable to me that I could not bear the thought of dragging it 
 on till another day. The packet was marked, ' Letters from my 
 father.' Herbert and I looked at them together. They were ex- 
 tremely touching — full of the most intense affection. It seemed 
 as if all the warmth of the old man's heart had been concentrated 
 upon his favourite son ; but there was nothing in them which at 
 all elucidated any circumstances in which we were interested, 
 until we came to the last, dated the year before my father left 
 the army. It was shorter, more decidedly business-like than 
 the others, but equally affectionate. My father was implored 
 to return home, and every comfort, it was said, should be 
 provided for him. He might be certain of the interest of 
 five-and-twenty thousand pounds at four per cent, during his 
 life, and fifteen thousand, it might even be more, in actual 
 capital at my grandfather's death, whatever Ralph might urge
 
 2-2 THE EXPERIENCE OP LIFE. 
 
 to the contrary — Here the letter ended ; the remainder of the 
 page had been torn off. 
 
 I pointed to the words ' five-and-twenty thousand pounds,' 
 and said, ' I was right.' ' No,' replied Herbert ; ' you forget my 
 grandfather's will. There must have been some change in the 
 promise afterwards.' Yes, I had forgotten the will ; Herbert 
 was right ; — the letter was of no consequence to us. I 
 tried to feel contented, but in my heart I wished I had never 
 read it. 
 
 I pondered upon the matter a good deal as I was going to 
 bed, and thought of it again the next morning, and the result 
 was that I went to aunt Sarah, not to be told how we were to 
 lay claim to more money than we possessed, but as a relief to 
 my own mind, and with the earnest desire to be made charit- 
 able. I was sure, if any person could put the case before me 
 in the right point of view, it would be aunt Sarah. Those 
 words, ' whatever Ralph may urge to the contrary,' haunted me. 
 They so clearly pointed out my uncle as the person who had 
 interposed between us and the sum which my grandfather had 
 originally intended for us. 
 
 Aunt Sarah put on her spectacles, and read the letters her- 
 self, more easily than I had done, for the handwriting was more 
 familiar to her. 
 
 ' It 's a sad business, Sally,' she said, when she had finished. 
 ' Your uncle Ralph has stood in the way ; there 's no more doubt 
 of that in my mind, than there is of the sun shining. He always 
 said the allowance was too large, and put off making it a regu- 
 lar agreement. I knew that from your grandfather, but I was 
 always told the promise was to be kept. Of late years, though, 
 Ralph had it all his own way with your grandfather, because of 
 his cleverness in the business.' 
 
 ' I wish I could shut ray eyes to the fact,' I said. ' If one 
 could only forget, it would be easy to forgive.' ' We are told 
 not to forget,' said my aunt, ' if by forgetting you mean not 
 owning the offence. Forget we must all, so far as not to allow 
 ourselves to dwell upon a wrong, else we cannot hope that God 
 will forget our sins. But it 's like all other questions, there is 
 only one way of answering it : — " If thy brother trespass against 
 thee, rebuke him ; and if he repent, forgive him." This cannot 
 mean, Sally, putting the offence in your pocket, and trying not 
 to see it.' ' And yet that docs seem at first sight the most 
 charitable way,' I said. ' But it is not the most true,' replied
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 273 
 
 my aunt. ' Truth and charity,' I repeated to myself ; ' they do 
 not always seem compatible.' 
 
 'Which of them do you think you will find In heaven ?' said 
 my aunt. ' Both, I hope ;' and I could not help smiling at the 
 question. 
 
 ' Then they may both be met with upon earth, Sally. Truth 
 and false charity, indeed, cannot live together; but truth and 
 right charity can never be separated. And we may be quite 
 sure, therefore, that whatever is not true is not charitable.' ' I 
 suppose it is not,' I said ; ' and I hope that may account for 
 the irritation one feels when very good-natured people will shut 
 their eyes to actual facts, and insist upon taking the part of 
 the person they consider accused.' 
 
 ' It is another form of sinning in a virtue,' said my aunt ; 
 ' and it ends in the contrary vice. False charity makes us 
 uncharitable. I have heard six innocent people condemned for 
 the sake of charity, as it was called, to one who had acted 
 wrongly. No, Sally, there's nothing like truth in all things; 
 and, what is more, we need never be afraid of it.' ' Not in 
 this case,' I said. ' No ; neither in this case nor in any case. 
 Did you ever watch your own mind when you had buried the 
 memory of a good deed in the bottom of your heart, and tried 
 to forget it ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid one always carries about the consciousness of 
 it,' I said. 
 
 ' Yes ; and a much larger consciousness than it has any 
 right to ; but take it out and look at it, and hold it up to the 
 light, the true light, and see what it's worth, and ten to one but 
 it shrinks to nothing. And so it is with everything else. By 
 not seeing things clearly we exaggerate them. It is not truth 
 which ever does us harm ; and when we want to forgive those 
 who have done us an injury, the best way is not to try and 
 persuade ourselves that wrong is not wrong, but to look at the 
 offence fairly, kneeling before God, and praying Him to give us 
 a true understanding, and then to forgive, because we ourselves 
 are sinners. The same rule holds good when we would make 
 others charitable. It only irritates and aggravates the bad 
 feeling to endeavour to convince people against their senses.' 
 
 ' And in cases where there is no repentance shown,' I said, 
 ' we must still forgive.' ' Yes ; fully and freely. God only 
 can make conditions, because He only is perfect. Yet we are 
 so far called upon to be like Him, that we must give opportp- 
 
 s
 
 274 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 nilies of repentance ; we must tell our brother his fault.' S In 
 this case, however, there is no actual fault to tell,' I said ; 'and 
 it would be wrong and unfitting for a niece to express suspicion 
 of an uncle.' 
 
 ' Then leave the letters with me, Sally. It 's not often that 
 your uncle Ralph and I have words together ; but I will give 
 them to him, and tell him you have read them.' ' And make 
 him desperately angry,' I said. ' Let it be ; if he is angry it 
 will be because he feels he has done wrong, and so, one day, 
 maybe, there may come repentance. God grant it to him, and 
 to us, for all we have done amiss.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 DO not know what passed between aunt Sarah and my 
 •*- uncle on that occasion. Aunt Sarah never mentioned the 
 interview, and I could judge of it only by its results. My 
 uncle's face, when I met him after I knew that it had taken 
 place, brought the recollection of the November mist — darker, 
 more intensely gloomy, than I had ever in my life seen it. 
 But when my mother received him with her usual gentle, 
 though somewhat distant courtesy, and Joanna and Hester 
 appeared as unconstrained as ever, it passed off, and he was 
 then graciously attentive to all, especially to me. I could 
 scarcely, indeed, escape from his solicitations that I would go 
 with him to East Side, and give my opinion as to what was 
 being done there. Happily, the holidays were then fast coming 
 to an end, and I was able to make my constant occupation an 
 excuse for declining. 
 
 The marriage was not to take place till the winter, and in 
 the meantime our daily life went on much in its usual way. 
 Marriage seemed becoming quite an ordinary event, for Regi- 
 nald was engaged, about this time, to a friend of Caroline's, an 
 amiable person with some fortune, and likely, we hoped, to 
 make him happy. He was urgent that one of us should go up 
 to London to make her acquaintance, and my mother wished 
 the same; and at last it was settled that Joanna should pay Caro- 
 line a month's visit. I was glad for her to have the change, 
 but I could not help fearing the effect. It was the first time she
 
 THE- EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 275 
 
 had been away from Carsdale since our misfortunes, and I wai 
 afraid the contrast of the two houses would make her more than 
 evpr impatient of home cares. My own thoughts were, in a 
 measure, diverted from ourselves by the stale of the family at 
 Lowood. Lady Emily's father, Lord Aylmer, had died some 
 months before. It was a terrible blow to the family, and put an 
 end for the time, as I supposed, to the idea of Mr Bcrcsford's 
 marriage. His grief was excessive, and he devoted himself to 
 comfort his mother and his unmarried sister, and went abroad 
 with them. Still there was the same tacit understanding be- 
 tween him and Sophia, as Lady Emily always told me ; and I 
 was sure she must know, for Sophia was now a great deal at 
 Lowood. She had lost her stepmother, who died about the 
 same time as Lord Aylmer, and her father being in India, she 
 had no other home till his return. I do not think that she and 
 her stepmother had ever been .very happy together, for Mrs 
 Grant possessed a hasty, domineering spirit, and I had often 
 heard from Lady Emily of the trials which the poor girl had to 
 endure. But Mrs Grant had taken the care of her from infancy, 
 and the tie between them could not be severed without much 
 pain ; and though I had no doubt that Sophia would eventually 
 be much happier than she had ever been before, yet, for the 
 time, her spirits were greatly depressed. It was this circum- 
 stance which induced my mother to consent, almost more will- 
 ingly than myself, that Hester should go to Lowood frequently. 
 1 1 was a relief to Lady Emily to have her there, and a great 
 comfort to Sophia ; and my mother had taken the same fancy- 
 to the latter that I had, and was always inclined to grant a re- 
 quest made by her. Old people — and my mother was really 
 looking and feeling old— are very much attracted by warmth of 
 expression, joined to a respectful manner, in theyoung; and Sophia 
 Grant was remarkable for both. I used often to laugh and tell 
 her that she never had a friend, except Hester, younger than forty. 
 I would rather, myself, that Hester should have been kept 
 steadily at work with me ; and now and then I almost annoyed 
 Lady Emily by the difficulties I put in the way of the visits. 
 She saw the matter, however, really in the same light that I did, 
 and promised that, when Mr Beresford came to Lowood, she 
 would not ask Hester so frequently. He was in England again, 
 but kept away just then by business, and Lady Emily was her- 
 self engaged very much with Mr Rivers and the children, so that 
 Sophia really needed comfort and companionship. I cannot say
 
 276 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 I was at all sorry for Mr Beresford's absence, as I did not want 
 a renewal of the poetical readings whilst other people were pay- 
 ing visits. It might be safe for him, with a pre-attachment ; but 
 I was not quite so sure about Hester. 
 
 I hope I shall not be accused of match-making and manoeuv- 
 ring if I confess that I watched, with some degree of anxiety , 
 the effect of Hester's absence upon Mr Malcolm. But he was 
 the most quiet-mannered, unexcitable, devoted of clergymen. If 
 he had been one degree less entirely earnest, I could have been 
 provoked with the way in which he used to exclaim, ' Oh ! 
 indeed ! ' when I told him that Hester was gone away for a few 
 days. There was no occasion for him to fall in love with her if 
 he did not like it ; but she really deserved a little more thought 
 than he appeared to bestow upon her. 
 
 He came to me, however, one day, when Hester was at 
 Lowood, and said, with evident delight, 'that he and Herbert 
 had been asked to dine there, and he should certainly make a 
 point of going. I was pleased — it was quite impossible to help 
 the feeling ; but if it was wrong I was punished for it the next 
 moment, for he added, ' he was very anxious to meet a cele- 
 brated traveller, who was staying there.' I hope he did not 
 notice the cross tone in which I answered that, ' I did not much 
 care for travellers myself, they were generally dull, and kept 
 their anecdotes for their books.' 'Had I any commands for 
 Lowood ? ' was the next question. ' He had been asked by 
 Herbert to inquire.' ' No, nothing ; I was much obliged, I had 
 sent over a parcel that morning :' and he took up his hat and 
 departed, saying, ' he saw that I was busy.' I was not parti- 
 cularly busy, but I felt quite put out, and I went to read for 
 half-an-hour to my mother, before the children came for their 
 afternoon lessons, in order to divert my thoughts. But just u<a 
 1 had opened the book we were interrupted. 
 
 A special messenger from Lowood had brought a note, and 
 was waiting for an answer. It was from Lady Emily. 
 
 ' My Dear Sarah, — It has just occurred to me as a possi- 
 bility that you may be persuaded to come over to us this even- 
 ing with your brother and Mr Malcolm. I would not ask you 
 to leave your mother, but we have a special attraction, which 
 
 we may never have again — Mr , the celebrated traveller. 
 
 He is with us only for one day. We don't dine till half-past six ; 
 so you will have quite sufficient time to get rid of your children.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 277 
 
 It is not in the least a formal party, and you can leave as early 
 as you like. I would offer you a bed, but 1 know you would 
 not accept it. I am afraid you will say no, because of your 
 mother ; but do find some one who will be with her just for two 
 or three hours. 1 shall not tell Hester I have asked you, hoping 
 to surprise her.' 
 
 It would be very pleasant, but it was out of the question ; and 
 I was upon the point of sitting down to write my refusal, when 
 my mother insisted upon seeing the note. ' What was I going 
 to say ? ' ' Decline.' ' She would not hear of such a thing ; it 
 would make her quite unhappy. I had so few pleasures, and 
 to go with Herbert and Mr Malcolm would be such a treat.' 
 She urged and entreated, till at length I really felt that I should 
 vex her by insisting upon having my own way ; and, after 
 making her consent that Mrs Blair should be asked to drink 
 tea with her, and that she would not sit up for me, I wrote what, 
 I must own, was a very willing acceptance. 
 
 A great change it was from the school-room in Cross Street 
 to the brilliantly-lighted drawing-room at Lowood. It was the 
 first time for many months that I had been in a large party ; 
 and my last recollection of any scene of the kind was the dinner 
 party in Harley Street. I was more peaceful, if not happier, 
 now, than I was then. The worst had come and was over. 
 There were several strangers in the room, and their number at 
 first bewildered me, and I could not see whether Hester was 
 present ; but Sophia Grant was sitting, half-hidden by a screen. 
 1 went up to her and began talking, and Mr Malcolm joined us. 
 Close to us was the lion of the evening — the traveller ; but so 
 many persons had gathered round him that I could not hear 
 what he said, and could only see a good-humoured, clever, 
 bronzed face, which looked as if he had firmness and decision 
 to surmount any difficulties. Mr Malcolm was soon drawn into 
 the magic circle, and I thought he was quite engrossed. 
 
 I began asking where Hester was. ' She did not feel very well 
 this afternoon,' replied Sophia ; ' that is the reason she is so late.' 
 
 Mr Malcolm turned round quickly just at this moment, and 
 twisted Sophia's chair so awkwardly that he was obliged to 
 apologise. She smiled and went on. 
 
 ' It is only a headache — nothing to look grave about ; and 
 here she is.' No one noticed her when she came into the room, 
 not even Mr Malcolm, though he was standing where I should
 
 278 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 have thought he must have seen her. Her start of delight, when 
 she perceived me, was really charming ; and, safe from obser- 
 vation, thanks to the celebrated man, she gave me a kiss, and 
 whispered, that I was worth all the travellers that were ever 
 heard of. ' And you came with Herbert ? ' she said. ' Yes ; 
 Herbert and Mr Malcolm.' Her eye glanced quickly round the 
 room. ' Herbert ! I don't see him.' 
 
 He was nearly opposite to her, but she passed him over. < I 
 don't see him ; where do you say he is ? ' 
 
 She moved impatiently and stood, by accident, side by side 
 \vith Mr Malcolm. He perceived her then, and spoke, but in 
 the very coldest tone possible. It was really tiresome to see a 
 person who, in general, was so pleasing, and so soon at his ease, 
 put on such a stiff manner. Dinner was announced, and the 
 guests moved off. Mr Malcolm offered his arm to me. Hester 
 came behind with an elderly gentleman, whose name I did not 
 know. Mr Malcolm might have managed to sit between us, 
 but instead, he made rather a point of placing himself on the 
 other side, so as to be near an old lady whom I believed he had 
 never met before. 
 
 The dinner was exceedingly agreeable, totally unlike an ordi- 
 nary dinner party. Mr Rivers always knew how to make people 
 talk, and the great traveller was too simple-minded and kind- 
 hearted to refuse to be agreeable. He had interesting things to 
 tell, and he told them pleasantly ; and every one who had ques- 
 tions to ask was attended to ; and at last all shyness was at an 
 end, and even Hester, the youngest of the party, ventured te 
 raise her voice, and inquire if he had ever met with some peculiar 
 kind of serpent, of which she had been reading. She was listen- 
 ing with the greatest interest to the answer, and every one else 
 was listening also, and therefore, I suppose, insensible to other 
 sounds, when the dining-room door was thrown wide open, and 
 the butler announced Mr Beresford. Lady Emily scarcely 
 looked surprised, and only remarked, that she thought he would 
 come if he possibly could. Mr Beresford entered, full of apolo- 
 gies, but no one seemed to require them, for he was a universal 
 favourite. He had travelled fifty miles, he said, for the pleasure 
 of meeting his friend, the traveller, and the compliment implied 
 was received as cordially as it was offered. Mr Beresford, I 
 found, was as much at home in scientific questions as in poetry. 
 All this time Sophia Grant had scarcely lifted up her eyes from 
 the table, — she was perfectly pale with pleasure. Mr Beresford
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 279 
 
 looked across the table, and smiled, as he saw her ; and then 
 some other feeling came over him, and his eyes sparkled, and 
 he hurried round and shook hands with her ; but, whilst the 
 colour mounted to her cheeks, and she slightly moved, as if to 
 make room for him by her side, I heard him say to Hester, — 
 • Miss Mortimer ! what a delightful surprise ! ' Hester's satis- 
 faction was entirely unconstrained. She was exceedingly pleased 
 to see him, and she showed it. He sat down between Sophia 
 and herself, and they were all quickly engaged in conversation. 
 Hester had been reading some book he had recommended, and 
 was prepared, she said, to have an argument with him ; and I 
 almost thought the subject would have been entered upon at 
 once, Mr Beresford seemed so bent upon hearing what she 
 thought ; but he was obliged to attend to his dinner, which was 
 disturbing the general order of the table. I had time for all 
 these remarks, for my neighbours, on each side, were wonder- 
 fully silent. One was listening to the traveller, the other, — Mi- 
 Malcolm, told me he had a headache. 
 
 The gentlemen sat long after dinner, enjoying, I supposed, 
 the recital of anecdotes and adventures. Hester and Sophia 
 went away to their own rooms, before coffee was brought ; and 
 whilst two ladies, cousins of Mr Rivers, and the only lady 
 guests present besides myself, were looking over some prints, I 
 had time for a little conversation with Lady Emily, and urged 
 upon her that Hester should return with me, now that Mr 
 Beresford was come. 
 
 ' Certainly, if I wished it,' she said ; ' but I must not think 
 that Hester was the least in the way. Her brother and Sophia 
 were always charmed to have her, she suited them both so 
 well ; and, besides, it was not likely Mr Beresford would be 
 able to stay more than a day ; he only came for the purpose of 
 seeing the traveller.' 
 
 One is ashamed to confess some fears. I could not say how 
 uncomfortable Mr Beresford's manner and his insidious flattery 
 made me, but I urged again that Hester should return very 
 soon, and it was settled that she was to come back to us at the 
 end of the week. 
 
 Tea came, and soon afterwards the gentlemen, wandering 
 into the room, one after the other, and looking about them, as 
 if they expected to see that some wonderful transformation had 
 taken place in us since we parted ; but Mr Beresford was not 
 amongst them. Herbert came up to me, and asked what had
 
 2 So THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 become of Hester ; he had seen nothing of her all the evening. 
 I supposed she was with Miss Grant. ' No, that could not be,' 
 he replied, ' for Miss Grant was sitting in the ante-room, alone.' 
 I made some other excuse for her absence, but, in my heart, I 
 was fretted at it. There was something missish, and in bad 
 taste, in thus withdrawing from the general society, whether 
 she was with Sophia or by herself, and I planned a little lecture 
 for her upon the subject. Sophia came in soon afterwards, 
 and, being engaged in conversation, I did not like to interrupt 
 her by inquiring where Hester was ; and, at last, as I knew 
 her bedroom, I thought I would go myself and find her. The 
 library door was open as I passed, and there, to my surprise, 
 seated at a table, with pen, ink, and paper before her, 1 saw 
 Hester writing as if her very existence depended upon the 
 speed she was making. She was copying a letter ; I did not 
 know the handwriting, but it was a gentleman's. 
 
 ' Oh ! Mammy dear,' she exclaimed, as she saw me, ' don't 
 come near me, for I have such a quantity of work to do ; and 
 she pointed to four closely-written pages, much interlined. 
 ' All this to be finished before ten o'clock ! ' 
 
 ' But, my dear child,' I exclaimed, ' for whom ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! Mr Beresford ; and I like doing it for him, of all 
 things, because he has been so kind. He has just as much to 
 copy himself ; it is something of law business, and he is going 
 away to-morrow, and must have it all done to-night ; and he 
 asked Sophia to help him, but she has hurt her finger, and 
 could not, and so I said I would. It was worth taking any 
 trouble to hear him say how much obliged he felt. He has 
 been very thoughtful about me, and made the servants bring 
 me some coffee, and he has been several times himself to know 
 how I am getting on. I don't know,' she added, ' whether it is 
 not pleasanter being here than in the drawing-room, except 
 missing the amusing stories.' 
 
 I was a great deal too old to be thought missish, so I said, 
 • Well, perhaps it may be. I think I shall sit here a little 
 while also.' Hester was quite glad, she said, to have me, and 
 amused herself with thinking how strange Mr Rivers would 
 think it, if he came in and found how quietly we had taken 
 possession of his library. 
 
 The remark made me remember that it might be better just 
 to let Lady Emily know where we were, and I went back to the 
 drawing-room to tell her. She looked annoyed at such a task
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 281 
 
 bciiig inflicted upon Hester, and said her brother was very 
 thoughtless ; but Sophia assured her that Hester had insisted 
 upon undertaking it, and would not allow Mr Beresford to be 
 blamed; so the matter was taken very quietly, and I returned to 
 the library, having ordered the carriage in half an hour's time. 
 Hester was not alone ; Mr Beresford was there explaining a 
 sentence which had some Latin terms in it, and which was not 
 very legible. 
 
 I felt angry with him, and, as he began an excuse, I said, 
 ' You ought to keep a lawyer's clerk, Mr Beresford.' 
 
 1 But I like doing it exceedingly,' exclaimed Hester; 'I should 
 not care if it were twice as long.' 
 
 ' The value, in my eyes,' began Mr Beresford, — and then he 
 stopped and looked very confused. I was thankful I was there, 
 for I was sure some senseless compliment was coming. He 
 lingered for a few minutes ; but when I took up a book, and 
 seated myself with the most determined air of not intending to 
 move, he went away. 
 
 The carriage was announced before Hester had completed her 
 task. I made her promise that she would leave it for Mr 
 Beresford to finish. It would not be much trouble for him, and 
 it was getting late, and she could not sit up by herself when 
 every one else was going to bed. She wanted to take it to her 
 room, but I would not hear of this, and I carried off the letter, 
 and the copy, to give to Mr Beresford myself, when I wished 
 him good-night. 
 
 Hester went back to the drawing-room with me; almost every 
 one was gone except ourselves, and we stood, for a few moments, 
 talking round the fire, enjoying what are almost always the 
 pleasantest minutes of a party. Hester's copying was the sub- 
 ject of general raillery. Herbert declared she was a good clerk 
 spoiled, and that it was a great pity she did not immediately 
 apply for a situation. The traveller wished he could take her 
 abroad, to copy inscriptions and manuscripts ; whilst Lady 
 Emily was a little severe upon her brother, and said it was a 
 proof what a tyrant he was by nature. Mr Beresford listened 
 to all that went on, almost as quietly as Mr Malcolm, whose 
 head I was sure must be aching terribly, he looked so pale and 
 depressed. He and Mr Beresford were near together, and Mr 
 Beresford was leaning against a table, upon which stood a 
 handsome lamp. Mr Rivers asked his brother-in-law whether 
 he was really obliged to leave them the next day.
 
 282 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ' He was doubtfu,' he replied ; ' he ought to go, but really 
 the temptations were so great ! If he could only find a fair 
 excuse to his conscience, he did not know what he might be 
 tempted to do.' 
 
 ' Lady Emily talked of some excursions which were to be made 
 this week,' said Hester, laughing ; ' and you will certainly be 
 required to join them.' 
 
 ' I don't think, my dear child,' I observed, ' that you must 
 yourself enter into any plans of that kind, for you are rather 
 wanted at home.' 
 
 Mr Beresford's face became clouded ; but Hester said, with 
 the most perfect good humour, ' of course, if she was wanted at 
 home, she would go directly ; but that would not interfere with 
 Mr Beresford's duty in staying ; in fact, it would make it all 
 the more right that he should, because the party would be 
 smaller.' 
 
 Poor Sophia looked up at him timidly and anxiously ; but he 
 was moody, and did not reply at the moment ; and when Mi- 
 Rivers asked him again what he had determined upon, he 
 replied that he could not tell, he should wait till the morning to 
 decide. 
 
 I do not know what made Mr Malcolm so particularly awkward 
 just at that instant, but he started, as if he had suddenly been 
 awakened from sleep, and, by some unhappy, energetic movement, 
 pushed the table, and down it came, falling upon Mr Beresford, 
 as he was trying to save it, and giving him a severe blow on tht 
 head. Every person's attention was instantly given to him; and 
 some eau de Cologne was brought to bathe his temples, for he Was 
 a little faint. I did not believe that the injury could be of any 
 material consequence, and, the carriage being ready, I thought we 
 should be better away; so I said good-night to Lady Emily, and 
 was looking round for Hester, when I saw that she had gone to 
 the other end of the room to say something to Mr Malcolm, 
 who had quite the air of a criminal. It was a little specimen 
 of thoughtfulness which pleased me. He was so entirely the 
 person to be pitied, but no one, except Hester, seemed aware 
 of it ; yet, I think, upon the whole, the accident did him good, 
 for he was quite lively as we were going home, and did not 
 once complain of his head.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 2 S3 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THAT dinner-party was rather a pleasant diversion to my round 
 of duties, and I liked to remember it ; especially when my 
 mother had Hester back again safely under her wing, and I saw how 
 entirely she had escaped any spoiling from Mr Beresford'S non- 
 sense, though he did remain at Lowood two days longer than he 
 said he should,- — in fact, all the time she was there. I could not 
 bring myself seriously to believe that he had any feeling for Hester. 
 If he had, he was acting so dishonourably, that I should have 
 shrunk with terror from the thought of the poor child's trusting 
 her happiness to him. Yet his maimer was very suspicious, and 
 to me, therefore, excessively annoying. Whether Lady Emily 
 and Sophia saw it, I could not tell ; but I had great trust in 
 Sophia's simplicity and sincerity. I hoped she was too confiding 
 to be jealous, and that Mr Beresford's real affection would bring 
 him back to her, when once the attraction of Hester's pretty 
 face was removed. Lady Emily, I remembered, had once said 
 that he was fickle, and from the light way in which she had 
 used the term, I quite understood that he was a person likely to 
 be caught by beauty, and say silly things, and pay attentions 
 just for the sake of amusement ; and I was provoked beyond 
 expression at the idea that Hester should be brought in contact 
 with such folly. Possibly he took advantage of his position in 
 regard to Sophia, to say and do things which, under other cir- 
 cumstances, must have had a serious appearance. Altogether, 
 I disliked Hester's being with him more than I can say, and 
 thought of her with especial satisfaction when I knew that she 
 was setting copies, or hearing lessons, instead of listening to the 
 meaningless flatteries of a man who, with all his professed high 
 principles, had not sufficient consideration to see the bad effect 
 they might have upon her. 
 
 I did at one time think of speaking upon the subject to Lady 
 Emily, but there was something repugnant to me in the sugges- 
 tion that her brother could be so silly and wrong, and I always 
 hoped she would see it herself. In the meantime there was 
 nothing to be done but to keep Hester away from Lowood, as 
 much as possible, till Mr Beresford and Sophia were married. 
 As for the child herself, as I always considered her, she was 
 really every day more and more charming to me. Her gaiety, 
 and energy, and sweet temper, seemed never to fail ; and she
 
 2S4 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 was becoming so thoroughly good, too — so earnest and watch- 
 ful. A great deal of that was owing to Mr Malcolm, I was 
 sure. I could always trace the effect of any particularly strik- 
 ing remark he had made, — sometimes practically, and some- 
 times by a sudden question, — which showed how the idea had 
 been working in her mind. 
 
 1 was more especially sensible of the peculiar brightness and 
 hopefulness of her disposition at that time, for I was very much 
 tried by the near approach of the marriage of my uncle Ralph 
 and Horatia Gray. 
 
 The first of January was fixed upon. Horatia said she liked 
 a remarkable day, though, as aunt Sarah observed when she 
 heard it, ' there was no occasion to put herself out of the way 
 to choose, there being some events which would make any day 
 remarkable.' My mother and I were told all that was to be 
 done on the occasion ; but Horatia did not think it necessary 
 to ask any person's advice, and really I am not sure that she 
 in the least required it. She certainly managed very cleverly ; 
 but the cleverest thing of all was, the mode in which she made 
 every one believe that we liked the marriage. By dint of the 
 constant repetition of < our family,' and ' my dear cousins,' she 
 made us all one in the eyes of the world ; and I was again and 
 again seriously congratulated upon the fortunate family arrange- 
 ment which had kept East Side still, as it were, in our own 
 hands. The marriage, too, was to be a family concern. Clifton 
 Cottage being Horatia's residence till her marriage, she was 
 able to accommodate Caroline, and her husband and children ; 
 and Caroline had promised to act as the mistress of the house, 
 and to preside at the great breakfast which was to be given 
 when my uncle and Horatia had departed. That was one of 
 the points which had puzzled me very much ; but Horatia was 
 never bafiled. Vaughan and Reginald had rooms at my 
 uncle's, and Joanna returned to us, though, as she took care to 
 tell us, it was only for the time, for she was very much wanted 
 in London. 
 
 Presents are one of the important appurtenances of a wed- 
 ding, and, as every one knows, nothing can be more difficult to 
 choose. But Horatia did not leave it to us to choose, or at 
 least, she managed to give us a hint which we could not well 
 refuse to accept. Anything valuable, she quite knew, it would 
 be out of our power to offer ; but she contrived, through my 
 uncle, to suggest to Caroline, that she should be charmed to
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 285 
 
 have a bracelet made of the hair of her 'dear cousins/ and 
 fastened by a clasp, inclosing some of my father's and mother's. 
 Caroline entered into the notion, and said at once, that she was 
 sure the idea would please us all ; and, in fact, she made inquiries, 
 and gave a half order, before mentioning the subject to me. 
 
 Caroline lived in London ; — we lived in Carsdale. It may 
 not, therefore, be surprising that we felt differently on the point ; 
 but I gave some of my hair, as I was requested, because I had 
 no reason but my own excessive dislike to offer for not doing so. 
 
 The day before the wedding arrived, and I went to the Cottage 
 to see Caroline, and look at the presents which Horatia insisted 
 upon exhibiting. Their number was marvellous. Where Horatia 
 had met with such dear friends, I could not imagine. There 
 were fancy brooches and forget-me-not rings, and embroidered 
 bags, and ornamented paper-knives, enough, one might have 
 thought, to stock a bazaar ; and there were really handsome 
 things also, — a dressing case, and an Indian shawl, and a 
 Honiton lace veil, and others of equal value, — which still more 
 perplexed my mind. The world, I thought, must have a very 
 different opinion of Horatia from mine. I wonder whether it 
 was wrong in me to find an explanation in that verse of the 
 Psalms : ' So long as thou doest well unto thyself men will 
 speak good of thee.' Horatia was emphatically one of those 
 persons who knew how to do well unto themselves. We were 
 looking at the presents, and making our remarks upon them, 
 when a parcel was brought in, directed in Miss Cole's hand- 
 writing. Horatia's face evinced a greater degree of gratifica- 
 tion than her words. She merely said, ' From aunt Sarah, I 
 suppose ; rather late — but old people's peculiarities must be 
 excused.' But I observed that she unfastened the parcel in a 
 great hurry. 
 
 It contained a Bible, handsomely bound, and on a slip of 
 paper was written, ' The only present which an old woman of 
 eighty-five considers of any value.' I think Horatia was 
 softened by the remembrance, and the mode in which it was 
 shown. ' Aunt Sarah is very good/ she said ; ' one could almost 
 wish we were all like her.' 
 
 It was the only expression of genuine respect for any indi- 
 vidual which I had ever heard her utter. 
 
 I went to see aunt Sarah that evening, when we returned 
 from the Cottage. I knew she would wish to know how every- 
 thing would be managed, and it was a comfort to be able to
 
 c 
 
 286 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 talk to a person who could so thoroughly understand all the 
 disagreeables. I told her how pleased Horatia was with her 
 present; and this pleased her. 
 
 f You will look at things very differently, Sally, when you are 
 as old as I am, from what you do now/ she said. ' We are 
 learning charity all our way through life, but there's nothing 
 makes the lesson perfect like looking at death. We want 
 mercy ourselves then, and so we would fain have it for others. 
 The woman 's an unprincipled woman — I don't doubt it — but 
 more 's the pity ; and, perchance, if those about her do their 
 duty, she may become better. Anyhow, it 's fitting that an 
 effort should be made, and there can be none where there 's no 
 kindness.' 
 
 ' I must try and remember that,' I said, ' for it is the only 
 thing that will help me forward. I know I am like a piece of 
 ice to her continually, and the moment I try not to be, I feel as 
 if I were a hypocrite.' 
 
 ' Don't force yourself to be too much with her,' replied my 
 aunt, ' there can be no good in that. When there 's a barrier 
 between folks, such as there must be between you, a civil dis- 
 tance is the only safety. Only let it be civil, and then, if ever 
 the time should come for something better, you won't have to 
 begin by begging pardon, which with most folks is an awk- 
 ward business.' 
 
 ' Happily,' I said, ' she is so entirely determined not to be 
 offended, that it is not difficult to keep on good terms with her.' 
 ' She is as clever a woman in her way as one might wish to 
 meet,' observed aunt Sarah. ' She knows quite well, that if she 
 rules herself first, she may rule the world afterwards. If she 
 had but one grain of honesty, and two of kind-heartedness, in 
 her composition, she might, with such self-command, become a 
 saint.' ' I never looked at that possibility before, I must con- 
 fess,' I said, smiling. But aunt Sarah did not smile. 
 
 < It 's a serious matter, Sally,' she said. ' We may laugh 
 now, but it will be no laughing matter by and by to her that 
 she 's not one, or at least, that she did not try to be one ; nor 
 to us, that we made a joke about it. It does not do, child,' 
 she added, and her eye lighted up for an instant, and she 
 almost raised herself in her chair, with the instinct of long 
 habit — f it does not do ever to let light words pass upon such 
 matters. It's the evil habit of the world, and of good folks in 
 it too ; but depend upon it, a light word is the devil's keenest
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 2S7 
 
 S^vord.' ' Ami yet one uses it very often,' I replied, ' to con- 
 ceal a deeper feeling.' ' Even so ; but watch yourself after 
 you have said it, and you are not what you were before. People 
 go to church, and say their prayers, maybe with all their hearts, 
 and then they come out, and say something droll about the 
 clergyman's voice, or the clerk's reading ; and if they could 
 measure the warmth of their souls, as they can the warmth ot 
 their bodies, they would find they were colder by ten degree-; 
 after the words were said than before it. But I did not mean 
 to preach a sermon to you, Sally, only there 's nothing like a 
 joke for rubbing the dust off the butterfly's wing of religion. 
 And now tell me about to-morrow — who 's to be there ? ' 
 
 ' Every one,' I said, ' except my mother. I wanted to stay 
 at home with her, but she would not hear of it. Horatia has 
 insisted also upon having Mr Rivers and Lady Emily asked.' 
 
 ' What business had she to do that ? ' asked my aunt. ' Be- 
 cause she went out as companion to Lady Emily's sister ? ' 
 ' Not quite, I suppose ; but she makes herself one of the 
 family, and Lady Emily takes such an interest in our concerns, 
 that she felt herself entitled to claim something of the same 
 intimacy.' 
 
 'And Lady Emily said "no," of course,' observed aunt Sarah. 
 
 ' She talked to me about it,' I replied, ' and said, that if I 
 thought my mother would care, or if it would at all show respect 
 to us as a family, she would go directly ; but otherwise she had 
 no feeling for Horatia, and did not think herself called upon to 
 pay her more attention than other people. Of course, she 
 should call and ask them to dine, but she did not think that 
 more was required. You know,' I added, ' that Lady Emily is 
 -\ ery particular about these matters of etiquette and propriety, 
 and would not on any account omit what she considered a 
 necessary civility. She told me, only the other day, that she 
 was beginning to think them more and more of consequence.' 
 
 ' To be sure she is,' replied my aunt. ' She 's a kind-hearted 
 woman, and she knows that if persons wish to obtain the privi- 
 lege of conferring favours, they must purchase it with the current 
 coin of society ; no other will pass, let it be ever so sterling — 
 folks don't understand what it means.' ' I suppose there is 
 something in that,' I said ; ' otherwise, I have now and then 
 thought that Lady Emily was too anxious about not giving 
 offence. Mr Rivers, however, is particular, and I imagine that 
 has helped to make her so.'
 
 283 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 1 Ask round the neighbourhood, and see the influence for good 
 they have gained by such attention,' said aunt Sarah. < Dinner 
 parties, and all those fusses which are called such a waste of 
 time, are good for nothing in themselves, but they are good foi 
 what you can get by them. They may be dull and heavy, as 
 the money of the Spartans, but they serve as the medium of ex- 
 change; and we grave, stiff English folks are not fit for any- 
 thing else / — if we were, we should have found it out before 
 this.' 
 
 ' Well,' I said, ' Horatia, at least, is determined to make the 
 most of them, for she has asked every one, far and near ; and 
 Caroline is quite in her element, settling about it all. I don't 
 remember to have seen her in such a state of excitement since 
 the eventful party at East Side, at which I was not present. 
 I think upon the whole,' I added, ' that it is a good thing for 
 me individually, that no persons but myself and Herbert know 
 all the causes of offence against my uncle and Horatia ; it helps 
 me on very much in the way of cordiality — and I really re- 
 quire help, for I blame myself continually for my cold manner 
 to them.' 
 
 ' Persons of sober minds are worse off, in that respect, than 
 quick-changing folks,' said my aunt. < When they are possessed 
 with an idea or a feeling they can't alter, whilst the others say a 
 sharp word one minute, and give a kiss the next ; and the kiss 
 remains when the sharp word is forgotten. But we must take 
 ourselves as we are, Sally ; and if you can't twist and turn as 
 often as you would wish, you must remember that you help to 
 keep the family steady.' 
 
 ' I feel so often,' I said, < that if I were Horatia I could not 
 endure myself; but she never appears to see anything cold or 
 distant. She asked me to be bridesmaid, and I had the greatest 
 difficulty in getting off, and only succeeded because I could not 
 be certain of being able to leave my mother when the day came. 
 But she took it quite quietly, though my manner was so miser- 
 ably constrained, that I could scarcely bear the consciousness 
 of it. Now, Joanna and Caroline's two little girls are to be 
 bridesmaids. Hester managed to escape by putting the children 
 in her place ; but I am afraid any one but Horatia would have 
 been annoyed.' 
 
 ' The child is wilful,' said aunt Sarah ; ' she will learn before 
 long that we must make sacrifices of feeling as well as of other 
 things. There 's no good in making an enemy, except in cases
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 2 89 
 
 of right or wrong. And so Caroline is busy with the gland 
 breakfast, is she } ' ' Yes ; they are to be at the church at ten 
 o'clock, and afterwards they go back to the Cottage, and my 
 uncle and Horatia set off for London in the afternoon. And, 
 in three weeks time, they come back to East Side. Oh! aunt 
 Sarah, who could have imagined that I should ever have men- 
 tioned the fact so calmly?' 
 
 'It's the mercy of God,' said my aunt, ' step by step, leading 
 us on. People wish to know the future at the beginning ; if the 
 wish were granted, three-fourths of us would go mad.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 HORATIA GRAY'S wedding-day stands out distinctly, with 
 its forced light and dark shadows, amongst my reminis- 
 cences of the past. We met in the old church of Carsdale — a 
 brilliant assemblage, gay with dresses of the colours of the rain- 
 bow ; but too many, who had no personal interest in the scene, 
 only retaining their gravity from the sacredness of the place and 
 the service. I had scarcely, indeed, ever seen the church so 
 full ; from one cause or another all Carsdale had a desire to be 
 present at Mr Ralph Mortimer's marriage. I heard loud whis- 
 pers a propos to the quaintness of the bridegroom, and the age 
 of the bride; and I felt something of the absurdity for them, 
 and a good deal, perhaps, for ourselves. But it was a real and 
 solemn ceremony to me — all the more solemn because I felt in 
 my own mind how much of mockery there might be in it. 
 Horatia looked well and handsome, my uncle smooth as polished 
 marble, and both as cold. Mr Benson, the old rector, married 
 them. Mr Malcolm was present, but only as a spectator, and 
 as he stood by Hester and myself, grave and earnest, and shar- 
 ing, as I well knew, our feelings, I could not but think how 
 differently I should listen to the same words, and look upon the 
 same scene, if I were present to see my darling entrusted to 
 him, to guard her in her journey through life. That thought 
 carried me away farther than it should have done, to a quiet 
 parsonage, and a country village, and a home for my mother, 
 and myself near — a dream of an earthly future from which I 
 
 T
 
 2 9 o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 was awakened to bestow the first kiss of cordiality upon Horatia 
 Mortimer. 
 
 ' And all went merry as a marriage bell.' 
 
 At the wedding of two persons who had neither parents, nor 
 sisters, nor brothers, to grieve for the breaking up of a home, 
 why should not all be merry ? The laugh and the jest went 
 round, and healths were proposed, and speeches were made, 
 and my uncle and Horatia bore their parts well, assuming no 
 airs of youth, but contented, as they said, with the ' sober 
 certainty of waking bliss,' belonging to a more advanced age ; 
 and then Horatia confided her guests to the hospitality of Caroline 
 and Mr Blair, ' and Mr and Mrs Ralph Mortimer set off in a 
 dark green chariot with four horses for London.' I quote from 
 the county paper, in which a full account of the marriage and 
 the festivities appeared the next week. 
 
 Joanna remained with Caroline. I went back to my mother. 
 Hester was persuaded to stay, and I thought not much against 
 her inclination, since she was to •return with Herbert and Mr 
 Malcolm, who were to dine at the Cottage. The carriage which 
 took me back was a return fly, and as it passed aunt Sarah's 
 door, I thought I would stop and see her first. I opened the 
 door as usual, and went into the parlour ; but not finding her 
 there, I supposed she might be lying down in the drawing-room. 
 Whilst I was debating whether I should ring the bell and in- 
 quire, Miss Cole came in. She had heard my step, and was 
 come to tell me that this was a bad day with aunt Sarah, who 
 had passed a restless night, and was suffering from great oppres- 
 sion on the chest ; in fact, Miss Cole was anxious about her. 
 and wished very much that I could persuade her to see a medical 
 man. 
 
 I found her sitting up in her great chair, close to the fire, and 
 wrapped up in a large, heavy shawl ; but she complained 
 bitterly of the cold, and her hands were like ice. She was 
 very languid, and I could not enliven her by anything I said, 
 though I tried to amuse her by the details of the marriage 
 party. Her cheeks were quite sunken, and her eyes dark and 
 dim, and yet, now and then, she looked up at me with a smile — 
 which soon, however, passed away into a sigh — trying to make 
 me feel that she liked to have me with her. 
 
 Having finished all I could remember, I stopped and told 
 her I was afraid I should tire her; but she answered, 'No, 
 child ; there's not enough in it all to tire me ; and it's pleasant
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 291 
 
 enough to hear. Go on ; 'tis an odd story of a world that I 
 once lived in.' ' Not a very pleasant world/ I said. 
 
 ' No, indeed, one may well he glad to leave it ; — glad from 
 one's heart. It's a longing feeling that comes at last, Sally ; 
 but God's time is the best.' ' And whilst there is life there is 
 work/ I said; 'at least, 1 am sure you make me think so.' 
 J Even so, child ; work to the last and latest breath ; and who 
 would not work for Him ? ' 
 
 She clasped her fingers together, and I saw that she was 
 praying. ' O aunt Sarah !' I said, after a short pause, ' if you 
 could only teach me to feel always that it is work for Him, the 
 burden of life would be light indeed.' 'There's no teach i 
 it/ replied my aunt ; ' it's the one thing which each must learn 
 for himself. But when we set ourselves to do His will we arc 
 learning it, even though we don't know it. There 's a sore trial 
 in middle life, Sally. Hearts grow cold with care, and the life 
 He gives too often seems buried, because of the load of earthly 
 thought above it ; and then we appear to ourselves to live to 
 this world, whilst the things of this world crowd upon us, in 
 church, and in prayer, and when we open our Bibles to read. 
 But where the will is steadfast, and sin withstood, the true life 
 springs forth again as the earthly tabernacle decays. Old age 
 is a blessed time. It gives us leisure to put off our earthly 
 garments one by one, and dress ourselves for Heaven.' 
 
 Miss Cole came into the room just then, and interrupted us, 
 I suspect on purpose, for she brought with her a biscuit and a 
 glass of wine, which she wished aunt Sarah to take, saying, 
 our conversation had been very long. But my aunt was not 
 willing to part from me. 
 
 ' If you must go now, come again, and bring your mother 
 back with you, Sally/ she said, ' for maybe, when the evening 
 comes, I shall be good for more than I am now, and it's a 
 pleasant sight to see you by me.' 
 
 I lingered still, and took her cold hand, and held it between 
 mine, feeling how dear it was to me, and hoping to give it 
 warmth and life, and so we sat for some time ; until at length 
 she leant her head against her chair, and fell asleep, and then 
 I stole away to my mother, and in the afternoon we returned 
 again. 
 
 Whilst the merriment of the marriage feast was to be heard 
 at Clifton Cottage, my mother and I sat in aunt Sarah's bed- 
 room, talking quietly of the events of the past, and the ' mercies
 
 292 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 that had followed us all the days of our lives.' We were cheer- 
 ful and hopeful when we parted, but I could not conceal from 
 myself that a change had taken place for the worse, and the 
 tears which I shed that night when I laid my head upon my 
 pillow, were mournful as the tears of a death-bed. 
 
 Three weeks passed rapidly away ; yet they did not seem 
 rapid to me. My thoughts were fixed with dread upon Hor- 
 atia's return, and I longed to have the first visit over. After 
 that I felt we should be more certain of our future footing. 
 Caroline remained at the Cottage for about a fortnight, and 
 then returned to London, and Joanna with her. 1 saw in what 
 way events were tending there ; Caroline was making Joanna 
 useful to her, and so did not object to taking her back ; but the 
 life she was compelled to lead, would to me have been nothing 
 less than a humiliating slavery. Aunt Joanna was required to 
 work for the children, to assist the governess, and to do any- 
 thing that no one else chose to do, — not as a matter of kind- 
 ness, but of obligation, because she was an expense. The 
 servants neglected her when they saw others do so, and this 
 made her angry ; and she was cross, and they were imperti- 
 nent. It was a wretched life, and she complained to me sadly 
 of it ; but she could not make up her mind even then, to that 
 which would have given her independence and self-respect ; 
 and what was even more vexatious, she could not see that she 
 was neglecting a duty. Yet we were called upon to pay her 
 bills, because she dared not ask Caroline for money, and she 
 had no claim upon any one. I gave her ten pounds the morn- 
 ing she left us, and she took it quite as her right, as part of 
 aunt Sarah's allowance ; and when I told her plainly that aunt 
 Sarah only paid the rent of the house, and therefore it came 
 rather heavily upon us to give her such assistance, she was 
 angiy, and said we ought to consider that, at least, we were not 
 called upon to keep her when she was absent. 
 
 But she went away, and I was obliged to put aside the 
 thought of what would be the end. 
 
 I could not ask aunt Sarah what she would advise us to do. 
 Weakness and pain were doing their errand stealthily, but 
 surely. I never missed a day in seeing her ; but our words 
 diminished as our love and our prayers increased. Her doctor 
 said it was a state in which she might linger for many weeks, 
 —there was no actual disease ; but a general breaking up of 
 the system. Humanly speaking, she could never rally to be,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 293 
 
 what she had been. Sometimes I tried to realise what the 
 words meant ; but I shrank from the self-inflicted pain, and 
 only clung the more closely to the thought that she was still 
 with me. 
 
 A peal of bells from the old church at Carsdale announced 
 the return of Mr Ralph Mortimer and his bride. They passed 
 through the town gaily as they had left it, and I heard that the 
 schoolmistress and the village children at Hurst went out to 
 meet them with flowers and rejoicing. They were right, — to 
 them Horatia was a friend, and my uncle an important and in- 
 fluential benefactor. 
 
 I was to go to East Side myself the next day, and my mother 
 said that Hester should go with me. It was a Saturday and a 
 holiday ; we could both be spared, and she thought we should 
 support each other. Hester was a great deal more upset than 
 I was. She was less accustomed to the change of life, and her 
 heart still turned fondly to the recollections of her happy child- 
 hood. I would fain have saved her the pain, but I felt that it 
 was better to have it over at once. But to drive up to the house 
 formally, — to ask if Mrs Ralph Mortimer was at home, — to be 
 ushered by a footman in livery, through the entrance-hall, with 
 the chairs standing in it which I used to sit down upon when 
 we were waiting for the pony-carriage, and the stand on which 
 my father's hat used to hang still in the same position, and then 
 to have the drawing-room door opened, and one's name an- 
 nounced, even as a stranger who had no right to be there, — 
 these things are not great trials, — every one, perhaps, has to 
 bear them, in some form or other, at some time or other, — but 
 they are most bitter, all the more so, perhaps, because they are 
 so common that one is ashamed to confess the suffering they 
 bring. 
 
 The drawing-room, I was thankful to see, was considerably 
 altered. Horatia and we had always differed as to the taste 
 and arrangement of furniture, and she had exercised her own 
 fancy in discarding much which had belonged to us, and plac- 
 ing the different articles in new positions. What with the 
 addition of a chaise loiigue and an ottoman, and the removal of 
 a bookcase and some pictures, I was able almost to fancy my- 
 self in a new room, and certainly the splendidly dressed, showy 
 woman who occupied one end of the sofa, and commanded her 
 guests with a glance, and whose voice sounded loudest and 
 fullest amongst the murmurs and congratulations of a crowded
 
 294 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 apartment, was as unlike my meek and gentle mother, as the 
 inhabitants of two distinct worlds could be. 
 
 Horatia came forward to meet us with an air of delighted 
 patronage. She had half hoped, she said, that we might have 
 been there to receive them the night before, when they arrived. 
 ' It is such a pleasure to be welcomed to a home, is it not V she 
 added, addressing one of her visitors ; ' and Ralph will be so 
 sorry not to have seen you,' she continued, to me, ' but he could 
 not possibly stay. However, we must make some engagements 
 presently. And now tell me a little about your poor mother 
 and our dear aunt Sarah. I have been most dreadfully anxious 
 about her.' I gave as short an answer as I could, consistent 
 with civility, and tried to talk to some one else ; but I was not 
 to escape. A conversation about the alterations, which had 
 been begun before we entered, was now resumed, and Hester 
 and I were appealed to at once by Horatia. 
 
 ' In your days, Sarah, it was different. You never had a 
 tree cut. I believe it was your mother's fancy.' It was my 
 father's wish, but I could not bring myself to mention his name ; 
 so I merely said, ' The place was a little overgrown.' ' Oh ! 
 sadly ! you were such people for shade and privacy. As to 
 the moss-house, it is a mere cave ; but how fond your poor 
 father was of it ! ' 
 
 ' Lady Emily Rivers and Mr Beresford' — announced the 
 footman. I could have given them public thanks upon the spot 
 for the interruption, but I was not allowed to say even that I 
 was glad to see them. Horatia took possession of them with 
 such a rush of words and rustling of her silk dress, that poor 
 Lady Emily was glad to sit down in the first vacant seat, where 
 she might be quiet, and not be obliged to make herself the 
 principal object in the room. Mr Beresford withdrew into the 
 background, after his first bow, and when, after watching the 
 little scene at Lady Emily's entrance, I looked round for him, 
 I observed him sitting apart and watching Hester, with a coun- 
 tenance upon which some great disquietude of mind was, to my 
 eyes, legibly written. Hester was trying to make herself agree- 
 able to the lady who was next her, but tears often gathered in 
 her eyes, even when she tried to speak smilingly; and I thought, 
 at last, that we had endured the penance sufficiently long, and 
 therefore proposed to Mrs Blair, who had come with us, that 
 wc should return. The room was, however, by this time, much 
 thinned ; and Horatia feeling herself, as she declared, quite
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 295 
 
 amongst friends, insisted upon our slaying to luncheon. Lady 
 Emily was pressed also, and consented ; and I appreciated 
 what I was sure was the motive. 
 
 We went in to luncheon. Horatia had evidently determined 
 beforehand that some of her guests should be entertained on 
 the occasion, for the preparations were large. It had all been 
 provided, she said, for chance visitors, and she did the honours 
 ot the table with great hospitality ; and Hester and I used the 
 knives and lurks which had been our own, and had the dishes 
 an,d plates put before us which we had always been accustomed 
 to on what were called state occasions ; and as Horatia con- 
 siderately remarked, it was quite home-like with such a snug 
 party. Hester's head was bent down lower than ever at thi 
 speech, and I saw a tear drop from her eye. I was extremely 
 distressed, and yet afraid to take any notice lest I might make 
 matters worse ; but at length I asked her if she would go into the 
 drawing-room, and fetch a little bottle of eau-de-Cologne which 
 1 had left there ; and taking advantage of the excuse she went 
 away, and did not return again. Notwithstanding Horatia's 
 home-like feelings, we were all remarkably dull. Mr Beres- 
 ford, in particular, was excessively moody; he ate nothing, and 
 often glanced impatiently at the door, as if longing to be away. 
 
 A ring at the bell announced another visitor before luncheon 
 was ended, but it was only Mr Malcolm ; and Horatia, who 
 always piqued herself upon being on free and cordial terms with 
 the clergy of the neighbourhood, begged that he would come 
 into the dining-room. The offer, however, was declined ; but 
 Mr Malcolm was in no hurry, we were told, and begged that 
 Mrs Mortimer would not disturb herself. We waited whilst 
 Mrs Blair finished her cake, and then returned to the drawing- 
 room. Horatia kept Lady Emily and Mrs Blair behind for a 
 minute to look at some picture which was a new purchase, and 
 it so happened that Mr Beresford and I went into the room 
 alone. 
 
 The first thing which struck us both was the sight of Hester 
 in earnest conversation with Mr Malcolm, and the first words 
 we heard were spoken by her, ' And you don't really think it is 
 wrong to have such feelings ? ' 
 
 I saw Mr Beresford's face in a glass opposite to us, and its 
 expression of anger and jealousy dismayed me. He turned 
 from me, and rushed out of the room. 
 
 Hester came up to me instantly, simple, true-hearted, con-
 
 296 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 Tiding, as she had always been: 'Might she go away?' she 
 asked. ' She was afraid to see any one ; but Mr Malcolm had 
 been very kind ; he had given her a great deal of comfort, and 
 he did not think her very wicked ;' and then she held out her 
 hand to him, and begged him always to talk to her in the same 
 way, for she was sure it would do her more good than anything 
 else. He was far more confused than she was, and said to me 
 in a hurried way, that he hoped he had not done wrong ; only, 
 he had found her there in distress, and it seemed natural to say 
 he could understand it all, for indeed he could. I thanked him, 
 and begged him to be her friend always ; and I am sure at the 
 moment I said it without the least thought that he could ever 
 be anything else ; and then Lady Emily, and Horatia, and Mrs 
 Blair, came in, and we were all on the point of departure. 
 
 But Mr Beresford was not to be found ; — in the garden, the 
 shrubbery, the stables, the fields, the village ; — everywhere he 
 was sought for, but in vain. I dared not say how much I knew 
 or guessed of the cause of his absence. He had been with me, 
 and had left me, that was all I could answer for ; and at last 
 we were told that he had been seen walking very fast on the 
 road to Carsdale. My heart sank within me. I looked about 
 for some one to advise me — some one to whom I could tell the 
 fears which had taken possession of me ; but there was no one. 
 They were all quiet, unconcerned, unsuspicious. Lady Emily 
 apologising for her brother's freaks ; even Hester, looking 
 bright again, as she said, ' It was just like one of his wild 
 fancies ; he was always saying that it was a useless waste ol 
 time to form plans beforehand ;' and Horatia, joining in the 
 laugh, and talking of his character in the natural style belong- 
 ing to ' one of the family.' Mr Malcolm alone saw I was 
 grieved, and thought I was yielding to the old painful reminis- 
 cences, and he did his best to hurry the carriage and get us 
 away. But I was not at East Side then — in thought or feeling. 
 I had forgotten all personal pain, or dislike, or regret. I could 
 only remember that look of intense anger and pique, and think 
 of what it might portend. 
 
 All the time we were driving into Carsdale I was pondering 
 upon Mr Beresford's object in going there. Mrs Blair and 
 Hester talked, and I believe I answered them, but if I did it 
 was mechanically. I was possessed by one idea, — that Mr 
 Beresford was really false to Sophia Grant, and would see 
 Hester again, and betray himself, and what would be the result?
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 297 
 
 Did she love him now ? Would she have strength of mind to 
 reject him ? If she listened to him, what would be the conse- 
 quence ? The anticipation of all that might happen was 
 alarming to me — most especially the dread lest the perfect 
 simplicity of heart of my sweet child should be disturbed by 
 the tumult of an affection to which she had no right. I am 
 afraid I was unjust to Mr Beresford ; — unkind to Sophia. Calm 
 and unexcitablc on such subjects myself, I could think only of 
 guarding my treasure from harm, and I dwelt but little upon the 
 agony which others might be called upon to bear. Neither did 1 
 then feel what at another time would have been one of the first 
 ideas present to me ; — that Mr Beresford's family would have 
 just reason to complain, and that even Lady Emily herself, 
 sincere and long-tried as her affection for me and for Hester 
 undoubtedly was, might well object to a connection which even, 
 in the days of our prosperity, could not have been such as her 
 brother was by birth and fortune entitled to form. 
 
 As we entered Carsdale I scanned every face and figure in 
 the dread of seeing Mr Beresford. I half hoped that, in his 
 excited state, he might have taken a sudden resolution to leave 
 the place ; but it was not like him,— he would not yield his 
 place to another without a struggle ; he would see Hester ; I 
 was convinced of that, upon consideration ; and the only ques- 
 tion was, how to avoid the interview. Mrs Blair wanted Hester 
 to remain with her for an hour or two, but I dared not trust 
 her there ; and making some trifling excuse, hurried to aunt 
 Sarah's, where I had an idea of leaving her whilst I went home 
 to consult my mother. Mr Beresford was not likely to intrude 
 into aunt Sarah's house, and Hester would not go out alone. 
 Afterwards I could not tell what was to be done. I thought of 
 sending her away, —making Herbert take her away ; but there 
 was no place to which she could go, and, certainly, none where 
 she could be safe if Mr Beresford chose to follow. Then I 
 thought of seeing Lady Emily, and telling her what I feared ; 
 but it was all conjecture on my part ; and how could I go to her 
 with what, after all, might be an unfounded suspicion. Oh ! 
 how I longed that Hester could be safe under any other protec- 
 tion ! If Mr Malcolm had only seen her with my eyes, and 
 known her gentleness and humility, and perfect truth and 
 warmth of affection, he must have loved her, and I could have 
 trusted her to him with entire confidence. 
 
 Even my dear mother, who never spoke upon such sub-
 
 298 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 jects, had once said tome that he was just the person she would 
 like for a son-in-law. But it was useless to think of that 
 now. 
 
 We stopped at aunt Sarah's and dismissed the fly, and I 
 told Hester that I wished her to remain there till I could come 
 back for her, and that she might amuse aunt Sarah with the 
 account of her visit ; and then I sent for Miss Cole, and begged 
 her to go and take a little walk, and leave Hester to be with my 
 aunt, and said to myself that I had managed very cleverly. It 
 struck me when I was half-way down the street, that probably 
 Mr Malcolm would call to see aunt Sarah on his way back 
 from East Side, as he usually did see her every day. But I did 
 not know why I should trouble myself about that. I was really 
 becoming quite silly and romantic in my sober age, — fancying 
 that every one was going to fall in love with Hester ; and I 
 quite scolded myself for allowing such thoughts to haunt me, 
 when Mr Malcolm's heart was so evidently indifferent. I said 
 so to myself one moment, and the next I found myself recalling 
 his hurried manner, — the kind interest he had taken in her. It 
 was possible the indifference was feigned. I walked leisurely 
 through the streets, satisfied, at all events, in the conviction 
 that I had left Hester in safe custody, and looking about still 
 for Mr Beresford, and thinking what I should say to my mother ; 
 and actually passed our own door before I was aware. But I 
 was stopped by hearing some one say, ' Are you going farther, 
 Miss Mortimer?' It was Mr Malcolm on horseback. His 
 face was so very pale, I really doubted for the moment who he 
 was. I laughed at my mistake, and he dismounted, and, call- 
 ing to a boy to hold his horse, came up to me and said in a 
 voice scarcely articulate from agitation : ' Might I be allowed 
 a few minutes' conversation with you ? ' I led the way into 
 the house, but he waited to speak to the boy ; and as I looked 
 back to see what detained him, I observed at the farther end of 
 the street, a person crossing the road, whom I directly recog- 
 nised as Mr Beresford. I think he must have seen us, for he 
 stopped for an instant, and then strode on. He went towards 
 High Street. Aunt Sarah's house was in High Street; but 
 how could he guess that Hester was there ?
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 MR MALCOLM followed me into the drawing-room : we 
 sat down opposite to each other. He waited for mc to 
 speak, and I said, in order to do away with the awkwardness, 
 that he had ridden fast after us. ' Yes, very fast, as fast as he 
 could come ; not ' — and his voice trembled — ' as fast as he 
 could wish.' A gleam of hope came over me ; I pitied him 
 certainly, yet I could not think of a word to say to help him. 
 The colour in his face went and came rapidly : there was a 
 moment's pause of excessive embarrassment on both sides, and 
 then, as with a sudden impulse of moral strength, came the 
 question, which, after such preparation, I could scarcely fail to 
 anticipate, put abruptly, but with an honest openness which 
 became him. He loved Hester devotedly ; did I think — 
 could I give him the faintest hope — that she would return his 
 affection ? 
 
 He buried his face in his hands, shrinking from the answer. 
 How thankful I was words can never say. I could not tell him 
 there was no hope ; I could give him my cordial good wishes ; 
 and, as I said the words, he seized my hand with expressions ox 
 overpowering gratitude, and the whole history of his fears came 
 out. He had seen what I saw at East Side, and alarm — ■ 
 jealousy he called it — had goaded him to do what he never 
 meant to do until he could come forward to offer what Hester 
 deserved, and we were bound to require — a home and a com- 
 petency. Within the last week he had had the half promise of 
 a living ; it was all but sure, but it was not quite, and he had 
 therefore still thought that it might be his duty to delay ; as he 
 had, from the beginning, dreaded to disturb the peace of her 
 present life, and shackle her by a long engagement. Now, 
 however, he felt that it would be impossible to continue his pre- 
 sent manner, and he had therefore come to me. Perhaps I 
 could understand, he added, that it was more easy to talk to me 
 than to make a formal proposal to my mother, knowing that he 
 had nothing but hope to offer. His request was, that I would 
 gain my mother's sanction to his endeavours to win Hester's 
 affections. 
 
 I would have taken him at once to my mother, but he stopped 
 me ; a cloud came over his face, and he said he must ask one 
 question more — the answer might be agony, but he must hear
 
 3oo THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 it. I had only said that I could not tell him there was no hope ; 
 ■ — did that mean that there was any fear of a previous affec- 
 tion ? Was it possible that ' Mr Beresford's feeling is re- 
 turned/ I said, forcing myself to be unreserved, though with a 
 great struggle. Yes, that was what he meant. 
 
 ' Mr Beresford has long been considered engaged,' I said. 
 ' True,' he replied, whilst the cloud still rested on his face ; 
 ' but it sometimes happens in such cases, that persons, after a 
 time, find themselves unsuited to each other, and that others 
 are aware of it. Mr Beresford has never, I believe, been de- 
 finitely engaged ; and your sister has lately been much at 
 Lowood.' 
 
 ' Not whilst he was there,' I replied. Mr Malcolm smiled. 
 ' Perhaps I am not a fair judge,' he said ; * but I should say, 
 that, even with a comparatively slight acquaintance, some ex- 
 cuse might be found for him ; and your sister may have per- 
 ceived his attachment. It might be so without any intentional 
 fault on her part.' I felt he might be right ; at the bottom of 
 my heart I had an aching dread that he was. It was the secret 
 misgiving which had made me tremble, lest Mr Beresford 
 should have the opportunity of disclosing his feelings, and dis- 
 covering to Hester the state of hers. 
 
 ' They would be sadly, miserably wrong,' I said ; ' may God 
 save my darling from such a temptation ! ' And a host of 
 recollections, bringing self-reproach, flashed upon me, as I felt 
 that, if it were so, I might be the person to blame, in having 
 shut my eyes to a possibility, and trusted to a man whose prin- 
 ciples I had from the very first felt to be insecure. 
 
 What I now most earnestly desired was, that Mr Malcolm 
 should see Hester at once, but he was afraid. His manner, he 
 said, had always been so cold, he had so studiously avoided 
 anything that might be construed into an attention, that he 
 trembled for the result of a sudden explanation. All he wished 
 was to be at liberty to show what his wishes were — to win her 
 affections, if he could, fairly and openly. He looked very 
 unhappy, and I read the doubt which remained in his mind ; 
 but he had marked out for himself the line that he would 
 be right to pursue, and I felt that, at any sacrifice, he would 
 follow it. 
 
 He had an interview with my mother afterwards ; it was 
 what I was sure it would be. Every word he uttered gave us 
 a deeper insight into his strength of mind, his honourable,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 301 
 
 candid, upright character. We could wish for nothing better 
 nothing more likely to make Hester happy. But all the time 
 we were talking my thoughts were wandering. What was Mr 
 Beresford doing in High Street? 
 
 I was to go and fetch Hester. Mr Malcolm was to return 
 and drink tea. I did not think it worth while then to disturb 
 my mother with the fears I had been conjuring up. For one 
 night she should at least enjoy the prospect of that bright future 
 for her child which had once been her own. But I was not at 
 rest ; there was the same fear hanging over my heart, the same 
 doubt whether Hester might not be safer and better away. But 
 then, again, if Mr Malcolm was with her constantly, showing 
 her what now he was at full liberty to show — his real affection 
 — it might fairly be hoped that her own feelings, already those 
 of deep respect, would partake of the nature of his. All that 
 seemed required was, that the ground should not be pre- 
 occupied. 
 
 It was growing dusk when I reached aunt Sarah's door. I 
 thought it probable she might be asleep, so I stole into the 
 house, making as little noise as possible, and went first through 
 the long passage towards the kitchen to find one of the servants, 
 and ask whether I had better go up-stairs. If aunt Sarah was 
 asleep, however, the servants were doing their best to waken 
 her, for Richard, the old gardener, was hammering nails into a 
 box, and the sound was heard all over the house. Molly and 
 Betty were, I supposed, as usual hidden in the recesses of the 
 laundry, far beyond mortal ken, or at least such ken as mine ; 
 and old Richard was so deafened by the sound of his own 
 hammer, that he did not know I was near him till I touched 
 his arm, and then he looked very cross at being interrupted, 
 and said he supposed they were all up-stairs with ' Missus.' 
 Miss Cole had been in the kitchen a few minutes before, and 
 Miss Hester, he believed, was talking to some one in the par- 
 lour. Some one ! The old man must have thought me mad. 
 I did not wait to hear another word, but rushed back along the 
 passage, and had just laid my ringers upon the handle of the 
 dining-room door, when Miss Cole came down the stairs. Dear, 
 kind Miss Cole ! with her slow speech — oh, how interminably 
 slow at that instant ! — informed me that she was very glad I 
 was come, for there was a message for me, she believed, from 
 Lady Emily Rivers. She had met Mr Beresford close to Long ; s 
 shop, and he had asked where I was to be found, and she had
 
 302 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 told him that I was gone home, and that Hester was at her 
 aunt's ; and then he had asked if he might say five words to 
 Hester, for he was just going back to Lowood. ' So, of course,' 
 continued innocent Miss Cole, ' I was quite glad to have met 
 him. I was afraid he was ill, for he looked dreadfully white, 
 and his manner was flurried ; but he said there was nothing 
 the matter with Lady Emily, and I did not like to ask for Miss 
 Grant.' 
 
 I asked how long he had been there. ' About ten minutes ; 
 it might be a little more. Probably he is waiting to see you,' 
 added Miss Cole, ' as I told him you would be here again soon.' 
 
 Alas, for the mischief that might be done in those ten 
 minutes ! but I let Miss Cole go up-stairs again, and waited till 
 she was out of sight, and I had heard her go into aunt Sarah's 
 bedroom, and then with a feeling of desperate calmness I once 
 more touched the handle of the door. It was turned on the 
 other side ; the door was thrown open, and when I drew back, 
 Mr Beresford rushed wildly past me, and left the house. 
 
 I went in. My darling was leaning back upon the sofa, 
 burying her face amongst the cushions, and sobbing as if her 
 heart would break. I spoke to her, but she would not reply 
 till I sat down by her, and, forcing her to turn to me, bade her 
 tell me what was amiss, that I might comfort her. 
 
 She looked up then, and her eye glanced rapidly round the 
 room, and in a hollow whisper she said, ' Is he gone? Mammy, 
 dear, are you sure ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; we are alone. But Hester, my treasure, my own 
 child, what has he said ? ' 
 
 She started from her seat, threw herself on her knees before 
 me, and exclaimed, ' It was not my doing; — God knows it. 
 O Sarah ! are they all as wicked ? 
 
 ' All ? — all men, do you mean ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, all. Are they like him ? will they deceive ? will they 
 tempt? Save me from him, Sarah ; don't let me listen to him.' 
 
 ' You shall never see him again, my darling,' I said, ' if I 
 can help it ; but you do not wish to do so, do you ? ' 
 
 My heart grew sick with fear as I asked the question ; but 
 she raised her bright pure face to mine, and clasped her hands 
 together, and solemnly and earnestly she said, ' Never — never ! ' 
 The next minute there was a burst of agonising repentance, and 
 she hid her face in my lap, and murmured, ' But it pleased me 
 to hear him say he loved me.'
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 303 
 
 Poor child ! She was frail and weak, and he had touched 
 ner vanity. I saw the truth in an instant, through the bitter 
 tears, the anguish of self-reproach. I saw that she was dis- 
 tressing herself unnecessarily, dreading lest she had in heart 
 consented to feelings which she in truth abhorred. Again and 
 Lgain she asked, — were all men so wicked? — would they all 
 deceive? — should she ever be treated herself as he had treated 
 Sophia ? and then once more came the sorrow, the penitent 
 confession, the entreaty that I would not hate her ; but she had 
 liked to hear him say he loved her. Oh ! how I hated him ! 
 .it the moment it was actual hatred, — a feeling so strong, that 
 when I look back upon it, it frightens me, for it was sin. She 
 became more composed after a little time, and gave me the 
 details of what had passed, though still in broken sentences, 
 and interrupted by entreaties that 1 would not cast her off, but 
 help her to forget that she had ever heard the words which 
 haunted her. 
 
 He had told her that Sophia was cold to him, and did not love 
 him, and that he could not be happy without affection ; and 
 then he made the poor child confess that she had no feeling for 
 any other person, and taking advantage of her simple acknow- 
 ledgment, — that she had never thought about such things before 
 — pressed his own — love, he called it, — selfishness, I called it. 
 
 ' He wanted me to say I would try to love him,' she added ; 
 ' but I could not. Oh ! mammy, dear, when I thought of 
 Sophia, and of my mother, and of you, I could not say so. 
 Yet I liked his talking, — indeed, I did. You will think me as 
 wicked as I am, won't you ? But I told him he must go back 
 to Sophia, and that he must never repeat such things to 
 me again ; and I said how wrong he was to think Sophia 
 did not care for him ; and that she thought about him all 
 day long, and that she was so good he must be happy with 
 her. I don't think I said anything I ought not ; but I felt 
 wrong things, I am sure. Only, at last, I was angry, because 
 he declared I had deceived him, and behaved to him as if I cared 
 for him. He had no right to say so, Sarah,' and Hester drew 
 herself up, and her womanly dignity, for the moment, got the 
 better of her grief. ' How could I care for him when I con- 
 sidered him engaged ? He was kind to me, and Sophia loved 
 him ; that was why I liked him, and I told him so, and then he 
 was quite silent and cold ; and, at last, he rushed away, and I 
 think — I think, Sarah, I felt sorry when he left me.'
 
 304 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 The intense selfishness of some men's love ! for the moment 
 I could think of nothing else. 
 
 But he was gone, never, I hoped, to venture a second time to 
 disturb the peace of my darling's mind ; and all that could now 
 be done for her was to take her home, and leave her to the 
 quiet soothing tenderness of my mother's care. She could not 
 see Mr Malcolm that night ; but though I was sorry for what 
 would be his disappointment, I felt that if he should in the end 
 succeed in his wishes, he would obtain a prize, the value of 
 which till that day even I had never estimated. 
 
 Of Sophia Grant I dared not trust myself to speak, scarcely 
 to think. Mr Beresford called her cold ; yes, she was cold, 
 compared to him, — cold in her self-command, her perfect deli- 
 cacy of feeling, her utter unselfishness. Cold, because to 
 humour his tastes she would sacrifice her own ; to save him 
 pain, she would endure. She was, in my eyes, as far superior 
 to him as the calm purity of an angel is to the excited feeling 
 of a fallen creature ; but she was to be sacrificed, — to be cast 
 aside ; the happiness of her life was to be blighted, and the 
 excuse was — love ! 
 
 Hester was very unwell for several days ; she was naturally 
 of an excitable temperament, and the agitation of that evening 
 did not cease with the circumstance which had caused it. She 
 was under a perpetual nervous dread, either that Mr Beresford 
 would return, or that Lady Emily would call ; and this latter 
 fear was increased by the self-reproach which no reasoning could 
 entirely remove. If Mr Beresford thought she had shown by 
 her manner that she cared for him, Lady Emily would have 
 thought the same, and then she must hate and despise her. And 
 Sophia ! It seemed impossible she could ever believe that all which 
 had passed was unintentional ; and this doubt would be fol- 
 lowed by a closer self-examination into her own feelings ; whether 
 she had ever encouraged Mr Beresford, — whether it had not once 
 or twice crossed her mind that she should like him to like her; 
 and then, perhaps, she would break off, and say, that it was better 
 not to think so much of herself, it was Sophia whom she ought to 
 care about. If it could all be put right again with her, she should 
 care for nothing else. 
 
 ' That which is crooked cannot be made straight.' It was a 
 truth which Mr Beresford "was now to learn. 
 
 I saw Lady Emily alone the following day. We met by 
 appointment at aunt Sarah's. She would not come to us, lest
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 305 
 
 her presence might distress Hester. She was looking so ill, 
 that it quite shocked me to see her. Of course she knew all. 
 Whatever might be Mr Beresford's faults, he was, to a certain 
 extent, candid. He had never returned to Lowood; but he 
 had written a full confession to his sister, — not, however, gener- 
 ous, as it should have been, towards Hester, but trying to offer 
 some excuse for himself, in the belief, which he declared he 
 entertained, that Hester was attached to him. ' But the whole 
 proceeding,' said Lady Emily, ' was the result of wounded 
 vanity and pique. On the morning that we met at East Side, 
 he and Sophia had had some slight misunderstanding, and he 
 complained to me of her coldness. I confess that I had just 
 begun to suspect his fancy for Hester, — fancy I call it, because 
 I cannot now believe that his real feeling for Sophia is changed ; 
 and I spoke to him seriously about it, and said that it was 
 quite enough to make Sophia cold. He was angry, and accused 
 her of jealousy : and, altogether, we had a most uncomfortable 
 conversation, and I began to be afraid I had clone more harm 
 than good. However, I persuaded him to go with me to East 
 Side, hoping that he would recover himself before he saw- 
 Sophia again : and it was in that state that Hester and he 
 met. It is the only extenuation 1 can offer for his conduct. 
 He had worked himself up to the belief that Sophia did not 
 care for him, and he believed, he says himself, that Hester did. 
 Then came the feeling of jealousy of your friend Mr Malcolm, 
 and, in a fit of desperation, he determined to make his fate sure. 
 Hester's conduct, she added, 'opened his eyes. He has lived 
 too much in the world, and is not sufficiently simple-minded to 
 understand her. He writes with the irritation of a man who 
 has been refused; but if it can be any consolation to you, he is 
 utterly miserable.' 
 
 I asked what Sophia knew ? 
 
 ' Everything,' replied Lady Emily. ' As regards her, he has 
 acted as humbly, and as well as any man could do who has 
 committed such a fatal mistake. But he has marred her hap- 
 piness for life.' 
 
 ' Yet you seem to say that he still loves her,' I said. ' Is it 
 possible that in time they may be friends again !' 
 
 Lady Emily shook her head. ' If it were Hester it might 
 be, but not with Sophia. It is the peculiarity of her character. 
 Once to love, is to love for ever. Once to be disappointed in 
 that love, is to be disappointed for ever. Her respect is 
 
 IT
 
 306 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 lowered ; and without entire respect, she could never 
 marry.' 
 
 ' Some people/ I said, ' might find an excuse in the impulse 
 of the moment after a misunderstanding.' 
 
 ' But I am afraid there is no excuse for the weakness which 
 led to such a result,' said Lady Emily. ' There was the folly, 
 — it has been his folly always. He was vain. He liked to 
 believe that he could make his way with any woman to whom 
 he chose to devote himself; and so, without serious meaning, 
 he allowed himself to say silly things, and pay attentions which 
 were likely. to be misunderstood. Long before his attachment 
 to Sophia, I warned him of the consequences again and again ; 
 afterwards, I hoped he was safe ; and, as regarded Hester, she 
 was so perfectly childlike and unconcerned herself, and so 
 entirely a favourite with them both, that I confess I never 
 opened my eyes to the danger till it was too late. How bitterly 
 I reproach myself for my blindness, I cannot say. My onl" 
 comfort is, that I have not been the means of bringing them 
 together lately.' 
 
 It was a miserable affair. If it was not wickedness, it was 
 such weakness, that I quite agreed with Sophia, it could never 
 be forgotten. I said so to Lady Emily. < Yes,' she replied, 
 ' that is the expression of Sophia's own feelings. If he loved 
 Hester, she says, he was false to her. If he did not, he 
 deceived the poor child with delusive words. Either way, she 
 feels that he is unworthy of her affection. Poor fellow ! he 
 will receive to-morrow a letter from me which will tell him 
 what, I believe, he has not even yet ventured to realise, — that 
 he is parted from Sophia for ever.' 
 
 He was bitterly punished; but I thought of Hester and 
 Sophia, and again I said to myself, ' Oh ! the selfishness of 
 some men's love J' 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE comfort of turning to a love which was not selfish was 
 excessive. Mr Malcolm was with us daily, but he never 
 asked to see Hester ; and when, after the third evening, she 
 came down-stairs of her own accord, and said she should like
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 307 
 
 to be with us, he would not distress her with attentions, or 
 urge her into conversation, or in any way make his presence 
 oppressive to her; but, with the thoughtfulness of a brother, 
 he talked to my mother and myself of the subjects likely to 
 interest her, or brought her books which she might read to 
 herself, or played chess, or, in fact, did anything which oppor- 
 tunity might suggest, that would be likely to distract her 
 thoughts, and give her the repose of mind which he knew she 
 required. For I had told him all that had passed, and I could 
 see through his assumed calmness the impetuous disposition 
 which would fain have gone to her at once, and entreated to 
 be allowed to make her happy. But he had the most perfect 
 self-command of any person I ever knew, and the most entire 
 forgetfulness of self, and he saw what I saw, — that she had 
 been too much disturbed as yet to know her own mind, and 
 that to confess his affection would only be to make her wretched. 
 She had admired and trusted Mr Beresford, and believed him 
 perfect on Sophia's assurance ; and now that she was un- 
 deceived, her faith in all men was shaken. Even Mr Malcolm, 
 I could perceive, was at times distrusted. She used to say to 
 me that she never knew before what persons meant by saying 
 that they could not put confidence in men. She had always 
 looked up to them so much ; many of those she had known 
 had seemed so wise and good, she could scarcely believe they 
 were not so now ; and it seemed at times as if she were walk- 
 ing in a horrible dream ; and then she had had such wrong 
 feelings herself, and sometimes they came back, and she actually 
 loathed herself. She wished Mr Malcolm knew how wrong- 
 she was. He was so kind to her and always put right thoughts 
 into her head. Did I think it possible that he could ever be 
 like Mr Beresford ? 
 
 Time was to prove that ; but time just then went slowly and 
 very sadly. I could soothe Hester, and cheer my mother ; and 
 write to Lady Emily, and give hope to Mr Malcolm ; while 
 deep, at the bottom of my heart, lay the aching pain, the know- 
 ledge of a coming grief, which no one on earth would, to its full 
 extent, share with me. 
 
 Who could fill aunt Sarah's place when she was gone ; And 
 she was going, — fast it was said ; but in that journey, upon 
 which all have entered, there is neither fast nor slow, but the 
 one infinitely rapid, never-ceasing progression, — swifter than 
 light, outspeeding thought, — towards the world of Eternity. She
 
 308 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 was near ; we, it might be, were, as yet, far from it. It was a 
 difference of distance, not of speed. 
 
 I felt very much drawn towards poor Miss Cole at this time. 
 I was learning to understand other persons' hearts, — and I 
 could imagine what the grief to her must be ; though I fancied 
 that none could love aunt Sarah as I loved her. It was a 
 satisfaction to me to sit in the twilight, whilst aunt Sarah dozed 
 in her arm-chair, and say a few words of comfort to the friend 
 who had waited upon her for so many years ; and I began then 
 to estimate the quiet, untiring patience which could tend the 
 infirmities of age, day after day, with no thought of self, but 
 with the energy of unwearied love. One comfort I had, when 
 I thought of Miss Cole, that aunt Sarah had, in some degree, 
 provided for her, and that she had herself been able to put by 
 money. She was not to be left to battle with the world now, 
 when age was creeping upon her also ; but though I could feel 
 thus for her, she did not then think of it herself ; she could 
 only say to me, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, — ' She 
 has been quite my mother.' 
 
 I made Hester attend to my pupils as much as I could at 
 that time, and my dear mother used to insist upon helping her. 
 Aunt Sarah required so much attention, that I was sure Miss 
 Cole would be worn out, if some one did not occasionally 
 relieve her. I went to her always at five o'clock, and some- 
 times earlier, and stayed till eight, and at last I begged to be 
 allowed to sleep in the house ; but Miss Cole did not like the 
 idea, and I was afraid also it might worry the servants, and 
 put them out of their way, and this would worry aunt Sarah ; 
 for, with all her determination, she was now a little under the 
 control of Molly and Betty, and old Richard, and their comfort 
 was a first consideration. 
 
 I still occasionally talked to my aunt as in the old days, and 
 I told her of Mr Malcolm's attachment to Hester ; but I did 
 not trouble her with the unfortunate history of Mr Beresford. 
 A feeling had lately come over me, whenever I was with her, 
 which made me shrink from distressing her by the account of 
 anything wrong. It was something of the same consideration 
 which induces one to keep the knowledge of evil from a child ; 
 only in the one case the evil has never been known, in the 
 other it had been known and forgotten. For aunt Sarah had 
 few thoughts now of anything belonging exclusively to this 
 world. She would sit for hours, with her hands folded one
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 309 
 
 over the other, and her eyes shut ; not sleeping, as she often 
 told me, but with peaceful fancies, something between dreams 
 and realities, soothing her like the lulling sound of falling 
 waters. Mr Malcolm's daily visits formed the point in the day 
 to which she looked. Five o'clock was the hour at which she 
 saw him ; and, to me, there was an indescribable tranquillity 
 in passing from the business of the school-room to the still 
 chamber from whence arose the solemn tones of prayer, or the 
 deep thankfulness of the Psalmist. The service took us far 
 away from this world, and gave us the support we needed ; for 
 we all knew and spoke of what was coming near. 
 
 ' I would rehearse my death-bed daily, Sally,' said my aunt, 
 ' that so I may be perfect when God calls me to it.' 
 
 Horatia made frequent efforts to see her, and was angry, I 
 am afraid, because we sometimes put obstacles in the way. 
 But we knew that aunt Sarah did not like to refuse her admit- 
 tance, and at the same time we were sure that the visits were 
 harassing, and did no good. As for real affection, it was 
 impossible there should be any. It was only the wish to show 
 that she was one of ourselves ; which I was willing enough 
 should be gratified elsewhere, if she liked it. She was, indeed, 
 fast assuming the position of head of the family. Mrs Mortimer, 
 of East Side, was quite an influential person in the neighbour- 
 hood. Her name was first on every subscription-list, her 
 energy was the theme of perpetual remark. She was making 
 her way in society, dragging my uncle, a willing slave, at the 
 wheels of her chariot. And what she worked for that she had ; 
 for so it is ordered by God, that we all have what Ave really 
 strive for, though we may not be able to perceive it. Horatia 
 worked for power, and she gained power. For myself, I knew 
 I could not submit, and I kept aloof. But still we never 
 quarrelled, not even upon the subject of admittance to aunt 
 Sarah's room, for Miss Cole took upon herself to refuse that. 
 
 Horatia's house (I never thought of calling it uncle Ralph's) 
 was a convenience in some ways, and therefore I was bound to 
 be grateful for it. Reginald, always my uncle's favourite, was 
 invited to spend a few days there, and at the same time Horatia 
 asked the young lady who was to be my future sister-in-law. 
 This gave my mother an opportunity of making her acquaint- 
 ance without trouble, and 1 think it did something towards 
 creating a more kindly feeling on all sides. I began to hope 
 that, after all, I was not of such a very uncharitable disposition.
 
 3io THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 I was, at least, willing to see good if I could ; and I took care 
 to say that we were all grateful for the hospitality, which, from 
 whatever motive it arose, was a redeeming trait in Horatia's 
 character. Aunt Sarah was certainly wise in telling me not to 
 put myself much in her way, but to take care always to be 
 civil. The keeping out of her way had guarded us from jarring 
 upon each other, and the civility was an opening for something 
 better, when occasion offered. 
 
 My future sister-in-law was a gentle, little person, very good- 
 tempered, but without much mind. I wished Reginald could 
 have married some one who would raise the tone of his char- 
 acter ; but that, perhaps, was too much to expect ; and he 
 certainly might have made a far worse choice. 
 
 Lady Emily was absent from Lowood all this time. Sophia 
 was far from well, and they went away for change of air for her. 
 The happiness of the whole family was very much broken up, 
 and I did not see what the end could be, for Sophia had no 
 other home but Lowood till her father came back from India ; 
 and whilst she was there Mr Beresford would remain away. 
 So far it was a consolation to me that he would not come in 
 Hester's way. 
 
 Another event, which occurred just at that period, was an 
 offer made to Herbert to travel with a young man in bad health, 
 who had for some time been under Mr Harrison's care. It was 
 only an idea as yet, but it brightened his prospects, and made 
 my mother much happier. We had before felt that he must 
 not linger out the best years of his life as usher at a school ; but 
 I had always argued, that if he took the work placed before 
 him, and really gave his energies to it, something better would 
 in the end be provided ; and so it seemed likely to prove. 
 The young man's father had a good appointment under govern- 
 ment, and if Herbert made friends with him, every one said it 
 would be a great advantage. 
 
 It was strange to have all these cares for this present life 
 brought before one, and to go from them to aunt Sarah's sick- 
 room ; but it was excellent practice in teaching one to see 
 heaven in the things of earth.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 "V/TR MALCOLM and I were alone with aunt Sarah one 
 IV J. evening, about a month after the unfortunate affair with 
 Mr Beresford. lie often lingered in conversation when prayers 
 were over ; like me, he felt the influence of that quiet chamber, 
 ■ — the spell by which the souls about to depart from earth bind 
 the hearts of those they leave behind. But we had touched this 
 night upon a more worldly subject ; or, at least, upon one which 
 might have been worldly, if it had not concerned a man like Mr 
 Malcolm, and been referred to by aunt Sarah. She was more 
 her former self than she had been for some time, and a gleam 
 of the deep interest of by-gone days brightened her face as she 
 took his hand when he was preparing to go, and said that he 
 must not quarrel with an old woman for speaking freely, but 
 must let her tell him that she wished him well in all he wished 
 for himself. 
 
 He understood her, and turned very pale ; for he could not 
 bring himself to hope as I did. 
 
 ' You will remember that you had my wishes, if it is not for 
 me to see you happy,' continued my aunt. ' And if the child 
 should one day be yours, tell her that aunt Sarah loved you both 
 and prayed God to bless you.' 
 
 Mr Malcolm raised her hand to his lips and thanked her ; 
 but he did not trust himself to say more, and turned away. 
 
 ' He will have fresh life now,' I said, when he was gone. 
 ' He has been desponding for the last few days, because Hester 
 has given so much of her attention to Herbert and his plans ; 
 before that, I am sure that he had made up his mind to the 
 venture.' 
 
 ' Ah ! well,' said my aunt ; ' it 's no wonder ; 'tis a question 
 of life or death, Sally. But I would fain have it settled. I 
 thought I had done with caring for such things ; but old hearts 
 are long in growing cold, and to see the child happy would 
 gladden me still.' 
 
 I thought of parting with her, — of aunt Sarah gone also, — of 
 my mother's failing health, and Herbert's absence, — of the long, 
 lonely life, — and I could not echo the words. 
 
 ' Sit down by me, my child,' said my aunt, and she pointed 
 to the stool at her feet, and as I sat down, laid her hand upon 
 my head, and smoothed my forehead, as in the days of child-
 
 312 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 hood. ' It 's not gladness for you ; there 's a weary way before 
 you, and none, it may seem, to travel it with you. But Sally, 
 there is One to go with you dearer far than the best loved of 
 those who part from you ; and the love which He gives can 
 make up for all other love.' 
 
 ' I know it,' I said, ' I feel it often ; but then comes the 
 thought that 1 might have had both.' ' And have loved Him 
 less, and man more,' said my aunt. ' You will not wish that, 
 my child, when you are about to enter into His joy.' 
 
 ' No, no,' I exclaimed ; ' but the human love would have been 
 second.' ' Not with you, Sally ; if it would, it would have 
 been given you. He who formed the heart can best apportion 
 its discipline. When He summons us into the wilderness, it is 
 because He sees that, without that call, we never should be His 
 alone ; and when we listen and obey, and check the pining for 
 human solace, He visits us in love, and the longing of our souls 
 is satisfied.' 
 
 ' Yes, in one's best moments ; but human weakness would 
 linger still,' I said, ' even were we saints.' 
 
 ' Even so ; and therefore He sends us human consolation ; 
 and of that I would speak also. But it is the giving up our 
 hearts to Him which is the first comfort ; I need not say that 
 to you, Sally.' ' Indeed, indeed, you must,' I said ; 'but too 
 often I am tempted to despair, and think that I have no heart 
 to offer.' 
 
 ' The love comes like all other love,' said my aunt ; ' there 
 are outward means to be used ; — intercourse by prayer, study 
 of His Word, reference to His pleasure in every little duty of 
 life, above all, frequent Communion. If we use these, love must 
 follow, even though we may not always be able to feel it. It is 
 so with human affections, of which we never doubt. We are 
 cold to our clearest friends at times ; but the secret feeling is 
 unchanged. And I would say this the more to you now, Sally, 
 because your clay of trial is at hand. There are hundreds left 
 like you who would fain seek God, and find Him all in all ; 
 but they yearn for a present feeling, and because it does not 
 come at once, they grow weary, and pine after human love. 
 which they cannot have ; and, at last, throw themselves back 
 into the world to distract their thoughts, and so they are lost ; 
 —lost to that glorious place which they might have had in 
 God's kingdom, though, it may be, saved at length by His 
 mercy, as " brands plucked from the burning." '
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 3 1 3 
 
 She paused, and, as she sank back in her chair, I heard her 
 say to herself, — ' My soul waiteth still upon God, for my trust 
 is in Him.' I turned to the psalm to which she referred, and 
 read it through to myself. Her eye rested upon me till I had 
 finished, and then she said, 'You may well thank Him, Sally, 
 that you are not learning all this for the first time. Long ago, 
 the first yearnings of your heart were offered to Him, and the 
 treasure has been laid up where " moth and rust cannot cor- 
 rupt," and will surely be rendered back to you ten-fold. It is a 
 hard task only to begin to love Him when all human affection 
 has deserted us ; but if we have made Him our shadow when life's 
 sky was clear, He will surely be our light when it is clouded.' 
 
 I could scarcely answer her, for my heart was very full ; but 
 I thanked and blessed her for her comfort, though I still begged 
 her to l'est herself. 
 
 She exerted herself, however, to continue. ' My time is 
 short, Sally,' she said ; ' and when the end may be, none can 
 think or prophesy. It may come suddenly, " as a thief in the 
 night," and therefore I would say now what then I shall have 
 wished I had said. Eighty-five years is a long experience. 
 Some things I have learnt by practice, some by neglect ; but 
 both may alike be useful to you. When you are left alone, 
 child, don't shut yourself up, and get odd ways. Odd ways 
 are, most times, selfish ways. Live with your fellow-creatures 
 as they live, so long as they live innocently ; and remember, 
 that when God cuts off the shoots of our own interest, it is that 
 we may graft upon our hearts the interests of others.' 
 
 ' I sometimes think,' I said, ' that I should like to lead such 
 a life as one hears described by Romanists ; not exactly, per- 
 haps, the life of a nun, but of a sister of charity.' 
 
 ' It might be a good and holy life for many,' replied my 
 aunt ; ' and it might be better for us Church people, if such 
 things were possible — the time may come when it may be. But 
 there must be numbers still who can't live the life, and yet they 
 must be single, and, as most folks think, lonely. And so, Sally, 
 most probably it will be with you. Your mother will be your 
 care, perchance, for years to come ; that will save you from 
 much of the lonely feeling, but not from all, for as infirmity 
 increases we are less companions to each other. When it 
 shall please God to part you, life may be too far gone, and 
 health like yours too much broken, for anything but the stillness 
 of age. It is better, therefore, that you should look to such a
 
 314 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 future, and not dream of that which it seems you have no chance 
 of enjoying.' 
 
 ' Definite work is what I always longed for/ I said ; ' and 
 what I am so thankful to have now.' 
 
 ' It 's a great help/ replied my aunt ; ' and, doubtless, there 
 might be much more of it than there is. But folks trouble 
 themselves often because they think they haven't it, when, in 
 fact, it is close at their doors. Definite work is not always that 
 which is cut and squared for us, but that which comes as a claim 
 upon the conscience, whether it 's nursing in a hospital, or 
 hemming a handkerchief. The Church of God is built, as we 
 are told, of living stones, but it does not follow they are to be 
 all of the same size, or that some of them may not be intended 
 to fill up the holes and corners, and keep the others firmly to- 
 gether. It would be a hard world to live in, Sally, if there were 
 none to do the odds and ends of the work in it.' 
 
 ' Certainly/ I said, ' one sees that in a family ; the regular 
 workers in a house would often be very much at a loss if there 
 were no one to attend to what you call the odds and ends.' 
 
 ' And what is the world but a family too ? ' continued my 
 aunt ; ' and what would become of the folks who have definite 
 work, if it were not for the indefinite ? But there 's a mistake 
 of words in the matter. All work — work for God that is — is 
 definite. It may be a bit here, and a bit there, and, when we 
 look at it, it may seem to have no object, but who are we, sit- 
 ting down in this corner of the universe, to dare to say so of 
 any duty, however small, which comes ordered by God ? De- 
 pend upon it, Sally, if there 's an earnest will, there 's just as 
 much to be done by persons who are sent from place to place, 
 and can only, as they think, strive after a little good in one 
 case, and a little kindness in another, as there is by folks who 
 live together by rule, and divide their days and their employ- 
 ments by strict measurement. I am not saying, remember, that 
 the rule and the measurement are not good, but that if they are 
 not to be had without the neglect of some prior duty, we may 
 be sure that God has chosen us to be amongst His scattered, 
 instead of His fixed, workers, and all we have to do is to catch 
 thankfully at the most we can. However, all this need not 
 trouble you. Your way is clear enough at the present moment, 
 and, if ever you should be differently placed, I doubt not you 
 will have learnt to look at your position, and see the oppor- 
 tunities of good it offers,'
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 315 
 
 ' I quite see,' I said, ' that, at the present time, my pupils arc 
 a great comfort and advantage to me.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied my aunt. ' A comfort now, and a blessing for 
 years to come, for they point out the beginning of a work which 
 you may cany on through life ; they arc the foster-children 
 whom God has granted you, and the love of a foster-mother 1 s 
 their due. Keep them near you, Sally, when they arc gone 
 from you ; write to them when you can't see them ; make them 
 tell you their troubles and their joys. There is no interference 
 with a mother's province in this, any more than there is in the 
 care you give them now. Their first love and their first 
 sympathy will be hers, if she be good for anything ; but as we 
 go on in life, and troubles thicken, there are few greater bless- 
 ings than a tried friend out of the immediate family, and such 
 you may be to them.' 
 
 ' Indeed, there is scarcely any greater earthly blessing/ I 
 said, earnestly. ' You have taught me that by experience.' 
 
 She sighed deeply. ' Ah ! Sally, there are heavy accounts 
 on that score. God knows how I have mourned for that which 
 I have left undone. I may find excuses, — infirmities, which 
 came upon me early, and difference of opinion from your father, 
 and difficulty in understanding your mother, — but I might have 
 done more far than I have, and many are the minutes I have 
 spent in praying that He would not let the neglects of the guilty 
 fall upon the innocent. But beyond relations, there is much to 
 be done when we look out for it. Here child,'— and she gave 
 me a key, — ' take this, and unlock the bureau in the corner, 
 and look for a packet of papers in the farthest drawer.' 
 
 It was sealed up, and marked ' Letters from my children.' 
 ' I have outlived them all,' said my aunt, as she broke the seal 
 of the envelope, and took out about twenty letters. ' Some 
 day you may chance to have time to look them over. They 
 are from young things, who, at different times, when I was a 
 middle-aged woman, and had gained experience in life, took a 
 fancy to be with me, and to listen to me. I could not cast 
 them aside when God had put them in my way ; and so I 
 gathered them, as it were, about me, and gave them what help 
 I could to forward them in their journey. They went their 
 ways, some near and some far off; and with some the tie grew 
 closer and closer, and with some it loosened as others were 
 formed ; but there was not one who was not dear to me, and 
 whose fate I did not watch anxiously. They have entered upon
 
 316 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 their rest before me ; and when I look forward to the world to 
 which I am hastening, the thought that they will be there to 
 meet me is amongst the brightest of my hopes.' 
 
 'May I take the letters home with me?' I said. 'I shall 
 like looking them over very much ; but I wish they had been 
 your answers.' 
 
 'There was little enough in the answers,' replied my aunt ; 
 < more sympathy than advice ; but the sympathy sugared the 
 advice, what there was, and made it palatable. Perchance, 
 they did more good to me, poor children, than I did to them. 
 They cheered me at the first coming of the great sorrow which 
 lias lingered with me through life, — the death of my brother ; 
 and they kept me young, when my nature was to grow old 
 fast ; and, moreover, they gave me something to think of away 
 from Carsdale ; and so I was saved from being as narrow in 
 my views as I should have been if left to myself. There 's a 
 danger that way, Sally, even in the cases we see which seem 
 given up wholly to God and His poor. All things in nature are 
 compound ; the air we breathe must have divers gases, in dif- 
 ferent proportions, in order to be wholesome ; and so for the 
 mind there must be variety in work, and variety in thought, if 
 we wish to keep it in health, and give it a right view of com- 
 parative duties. 
 
 ' 1 feel that myself, often,' I said. < I think about home 
 troubles, and the children's lessons, till I seem to myself to have 
 lost all sense of the larger affairs of life.' 
 
 ' And so the sense of proportion is lost, and judgment be- 
 comes faulty,' said my aunt. ' Therefore, Sally, though your 
 work may be one, don't let your thoughts be one. God has 
 given you powers of study and reflection ; don't let them go to 
 sleep. Keep up with the days in which you live. You are 
 better off than I ever was, in the way of learning. Foreign 
 tongues, which I never thought of knowing, are easy to you ; 
 and there 's more in the way of history in one corner of your 
 brain, than was ever to be found in all mine ; and these things 
 are not to be thrown aside and called worldly, because, maybe, 
 they treat of the things of the world. There 's a spiritual 
 meaning in all, if we set ourselves in earnest to discover it. It 
 has been the will of God to throw the affairs of the world to- 
 gether like the parts of a puzzle, but He has also given us the 
 key of His Wisdom and Goodness to show what the whole is 
 intended to be, and bestowed reason upon us to help us in
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE E/EE. 3 1 7 
 
 putting the puzzle together ; and so, surely, He must intend 
 that we should make use of that reason/ 
 
 ' I generally read, I am afraid, for amusement,' I said. 
 ' When the children are gone I am too tired for study.' 
 
 ' There 's no harm in reading for amusement in your case, 
 now,' said my aunt. ' What I was thinking of more, were the 
 days when you might have leisure, and not be fit for active 
 workj and then there 's apt to come the thought, to minds that 
 don't turn willingly to common things, that there 's no value in 
 any learning but that which has to do directly with heaven. I 
 don't think that, Sally. Most especially, I don't think so when 
 I look upon the young who are springing up about us, and want 
 our experience for their guidance. There is a time, indeed, — 
 such a time as this now present to me, — when we stand upon 
 the brink of the dark waters, and have but to live in sorrow for 
 our past sins, and patient waiting till our change shall come ; 
 but there are many years before, in which we are used, not as 
 the guides to accompany, but the sign-posts to point out the 
 way to our fellow-creatures. How is that to be rightly done, 
 unless we know whither the way tends, and what it is which 
 they who enter upon it would seek ? To direct others we must 
 strive to live, and think, and feel with them ; and therefore it 
 is that the books, and the stormy questions of religion, or 
 politics, or morals, which are all absorbing to the young, must 
 not be forgotten by the old.' 
 
 ' Certainly,' I said, ' there is enough to do in the world, if one 
 only knew how to set about it.' 
 
 ' Enough, indeed,' replied my aunt with a sigh ; ' even if we 
 had no power to teach and set example. Enough only in set- 
 ting ourselves to pray for those who never pray for themselves. 
 The wickedness of the world is an awful thought, Sally, when 
 we stand, as it were, between it and the Presence of God, and 
 trust ourselves to look back upon it.' 
 
 ' But you have exerted yourself as much as you could, aunt 
 Sarah,' I said, ' to prevent and check it. If I could hope to 
 have done as much by the close of my life as you have, I should 
 indeed be happy.' 
 
 ' May God forgive me the sin of those good deeds, Sally,' said 
 my aunt ; ' for if He shall be extreme to mark what is amiss in 
 them, how may I abide it ? But I will give you, child, the few 
 rules that are the result of those doings. Never be afraid of 
 doing little because you can't do much. Take the first duty
 
 3i 8 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 that comes before you, and put your heart into it, and it will 
 lead to a second. Persons who complain they can't find out 
 claims of charity, are, for the most part, those who pass over 
 their duties at home ; or if they try to perform them, do so with 
 a heart dwelling upon the thought of something else. Try to 
 put a new spirit into old ways, before you chalk out new ones ; 
 if you don't, you give offence, and what you build up with one 
 hand you pull down with the other. Never let your conscience 
 be troubled by the claims of duties that don't belong to you. 
 When one knocks at your door, give it admittance, and ask its 
 business ; if you ought to attend to it, fix your time and your 
 method with it at once ; but if not, send it away ; don't let it 
 stand troubling and disturbing you, and taking the spirit out of 
 your other duties. A great part of the humours which make 
 families of good folks unhappy, arise from the unsettled duties 
 which throng round them, and which no one has ever been at 
 the pains to decide ought — or ought not — to be attended to. 
 And, most especially, Sally, don't thrust yourself, or let others 
 thrust you, where you 've no concern. Don't try to be a man 
 when you are only a woman ; and don't set up to preach when 
 you are only called upon to practise. There, that's all I can 
 think of now ; I daresay I' ve said it all before ; but ponderin;.;' 
 on an old maid's life sent me back to see what I had learnt from 
 my own.' 
 
 I think some of it had been said before, but I liked to hear it 
 again ; only I was glad now that she was silent, because I saw 
 she was distressing herself by talking. And she did do herself 
 harm, I am afraid. She was not so well after I left her that 
 evening. I prepared to go home about half-past seven, and she 
 gave me her blessing as usual, and told me to come again early 
 the next day, and let her know how all things prospered ; and i 
 left her, feeling, as I always did, that she had given an impetus 
 to life.' 
 
 Nurse came to open the street-door for me, and told me that 
 tea was ready, and I went to my own room to take off my bonnet, 
 without going into the drawing-room. A. light step followed me 
 up the stairs ; it was Hester's. She wanted to know, she said, 
 what I thought of aunt Sarah ; and she wished to tell me also, 
 that Herbert's appointment was settled. He had called to let 
 my mother know, and he was coming again. After saying this 
 she paused, and as I stood before the glass I saw that she held 
 by the table behind me to support herself.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE, 319 
 
 • 1 have heard something else also,' she began again, and her 
 voice trembled. ' Mr Malcolm has a living.' 
 
 1 did not wish her to see that I was prepared for this infor- 
 mation, and I answered quickly, ' Oh, indeed ! we shall have 
 nothing but congratulations to-night!' 
 
 The poor child turned very pale and sat down. ' I — I — have 
 you seen Mr Malcolm?' she inquired. 'No,' I replied; 'how 
 could I ? — I am only just come in.' ' He is down-stairs,' she 
 continued ; and the tone was so peculiar, that I said directly : 
 ' Do you wish me to see him ? ' 
 
 She made no reply ; but when I turned to look at her she 
 came up to me and hid her face upon my shoulder, and whis- 
 pered : ' Oh, mammy, he asked me if I would go with him to 
 his living, and I said, yes.' 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 MY darling Hester was engaged to be married. One of the 
 great cares of my life was removed, and I was from my 
 heart thankful. Of the personal loss to my mother and myself 
 there was little time then to think, for the marriage was to be 
 immediate. Mr Malcolm's wishes were seconded by a request 
 which none could resist. ' Let me see the child happy,' said 
 aunt Sarah, ' and so my last wish will have been granted.' 
 And Hester herself, though at first painfully alive to the con- 
 trast between her own bright earthly hopes, and the shadows 
 which were gathering around those she loved, could not bring 
 herself to refuse. 
 
 Three weeks after the proposal was made, the wedding was 
 to take place. The time was one of quiet preparation, rather 
 than of gay excitement — a season of many hallowed thoughts, 
 many lessons which were to tell upon the long future of life. 
 My child's heart was fully with him to whom she had given her- 
 self; but her thoughts, and his also, lingered in aunt Sarah's 
 dying chamber. Very beautiful it was to watch the thoughtful 
 tenderness of age, and the loving devotion of youth. Hester 
 went day by day to tell of all she had done, and all she in- 
 tended to do, in the hope to cheer the weary hours of weakness; 
 whilst aunt Sarah, as with the last flickering gleam of earth's
 
 $2o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 dying interests, heard and aided, and gave those passing words 
 of counsel which, by the blessing of Heaven, were to bring forth 
 fruit unto Eternal Life. 
 
 There were very many mercies shown us at that time ; things 
 which might have disturbed us were removed, and the arrange- 
 ments we were able to make were in no way unsuited to the 
 feelings we were all sharing. 
 
 My uncle and Horatia were absent. My uncle had been 
 called away into Cornwall upon business, something connected 
 with the old affair of the mines, and Horatia had agreed to go 
 with him. There was, therefore, no occasion to mix them up 
 with our plans. Vaughan, Caroline, and Joanna were to come 
 to us for two days. Reginald was prevented. 
 
 It was settled that we would have no one at the wedding but 
 our own family, Mr Malcolm's brother, who was to officiate, Mrs 
 Blair, and my little pupils, who were to be Hester's bridesmaids. 
 Lady Emily was not returned to Lowood, and I was the more 
 glad that the marriage should be hastened on her account. I 
 was sure she could not be near us without entering warmly into 
 it, for she was always excessively fond of Hester ; and yet it 
 must have brought recollections which would be full of pain. 
 
 It was a clear, sunshiny morning, fresh, but warm for the 
 season of the year, and the light streamed gladly through the 
 curious windows in the roof of the old church, and the blue 
 heaven, which had once seemed to me an angel's eye, looked 
 down upon the small marriage party, which seemed lost in the 
 size of the building. I stood near the altar, with my mother 
 by my side, leaning upon Herbert's arm. Close to us was 
 Hester, her sweet face colourless as the dress she wore, and the 
 watery mist gathering over her bright eyes. I saw her tremble 
 when the question was asked, which seemed as if it would 
 summon from the depths of the heart the secrets that no eye 
 but that of God has ever scanned ; but her voice was firm as 
 she gave the promise, ' for better for worse, for richer for poorer, 
 in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death.' 
 
 And I knew that ' the blessings of all spiritual benediction 
 and grace ' must indeed fall upon them both ; for they were 
 amongst those whose one prayer is, ' so to live together in this 
 world, that in the world to come they may have life everlasting.' 
 
 When the service was ended, and the ordinary forms were 
 gone through, the few gazers who had been attracted to the 
 spot, saw the larger portion of the wedding party drive off from
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 321 
 
 the great porch; whilst Mr Malcolm and Hester, my mother 
 and myself, stole quietly away from another door, and, entering 
 a fly which was in waiting, went to aunt Sarah's. 
 
 My aunt was placed in her usual position by the fire. She 
 sat upright, supported by pillows ; a small table, with her 
 prayer-book open upon it, was in front of her. At a little dis- 
 tance was another table prepared for the Holy Communion. 
 
 We knelt together, my sweet child close to aunt Sarah's 
 chair. 
 
 There is a 'peace that passeth understanding.' It was pre- 
 sent with us still ; and we lingered in prayer, dreading to break 
 it. Then aunt Sarah stretched out her feeble hands, and laid 
 them upon Hester's head, and said, ' God, before whom my 
 fathers walked, — God, which fed me all my life long unto this 
 day, — the Saviour which hath redeemed me from evil, — bless 
 my child/ 
 
 And so we rose up, and, one by one, received aunt Sarah's 
 kiss, and the marriage service was, for us, concluded. 
 
 They were to be absent a fortnight only. Hester was too 
 anxious about aunt Sarah to think of enjoyment in the ordinary 
 sense of the word ; and said that she would far rather return to 
 Carsdale for the remainder of the month which was to elapse 
 before Mr Malcolm went to his living. They were to occupy 
 our house then, and my mother and I were to be at aunt Sarah's. 
 We removed there immediately, for the responsibility was be- 
 coming too great for Miss Cole to bear alone. I went back- 
 wards and forwards to my pupils, and at those times my dear 
 mother took her share of attendance upon aunt Sarah. Herbert 
 was not with us at all. He was obliged to join his pupil the 
 day after the marriage. 
 
 Very unlike a wedding season it was ; but there was great 
 peace through all the sadness. It was as if one lived in a church. 
 The world's pleasure was excluded, but so also were the world's 
 cares ; or, if they came, it was only to look at aunt Sarah, and 
 they vanished into nothingness. 
 
 Aunt Sarah still sat up every clay, in fact, she suffered from 
 an oppression on the chest which prevented her from lying 
 down. We read to her a great deal ; for, happily, she was only 
 very slightly deaf. One of the penitential Psalms was now- 
 added, daily, to her ordinary devotional reading. They were 
 the fittest words, she said, for a dying woman ; and, as often as 
 they were repeated, they still brought new lessons of repent- 
 
 x
 
 322 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ance. The other books we read were generally devotional, 
 but sometimes she would go back to her old favourites, — the 
 ' Spectator/ and some papers in the ' Rambler,' or Walton's 
 Lives. Now and then she tried to knit a little, but that was 
 more mournful to me than anything, her hands were so very 
 feeble. 
 
 Hester and Mr Malcolm had been away about ten days, when 
 Miss Cole came to my room one morning, whilst I was dressing, 
 to tell me that aunt Sarah had been attacked with spasms. I 
 went to her, and found her sitting up, but very much altered. 
 She was suffering great pain, and we sent for her doctor, who 
 gave her medicine which relieved it, but he looked very grave ; 
 and when I followed him out of her room, and asked what he 
 thought of her, he said that the case was serious — it could not 
 now last very long. 
 
 The misty, dreary sense of wretchedness and change which 
 came over me ! yet I did not shed a tear. I did not dare ; 
 but I went to my mother, and asked her if she did not think it 
 would be as well to send to Hester and Mr Malcolm. We knew 
 where they were likely to be the next day, and a letter would 
 reach them and bring them back at once. I thought they would 
 both be happier with us. My mother hesitated a little, and said, 
 she scarcely thought, in aunt Sarah's state of weakness, that 
 she could live through the day. But I had a strong conviction 
 in my own mind that her strength was greater than any one 
 imagined ; and, at any rate, I was sure Hester would wish to 
 make the effort to see her again ; and, at last, I gained my 
 point, and wrote. 
 
 I did not go to my pupils that day, but sat, for the most part, 
 in aunt Sarah's room. She was better after breakfast, and asked 
 me to read the Psalms to her — the twentieth day of the month it 
 was. She was scaixely able to repeat the verses even in a whisper ; 
 but when I had ended, she told me that she had followed every 
 word, and had never found more satisfaction from them. 
 
 We talked a little then. She spoke of her own state, and 
 said what a blessing it was to be composed and happy at such 
 a moment ; and she was so, though the burden of innumerable 
 offences was upon her soul. He who had redeemed her would 
 not forsake her. Her full trust was that she was going to be 
 with Him, and it was all she cared to know of the happiness in 
 store. I mentioned those whom she had loved, and to whom 
 she might now soon be restored, and especially her brother,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 323 
 
 and she said that she fully hoped to meet them, and it was n. 
 thought of infinite joy, but it was not the ground of her happi- 
 ness : she did not think it ought ever to be. 
 
 ' One love, Sally,' she added, ' one all-sufficient love, is my 
 comfort and joy, — the love which has blotted out sin.' 
 
 The words seemed to set before me what my own feelings 
 would be in such a state, and I said, that if I were to ask any 
 one blessing which I could conceive greater than another, it 
 would be to have such a sense of the love of God. I had always 
 dreaded the buried offences which would rise up in one's last hour 
 and weaken it. 
 
 ' They do rise up, my child,' she said, solemnly ; ' sins long, 
 long forgotten ; if it were not so, the thought of death to one 
 who has outlived life would be joy which a mortal frame could 
 not bear. But the love which clings to His Love is stronger 
 than reason ; — more soothing than the hopes of repentance, — 
 better even than faith. Who can distrust it ? ' 
 
 She paused ; and feeling that I might never again have the 
 opportunity of speaking to her of my own faults, I asked her to 
 forgive any that I had ever committed against her. Often I had 
 neglected her wishes ; — as a child, before I understood her, I 
 had many times been cold and disobedient to her will. 
 
 The smile that lit up her face was surpassingly sweet. 
 ' God's blessing rest upon the child of my old age,' she said. 
 ' In life, and in death, Sally, may He give to you that comfort 
 which, through you, He has granted to me.' 
 
 That was all we said then. One of the attacks of spasms 
 came on, and we were very much frightened for her. I grew 
 extremely anxious about Hester and Mr Malcolm. It seemed 
 impossible that they could return in time. Aunt Sarah sat up, 
 however, till the evening. We could scarcely make her eat 
 anything, but she did not suffer as much pain as before ; and 
 when, at length, we put her into bed, she seemed more com- 
 fortable, and said she thought she might sleep. 
 
 The next day was very like the former, except that we per- 
 suaded my aunt not to attempt to get up. A reclining position 
 being so painful, we propped her up with pillows. She was 
 anxious herself, then, about Hester, but said it was all God's 
 will ; she could not have a wish to see the child, if He desired 
 it to be otherwise. My mother tried to persuade me that they 
 would not have the letter in time ; but I was sure, from what 
 I had said, that they would set off at a moment's notice, and I
 
 32+ THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 listened to every carriage that went down the street, thinking it 
 would stop. But it grew dark, and they did not come ; and 
 both my mother and aunt Sarah begged me not to trouble my- 
 self so much about it. I think my mother secretly wished that 
 Hester might be spared the trial ; and — for aunt Sarah,— she 
 had now but one thought, — that of entire submission in every 
 minute particular. 
 
 I thought, then, that I could never forget all the little inci- 
 dents of each day, but many have faded from my memory. Yet 
 the impression is ineffaceable. The strong, energetic will, dis- 
 ciplined into the meekness of a child ; the quick glance stilled ; 
 the eager words calmed ; even the tones of the voice softened 
 into a sweetness which the ear loved to dwell upon ; — it was 
 the reward of heavenly purity granted even upon earth. 
 
 And she felt, herself, that a peculiar blessing was vouchsafed 
 her. She could not hope, she said, to make others understand 
 it ; but it was rest, — perfect rest, with the gladness of unutter- 
 able joy beyond it. Yet her earthly affections seemed called 
 out more fully than ever. Indeed, I had never understood till 
 then how devotedly fond she was of us. ' Think, Sally,' she 
 said to me that evening, as I stood by her bedside, ' think what 
 the prospect of Heaven must be, to make me willing to give 
 you all up for it.' 
 
 Miss Cole always slept in aunt Sarah's room, and she would 
 not yield up the place to any one ; but I could not make up my 
 mind to go to bed that night, and I lay down on the sofa in the 
 drawing-room, ready to be called at any moment. Two or 
 three times I went into aunt Sarah's chamber ; but she was 
 lying quietly, and, I hoped, occasionally sleeping. 
 
 I fell asleep towards morning, and was wakened by the sound 
 of a carriage stopping at a little distance from the house, before 
 which straw was laid to prevent noise. I was sure Hester and 
 Mr Malcolm must be come ; and, without disturbing the ser- 
 vants, I went down-stairs and unbarred the house-door. They 
 were there, as I was sure they would be ; they had travelled all 
 night, and Hester looked dreadfully worn ; but the relief it was 
 to her to know that she was not too late was beyond expres- 
 sion. She followed me at once to aunt Sarah's room. I had 
 no fear of any sudden surprise. The quietness of a mind wait- 
 ing for its eternal rest was not now to be disturbed by earthly 
 feelings ; and I drew aside the curtains, and told her that Mr 
 Malcolm and Hester were arrived. ' Thank God,' she said,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 3^5 
 
 and she blessed them both, and made them kiss her; and then 
 she told me to take the child away, and let her rest, and give 
 her some breakfast. We went into the drawing-room, and 
 Hester lay down upon the sofa, whilst Betty made her a cup of 
 coffee. Mr Malcolm was a little afraid of her being over-tired 
 and excited ; but though she cried a good deal at first, she soon 
 became better, and we sat by her and talked, and my dear 
 mother joined us. It was scarcely pain then even to me. 
 
 Aunt Sarah sent for Mr Malcolm, alone, about an hour after- 
 wards ; and when he came back to us, he said, that she wished 
 once more to receive the Communion with us — the servants and 
 all. She would rather not delay ; and she was changed, he 
 thought, even then. So we assembled in her room ; but before 
 the service began she made Miss Cole support her, and sat up. 
 and looked round upon us all, and told the old servants to come 
 near, and then she said in a voice every word of which was 
 distinct, ' I am going to die. I wish to die in charity. I forgive 
 every one who may have offended me, and I pray you all to forgive 
 me the things by which I have vexed you, — specially my cross 
 words and cross looks. God pardon me, and requite to you 
 the good deeds that you have done to me. Now let all come 
 and say good-bye to me, and then let me deliver up my soul in 
 peace.' 
 
 The service was very exhausting to her, and I scarcely 
 thought she would bear it. She lay perfectly still afterwards, 
 and we sat in her room all the afternoon, doubtful whether she 
 was conscious ; but about four o'clock, as I stood by her, read- 
 ing to myself the Psalms for the day, she pressed my hand, and 
 called me by my name, and said, ' Let the commendatory prayer 
 be read.' Mr Malcolm heard her and drew near. Aunt Sarah 
 signed to Miss Cole, who was at a little distance, to come close 
 to her ; and as we knelt down, one hand feebly grasped mine, 
 whilst the other rested upon the book which I had laid upo.i 
 the bed. 
 
 Before the last words of the prayer were said she was gone. 
 
 I pressed my lips upon the cold forehead, and withdrew the 
 prayer-book from the rigid fingers ; and as I did so my eye 
 fell upon the words, — ' Then are they glad because they are at 
 rest, and so He bringeth them unto the haven where they would 
 be.'
 
 326 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE, 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 AND here the tale that I have told — if it were lold only with 
 the view of exciting a momentary interest, might well 
 end. My family dispersed, — Hester married, — aunt Sarah 
 dead ; — what more can there be to say of the uneventful life of 
 an old maid, condemned to poverty, and in a great measure to 
 loneliness ? Much. There lies the error of our frail judg- 
 ments. We calculate the importance of time by the events 
 which are marked in the world's calendar. We forget that there 
 is another marked by God. 
 
 I was then thirty in age, — forty in appearance and in feeling ; 
 I am now sixty. How .did those long years pass ? 
 
 The first thing I would say of them is that they were not 
 melancholy, — that they were happier at forty than thirty, — hap- 
 pier at fifty than forty, — happiest of all at sixty. It is better 
 to be travelling towards age than away from youth. 
 
 I would also observe, that they were not lonely, nor without 
 many pleasurable interests. I do not think I deceive myself 
 when I say that each year enlarged my sympathies, made my 
 old friends dearer, and increased the number of the new. Trials, 
 indeed, I had, — hours of depression, heavy anxieties, fretting 
 cares, — but life had objects, hopes, and joys, all the safer and 
 the happier, because, in my secret heart, I felt that they were 
 for others, and not myself; that for me there was but one 
 object, one hope, one joy, — that which never could be taken 
 from me. But I must give the brief history of these years 
 more in detail. 
 
 My mother did not follow Hester and her husband to their 
 home, as many persons said she would. She felt strongly the 
 desirableness of allowing young persons to enter upon their 
 married life free and unfettered ; and, after having so long been 
 accustomed to the independence of her own house, she feared, 
 and I feared also, the restraint which must unavoidably be felt 
 in the home of another. Besides, although I hope I should not 
 have allowed the thought to interfere with her comfort, my life 
 would have been very lonely without her, and I could not 
 accompany her. It was at one time suggested, that my 
 mother's little income, and aunt Sarah's legacy, would be suffi- 
 cient for all our expenses, if we lived with Hester ; but this 
 could only be during my mother's lifetime ; and the money was
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 327 
 
 not all my own. Joanna had still a claim upon it ; and twenty 
 pounds a year was regularly allowed her. I felt, therefore, that 
 
 whilst health and strength were granted me, I was bound to 
 work ; and though 1 urged my mother to consider well before 
 she refused to agree to Hester's wishes, I had never any doubt 
 what my own course must be. 
 
 And I did not dread or dislike it. It was fixed occupation, 
 and very satisfactory. The children improved, and were becom- 
 ing more and more my companions when I was not actually 
 engaged in teaching them. Their numbers also increased. 
 There were ten at last, and my dear mother insisted upon help- 
 ing me in hearing lessons and reading ; and I saw that the 
 employment was very good for her. I do not mean to say that 
 this feeling of satisfaction came at once. There was a time, — 
 the year which followed Hester's marriage, — which I seldom 
 allow myself, even now, to look back upon. It brings back the 
 heavy aching of the heart, — the longing, racking desire to re- 
 call the voice silent in the grave, — which must, at times, return 
 till I also am summoned to my rest. It was an anguish which 
 came upon me by degrees. The holy services of the Church 
 could not have been more calming and strengthening than the 
 first remembrance of the parting moments of the just. The 
 sorrow grew afterwards. But for my mother's love it seems as 
 if I never could have borne up against it, for Hester went to 
 her new home, and Herbert was absent upon his travels ; and 
 for many weeks my mother and I were left with no one but 
 Miss Cole, to whom we could look for anything approaching to 
 comfort. She was a great help to us, from the very fact of 
 requiring so much support herself. She settled in Carsdale, and 
 tried to continue her work amongst the poor ; and I assisted 
 her as much as I could by advice and sympathy, and occasion- 
 ally some personal help. But it was labour carried on with 
 very painful feelings ; and I doubt if she could have made up 
 her mind to remain, if Lady Emily Rivers had not eventually 
 made her her regular almoner for Fisherton ; and then, with 
 the knowledge that she was working, as she had been accus- 
 tomed to do for another, her spirits revived. To talk to her 
 was my greatest relief for a long time. My mother and I soon 
 learnt how to bring her out ; and we used to sit for hours 
 together by the fireside on the Sunday evenings, which she 
 always spent with us, listening to her recollections of aunt 
 Sarah.
 
 328 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 After that came a brighter comfort, for Lady Emily returned to 
 Lowood, and my mother spared me now and then for a few days 
 to stay there, whilst Miss Cole remained with her. Lady Emily 
 much wished my mother to go there herself, and occasionally 
 she did ; and these short holidays were times of real enjoyment 
 to us both. Sophia Grant was not at Lowood at first. She 
 was paying a visit to some friends in the north. We had many 
 conversations about her. She was greatly changed, Lady 
 Emily said, but good and firm-minded as ever, trying to make 
 her duties take the place which she now owned had been too 
 much occupied by affection. It was a very severe struggle ; but 
 Lady Emily had no doubt of the issue. She would never be 
 what she had been ; but her peace of mind must, by degrees, 
 return, for she could not but see that a man who had acted like 
 Mr Beresford could never have made her happy. Of him Lady 
 Emily spoke less cheerfully. He had quite given up all hope, 
 she said, of replacing himself in his former position, and, in- 
 deed, he felt, as every one who knew Sophia must feel, that it 
 was to desire an impossibility. But the knowledge of this had 
 tended to render him reckless and cynical. The good points of 
 his character, which his intercourse with Sophia had brought 
 out and strengthened, were, she feared, lowering under the in- 
 fluence of frivolous, fashionable society. He said he should 
 never marry ; but Lady Emily told me she was convinced he 
 would, and that her daily anxiety was lest he might throw him- 
 self away upon some person who would care only for his fortune, 
 and render him miserable. It was a fear too soon verified. In 
 three years time Mr Beresford was married to a person whose 
 face was her only recommendation, and who taught him to 
 repent, through years of domestic wretchedness, the folly which 
 had made him cast away the dearest treasure of his life. 
 
 Sophia also married, and very happily, but not till she was 
 more than thirty. Her husband and herself met upon equal 
 terms ; both had known a more exciting feeling, — both had 
 been disappointed in it. The knowledge of this fact was the 
 first chord of sympathy which was touched. I saw her again 
 in after years, cheerful and contented ; but something had 
 passed from her countenance which could never be recalled : 
 not youth,- — not hope, — but the glad look of unshaken trust, 
 which had once given it such a perfect expression of repose. 
 
 And East Side, — my uncle and Horatia ! Persons who had 
 exercised so great an influence over my life, could not, it might
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 329 
 
 be imagined, suddenly become nothing to me. They did not. 
 When I look back upon the years which 1 spent in Car dale, 
 Horatia's impertinent attentions and interferences stand forth 
 amongst my greatest annoyances. I do not think I ought to 
 call them more ; for, in fact, my mother and I were not in a 
 position to feel them deeply. Persons who wish for nothing 
 beyond their own position, cannot very easily be patronised ; 
 and it was by patronising that Horatia made herself most dis- 
 agreeable. If we had visited much, and tried to vie with our 
 neighbours, our pride would have been perpetually wounded by 
 Horatia's bad taste, and my uncle's obtrusive favours ; but 
 society, in its ordinary sense, was nothing to us. We did not 
 go out ; it was a matter, therefore, of indifference to us whether 
 we received invitations or not. The idea of what was thought 
 or said of us never disturbed our quiet, comfortable evenings. 
 If we were neglected, we did not perceive it; but, in fact, we 
 were not neglected. It is a truth which one learns as one goes 
 on in life, that if persons act so as to obtain respect, it will, in 
 the end, be accorded them. Those who measured their civili- 
 ties to their neighbours by the extent of their grounds, the size 
 of their rooms, and the number of their servants, of course, 
 looked down upon us ; but the idea of such contempt was not 
 very afflicting, and there were but few such persons in or near 
 Carsdale. For the most part, the friends we knew there were 
 quiet, sober-minded people, who had been acquainted with us 
 and our family for years, and liked us for our own sakes, and 
 never troubled themselves whether we had a fortune or worked 
 for it, except that they were sorry for us. 
 
 Indeed, under any circumstances, I doubt if it would have 
 been possible to show disrespect to my mother ; or, if it were 
 once attempted, I am convinced the rudeness would never have 
 been repeated a second time. Her dignified, self-possessed, 
 gentle courtesy, inspired reverence even in Horatia's mind ; she 
 often used to say to me that my mother put her upon her best 
 behaviour ; and my opinion of my mother's influence rose a 
 hundred degrees in consequence, for I did not think there was 
 another woman in England who could have obtained a similar 
 power. 
 
 Years, no doubt, exaggerated us all in equal proportions ; but 
 the strong characteristics of Horatia's character became un- 
 questionably painfully glaring to me as time went on. I believe 
 she was, in her own sense of the word, happy. She liked govern-
 
 33° THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 ing, and she did govern ; she liked show, and noise, arid business, 
 and she was surrounded by them. It seems a mistake to think 
 that persons who act from false principles are necessarily punished 
 in the course of this world's Providence. The Bible tells us it is 
 not so; and the difficulties which perplexed the mind of Job will 
 still, we may believe, prove an exercise of faith to the end of 
 time. Horatia would have been a stumbling-block to me, if I had 
 looked at her with the outward eye of sense. She was an instance 
 of selfish and unjust prosperity. But we travelled on swiftly, side 
 by side, towards the same dark goal, and, as we neared it, I learnt 
 to pray for, rather than to be angry with her. 
 
 My uncle was not so easy in his new position. His personal 
 comfort was interfered with ; he was growing old ; his wife's 
 parties and engagements did not suit him ; and he clung still 
 more to business, and threw his heart more and more into the 
 acquisition of wealth. With that sordid object came increasing 
 labour, and envy, and haunting fears ; and his face shrivelled 
 with care ; and his eyes grew dim with pondering over 
 accounts ; and his step was feeble, as under the pressure of a 
 heavy burden ; and when he would fain have checked Horatia's 
 course, and made her his own companion, he found that the 
 will of the strong woman, in the prime of life, was more power- 
 ful than that of the old man creeping into his grave ; and when 
 she would not turn with him, he moved aside from her path, 
 and pursued his desolate journey alone to the land where his 
 riches could not follow him. 
 
 I pitied him from my heart, for the dreariness of this world, 
 ■ — the hopelessness of another. I could have comforted him, 
 almost have loved him, if he would have permitted it ; for he 
 was my father's brother, and his words and tones often brought 
 back a torrent of early remembrances and fond associations. 
 But we saw little of him ; he shrank from us, and we had but 
 slight temptation to go to him. East Side was not near 
 enough to be within a walk, and Horatia's loud words of 
 invitation were spoken in the presence of others, when it suited 
 her to appear thoughtful, but could never have been intended 
 to be accepted, as she happily never gave us the opportunity of 
 accepting them. 
 
 I say happily, for I can imagine few things more painful than 
 to have seen my mother a visitor, under such circumstances, at 
 East Side. 
 
 And so time glided on quickly, and not unhappily ; and my
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 331 
 
 mother and I bore willingly the restraint of our daily life at 
 Carsdale, for the prospect of the summer and the Christmas holi- 
 days with Mr Malcolm and Hester at Leigh. The village was 
 about sixty miles from us, an easy journey by a stage coach 
 in those days, now merely the distance of between two and 
 three hours by the railway. We did not see them often in 
 Carsdale, but the weeks we spent with them were a refresh- 
 ment for the whole year. Hester was very happy, and my 
 old maid's theory of the blessings of single life was rather 
 shaken when I looked at her ; but then the case was an 
 exception. A second Mr Malcolm was not likely to be found, 
 and a second Hester, I was quite sure, there could not be. 
 Even her five children, lovely and good as they were, never 
 quite came up to my impression of what their sweet mother 
 had been at their age. It was very pleasant to watch the 
 influence which Mr Malcolm had upon the neighbouring clergy, 
 how he raised the standard of duty, encouraged them to work, 
 brought them by degrees to see the value of customs full of 
 meaning, which had fallen into disuse. Even at Carsdale we 
 felt the benefit of his character, long after he had left the 
 town. The plans which he had set on foot were carried on 
 after he was gone ; and when old Mr Benson died, his suc- 
 cessor pursued the same work with zeal and devotion. It 
 was a very different place at last from what it had been in 
 the days when dear aunt Sarah was appealed to as the person 
 who knew most about the condition of the poor. Miss Cole 
 and I used often to say, that it was well for us that we had 
 now a clergyman to appeal to, who would direct our work ; 
 for if left to ourselves with little time, and no money, and but 
 slight confidence in our own judgments, it would have been 
 very up-hill labour. The rector and his wife were great friends 
 of ours, and their society made Carsdale really agreeable to us. 
 
 The darkest spot in our horizon in those days was London. 
 
 Vaughan's health was a great anxiety for a long time ; there 
 were signs of its giving way which we could not account for. 
 He had lived an indolent, but not a dissipated life, and there 
 was no exact cause, which we could see, for the symptoms 
 which showed themselves, except the weakness left by a fever 
 which attacked him about five years after Hester's marriage. 
 My mother and I went with him to the sea-side one summer, 
 instead of spending the holidays at Leigh : for the time he 
 rallied, but the bad symptoms returned again ; and, at length,
 
 332 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 we were so anxious about him, that we took a lodging for him 
 in Carsdale, in order to be near him and nurse him. All these 
 arrangements were expensive and troublesome ; for Vaughan 
 had never worked hard, or made the most of his advantages, 
 and the small sum he had put by was soon exhausted. But 
 events were then, as ever, most mercifully ordered. I look 
 back upon his illness with great thankfulness, trying though it 
 was at the time. It brought us near to him in a way which 
 could scarcely have been possible at any other time, and gave 
 us great influence over him ; and when, at length, he was 
 ordered, if possible, to seek another climate, and left England 
 to settle in Australia, we parted from him with the hope which 
 makes all earthly separation comparatively light. He went as 
 agent for Mr Blair, who had land in Australia, and wanted some 
 one to superintend the business connected with it. The employ- 
 ment was not what Vaughan liked, but the change gave him the 
 probability of regaining his health ; and after he had been in the 
 colony a few years, he was enabled to marry, and this reconciled 
 him to his lot, and the letters we received from him were cheerful 
 and satisfactory. 
 
 There was an idea, at one time, of his taking Joanna with 
 him. He thought himself that she would have been a comfort 
 to him as a companion ; but life in the bush had no charms for 
 her, and she peremptorily refused. Yet her existence in Harley 
 Street was actually wretched. I seldom went there ; but when 
 I did, it was mournful to me to see what she was becoming. 
 Caroline's children were growing up, and about to be taken into 
 society, and Joanna naturally was thrown more and more into 
 the background, and her efforts to keep her place and appear 
 young, were distressing to her friends, and absurd to her ac- 
 quaintances. She still believed, as in her early days, that every 
 one who saw her must admire her, and her matrimonial projects 
 were the talk of the whole house. Again and again I urged 
 that she should come back to Carsdale, and live a life of 
 independence and self-respect ; but the habit of mind was 
 unalterable. Her health sank comparatively early in life, in 
 consequence of her own imprudence ; and some of the saddest 
 tears which ever fell from my eyes, though they were not un- 
 mixed with comfort, were shed over the lingering sick-bed of 
 my once beautiful sister. She died when she was about five- 
 and-forty years old. 
 
 To Caroline and Reginald years have brought few changes,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 333 
 
 except those connected with the ordinary cares of a family. I 
 could have prayed that it might be otherwise ; if so, the thick 
 incrustation of worldlincss, which has covered all the better 
 impulses of the heart, might have been broken through. But 
 the trial which ends in blessing may still be to come. The 
 children, brought up to think so much of the importance of 
 success in the world, have been the first to throw away their 
 advantages, and in the far distance I see lowering clouds of 
 disappointment. 
 
 They cause pain and fear in thinking of them beforehand ; 
 but if the storm should burst, there is still the hope that the 
 stony ground may be softened by the showers which accom- 
 pany it. 
 
 Herbert is the only one whom it remains to mention. His 
 career has been singularly fortunate. His good sense and 
 sterling high principles gained the affection and esteem of his 
 pupil, and gave him a claim upon the parents which they were 
 not slow to acknowledge. He was abroad about three years, 
 and on his return a situation was procured for him in one of 
 the government offices. He has since risen higher; but worldly 
 success has not injured him. He is still the sincere, humble- 
 minded, energetic person that he was when, as a boy, he 
 accepted the drudging occupation placed before him, and threw 
 his mind into it, without a doubt that if the first step was right, 
 the second would be happy. He also is married ; his wife is 
 Mr Malcolm's sister ; and if any one could rival Hester in my 
 affections, it would be my sister-in-law. 
 
 CHAPTER XL1V. 
 
 AND so farewell to my family. But a few more words must 
 be bestowed upon myself. 
 I had lived with my mother at Carsdale about fourteen years, 
 our life being very much what I have described, — occupied, 
 cheerful, and hopeful, without any alarming incidents to disturb 
 it. My uncle and Horatia, also, were pursuing their ordinary 
 course, but with less cheerfulness, and less hope : for my uncle's 
 nervousness and fidgety temper were making great inroads 
 upon their domestic peace, and even upon his health. We
 
 334 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 were told that he fretted the clerks at the bank so, that they 
 could scarcely be persuaded to retain their situations ; and 
 Horatia complained bitterly that her plans were interfered with, 
 and all her arrangements set aside, by his uncontrollable anxiety 
 respecting his affairs. He would be at the bank at an uncon- 
 scionably early hour, and insist upon remaining till every one 
 was worn out ; and this without any pretence at necessity. It 
 was the goading desire for the accumulation of riches, hunting 
 him, as it were, to his grave. Horatia said, openly, that no 
 one could live the life he did and not suffer for it ; and she was 
 sure he would suddenly give way, both in mind and body. 
 There certainly seemed cause for fear when one looked at his 
 face ; but there were no signs of decay in the intellect. Persons 
 who transacted business with him said that his perceptions were 
 as keen then as they had been twenty years before. Care seemed 
 his only mania, — care which never for a moment left him. He 
 said, at last, that East Side was too far away from the town, 
 and that he lost time in going in and out ; and he tried to per- 
 suade Horatia to give up the place, and remove to the old house 
 near the bank. There was a great dispute between them on 
 the subject, which ended hi a compromise. Horatia agreed to 
 stay with him in Carsdale on the week days, on condition of 
 spending every Sunday at East Side ; and so it was settled, and 
 the old house was made habitable, and my uncle took posses- 
 sion of it. 
 
 He became quieter in temper then, for he felt, I imagine, 
 more at home and in his element in the rambling, dreary, 
 wainscoted rooms, than amidst the elegance of East Side ; but 
 he grew very feeble, and at length, instead of going to his 
 office at the bank, he was obliged to remain in his study at the 
 house. 
 
 There was soon no idea of his going into the country even 
 once a week. He was about to die — all saw it. Did he see 
 it himself? I asked myself the question often ; for, at last, 
 I saw a good deal of him. Horatia declared that she was 
 obliged to look after the state of affairs at East Side, and she 
 spent her time in driving in and out, and now and then she 
 even slept there. She was willing enough that my mother and 
 I should be with my uncle, for it eased her conscience ; and 
 she had a conscience — a curious one — measured by the world's 
 opinion, but still sufficient to make her uncomfortable when she 
 quite neglected her husband.
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 335 
 
 It was very unsatisfactory to be with him. I never felt we 
 iverc of any use. Business and calculations were always going 
 on, though he was so weak that we did not like to leave him 
 without some one silling in the room. He said very little to 
 us, and that little was often irritable, especially to me, and 
 in certain moods. But there were times when he seemed 
 softened ; and then there was something painful to me in the 
 way he would beg pardon for having given us trouble, and speak 
 as if he felt he was indebted to us in some peculiar way, and 
 wished to make amends. I did not notice this manner much 
 for some time ; but one day I remember it struck me particu- 
 larly. He retained my hand, and looked at me with such a 
 sharp, steadfast gaze, after I had been doing him some trifling 
 act of kindness. I thought, for the moment, he was going to 
 say something of importance, but he let my hand drop again, 
 and sighed — almost groaned — and then he went back again to 
 his papers. 
 
 Horatia's good-will, I saw, did not increase towards me, 
 though she did throw upon me a good deal of the trouble of 
 nursing ; and latterly her manner to my uncle became impe- 
 rious, so that at length I fancied he seemed actually afraid of 
 her. 
 
 The physician often talked to him of the duty of giving him- 
 self rest, and he was told again and again that the business 
 would go on without him ; but he would not listen to any 
 remonstrance, until one day when he had an attack of giddiness, 
 and then he was forced to give up work, though, as he still 
 said, only for a little time. It was very cold weather then, and 
 his study was towards the cast ; and it was suggested that the 
 south rooms, which my grandfather had inhabited, should be 
 fitted up for him. He rather fancied the change himself, and 
 Horatia entered into the idea, and took some pains to make 
 them cheerful and habitable ; but at the time when she thus 
 became more attentive to him, she grew more unkind in her 
 manner to me, and put many obstacles in my way when I 
 wished to see my uncle. 
 
 I went to Lowood two days before my uncle removed to the 
 south rooms ; and on my return on the Monday morning, I 
 found a message begging that I would instantly go and see him. 
 It was a verbal message, given by a little boy who went on 
 errands for the bank. This did not surprise me, for my uncle 
 could not well write, and Horatia was not likely to take the
 
 336 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 trouble ; so I begged my mother to begin the children's lessons 
 for me, and went directly to the bank. The part of the house 
 which my uncle then occupied was separated from the usual 
 living rooms, and I was a little puzzled to make my way to 
 them, and went up by a wrong staircase ; but, after going 
 through a long passage, I found myself in the lobby, where I 
 so well remembered to have stood on the day of my grand- 
 father's death. I waited there for a minute, looking round, to 
 be quite sure that I was right, and just then I heard Horatia 
 talking to some one in the little hall below, which adjoined the 
 garden. I heard her say, in an eager, angry voice, ' I must 
 know directly she comes ; ' and thinking she might be speak- 
 ing of me, I was going to let her know I was there, when a girl, 
 who had lately been hired to attend upon my uncle, came up to 
 me, and begged me to follow her. She spoke rather mysteriously 
 in a low voice ; but I thought it was only shyness, and I fol- 
 lowed her through the bedroom— unchanged in appearance 
 during these many years — into the inner room. 
 
 It was a large, cheerful apartment, wainscoted with oak, and 
 the ceiling covered with stucco ornaments. The windows 
 looked into the garden, and the bright sunshine which streamed 
 through them gave a glow that made the blazing fire upon the 
 hearth appear scarcely necessary, even on that wintry morning. 
 Flies were buzzing in the window, and a canary, in a large 
 cage, was hopping about gaily on its perch, whilst a tortoise- 
 shell cat was warming itself luxuriously upon the hearth-rug. 
 And there, in the midst of life, sat my uncle in a heavy arm- 
 chair, only one-third of which he seemed to fill, so much was 
 he shrunk from his natural size. He wore a large flowered 
 dressing-gown, and a black skull-cap upon his head, making a 
 ghastly contrast with his withered face. On the table lay piles 
 of ledgers, papers, books bound in calf, packets of letters, — all 
 the usual signs of business ; but he was not occupied with 
 them. A large Bible was open before him, and he was bending 
 down over it, with one hand turning the pages, and the other 
 grasping a book of accounts. He was muttering something to 
 himself, and as I stole quietly into the room, I caught the 
 words, ' There be some that put their trust in their goods, and 
 boast themselves in the multitude of their riches, but no man 
 may deliver his brother, or make agreement unto God for him. 
 For it cost more to redeem their souls, so that he must let that 
 alone for ever.' He shuddered, and looked up ; but when he
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 337 
 
 saw me, something of the old Island smile came over his face, 
 and he bade me welcome, and motioned to the girl to go away, 
 telling her to watch in the outer room, and not let any one 
 enter. 1 closed the door after her, and returned, and drew a 
 chair near him, and asked him how he felt. ' Well enough." 
 he said, ' but worried with business. Things went differently 
 now from what they did in former days; but he would put it 
 all right soon.' 
 
 1 looked at the Bible, and observed that it must be a com- 
 fort to him to be able to read, and turn his thoughts to other 
 things. He stared at me, and then the same shudder crept 
 over him, and he looked down upon the book, and said there 
 were many things to be learnt from it, but there was little time 
 to study it. ' Only now,' I replied, ' in illness.' 
 
 ' Illness !' he repeated the word after me, impatiently; ' he 
 had had a little something amiss, not enough to be called ill- 
 ness ; but he liked to have things orderly, so he had been look- 
 ing into his affairs.' 
 
 ' Yes,' I said, ' it is well for us all to be prepared, — the 
 young as well as the old.' 
 
 ' Certainly, certainly, the young as well as the old,' and he 
 stooped down to search for something amongst the papers. I 
 moved the book from him, and then I looked again at the 
 Bible, and said, ' That is a beautiful Psalm you were reading,' 
 and 1 repeated, as if reading to myself, ' He shall carry nothing 
 away with him when he dieth, neither shall his pomp follow him.' 
 
 His hand trembled violently, and in an impatient tone he 
 ordered me to move the books to another table. A pocket- 
 book lay underneath them. He tried to unclasp it, looking 
 round at the same time suspiciously. The clasp was not very 
 easily unfastened, or, at least, he had not the strength re- 
 quired, and he put it into my hands, and just then there was a 
 little noise at the door, which made him shake like an aspen 
 leaf, and he said, 'Quick, quick; 'but he would not let me 
 move. When I gave him the open book, he took out from it a 
 bank-note, and put it into my hands, and bending his head close 
 to mine, said, in a thrilling whisper, ' It is for you— a present.' 
 
 It was a bank bill for five thousand pounds ! 
 
 My first thought was that he had lost his senses ; but he 
 grasped my hand, and repeated again, ' A present — mind, it's 
 a present; you are my niece, and I choose to make it. Not 
 that you have a claim, — no right, remember — -but a present ; 
 
 Y
 
 338 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 only don't tell it, — don't tell it.' Again he looked round at the 
 door. ' Doesn't it say, " They boast themselves in the multi- 
 tude of their riches," ' he added ; and the faint attempt at a 
 laugh which accompanied the words made my blood curdle ; 
 ' but that can't be said of me ; for if I give away so much, I 
 shall have none left. But it 's my will, — a present to you, niece.' 
 I held the paper in my hand, bewildered and frightened, for 
 I still thought his senses were wandering ; and at that moment 
 Horatia's voice was heard, loudly insisting upon admittance 
 into the ante-room. 
 
 'Hide it!' said my uncle, hurriedly, 'say nothing; don't 
 use it till I tell you you may.' 'But the bank bill remained open in 
 my hand, for my spirit rebelled at the idea of concealment. 
 We heard the outer door unfastened, and the next minute 
 Horatia entered. 
 
 Most sad and humiliating was the scene which followed, — ■ 
 humiliating even to myself ; though I felt that the act by which 
 I was thus benefited was but a late restitution after years of 
 grasping selfishness. Horatia came up to me, her eyes flash- 
 ing, yet evidently exercising considerable self-control. She 
 wished, she said, to know why it was that she was excluded 
 from her husband's room. My uncle interrupted me before I 
 could reply. ' Only just for a minute, my dear ; sit down, will 
 you ? You flurry me, — I can't bear it.' She sat down, fixing 
 her eyes upon the paper which I held. ' I had a little private 
 business with my niece, my dear ; that was all. It is over 
 now, — she is going home. It 's all settled, Sarah, quite right.' 
 His voice was very tremulous, and I saw that his hand was 
 still laid upon the Bible, as if the very act of handling it would 
 give him strength. 
 
 ' Private business ! ' said Horatia, bitterly ; ' doubtless, Sarah, 
 it has ended satisfactorily.' ' I must tell you its nature,' I 
 began ; but my uncle seized me with an eager, even a fierce 
 grasp. ' Go, child, leave us together, I must talk to her.' 
 ' Yes, go ! ' exclaimed Horatia, — and the scornfulness of her 
 tone excited every indignant feeling in my breast — ' You have 
 what you have plotted for ; go, with the pitiful gain extorted 
 from an old man's weakness ! ' 
 
 My uncle motioned me to the door imploringly ; but I stood 
 firm. ' Horatia,' I said, ' there shall be no mistake in this 
 matter. I have received that which I never expected — which I 
 never asked for. Whether it is a free gift, or an act of restitu-
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. y y} 
 
 lion, God only knows. Whatever it may be, I am deeply 
 grateful ; but I will never be accused of acting dishonourably. 
 Before I leave this room, I will have a witness to the gift, 
 whose testimony cannot be disputed.' As I turned to ring the 
 bell, Horatia made a sudden movement to stop me ; but she 
 checked herself and sat down, rigid and pale. My uncle rocked 
 himself backwards and forwards in his chair, gazing at her with 
 an eye of fear. 
 
 The bell was answered by the man-servant ; he stood at the 
 door, waiting for orders. A mocking smile crossed Horatia's 
 face. ' You will be satisfied, I suppose,' she said, ' when you 
 have made the affairs of your family the subject of conversa- 
 tion to the town.' < I shall be satisfied,' I replied, ' when I 
 have done what I believe to be due to myself.' And I put 
 into the man's hand a note which I had written to the rector of 
 Carsdale. 
 
 When he left the room, Horatia started up ; a fearful frown 
 contracted her forehead. She walked slowly up to my uncle. 
 ' Remember,' she said, ' I warned you.' The poor old man 
 trembled, and I saw tears gather in his eyes. ' The thought 
 haunted me,' he murmured. ' And it shall haunt you,' she ex- 
 claimed, with an intensity of passion, the more terrible from her 
 strange but habitual self-control. ' It shall follow you even to 
 your grave, with the scorn of the world, when they shall know 
 that you had not courage to keep your own ; poor, pitiful, miser- 
 able man ! ' 
 
 My uncle burst into tears. 
 
 ' See to what you reduce him,' said Horatia, as she stood by 
 his side, pointing to him. 
 
 I took no notice of her, but going up to him, I kissed him, 
 and told him that he had given me comfort and ease for life, 
 and I could never tell him all my gratitude. ' Hypocrite ! ' 
 murmured Horatia ; but she did not attempt to separate us, 
 and he held me by my dress, and said, ' Don't leave me — keep 
 with me — don't leave me.' I made him lean back in his chair, 
 and brought him some wine, for he was very much exhausted. 
 Horatia, with her basilisk eyes fixed on us, sat by, watching all 
 that went on, and so we remained in silence, waiting for the 
 answer to my note. 
 
 When the rector of Carsdale was announced, Horatia went 
 into the ante-room to meet him. They came into the room 
 again together; a half smile was on Horatia's face, and its
 
 34o THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 expression was quite calm. She opened the business hersel£ 
 ' It was a mere matter of form,' she said, ' to satisfy a con. 
 scientious scruple of her dear cousin's. Mr Mortimer was 
 anxious to bestow a mark of his affection upon his niece, and it 
 was thought desirable, as the sum was large, that a memor- 
 andum, in the presence of a witness, should be made of the gift. 
 The rector of Carsdale, from his position, and as a personal 
 friend, was therefore requested to be present.' 
 
 Nothing could be more simple — more straightforward. I 
 showed the bank bill, — -begged my uncle to state that it was 
 his free gift, — and when he had done so emphatically, yet 
 with a glance at Horatia, which I easily interpreted, Horatia 
 herself signed the paper which was to bear witness to the fact. 
 
 Whether the rector saw what was hidden beneath the 
 mask, I could never guess. It must have appeared a singular 
 transaction ; but I do not think either Horatia or I betrayed 
 ourselves. 
 
 He would have remained afterwards with my uncle, but 
 Horatia interposed, saying, that even this slight business had 
 been too much for her husband. The rector and I left the 
 house at the same time, for it was not in my power to remain, 
 though there was a touching look of entreaty in my uncle when 
 I bade him good-bye. What passed when I was gone is among 
 the secrets which, in this world, can never be known ; but that 
 night my uncle had a paralytic stroke, and three days afterwards 
 he was dead. 
 
 Horatia proclaimed the kindness shown to me, and the world 
 said that it was to her influence I was indebted for it. 
 
 But I wish to say no more of her. At that time our paths in 
 life separated, and I scarcely saw her again. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 LEFT with a sum sufficient to make me independent and to 
 enable me to restore aunt Sarah's legacy to its original 
 purpose, I was naturally anxious to consult my mother's happi- 
 ness, and remove from Carsdale to Leigh. To be near Hester 
 and Mr Malcolm would be an infinite comfort to her in her 
 declining years, and I was not sorry myself to feel that after 
 fourteen years of labour, and more than fourteen of heavy anxiety,
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OE LIFE. 341 
 
 1 might look forward to a period of rest. Net that it was 
 entirely pleasant to leave Carsdale. I was sorry to say good- 
 bye to my pupils, — sorry to break away from long-cherished 
 associations, — most especially grieved to remove to a distance 
 from Lowood and Lady Emily. But there was a delight in the 
 prospect of a quiet country life, and the society of Hester and 
 her husband and children, which outweighed every other con- 
 sideration. Happily, I did not make the choice for my own 
 comfort ; if left to myself I should have questioned whether, 
 even after so much toil and care, and with the weariness of 
 bad health, which was returning upon me in consequence, 1 
 could be at liberty to give myself rest. My first desire, there- 
 fore, when we talked of living at Leigh, was so to arrange my 
 hours that I might still feel myself usefully occupied. The 
 parish was large, and there was much to do in it, which was a 
 great comfort to me. I could not, indeed, walk far, or leave my 
 mother for any length of time, but I could work in the school, 
 and have adult classes at our own house ; and I could assist 
 Hester in educating her children, and keep up an interest in my 
 old pupils, and discipline my own mind by study, as aunt Sarah 
 had suggested to me. Before our house was ready I had framed 
 for myself a plan of life, which would give me variety and oc- 
 cupation, and the sense of usefulness, without which, after the 
 employment to which I had been accustomed, I could never 
 have been happy. 
 
 I looked forward to a time of cheerful rest, and it has been 
 granted me. Sixteen years I have lived at Leigh. Few they 
 have seemed, but not evil. My dear mother rests in her peace- 
 ful grave. Time has softened the anguish of my first loneliness, 
 and the blessing which she gave me on her death-bed still 
 lingers in my memory, and whispers that I have not lived in 
 vain ; and Hester, young still in heart and bright in hope, 
 clings to me with the loving tenderness of childhood, and her 
 children gather round me and tell me that their daily life is 
 gladdened by mine ; and many there are in distant homes who 
 turn to me as the friend to whom they can confide their cares 
 and seek comfort in their sorrows. 
 
 A single life need not be solitary and unblest. None would 
 say so as they listen to the joyous groups that often collect round 
 my fireside, when Hester's children, or my former pupils, or 
 those whom I have since learnt to love, and who ' stand beside 
 me as my youth,' visit me in my peaceful home. It is with an
 
 342 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 indescribable delight that I hear their ringing laughter, their 
 merry tales, their eager hopes and fears. They give me what I 
 never enjoyed at their age, for my own young days were early 
 clouded with anxiety. I feel that I have grown more joyous, 
 more childlike, more truly light-hearted ; for then I too often 
 tried vainly to shut my eyes to anxiety, now I can ' cast all my 
 care upon Him who careth for me,' 
 
 Alice Rivers has still within the last few years often been my 
 guest, recalling the image of her mother; but she is now married, 
 and a little grandchild has taken her place in the hearts of the 
 family circle at Lowood. I frequently go there to talk with 
 Lady Emily over old times, and hear the history of my former 
 friends at Carsdale, and the details of the Blue School, which 
 still prospers, and is likely to prosper for many years. 
 
 Lady Emily looks wonderfully young still, but a mind like 
 hers, so early trained to bear the trials of life, leaves but little 
 traces of its working upon the countenance, and her life has 
 indeed, upon the whole, been very happy. 
 
 Yet even of such a lot I could not feel a moment's envy. 
 Doubtless she has experienced dearer joys and more alluring 
 hopes for this world than have been granted to me ; but they 
 are atoms only in the immensity of an eternal happiness, and it 
 would be vain to spend a thought of regret upon the separate 
 particles of joy, when the Love is offered us which embraces all. 
 
 And where is my home, and what is it like ? The question 
 might well have been asked at the commencement of my story, 
 but it may not be unfitly answered at its conclusion. 
 
 There is a village amongst the Wiltshire downs, lying in a 
 hollow below broad green pastures and chalky hills. It has but 
 one long street, and a few straggling cottages and gray farm- 
 houses, amongst gardens and trees — happy and home-like as an 
 oasis in the desert to the traveller who first looks upon them 
 from the heights. And near it and within it stand smooth 
 stones, giant in size, and deep and mysterious in their meaning, 
 the relics of a heathen worship ; and high, grassy banks, upon 
 which children play, and along which labourers plod, without a 
 thought of the history pictured before their eyes, mark the pre- 
 cincts of those ancient temples. In the centre of the village is 
 the rectory, not looking towards the street, but fronting a plea- 
 sant garden and green fields, across which runs a path, leading 
 to a vast mound, said to be the work of human hands. Mar- 
 vellous it is, even as the mystic stones that tell of the creed of
 
 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 343 
 
 the generations gone by ; and solemn and peaceful arc the blue 
 mists that rest upon it in the early morning, veiling its outlines 
 as the shadows of the past. 
 
 I have lingered at the garden-gate day after day, gazing upon 
 the old circular hill, and hearing no sound to break the stillness 
 of the air, until I could have fancied that peace — the peace of 
 a world which has never echoed to the sound of a human voice 
 - — the peace of the spirits who rest in hope, was lingering amidst 
 that quiet village. 
 
 But it is in truth the influence of the living which throws a 
 calmness over Hester's home. It is her own tranquil mind, the 
 fervent piety and devoted tenderness of- her husband, the warm 
 endearing affection of her children, above all, the love which 
 springs upward to her God. 
 
 The rectory is indeed full of repose to me at all times. The 
 house is not large, but it is of a sufficient size for real comfort, 
 and the family party is generally small. Hester's sons are now 
 working for themselves in the world — one having lately taken 
 orders, and the other practising successfully in the law. Her 
 three girls, who are much younger, are just growing up to be an 
 inexpressible comfort to their parents and to me. 
 
 It has been very interesting to me to see how well she has 
 managed them. Her husband's character has brought out all 
 the energy of her own, and her will is law, a law implicitly but 
 cheerfully obeyed. She often tells me that she wishes she could 
 feel that she had been as obedient to her own mother, as her 
 children are to her. 
 
 Perhaps she was wilful ; but I have forgotten it ; she is 
 better in my eyes than any that have come after her, and dearly 
 I love to trace the resemblance to her in her own Hester's 
 brilliant smile, and Sarah's playful laugh, and the quick feeling 
 of the youngest, Fanny, my dear mother's namesake. 
 
 They are with me daily, I might almost say hourly ; for there 
 is always something to do or to consult about, which they fancy 
 requires my help. My cottage is close to the rectory, close also 
 to the church, which is, however, on the opposite side of the 
 ' road. It is low and thatched, covered with creepers, and 
 standing in a little garden, dotted with flower-beds, which it is 
 the delight of the school children to keep in order for me. It 
 contains two sitting-rooms and three bedrooms, all that I can 
 at any time require. I have lived there ever since I came to 
 Leigh, and it has become very clear to me, for it is my home, as
 
 344 THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. 
 
 far as regards this world, and where, if it should please God, 
 1 trust still to spend some happy years to come. 
 
 But my real home is the Church. 
 
 Morning and evening I go there to join in the public worship 
 of the congregation ; and often, also, I steal into it by myself, 
 to petition for my own needs, and the needs of those dear to 
 me. And it is then that I most feel how little the life of a 
 member of Christ's Church can ever be called lonely. * One 
 Lord, one Faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of all.'- — 
 were I without earthly friends, without human relations — could 
 they not all in that life be mine ? 
 
 Not each for himself, and by himself, we travel towards 
 Eternity ; but together, — one, though many ; — united, though 
 separate, — ever living, though ever dying ; with interests which 
 began with Creation, and cannot cease with Time. 
 
 And so, when I walked through the churchyard, and read 
 the names of those who rest within it, it is with no feeling of 
 isolation or regret that I look forward to the time when I also 
 shall be called to deliver my body to the dust, and my spirit in 
 the gladness of its love ' to Him who gave it.' But as men, 
 whilst mingling in the business of the world, occupy their 
 leisure in choosing the homes where they trust at length to find 
 repose ; — so I often gaze upon those peaceful resting-places, 
 and ponder where I should desire to sleep. 
 
 There is a sunny spot opposite to the south porch. It is 
 close to the path which leads from the rectory to the church, 
 and we pass it as we go to the daily prayers. If it should be 
 so permitted, it is there that I would wish to be laid. 
 
 It seems as if it would be safe and blest still to be within 
 reach of the prayers and praises I have loved ; it soothes me 
 to think that I may thus be connected in memory with the con- 
 stant worship of the Church ; — and most dear is the hope that 
 those over whom I have watched from infancy, the children of 
 my darling Hester, and it may be their children after them, may 
 recall, as they pass my grave, the lessons I have laboured to 
 teach them, and speak of me with the love, though it can never 
 be with the reverence, which must ever place amongst the dearest 
 of my earthly memories, the name of — aunt Sarah. 
 
 THE END.
 
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