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 ^^,^i'JB:^.-^RY•6
 
 STANDARD 
 
 NOVELS. 
 
 N° XLVI. 
 
 " No kind of literature is so generally attractive as Fiction. Pictures of 
 life and manners, and Stories of adventure, are more eagerly received by 
 the many than graver productions, however important these latter may be. 
 Apuleius is better remembered by his fable of Cupid and Psyche than by 
 his abstruser Platonic writings ; and the Decameron of Boccaccio has out- 
 lived the Latin Treatises, and other learned works of that author." 
 
 THE PARSON'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, 8. NEW BURLINGTON STREET 
 
 (SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN) : 
 
 BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH; 
 GUMMING, DUBLIN. 
 
 1835.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 New-StreeUSquarc.
 
 • -/('.. 
 
 f?,o]w's ra^.T'c^.iTTir'r.TO 
 
 
 UU'ri., J'i.h 'fjr^J. by JUch,:.
 
 M FAi&^^^MB MAliJii^SltEmi 
 
 A mowmi.. 
 
 TBlEOmOlRE MO0M. 
 
 
 ' M :■.! 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 -'TCHAMB BE:NT]LE,y. 
 
 'SUCCESSOB TO JC iVLBVnify 
 
 IV P.TTT, i .DIlAnX--nTE, EDnrBVKOII. 
 .VAN I. PARIS 
 L8 35.
 
 »•
 
 THE 
 
 PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "SAYINGS AND DOINGS," "MAXWELL," 
 
 &c. 
 
 " One child he had, a daughter chaste and fair, 
 His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir. 
 They call'd her Emma : — " 
 
 Prior. 
 
 REVISED AND CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 KICHARD BENTLEY, 8. NEW BURLINGTON STREET 
 
 (SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN): 
 
 BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH ; 
 GUMMING, DUBLIN. 
 
 1835.
 
 8. New Burlington Street, July 1. 1835. 
 
 MR. BENTLEY -p"^ 
 
 HAS JUST PUBLISHED THE FOLLOWING >V,0*/^,'^ 
 
 NEW BOOKS. 
 
 WX 
 
 1. 
 
 In 1 vol. Svo, price 10s. 6d., 
 
 With a Portrait of Mr. Beck ford, from an oria;inal Painting 
 
 by Sn- Joshua Reynolds, 
 
 AN EXCURSION TO THE MONASTERIES OF 
 ALCOBACA AND BATALHA. 
 
 By William Beckford, Esq. 
 
 Author of « Vathek," " Italy ; with Sketches of Spain and 
 
 Portugal," &c. 
 
 2. 
 
 NEW WOKK, EDITED BY LADY DACRE. 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo, 
 
 TALES OF THE PEERAGE AND 
 THE PEASANTRY. 
 
 By the Authoress of " The Chaperon." 
 
 3. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo, 
 
 THE M O N I K I N S. 
 
 By J. Fenimore Cooper, Esq. 
 Author of « The Spy," " The Pilot," &c. 
 
 4. 
 
 DE LAJIARTINe's NEW TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 This day, in 3 vols, small 8vo, with a Portrait of the Author, 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE HOLY LAND, &c. 
 By M. De Lamartine. 
 
 "This beautiful work is descriptive of scenes certainly never before painted 
 with so much eloquence and feeling."— Blackwood's Mai^axine. 
 
 " De Lainartine's narrative is full of delightful reading and of animated de- 
 scriptions." — S/)tc/a/on 
 
 5. 
 
 In 2 vols. Svo, with Plates, 
 
 TEN YEARS IN SOUTH AFRICA. 
 
 Including a description of the Wild Sports of that Country, 
 
 By Lieut. J. W. Moodie, 21st Fusileers. 
 
 " A most entertaining book of travels, and to emigrants will prove of the uf 
 most practical utility." — .Vawa/ and Military Gazette. 
 
 ?
 
 NEW BOOKS JUST PUBLISHF;D BY MR. BENTLEY. 
 
 16. 
 
 SECOND EDITION^ REVISED^ WITH A NEW PREFACE. 
 
 In 3 vols, post Svo, 
 THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. 
 
 By the Author of " Eugene Aram," " Paul Clifford," &c. 
 
 " The most masterly production that we have read for years. This is Mr. 
 Eulwer's finest work." — Examiner. 
 
 17. 
 
 /;; 2 vols. Svo, wiUi Plates, 
 
 WANDERINGS IN NEW SOUTH WALES, 
 
 BATAVIA, PEDIR COAST, SINGAPORE, AND CHINA, 
 
 In 1832, 1833, and 1834. 
 
 By George Bennett, Esq. F.L.^S. 
 
 " A very entertaining and valiiab'e work, containing the latest information 
 
 as to the state of Australia." — Morning Cliroiucle. 
 
 " We have here much information respecting ISataviaand China — countries 
 nf which, till the appearance of the present work, we have had scarcely any 
 account." — United Service Journal. 
 
 18. 
 
 I/i 3 vols, post 8vo, 
 
 FRANCESCA CARRARA. 
 
 By L. E. L., 
 
 Author of " The Improvisatrice," &c. 
 
 " A book of remarkable power and genius. It is unquestionably superior to 
 any other production of the same order in the present time, with the single ex- 
 ception of the writings of Mr. Bulwer." — E.caminer. 
 
 19. 
 
 Iti 3 Vols, post 8vo, 
 
 THE PRINCESS. 
 
 By Lady Moiigan. 
 Author of " Florence Macarthy," &c. 
 
 " A very clever and interesting work. There is life, feeling, humour, and 
 naivete in every page." — Athenauin. 
 
 20. 
 
 Ill '2 vols. 8vo, 
 
 THREE YEARS IN THE PACIFIC, 
 
 Comi)rising Notices of 
 
 BRAZIL, CHIM, BOLIVIA, PERU, &c. 
 
 In 1831, 1832, and 1833. 
 
 " This work is as amusing as it is useful. The account of Peru is full of in- 
 terest." — Atlas.
 
 THE 
 
 PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Is not the elder 
 
 By nature pointed out for preference ? 
 
 Is not his riglit eiirnlled amongst those laws 
 
 Which keep the world's vast frame in beauteous order ? " 
 
 Howe. 
 
 '^ '' In France," says one of the most accomplished wri- 
 li^y ters of the day, treating of French statistics, "■ there is 
 no primogeniture ; " a startling fact at first sight, hut for 
 which, upon a little consideration, we can find an easy solu- 
 tion. The fair authoress means to say that there is no 
 V law of primogeniture in that happy and well-regulated 
 V country. 
 
 ^ We have not the slightest intention of going into a dis- 
 ^ cussion upon the merits of such a law, or the advantages 
 of its abrogation ; but we have to put before the reader an 
 example of the effects which its existence sometimes pro- 
 duces, in the person of the Right Honourable Lady Frances 
 Sheringham. 
 
 He who denounced commingled pride and poverty as 
 one of the bitterest curses of mankind, could never have 
 found a better illustration of his principle than in the 
 daughter of a nobleman, accustomed through life to all the 
 splendour and luxury properly incidental to her station, 
 mixing in society on terms of equality with all lliat is 
 great and gay by which '^,he is surrounded, suddenly
 
 ii THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 bereft^ by the death of her father, of all the advantages 
 and conveniences of the paternal roof, and sent forth upon 
 the world by an elder brother (now become alike the 
 depositary of all the family wealth as well as all the family 
 honours), to seek protection and a home. 
 
 To this disadvantage (theonly one, perhaps, of the scheme 
 of society to which it belongs) may be attributed many of 
 those ill-assorted matches made by ladies of quality, and the 
 innumerable indiscretions and even faults sometimes too 
 justly ascribed to the younger branches of noble families. 
 They are, in fact, proud and poor ; and the desire of 
 maintaining an appearance commensurate with the rank 
 and station to which they were born, without the adequate 
 means of doing so fairly and prudently, leads them into 
 excesses and difficulties wliich not unfrequently bring the 
 honorary titles, which they by courtesy assume, into con- 
 tempt and ridicule. 
 
 But if these happen to be the results of indiscretions 
 committed by persons of high notions and low means, of 
 large expenses and small incomes, who, regardless of those 
 considerations by which more honestly-inclined and better 
 regulated persons may be supposed to shape their career 
 through life, launch into extravagances unjustifiable by 
 their finances, what must be the pain and mortification of 
 a noble lady, who, satisfied of the irreproachability of her 
 conduct, full of the consciousness of her nobility, sensi- 
 tively alive to the respect due to her exalted rank, and 
 anxious beyond measure to maintain the place in society 
 to which her birth entitles her, feels herself so constrained 
 by circumstances as to be unable to move with comfort or 
 even ease in the sphere to which she hereditarily belongs, 
 and who, after having married for love, finds herself at 
 lifty-four a widow, still handsome in person and vivacious 
 in disposition, with a penniless son of five-and -twenty, 
 and a jointure of six hundred pounds per annum. 
 
 Such was exactly the position of Lady Frances Shering- 
 ham a few years since, as the daughter of the Marquess of 
 Pevensey. She had been the belle of her time, had given 
 the lone to society and her name to bonnets, and, with 
 some of the yet surviving beaux of a previous age, had
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. O 
 
 been, in her day, when she was eighteen, and men drank 
 wine, a "standing toast." 
 
 Like herself, the husband of Lady Frances was of noble 
 blood. The Honourable Herbert Sheringhani was tlie 
 second son of Lord Weybridge, and had borne off his 
 charming prize from a host of ardent rivals in all the 
 enthusiasm of triumphant love ; nor was their mutual hap- 
 piness marred for an hour until the death of his noble 
 father-in-law, the Marquess, with whom they had almost 
 entirely lived after their marriage : that melancholy event, 
 however, reduced the honourable husband and his right 
 honourable wife to the necessity of establishing themselves, 
 and, moreover, of supporting themselves upon an income 
 not exceeding twelve hundred pounds per annum. 
 
 The personal fortune of Lady Frances was neither more 
 nor less than ten thousand pounds settled upon herself. 
 Mr. Sheringham's income was derived from two offices 
 which he held about the court, luckily just so unimportant 
 as not to be affected by any change of ministry, but which 
 pleased his vanity and amused his mind, by bringing him 
 frequently in contact with his sovereign, and the circle by 
 which he was surrounded. To what particular circum- 
 stances he was indebted for these small advantages nobody 
 ever exactly ascertained, because his father, besides having 
 very little interest, professed whiggism in politics, which, 
 however meritorious abstractedly as a trait of virtue, pa- 
 triotism, and magnanimity, does not of itself appear a 
 sufficient reason for his son's appointment to two quasi 
 sinecures during the existence of a Tory government. It 
 was generally thought that Lady Frances, anxious to make 
 the man of her heart something, had exerted that influence 
 which such a being could not fail to possess, to gain the 
 ear of one at whose disposal such advantages are placed. — 
 No matter, Sheringhain and the Lady Frances were as 
 happy a couple as are ordinarily seen in this world ; and 
 when he was called away to a better, the recollection that 
 she had nothing left to Hve upon but her jointure (arising 
 chiefly from her own fortune, which, as has just been 
 stated, had been settled upon herself) of six hundred
 
 4 THE PAKSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 a-year, was not the most painful one with which her lady- 
 ship had to contend. 
 
 Besides this jointure, Mr. Sheringham left Lady Frances 
 one son, the counterpart of his lamented sire, in whom all 
 her hopes and wishes for the future centred ; and as her 
 grief for the death of her husband wore off, the feeling of 
 deep regret for one she had lost gave place to another of 
 intense anxiety for the welfare and success of him who was 
 yet preserved to her. 
 
 And as he grew up, so did that anxiety grow too. At 
 Eton he received all he ever had of education ; and when, 
 at his father's death, it became necessary for his mother to 
 come to some decision as to his future prospects, the 
 struggle with her feelings was by no means an agreeable 
 one. Fortune he had none, save what miglit bo left at his 
 mother's disposal when she sliould shuffle off this mortal 
 coil ; and as for a profession, the idea that her beloved 
 George Augustus Frederick should be obliged to do any 
 thing to earn his bread was most repugnant to her lady- 
 ship's principles and feelings. Her brother, the Marquess 
 of Pevensey, was extremely kind to his nephew, and she 
 hoped for some assistance from him ; but what could he 
 do ? he was himself married, and had already nine right 
 honourable lords and ladies to provide for ; and as for 
 interest he had none, since, like her late father-in-law, his 
 lordship was a rigid oppositionist, but without either talent 
 or influence sufficient to alarm his adversaries into an adop- 
 tion of the soothing system. 
 
 George Augustus Frederick, however, having in the 
 course of his domiciliation at Eton contracted a love of 
 boating, and having, moreover, once worn the uniform of a 
 naval officer at one of those morning masquerades peculiar 
 to that great and celebrated school, had taken it into his head 
 that he should like to be a sailor ; and although the Lady 
 Frances greatly objected to tlie filthy smell of ships, and 
 the horrid sickness at sea, and the danger of battles, and 
 all the other evils " fishified flesh " is heir to, the recol- 
 lection of Howe, and Duncan, and Nelson counteracted in 
 some degree her aversion from the service ; and at length, 
 by dint of sohcitation on the part of the boy, and persua-
 
 THP PARSON S DAUGHTER. 5 
 
 sion on that of her friends, George Augustus Frederick 
 was fairly launched as a midshipman, under the especial 
 care and protection of her friend and distant relation the 
 Honourable Captain Baltyorum, 
 
 The great affair of George Augustus Frederick Shering- 
 ham's start in life, unpromising as it was, having been 
 achieved, Lady Frances began her course of existence, 
 which comprised a round of visits, a month at Lord Peven- 
 sey's — a fortnight with the Dawsons in Gloucestershire — 
 three weeks with the Howards in Derbyshire — ten days 
 at one house and six days at another, till the London sea- 
 son began, when, with a pair of job horses doing sixteen 
 weeks' work in three months, and rooms at a hotel, where 
 she never dined, her ladyship, from being extremely agree- 
 able, rather odd, and particularly well versed in the popu- 
 lar topics of ordinary conversation, contrived to keep her 
 head above water, and be as gay and as hvely as her more 
 wealthy associates ; still managing to make an allowance 
 to her son to the full extent permitted by his captain, and 
 by him considered adequate to the wants and wishes of a 
 Marquess's grandson located in the midshipmen's berth of 
 one of his Majesty's frigates. 
 
 But days wore on, and George Augustus Frederick grewup 
 to manhood; his time as midshipman was served, and he had 
 passed his examination, when another term of service as flag- 
 lieutenant to a distant connection in India was entered upon 
 and concluded, with promotion to the rank of commander, and 
 the enjoyment of the moderate half-pay of seven shillings 
 and sixpence per diem, without a chance of further employ- 
 ment. And thus, at the age of five-and-twenty, poor George 
 Augustus Frederick had reached what to him was likely to be 
 the head of his profession, and found himself again at home, 
 and on land, without any earthly pursuit. Still, however, 
 warmly attached to his lady-mother, he could not but feel 
 satisfied that the pittance of income which he derived from 
 his commission rendered a regular drain upon her slender 
 funds unnecessary^; and, anxious as she was to enjoy as 
 much of his society as he could spare her, he generally 
 passed the intervals of his engagements at her hotel. 
 
 But Lady Frances, delicate when young, and unused in 
 
 B 3
 
 6 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 childhood or youth to much exertion^ became every season 
 more and more sensible of the inconveniences of her 
 position in society. The constant round of parties, to her 
 "vvho had no daughter to bring out, and no point to carry, 
 injured her constitution, and (which people say was still 
 more important to her ladyship) her complexion ; and she 
 suddenly resolved to withdraw herself from the fitful, 
 feverish life which she had so long been leading, and 
 settle herself, for at least eight months in the year, in some 
 quiet retirement at a distance from London, where her 
 health might be recruited by the salubrity of the air, and 
 her expenses contracted by the cheapness of living ; and 
 having hit upon tliis prudent design, she imparted to her 
 darling son the intention she had formed, and the project 
 she had ori2;inated. 
 
 To him the arrangement was particularly agreeable ; 
 for although no man of worldly feelings ever permits his 
 ears to be open to the passing observations upon his nearest 
 relations, or allows his eyes to see the sneers and shrugs 
 which sometimes are exhibited upon the arrival or depart- 
 ure of an excellent and exemplary parent, George could 
 not be so deaf or so blind, try earnestly as he might, as not 
 to perceive that Lady Frances, a widow in her fifty-fifth 
 year, was a totally different object in society from Lady 
 Frances, a maiden of eighteen, or a wife of twenty-three. 
 
 All the little playfulness of expression, the downcast eye 
 — the flushing cheek — the palpitating heart — the lips — 
 the smiles — the looks themselves were there ; and such 
 is the slow and minute progression of the ravages of time, 
 that, in the constant appeal of beauty to her looking glass, 
 their effects are not perceptible ; and as Gay, or, perhaps, 
 his sarcastic assistant. Swift, tells us of the " mother's 
 daughter" — 
 
 " Each time slip looks she 's fonder grown, 
 Thinks evory charm j^rown stronger ; 
 But, alas ! vain maid, all eyes but your own 
 Can see you are not younger." 
 
 The country, however, was the thing ; and the moment 
 her ladyhhij) had possessed herself of this desire of rurality, 
 every maxim of her town-spent life was exploded ; her
 
 1-HE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 7 
 
 taste was now all for green fields and trees, and shade and 
 flowers. A dairy was her delight ; a farm-yard her hobby ; 
 daisy-picking and violet-plucking the only pursuits she 
 really loved ; and Avhen she recollected the many happy 
 hours she had spent in her dear father's time at Grimsberry 
 Castle, Cumberland, in her sainted mother's conservatory, 
 and the American parterre, her anxiety to be fixed in a 
 cottage and a garden became romantically ungovernable. 
 
 To satisfy this predominating passion, and put into exe- 
 cution her scheme of retirement. Lady Frances gave up all 
 visits, all calls, all notes, and all messages, and drove in- 
 cessantly and continuously, day after day, her attenuated 
 job horses from Christie's to Squibb's, from Squibb's to 
 Robins's, from Robins's to Winstanleys, from Winstanley's 
 to Phillips's, and from Phillips's to Christie's again, in 
 search of a villa ; and many were the journies her ladyship 
 took, and many the disappointments she met with. The 
 old joke of the hanging wood was nothing to the sufferings 
 she underwent ; and in one instance, when she had tra- 
 velled thirty miles to look at a cottage which was described 
 as having two views of the Thames, she found her hopes 
 blighted, by discovering tliat the only method of seeing 
 that beautiful river twice on the property was by looking 
 out of the garret-windows, when it was just visible at high 
 water, and looking down into the cellars, in which it regu- 
 larly made its appearance at every spring-tide. 
 
 At length, however, such a " particulars" was put into 
 her ladyship's hands by one of the most fashionable auc- 
 tioneers, that there could be no doubt or hesitation as to 
 a drive down to see the place. The only thing against it 
 was its name ; but that, with female readiness, her lady- 
 ship thought might be changed. It was called Slug Grove 
 — but then there were serpentine walks and sloping lawns, 
 towering oaks and graceful willows drooping into crystal 
 lakes ; an elegant saloon opening into a conservatory, with 
 every requisite office and outbuilding ; thirty acres of land 
 immediately round the house, and a pew in the church — 
 all capable of great improvement. 
 
 With all due respect for the auctioneer's modest merits, 
 this last particular was assuredly the most correct ; the 
 
 B 4
 
 8 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 serpentine walks were mere wriggles ; the sloping lawns, 
 slippery beds of swamp ; the drooping willows, stumpy 
 objects, with no more curl in their branches than is to be 
 found in a dancing- girl's hair at four o'clock in the morn- 
 ing ; the crystal lake was a duck pond covered with weeds 
 like green crown-pieces ; and the conservatory, into which 
 
 drawing-room, (paper damp and ceiling cracked), sixteen 
 feet by fourteen, opened, turned out to be a glassless green- 
 house, in which grew a plentiful crop of nettles and marsh- 
 mallows. The offices were in the last state of dilapidation ; 
 the kitchen-chimney had fallen down, and a wandering hen 
 had established her nest in the oven ; and as to the pew in 
 the church, it was located in the gallery immediately over 
 the pulpit, the sounding-board of which excluded not oiily 
 its tenants from the sight of the preacher, but from the 
 possibility of hearing his voice ; while the thirty acres of 
 land consisted of marsh, bog, and clay, agreeably and plen- 
 tifully stocked with thistles, chickweed, and dandelion. 
 
 The house had once been white, but the tear-like drip- 
 pings from its various windows had, during the several 
 years of its unoccupancy, left deep green marks upon the 
 walls ; and a sort of verandah, which had once adorned its 
 front towards the read, after having become filthily dirty, 
 had fallen through, and left the canvass, which once formed 
 its alternated black and green covering, dangling in ribands 
 amongst its trelliage columns. 
 
 " This is not comfortable, George," said her ladyship. 
 " I am dying for a cottage ; but this is more humble than 
 even I desire. The slopes are slops, and the crystal lake 
 looks like a pool at commerce filled with green counters." 
 
 " Yes," said George, " playing with leaves for lives." 
 
 " La, ma'am," said the gardener, who was showing the 
 premises, " that there weedy stuff is of no signification at 
 all as it were; a little patience and half-a-dozen ducks 
 would get rid of all that in a fortnight." 
 
 " Ducks, sir," said Lady Frances. " Ducks on a 
 crystal lake — what an idea I " 
 
 The man, who saw that Slug Grove did not exactly cor- 
 respond with her ladyship's notions of comfort or the 
 picturesque, caught up George, who was in an under-tone
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 expressing to his mother his conviction that the place 
 " would not do ;" and, anxious to be of use to the house- 
 hunters, suggested that there were two or three other villas 
 in the neighbourhood to be let. 
 
 " There is Belvidere, ma'am," said the gardener ; " a 
 very nice retired place, right opposite the limekilns, as you 
 turn down to the Duke's Head, near the turnpike : and 
 then there is Belle- Vue, built to match it, on the other 
 side, the front windows of which overlook Squire Har_ 
 bottle's stables and kennels ; besides which it has a great 
 convenience in hearing his honour's house-clock, which 
 strikes every hour, chimes the quarters, and plays Rule 
 Britannia and the Hundredth Psalm tune two hundred 
 and fifty times in the four and twenty hours." 
 
 " And who is Squire Harbottle ? " said George. 
 
 " A gentleman of large fortune, sir," said the gardener ; 
 " who seems never to know how to spend money enough : 
 he buys every thing he can lay his hands on, right and 
 left. He keeps the hounds here, and has his house full of 
 company from year's end to year's end : he shoots a good 
 deal, and drinks a good deal more than he shoots, sir ; but 
 he's uncommon affable." 
 
 " Is he married ?" said George, who had at sea known 
 a namesake, but, as it turned out, not a relation of his. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the man, "and has got as handsome 
 a lady for a wife as ever trod shoe-leather ; the kindest, 
 sweetest cretur as ever breathed. They say the Squire is 
 rather too rough in his ways, and too boisterous-like for 
 her, for she's as gentle and as quiet as a lamb." 
 
 " Is there any other place to let," said Lady Frances, 
 who took no great interest in the praises of the Squire's 
 lady, " besides this Belvidere and Belle- Vue which you 
 talk of?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said the man, " there's Dale Cottage ; 
 but I don't think that would suit such gentlefolks as you. 
 It's all thatched, with casement windows, and covered over 
 with nasty ivy, and buried in trees : my master, Avhich 
 owned this property, hated trees ; down he had them smack, 
 smooth. ' None a your great, great long helms, and hashes, 
 and hoaks, for me,' he used to say, ' a sucking up the
 
 10 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 nourishment, and robbing the ground as is under 'em ; ' and 
 to be sure there is no counting for taste ; but, as I says 
 sometimes to my old missus, I do think trees is the greatest 
 eyesores in the country as can possible be." 
 
 " I should like to see Dale Cottage," said George, who 
 having in his disposition an inherent turn for the convi- 
 viality of such men as Squire Harbottle, and an equally 
 amiable turn for the society of such women as the Squire's 
 lady, began to fancy that he should less object to a domi- 
 ciliation at Binford than it before struck him he should. 
 
 And accordingly to Dale Cottage they went ; Snaith, so 
 was the tree-hater called, leading them across the slippery 
 slopes by the side of the weedy pond, and by the quagmire 
 near the gate, through part of the village, to the object of 
 their inquiries. It burst upon the sight of the visiters in 
 its most picturesque point of view. Screened from the 
 road, and commanding a lovely prospect, it seemed to offer 
 quiet and repose, and to promise the realisation of jMoore's 
 beautiful anticipation, who says, or rather sings, — 
 
 " I said if there 's peace to be found in the world, 
 A heart tliat is humble might hope for it here." 
 
 It was one of the prettiest things imaginable : its interior 
 was a perfect snuggery ; taste and judgment had combined 
 in its decoration ; and, although here and there the envious 
 damp had left its mark in some of the corners and crannies 
 of its well-proportioned living-rooms, it was altogether the 
 very thing Lady Frances wanted, and the very thing 
 George liked ; and, accordingly, after a very brief debate, 
 the resolution final was arrived at, that there they would 
 set themselves down ; and, in pursuance of this determin- 
 ation, after having opened the preliminaries with the resi- 
 dent referee, they were shown over the gardens and grounds, 
 visited all the rooms, ascertained what they should do still 
 more to improve it, and furthermore engaged the requisite 
 workmen to put every thing in order for the reception of 
 furniture and themselves in a fortnight, at the latest, from 
 the day of first visiting it. 
 
 From the gentleman with whom George had to negotiate 
 the affair, he derived much information as to the state
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 11 
 
 of the little world at Binford, in which, as in all the small 
 country towns and large villages of England, the good and 
 bad passions of mankind were all at work, and where the cha- 
 ritable feelings and evil desires, the subtle designs and little 
 jealousies of human nature were in as high a state of per- 
 fection as in the more important and elevated circles of 
 society. 
 
 It appeared, upon investigation, that Binford possessed 
 two very attractive qualities to persons of small fortune and 
 dehcate health : it had the reputation of salubrity and 
 cheapness, and the consequence was that it was thickly 
 populated with ladies, who, if not of equal rank with Lady 
 Frances, possessed nearly a similar income, the result of 
 which commixture of matured widows and matronly vir- 
 gins was the constant irritation of the whole neighbourhood 
 upon the slightest provocation. 
 
 Then, besides these foreigners to the land, and emigrants 
 from other places, there were the regular inhabitants, who 
 appeared to em.ulate the little jealousies of the exclusive 
 coterie, and lived in the most unremitting hostility towards 
 each other, gilding their countenances with smiles, and 
 rather exhibiting, by a worrying course of civility of con- 
 duct than by any open declarations, the envy, and jealousy, 
 and uncharitableness so generally prevalent in such com- 
 munities. 
 
 Who that drives through Binford, and sees the elaborated 
 smartness of Mr. Bunce's best drawing-room window cur- 
 tains, and the dazzling brightness of his brazen knocker, 
 can doubt that the graceful folds of the one, and the la- 
 boured splendour of the other, are invented and contrived 
 to place the attorney's house and appurtenances far before 
 that of Mr. Popjoy the apothecary, &c.; or who that beholds 
 the pernickety neatness of tlie pebbly pavement in front of 
 Miss Whalebone's retreat from the world, can hesitate to 
 believe that its niceness and prettiness are destined to excite 
 the envious admiration of Mr. Bookman, master of the 
 " Binford Classical and Commercial Academy," and fur- 
 nish conversation for her opposite neighbour, Mr. Pugh, 
 the churchwarden .f* 
 
 The rector, whose name was Lovell, it seemed was a
 
 12 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 widower^ the father of an only daughter^ the pride and 
 darling of his hearty the prop of his house, the comfort of 
 his declining years. She was fair, gentle, mild, and unas- 
 suming, highly accomplished, but extremely reserved ; 
 distant and cold to strangers, but with a disposition affec- 
 tionate, and a mind pure and unspotted as the driven snow. 
 
 From the contending influences and interests which agi- 
 tated his flock, Lovell had always contrived to keep himself 
 surprisingly free ; and, considering the character and prin- 
 ciples of the seigneur du village, it must be admitted that 
 he deserved no small credit for his neutrality. 
 
 Mr. Harbottle was a curious specimen of the almost ex- 
 tinct race of country squires. A swaggering, boisterous, 
 bragging, drinking fellow ; hard headed, hard hearted, 
 passionate, egotistical, self-opiniated, vain to an incalculable 
 degree of every thing he himself possessed, and of the 
 means which he had of accumulating the finest and most 
 expensive articles of use or ornament ; but vainer than of 
 every thing else he had, was he of his wife, of whom we 
 need only repeat the gardener's unsophisticated eulogium, 
 to describe her to perfection. " She was as handsome a 
 lady as ever trod shoe-leather ; the kindest, sweetest cretur 
 as ever breathed." 
 
 The association of this couple was strange ; but she 
 humoured his eccentricities with so much good taste, seemed 
 to be stone-blind to his faults, which glared upon every 
 body else, and gave him so much credit for good-nature 
 which he did not possess, that she contrived to make the 
 constantly-varying visiters at their house believe that she 
 was as hapj)y with him as she deserved to be. With those 
 who knew them better, this amiable game was very difficult 
 to play. 
 
 His habits and pursuits linked him more with his im- 
 mediate dependents in the adjoining town than to his more 
 suitable companions in the surrounding country ; and 
 accordingly the whole presentable population of JJinford 
 were kept in a perpetual agitation from tlic excitement pro- 
 duced by the frequent, almost unremitting, invitations to 
 the Hall, where festivity and hilarity were the order of the 
 day and night.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 13 
 
 The only person with whom Mrs. Harbottle from choice 
 associated was Miss Lovell ; she was frequently, indeed 
 almost constantly, her companion during the mornings. 
 The habits and pursuits of her reverend father led him to 
 enjoy a quieter hfe than that which he could have lived in 
 Harbottle's society, and therefore his visits to the Squire's 
 dinners were " few and far between." Emma Lovell, 
 consequently, was seldom seen in the evening circle at her 
 friend's; — that they were friends, events which have occur- 
 red since the period now spoken of, will amply prove. 
 
 The brief history of the state of affairs at Binford which 
 is here given, in order to put the reader a little into the 
 secret, George Sheringham received at the hands of Mr. 
 Bunce, the attorney-at-Iaw, with whom he had to talk over 
 the arrangements for renting Dale Cottage; and if Mr. 
 Bunce were somewhat more verbose in his descriptions, and 
 rather more explicit in his illustrations, the reader has the 
 pith of his narrative, which, as he probably is not (as 
 George and Mr. Bunce were, during the detail) sitting 
 after dinner, sipping his wine, may equally well suffice for 
 the purpose, with a more protracted and elaborated detail of 
 parish matters. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " The claims of the ' country ' are paramount." Parl. Speeches. 
 
 " Mercy on us, how time flies ! " said Lady Frances 
 Sheringham to her son George. " Three weeks have passed 
 since we first saw Dale Cottage, and those odious painters 
 and paper hangers are still there. My ])aticnce is nearly 
 exhausted. Here is June, and we still in London !" 
 
 "My dear mother," said George, "to you, who till 
 this very year have been in the habit of considering the 
 June of nature the January of fashion, and have valued
 
 14 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 the opening beauties of spring only as they gave the signal 
 for opening the houses of your friends, this little delay can- 
 not be so very irksome : another fortnight, and we shall be 
 located in our new residence. " 
 
 " And do teU me^, dear," said her ladyship, " that Mrs. 
 Harbottle — is she a person to like ? Shall I Uke her — 
 will she suit me ? " 
 
 '•' That I cannot pretend to say," replied her son, (whoj 
 it may be as well to observe, had just returned to his mother 
 in London, from a second visit to Dale Cottage, which he 
 had paid to it alone, in order by his presence to stimulate 
 the different workmen in their labours,) " but I think I 
 never saw a more charming person. The man is a monster, 
 without one redeeming quality that I could discover in a 
 seven hours' sitting. " 
 
 " Ah," said Lady Frances, " upon that point I must 
 beg leave to judge for myself: it very often happens that, 
 where so large a portion of admiration is claimed by a lady, 
 there is proportionably less left for her husband. They 
 were civil and hospitable, and all that ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said George, " if men could eat entrees of gold, 
 or drink magnums of liquid silver, so much the greater the 
 pleasure to Mr. Harbottle in feeding them ; but there is a 
 coarseness, a roughness, a something about him, repugnant 
 to my feelings, and which seem quite to subdue and over- 
 come his wife. " 
 
 " Ah, I see," replied her ladyship, " you have arrived 
 at the ])oint of commiserating the sufferings of a woman, 
 who, I have no doubt, is as happy as a princess; and, hav- 
 ing once taken that course, the chances are, that your hatred 
 of Mm will turn into some marvellously foolish affection for 
 her. 
 
 "No," said George, " that is not likely; as far as that 
 sort of thing goes, Mrs. Harbottle seems to be provided 
 already with a commiserating friend; but there was a Miss 
 Lovell, who went away after luncheon to dine, as she told 
 me, with her sick father, the rector, of whom my loqua- 
 cious friend, Mr. Bunco, did most assuredly not say half 
 enough. She is lovely — absolutely lovely; but if she
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 15 
 
 were modelled in alabaster, or chiselled in marble, her beauty 
 could not well be colder than it is at present." 
 
 " Mauvaise-lionte, George," said Lady Frances, " the 
 mere awkwardness of rusticity. I never give credit to 
 those icicles for any thing but shiness, and a notion that 
 it looks fine to be prudish, and well-bred to be disagreeable. 
 However, I think by your account that we shall have plenty 
 of specimens to select from ; and, as of course Dale Cot- 
 tage will give the ton, we may pick and choose as we like." 
 
 " I fear that Dale Cottage will never be more than 
 secondary at Binford," said George ; " the unbounded 
 wealth of Harbottle, and the unlimited circulation of it, 
 the daily recurrence of feasts — actual feasts — and all 
 the other attractions of the Hall, will naturally overcome 
 our otherwise undoubted claims to precedency." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed her ladyship, " I have no intention 
 of making a struggle against the aristocracy of wealth ; I 
 shall trust to the good sense and good feelings of my neigh- 
 bours to put me at my ease ; and I think, with a little dis- 
 play of ingenuity, and a knowledge of how things .should 
 be done, we may contrive to rally round us some of the 
 best amongst them, and give them such a reception as they 
 are not quite used to in their somewhat obscure village." 
 
 " Let us begin," said George, "^with treating our future 
 home with greater respect. Nobody believes the place in 
 which he is himself a resident obscure. You may rely 
 upon it, the helpless missionary at Fernando Po, or the 
 isolated resident of the Seychelles, thinks, ' to himself,' 
 that the spot he inhabits is a place of the greatest import- 
 ance to the whole world, and that the eyes of all Europe, 
 at least, are upon him." 
 
 " That may be quite true," answered her ladyship, 
 "but 1 imagine the Binfordites wiU have no objection to a 
 little refinement of their style ; and when one considers 
 with what very small means good taste and judgment may 
 contrive very agreeable things, I think I may flatter myself 
 that the little re-unions at Dale Cottage will not be alto- 
 gether neglected for the more profuse displays of Mr. Har- 
 bottle's mansion." 
 
 Thus it will be seen, that Lady Frances, driven by
 
 16 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 circumstances from being a follower of the great world, had 
 already pre-determined to become the leader of a little one, 
 and, preferring to reign in Binford rather than serve in 
 London, had begun to anticipate gaieties of her own in the 
 country as ill suited to her income, as the enjoyment of 
 gaieties provided by others in town were to her consti- 
 tution. 
 
 George said nothing at the time to dissuade his lively 
 parent from the course she seemed to have chalked out for 
 herself; for, to tell the truth, his mind and thoughts con- 
 nected with a residence at Binford were fixed upon other 
 objects than "economical" suppers, or "judicious" break- 
 fasts. He had seen enough of Emma Lovell, in the morning 
 visit he had paid to the Hall, to assure himself that time 
 and a continued association with such a person were very 
 likely to entangle him, and, if matters went on favourably, 
 fix him for life. 
 
 This love at first sight has often been a subject of ridi- 
 cule amongst slow-going people ; but, nevertheless, it has 
 frequently turned out to be both serious and lasting. 
 There is a sympathy between minds and persons, Avhich in 
 all cases, even of common intercourse, speedily attaches 
 certain individuals to each other, who neither attract nor 
 are attracted by certain others. It is an old remark, that 
 no man ever looked on at a game of chance or skill, played 
 by two people, both previously unknown to him, without, 
 in less than five minutes, feeling an interest for the suc- 
 cess of one of them over the other ; and there certainly 
 are some undefinable points of accordance, some harmonies 
 of thought or expression, of which we are not ourselves 
 clearly conscious, but whicli almost immediately attract the 
 attention, and fix our thoughts upon the individual, who, 
 as unconsciously as ourselves, happens to possess them. 
 
 George Augustus Frederick Sheringham had flirted and 
 made the uhridhle in every quarter of the globe. The 
 blondes of the Baltic, the brunettes of the Mediterranean, 
 the bulbous beauties of the Cape, and the fair yam-stocks of 
 St. Helena, had all in their turn received his attentions, 
 and even reciprocated his smiles; but there was something 
 about Miss Lovell which had the power of utterly chang-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 17 
 
 ing the character of his admiration. With all the other 
 women he had seen, he could laugh, and flirt, and talk ; 
 and when the laughing, and flirting, and talking were 
 over, he could take his hat and go ; and the next day, in 
 some other place, repeat a similar routine of entertainment 
 with some other beauty, and yet his heart be safe as if 
 '' twice cased in steel." Emma Lovell he had seen only 
 once, but the effect of their meeting upon him had been 
 very different from those produced during his previous but- 
 terfly course of flower-sipping. Day by day, and hour by 
 hour, he felt that longing, wearying, sickening pain of 
 anxious hope to see her again, which those alone can ap- 
 preciate who have endured it ; and the weeks seemed length- 
 ened into years, and the days to weeks, until the final 
 announcement of the chief artificer at Dale Cottage gave 
 them notice that Dale Cottage was ready for the uphol- 
 sterers and furnishers. 
 
 No sooner did Lady Frances receive this happy an- 
 nouncement than she proceeded to order from Gillows, 
 and Morel, and all the fashionable handicraftsmen, each of 
 his sort, the most elegant furniture best suited to the style 
 of her new residence ; and, in the outset of her economical 
 retirement, incurred a load of debt, which her ladyship's 
 gross income, superadded to her gallant son's half-pay, 
 would not, if specially reserved for that purpose, liquidate 
 under four or five years. But then she had such excel- 
 lent judgment in these matters, and knew so well what 
 should be done — and then the daughter of the second, 
 and sister of the third Marquess of Pevensey, could not 
 submit to be pitied by Mr. and Mrs. Harbottle ; and, there- 
 fore, despairing of coming into Binford upon an equality 
 with those plebeians, as far as money went, her ladyship 
 determined to take the lead in her line, and submit to the 
 quiet and respectable population of that peaceable, but 
 much-neglected village, what her ladyship was certain 
 would be for hrr a triumphant comparison between the 
 magnificence of wealth and the magnificence of good taste. 
 
 It was a very rural hornet's nest into which her ladyship 
 was about to thrust her delicate hands, but hornet's nest it 
 was ; and little did her ladyship anticipate the coraplicattd
 
 18 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 results of her occupancy of the cool sequestered grot, at 
 which she arrived just at the close of the month of July, 
 1830. 
 
 Sheringham's first anxiety on his arrival at their '' shady, 
 blest retreat," appeared chiefly directed to securing his 
 mother a more commodious pew in the church than that 
 ■which in point of right belonged to Dale Cottage ; and 
 Lady Frances, who was an extremely well-regulated per- 
 son, and a constant attendant at divine service, but who 
 had never before perceived any symptoms of such zealous 
 activity upon the particular subject of her accommodation 
 when there, on the part of her son, was amazingly puzzled 
 at finding herself left alone on the very first evening of 
 their arrival at Binford, by her darling and dutiful George, 
 who, in his anxiety for her convenience, had left his " fruit 
 untasted and his wine untouched," in order to visit the 
 rector himself, to arrange the matter ; with which, in fact, 
 he had infinitely less to do than the churchwardens, who 
 had already evinced every disposition to behave handsomely 
 in that respect to a lady of his mother's rank and station. 
 
 Those who recollect that the Rev. Mr. Lovell had a 
 daughter will perhaps attribute a small portion of the filial 
 devotion of Commander George Augustus Frederick Sher- 
 ingham to an affection somewhat less instinctive ; and 
 those who have known what it is to be caught in a trap, 
 set for another, may perhajis sympathise Avith our young 
 and gallant friend in the result of his visit to the venerable 
 pastor." 
 
 Sheringham called at the Parsonage. His heart beat as 
 his cold hand pulled the bell at the gate ; an affirmative to 
 his inquiry (almost needless) if Mr. Lovell were at home, 
 brought him speedily to his drawing-room door. He was 
 announced, and the excellent rector received him with the 
 greatest cordiality. He was alone, reading; the tea equi- 
 page was on the table ; Emma was not there, the chair she 
 had occupied, however, remained in its place. Sheringham 
 seated himself: he would have given the world to inquire 
 after her — to name her name even — but no, he dared 
 not: such is the consciousness of concealed affection, that 
 the simplest question, or the most common-place observ-
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 19 
 
 ation, which any body and every body might otherwise ask 
 or make, if it bear upon the point of interest, upon the one 
 treasured object of our soHcitude, seems to us, from its 
 importance to ourselves, to be too important to be made or 
 asked. 
 
 " How beautiful the view is from this window ! " said 
 Sheringham. 
 
 " The prospect is charming," said Mr. Lovell, " and 
 there is a serenity in the weather, and a buoyancy in the 
 atmosphere this evening, which quite refreshes me. As an 
 invalid, Mr. Sheringham, I feel these things with a sensibi- 
 lity which, in your state of health and at your time of life, 
 must be almost incomprehensible to you." 
 
 Hereabouts a servant appeared with a tea-urn, which he 
 placed upon the table. 
 
 " You will stay and take some tea, Mr. Sheringham," 
 said Lovell. 
 
 It was the very thing Sheringham had been trying at. 
 — Tea would insure a subsequent hour (or two perhaps) 
 of Miss Lovell's society; he would see her in her home, the 
 idol of her father, in the exercise of filial duty, the sight 
 of which would make even her loveliness more lovely. 
 
 " I shall be too happy, sir," said Sheringham — and he 
 forthwith surrendered his hat and gloves to the servant, 
 who, having deposited them on a table, proceeded to remove 
 the vacant chair which he concluded Emma had occupied, 
 and place it "^in order" against the wall. 
 
 " Let the tea be made out of the room," said Mr. 
 Lovell to the man ; and, turning to Sheringham, added, 
 "This is very kind and neighbourly of you, Mr. She- 
 ringham, for this is the first evening for many days that 
 my daughter has dined from home. I felt myself so much 
 better to-day, that I absolutely forced her to accept one 
 out of fifty of her friend Mrs. Harbottle's invitations to 
 dinner, and I feel extremely grateful for your society in 
 her absence." 
 
 If LoveU could have seen the expression of his visiter's 
 countenance at this announcement, his gratitude might have 
 undergone some qualification ; luckily it was getting dark, 
 and Lovell, moreover, was somewhat weak-sighted; but 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 never was man so caught as Sheringham. All that his 
 reverend friend talked, after this disclosure, seemed to his 
 inattentive ear mere gibberish ; and the knowledge which 
 he obtained from an observation made by LoveU to the 
 servant, that Miss LoveU would not return from the Hall 
 till half-past eleven, which entirely precluded the possi- 
 bility of his waiting for her appearance at home, so com- 
 pletely upset him, that when he did, about ten o'clock, get 
 away, he left upon Mr. LoveU's mind a most unfavour- 
 able impression as to his intellectual powers and conversa- 
 tional qualities. 
 
 What on earth could be more distressing ? And then, 
 when he got to Dale Cottage, to undergo the natural 
 reproaches of his mother, for his abrupt and undutiful 
 desertion of her ! Her ladyship, however, whose mind 
 was still very much alive to all the conduct of les affaires 
 de cosur, was so extremely amused by the detail of her son's 
 discomfiture, which he could not resist giving her, that the 
 rest of the evening hung less heavily; and before midnight, 
 the anxious young commander retired to rest, comparatively 
 happy in the consciousness of being in the same village with 
 Emma, and with the certainty of " falling in with her," as 
 he would nautically have phrased it, on the following day. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Hairto thee, worthy Timon ; and to all 
 That of his bounties taste. — The five best senses 
 Acknowk'iigc thee their patron ; and come freely 
 To pratulate tliy ))lenteous bosom ; the ear. 
 Taste, toui-h, smell, all pleased from thy table rise, 
 They only now come, but to feast thine eyes." ShakspeaRG. 
 
 Before the next noon had arrived, numerous indeed were 
 the visiters to Dale Cottage. All the coterie, the exclusives 
 of the Paragon, had dcpositetl their tickets ; and Harbottle, 
 who accompanied his lovely wife on her visit, insisted upon
 
 THE parson's daughter. 21 
 
 it that Lady Frances should dine at the Hall, and begin 
 their acquaintance, as he hoped they should maintain it, 
 without ceremony. 
 
 Her ladyship accepted the bidding, because it was 
 almost impossible, without rudeness, to decline it; but, 
 however much policy might induce her to keep up an 
 acquaintance with the Squire and his lady, Mr. Har- 
 bottle's manners and style of conversation were exactly the 
 reverse of her ladyship's notions of the agreeable. It is 
 said that women love by contraries — that a fair woman 
 admires a dark man, that a short woman admires a tall 
 man, and so on ; but, however opposite Mr. Harbottle might 
 be in all his inclinations and attributes to Lady Frances, it 
 did not seem probable that the mere force of contrast would 
 in their case generate any thing like affection between 
 them. 
 
 The first wound Avhich the hard-hearted Squire in- 
 flicted upon Lady Frances, was in the shape of a note 
 which arrived about four o'clock from Mrs. Harbottle, 
 flictated by her husband, or rather v/ritten in his name, 
 offering to send one of his carriages for her ladyship, to 
 take her to dinner. At Windsor such things are not rare, 
 and a royal coach may be often seen trotting about the town, 
 just before seven, picking up dowagers and their daughters 
 at their lodgings to carry them to the Castle ; but for Mr. 
 Harbottle to make this sort of offer, while Lady Frances 
 had her carriage in her coach-house, and while post- 
 horses were to be hired at the Duke's Head, struck Lady 
 Frances as something particularly presumptuous and im- 
 pertinent. However, she shrugged up her shoulders, and, 
 throwing an expression of patient suffering into her fine 
 countenance, sent a verbal message of thanks, and an an- 
 nouncement that she would be ready at the appointed 
 time. 
 
 Alas ! poor Lady Frances knew not the extent of the 
 unintentional affront which had been offered to her 
 dignity. At the hour named, the carriage came ; and 
 when George Augustus Frederick and his mother ap- 
 proached it, they found already in it, two of the dowagers of 
 the coterie, and Miss Lovell, who had been previously picked 
 
 c 3
 
 22 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 up by the amateur omnibus of Binford. All her ladyship 
 said, when she beheld the crowd of strangers, was, 
 " Well ! " — but it was uttered in a tone so movingly 
 pathetic, that her son, who had anticipated the many 
 " rubs" his mother would meet with, from the sharp 
 corners of Mr. Harbottle's angular mind, could scarcely 
 refrain from laughing. As for himself, he quietly dis- 
 posed himself on the coach-box, satisfied that if for a few 
 minutes he might be doomed to be the companion of the 
 coachman, his neighbour at dinner would be that sweetest 
 of all living girls, the Parson's Daughter, who sat within 
 the carriage, amidst the painted dowagers, pale and placid, 
 like a virgin lily in the middle of a bunch of peonies. 
 
 The drive was not a long one : a few minutes brought 
 them to the gates, and subsequently to the door of Binford 
 Hall. 
 
 The ladies descended from the carriage, and crossed the 
 hall to the drawing-room, wliich faces the door. By a 
 new gaucherie of the marshalled servants, Miss Oliphant 
 was announced before Lady Frances, and being " first 
 named in the commission," walked into the room before 
 her ; a circumstance which Lady Frances resolved at the 
 moment never so far to forgive, as to invite Miss O. to 
 Dale Cottage upon any of the occasions when the elite of 
 the village were summoned. 
 
 " Lady Frances, I 'm glad to see you," said Harbottle. 
 " Much squeezed, eh ? — comfortable carriage, isn't it } — 
 Hobson's build — five hundred and twenty guineas — all 
 snug and comfortable ; a few pounds one way or another, 
 you know, make no difference to me. How are you, 
 Sheringham, how d' ye do? You came on the box — easy, 
 eh — comfortable as a couch' — had springs on purpose — 
 not; above ten pounds extra — what o' that — as I say, com- 
 fort's comfort. Wliat object's money — eh, ma'am ?" 
 
 The last exclamation was addressed to Mrs. Eaglesfield, 
 another of the dowagers, who existed upon two hundred 
 a year in the smallest j)0ssible cottage. 
 
 " I say, Sheringham," said Harbottle, in an under tone, 
 " don't you tliink that 's a pretty hat my wife has got on ? 
 — French : I think it very becoming."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 23 
 
 Sheringham, whose skill in millinery was not very pro- 
 found, said something about Mrs. Harbottle's making any 
 hat look well. 
 
 " Five naps in Paris/' said Harbottle ; " paid for it 
 myself — made her a present unawares. She 's not look- 
 ing well to-day — hot weather — eh? — Do you know 
 Charles Harvey } " 
 
 " I had the pleasure of being presented to him the last 
 day I was here," said Sheringham. 
 
 "Capital fellow!" continued Harbottle. — "Harvey, 
 you must be very intimate friends with Mr. Sheringham. 
 I'm sure you'll hit it off amazingly well. What do you 
 think of the chesnut ?" 
 
 '' Capital hack," said Harvey. 
 
 " How long is it till dinner ? " said Harbottle, casting 
 his eye on a French clock, superbly mounted, and supported 
 by the graces. " I should like to show Sheringham the 
 chesnut — is that clock right ? " 
 
 " Those clocks very seldom are," said Sheringham, who 
 did not exactly know what he was saying, inasmuch as his 
 eyes were fixed upon a much more striking object than a 
 clock during the conversation. 
 
 " Never go right ! " said Harbottle ; " Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 why that's a chronometer — a splendid going clock. I 
 stand none of their nonsense ; a few naps one way or the 
 other make no difference to me. I ordered the fellow 
 to put in good works, just such as Breguer would not serve 
 the English navy with. So he did. Then as to the 
 mounting of it — why, in all the other clocks of that pat- 
 tern that I 've ever seen, there are only three graces, so 
 when the clock stands on the table, you see but one grace 
 at a time. I ordered the fellow to clap me on a dozen. 
 There they are, you see ; so now, whichever way you 
 look at it, there you see three graces at once. Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! Harvey, ring the bell, there 's a good fellow." 
 
 Harvey was a remarkably agreeable person, with a fine 
 intelligent countenance, and a most agreeable manner, and 
 the smile that played over his features, while he implicitly 
 obeyed the mandate of his opulent and imperious host,, 
 was not lost upon Sheringham ; nor did the look which 
 
 c 4
 
 S^ THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 succeeded that smile, and which was directed to his opu- 
 lent host's lady, less escape his observation. They passed 
 over his features as rapidly as the shadow of a cloud flits 
 over the green sward on a bright and breezy day ; but 
 they made Sheringham think that there was another belle 
 in the house, besides the one he had been ordered to ring, 
 over whom he had some sort of influence. 
 
 " How long is it to dinner, sir ? " said Harbottle to a 
 servant who entered the room. 
 
 " The second bell will ring in about five minutes," 
 said the man. 
 
 " Five minutes," cried Harbottle : " come, Sheringham, 
 come along ; we can look at the horses before they dish 
 up — plenty of time — come along." 
 
 To his dispraise it must be said, but true it is, Shering- 
 ham had not that taste for horses which many very excellent 
 gentlemen have — perhaps his nautical pursuits and amphi- 
 bious Ufe militated against his sporting propensities ; for 
 if truth be to be told, nothing could be more unamusing 
 to him than poking about a hot stable and looking at the 
 tails and hinder legs of half a score animals, in which he 
 could never have any personal interest, compelled, per- 
 haps, by the assiduous aitentions of their master to look at 
 the beautiful pasterns of a decided kicker, or go up and 
 test the crest of a confirmed biter — but the die was cast, 
 and out went Sheringham. 
 
 " Jenkinson," hoUoa'd Harbottle, as he entered the 
 court-yard ; '^ where 's Jenkinson ? " 
 
 " He is in the house, sir," said a helper, who was 
 cleaning harness. 
 
 " What the devil is he doing in the house, sir ?" 
 
 " Helping to wait at dinner, sir," was the reply. 
 ' Where 's Watts ? " . 
 
 " Don't know, sir." 
 
 " And Hopkins ? " 
 
 " Can't say, sir." 
 
 " Have you got a key of the hack stable .'' " 
 ' Yes, sir." 
 
 Shcringham's heart sank at the affirmative — at this mo- 
 inent the second bell rang.
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 " Here, boy," cried Harbottle^ " bring out the chesnut 
 Mr. Harvey rode to-day ;" — the boy proceeded to obey 
 orders : — " have you," continued Harbottle, addressing 
 Sheringham, " ever seen my wife's town chariot ? " 
 
 " No," said Sheringham. 
 
 " Here, boy — never mind the chesnut — run and ask 
 Jenkinson for the key of the coach-house." 
 
 Away ran the helper, at the bidding of our Timon. 
 
 " You must just look at that carriage — Hobson 
 again: — he's always my man — but while he is gone, 
 just let us look at the chesnut in the stall." 
 
 And into the stable they went — and then began a 
 discourse about feet, and shoulders, and shape, and make, 
 which lasted till the boy came, not with the key, but 
 with Jenkinson himself, who appeared suffused with all the 
 heat of exercise and exertion, to state that dinner was 
 served up, and that he beheved the company were only 
 waiting his master's appearance in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Oh ! well, we must go then, " said Harbottle, " I '11 
 show you the chariot to-morrow : come along — why, how 
 time flies — I can't stop that, — eh, Sheringham .f" — Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 As they proceeded towards the drawing-room, they were 
 met by several servants, and Harbottle bustled forward, 
 and of course took out Lady Frances : there were two or 
 three of his hunting friends of the party, who, without 
 regard to precedence, or " the order of going," had ap- 
 propriated each to himself a lady to lead to dinner ; and 
 Sheringham, although placed next Mrs. Harbottle at table, 
 missed the opportunity he had so anxiously looked for- 
 ward to, of having on his other hand the gentle Emma, 
 who, in order to complete the series of mishaps which 
 had befallen him, was placed at the same side of the table, 
 so that he was deprived of the only happiness which could 
 have been left for him — that of gazing upon her beau- 
 ties. Indeed, it is a question quite worthy of consider- 
 ation in a discussion of such matters, whether, in his 
 state of acquaintance with Miss Lovell, his advantage 
 woiUd not have been greater as her vis-d-vis, than as her 
 next neighbour. There is much to be said on both sides;
 
 Jl6 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 but as far as Sheringham was personally concerned, he 
 certainly would have preferred being, as he would have 
 professionally called it, " alongside the Hooker." 
 
 If Sheringham, however, lost much by his separation 
 from Emma Lovell, he gained a vast deal by his proximity to 
 Mrs. Harbottle — she was lovely — accomplished — full of 
 taste and feeling, enthusiastic in her admiration of talent, 
 and perfectly qualified to appreciate it — at times animated 
 and volatile, and gay even to wildness, but then " ever 
 and anon" there came suddenly over her countenance, 
 and surely over her mind (of which her countenance was 
 the lovely index), a sudden gloom, which no effort of hers 
 could either check or conceal — the bright blue eyes, which 
 a minute before had sparkled with mirth and joyousness, 
 were dimmed with a tear, as if a sudden consciousness had 
 struck her that for a moment she had been too happy. 
 
 Above all things there appeared — if not to the super- 
 ficial observer, to those who, like Sheringham, looked deeper 
 
 in the midst of her mirth a nervous anxiety while her 
 
 husband was present, which those who only saw his vacant 
 countenance and heard his ostentatious conversation, could 
 scarcely comprehend — she knew him better — his pa- 
 roxysms of rage were sometimes violent ; and the coarse 
 unfeeling observations in which, late in the evening, he 
 was occasionally in the habit of indulging at her expense, 
 mingled as they were with fulsome compliments to her 
 personal attractions, kept her in a state of constant agitation, 
 which it was her equally constant endeavour to conceal. 
 
 Why had she married him ? — the answer is to be found 
 in his wealth, and the influence wealth gives — her own 
 choice was never consulted ; and a nearly bankrupt father, 
 unable to withstand the offer of an alliance by which his 
 credit was to be saved and his character supported, had 
 forced her into an union with a being in no one point as- 
 similating with herself. Yet that was done — and nothing 
 could be more exemplary than the conduct of Mrs. Har- 
 bottle ; although, with the strangest contrariety of character, 
 Harbottle, after descanting on her beauty, after going to 
 all imaginable expenses for ornaments wherewith to de- 
 corate her charms, was the first to reproach her, on the
 
 THE parson's daughter. 27 
 
 slightest appearance of gaiety or liveliness of conduct, with 
 a desire to attract and captivate others, and a diminution 
 of affection towards him. 
 
 This disposition, brought into action from the excite- 
 ment produced by two or three bottles of wine, which he 
 was in the daily habit of swallowing, was what she had to 
 battle with ; and her greatest anxiety in the management 
 of her bear, was that he should dance amiably before com- 
 pany ; an anxiety, however, which was not always crowned 
 with the most perfect success. 
 
 The dinner, which of course exhibited luxury in every 
 possible shape, passed off as dinners generally do ; and 
 Mrs. Harbottle having exchanged looks with Lady Frances, 
 and having heard that significant noise from her ladyship's 
 lips, which one of my fair — my fairest — friends, once de- 
 scribed to me as something between a negative and an 
 affirmative, difficult to be explained, but easily to be un- 
 derstood, gave, or rather repeated, the signal for moving ; 
 and the ladies retired, nothing having occurred during the 
 whole of the banquet worthy of mention or memorandum. 
 
 Sheringham, active and gallant, stood door in hand as 
 the fair procession quitted the dining-room ; and having 
 lingered in vain in the hope of one glance, however tran- 
 sient, from Emma, was returing to his seat, when Har- 
 bottle cried out suddenly, — 
 
 " Sheringham, stop — stop just where you are for one 
 moment; look at that sideboard — the light falls just right 
 upon it ; did you ever see so handsome a sideboard as that } 
 That cost me five hundred and seventy guineas. Morel 
 made it for George the Fourth, but they split about the 
 price." 
 
 " It is extremely handsome," said Sheringham. 
 
 " You may say tliut, Master Captain," exultingly re- 
 plied the host, turning from the contemplation of the 
 costly piece of furniture, with an expression of countenance 
 which seemed to say, now I have done it. 
 
 And then he proceeded to expatiate upon the absurdity 
 of economy, and the nonsense of caring for twenty pounds 
 one way or another ; from Avhich he glanced to his kennel 
 and his dogs, which were the finest in England, let the
 
 g8 THE parson's DAUGHTEK. 
 
 Others be where they might ; and then his hunters, and 
 his hacks, and so on through every branch of his establish- 
 ment, moistening his egotism most Uberally with huge 
 libations of claret, which he periodically pronounced to be 
 " exquisite," " splendid," and " incomparable." 
 
 There is an indescribable sympathy in our nature which 
 I have before endeavoured feebly I fear to describe, which 
 brings individuals more rapidly acquainted with each other 
 in some cases than in others. It was clear that Charles 
 Harvey and George Sheringham were destined to be friends : 
 in the ordinary interchanges of sentiment and opinions 
 they mutually expressed congenial ideas and feelings upon 
 the subjects which they cursorily discussed ; and when, 
 after a tedious sitting and protracted imbibition, which, 
 however obsolete elsewhere, were in full force at Bin ford 
 Hall, they quitted the dinner table, either of them was 
 satisfied that the other was a remarkably agreeable person. 
 
 In the drawing-room were the ladies — if not quite re- 
 duced to the state of the fair sleepers of the American 
 boarding-house, so graphically described by Mrs. TroUope, 
 at least languishing in the last stage of ennui. Miss 
 Eaglefield and ]Miss Oliphant were not companions for 
 Lady Frances, nor, indeed, could j\Irs. Harbottle herself 
 pretend to refer to the habits and usages of a great-grand- 
 father, to which relation of her own Lady Frances was 
 much accustomed to allude ; and, therefore, they sat patient 
 listeners to the very agreeable conversation of the lady of 
 fashion, although all she said sounded to their " unac- 
 customed ears" very much like the language of a fairy 
 tale ; and the histories which she recounted of what was 
 actually going on in London, were delivered in a phra- 
 seology to them almost as unintelligible as the inscrutable 
 language of Madagascar or the blasphemous absurdities of 
 the " unknown tongues." 
 
 There had been music — that is to say, Emma Lovell 
 had been playing the harp — and had been rewarded with 
 *' very pretty, upon my word," by Lady Frances, who did 
 not add — " considering" — but looked it as expressively 
 as if she had said it. The harp stood where Emma had 
 left it ; but before Sheringham had been dble to get away
 
 THE parson's daughter. 29 
 
 from the '' sublime port and splendid claret" of his mag- 
 nificent host, she that " loved to touch it" had betaken 
 herself to her parental roof. "Again baffled!" thought 
 George : '^ does she do this on purpose, or is there a fate 
 m It ? 
 
 " Well, Lady Frances," said Harbottle, " did you 
 think we were lost? I know with you fine folks in 
 London wine is out of fashion, — never out of fashion with 
 me, at least in my own house, where I know what I am 
 drinking — pure, unadulterated wine, ma'am — import it 
 all myself; for, as I say to Mrs. Harbottle, what can it 
 signify, a little more expense to secure what is truly good. 
 Of course with people of fashion and that sort of persons 
 who live from hand to mouth, a retail wine-merchant is 
 the only man — but not with me. This is very handsome 
 Dresden, Lady Frances," continued he, helping himself to 
 some coffee; " I got this a bargain. Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " I don't like Dresden chaney,^^ said Lady Frances: 
 " my poor grandfather had some very fine, which I believe 
 my brother Pevensey has now ; but I never had a taste for 
 it." 
 
 '' What say you to a httle ecarte?" said the master of 
 the house. " Fanny, my dear, see if you can make up a 
 set or two: they won't play high. Lady Frances; you 
 need not be afraid." 
 
 '' I seldom play cards," said her ladyship, who could 
 have eaten the man alive for his kind consideration in mo- 
 derating the scale of his play to her means. 
 
 '' Oh, then by Jove ! I '11 show you the house," said 
 Harbottle. 
 
 " Is not it late, dear ? '' asked his lady ; who was con- 
 vinced that exhibiting the interior of a modern villa, by 
 way of sight, to a native born of Grimsberry Castle, was 
 but a bad way of entertaining her ladyship, and hoped to 
 divert her husband from his attentions, and save her noble 
 visiter the trouble of mounting narrow staircases to peep 
 into pigeon-holes, and traversing long passages to admire 
 the arrangements of neatly papered bed-chambers and 
 dressing-rooms. 
 
 '' Late — no — what do you mean by late.^" said Har-
 
 130 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 bottle ; '' you did not discover how late it was till we 
 came to you, and all at once you find out how late it is." 
 
 " My dear Harbottle," said Harvey, " it is past twelve, 
 and one should not begin a voyage of discovery at such an 
 hour as this." 
 
 " Oh ! just as she likes," said Harbottle, looking ex- 
 tremely angry; "have your own way — of course: if 
 Fanny says one thing and I say another, you are the man 
 to side with her, that's natural." 
 
 It was clear to Mrs. Harbottle that her bear had done 
 dancing for that night, and, therefore, she felt it best to 
 leave him to himself, just giving Harvey such a look as 
 might induce him to adopt a similar course to that which 
 she intended herself to follow — namely, to say nothing 
 more. 
 
 "Well, Lady Frances," said the Squire, " I'm not to 
 show you my house to night, that's clear; so we will post- 
 pone it till some better opportunity." 
 
 Hereabouts entered two or three servants with trays and 
 other implements indicative of supper — crowds of glasses 
 congregated upon vast salvers, surrounding bottles of divers 
 dimensions. 
 
 " George," said Lady Frances, " it is getting late, had 
 you not better see — eh " 
 
 " Oh, the carriage is ordered," said Harbottle : " we 
 always send our friends home — but then all we ask is 
 our own time — if we find the carriage, we must have the 
 company ; and so, my lady, your ladyship must have some 
 supper, and a drop of something hot after. I 've got some 
 rum in this room as old — ay, as old as you are, I dare 
 say — capital stuff, four and twenty shillings a bottle. Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 Rum I old as herself ! the combination was most re- 
 volting ; and if the pattering rain against the windows had 
 not given powerful evidence of the state of the weather, 
 her ladyship would instantly have set out on her pilgrim- 
 age to Dale Cottage, and left the Caliban of the village to 
 the full enjoyment of his abominable practices. Her lady- 
 ship with difficulty kept her temper, and the manner in
 
 THF PARSON S DAUGHTER. Si 
 
 which she refused " any thing" was not quite so gracious 
 as her manners generally were. 
 
 Sheringhanij himself, did not at all dislike the sort of 
 life that was opening upon him — his feelings were not 
 so sensitive, nor were his nerves so delicate, as his mother's : 
 he enjoyed the absurdities of Harbottle, without being per- 
 sonally annoyed by his gancherie ; and in the conversation 
 of his new friend, Harvey, who had been speaking liberally 
 and loudly in praise of Miss Lovell, anticipated much plea- 
 sure and amusement in a circle which, as far as he could 
 judge, his right honourable parent was not very likely to 
 enter more frequently than necessary. 
 
 The party, excepting Lady Frances and Mrs. Harbottle, 
 who remained conversing with her visiter, crowded round 
 the httle well stored table; and the elderly ladies, who 
 thought, in spite of Lady Frances's dictum against suppers, 
 that when they were at Rome they should do as Rome 
 does, disposed of very considerable quantities of cold fowl, 
 tongue, jelly, cream, and other combustibles, as Mr. Har- 
 bottle, in his jocose manner, facetiously called them, and 
 did not hesitate to qualify the varied meal with certain 
 potations of Mr. Harbottle's own " brewing," the fond of 
 which was the rum coeval with her ladyship ; whose feel- 
 ings were more than ever outraged, when her tormentor 
 returned to the charge about the rum, and added, " I 
 know the year when it was made, my lady, and I have got 
 a peerage in the hbrary ; to-morrow I'll compare notes — 
 that peerage is the deuce, my lady, there we do catch you." 
 
 " I believe the peerages are vastly incorrect as to dates," 
 replied her ladyship. 
 
 It was not until past one, that Harbottle would hear of 
 the departure of his visiters ; then, he permitted the bell 
 to be rung and the horses ordered ; then came the bustle 
 of preparation, and Harvey officiated in supporting Miss 
 Oliphant, while Sheringham performed the same kind of- 
 fice to Miss Eaglefield. Harbottle, himself, affecting great 
 gravity and steadiness (scarce able to stand), gave his arm 
 to her ladyship, who took leave of Mrs. Harbottle with 
 mingled feelings of humanity and compassion, and was 
 conducted to the carriage by her beau, who wound up all
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 his performances of the evening, and eternally sealed his 
 doom in the estimation of his right honourable visiter, by 
 ■whispering familiarly to her, as they crossed the hall, — 
 " I say, don't you go and offer my servants any money for 
 taking you home ; they have plenty of wages and plenty to 
 eat and to drink — and I beg you wo'n't — it's no use hav- 
 ing my horses out at night, if you are to pay for them." 
 
 To describe the look Lady Frances gave the unconscious 
 Harbottle, when he had made this request, would be im- 
 possible — the die was cast. She made him no answer — 
 but involuntarily drawing her arm from his, she gave a 
 slight shudder, and stept into his coach, as she resolved 
 upon the instant, for the last time. 
 
 Sheringham followed his mother into the vehicle, the 
 door closed, and they drove off ; Harbottle saluting them 
 ■with a view halloa, which made the neighbouring dales and 
 rocks to echo. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Ambition ! thou art like the pelican, 
 The parent of a numerous race of cares, 
 ■W hich prey upon the breast that gives them birth-" 
 
 Bellers. 
 
 " That's a mighty agreeable gentleman we dined with yes- 
 terday," said Lady PVances to her son, as she dropped a 
 lump of sugar into her tea-cup at breakfast the next morn- 
 ing : " why, George, he is absolutely a monster." 
 
 " I am inclined to think with you," said her ladyship's 
 son ; '' but according to the proverb which the elderly ladies 
 last night quoted, and which suggests doing at Rome what 
 Rome does, I think we may as well live upon terms of 
 civility with him, so long as we are his neighbours." 
 
 " Of civility, decidedly," replied Lady Frances, " but 
 not of intimacy — one is civil to a footman; but I never
 
 THE parson's daughter. 33 
 
 yet saw any human being with whom, I am sure, I never 
 could be intimate, till I made the acquaintance of Mr. 
 Harbottle ; and as for his %vife, why really " 
 
 " Oh, my dear mother ! " interrupted Frederick, " not 
 a word against the wife — she is one of the most interesting 
 specimens of patient suffering I ever beheld." 
 
 " I admit that there is a sort of amiable attention in her 
 manner," said her ladyship, " which gives the idea of her 
 being amazingly interested in whatever one is discussing 
 ■with her ; but then there is something about her which 
 makes her to me very unsatisfactory ; that Miss Lovell, I 
 admit, is pretty." 
 
 " Beautiful ! " exclaimed George. 
 
 " No, not that," said Lady Frances, " pretty is the 
 word — a delicate skin, blue eyes, and light hair, have their 
 merits; but there again the manner is wanting — the air 
 of a gentlewoman, she has not a notion of it — she sneaks 
 about a room as if she were ashamed of herself, and gets 
 out of one's presence as if she had committed some heinous 
 offence." 
 
 " Rely upon it," said George, " if Emma Lovell were 
 seen and known, she would catch half the hearts in Lon- 
 don — the reserve and coldness which strike you as ^(n(- 
 cherie are to me the most attractive points about her. I 
 hate the universal amiability of misses, who smile alike on 
 all around — give me something to win, and something 
 worthy to be won." 
 
 " Now, my dear George," said Lady Frances, " all I 
 ask of you is to do me the favour not to fall in love with 
 any thing here ; Binford is not the emporium at which I 
 should like you to barter your heart — a little harmless 
 flirtation with Mrs. Harbottle I do not interdict, and I dare 
 say she will be vastly happy to enlist you as her goose- 
 berry-picker ; but, for mercy's sake, do not commit your- 
 self in any serious engagement." 
 
 " It strikes me that my young friend, j\Ir. Harvey, 
 already holds the appointment you design for me in Mrs. 
 Harbottle's establishment." 
 
 " There we differ," said her ladyship ; " that Mr. Har- 
 veyj if I am not mistaken, holds a place much nearer her 
 
 D
 
 34 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 heart — a gooseberry picker ought neither to be so young 
 nor so handsome as Mi. Harvey — his duty is to hover 
 about, to watch his patroness's wants and wishes ; escort 
 her, if she require it, to the supper-room, make way for 
 her and secure a place for her, stay by her, until somebody 
 comes up Avith whom she Avishes to flirt, and then with- 
 draw and give his place to that person ; to be constantly 
 on the qui vive, to take off the attention of any young pro- 
 tegee, who may be rather de trop, and even go the length 
 of dancing with the said protogce, if necessary ; to hunt 
 out his patroness's shawls ; call up her carriage, and, if 
 required, go out shooting or sailing with her husband (as 
 the case may be), on the shortest notice — these and a 
 hundred less important duties fall to the share of the goose- 
 berry-picker ; but Mr. Harvey's manner to Mrs. Harbottle 
 has much more of eniprc.ssement about it than is either re- 
 quired or encouraged in that particular capacity." 
 
 Scarcely had her ladyship given her definition of the 
 duties of the lady's staff-officer, when a noise of bells ring- 
 ing, dogs barking, horses prancing, and wheels grinding 
 the gravel, announced an arrival. It was Harbottle him- 
 self — who entered, followed by Lady Frances's footman^ 
 bearing a huge basket of fruit — pines, peaches, grapes, 
 and all the other best products of his hot-houses. 
 
 " How d'ye do, my lady.-*" said Harbottle: " I have 
 brought ye some fruit, my lady — how d'ye do .-^ Not the 
 worse for raking — my poor wife has got a sad headache ; 
 I never have a head-ache, ha ! ha ! ha ! She is a delicate 
 plant — I have had the best advice in the world for lier 
 every where — Paris, Rome, Naples, and Menna — all one 
 to me where I am — money is money, and I can always 
 have my money's worth ; these are magnificent grapes, 
 arn't they — I calculate they cost me at least five and 
 twenty shillings a ])ound ; but as I say, what does it sig- 
 nify ? Well, George, what are you for to-day ? " 
 
 " A little quiet," said (ieorge ; " I have some letters to 
 Avrite, and I have promised, moreover, to call at the Par- 
 sonage." 
 
 " Oh, oh!" said Harbottle, with a laugh that was loud 
 and harsh enough to make the window-glass vibrate, " that's 
 it — 1 know it — 1 saw it — 1 said to Mrs. H., I smelt a
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. S5 
 
 rat — Emma Lovell has made a hole in George Shering- 
 ham's heart — ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " George Sheringham ! " muttered Lady Frances. 
 
 " She's a charming girl, and a good girl^ but poor — 
 not fifty pounds in the world, I beUeve^ beyond the Hving, 
 which, considering you have nothing yourself^ is a bit of a 
 drawback. " 
 
 Lady Frances felt herself turning alternately crimson and 
 white, to think that she had so fallen from her high estate as 
 to hear a stranger in her own house, calling her son George, 
 discussing the merits of an alliance with Miss Lovell, and 
 commiserating his poverty as the bar to its completion. 
 
 " I am quite sure, Mr. Harbottle," said her ladyship, 
 " that a son of mine will never inconvenience the young 
 lady by his persecutions." 
 
 " Oh, she likes him amazingly," said Harbottle: " these 
 women have a sort of free-masonry of their own ; and the 
 only difference between their craft and ours is, that they 
 see no use in a secret, if they mayn't tell it, and so she 
 told my wife what an agreeable man she thought George, 
 and my wife told me — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " George, as you call him, sir," said her ladyship, " is, 
 I am sure, highly flattered by the information." 
 
 " And uncommon lucky in securing my wife's friend- 
 ship too," interrupted Harbottle : " you may rely upon it, 
 though I dare say you know enough of such things without 
 my telling you, that a female friend will contribute more 
 to a lover's success in a month than all his own labour and 
 pains in a year without her — that's the way I got JNIrs. H." 
 
 " I am sure, Mr. Harbottle," said Lady Frances, " we 
 are greatly indebted to you." 
 
 " I am, I sincerely admit," said George. 
 
 " You will find her up at lunch at the hall," continued 
 Harbottle, " and remember, faint heart never won fair 
 lady ; and for all she does seem so distant and reserved, 
 when she does take a fancy, she is a most affectionate crea- 
 ture — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " Is she in the habit of taking fancies?" said Lady 
 Frances, who devoutly wished her familiar friend at the 
 bottom of one of his own fish-ponds. 
 
 p2
 
 36 
 
 THR PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " No, no, come hang it. Lady Frances," said Harbottle, 
 "■ you are too sharp upon me — what I mean to say is, that 
 I never in my life saw one of those quiet, silent girls — 
 iced beauties, as Mrs. H. calls them, who, when she did 
 thaw, was not the most " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Harbottle," said George, " do talk of 
 something else ; my mother is in an agony at the bare sup- 
 position of my acting upon your advice." 
 
 " Agony," said Harbottle ; " why, my lady, I think it 
 would be a nice match enough — with nothing on either 
 side, you know, they can't reproach one another, eh ? Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said Lady Frances, drawing herself up 
 into a graceful attitude, " these are subjects which one 
 does not usually discuss in this manner. I have no fear 
 that my son, with the feelings and principles which I know 
 him to possess, will ever do any thing which will bring 
 sorrow upon me, or discredit upon himself; we are, how- 
 ever, yet such perfect strangers, that the very conversation 
 of this morning repeated, as it may be, at luncheon, does 
 not appear to me to be quite prudent — agreeable I am 
 sure it is not." 
 
 " Don't be angry. Lady Frances," said Harbottle, with 
 as much ease and familiarity as if ho had known her for 
 twenty years. " I dare say old Lovell would think twice 
 before he let his daughter marry a man without money. 
 I was only joking about that ; but I said what 1 will say 
 again, that she is a charming girl." 
 
 The conversation heie took a more general turn; and the 
 praises of Emma Lovell, which sounded, even in Harbottle's 
 liarsh voice like nuisic to George's ears, gave place to a 
 conversation intinitely less interesting to George, and infi- 
 nitely more gratifying to his mother. 
 
 " I am going over," said Harbottle, " to the fifteenth 
 and last day's sale at Macedoine Hall, where I have made a 
 good many purchases ; and 1 declare to you, my lady, I am 
 glad the sale is so nearly over, for I know I should go on 
 making purchases to the end of the chapter — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 " 'Tis a fine place," said her ladyship: "poor dear 
 Lor>.' Errington, he was an agreeable person enough."
 
 THE parson's PAUGIITER. 37 
 
 " I dare say he was, my lady/' replied Harbottle : " I 
 never had the honour of his acquaintance — he and his 
 lady cut me and mine ; so I waited." 
 
 George understood enough of this affair between the 
 families, and, short as his acquaintance had been with 
 Binford, had been illuminated in this particular by his 
 friend Harvey, who had admitted to him in a sotte voce 
 conversation after dinner, that Harbottle, beyond the mere 
 pleasure of possessing divers and sundry articles belonging 
 to the late Lord Errington, enjoyed a still greater delight 
 in buying things out of a house for money, into which 
 house he never had been admitted until by a five shilling 
 catalogue to vieAv the ''• effects." 
 
 " Pray," said Lady Frances, " has Lady Errington any 
 family ? " 
 
 " Three daughters," said Harbottle: " no great beauties; 
 they all take after their father — ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Melancholy for themselves, poor dears, but very satis- 
 factory to their parents," said Lady Frances ; " and Lady 
 Errington, who was she — I quite forget?" 
 
 " Upon my word I don't think I ever heard," said Har- 
 bottle. " It was the same as in my case, I believe, the 
 money was all on the man's side." 
 
 " And what are you going to buy to-day, sir ? " said 
 Lady Frances. 
 
 " I really don't know," replied the Squire. 
 
 " What did you buy yesterday ? " said George. 
 
 " Oh, I'll show you," said Harbottle, pulling out of his 
 pocket a huge crumpled catalogue, collated and concocted 
 by that prince of all auctioneers, Mr. George Kobins ; — 
 " here is what I bought yesterday. 
 
 '" Lot o87- — Two gold dragons with silver tails and 
 amethyst eyes, with movable heads, for burning pastiles.' 
 
 " For those I gave two hundred and forty guineas — 
 cheap at the money. His lordship paid six hundred pounds 
 for them at Storr and Mortimer's. 
 
 " Extraordinary bargains," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Then," said the Squire — " ' Lot 594. — A gold duck 
 (the Errington crest), with music inside, and mechanism to 
 move it, containing four beautifully cut-glass scent bottles.'
 
 o8 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 I got that," continued he, " for eighty-nine pounds — the 
 old Countess of Bromsgrove sat opposite to me and bid 
 up to eighty-five, but I would have had it if she had gone 
 on till midnight, eh ? Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " It is a useful article," said George, smilingly. 
 
 '' That's not it,"' said Harbottle ; " I did not want either 
 the duck or the bottles ; but to be beat by an old dowager 
 countess with a jointure of not more per annum than it 
 costs me to keep my hounds was what I could not stand 
 
 — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Lady Frances shuddered again just perceptibly. 
 
 " Then, my lady," said Harbottle, " there was lot 2538., 
 47th in the thirteenth day's sale. ' A cedar bagatelle 
 board, silver gilt clamps and bindings, lined with purple 
 Genoa velvet on silver tripod stand, supported by gold 
 ducks, silver balls and ivory cues, complete.' That was 
 my last hit — got it home this morning. The silver balls 
 wo'n't run upon the velvet, and the ivory cues split the first 
 blow Fanny made : — but, no matter, there it is — and so 
 I must be off for the last day — adieu, my lady. Shering- 
 ham, remember luncheon at half-past one — you know your 
 way — and as for your ladyship, just treat us as old friends 
 
 — don't stand upon ceremony with us, you'll find us always 
 the same, old lady — no stiffness — no finery — good day 
 
 — good day — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 And so he made his exit. 
 
 " Ceremony with the Harbottles ! " thought her lady- 
 ship — " old lady ! " — " always the same" — " no finery" 
 
 — mercy on me, what notions the people have ; as if 
 money could purchase what they most stand in need of." 
 And after this reflection her ladyship proceeded to lecture 
 her son upon the necessity of taking care that he neither 
 made a fool of himself, nor was made a fool of by the 
 Parson's Daughter. She then retired to her boudoir to 
 "write manifold sheets of sentiment to divers and sundry of 
 her noble friends, with whom still intending to make her 
 autumnal visitations (which she did with an archdiaconal 
 regularity) to their various country houses she as regularly 
 corresponded, and (Jeorge proceeded on the back of his 
 pony to Binford Hall, for the express purpose of meeting 
 the said Parson's Daughter at luncheon.
 
 THE parson's DAUGHTEK. 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon 
 
 Than love that would seem hid. Suakspeare. 
 
 The monotony of a country life, as those who have 
 tried it must feel, is, of all things in the world the most 
 delightful, if that can be called monotony which, although 
 each day's arrangement may be the same, presents a conti- 
 nued variety of minor incidents springing out of the general 
 order of things. 
 
 We have just announced the first luncheon at Binford, 
 at which were assembled the lady of the house. Miss Le- 
 vel], j\lr. Harvey, and Captain Sheringham. It proved 
 so agreeable, that an engagement was made to meet on 
 the morrow at the same hour — from that morrow and that 
 luncheon grew another, until, for ten or twelve days con- 
 secutively, these "creatures of habit" passed their morn- 
 ings together, excepting on the two Sundays which inter- 
 vened. 
 
 It was on the second Monday of this agreeable associa- 
 tion (for the Squire was during the day actively employed 
 in some of those invigorating sports, which do so much 
 honour to our countrymen), that when the party broke up 
 to dress for dinner, (for after the luncheon, came a drive ; 
 and after the return from the drive, a walk in the garden ; 
 and after that, the separation for the day,) Emma Lovell 
 found herself, for the first time, too late for her fathers 
 dinner ; and Mrs. Harbottle felt annoyed beyond measure, 
 that she could not venture so far to infringe upon the 
 authority of her lord and master, as to invite Sheringham 
 to join their family party. 
 
 A pony phaeton was ready to take ]\Iiss Lovell home, but 
 strange to say, although she was late, she — the distant, 
 timid, and retiring Emma — declared a preference for 
 walking ; and, in reply to her fair friend's most reasonable 
 statement as to the greater expedition of the carriage, de- 
 
 D 4
 
 40 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 clared that as she was too late for papa, it could not be 
 helped, and as he must have dined long before, a few 
 minutes one way or the other could make no difference. 
 George's arm was therefore accepted ; and Mrs. Harbottle^ 
 with Charles Harvey for her supporter, having chaperoned 
 Emma to the lodges, the gallant son of Neptune (and of 
 Lady Frances Sheringham) escorted her through the quiet 
 village of Binford to the Parsonage, where he safely depo- 
 sited his divinity at the door of the divine. 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Harbottle as they were walking 
 homewards, to Charles, with whom she had grown into a 
 habit of confidence, " our new neighbour and our fair 
 friend seem to sympathise amazingly." 
 
 " So do I," said Harvey : " how animated she has 
 grown ! — those mild blue eyes upon which a man fancied 
 he might look with impunity are now lighted up into a 
 fire and brilliancy hitherto imperceptible. I suppose, like 
 the ' snow on Jura's steep,' of which Moore so sweetly 
 sings, the ray has beamed, whose touch is fire ; and your 
 iced beauty is about to melt." 
 
 " Not into tears, I hope," said Mrs. Harbottle ? — "I 
 know no human being for whom I have a higher regard 
 than I have for Emma Lovell — and fervently do I hope 
 and pray that she will think before she concludes on such 
 a step as marriage. A momentary decision involves the 
 happiness or misery of a whole existence. He seems ami- 
 able, high-spirited, and kind-hearted; extremely well-man- 
 nered, very agreeable, and generally accomplished ; but it 
 requires time and experience to study the character of the 
 man who, for ever and aye, is to have the control, the 
 guidance, and devotion of one's whole life and conduct, 
 and with whom, at all times and all seasons, and under all 
 circumstances, one is to be linked." 
 
 "Why, Fanny," said Charles Harvey (who sometimes 
 went the length of calling her by her (Christian name), 
 " you have all on a sudden turned lecturer, and, as lec- 
 turers often do, preach what you do not practise — how 
 long did you know Harbottle before you married h'nn?" 
 
 " Charles, (Charles," said Mrs. Harbottle, pressing the 
 arm she leant upon, as if to check the turn the convers-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 41 
 
 ation was taking, " do not quote my case as an example 
 for any body else. I have every reason to be happy with 
 my husband — wealth, and all indulgences that he can 
 afford me, are at my command — but our marriage was 
 one which, God forbid, I ever should offer as a precedent for 
 the guidance of others. He was rich, and appeared good- 
 humoured and lively, and was a great favourite with my 
 father. I was a child when we married, and dutifully 
 obeyed that father's command. I made his happiness, 
 
 and " 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " and . " 
 
 " — Secured my OAvn," continued she, after a pause. "\ 
 ought to be happy, I am happy — but — don't misunder- 
 stand me — it is a kind of happiness which would not 
 gratify the better regulated mind of Emma Lovell, supe- 
 rior as she is to me in every thing. All I desire is within 
 my reach ; nothing that I express a wish for is denied 
 me ; but as you, who Uve with us so much, must see and 
 feel, there are. times when the peculiarities of his temper 
 and character create pain, and sorrow, and anxiety for me ; 
 but he intends well and kindly, and — what I mean — and 
 I am sure I can scarcely tell how we have been led into 
 this strain of conversation — I — that is — in short — to 
 Emma Lovell, such a match would be misery. She shrinks 
 from the boisterous mirth in which he delights ; she is un- 
 ambitious, and would, I am sure, without talking romance, 
 prefer a cottage with the man she could really love and 
 esteem to a palace with a being like — like — I mean a 
 being of an uncertain character, whose pursuits were not 
 congenial with her own, and whose temper, influenced by 
 habit, was not to be depended upon. In short, I think — 
 I think that — Sheringham appears to have made such an 
 impression upon her, that if you — are anxious — not — 
 to lose, her — you had — better be on the alert." 
 
 " I ! " said Harvey, ''I — I — would not — my " 
 
 He said no more ; but he felt that he would have given 
 the world to speak : his tongue clove to the roof of his 
 mouth, his cheek flushed, and his heart beat, and they 
 walked on ; and Fanny, not seeking to break the silence, 
 kept her eyes upon the ground, and, with an air of gaiety
 
 42 THE parson's DAUGHTER; 
 
 which a starting tear belied, struck up the grass with her 
 parasol, as they passed along, by way of seeming thought- 
 less. 
 
 The first dinner-bell sounded as they reached the door 
 of the house — but the silence remained unbroken. Fanny 
 had surely disclosed more of herself and her feelings, in 
 describing the feelings of her friend, than she had ever 
 disclosed before to Harvey, or even intended to disclose 
 then. He, on the other hand, had declared in brief but 
 striking terms his total indifference towards Emma LoveU, 
 with a devoted affection for whom Harbottle was fond of 
 charging him. 
 
 They walked forwards to the hall-door, still without 
 speaking; and when they arrived there, it seemed as if 
 their silence had been so long protracted, that any effort to 
 get up a new conversation would be in vain. They reached 
 the steps; and having in a hurried manner withdrawn her 
 arm from that of Charles, Mrs. Harbottle ran hastily into 
 the house without uttering a syllable, or even so much as 
 looking at her companion. 
 
 Harvey went to his room to dress for dinner, but whether 
 on his head or his feet was to him a matter of uncertainty; 
 he felt as if he were in a dream, or had just awakened from 
 one. Little had been said in his walk with Mrs. Har- 
 bottle, — but never was the eloquence of silence more 
 powerful; — yet what had happened? After all, she had 
 spoken only interestedly for others — she had admitted the 
 kindness and affection of her husband ; in fact, slie had 
 expressed nothing but an anxious desire that Charles should 
 not refer to her, as an example for other girls to follow, in 
 their decisions upon matrimony, 
 
 Fanny's sensations were far different from Harvey's. 
 With a heart and mind full of the highest principle, and 
 imbued with the strongest feelings of the purest honour, 
 she felt conscious that, in the confidence of friendship 
 which she entertained for him, she had let slip, for the 
 first time in her life to man, the secref that, with all 
 " a])pliances and means to boot," her happiness was not 
 complete — that in her husband she vainly sought for 
 a companion and friend — and that, however strongly
 
 THE parson's daughter. 43 
 
 bound by religion and duty to " love, honour, and obey" 
 him, she hopelessly yet constantly endeavoured to attach 
 him to herself by gentler ties than those which duty pre- 
 scribes, and make him love her for ^qualities which she 
 possessed, and of which, without vanity, she knew the 
 value, but which every day's experience convinced her he 
 could not justly appreciate. 
 
 It is true that Emma Lovell knew this secret of her 
 heart ; for she was in her entire confidence ; and to Emma 
 Lovell she had often urged the merits of Charles Harvey, 
 whose mind, and temper, and disposition, and character, 
 she used constantly to assure her, were formed to make 
 her happy ; and in the frequent repetition of his praise, 
 she was sincere and disinterested beyond suspicion : while 
 Harvey, on the other hand, fascinated by the conversation 
 and society of I\Irs. Harbottle, saw in her only the charm- 
 ing companion and the amiable friend, without a thought 
 or wish which could unpleasantly interfere with the recol- 
 lection, that she was the wife of his kind yet boisterous 
 host, whose unbounded hospitality he constantly eulogised, 
 and whose honour he would at any hour have vindicated 
 with his life. 
 
 Up to the period of the conversation just recorded, these 
 had been his sentiments, these his opinions ; but one of 
 the moments which decide the fate of woman, and man 
 too, had arrived, and his thoughts began to take a new 
 turn. The mirror of his mind no longer reflected Har- 
 bottle as the thoughtless, ratthng, open-hearted Squire; he 
 saw him the very contrast of tenderness and gentleness; he 
 beheld him harsh, coarse, vain of his wealth, and violent 
 in his temper ; his accomplishments he reduced to two — 
 hard drinking and hard riding : on these he piqued him- 
 self, and by alternating his adoption of them, either drank 
 till he grew first peevish and then passionate, or rode till 
 he was fatigued to death, and slept away the evening on 
 one of his crimson velvet sofas, the heau-ideal of a tired 
 post-boy. Add to this, that the leading characteristics of 
 his mind, beyond the vanity of riches, were a sweeping 
 suspicion of female virtue, and a splendid contempt for 
 female intellect, and Harvey could no longer hesitate in
 
 44 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 deciding that he had all along been mistaken, and that 
 Fanny must be, and indeed was — a miserable woman. 
 
 And so she was — but rendered less miserable by the 
 endurance of the ills which actually surrounded her, than 
 by her indiscreet confession of them to Charles. Her 
 manner while dressing was so wild, and her language 
 so incoherent, that her maid endeavoured to persuade her 
 not to go down to dinner; for well- trained souhrettes have 
 a vast dread of those incoherences in language which tem- 
 porary excitement sometimes produces ; inasmuch as they 
 know that ladies occasionally give grounds for great sus- 
 picion or alarm, by uttering words which, in fact, have no 
 meaning but which, coupled with passing events by in- 
 terested people, may really place them in very awkward 
 situations. Mrs. Harbottle, however, struggled with her 
 feelings, and came into the drawing-room before dinner, 
 looking as lovely and as calm as if nothing beyond the 
 ordinary events of the day had occurred. 
 
 Harvey's embarrassment was more visible : unpractised 
 in the art of lady. killing, and wholly unskilled in the hy- 
 pocrisy so essential to support the double character which 
 he seemed most involuntarily destined to play, he felt a 
 necessity for restraint which he had never experienced in 
 that house before. Fanny had given him her confidence ; 
 she had trusted more to Ii'im than she had ever yet trusted 
 to man. He felt that if he sat down by her, as he was 
 wont to do, and joked with her upon the common occur- 
 rences of the day, she might think him either devoid of 
 sympathy in her unliappiness, or presuming upon the 
 favour she had unquestionably shown him ; while, if he 
 assumed a colder and more distant manner, she might 
 fancy him ungrateful for her confidence, or, as the friend 
 of her husband, outraged by the candour of her negative 
 admissions. 
 
 Mrs. Harbottle saw his difficulty, and did not suffer 
 him for a moment to hesitate as to the course he was 
 to pursue with regard to her. She spoke to him as if 
 nothing had been said, appeared to have forgotten all that 
 had passed, and took upon herself to detail the proceedings 
 of the morning to the Squire, who brought home to dine
 
 THE parson's daughter. 45 
 
 with him two of his favourite neighbours, much in the 
 habit of bowing the knee at his shrine, and remaining 
 with him till ,two or three o'clock in the morning, in the 
 enjoyment of what are called the pleasures of conviviality. 
 So far all went well. 
 
 " Master Charles," said the Squire, after Mrs. Harbottle 
 had retired from the dinner table, " the wine is Avith you ; 
 why you seem squeamish to-day — drink, man — drink ; 
 that 's my own importation, stands me in twelve and six- 
 pence a bottle ; but what does that matter ? — what 's 
 money made for, as I say, but to circulate ? Come, fill a 
 bumper. 'Gad, I suspect he 's in love, gentlemen — upset 
 by a pair of blue eyes. I know the secret : our Parson's 
 Daughter here has picked up a London lover, who is going 
 to snap her up from Charles, and he is dowh-hearted about 
 it. Is not that it, Charles ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 To describe the horror which this appeal excited in poor 
 Charles, whose heart was bursting — who saw the bumper 
 proffered by the hand of his hospitable, hard-headed host, 
 conscious as he was of the real cause of his low spirits — 
 is impossible. He tried to smile, but the effort was vain ; 
 and he swallowed the wine, tasteless to his palate, by an 
 almost convulsive effort. 
 
 " Poor fellow I " said Harbottle, " I pity you with all 
 my heart ; I hate crossings in love : of course, with my 
 fortune, I knew none of them — plenty of girls ready 
 to jump at me, and I took my choice, and married Fanny, 
 because I liked Iter, and because the liking was mutual ; 
 and so we had no weepings and no willows, but all mirth 
 and merriment. She cried a bit, I recollect, at starting ; 
 but the sun soon shone, and we have been as happy as the 
 day is long ever since — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 The turn the conversation had taken was painfully dis- 
 tressing to Charles, who sat listening to the praises of 
 Fanny, and the often reiterated eulogies on her beauty, 
 and the still oftener repeated declarations of her goodness, 
 in a state of fever, from which he was only relieved by the 
 starting of a new subject, and a proposition by the Squire 
 to make up a fishing party for the morning. 
 
 " I think," said the Squire, " I can promise you a
 
 46 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 southerly wind ; if I am wrong — for money wo'n't buy a 
 wind, except in Lapland — we must put up with a westerly 
 one; and, if it happens to be cloudy, I care little, for 
 my part, from what quarter it blows. But then we must 
 be stirring early. Charles, you will be in your glory. Mr. 
 Harvey is a dab at killing trout ; drake-fly, wasp-fly, or 
 stone-fly, all one to him. I never saw a fellow handle 
 a rod or land a fish more knowingly." 
 
 On any previous day to this, Harvey's eyes would have 
 glistened with pleasure at the anticipation of the promised 
 sport ; in one instant would he have responded to the call 
 of his host, and have entered into all the arcana of the art, 
 ■with an animation and precision most gratifying to the 
 shades of JMessrs. 'Walton and Cotton ; but to-night, the 
 proposition (tasteless as the prospect of the diversion itself 
 had become) involved a variety of doubts and uncertainties. 
 He was engaged to the repetition of that day's luncheon on 
 the morrow — his absence would perhaps annoy Mrs. 
 Harbottle — his promise had been given. Why, then, 
 ■when Harbottle, perceiving his hesitation, inquired if he 
 had any engagement to prevent his joining them — why 
 did he not at once say that he was engaged to the luncheon 
 and subsequent drive with his wife, Emma Lovell, and 
 George Sheringham ? 
 
 It was the consciousness — it was the self-accusation — 
 it was the combination, in his own disturbed mind, of the 
 simplest and most innocent of arrangements with other 
 and more important events, which stopped his mouth. 
 For the first time in his life, he felt a restraint upon his 
 tongue when he attempted to speak the plain truth ; and for 
 fear of exciting a suspicion, when there was in fact nothing 
 to suspect, he declared himself free from all engagements, 
 and ready to attend them. 
 
 " Well said, Charles," cried the Squire. — " Pass the 
 Avine, gentlemen. We '11 send for Hallett, and tell him to 
 get the tackle in order, and have the boat ready to take us 
 to Swimmer's Ford, not later than five o'clock — earlier, if 
 you please. We 'II send down breakfast to the Ford, and 
 enjoy ourselves like aldermen. — Charles, go like a good 
 fellow into the drawing-room, and tell Fanny our scheme.
 
 THE parson's Daughter. 47 
 
 and see if she has any objection to it. I think it is always 
 amiable to ask, though I do follow my own vagary after- 
 wards — ha ! ha ! ha ! and I say, Charles, tell her we are 
 coming to coffee forthwith." 
 
 Fifty times had Charles been sent on similar embassies, 
 and had Fanny been his sister, he could not have more 
 fraternally nor yet more affectionately fulfilled his mission. 
 To-night, he felt as if there were something wrong, some- 
 thing improper, something guilty in it. He went, but 
 hesitatingly, and when he reached the drawing-room, 
 instead of feeling disappointed at Fanny's absence, it 
 was the greatest relief to him to find, that (being, as one 
 of the servants said, unwell) she had already retired to 
 rest. 
 
 But then he must labour under the imputation of levity 
 and heartlessness till the next day's dinner time. He had 
 broken his engagement with jNIrs. Harbottle, to join her 
 husband in a sport, which, however agreeable, detached 
 him entirely from the party which he himself had been 
 most active in making up. This he could not endure. 
 What could he do to escape the suspicion of such fickle- 
 ness .'' — Of course, beg Harbottle to explain to his wife 
 his anxious wish that he should go with them, and make 
 his excuse (if, considering the terms on which they had so 
 long livedj excuse were necessary) for not joining them at 
 luncheon. 
 
 That he could not do. He was on the point of joining 
 in one of the " uncongenial pursuits" of her husband, 
 to which she had alluded, if not by words at least by im- 
 implication, and he could not make him the medium 
 of communication to announce this change in his reso- 
 lution ; a change effected in fact for her sake, or rather for 
 fear of mentioning the " once familiar word" which the 
 recollection of the unlooked for conversation of the morn- 
 ing had " forbidden him to speak." 
 
 Oh, mischief, mischief ! how easily art thou generated ! 
 
 What was his resource .'* "Whilst he was doubtinir 
 
 hesitating — trembling — ay, trembling — an inkstand 
 caught his sight — paper, pens, wax, all the implements 
 were there — a note to Fannv — a few words woidd ex-
 
 48 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 plain all. How could he endure the suspicion which he 
 knew must attach to him, of cokl-heartedness, or something 
 worse } — In less than five minutes a note was written, 
 folded, sealed ; — but how to be delivered — this was his 
 doubt. He opened the drawing-room door, and in the 
 lobby, passing onwards to her mistress's room, he met Mrs. 
 Devon, ]\Irs. Harbottle's maid. The coincidence was 
 strange, but accidental ; here were the means direct. 
 
 '' Devon," said Charles, feeling himself as pale as death, 
 " give tliat to your mistress." 
 
 "■' Yes, sir," said Devon, and passed on. 
 
 It was done — the rubicon was passed — there was 
 nothing in the note that Harbottle and a jury of husbands 
 might not have read, as we may presently see, but it was 
 a note — the first he had ever found it necessary to write, 
 the first that maid had ever been asked to carry. 
 
 He returned to the dining-room, was rallied by his host 
 upon his long tcte-a-tcte with his wife, announced her pre- 
 mature retirement, and swallowed more wine ; to wine suc- 
 ceeded coffee, to coffee liqueur, to liqueur broiled bones ; to 
 those, all sorts of potations; and at half-past one the party 
 separated for the night, to meet and begin the day at half- 
 past four. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1 would Iiavo some confidence with you, 
 
 Tliat tlectriis you nearly. Shakspeare. 
 
 " I SHOULD like to know," said Mrs. Devon, as she sat at 
 breakfast with the house-steward, the gentlemen out of 
 livery, the groom of the chambers and other privileged 
 persons of the household, " the meaning of your master's 
 sending that note last niglit to my lady." She addressed 
 herself to Harvey's valet. 
 
 " What does it signify, Mrs. Devon } " replied Evans, 
 " I suppose my master had something to say to her, or he
 
 THE parson's daughter. 49 
 
 would not have sent it; besides, I should have thought 
 you had too much tact, as we call it, to talk about such 
 things." 
 
 " Tact ! Mr. Evans," said Mrs. Devon, " I like that 
 vastly. When there is reason to be cautious, I believe 
 nobody has inore tact than 1 ; but every body knows what 
 is expected of them when they come to a place. VV'lien I 
 lived with Lady Saxmundham, as charming a lady as ever 
 drew breath, if she sent for me even, I no more dared go 
 into the room without knocking than I dared fly, especially 
 during the hours of morning calls ; and all the time that 
 Sir Harry Framlingham used to come there, day after day, 
 before they -were found out, I was always ready at the bot- 
 tom of the back staircase, to take any letter he might have 
 to leave; and I'm sure when I was examined on the trial, 
 nobody who knew so much, could have said so little as I 
 did. I like your talking of tact to mc !" 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Ilollis, the house-steward, " I don't 
 like to hear of these things going on. I have often thought 
 Evans's master rather too much all-in-all in our family. I 
 have lived with my master ever since he was a boy ; I 
 know his good-nature, I know his violence of temper, and 
 I believe, when he is in a passion, nothing but blood would 
 quench it ; and so, for a double reason, I dislike all this 
 conversation, and I hope we shall have no more of it here. 
 My mistress is, I dare say, a very nice lady, and in my 
 opinion " 
 
 " Too good for this world, ]\Ir. HoUis," interrupted 
 Evans ; " for if she had only managed Mrs. Devon as Lady 
 Saxmundham did, we shoukl not have heard this story of 
 the letter, which, I must say, Mrs. Devon might as -well 
 have not told." 
 
 " I don't know that I should have noticed it, as it is," 
 said ]\Irs. Devon, somewhat angry, " only that no con- 
 fidence is placed in me ; trust me, and you might as well 
 try to get a secret out of an oyster. But if 1 find out 
 things of my own head, 1 have a right to do as 1 please ; 
 and what made me think of it the more, was the flurry my 
 lady was in before dinner. 1 'm sure I never saw her so in 
 my Hfe, and "
 
 50 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Here the sudden ringing of Mrs. Harbottle's bell put an 
 end to the conversation. 
 
 From this brief extract, the reader may in some degree 
 comprehend the extent of mischief innocently done by the 
 agitated, wretched Harvey, who had inadvertently, and with 
 no ill meaning, sown the seeds of dissension in that family, 
 the fruits of which were not to be housed even in his 
 lifetime. 
 
 But if the billet, innocent as it was, which he wrote, 
 had created a sensation amongst the servants, what had 
 been its effect upon Fanny ! The moment she saw Devon 
 enter the room with a note, her worst fears were excited, 
 and in the sequel her worst anticipations realised. Not 
 only did its appearance convince her, that her incautious 
 admissions of the morning had emboldened Charles to 
 adopt a mode of addressing her which he had never before 
 attempted ; not only did she see in this change of circum- 
 stances a change of feeling on his part towards her, but 
 she saw, what it was clear he had entirely overlooked, that 
 the novel, and it may be added, suspicious mode of com- 
 munication which he had adopted, through the medium of 
 her maid, (whose connivance in her whole lifetime she had 
 never sought, and whose confidence she had never made,) 
 could not fail to expose her to the observation of the whole 
 clique of upper servants. 
 
 These were the minor considerations which perplexed 
 her at the moment; but they sank into nothing when she 
 read the following lines, written evidently in haste and 
 trepidation : — 
 
 " I have been invited to join a fishing party with him, 
 to-morrow. I am, as you know, engaged to you, with 
 Emma and Capt. Shcringham, at luncheon ; I felt it was 
 better to accept the invitation. We start at four to-morrow 
 morning — we shall meet at dinner. I could not go with- 
 out explaining why I did so, and, when I came to tlie 
 drawing-room, you were gone. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " C. H."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 51 
 
 The worst she feared had come to pass. One day before, 
 what would it have signified whether he broke an engage- 
 ment with the wife to accept an engagement with the hus- 
 band ? They Hved on the most intimate terms — they 
 were as one family — he had now separated the community 
 of interests between them. Why? — because she. had set 
 him the example in the morning. 
 
 Her first impulse was to explain the whole affair to 
 Harbottle when he should come from supper ; but at that 
 period of the evening, or rather morning, he was usually 
 ill calculated to comprehend clearly the points of any detail 
 submitted to him ; and she felt sure that the lurking 
 demon, jealousy, which never yet had shown itself on 
 account of Harvey, would be roused into fury, if, in the 
 confusion of his ideas, he jumbled the note written by 
 Charles and sent clandestinely to his wife, by her maid, 
 with the recollection of the intimacy in which they all 
 lived. Had it been morning she would have made the 
 matter a laughing one — as it was, silence was her only 
 resource ; but if any thing had been wanting to add to 
 the pang she already felt, it was the too certain assurance 
 that the character of Harvey's affection for her — for she 
 was conscious of his affection — was totally changed in 
 the course of the last twelve hours. 
 On her own course she was resolved. 
 The morning dawned clear and fine, and scarcely had 
 the clock proclanned the hour of four, when Harbottle, who 
 had purchased a sound sleep of three hours (as he pro- 
 fessed to purchase every thing else) with wine and other 
 libations in which he had indulged, rose quietly, and pro- 
 ceeded to dress for the promised sport, leaving the lovely 
 Fanny in a sweet slumber, as he imagined. But, no ; 
 sleep had been a stranger to her eyes that night, and wlien 
 she came down to her solitary breakfast, she felt wretched 
 — unrefreshed — unhappy, 
 
 AVlien Emma Lovell arrived at the hall, Avhich was before 
 the appearance of Captain Sheringham, Fanny, who kept 
 no secrets from her, and who looked to her as the only 
 consolation she possessed in the world, communicated tlie 
 whole of the circumstances which had occurred the day 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Defore, and felt comparatively happy when she had thus 
 unburdened her mind to her friend, and ascertained not 
 only that the resolution to which she had come met with 
 Emma's approbation, but that she even consented to do all 
 in her power to carry it into effect. 
 
 What that resolution was, time will show. 
 
 ^Vhile these affairs were in progress at Binford Hall, 
 things were not altogether tranquil at Dale Cottage ; Lady 
 Frances began to think (sliort as the period was that had 
 yet elapsed) that the attentions of her son to somebody, 
 whether Mrs. Harbottle or Miss Lovell (she had scarcely 
 made up her mind which), were growing too particular ; 
 the repeated luncheons, the frequent drives, and all the 
 other incidents of each succeeding day considerably an- 
 noyed her ; and she resolved, as a reasonable mother had 
 a right to do, at all events to call on Mrs. Harbottle some- 
 where about the hour of luncheon on that very niorr.ing, in 
 order to see, as her ladyship said, " how the land lay." 
 
 Her opportune arrival just as they were sitting down to 
 that sociable meal (for meal, a Binford luncheon decidedly 
 was) was by no means disagreeable to the lady of the 
 house, although George, who was most happily plante next 
 the fascinating Emma, could, if truth were to be spoken 
 at all times, have dispensed with the presence of his ex- 
 cellent and right honourable parent. Mrs. Harbottle felt, 
 in he7' state of mind, a relief from society ; and although 
 little inclined to join in conversation, which required much 
 care or attention, the current of words which flowed from 
 the vermilion lips of Lady Frances was so perpetual and 
 incessant, that to see and listen was all that was required 
 of her companions. Upon the present occasion it saved 
 Fanny a world of trouble; and while she was attending to 
 her ]adyshi[)'s anecdotes and historiettcs of good society, 
 George and Enmna found the most favourable opportunity 
 of doing that, which lovers invariably and incessantly do 
 — talk about themselves. 
 
 Mrs. Harbottle carried her politeness so far as to invite 
 Lady Frances to accom2)any them in their drive, begging 
 her, if she would wave ceremony, subsequently, to stop 
 and dine with them ; and, as his mother was to be of the
 
 THE parson's daughter. 53 
 
 party, she felt she could take the liberty, without a special 
 reference to her lord and master, of inviting Captain She- 
 ringham to remain. 
 
 In pursuance of her plan of watching her son and Miss 
 Lovell, rather than in the expectation of an agreeable day. 
 Lady Frances accepted the invitation ; and an accoiaat hav- 
 ing been given of the cause of Harvey's absence, t^.i party 
 proceeded to put into execution the different parts of the pro- 
 gramme as settled the previous afternoon. How differently, 
 however, the day passed off from that which preceded it ! — 
 Fanny's thoughts were occupied with her own position, 
 and Emma, conscious from Lady Fiances' manner, not 
 only of the opinion she entertained of her, but of the sus- 
 picion which existed in her mind, as to her having a design 
 upon her son, was equally stiffened into the most uncom- 
 fortable state of unsociability. 
 
 " This is neighbourly, my lady," said Harbottle, when 
 he came home and found Lady Frances seated amongst the 
 family party ready for dinner ; " I like this — I dare say, 
 in time, when the autumn rains have taken some more of 
 the London starch out of you, we shall get on uncommonly 
 well together. Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " In the autumn," said Lady Frances, " I shall, I am 
 sorry to say, not be here. I go to my brother Pevensey's 
 at Grimsbury, for a month, and thence on a tour to different 
 houses until Christmas, which I always keep at his." 
 
 " And do you leave us too, George ? " said Harbottle to 
 Sheringham. 
 
 '■' Not so methodically," replied the Captain, " it depends 
 a good deal upon shooting." 
 
 " If that's all," said Harbottle, " you need not leave my 
 lands — I have the best covers, better preserved than any 
 commoner's alive — the largest birds, and the greatest 
 number, for the size of the property, in England ; I have 
 spared no exjiense, no pains, no cost, no trouble, to secure 
 that advantage." 
 
 " I am afraid I must not leave George here," said Lady 
 Frances ; " he will get so much attached to you all, that I 
 shall have no chance for a share of his affection." 
 
 E 3
 
 54 THK parson's daughter. 
 
 " I am sure," said Mrs. Harbottle, " we will take the 
 greatest care of Captain Sheringham." 
 
 " Lay him up in lavender till your ladyship comes back," 
 said the Squire ; " my wife is a capital hand at petting a 
 favourite — is not she, Harvey ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 A more disagreeable reference under the circumstances 
 could not have been well made ; Harvey made a sort of 
 unintelligible noise, and affected to look pleased. Mrs. 
 Harbottle felt her heart beat, and was forced to hold her 
 breath ; and Emma Lovell, scarcely venturing to look up, 
 took a hasty glance, under her eyelids, at the state of the 
 party. 
 
 " I am in hopes," said her ladyship, " that George may 
 get a ship." 
 
 " I used to be very anxious upon tliat point myself," 
 said Sheringham ; " but somehow my longing for employ- 
 ment, at least in peace time, has considerably abated of 
 late." 
 
 Another pause ensued. 
 
 " Harvey," said Harbottle, " are you tired .'' you are as 
 dull as a Dutchman." 
 
 " I am completely knocked up," said Harvey. 
 
 " Disappointed at your ill success with the trout, I take 
 it," said Harbottle : " whether Fanny sympathises with you 
 I cannot tell ; but she, and even Emma, seem to me to be 
 in doleful dumps about something, eh ? Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " My dear Mr. Harbottle," said Lady Frances, " people 
 cannot always command their spirits ; besides, the surest 
 way of keeping them down is noticing the depression ; we 
 have had a long drive, and a long walk to day." 
 
 Fanny said nothing in her defence, and Emma kept 
 equally silent. It was, in fact, one of those parties in 
 which each person was occupied with his own thoughts, 
 and in which every body was acting- his own particular 
 part. Harbottle was the only straight-forward, plain. sail- 
 ing member of the community ; Fanny was wretched ; so 
 was Harvey, for he saw what she was suffering. She, 
 conceiving he did so, increased her own misery by the 
 apprehension that he would attribute her low spirits to a 
 cause whence they did not spring, and sat in agonising
 
 THE parson's daughter. 55 
 
 anxiety, waiting the arrival of the moment when he was to 
 be undeceived. 
 
 Upon Harvey, sick at heart, and now tremblingly alive 
 to the horrors of his situation, the truth had burst : — with- 
 out a thought or consideration of consequences, he had 
 yielded himself to the fascinations of a lovely woman, whose 
 unaffected manners and generous kindness had, in the course 
 of a long and intimate acquaintance, bound him heart and 
 soul to her ; while, unconscious of the character his pas- 
 sion was assuming, he had gone on fancying that what he 
 felt was friendship pure and unalloyed. Now that his eyes 
 were opened, and he found that he not only loved, but 
 that Fanny, as he fancied, reciprocated that love, he be- 
 came indifferent to every thing else, and unconscious of 
 every thing that was passing around him. To think, too, 
 that he, the cherished friend of Harbottle — his favourite 
 companion — pressed to become an inmate in his house — 
 honoured, caressed, and confided in — that he should be 
 the viper in his bosom — the guilty wretch to work his 
 sorrow, and, perhaps, his shame. These were the dreads 
 and sorrows of the high-minded, honourable Harvey — and 
 yet could he abandon her ? — a. thought beyond endurance. 
 Could he at once break all the links which bound him to 
 her — quit the scene of his happiness, and tear himself 
 from the only being on earth, in whose society he delighted ? 
 It was, indeed, a struggle. 
 
 All this was passing in his mind during the early part 
 of the evening, and it was not therefore to be expected 
 that he should be a very agreeable member of the Binford 
 coterie. 
 
 Emma Lovell's intellectual powers were so nmch con- 
 cealed under an appearance, natural to her, of diffidence, 
 and, as I have already said, to strangers, of coldness, that 
 Lady Frances, with all her knowledge of the world, scarcely 
 thought it worth while to finesse with her ; so that the 
 Parson's Daughter, perfectly alive to the object of her 
 ladyship's visit, and aware that at the moment her lady- 
 ship was talking glibly of a gay and fashionable world to 
 her unknown, she was attentively watching the effect which 
 the detail of its pleasures produced upon her young mind, 
 
 E 4
 
 56 TtiE parson's daughter. 
 
 leading her at the same time, by no very refined process, 
 to express her opinions upon the advantages derivable from 
 aristocratic connections and the introduction to society, 
 which such connections would, probably, afford to a young 
 woman of small means and smaller pretensions, put herself 
 upon an equality with her ladyship, by playing a game 
 too ; because, innocent as she was, and unconscious as she 
 appeared to be, Emma not only saw that her ladyship's 
 conversation had in it a design, but discovered the par- 
 ticular design which her ladyship vainly flattered herself 
 she had most entirely concealed ; and thus, between cau- 
 tion on the one hand with her ladyship, and a recollection 
 that she had in the course of the evening an arduous duty 
 to perform with respect to somebody else. Miss Lovell was 
 as little agreeable as it was possible for her to be. 
 
 Sheringham, who knew every sinuosity of his mother's 
 mind, was equally alive to the object of her visit and the 
 general tone of her conversation — but not willing to com- 
 mit himself and risk an interdiction, perhaps, of future 
 visits to the Hall, (which he would have felt it his duty to 
 obey, not only from the impulse of filial obedience, but 
 because, over and above that, her ladyship's property was 
 entirely at her own disposal,) turned his little yulanteries 
 upon Mrs. Harbottle, who, pleased in the midst of her 
 sorrow to be emj)loyed in conversation, encouraged his 
 observations and remarks, so that Harbottle and Harvey, 
 finding themselves ba.ski'ted (as the phrase goes), retired to 
 the adjoining room, and began a rubber at billiards. 
 
 Lady Frances had then an opportunity of engaging 
 Emma in a tetc-a-tcte on one sofa, while Sheringham and 
 Fanny were enjoying the scene from another ; for if 
 Emma were Fanny's confidant upon some occasions, it is 
 but fair to believe that Fanny officiated in the same capa- 
 city for Emma upon others ; so that Mrs. Harbottle readily 
 entered into the little conspiracy against Lady Frances with 
 her son, and jjlayed off an innocent stratagem against lier 
 well-digested designs. 
 
 They were sliortly interrupted by the return of the , 
 billiard players. 
 
 " AV^iy, Fanny," said Harbottle, '^what is the matter
 
 THE PABSDn's daughter. 57 
 
 with Harvey ? does any body know ? can't make a hazard 
 — missed the commonest balls ; and has lost two love 
 games." 
 
 " Upon my honour/' said Harvey, " I cannot account 
 for it ; I believe the glare of the water, the early rising, 
 and all the other things that have happened to me to-day, 
 have dazzled my eyes. I cannot play, and that 's the 
 truth." 
 
 " Come, my lady," said Harbottle, " will you play a 
 game at billiards ? — capital table — full sized — Thurston's 
 — best he ever made — eh ! — paid him ten pounds extra 
 for the cushions — ha ! ha ! ha ! — come." 
 
 " I never played billiards," said her ladyship, " I will 
 go and see you play." 
 
 " Come, Sheringham," said Harbottle, ''"' come and play. 
 I like billiards, my lady, it sounds such a pleasant game, 
 all kisses and misses — eh ! — Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 A faint smile played on her ladyship's vermihoned lips. 
 "With all my lieart," said the Captain ; — and all the 
 party adjourned to the billiard-room except Harvey, who 
 remained standing with his back to the fire-place, looking 
 more dead than alive ; and Emma Lovell, who lingered in 
 the drawing-room, as if she were looking for something 
 which she had not lost. 
 
 " What has happened to you ? " said Emma, speaking 
 to Harvey. " You are looking wretchedly ill ? " 
 
 " I am ill," said Harvey. " I'll go to my room — sleep, 
 I know, I shall not — but I am only a bore here." 
 
 " Try the air of the conservatory," said Emma ; — 
 "come," — he hesitated — " I have something to say to 
 you." — He followed her. 
 
 The drawing-rooms opened into this conservatory ; the 
 lamps and candles within the apartments afforded a sub- 
 dued yet agreeable light along the whole length of the 
 building, darkening, of course, towards the farther end — a 
 charming light for lovers — and midway between the en- 
 trance and the termination of the conservatory, was a foun- 
 tain which played incessantly and made a rippling plashy 
 noise, the sound of which gave an idea of freshness in a 
 sultry evening^ and at the same time rendered the convers-
 
 58 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 ation which might be carried on, in its vicinity, sufficiently 
 indistinct to baffle designing listeners. 
 
 Along this dimly-lighted avenue, formed by the loveliest 
 and most fragrant — and of course in Harbottle's house 
 most expensive — exotics, Emma Lovell proceeded with the 
 astonished Harvey, and they had reached the fountain 
 
 before she could muster courage to speak to him At 
 
 length she broke silence. 
 
 " I told you," said Emma, " that I had something to 
 say to you. I have undertaken to say it — I have promised, 
 and, therefore, will fulfil my promise — but I fear that 
 you will think it most extraordinary in me to make such a' 
 communication to you ; indeed, I am conscious, I will not 
 say of its impropriety, but of what must appear its indeli- 
 cacy ; yet when I tell you that there seemed to be no 
 other course left, and that I will shrink from nothing in 
 the way of friendship, I do think you will forgive me." 
 
 " WTiat can you mean, Emma ? " said Harvey. 
 
 " You have made Fanny miserable, Charles," sai(' 
 Emma, looking round as if she feared being overheard, or 
 dreaded some watching witness hid among the plants. 
 
 " I? " said Charles. " How ? how.? " 
 
 '^ By writing a note to her last night, and sending it by 
 her maid. — Listen. — I know all that has happened : your 
 conversation with her after you left us yesterday afternoon. 
 She has told me all ; and she feels that if she had not said 
 something which you must liave misunderstood or miscon- 
 strued, you would not have taken a step which, besides all 
 its other ills and miseries, has exposed her to the remarks 
 of her maid, and tlie observations of the rest of the estab- 
 lishment.'' 
 
 " My only reason for writing," said Harvey, " was " 
 
 " I know — I know," said Emma ; " or rather I do not 
 wish to know. I want to impress upon your mind, for the 
 sake of relieving our dear Fanny, that what she said with 
 regard to the un suitableness of marriages did not refer to 
 her own position." 
 
 Here a shadow flitted across the light reflected on the 
 pavement ; Emma turned round and saw Fanny herself, 
 who, having ascertained that her friend was engaged in her
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. SQ 
 
 afFair, returned to the billiard-room to keep Lady Frances 
 interested in the game. 
 
 " That she is happy, rely upon it — she will continue 
 so, but you must be a party to that continuance." 
 
 " I ? " said Charles. 
 
 " Yes, you," replied ]\Iiss Lovell. " Fanny would have 
 spoken to you herself, but she felt unequal to the task. I 
 have, as you see, undertaken it; her sense of delicacy 
 would neither permit her to make the suggestion to you, 
 nor did she feel at ease until she had, to avoid all appear- 
 ance of deception or secrecy, imparted all the circum- 
 stances to me." 
 
 " Tell me," said Harvey, " in what way I may be in- 
 strumental to the restoration of her peace of mind, and her 
 wishes to me shall be commands." 
 
 " First you must let me tell you her motives for asking 
 this sacrifice," said Emma. " She feels, however much 
 you may have misinterpreted her meaning, that she has 
 lowered herself in your eyes." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " 
 
 " Stay, Charles, stay — those are her feelings. She be* 
 lieves that she never again can meet and associate with 
 you as she has hitherto done. We women are the best 
 judges upon points hke these. Do not bid me search 
 too deeply for the causes of her decision — such is her feel- 
 ing. If, therefore, you remain the constant inmate of this 
 house, as you have hitherto been, think what a life of 
 restraint, of duphcity, she must ever after hve." 
 
 "Oh, Emma," said Harvey, "why — why is this neces- 
 sary .^ I have said — I have done nothing to forfeit her 
 good opinion. I have done nothing to forfeit the friendship 
 and affection of her husband. A^hy should she feel " 
 
 " Why — why ask me that ? " said Emma. " That you 
 are honourable and high-minded, I know; but you have 
 be'trayed a feeling which will render your continued 
 residence here wretchedness to her, and, as I am cer 
 tain, wretchedness to yourself. You are surprised to 
 hear me speak in this new character, Charles. 'I'he cause 
 makes me eloquent ; and although I am convinced I need 
 do no more than throw myself upon your honour and
 
 60 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 generosity in this case^ I ivould, were it necessary, ap- 
 peal to you in the name of God to leave her." 
 
 " Emma," said Charles, " you will break my heart : am 
 I to give up the society of her who of all others is dearest 
 to me ? " 
 
 "Hush, Charles, hush!" said Emma; "consider a 
 moment how you are talking ; reflect for an instant, and 
 you will see that all I have said to urge your departure 
 from this house is faint compared with the last few words 
 you yourself have uttered " 
 
 " But as a friend," interrupted Harvey. 
 
 " I did not mean," said Emma, " to have argued this 
 part of the subject at all ; I am not competent, and if I 
 were, it would not be fit I should. My communication is 
 merely this: Fanny feels — why I cannot now recapitulate 
 
 — that her peace of mind depends upon your — not aban- 
 doning the house or her acquaintance altogether — but 
 upon your varying the scene of your existence, and for 
 the present leaving Binford. That is the extent of my 
 communication. We have been led into the discussion 
 of other points unintentionally. I have expressed her 
 wishes, which you have said you should consider as com- 
 mands. We shall now see how you will act ; but, in con- 
 clusion of what I had to say, I am to add from her, that 
 although she feels this sacrifice necessary to her comfort, 
 and even respectability, she asks it with pain and sorrow, 
 and that in parting from you, she does so with unaltered 
 esteem and regard, and with the wish that every happi- 
 ness on earth may attend you." 
 
 " Is it possible," said Harvey ; " is it possible that 
 I " 
 
 " Hush, hush," said Emma, " they are here. Walk on. 
 I feel half guilty myself. / was asked to make a sacrifice 
 
 — I did not hesitate " 
 
 " Well, upon my word, Miss Lovell," cried Harbottle, 
 " why we have lost you and your sighing swain. — What 
 have you done with him, Harvey, eh ? where have you 
 got to ? why, Harvey ? " 
 
 And so he continued calling, and marching along the 
 conservatory, followed by Sheringham (who was in fact
 
 THE parson's daughter. 61 
 
 miserable at the long disappearance of the missing pair). 
 Lady Frances and Mrs. Harbottle bringing up the rear. 
 There they might have walked and long have searched, 
 and yet in vain, for neither Harvey nor his exemplary 
 monitress felt equal to encountering the boisterous mirth of 
 their vivacious host ; and having walked rapitUy along in 
 advance, they left the conservatory by the door at the 
 other end of it, and passed on to the terrace-walk, where 
 Harvey, having fervently pressed Emma's hand, rushed 
 from her towards another door of the house ; while she, 
 proceeding leisurely in order to collect her flurried spirits, 
 entered the billiard-room by one of the windows which 
 opened on to the lawn, and, when the hunting party returned 
 to the drawing-room, was found ensconced in the corner 
 of a sofa, assiduously reading a novel ; a pursuit in which 
 she might have obtained considerable credit, if Harbottle, 
 who was as quick as his neighbours at what he called 
 " finding things out," had not observed that she was hold- 
 ing the volume, upon which she was so attentively occupied, 
 upside down. 
 
 This discovery, added to her long conversation with 
 Harvey, and his subsequent disappearance, created great 
 apparent merriment amongst all the party, and they laughed, 
 as Scrub says in the play, " most consumedly;" Harbottle, 
 because he really enjoyed -it and always laughed. Lady 
 Frances because she was convinced that Miss Loveil's tete- 
 a-tete with Charles Harvey must entirely satisfy her dear 
 George Augustus Frederick of the absurdity of thinking of 
 her any longer ; and Mrs. Harbottle, because her heart 
 was breaking, and that nothing but a violent display of 
 affected mirth could conceal its real anguish. 
 
 Harbottle sent to make enquiries after Harvey, and word 
 was brought that he had retired to rest ; and then Emma 
 had again to endure all the rallying of having ill-treated 
 and rejected him ; and all the reproachful and even fierce 
 looks of the gallant sea-captain, who took every oppor- 
 tunity while his mother's watch " was slack," to telegraph 
 his beautiful prize with signal activity ; while she, having 
 deliberately turned her book the right way, proceeded with 
 immovable serenity to continue reading, or seeming to
 
 62 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 read, until the accustomed trays, and eatables, and drink- 
 ables made their appearance. 
 
 For a merry, wealthy, happy party, never, perhaps, did 
 there separate for the night a more agitated, Avorried, miser- 
 able collection of people than the then present company ; 
 save and except always the master of the house. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 This, this has thrown a serpent to my heart. 
 While it o'erflow'd with tenderness, with joy. 
 With all the sweetness of exulting love ; 
 Now, nought but gall is there and burning poison. 
 
 Thojison. 
 
 It cannot fail to strike the reader that simple, and just, 
 and honourable as were the events of this curious evening, 
 the appearance of affairs in general was not only extremely 
 suspicious, but well calculated to excite various contending 
 feelings in most of the assembled company ; all of which 
 feelings, however, as it turned out, were perfectly unfounded 
 in reason or reality. 
 
 Lady Frances went home satisfied that there was no 
 danger to be apprehended from the eagerness of the Par- 
 son's Daughter to ensnare her son, and equally assured 
 that his advances towards the wife of the Squire were not 
 more likely to be well received. She, adept as she was in 
 all the tracasseries of flirtation, and the economy of con- 
 servatories, had made up her mind that something decisive 
 had been done that night in the case of Emma and Har- 
 vey ; and although she inclined to believe that he had 
 l^roposed and been rejected, still the coldness which seemed 
 to exist between Emma and her son, during the morning, 
 and which arose from a studied caution on the part of the 
 young lady, of which her ladyship scarcely suspected her 
 capable, aided naturally, however, by the anticipation of 
 the act of duty which she knew she had subsequently to
 
 THE parson's daughter. 63 
 
 perform for her friend^ and which engrossed most of her 
 thoughts, superadded to her total abandonment of him in 
 the evening, completed her security ; and when, while they 
 were lighting their bed-room candles at Dale Cottage, and 
 her ladyship was winding up the day with her accustomed 
 bottle of soda-water modified in the tumbler by a brown 
 composition, which her butler called syrup with a very 
 fine name (but which the unmedical student would igno- 
 rantly have described as old cogniac), her ladyship ventured 
 to try the effect of a little playful satire upon the manners 
 and conversation of JNIiss Lovell, and she found George, 
 instead of firing up and bursting out as her defender and 
 advocate, admitting that he thought she did not look quite 
 so well as usual, and that her manner was very unsatisfac- 
 tory, and that she was not the sort of person a man of 
 condition would like to walk into a drawing-room with, 
 Iianging on his arm ; her ladyship received the filial adieu 
 of her dear George Augustus Frederick for the night, with 
 a complacency and confidence which it must be confessed 
 had been strangers to her mind during the last three 
 weeks. 
 
 But what a night for George ! devoted, as he really was, 
 to this amiable, admirable girl — a pattern for her sex — all 
 kindness, all gentleness, all sweetness and truth — to think 
 that, having encouraged his addresses, as she had decidedly 
 done ; having, not perhaps directly or personally, but hy- 
 pothetically, in conversation with himself and Mrs. Har- 
 bottle, expressed her approbation of temper, qualities, and 
 accomplishments, such as he could not be so blind as not 
 to perceive himself possessed of, that approbation having 
 been expressed in a manner which ]\Irs. Harbottle had led 
 her to adopt, with a view to induce her devoted lover (for 
 so he had unconsciously become) to hope for that con- 
 clusion to his suit which she herself so much desired — to 
 think that at once, abruptly, inconsiderately and cruelly, 
 as he felt it, she should abstract herself from the assembled 
 party with a man for whom, twenty-four hours before, she 
 had declared a total indifference in the character of lover 
 — upon which she had before been rallied — seemed to him 
 so wilfully, so unnecessarily coquettish and heartless, that
 
 64 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 he could only reconcile it with the exemplary rectitude of 
 principle which he had previously so ardently adsnired in 
 the whole course of her conduct, by exclaiming^ as thou- 
 sands of his fellow-men have exclaimed before him, and 
 will exclaim when he shall be no more, " ^V'hat extra- 
 ordinary creatures these women are!" 
 
 Emma herself suffered deeply and bitterly. She had 
 made a sacrifice which nothing but a noble and pious re- 
 solution to fulfil all the duties of life could have induced 
 her to risk, in holding such a conversation as that, Avhich 
 she had held with Charles Harvey ; her mind, her moral 
 courage, rose above the difficulties which presented them- 
 selves to the interference of a girl inexperienced in the 
 world's ways — unmarried — 'Unprotected, except by her 
 own purity of heart and consciousness of rectitude, and to 
 her discussion of such a point as that, in which she had 
 engaged with a man suspected too of being her lover. 
 
 What could she have done ? how could she have acted ? 
 her dearest, best friend, had near her at the moment no 
 friend but her ; her conscience, in its " small, still voice," 
 had spoken volumes to her. Fanny — her dear kind 
 Fanny — had reverted with dread and trembling to the 
 momentary slumber of her prudence, or, perhaps, the mo- 
 mentary awakening of her feelings, as one fraught with 
 destruction to her own happiness, and — what, perhaps, 
 she held as dear — the happiness of another. She was on 
 the very edge of a precipice. The intervention of Emma's 
 hand could prevent her fall — was it to be refused ? Fanny 
 could not remove herself from the scene of diflficulty and 
 danger — to rescue her from both, Emma had stept from 
 her natural sphere in society, and ventured all, to preserve 
 her friend. But it must not be supposed that she had 
 been led blindly to assume the character of adviser or mo- 
 nitress, nor that she did not see the peril and delicacy — 
 perhaps, indelicacy — of the service she had undertaken. 
 She saw them clearly — but, as has been said before, she 
 risked every thing — and felt happy in having, as she be- 
 lieved, succeeded in bringing Harvey to understand the 
 necessity of liis breaking off' liis constant association with 
 Harbottle's family, without committing her friend by any
 
 THE parson's daughter. 65 
 
 admission of a partiality for him, which, even if it existed, 
 had taken no form, no character, which the most rigid 
 virtue could have disapproved. 
 
 But when she laid her head upon her pillow and re- 
 collected the pain she had evidently given Sheringham, the 
 reproachful look which he cast upon her as she quitted the 
 house, flashed strongly upon her. The world might think 
 of her conduct — if the world could ever know it — as it 
 pleased. What Lady Frances might have thought of her, 
 or what the Squire might the next day say of her, were 
 matters of perfect indifference to her, strong as she was in 
 the consciousness of her good intentions ; but that Shering- 
 ham should think her — as it turned out he did — the 
 frivolous, heartless flirt, which she must have appeared, 
 was bitterly painful to her — the more painful, because she 
 never could explain to him the real circumstances of the 
 case ; and because, if, as she sincerely hoped and really ex- 
 pected, Harvey should quit Binford on the morrow, his 
 sudden disappearance would confirm the already excited 
 suspicions of the Captain that the lengthened conversation 
 between them on the preceding evening, however it might 
 have terminated, was upon a subject personally interesting 
 to themselves, and of a nature which the repeated pro- 
 testations of the young lady would, if he had not seen it, 
 have led him to believe one, which could not for a mo- 
 ment have been entertained by her. 
 
 Harvey's meditations — although not amongst " the 
 Tombs" — were of a deadly character — he had been 
 awakened suddenly from a delightful but perilous dream. 
 He felt at first indignant and then ashamed that Fanny 
 had betrayed him ; he could not have mistaken her mean- 
 ing — she had admitted that she was not happy, and he 
 had sympathised with her affliction — no thought had ever 
 entered his head which could militate against her peace of 
 mind, her honour, or the honour of her husband. Why 
 then expose him? AVhy drive him from her presence? — 
 For the sake of appearances? — No — for he had lived on 
 terms of the closest intimacy with her for months, and no 
 human being had dared to whisper a suspicion of any con- 
 sequent impropriety. — What was all this? did she di&- 
 
 F
 
 66 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 semble when she wished him happiness, at the moment in 
 which she was destroying the only happiness he possessed ? 
 and did she really wish him away ? what could it mean ? 
 
 Harvey was the least vain person in the world ; and 
 amongst all the reasons which he imagined Fanny to have 
 for seeking a separation from him, that which was cer- 
 tainly first amongst the number never struck him. He was 
 told he had a duty to perform, the fulfilment of which 
 alone could secure her peace of mind and insure her re- 
 spectability — that duty, heedless of the pain it might in- 
 flict upon himself, and without questioning her more, he 
 resolved to do. 
 
 To describe the pangs which Fanny herself endured 
 would be difficult ; the complication of fears and reproaches 
 with which her mind was filled — the sensitive recollection 
 of the fatal walk — for so it proved to be — in which she 
 felt she had betrayed a sorrow which for years she had 
 concealed ; the consciousness of a change in Harvey's man- 
 ner consequent upon that confession ; the pain of parting 
 with him, who, while he joined in the pursuits of her hus- 
 band, seemed to temporise with every thing disagreeable 
 which might occur, soothe him when irritated, and even 
 support him in his proper place while mixing with the 
 lower classes of his neighbours, who • were, in fact, his 
 most frequent associates. A young man, who was of that 
 husband the chosen, and certainly the most agreeable com- 
 panion ; suitable to him by his skill in all the sports of the 
 field, and, by a kind adaptation of his manner, to the tem- 
 per of his host; — in short, she felt that she was breaking 
 a link in the chain of their society, the loss of which would 
 create disorder and confusion in the establishment, and 
 render her existence even more painful than it was. But 
 she felt that she had trusted herself to the extreme limits 
 of prudence, and that she dare not hesitate to decide upon 
 the course she had to pursue. 
 
 What Harbottle suffered during the same night will re- 
 quire no great trouble, nor many words to describe ; once 
 safely deposited upon his sinister side, his rubicund cheek 
 snugly rej)Osed upon an eider-down pillow, he fell incon- 
 tinently to sleep, and when he awoke described to his fair
 
 THE parson's daughter. 6T 
 
 Fanny the misery he had felt in a dream that a five poimd 
 fish (at least) had snapped off the top-joint of his four 
 guinea rod just as he thought he had safely landed him. 
 
 Happy Harbottle ! 
 
 When the breakfast hour came, Fanny did not appear. 
 Mrs. Devon, however, exhibited her pretty plump person, 
 to make her lady's excuses. — " My mistress, sir," said she, 
 " has got such a i-eri/ bad headache that she will breakfast 
 in her dressing-room." 
 
 This was communicated to the Squire, as he stood at the 
 hall door watching the chestnut cantering round the sweep 
 before it. 
 
 " Headache," said the Squire, " what an odd thing to 
 have — she did not tell me she had a headache. Well — 
 I hope she'll soon get better — give my love to her, and 
 say so." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mrs. Devon, with a look which either 
 he did not see, or seeing did not comprehend; " I hope 
 she will, sir, I'm sure." 
 
 " Holloa," cried the Squire, seeing Hollis crossing the 
 hall, " we are ready for breakfast — where 's Mr. Harvey ?" 
 
 " I don't know, sir," said Hollis, with an expression of 
 countenance very different from that of Mrs. Devon, but 
 which, if the Squire had been, like Lady Frances, on the 
 " look out" for effects, might have struck him. 
 
 " Is he up .'' " said the Squire ? " have you seen him 
 about ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Hollis. " Evans says his master has 
 got a very bad headache this morning, and I rather think 
 he is gone out to walk." 
 
 " What ! " said Hai-bottle, '•' Harvey got a headache 
 too — that's mighty strange! Why he had a headache 
 last night, and still has got a headache this morning — 
 that's odd. Your mistress has got one this morninsi; and. 
 hadn't one last night — what is it? — any thing in the air 
 — or the water — or the w-ine ! — can't be :'u the wine, be- 
 cause at the price I pay, there isn't a headache in a hogs- 
 head of it." 
 
 " No, sir," said Hollis, " I don't think it has any tliiDg 
 to do with that, sir." 
 
 p 2
 
 68 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 This observation, Mr. Hollis, who was an exemplary 
 servant of the family — old, and consequently familiar 
 with his master, favoured, and, therefore, presuming — 
 meant should lead to some further interrogatories ; but 
 Harbottle's head was as firm as the wall of a fives' court, 
 and the harder you hit him with a hint the stronger it 
 came back to you, without having made the slightest im- 
 pression. 
 
 " Well, then," said the Squire, " I must breakfast by 
 myself. I have no headache luckily, so cut me some of 
 that cold roast beef — give me two eggs — a hot kidney, 
 and a cup of chocolate, just to begin with." 
 
 All this was put en train, and Hollis hovered about, 
 full of anxiety to make a coup, perhaps, with a good in- 
 tention, wliich would infallibly have destroyed the peace 
 of half-a-dozen innocent people ; but he was as yet un- 
 successful, for a footman remained in the breakfast-room 
 during the greater part of the Squire's solitary repast ; and 
 before it was over, his head keeper obtained an audience, 
 to depict in glowing colours the iniquitous proceedings of 
 certain poachers, who, early as it was in the season, had 
 been setting snares for the hares. This announcement 
 superseded all other topics — the breakfast itself, elaborated 
 as it was in its delicacies, was speedily concluded, and in 
 ten minutes the Squire, on the back of the very best cob in 
 England, was cantering down to the scene of villany. 
 
 The complaint nicknamed cholera has made great rav- 
 ages in every country it has visited : the plague in its time 
 has done even yet more mischief; but neither the plague 
 nor cliolera ever did more in a small circle than headache 
 at Binford on the memorable day now under discussion. 
 Harvey — with a violent headache — anticipating that Mrs. 
 Harhottle, after wliat had occurred the night before, would 
 rather avoid the breakfast table, felt above all things in the 
 world the impossibility of maintaining his usual tone of 
 conversation in a tcle-u-tilte with the Squire ; he, therefore, 
 (anxious, moreover, to evince to Emma Lovell the firmness 
 of the determination to which he had come during a sleep- 
 less night,) resolved to walk to the Parsonage and beg a 
 breakfast of the exemplary rector ; knowing, as he did^
 
 THE parson's daughter. 69 
 
 that as that reverend and worthy divine was incapable of 
 moving from his room without assistance, and wholly un- 
 able to walk about for pleasure — as walking is sometimes 
 called — he should have an opportunity in a short stroll 
 after breakfast along the laurel walk which led to the church, 
 to " say his say" to his charming daughter, who, having 
 assumed the character of plenipotentiary on the part of 
 Mrs.- Harbottle, and having stated the preliminaries of the 
 treaty which she wished to enter into, had unquestionably 
 subjected herself either to a conference with the other high 
 contracting party, or to the evil of Heaven knows how many 
 protocols, which, after all, might, like their namesakes upon 
 greater occasions, have come to nothing in the end. 
 
 This scheme he put into practice — was most readily 
 accepted as a guest by the Rector, and heard with dismay 
 the account of Miss Lovell's headache, which was so ex- 
 tremely violent, that she could not come down to breakfast. 
 Here was another "case" — decided — nor was his dis- 
 tress at all alleviated by finding an ancient maiden sister of 
 the Rector's (whose stay with her brother had afforded 
 Emma the opportunity of spending more time at the Hall 
 than her exemplary attention to her father would otherwise 
 have allowed her) without a headache, and in the full pos- 
 session of all that well-matured flightiness, which, to a 
 young man in Harvey's temper of mind, was worse than 
 death itself. 
 
 Breakfast proceeded slowly — the conversation flagged 
 — Mr. Lovell was as usual amiable, and even eloquent ; 
 but as far as Harvey was concerned, his eloquence was 
 ■wasted in the desert air. Miss Lovell the elder was perti- 
 naciously particular as to the number of lumps of sugar he 
 chose in his tea, and wliether he liked cream ; went through 
 the catechism of her office with a rigorous punctuality most 
 exemplary, and had just attained the ttltima thulc of her 
 knowledge, when the door opened and Captain Shering- 
 ham was announced, to the great delight of the Rector, 
 who was charmed at seeing his neighbour — to the aston- 
 ishment of Harvey — and, as it turned out, to the inex- 
 pressible dismay of the gallant Captain himself, 
 
 F 3
 
 70 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 The moment he saw Harvey domesticated at the Rectory, 
 he started back — he cast his eyes round — Emma was not 
 there — this soothed him for the moment, but he looked as 
 white as a sheet. 
 
 " Why, my dear Captain Sheringham," said the Rector, 
 " you don't look well; what on earth is the matter with 
 
 '' Nothing, sir," said Sheringham, " nothing but a 
 violent headache." 
 
 Another instance of the prevailing epidemic, for which 
 the present appearance of affairs did not promise any thing 
 like alleviation or cure. However much the temporary 
 absence of Miss Lovell from the breakfast table might at 
 the first blush of the scene have calmed Sheringham's ap- 
 prehensions, the presence there, at that period of the day, 
 unusual as he know it was, of Harvey, combined with the 
 agitation so perceptible in his countenance, and a nervous 
 anxiety of manner which it was impossible for him to con- 
 ceal, confirmed him in his worst suspicions. What but a 
 conversation of the deepest interest could have detained 
 Emma with him for nearly an hour in the conservatory the 
 evening before ; and what termination could that convers- 
 ation have had, but one propitious to the hopes and wishes 
 of Harvey, which could have induced him, coiifran/ to his 
 usual course of life, to follow up so protracted and particu- 
 lar a dialogue by so early a visit to the Rectory .'' 
 
 Breakfast disposed of, and the Rector wheeled into his 
 library, a scene followed, the like of which is often enacted 
 in higher places and by more important personages, which, 
 being performed by two individuals, is in colloquial phra- 
 seology called — one seeing the other out. 
 
 Harvey was seriously anxious to have a few minutes' 
 conversation with Miss Lovell, in order to announce the 
 resolution at which he had arrived, having pledged himself 
 to her not to toucli upon the subject of their conversation 
 to Fanny, nor to make any reference to its object, to her 
 during his stay at IJinford, even if the opportunity should 
 accidentally ho afforded him ; a circumstance which, how- 
 ever Knima told him she did not think likely to occur, since 
 Fanny had resolved to avoid the possibility of a tete-a-tete
 
 THE parson's daughter. 71 
 
 with him. He, therefore, was fixed iu his resolution to 
 see the Parson's Daughter. 
 
 Sheringham, on the other hand, first irritated by the 
 marked preference, as he considered it, which Emma had 
 evinced towards Harv«y daring the preceding evening — 
 then goaded still more sharply by the well-timed and well- 
 turned insinuations of his world-knowing mother, was now 
 wound up to the highest pitch of jealous indignation, by 
 finding his rival, as he thought him, and his favoured rival, 
 as he believed him, established in the very citadel. 
 
 " Are you going towards the Hall ? " said lie to Harvey, 
 with a strained civility. 
 
 " Not yet," replied Harvey. 
 
 " Where's Harbottle?" said the Captain. 
 
 " At home, I suppose," replied Harvey ; " if you want 
 to see him, I dare say you will find him alone." 
 
 *' Is Mrs. Harbottle ill?" said Sheringham. 
 
 " Not that I know of," said Harvey ; looking a little 
 confused. 
 
 " I thought she seemed feverish last night," said Sher- 
 ingham. 
 
 " I did not observe," said Harvey. 
 
 " No, you were botanising all the evening," said Sher- 
 ingham : " did you discuss all the merits of the Darwin 
 school ? I am afraid Miss Lovell got cold in that odious 
 conservatory." 
 
 " No," interrupted her aunt, " she has no col<l, only a 
 headache — she is not used to the late hours which she has 
 been keeping at Mr. Harbottle's since I have been stopping 
 with my brother, and given her a holyday." 
 
 " Shall you go to the Hall to luncheon ?" asked Harvey. 
 
 " I don't know," answered Sheringham ; " I rather 
 think not — I am engaged with my mother, and " 
 
 " I am going over to Sinedley," said Harvey. 
 
 " When do you start ? " 
 
 " — Not yet — not till two." 
 
 " Will you come to «.y, and we will drive you over }" 
 said Sheringham. 
 
 " I cannot do that," replied Harvey; " for I — I have 
 
 to meet a person — that " 
 
 F 4
 
 72 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " Oh ! " interrapted Sheringham, " I don't want to 
 question your proceedings ; every man has his own par- 
 ticular pursuit ; perhaps you are going botanising again," 
 
 " Not I, indeed," said Harvey, in a tone which, as it 
 sounded somewhat melancholy, was extremely agreeable to 
 Sheringham's ears. 
 
 At this moment a footman entered the room, who walked 
 directly up to Harvey, and in a sonorous voice, the tone of 
 which strongly resembled the sound of a cracked trumpet, 
 delivered this message : — 
 
 '• My young lady has sent down word, her compliments, 
 sir — she begs you wo'n't go away till she has seen you." 
 
 Harvey made a sort of unintelligible answer, expressive 
 of his obedience to her wishes. Sheringham stared with 
 amazement at this open and unequivocal address to his 
 rival, and the servant who had been told by Miss Lovell's 
 maid to deliver her message to Mr. Harvey (she not being 
 aware that any other visiter was in the house) strutted out 
 of the room, banging the door after him with a theatrical 
 air, leaving the party in a profound silence, broken only by 
 the retreating sound of his creaking shoes along the lotby. 
 
 " ^Vell," said the Captain, after a moment's pi::se, 
 " I'll go — I suppose my mother will like to drive eaf.y, 
 and I am too dutiful to keep her waiting — good mornng, 
 Mr. Lovell — good morning, madam — good day, sir.'' 
 
 Saying which, the last words being addressed somewhat 
 significantly to Harvey, (who, conscious of what was pass- 
 ing in Sheringham's mind, and anxious, without daring, to 
 undeceive him, felt them sink deeply into his heart,) the 
 gallant sea-officer quitted the Parsonage, breathing ven- 
 geance upon his rival, and all sorts of maledictions upon the 
 fickleness and frailty of women generally, but of Miss 
 Emma Lovell most especially and particularly. 
 
 Things certainly did not go smoothly, and appearances 
 fully justified all the feelings which agitated Sheringham's 
 mind ; feelings, of the strength of which he had no idea 
 until they were thus suddenly and violently called forth. 
 He had gone on loving, and loving without exactly know- 
 ing the condition of his own heart, and had been playing 
 with Emma Lovell the same game of entanglement that
 
 THE parson's daughter. 73 
 
 Harvey, with equal unconsciousness, had been carrying on 
 with her friend Fanny. It is wonderful to see the bUnd- 
 ness of man to his own position, and not less wonderful to 
 see to what trifles his sudden enlightenment is sometimes 
 owing. 
 
 As he walked home, the first decision to which the Cap- 
 tain came, was, that whatever he might eventually deter- 
 mine upon as the line of conduct to pursue, he would by 
 no means let his lady mother into his confidence. Stay in 
 Binford he could not — to be the tame spectator of his 
 rival's triumph, and the dreadful consequences of Emma's 
 heartlessness. It was clear she could not quit the scene of 
 action ; for even if, after her marriage, Harvey took her to 
 his own house and home, still the position of her father in 
 Binford, and her affectionate iiitimacy with Fanny, would 
 bring her constantly thither ; and, indeed, the well-known 
 friendship of the Squire himself for the bridegroom elect, 
 would render their visits neither "few nor far between." 
 
 What had he best do? If he did not confide his secret 
 to Lady Frances, the facts would very shortly speak for 
 themselves ; for Sheringham thought (and reasonably 
 enough it must be admitted) that, after the conservatory 
 scene in the evening, and the verbal message of the morn- 
 ing, the announcement of Emma's acceptance of Harvey 
 could not long be delayed ; tlud he could not wait for, be- 
 cause his mother would have gained so complete a victory 
 over him, and would consequently thereupon indulge her., 
 self in so triumphant an exposure of the fallacy of all his 
 doctrines and opinions about that amiable, unsophisticated, 
 candid, affectionate child of nature, the Parson's Daughter, 
 that she would drive him mad. In the course of his pro- 
 gress homeward, however, he formed his final resolution. 
 
 Harbottle, who, though he was ordinarily obtuse enough, 
 and took things quietly when they went on quietly of them- 
 selves, was not an unconcerned spectator of the events of 
 this memorable morning ; and the more concerned, per- 
 haps, inasmuch as liis own personal comfort had been in- 
 fringed. He had been left to breakfast alone ; his wife 
 pleaded a headache for not coming down, which she had 
 not even mentioned half an hour before. Harvey's absence
 
 74f THE parson's daughter. 
 
 was unusual ; and then he began to think the manner of 
 HolHsj the butler, was strange, and that Mrs, Devon's con- 
 duct had something odd in it too ; and at last^ after re- 
 volving all these circumstances in what he called his mind, 
 as he walked his cob back from the fields of poaching, he 
 hit upon what he believed to be the truth ; and coupling 
 the strange dispersion of his little domestic party with the 
 conservatory scene of the preceding evening, came to the 
 determination that Harvey had popped (as he called it) to 
 the Parson's Daughter, and that the Parson's Daughter had 
 refused him. Full of this happy conceit, his anxiety to 
 get hold of his young friend, to rally him upon the repulse 
 he had encountered was particularly strong. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, Mrs. Harbottle, knowing that 
 her husband had quitted the house, and not knowing that 
 he had returned, and being in the most nervous state of 
 expectation of the appearance of her old friend and ally 
 Emma Lovell, happened to present herself to the eyes of 
 her admiring husband as he was crossing the hall, and she 
 was descending the staircase. 
 
 "Why, Fan," said the Squire, "your head well already ! — 
 glad of it, old lady. Where's Harvey? Is he gone away 
 for ever ? ^^'hat has happened to him ? — Love, I sup- 
 pose, eh. Fan ? — love, and a little indiscretion in bringing 
 things to a conclusion too hastily? — Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " J am sure," said Mrs. Harbottle, " I don't know. 
 What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, fie ! Fan," said the Squire, " as if you and Emma 
 were not in each other's secrets. ^\'hat was all that talk 
 in the greenhouse last ni^ht about?" 
 
 " Last night!" stammered Mrs. Harbottle. 
 
 " Yes, last night, Mrs. Grave-airs," said her husband; 
 " none are so blind as those who won't see, my love ; none 
 so deaf as those who wo'n't hear. Do you think to trick 
 me ? No no. Fan — I'm wide awake to all that is 
 going on." 
 
 Fanny felt herself ready to sink through the earth. 
 
 "Nothing can be more natural," continued Harbottle. 
 " So far from blaming Harvey, my idea of the thing is 
 simply this — give a young man encouragement, and you
 
 THE parson's daughter. 75 
 
 must look out for the consequences ; and I know that you — 
 I saw it by your manner — you put her upon doing what 
 she (lid last night, which has upset poor Charles ; and will 
 no doubt drive him away from our house, and rob me of 
 one of my most agreeable companions. I knew something 
 had happened while he was out fishing, he was as dull and 
 as dead as ditch-water, and what the evening before had 
 begun, last night concluded. I tell you what, mistress 
 Fan, you women would do well to consider in the first in- 
 stance ; it is the premier pas, that coutes, as the French 
 say, and I do think, after fooling a man like a child in 
 leading-strings for half a year, to let him go slap-bang, as 
 I call it, in a minute, is an infernal shame," 
 
 The opinions of Mr. Harbottle, delivered so oracularly, 
 founded as they were upon an apparently perfect know- 
 ledge of facts, startled his already agitated lady into a state 
 of hysterical feeling, a kind of April sensation of rain and 
 sunshine, which it required all her physical strength and 
 all her mental determination to check. It was impossible 
 that he really did know the nature of Emma's conversation 
 with Harvey on the preceding evening, and yet hold the 
 mild and moderate language in which he addressed her; 
 nor was it upon the cards that he should argue upon the 
 heartlessness of his own wife's conduct, in first encourag- 
 ing and then repelling the attentions of her husband's 
 friend. 'What could it mean ? Into her mind never at the 
 moment flashed the idea that he believed in the existence 
 of an attachment, on the part of Harvey, towards Miss 
 Lovell, because she knew of her own knowledge — some- 
 what hazardously obtained — that his affections were other- 
 wise directed ; and, moreover, because she also knew that 
 Emma's heart was irrecoverably gone, and that no power 
 on earth could wean or force her from her devotion to She- 
 ringham, of whom she had expressed to her friend her 
 unqualified admiration. 
 
 But while Fanny was thus doubting how to receive the 
 agreeable raillery of her husband, whose playfulness very 
 much resembled in character that of the heavy animal, 
 which, as the fable tells us, once upon a time attempted to 
 ape the lap-dog ; who should arrive in sight upon the lawn
 
 76 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 but Emma Lovell, leaning on the arm of Charles Harvey, 
 evidently in earnest conversation upon some interesting 
 topic, in which both parties had been so much absorbed, 
 that they had not seen the unfortunate Captain George 
 Augustus Frederick Sheringham, R.N., whom they had 
 passed, as he was slowly sauntering homewards under the 
 trees, debating whether he should put into immediate exe- 
 cution the design which it has already been mentioned he 
 had formed, and which the very agreeable spectacle he had 
 just witnessed did not in any degree conduce to procras- 
 tinate. 
 
 The sight of the coming couple exhilarated the Squire so 
 much, that quitting his lady, who had not strength either 
 to accompany or follow him, he gave his usual view halloa, 
 which eclioed through the woods, and then ran forward to 
 meet tlie much disconcerted pair. 
 
 " I 'm glad to see this," said the Squire. '^ I have just 
 been talking over your long gossip of last night, with 
 Fanny. She has confessed, at least she has not denied^ 
 that I have found out the whole secret, and I have given 
 her a good jobation, as I call it, for breaking up a snug 
 party, and driving you away." 
 
 Emma looked at Harvey — Harvey looked at Emma. 
 " Why, you think I don't know the whole affair," said 
 Harbottle. " I 'm not such a fool, Charles, as you and my 
 wife think me ; but I care less about it, for as I see you 
 here together, I conclude you have made matters up, and 
 I shall hear no more about going off, and going out, and 
 leaving me to breakfast by myself, my wife ill with a head- 
 ache, and my friend sick with a heartache." 
 
 " I don't quite comprehend you," said Emma. " ^Vhat 
 possible connection can my innocent conversation with Mr. 
 Harvey have with his going out and leaving you this 
 morning, or why should our walk in the conservatory ne- 
 cessarily imply a quarrel } " 
 
 " Why di<l he slink to bed ? — Eh, master Charles, 
 answer that ; stole away, sly fox — could not face us after 
 the interview, good, bad, or indifferent, which ever it was: 
 and vou, demure Emma, who look, as I say to Fan, as if 
 butter would not melt in your mouth, why did you snub
 
 THK PARSON S DAUGHTER. 77 
 
 Ae poor fellow as you did ? / heard what you were at — 
 a man cannot help his feelings, and what if he did fancy 
 he was better thouglit of, than he really was, why, as I 
 say, the woman's always to blame. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " Upon my word," said Miss Lovell, increasing her rate 
 of walking, " I do assure you I do not in the least under- 
 stand what you are talking of. Though Mrs. Harbottle 
 and I — and " 
 
 And so away ran Emma, too much bewildered to com- 
 prehend in the least the extraordinary, and to her ear equi- 
 vocal, allusions of the Squire. 
 
 '' Well, Charles," said Harbottle, when Emma had, like 
 a sylph, flitted across the lawn, and joined her equally 
 amazed and agitated friend, " where did you breakfast } — 
 at the parson's ? " 
 
 " I did," said Charles. 
 
 " That's right," replied his friend ; " faint heart never 
 •won fair lady — knocked down last night, up again this 
 morning ; the irce amorum, as I used to say at school, turned 
 into the integratio amoris — that's good Greek, isn't it.'' 
 well, you got snubbed for your boldness and went to bed 
 to cry, / dare say — at 'em again, says you — so you break- 
 fasted with the parson, foraged upon the enemy, and took 
 your prisoner." 
 
 " I am going away for a week or two," said Charles, 
 " so I went to the Rectory to take leave of Mr. Lovell and 
 his sister." 
 
 " Oh, you are going away," said Harbottle, " and arn't 
 I as good as a witch ; and our little snow-drop, as I call 
 her, is the cause." 
 
 " No," said Harvey; " I really have business in London 
 which must be attended to ; here the days fly so sweetly 
 and so rapidly, that unless I make a dasii and break the 
 charm at once, I shall go on in a dream of blessed happi- 
 ness and be ruined for my negligence." 
 
 " Come, come, IMaster Harvey," said his hospitable 
 host, " you have no business in London ; you have been 
 snubbed — the women-folk, as I call them, have (lri\en you 
 away; however, you must do as you please. I force no 
 xaan_, only I do bargain for three days more of you — try
 
 78 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 US for only three days — I'll engage that Emma p.hall not 
 poison you, and Fanny will enter into the saiue compact. 
 I have got some pleasant folks coming here to stay till 
 Friday, and go before that you positively shall not." 
 
 Harvey who, after a severe struggle with his feelings, 
 had agreed to the condition of withdrawing himself, felt a 
 sort of secret satisfaction at being forced by Harbottle to 
 break that condition, so that, by doing a douce violence to 
 his conscience, he might safely affirm that he was unable 
 to refuse the pressing invitation of Harbottle to stay three 
 days more, without exciting a strong suspicion in his mind 
 that there really was some serious reason for his sudden 
 departure ; he, therefore, with his eyes fixed upon Fanny 
 and Emma, and perfectly conscious of the subject of their 
 conversation, made an odd sort of unintelligible noise, 
 which might serve for a negative or an affirmative, but 
 which Harbottle (who with all his faults was the most 
 hospitable creature breathing) instantly construed into a 
 favourable reply to his invitation ; and having heard it, he 
 hurried with his friend to join the ladies, and inform his 
 wife that he had succeeded in keeping Charles till Friday 
 morning, in spite of the ill-treatment of Miss Lovell. 
 
 The reproachful look which Emma glanced at the un- 
 happy young gentleman was lost upon the Squire, whose 
 attention not having yet been that way directed, was not 
 devoted at that moment to Fanny; perhaps, if it had been, 
 he might have read in lici- lovely countenance a still stronger 
 evidence of the dismay which the alteration of Charles's 
 resolution had excited in her. 
 
 The dread which she endured had been thus created. 
 In the anxiety of her heart to put a stop to a delusion 
 which appeared to her to subsist at least on one side, and 
 which must lead, as she felt, to misery or ruin, perhaps to 
 both, she had taken such a course as proved her conscious- 
 ness of its existence. After tiie conversation which she 
 had begged Emma to have with Charles, she could no 
 longer affect to be ignorant of the turn which his friend- 
 ship — at least — had taken ; nor were the subsequent de- 
 clarations of Harvey to Miss Lovell in their morning's walk 
 at all calculated to put Fanny's agitation to rest ; in fact,
 
 THE parson's daughter. 79* 
 
 she herself, with the best possible motives^ had fired the 
 train — a day's delay might cause its explosion. With this 
 consciousness of how far she had committed herself, and a 
 knowledge of Charles's affection for her (since confessed to 
 Emma), every hour's procrastination of his departure accu- 
 mulated new pains and perils for them both. 
 
 Fanny's desire for his going was not founded upon any 
 hope of being relieved from the misery of her own thoughts 
 by his absence; she felt that having one object constantly 
 in the mind was even more dangerous than having it always 
 in sight — for as somebody (I forget now who) has said, 
 " We are not accustomed to keep such an exact guard over 
 our thoughts, as we are compelled to keep upon our actions ; 
 and when the mind once gives itself up to a separate plea- 
 sure, the heart grows jealous, and slily steals in for its 
 share." 
 
 The thing appeared, however, decided; and both the 
 ladies felt that their taking any part in persuading Mr. 
 Harvey not to stay would, besides irritating tlie inflamma- 
 ble squire, have a very extraordinary appearance, and one 
 which might lead to explanations by no means seasonable or 
 agreeable. 
 
 They, therefore, contented themselves with a few com- 
 mon-place observations, and having made those, fell off as 
 it were in their walk with the beaux, and left the Squire 
 and his friend to visit the stables, and eventually to ride 
 together ; the Squire having previously begged his lady to 
 invite Lady Frances and the Captain to dinner, she having 
 expressed an intention of going to make a visit at Dale 
 Cottage during the morning ; an intention founded on the 
 determination of avoiding the usual " luncheon" at home.
 
 80 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Oh, Love! how are thy precious sweetest moments 
 Thus ever crossed, thus rexed with disappointments i RoWE. 
 
 '^ What a trial will the three next days be for me !" said 
 Mrs. Harbottle to Emma, when they parted from the men, 
 and were on their way to Lady F'ranees ; " and yet, I do 
 not see how, without exciting his suspicion, Charles could 
 have refused to stop." 
 
 " Nor I," said Emma. 
 
 " To think," continued Fanny, half in soliloquy, " that 
 I should have reduced myself to such a position as that in 
 which I actually find myself; — did you hear, Emma, 
 what I said just this moment? did you hear me talk 
 of Exciting his suspicion ? — how fallen am I in my own 
 estimation within the few last hours of my life ! — up to 
 yesterday, neither had I fear of his suspicions, nor he cause 
 to be suspicious : I had no care for the events of the day ; 
 no anxiety, no watchfulness — all — all was clear and 
 "plain before me — I had no deceit — and even if I had 
 thouglits to conceal, I had no wishes to suppress ; but 
 now, owing to my own weakness, — wickedness is it 
 not ? — I am the sport of feelings, of which a week ago 
 I had no knowledge, and the victim of apprehensions which 
 were then strangers to my mind." 
 
 " My dearest Fanny," said Emma, " you unjustly ac- 
 cuse and unnecessarily agitate yourself; you have done all 
 that you could do ; conscious of the possibility of your 
 feelings being misconstrued by a man who is living on the 
 most intimate terms in your family, you have caused the 
 expressions, which you perhaps inadvertently used in a 
 conversation with him to be so explained, as to set the 
 matter entirely at rest. After feeling that such an ex- 
 planation was necessary, I agree with you, that his going, 
 merely as removing an object from your society, which is 
 associated in your mind with regret, is most desirable : at
 
 THE parson's daughter. 81 
 
 your entreaty I tell him so ; he assents to the proposition ; 
 dOj therefore, bear up for these next three clays, mix in 
 general society, affect a gaiety, if you have it not, and 
 hereafter when you meet him again, you wiU meet upon as 
 friendly terms as ever." 
 
 " Ah, Emma," replied Fanny, " that inadvertence, as 
 you call it, has been the ruin of my happiness ; you 
 may rely upon it, the affection which is declared is never 
 so strong as that which betrays itself — a premeditated 
 speech is never half so eloquent as an involuntary sigh, 
 and those words in which I inadvertently admitted the 
 real feehngs of my heart wiU be sooner or later fatal to 
 some of us." 
 
 " My dear Fanny," said Emma, " if you treat the 
 matter so very gravely, and feel it so very deeply, I shall 
 begin almost to fear that the agitation which Charles's 
 brief stay occasions will be succeeded by a bitterer feeling 
 when he goes." 
 
 " No, no, no, I declare to you," said Fanny, em- 
 phatically, " I have no hesitation in telling you ; why 
 should I ? — you know it — you must see it, that I 
 admire Charles. I think him a delightful companion — I 
 am charmed with his society, his conversation, his accom- 
 plishments ; and I could have gone on for ever, happy in 
 his acquaintance, upon the terms on which I have no%v 
 been so long enjoying it ; but little as I may be supposed 
 to know of the world, I know that my mind is unsettled; — 
 that I have committed myself; that his feelings towards 
 me will undergo a change ; and that being conscious of an 
 interest on my part, which ought not to exist, he " 
 
 '•' — Dearest Fanny," interrupted Emma, " indeed, 
 indeed, he understands and feels exactly as he ought, and 
 as you must Avish him to feel. I fear I have incautiously 
 alarmed you by repeating some of the expressions of af- 
 fection and admiration, which, in the course of our con- 
 versation he made use of; but is it not natural he should 
 do so ? you candidly admit the gratification you have 
 experienced in his society, and the admiration you feel for 
 his conversation and accomplishments — why should he 
 not reciprocrate those feelings ? — Surely there is neither 
 
 G
 
 82 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 sin nor shame in this. — Is there to be no such thing 
 as friendship in the world?" 
 
 " You are too kind — too indulgent to your unhappy 
 friend," said Mrs. Harbottle ; " you endeavour to soothe 
 me into a belief of my total innocence in this affair — you 
 think me innocent. I feel myself so ; byt no 7iian, I am 
 sure, can be persuaded that a woman would complain 
 of her unhappiness, and appeal to the friend of her husband 
 in her distress, without some object ; and then — oh, 
 would to Heaven I had died before I had spoken those 
 words I" 
 
 " Fanny, I must insist upon your calming your feel- 
 ings," said Miss Lovell: — " they are needlessly excited. — 
 The delay of these three days — however much I may 
 lament it, — because in your present temper of mind, 
 it will, I know, annoy and worry you — is, in fact, a 
 matter of no consequence : — he sees the propriety of 
 parting." 
 
 " There," said Fanny, " there, Emma, you have said 
 it ; as I talk of my husbands suspicions, he admits the 
 propriety of parting from me. When were we — when 
 were our names before associated ? when before were our 
 interests spoken of in common ? No, no, my happiness is 
 gone for ever. I trust in his honour implicitly and confi- 
 d-ently ; but to be obliged to trust any man, except my 
 husband — even in thought — oh, no, no, no ! " 
 
 " Dearest Fanny," said Emma, " I can enter into all 
 your views. I respect your principles, I admire your deli- 
 cacy ; but for his sake and your own, strive against these 
 feelings. He is pledged to me not to seek, and you have 
 resolved not to permit, any thing like a conversation apart 
 with him — surely you can treat him like any other 
 visiter." 
 
 " I fear not, Emma," said Mrs. Harbottle ; " the con- 
 sciousness that I have betrayed a feeling towards my hus- 
 band, such as I expressed to him, must always keep him in 
 my thoughts ; and the confidence J reposed in him will 
 ever be associated in my memory with himself ; but witli 
 this I will struggle — and, by the help of Providence, 
 I will conquer it."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 83 
 
 This conversation (which brought the ladies to the gate 
 of Dale Cottage) gave Emma more uneasiness than any 
 communication she had yet had with her friend; for, from 
 its tone and character, she almost feared that Fanny had 
 been deceiving herself as to her real feelings towards 
 Harvey ; and that, in point of fact, she even began to 
 repent of having made the eclat, by letting her friend into 
 her confidence, and deputing her to break off her associa- 
 tion with him. 
 
 It was, how^ever, but a transient alarm. Fanny's was a 
 situation of difficulty as well as delicacy : she had acted 
 upon the impulse of feeling — she had decided according 
 to the dictates of prudence — she had resolved upon her 
 course — she had followed it; and yet, we must allow her 
 to have been in some degree blamelessly influenced by a 
 gentler sentiment towards one of whom she thought so 
 highly, and with whom she did not believe herself capable 
 of conversing collectedly upon the topic nearest to her 
 heart. 
 
 That she was right as to the effect the whole affair was 
 likely to produce upon Charles, we have already seen ; 
 and it certainly seemed something like a strange interposi- 
 tion of fate that Harbottle should so peremptorily refuse 
 his consent to Harvey's departure. So, however, it was,' 
 and the three days' trial had not yet begun. Those three 
 days in France nicknamed, in the jargon of the modern 
 revolutionists, " glorious,'^ were scarcely more eventful to 
 a nation, than the coming Wednesday, Thursday, and 
 Friday were to the house of Harbottle. 
 
 In answer to the enquiries of the fair pedestrians at Dale 
 Cottage, they were informed, that Lady Frances was gone 
 to Smedley, a romantic village in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " To be sure," said Emma, " I might have saved you 
 your visit, Fanny ; for my father told me that Captain 
 Sheringham was going to drive Lady Frances over there." 
 
 " The Captain is not gone with my lady, ]\Iiss," said 
 the footman, " her ladyship is driving herself." 
 
 " Shall I leave the message, Emma," said Fanny, "■ or 
 shall I send a note when we get home." 
 
 The difficulty did not appear insurmountable in either 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 way, and it was altogether overcome by Mrs. Harbottle's 
 performing both evolutions, leaving a verbal invitation to 
 dinner then, and " reminding" her ladyship and the Cap- 
 tain with a note afterwards. 
 
 " Do you know, Fanny," said Miss Lovell, as they 
 were returning to the hall, " I begin to have some doubts 
 as to the evenness of Captain Sheringham's temper, there 
 was a sort of suUenness almost amounting to ill-nature 
 in his manner to me last night, which " 
 
 " Ought," interrupted her friend, " to have been 
 in the highest degree satisfactory to you ; that is, if he 
 happen to be as dear to you as I believe him to be: he was 
 in an agony of despair and jealousy during the whole 
 of your conversation with Charles ; and whatever doubts I 
 had before of the serious character of his attachment to 
 you, the conduct of which you are now affecting to com- 
 plain set them completely at rest." 
 
 " Our long absence," said Emma, " must have had 
 a strange etfect ; but I heed neither Mr. Harbottle's jests 
 nor Captain Sheringham's frowns. I know I was doing a 
 duty to my friend — that it was a painful one, I admit ; 
 and, as matters have since turned out, perhaps it would 
 have been as well that that conversation had not taken 
 place." 
 
 In order to avoid the society of the now dreaded Harvey, 
 Mrs. Harbottle suggested visiting the Parsonage, and 
 making a stay there during the ])eriod of the day usually 
 appropriated to luncheon at the hall. The expected visiters 
 would not make their 'appearance much before dressing 
 time; and as for any ride or drive, which the ladies might 
 propcse, it would be impossible to decline the attendance of 
 Harvey and the Squire, or most probably Harvey alone, if 
 they encountered them before the carriage or horses •were 
 ordered. 
 
 This arrangement was made — they proceeded to the 
 Rectory; and having thence despatched her note to Lady 
 Frances and the Captain, Mrs. Harbottle remained with 
 IMiss Lovell till it was time for her to return home, and at 
 a period when she was pretty sure of not meeting either 
 her husband or his friend. J
 
 THE parson's daughter. 85 
 
 In due time came the " pleasant/' '' agreeable people," 
 to enjoy whose society, Charles was made prisoner. Three 
 hard-headed fox-hunters, with rosy cheeks and thick 
 scrubbing-brush-looking hair — one of them with a fair 
 deUcate bride, and a brown boisterous sister — a silent man 
 with a talkative wife — and a deaf lawyer from the next 
 market-town. They were the dearest friends Harbottle 
 had, out of Binford, that is to say, they were (like his 
 more immediate neighbours) his creatures, his satelhtes, 
 and he could rule and command them with unqualified 
 potentiality; and therefore it was, that he desired Lady 
 Frances should be present to witness the exercise of his 
 authority. The gratification of this passion for social 
 superiority gave an air of swaggering authority to his 
 manners, and his dicta were upon such occasions fulminated 
 in a tone of authority which he scarcely knew how to sub- 
 due, when he was placed, in what to him was the painful 
 situation of being in the society of his superiors. It was a 
 shrewd remark, and made by a shrewd person, that the 
 man who loves to be the highest of his company, will, 
 probably, in time sink to be the lowest of it. 
 
 It would be vain, as it is unnecessary, to describe 
 the feelings of Fanny and Charles during the painful half- 
 hour before dinner ; he endeavoured to make conversation 
 with the sportsmen, and Fanny tried to be more than 
 ordinarily lively and chatty with the ladies. Harbottle 
 was in high spirits, and Emma Lovell in high beauty. 
 
 " Fan, dear," said the Squire, " is the carriage gone 
 down for the Sheringhams ? 'gad, it 's late. Breguer has 
 just struck seven, second bell has rung, dinner serving, 
 never wait. As I say, Snagthorpe, what s the use of 
 giving five hundred a year to a cook, if the man has not 
 fair play .'' In dining and fighting, eh ! — time 's the 
 word. Capital cook he is, as, indeed, I believe all of you 
 here know pretty well. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 "Lady Frances Sheringham," was announced — Mrs. 
 Harbottle rose to meet and receive her ; and Emma's lily 
 cheek flushed, and her snowy bosom heaved, and her heart 
 beat, as her ladyship advanced. Anxious to know whether 
 the clouds of the preceding evening had vanished from 
 
 G 3
 
 «6 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 George Sheringham's features, and resolved, under the 
 opinion of Mrs. Harbottle, to let the sunshine of her eyes 
 dissipate any slight gloom which might remain, if she per- 
 ceived encouraging symptoms of a favourable change in 
 the weather on his part, the timid girl looked round to ob- 
 serve the expression of the gallant Captain's countenance. 
 
 But if her heart palpitated then — and it did — and 
 her cheek flushed, and her bosom heaved, what happened, 
 when Lady Frances had reached the middle of the drawing 
 room, and before she had received the "• accolade" of Mrs. 
 Harbottle, Emma saw the door closed, and saw no Captain 
 George Augustus Frederick Sheringham make his appear- 
 ance to be shone upon. 
 
 For a moment she fancied that he had turned to speak 
 to some of the guests in the other drawing-room ; but no, 
 he was not there. 
 
 " Lady Frances," said the Squire, " where is the Cap- 
 tain .'' " 
 
 " Why, upon my Avord, Mr. Harbottle," said her lady- 
 ship, "I know just as little as you do: he promised to 
 drive me to Smedley, but when the pony phaeton came, he 
 was ' absent without leave,' as he would himself say. I 
 therefore drove myself, and when I returned, I found a 
 note from him, saying that he had received a letter Avhich 
 held out hopes of employment ; and that, anxious not to 
 lose a moment, he had started without waiting to take 
 leave of me, or, as he adds, of ' any body else.' He tells 
 me I shall hear in a day or two, and the servants think he 
 is gone to town. Voila I'histnire." 
 
 More comforts for the company. Emma saw in an in- 
 stant the cause of Sheringham's sudden departure. The 
 gloom of the preceding evening had, by the unforeseen 
 events of the morning, been converted into anger ; and 
 the jealousy, which had no doubt been smouldering through- 
 out the night, had burst into a flame, on his finding his 
 imaginary rival seated at the Rector's breakfast-table. 
 
 Fanny, of course, felt the same conviction ; her eyes 
 met Emma's, — their looks were mutually intelligible. 
 
 " Gone, is he ?" said the Squire ; " now that's all your 
 fault. Miss Emma ; that 's just the thing, two strings to
 
 THE parson's daughter. 8? 
 
 your bow^ or, as my friend Snagthorpe here would say, 
 two beaux in your string. You thought to worry him last 
 night, by carrying off Master Charles ; and now, by 
 Jove, he is gone, ha! ha ! ha ! — Broken hearted, I dare 
 say, my lady. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " I really beheve," said Lady Frances, ^' that he is 
 yet safe and heart-whole, not that I am in his confidence ; 
 for although he is somewhat addicted to flirting, he has 
 not got a grain of sentiment in his composition. I fancy 
 his present object is a ship rather than a wife." 
 
 Her ladyship, whose opinion of the cause of her son's 
 departure was not entirely at variance with that of the 
 Squire, delivered these last few words in a marked manner, 
 and a particular tone, looking Emma full in the face, who, 
 conscious of her ladyship's meaning, was ready to sink 
 through the floor. How long she might have been able to 
 battle against her feelings, it is impossible to say ; luckily 
 the announcement of dinner put an end to the struggle. 
 
 After a two hours' display of boisterous mirth and empty 
 ostentation, the ladies quitted the dining-room, and left 
 the sportsmen to the enjoyment of their social pleasures ; 
 of which, however, the fair creatures were still made in 
 some degree partakers, for the shouts, and huzzas, and 
 tally-hos which marked the admiration of the gentlemen 
 for the different toasts and sentiments which emanated 
 from the Squire, in the chair, made the house ring again, 
 and echoed through the hall to the more peaceful recesses 
 of the drawing-room. 
 
 Coffee having been twice or thi-ee times ordered, and 
 as many times countermanded, and "^more claret" having 
 been as many times called for, it appeared to some of the 
 quietest members of the community time to join the 
 ladies ; and accordingly the deaf lawyer led the way, fol- 
 lowed by Charles Harvey, who, though pledged to Emma 
 to seek no private conversation with Mrs. Harbottle, felt 
 that he was not pledged to remain any longer where he 
 was. The advanced guard was soon followed by the main 
 corps d'armec, and the rear brought up by Harbottle him- 
 self, whose appearance, on his entrance to the drawing- 
 
 Q 4
 
 88 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 roorrij convinced his anxious lady that he had arrived at 
 that state in which most of all she dreaded to see him, 
 ■when his mind, such as it was, was just brought to a state 
 of oscillation between outrageous merriment and savage 
 rage, and when the balance was so equal, that a grain in 
 either scale would predominate. In these humours he was 
 habituated to the use of what he imagined raillery ; and if 
 before dinner he had acquired an idea (or as he used to call 
 it, a notion) of any thing which might be going on, and in 
 Avhich his associates might be engaged, he would in the 
 evening, after his copious libations, which were to his 
 mind what varnish is to a picture, and brought out all its 
 beauties or deformities^ as the case might be, invariably 
 try back upon the graver conversations of the earlier part 
 of the day, and bring forward again all the arguments he 
 had previously adopted, and the observations he had pre- 
 viously made, but with a tenfold strength of language. 
 
 Knowing this peculiarity, Fanny was convinced that 
 Miss Lovell would come under his particular observation 
 the moment they met ; and, moreover, was she convinced 
 that the turn of the conversation, while tormenting to 
 Emma, would probably induce a quarrel with Lady Fran- 
 ces, who had expressed herself after dinner in no very 
 equivocal terms as to her views and intentions with respect 
 to her son. To these apprehensions on the part of Mrs. 
 Harbottle was superadded the impossibility, in case the 
 conversation should take that turn, of avoiding a discussion 
 upon the conservatory scene, which must necessarily place 
 Charles and herself in an equally embarrassing position. 
 
 " What are you two doing in this corner? " said Har- 
 bottle, addressing Lady Frances and Mrs. Snagthorpe, who 
 were playing at ecarte. 
 
 " Why" said Lady Frances, '' — this — lady (her name 
 was impracticable) and I have been endeavouring to while 
 away time, which I suppose has been flying with you, till 
 you joined us." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Squire, looking vacantly, or as he 
 meant it, wisely at the table, " for my part I do like 
 wine, and I don't like cards — I don't understand cards. 
 I never play for pleasure, and I won't play for money ;
 
 THE parson's daughter. 89 
 
 winning a hundred or two pounds would be no object to 
 me, and losing half as much v/ould put me in a passion." 
 
 " Yes," said her ladyship, " as poor i\Ir. Sheringham 
 used to say, playing high is purchasing anxiety at a thou- 
 sand pounds an hour." 
 
 " Come," said the Squire, " let 's all do something : has 
 every body seen the house .-' If they haven't, I '11 show it; 
 — Mollis get candles ; and — come. Lady Frances, I '11 be 
 hanged if you have seen my house yet." 
 
 " Well, let me finish my /)«r^ie," said her ladyship. 
 
 " Partie ! —oh, that 's French," said the Squire ; " I 
 hate French, and I hate every thing but having my own 
 way : — come, who's for up stairs } " 
 
 Some of those who had, and some who had not visited 
 the galleries and passages of his mansion, followed the 
 Squire in his progress. 
 
 Fanny and Emma hoped that Lady Frances would have 
 done a douce violence to her feeUngs, and joined the ex- 
 ploring party ; — but no — she remained at her ecarte : 
 and as Mrs. Harbottle was doomed to be Mrs. Snagthorpe's 
 adviser, the two ladies most interested in passing events 
 had an opportunity of communicating their ideas or 
 opinions. 
 
 Emma Lovell, it must be confessed, was in a worse po- 
 sition than her friend. Fanny had chalked out a hne of 
 conduct, she had followed it, and however much a few 
 hours delay might militate against her entire tranquillity, 
 or cause her some transient uneasiness, her point was 
 carried, her object was gained, and she would at the end 
 of the week be restored, if not to perfect repose, at least to 
 the comparative comfort of feeling conscious that she had 
 acted prudently and honourably, and that, however great 
 the sacrifice might be which she had made, the result 
 which she proposed in making it had been secured. 
 
 But with Emma the case was wholly and entirely dif- 
 ferent. Secluded from the world, living in the quiet ful- 
 filment of every duty, fihal and social, in the small circle 
 of which she was the pride and ornament, her thoughts 
 and wislies strayed not beyond tlie boundaries of the fertile 
 valley in which her father had taken up his rest ; and her
 
 90 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 gentle mind, unused to the excitements of gaiety or the 
 allurements of flattery, full of tenderness and kindness^ had 
 received with unaffected pleasure the attentions and devo- 
 tion of such a man as Sheringham. That he was charmed 
 •with her we know; for in his character and disposition there 
 were a frankness and ingenuousness which rendered it im- 
 possible for him to conceal his feelings, even if he had 
 thought it essential to endeavour to do so. 
 
 Emma, unschooled in the world's ways, was equally in- 
 capable of duplicity ; and thus either of them seemed 
 confident in the affection of the other. Although a word 
 of love had never been exchanged between them, Emma, 
 conscious of his regards, felt pleased and gratified ; and he, 
 almost assured by her manner that when the moment of 
 declaration came, he should not be rejected, loved and 
 lingered on, happy in her society, and delighted with the 
 traits of excellence in her character, which were daily 
 developing themselves. 
 
 What had she done ? — Conscious as she felt herself that 
 Sheringham always feared the rivalry of Charles Harvey, 
 she had selected Charles as the partner of a protracted 
 dialogue, apart from the rest of the society, which dialogue 
 had terminated by his disappearance, and her assumption 
 of a character, and for the first time in her life the enact- 
 ment of a part, to disguise the real truth. She tested 
 Sheringham's conduct by her own feelings ; she reflected 
 upon what she should have suffered if he had singled out 
 some fair girl to devote himself to, for the evening, and 
 abstract himself with, if at the end of a lengthened 
 conversation they had parted evidently under the influence 
 of strong feelings — thus it was she judged her own con- 
 duct ; thus did she revolve the events of the preceding day, 
 and coupling those with the occurrences of the morningat the 
 Rectory, arrive at the resolution that she had behaved in a 
 manner mijustifiable, because inexplicable, to the being of 
 whose love for her she was conscious — a consciousness 
 acquired, it must be confessed, by a process, the result of 
 which was the incontrovertible certainty that she loved 
 him, 
 
 " Here we are, here we are ! " cried the Squire, dancing
 
 THE parson's daughter. 91 
 
 into the drawing-room, followed by his group of equally 
 merry friends — " thut ccarte not done yet — I say, Fan, 
 dear Fan, let us do something till supper; let's play blind- 
 man's buff, hide and seek ; Miss Snagthorpe is all for a 
 game.'' 
 
 Here the burst of noise was terrific, 
 
 " Hunt the slipper, any thing," cried Harbottle ; 
 " What 's to be had for fun, let 's have ; what 's to be had 
 for money, we will have — ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 Here Lady Frances, having in vain attempted to stop 
 her ears, laid down her cards, paid her points, and drawing 
 on her glove retired to the sofa. 
 
 " What shall it be, my lady ? " said the Squire, " eh, 
 hunt the slipper ; bless your old soul, you 'd like it, I 
 know you would — ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Hide and seek," cried the voices of several, who were 
 convinced by the sinuosities of passages and difficult ascents 
 and descents which they had just traversed, that the house 
 was admirably calculated for that game. 
 
 "So be it — so be it," said Harbottle; "who shall 
 hide .'' — let 's see — somebody who knows the house ought 
 to hide first. Fan — Fan, you should hide — you and 
 Charles Harvey — you two first. Come — where is he ? 
 — Come, away with you ; stow yourselves away in some 
 dark corner, and cry " Whoop ! " Avhen we may follow — 
 ha! ha! ha! They've played at it a hundred times 
 before, so we shall have old nick's work to catch them — 
 ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 What was to be done? Nothing but comply ; the least 
 check to Harbottle's will, when in his present humour, 
 would have produced something not very unlike a paroxysm 
 of madness. Fanny, per force, obeyed — and Harvey, 
 scarcely conscious of what he was doing, accompanied her 
 to the hiding-place, according to her husband's directions. 
 
 They proceeded along the passages, and having ensconced 
 themselves in a dark room, the door of which happened to 
 be open — the signal was given, and the seekers set forth. 
 
 Charles had, involuntarily — unconsciously — taken Fan- 
 ny's hand — it was as cold as ice, and shook fearfully.
 
 92 THE PAKSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Good God ! " said Charles, " what a situation to be 
 thrown into, after what has occurred ! " — 
 
 '' For Heaven's sake, Charles," said Fanny, " remember 
 your pledge — I — trust to your honour." 
 
 " One only word," replied Charles ; " remember when 
 I am gone " 
 
 " No, no," said Fanny, " not one syllable — they are 
 here — they are here ! " 
 
 And, accordingly, the train of thoughtless ones swept 
 by, making all the lobbies and staircases ring with their 
 boisterous mirth as they passed the door. Fanny ran off, 
 followed of course by Charles, to some other place of se- 
 curity from the mimic hunters. 
 
 Two minutes afterwards a third person quitted the room, 
 which they had temporarily occupied, who had not been 
 seen in it by either Charles or Fanny. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 You think yourselves the finest gentlemen 
 
 When you are most to be despised and pitied; 
 
 Not monkeys can be more ridiculous! 
 
 Besides the infamy you must contract ; 
 
 In the opinion of the good and wise. 
 
 As soon I 'd choose a madman for a friend ; 
 
 You vomit secrets when o'ercharged with wine — 
 
 You often (juarrel with the best of friends — 
 
 And slie must be as bold as is a lioness 
 
 Who takes you for a husband. Drink, in short. 
 
 Provokes you to all folly, to all vice, 
 
 Till you become a nuisance to mankind. Shadweli. 
 
 ^Fhen the next morning's sun awakened the Squire from 
 his slumbers to a consciousness of existence, he felt as if, 
 amidst the chaos of events and incidents of the preceding 
 evening, he recollected having done a vast many foolish 
 things, the precise nature or character of which, however, 
 he could not estabUsh at all to his satisfaction. He had
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. QS 
 
 either said or done something outrageous to Lady Frances, 
 and something excessively silly to Miss Snagthorpe, and 
 had affronted Emma Lovell, and scolded his wife before her 
 guests ; but as the detail of all his follies would not be by 
 any means entertaining to the reader, we will leave him to 
 the enjoyment of that sort of retrospective feeling, of having 
 somehow committed himself the night before, which fre- 
 quently worries a man in the morning, but which is never 
 wrought to a much higher pitch than when he wakes to the 
 certainty of having lost half his fortune before he went to 
 sleep. 
 
 The only permanent sentiment in Mr. Harbottle's mind 
 was resentment towards his unhappy Fanny. Upon what 
 particular account he could not so weU remember, but the 
 point was established ; and, therefore, as she either was or 
 seemed to be wrapped in peaceful slumber when her ex- 
 cellent spouse thought proper to bestir himself, he did not 
 disturb her repose by enquiring into the cause of quarrel, 
 or soliciting her forgiveness of his intemperance. 
 
 Not he ; his usual course after one of these exhibitions 
 was to proceed silently, perhaps sullenly, lo his dressing- 
 room ; and having made his toilet without calling any ser- 
 vant to his assistance, go down stairs into his own room, 
 and having loitered about, having no pursuit which led him 
 to read or write — excepting, indeed, after the arrival of 
 the post, to answer any business-letters which he might 
 receive from his banker or his lawyer — generally stroll to 
 the hall door, where, having inhaled some of the freshness 
 of the morning, he used, if he fell in with his ancient serv- 
 ing-man, and now house- steward, Hollis, endeavour to 
 learn from him such particulars of his own individual 
 conduct on the preceding evening as in the whirl of his 
 brain he had himself forgotten — and this he usually did 
 with what he considered a prodigious deal of tact and dex- 
 terity. 
 
 It so happened upon the particular morning in question, 
 that he encountered this man on his return from the break- 
 fast parlour, whither he had been to inspect the preparations 
 for the matin meal. 
 
 " Hollis," said the Squire, " were you up when the
 
 94< THE parson's daughter. 
 
 carriage came back from taking Lady Frances and Miss 
 Lovell home ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Hollis : " it was about two o'clock." 
 
 " Pray, did I — I forget," said the Squire, " did I 
 give the coachman any orders about having two carriages 
 ready for the ladies to-day ?" — 
 
 " I did not hear, sir," said Hollis ; " but I'll send to 
 the stables and enquire." 
 
 "No," said the Squire; " I'll go — myself — pray — 
 did Lady Frances say she would come up and join the 
 party, when she went aw^ay ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Hollis ; " I understood her ladyship 
 quite different from that. She seemed, I thought, in a 
 great passion, and talking about something. I believe it 
 was chiefly on account of something you said to her about 
 the Captain and Miss Lovell, sir." 
 
 So much of this dialogue as the reader has yet overheard, 
 will, perhaps, serve to show the familiar nature of the 
 communications Avhich frequently passed between this un- 
 couth master and his long-tried servant. The sequel will, 
 perhaps, enlighten the said reader somewhat farther. 
 
 " What!" s^aid Harbottle, " did I joke my lady about 
 that — and did Miss Lovell hear me ? " 
 
 " Yes, to be sure she did, sir," said Hollis, " so did all 
 the servants ; for it was in the hall ; and Miss Lovell seemed 
 very much vexed and frightened." 
 
 "And was Mr. Harvey there.? What did he say?" 
 said Harbottle. 
 
 " I really don't know," said Hollis somewhat signifi- 
 cantly ; " 1 don't think Mr. Harvey was there — I think 
 most likely he was not," 
 
 " Because," said Harbottle, continuing the conversation 
 in his strange and unaccountable maimer, " he is Miss 
 Lovell's sweetheart, and is going off from us on her ac- 
 count." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said Hollis, '' I should not have thought 
 that — however — I shan't be very sorry to see his back 
 turned to tliis house." 
 
 " Why, Hollis ?" said the Squire; " I know 7 shall be
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTEK. 95 
 
 very sorry : but when once a woman 's in the case^ there 's 
 an end of every thing ; so, if he must go, he must." 
 
 " / say nothing, sir," said HoIIis, " but my belief is, 
 that it woxUd have been just as well if he never had come 
 here." 
 
 " I dare say it might for him, poor fellow," replied the 
 Squire carelessly, his thoughts not in the slightest degree 
 directed into the channel to which his " excellent" domestic 
 %vas endeavouring to invite them, and he turned away to visit 
 the stables without suffering himself to be fartlier edified 
 by his valuable retainer. 
 
 Fidelity in an ancient servant is most admirable and 
 praiseworthy, and much to the credit of this HoIIis would 
 it have been if he could have saved his master from dis- 
 honour, or his mistress from disgrace ; but truth must be 
 told ; far from being the faithful steward that his master 
 believed him to be, he was a mixture of baseness and dis- 
 honesty. Time had blanched his head, but his heart 
 remained as black as ever. In his master, from the time 
 of his coming of age, he had found the dupe of his artifices 
 — the victim of his chicanery ; and when Ilarbottle mar- 
 ried, HoUis felt that a mistress of the house would be a 
 check upon his spoliations and misdoings. A prudent 
 housekeeper, selected by an aunt of Mrs. Harbottle's, was 
 placed in charge of the establishment ; and although the 
 wasteful liberality, or rather reckless ostentation, of her 
 husband experienced no great reduction by her exertions, 
 yet method and order had, in some degree, been introduced 
 into the establishment ; and when alone with him, ab- 
 stracted from parties and visiters, Fanny's mild and cheering 
 influence, Avhich he thought it manly and spirited to deny 
 and ridicule before strangers, won him to habits of regula- 
 rity and an attention to bis expenditure, which, lavish as it 
 was, was at least reducible to account — a circumstance 
 which, while Hollis reigned with absolute power, never had 
 occurred ; and, then again, whenever she was able to in- 
 terpose her persuasion between his desire to buy, at the 
 recommendation of his favourite servant, objects which, 
 like liis pastile-burning dragons and his duck-mounted 
 bagatelje-board, were neither useful nor ornamental, she
 
 Q6 the parson's daughter. 
 
 applied herself to do so, securing a solid satisfaction for her 
 husband at the price of a rooted and inveterate hatred from 
 his creature. 
 
 In the whole heart and disposition of Fanny, there was 
 nothing that was not kind and amiable, affectionate and 
 charitable. She had lost her mother so early in life as to 
 be unconscious of the bereavement, and had been educated 
 under the care of an aunt, the sister of her father; and, 
 when chance threw Harbottle in her way, she was every 
 thing that man could seek or desire in a wife ; modest and 
 unaffected, accomplished and beautiful ; gay without levity, 
 and sensitively alive to every right feeling without the 
 slighest particle of prudery ; her countenance, animated 
 with intelligence and ever- varying expression, was the in- 
 dex of a genuine, pure, and unsophisticated mind. In her 
 manners there was a winning sweetness, an inherent grace- 
 fulness, which courts may improve but cannot give ; and 
 while the joyous smile of harmless pleasure played on her 
 dimpled cheeks, there was ever beaming round her the pure 
 radiancy of virtue to sanctify her beauty. 
 
 And this was the being whose happiness, whose fame, 
 whose very existence, perhaps, was to be endangered by the 
 malicious insinuations of a demon in human shape! Scarce 
 that — not because he felt anxious for cither his master's 
 honour or happiness, but in order, if he could, to over- 
 throw the regularity of his establishment, and bring back 
 the chaos which had, in other days, produced such profit- 
 able results to him, and out of which he now proposed to 
 realise a handsome competence for a ragamuffin son and a 
 tawdry daughter. 
 
 This worthy domestic had long been seeking some op- 
 portunity to poison his master's mind ; and the innocent 
 playfulness of Fanny's disposition, misconstrued by the low 
 and vicious imagination of Ilollis into something like levity 
 and impropriety, induced him constantly to watch her ac- 
 tions, in hopes of fastening upon her some indiscretion of 
 sufficient importance to awaken his master's doubts ; for 
 he had cunning enough to understand at least one of the 
 minds with which he had to deal, and he knew that if 
 once he could lead the Squire to suspect, in the slighest de-
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 gree, the rest of the game would be easily played by his 
 own violence of temper^ which, if it led to no other conse- 
 quences, would, in all probability, bring about a separation 
 between him and his lady ; but the sneaking spy had 
 watched in vain, and listened fruitlessly — nothing could 
 he discover in the conduct or character of his mistress 
 which malice could misrepresent into impropriety, until, 
 like music to his attentive ears, did he hear his lady's maid 
 detail the history of the note of which she had been the 
 bearer from Charles. 
 
 This little episode in the family history, to which a most 
 unjust colouring had been given by the flippancy of Mrs. 
 Devon, was quite sufficient as the first stone of his fabric ; 
 and, as if the evil genius of poor Fanny had been at work 
 against her, he happened accidentally — really accidentally 
 — to be passing through the room in which she and Charles 
 took refuge from the " seekers," in their innocent game, 
 and merely stopped to see what might happen when he 
 found them run in. What he then heard made a valuable 
 addition to the scanty supply of matter for impeachment 
 already in his possession, and furnished ample materials 
 for the first story, which he intended to raise upon his 
 slender foundation. 
 
 "When Harbottle returned to the house and met his as- 
 sembled friends at the breakfast table, his anxiety to know 
 if he had really misconducted himself seriously towards 
 Lady Frances was rather whetted than allayed by the ob- 
 servations of Hollis upon their separation in the evening. 
 Mrs. Harbottle, as the ingenuous servant had said, was not 
 present at the party, and could, therefore, give him but 
 httle consolation ; but Snagthorpe, who had attended them 
 to the door, and escorted Miss Lovell to the carriage, af- 
 forded him some information which was any thing but 
 satisfactory. 
 
 " I must admit," said the sporting Snagthorpe, " that 
 you did certainly hit her ladyship hard — you talked to 
 her of the vanity of birth, and the vice of pride. IIov.- the 
 conversation took that particular turn, I do not presume to 
 know — so it was — and when she was telling us the his- 
 tory of something that had occurred at a party in London, 
 
 u
 
 98 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 you told her that a large party seemed to you to be a 
 general combination of a vast number of people to make 
 each other uncomfortable, and ended by saying, that 
 nobody but a fool or a pickpocket could enjoy a crowd." 
 
 " Ah," said Harbottle, " but as her ladyship is neither 
 a pickpocket nor a fool^ that could not offend her. Ha ! 
 ha! ha !" 
 
 " But then," continued the jovial sportsman, " you told 
 her tliat Miss Lovell, the Parson's Daughter, was too good 
 for her son, the Captain ; and you believed, after she had 
 rejected IVIr. Harvey for his sake, that her ladyship had 
 packed him off to his quality friends to be kept out of 
 harm's Avay." 
 
 " The deuce I did ! " echoed the Squire ; " did you 
 hear me say that, Charles ? Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " No," replied Harvey, "I — was not iu the hall at 
 the time." 
 
 " And %vhat said she in return ? " said the Squire. 
 
 " Why," continued Snagthorpe, feeling his details ex- 
 tremely well received by the party, who were convulsed 
 with laughter during the showing up ; " why, her ladyship 
 said, that if Miss LoveU had given up Mr. Harvey for her 
 son's sake, there u-as a lady of your acquaintance who did 
 not seem inclined to give him up for any body's sake." 
 
 " Why, what did she mean ?" said Harbottle. 
 
 It was a " merry jest," a " righte pleasaunte conceite." 
 Poor Snagthorpe, though jocose, never fancied, as how in- 
 deed should he, what Lady Frances really and maliciously 
 meant, for certainly the particularly reserved conduct of 
 Charles and Fanny towards each other since the arrival of 
 the new visiters was very unlikely to lead him to suspect 
 that* the mistress of the house was actually the object 
 of her noble guest's attack. 
 
 " What does she mean, Charles ? " said Harbottle. 
 
 Charles acted chameleon to perfection, and varied his 
 colour prodigiously. — Fanny turned crimson. 
 
 "I — I can't think," said Charles. 
 
 " Do you know any of his secrets. Fan," said the Squire 
 to his wife, who luckily was sitting with her back to the 
 light.
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 99 
 
 " Oh ! not I/' replied she. 
 
 " She could not mean Miss Eaglesfielcl," said the Squire 
 to himself. — " A lady of my acquaintance. I'll go after 
 breakfast to have it out with her — ha! ha! ha I and 
 what said poor Emma all this time ? — upon my life 
 I never will drink punch after supper again. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha!" 
 
 " Mr. Harvey," said Miss Snagthorpe, who thought 
 it necessary to play her part in the slip-slop conversation, 
 " must surely be conscious who the devoted damsel is." 
 
 " I am not aware," said Harvey, " I assure ycu." 
 
 " 1 don't care a fig about Lady Frances," said Harbottle; 
 " to be sure there was no necessity for affronting her ; but 
 I am sorry about poor Emma, because I know it will vex 
 her, and though she did throw you over, Charles, " 
 
 " Upon my word," said Mrs. Snagthorpe, the fox- 
 hunter's pretty little delicate wife, " you really are too 
 bad, j\Ir. Harbcttle : if there is any truth in your story, 
 you should spare Mr. Harvey, and if none, you should 
 spare the young lady." 
 
 " Oh," said Charles, " I am proof against his raillery. 
 I admit every thing, which is the surest way of avoiding 
 discussion." 
 
 " No, you don't," said Miss Snagthorpe. '' You deny 
 your knowledge of the lady of Mr. Harbottle's acquaint- 
 ance, who is not disposed to give you up for any body." 
 
 Never did tliis Pata2;onian Miss seem half so frisihtful to 
 Fanny or to Cliarles as when she brought this little bit of 
 satire to bear. 
 
 " I find," said Charles, " when the ladies declare war 
 against rae, I have no safety but in flight." 
 
 Saying which, he rose from the table, — so did Snag- 
 thorpe and one or two others who had finished their break- 
 fast. Harbottle, witli a certain degree of good nature, into 
 which he had been brought by a consciousness of his mis- 
 behaviour the night before, walked up to his wife's chair, 
 and in a tone of endearment half whispered in her ear, 
 " AV'hat do you think Lady Frances really did mean about 
 Charles ? " 
 
 "How should I be able to tell ?" said Fanny, who felt 
 
 u 2
 
 100 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 her cheeks burn ami her heart ache^ as she condescended 
 so to equivocate in an answer to her husband, as that she 
 might avoid teUing a falsehood while she yet denied the 
 truth. 
 
 " Well, ]\Irs. Snagthorpe/' cried Harbottle, turning from 
 Fanny, quite satisfied with her ignorance, " to-day Fanny 
 will take you over and show you the fishing cottage I 
 have built, and we will order luncheon there — and you 
 shall go in the britscka. Snagthorpe, you and I will ride 
 — who goes in the phaeton ? — Harvey, drive some of the 
 ladies, that is, if your ravenous invisible will permit you. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! — I think you '11 like my britscka, Mrs. Snag- 
 thorpe — Hobson — completest carriage in the world — cost 
 me a mint of money — but as I say, what does it signify ? 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! However, I must go down to the Parsonage, 
 make my peace with Emma, and call at Dale Cottage, 
 have it out with my lady, and ask her here again to 
 dinner." 
 
 " Indeed," said Fanny, '' Mr. Harbottle, I think you 
 had better not invite her again : in all probability she will 
 decline seeing you if what they tell us happened really did 
 occur ; and, at all events, I don't think the friends now 
 
 with us are exactly suited to her; and, besides " 
 
 " Psha I nonsense!" said Harbottle; '' not suited to 
 her ! — if my dinners, and my carriages, and my comforts 
 are suited to her, my company is suited to her. I shall 
 break her into my ways." 
 
 " I would much rather she did not come," said Fanny, 
 who, for reasons which she could not divulge, felt the 
 strongest anxiety not again to be thrown into the society 
 of one who, professing kindness, and friendship, and affec- 
 tion for her, could, in a moment of irritation, however 
 savagely excited, evince to her husband a suspicion of the 
 impropriety of her conduct, in a declaration which, how- 
 ever groundless in fact, clearly established two points — 
 one, that her ladyship believed her dear friend actually 
 guilty ; and the other, that, so bebeving, she did not hesi- 
 tate to betray her on the first colourable op])ortunity. 
 
 " I would rather she should come," said the Squire. 
 " I do not choose my friends to suppose that 1 am to be
 
 THE parson's daughter. 101 
 
 whistled on and off like a dog, by these beggarly lords and 
 ladies : — come she shall : — I am vexed about Emma — but 
 I shall press her to come too." 
 
 " I fear it will be difficult to succeed in your invitation 
 to her," said Fanny, " after your declaration with respect 
 to her position relatively to Captain Sheringham. I sus- 
 pect enough must have passed in their way home last night 
 between her, poor girl, and the Captain's mother, to render 
 it little desirable to either party to meet again. Feelings 
 like hers cannot so easily be soothed " 
 
 " Feelings !" exclaimed the Squire, snapping his fingers, 
 " fiddledee about feelings — depend upon it in this world 
 the only way to get on, is to put your feelings in your 
 pocket, and the less room there is in it to stow them away 
 there the better." 
 
 " You do yourself injustice," said Fanny ; " your feel- 
 ings are just as strong as any body's." 
 
 " I grant you. Fan," replied the husband, " when I 
 am put upon — sneered at — ridiculed — injured — de- 
 ceived — that I can feel, and pretty sharply too ; but I 
 should think myself a great fool to care about what is said 
 between friends, as I call all of us here — hard words 
 break no bones — do they, Tom ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 These last words were accompanied by a tremendous 
 slap on the back of our sporting friend Snagthorpe, which 
 made him stagger again. 
 
 " No, no," cried the astounded Nimrod ; " but hard 
 thumps do, Harbottle." 
 
 Fanny followed her inexorable husband, and kept en- 
 treating him not to persevere in his invitation to Lady 
 Frances — but in vain. If she came, she anticipated all 
 that she should have to undergo beyond her own private 
 feelings as regarded her ladyship's suspicions and malig- 
 nity. Constant references to Harvey and his incognita 
 favourite would lead to accusations and vindications in- 
 tended to be jocose, but which would be daggers to her, 
 and would, in all probability, betray Harvey (who was no 
 match for Lady Frances) into some dilemma which might 
 en d in the most serious results. 
 
 The die, however, was cast, and nothing could save poor 
 
 H S
 
 102 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Fanny from the rack which was preparing for her but the 
 ■wounded pride of Lady Frances ; and from a closer ac- 
 quaintance with her ladyship, Mrs. Harbottle began to be- 
 lieve thatj in spite of the dignified tone which she had 
 assumed on her first arrival at Binford, her magnificence 
 had so far adapted itself to circumstances, that she pre- 
 ferred the luxuries of the hall, gratis, to the delicacies of 
 the cottage even at a small charge ; indeed, it appeared by 
 her words and actions, that although she did not hesitate 
 to make war upon her neighbours on the slightest provoca- 
 tion, one of the leading principles of her tactics was that of 
 foraging upon the enemy. The difficulty of the case to 
 Fanny was this : — immediately after breakfast they were 
 to start on the expedition to the Fishing Cottage, and Har- 
 bottle, who was first going to the Rectory and Dale Cot- 
 tage, was to join them there. They would not meet before 
 their departure on the excursion, and she could not, there- 
 fore, know whether the Squire's invitation was accepted or 
 not, until it was too late to make any arrangements to 
 avoid its effects. 
 
 She felt con\inccd that if it were, it would be impossible 
 for her to support the presence of Harvey during her lady- 
 ship's visit — she foresaw all the consequences of his being 
 of the party — the next day he was positively to go to 
 London — she determined if she could ascertain Lady 
 Frances's answer to be in tlie affirmative, to beg him at all 
 events, and at the hazard even of affronting Harbottle, to 
 take his departure that afternoon before dinner. But then 
 her wish upon that point must be expressed to Charles 
 himself; therefore, before they quitted the Hall on their 
 trip, she sought him in the breakfast-parlour — he had left 
 it ; she looked into the conservatory — he Avas not there ; 
 she lingered, hesitated — she could not make up her mind 
 to get ready for her departure until she had secured his 
 absence from dinner. 
 
 Harbottle was now actually gone — no time was to be 
 lost — the carriages were coming round — Fanny crossed 
 the hall — the library door was open — she looked in, and 
 there saw the object at once of her search and of her avoid- 
 ance. He had entered the room by a door at the other
 
 THE parson's daughter. 103 
 
 end of it, which led again into the drawing-rooms^ and was 
 passing through it. AVhen he saw her in quest of him, 
 Harvey started. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Charles," said she, ^' Hsten a mo- 
 ment. You know what Lady Frances said last night — 
 he is gone to invite her here to dinner to-day. Hear me 
 
 — if she came, and you were here, I should die. Cruel, 
 
 deceitful woman ! A\'hat I have to ask " here fear, 
 
 anxiety, and a thousand other feelings, almost stopped her 
 utterance. 
 
 " Speak, Fanny," said Charles — " direct me how to 
 act. 
 
 " You are to go to-morrow," continued she, not much 
 less affected than lie evidently was; " that is your promise 
 to him, not to me. You were pledged to go yesterday — 
 let me entreat of you go to-day — go — make any excuse 
 
 — leave a note — do not see him — you will be over- 
 persuaded — God forgive me — I think I shall die — go 
 
 — I could not endure your presence — you could not bear 
 the jests and follies which they would commit — I am con- 
 vinced we should betray ourselves." 
 
 We ! ! ! 
 
 " If the struggle kills me, it shall be done," said Charles : 
 " you see me no more." 
 
 " Heaven bless you," said Fanny. " Farewell, then — 
 no — no — no — hush, I hear them coming — let me go 
 this way — my eyes wiU betray me. Farewell, Charles 
 
 — farewell ; once more, God bless you !" 
 
 She rushed from him to the other door, which was ajar : 
 she pushed it open to pass out, and discovered — Hollis 
 listening. 
 
 H 4
 
 104 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER X; 
 
 , If powers divine 
 
 Behold our human actions (as they do), 
 
 I doubt not then but innocence shall make 
 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny 
 
 Tremble at patience. Vou, my lord, best know 
 
 Who least will seem to do so ; my past Jife 
 
 Hath been as innocent, as chaste, as true. 
 
 As I am now unhappy. Shakspearb. 
 
 And what may have happened in the meanwhile to our 
 excellent young friend. Captain George Augustus Frederick 
 Sheringham, who, it seems, had suddenly adopted the rarely 
 used manoeuvre in English nauticals of running away ? 
 
 To be deceived by a girl of the world, with whom a man 
 has been playing the same game as herself, and to be de- 
 feated in a running fight of flirtation, or outwitted in a 
 case of coquetry, may be unpleasant at the moment, because 
 being deceived and defeated in any thing is far from agree- 
 able ; but the pang is a thousand times more severe when 
 the object of our affections happens ro be such a being as 
 Emma Lovell. The retiring modesty of manner, the soul- 
 fraught tenderness of feeling, the gentleness of expression, 
 the excellence of purpose, and the j)urity of thought Avhich 
 distinguish such a being amidst a thousand, seem so many 
 sureties for sincerity and truth. 
 
 To be discarded by such a one as this, is tlie bitterest 
 of all human mortifications, because either a man has been 
 deceived wilfvdly by her original assumption of appearances, 
 which were but superficial, or she has discovered something 
 in his character and qualities so much at variance with 
 what could be acceptable to such a being (supposing her 
 sincere), as to have induced her, upon acquaintance and 
 reflection, to withdraw herself from an intimacy for which 
 at first she had no disinclination. 
 
 That Emma was attached to Harvey, Sheringham had 
 no doubt — that their conversation in the conservatory had 
 ended in her acceptance of his offer be was equally certain; 
 first, from having seen him plante at breakfast at her
 
 THE parson's daughter. 105 
 
 father's the next morning ; secondly, from her message, 
 openly delivered to him by a common footman ; and, 
 thirdly, by their manner and earnestness, in the walk 
 which they subsequently took to the hall, after his de- 
 parture from the Parsonage. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the sort of ebullition 
 by which the gallant captain's heart and mind were agitated 
 in his saunter homewards. He walked slowly for one 
 minute — rapidly for two — then he would stop — some 
 tree, some bush, some stile, some object which he passed, 
 brought to his recollection a word — a look — a smile of 
 Emma — ay, a smile — for she had smiled on him " many 
 a time and oft" as they had walked along that very path. 
 Then he doubted — then he feared — then he defied — 
 laughed at his own weakness, and whistled ; as if, like 
 OtheUo, he could 
 
 " Whistle her off, and let her down the wind 
 To prey at fortune." 
 
 But that humour lasted only for a moment — he stopped 
 again — stamped on the ground with vexation and anger. 
 Should he call out Harvey? Why? — she had favoured 
 — had accepted him. Should he see — propose to her — • 
 he never had done so, and had no more right to her affec- 
 tions, nor hold over them, than any other of the gallant 
 commanders in his Majesty's royal navy. Why did he 
 complain then of her preference of Charles ? if he so much 
 dreaded the result, why had he not anticipated his offer ? 
 He would go back — he would speak to her father — he 
 would do something on the instant that should decide the 
 point. He turned hesitatingly round to put this scheme 
 into execution, when he beheld Miss Emma Lovell leaning 
 on the arm of Mr. Charles Harvey, proceeding by the near- 
 est way from the Parsonage to the park-gates, — leaning, 
 too, with a decided pressure of one arm, while, with the 
 other, she appeared to be enforcing by action some argu- 
 ment of importance, with the strongest energy and em- 
 phasis, which he appeared to receive with marked attention, 
 animated by occasional gestures, indicative of avowals and 
 protestations. 
 
 Away went all liis resolutions; for all the hopes on
 
 106 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 which those resolutions were founded were by this horrid 
 vision blighted — it was too clear — the thing was settled, 
 and nothing remained for him but instantly to quit the 
 scene of his delusion and defeat. Knowing, however, ex- 
 actly the turn of his lady mother's mind, with respect to 
 his matrimonial proceedings generally, and more especially 
 with his proceedings connected with tliis particular specu- 
 lation, he resolved to attribute his departure to some other 
 cause, which he should state in a note to her ladyship, and 
 " cut and run," without leaving her any clue by which she 
 could discover the place of his destination, so that he might 
 for the present avoid any of those lectures upon morals, 
 manners, and matrimony, which her ladyship was much in 
 the habit of writing upon certain sheets of shining, musk- 
 smelling wove paper, and despatching to him sometimes 
 hebdomadally, and at other times even diurnally. 
 
 This resolution taken, the Captain ordered his servant to 
 pack a portmanteau, and forthwith betook himself on foot to 
 the turningby the Binford finger-post, where having waited 
 some twenty minutes, he was picked up by a London coach, 
 in which (having sent his man back) he and his portman- 
 teau were speedily bestowed. 
 
 But while we are bound to relate the progress of the 
 flying lover, it is equally our duty to cast one glance upon 
 her whom he had left — left under an impression — has- 
 tily, yet not altogether harshly formed — of her falsehood 
 and heartlessness. Painful and agitating as his sudden 
 departure, so caused, was to Sheringham, what were its 
 effects upon him, compared with those which it produced 
 upon Emma ! 
 
 i\Ian, proud man, as he may well be called, as far as 
 human pride is concerned, loves — fondly, devotedly loves; 
 his days are occupied by thoughts of her whom he adores 
 — his nights, when not sleepless, are passed in dreams of 
 her : but then, his occupations — the toils of business, 
 practice at the bar, attendance in parliament — politics, if 
 a statesman — war, if a soldier — his pursuits, if profes- 
 sional — his diversified anmsements, if a sportsman — 
 society — wine — cards — dice — all these excitements are 
 at hand, and as choice or necessity leads or draws him to
 
 THE parson's daughter. 107 
 
 their adoption, each is acceptable and accepted — but a 
 woman, who loves — a being like Emma, who had never 
 loved before — whose whole mind, whose pursuits, whose 
 thoughts, whose sentiments, whose character, are propertied 
 by the one, one engrossing passion, is — how differently- 
 placed ! 
 
 Never was being more exemplary than she of whom I 
 speak. Her constant attention to the wants and sorrows 
 of her father's poor parishioners — her schools — her little 
 housewifery, by which the means of the cottagers' family 
 were to be increased during the winter months ; her anxiety 
 and readiness to forward and support whatever could be 
 advantageous to the helpless infant or the aged sufferer 
 were — not unequalled — for, praise be to Heaven, there 
 are many like her — but they were warm and energetic, 
 far beyond that which common observers would expect 
 from a being so mild, so modest, so gentle, and so unas- 
 suming. 
 
 In those, it is true, she found a constant resource ; and, 
 as the almoner of her excellent father's bounty, her morn- 
 ings were regularly passed, previously to her almost daily 
 visits to Fanny. Once only had the uniformity of her 
 visits to the poor been interrupted ; once only had she 
 failed in enquiring after the health and comfort of her 
 pensioners — and that once was on the morning after She- 
 ringliam abruptly left Binford, and after the conversation 
 which passed in the carriage between her and Lady Frances. 
 
 Lady Frances, who, up to the moment the Squire vo- 
 lunteered his remarks upon her son's absence, really had 
 no suspicion how very much Emma w^as concerned in his 
 going, was, by the observations Harbottle made (coupled 
 with the agitated expression of Miss Lovell's countenance), 
 satisfied that there actually was a connection between the 
 Captain's departure and the young lady's apparent coldness 
 on the preceding evening. Her game, therefore, was to be 
 played — brief as the time allowed her was — during the 
 trajet from the Hall to the Rectory (her ladyship insisting 
 upon setting Miss Lovell down before the carriage took 
 her home, although the ordinary course would have been
 
 108 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Dale Cottage firsts Parsonage next) ; and, accordingly, she 
 began her skirmishing before they had left the park. 
 
 " What an extraordinary creature Mr. Harbottle is ! " 
 said her ladyship, " isn't he, my dear ?" 
 
 " He certainly is very odd," said Miss Lovell ; " but at 
 this time of the evening nobody accustomed to his society 
 ought to mind what he says." 
 
 " Why," said her ladyship, " to tell you the truth, my 
 love, I never do, at any time ; if I did I never should 
 enter his house after once leaving it : there are such 
 strange persons in the world that it is really necessary to 
 accommodate our feelings and sentiments to the things 
 we meet in society ; but I am sure that you, like myself, 
 are quite au fait upon such matters, and regard the idle 
 babbling of men, particularly those who indulge in that 
 horrible and now exploded vice of drinking, as mere non- 
 sense." 
 
 " I assure you. Lady Frances," said Emma, " that I 
 very much regret to see the odious habit of which you 
 speak, gain, rather than decrease, with Mr. Harbottle." 
 
 " Why," continued her ladyship, " it really is a matter 
 of very little importance to me what people do, if they 
 have just enough method in their madness not to involve 
 other people. Now my poor son, Captain Sheringham, 
 whose name he so coarsely coupled with yours — you know 
 that sort of thing is quite unpardonable. The fact is — of 
 course you will not mention this, my dear Miss Lovell — 
 George is gone to London upon particular business. I don't 
 choose to submit all my family history to Mr. Harbottle, 
 and therefore I affected ignorance of his movements ; 
 but the real truth is, as you must see. George — I don't 
 mean to say that he has any very great chance of a peerage, 
 because there are two or three between him and the title in 
 his poor dear father's family — but there it is. Well — 
 then you know with my connections, and the sincere affec- 
 tion which my brother, Lord I'cvensey, has always evinced 
 for him — and, indeed, I may say his own personal claims 
 — it is natural, that, wishing, as I know he does wish, to 
 marry, he should be anxious to mix a little more than he 
 can here in his own immediate sphere — 1 am sure he is
 
 THE parson's daughter. 109 
 
 extremely happy at Binford ; and, as a son, I have every 
 possible reason to praise and admire him ; and I know, that 
 in any settlement for life rny wish would be a command 
 with him. But still you see, my love, he feels himself 
 buried in this sort of place ; and as there is a person — of 
 course all this is entre nous — to whom he has been almost 
 since childhood attached, he thinks that an opportunity has 
 oftered of pressing his suit in that quarter, which may, to 
 be sure, be rejected — Heaven knows — but that he has in 
 confidence explained to me to be the cause of his sudden 
 flight." 
 
 " We shall miss him very much," said Emma, " in our 
 little excursions." It was lucky it was dark, and that the 
 lamps of the carriage, like those of all well-regulated car- 
 riages, threw no light inwards. 
 
 " 1," said Lady Frances, who never in the whole course 
 of her acquaintance with Emma had spoken one half so 
 much before — "I confess — but that of course, my dear 
 child, is also in confidence — I expect his projet to come to 
 nothing ; for, amiable and excellent, and I may add, noble, 
 as dear Catherine is — Catherine is her name — she has 
 nothing in the way of fortune — absolutely nothing — and, 
 of course, poor George, who has himself nothing in the 
 world but his half-pay, cannot afford to marry a girl with- 
 out fortune ; and what I grieve at most is, that if Pe- 
 vensey, or some of them, do not make a little struggle 
 now, the poor dear girl will be so unhappy — for she dotes 
 upon him — and," added her ladyship, as the carriage 
 drove in to the Rectory-gate, " 1 happen to know he is 
 just as fond of her." 
 
 They stopped at the house : Lady Frances took leave of 
 Emma with the most affectionate tenderness ; bid her take 
 cave not to risk her safety by putting her " dear foot " into 
 a little puddle before the door : " wrap yourself up, my 
 love," i. e. in stepping out of the cai-riage into the hall. 
 ** Good-by, dear; remember me kindly to papa ;" — and 
 so on — and thence her ladyship proceeded to Dale Cot- 
 tage. 
 
 Oh ! if these plotters could but really comprehend how 
 very short a Avay their efforts go against a mind like Emma 
 Lovell's, they would save themselves all the trouble of what
 
 110 THE parson's DAL'GIITER. 
 
 I believe Miss Edgeworth calls " Policising." (If I am 
 wrong in the word, I have to apologise to that admirable 
 authoress, for I use it only from memory.) Poor Lady 
 Frances, painted and pencilled, and petrified with horror 
 at the insight into her own family affairs, afforded by 
 Harbottle, threw herself back in the carriage, after she 
 had parted with her companion, and dipped her double- 
 chin in her swan's down boa, perfectly satisfied that she 
 had utterly confounded the '^ Parson's Daughter." 
 
 '' I have settled that young lady's business," thought 
 her ladyship ; " I had not much time to do it in, but done 
 it I have. Poor, dear child ! what with patronising her, 
 and coaxing her, and frightening her, she will never think 
 more of my George Augustus Frederick ! " — of v;hom, by 
 the way, her ladyship felt an inveterate anxiety to know 
 something herself. 
 
 Emma, unused to the world and to worldly things, was 
 endued with an inherent good sense, which more par- 
 ticularly, more entirely, belongs to women than to men, 
 and which taught her to consider the facts and opinions 
 expressed by Lady Frances in the dark, as near to truth as 
 her ladyship's curls and complexion were in the daylight 
 near to nature. Genuine straightforward principle, impose 
 upon it as you will, must eventually come out bright and 
 pure. Emma had seen Lady Frances, in the glare of 
 lamps and candles, candidly avow her ignorance of Shering- 
 ham's destination. She knew that to be truth. Was she, 
 with a mind like hers, likely to be deceived by a second 
 edition of this history, evidently prepared after the occur- 
 rence of a conversation which, however disagreeable to her 
 ladyship, was infinitely more painful to Emma } Not she. 
 She looked back on the dialogue, or ratlier monologue, in 
 the carriage, with but one feeling — pity for her companion, 
 who, not only in contradiction of facts established, but in 
 direct opposition to the candid declarations of George him- 
 self, had uttered falsehoods, the objects of which (so thinly 
 were they skinned over) were just as evident to Emma as 
 to Lady Frances. 
 
 Fanny, during tliis period, was perhaps suffering as 
 much, if not more, than any of the other personages of
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. Ill 
 
 this little drama ; for, in addition to all her personal feel- 
 ings of distress and annoyance, connected with what may 
 perhaps be called the main plot, she was distressed beyond 
 measure at the position in which she had placed her in- 
 nocent friend. It seemed impossible to undeceive Shering- 
 ham with respect to Miss Lovell's real feelings ; and 
 although Lady Frances' story about " dear Catherine," 
 which, of course, with the rest of the carriage dialogue, 
 was repeated by Emma to Fanny at the very first oppor- 
 tunity, might have a very slender foundation, yet it was 
 clear that somebody called Catherine was somehow con- 
 nected in her mind with her son's settlement in life, and it 
 was impossible to say what he might be driven to do, in a 
 state of desperation, if he fell again into her society, or the 
 circle in which she moved. The blow once struck — the 
 knot once tied, and Emma's happiness, and perhaps his 
 own, would be for ever blighted. 
 
 The greatest change, however, that manifested itself just 
 at this period, was exhibited in the manner and spirits of 
 the Squire; by dint of repetition his faithful HoUis had at 
 last excited in his mind, if not absolute jealousy, at least 
 suspicion ; and when Fanny returned, tired, worried, and 
 out of spirits, from the excursion to the fishing cottage, 
 she was conscious that what she had apprehended had 
 come to pass, and that Mr. Hollis, who had been closeted 
 with his master after his arrival, had repeated the disjointed 
 conversation he had overheard in the library, improved 
 upon, most probably, by some fanciful additions of his 
 own. 
 
 " So, Fanny," said the Squire, with a scowling look, 
 which generally portended a storm, " Mr. Harvey is gone 
 — suddenly — without stopping to say good-by, or shake 
 hands, or any thing else. He leaves a note to say he must 
 go to London on particular business, and now I hear that 
 he is not gone to London at all ; that he is for the present 
 gone over to Ullsford, and that he is expected to spend a 
 week or ten days at the Mordaunts." 
 
 " Upon my word," said Fanny, " I am not at all aware 
 of his engagements."
 
 112 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 " You saw him, I think, before he went, Fan," said the 
 Squire. 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Alone in the hbrary ? " 
 
 " Yes, alone in the library." 
 
 " I thought, perhaps," continued her husband, " you 
 had some particular wish that he should go." 
 
 " I had a particular wish that he should go," replied 
 Fanny ; " he had promised to go before." 
 
 " Whom did his staying annoy ? " asked Harbottle. 
 
 " The reports which had been circulated about his at- 
 tachment to Emma, rendered his remaining here injurious 
 to her." 
 
 " AVliy more to-day than a week ago ? " 
 
 " After that long interview in the conservatory," said 
 Fanny, not quite so collectedly as she usually said things. 
 
 " Ah ! that was it. Oh ! and that frightened away the 
 Captain, and now you are making up a match between the 
 Captain and the Parson's Daughter." 
 
 " I do not consider myself making up a match," said 
 Fanny. 
 
 " Helping it on, though," said Harbottle ; " my motto 
 is. Never meddle or make in matters like these ; however, 
 I suppose you would rather she should marry him, than 
 Harvey." 
 
 " To me,'' said Fanny, " it is, of course, a matter of 
 perfect indifference." 
 
 " It may be, ' Faid Harbottle ; " but a lady sometimes 
 grows so used to a favourite that she does not like to lose 
 him." 
 
 " Favourite ! " exclaimed Fanny, " what on earth do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 " Why I mean," said the Squire, in a tone of the bit- 
 terest severity, — "1 mean that every body in the house is 
 talking of your conduct with my ' young friend,' as they 
 call him. Your own maid — your pet maid — Mrs. Devon 
 — Devil I believe would be a better word — talks of his 
 notes to you, and your conversations with him. I have 
 heard it all, Fanny, but 1 have aftoctcd for your sake to 
 treat the tale with contempt, and threatened those who
 
 THE parson's daughter. 113 
 
 spolce of it, if they ever breathed it to me again, to send 
 them all packing." 
 
 " If you had so treated their intelligence because you 
 disbelieved it, rather than in consideration of me," said 
 Fanny, " you would have better deserved my aflfection. 
 Am I to defend myself against these imputations — am I 
 to explain — am I to humiliate myself.'"' 
 
 " No, no ! Fanny," said Harbottle. " The principal 
 part of the history, and which does you the most credit, 
 you have carefully concealed from me. Harvey's going 
 had nothing to do with Emma Lovell. Come, come, no 
 disguise ! more people than two may be in a conservatory 
 or in a Ubrary, at the same time. I give you credit for all 
 you have done ; I should have liked it better if I had been 
 consulted. Kiss me, Fanny ! all is forgiven and forgotten, 
 as far as you are concerned. But as for my ' young 
 friend,' as my servants call him, who, imder the mask o, 
 friendship, has made me absurd and contemptible — for 
 him " 
 
 — " Dearest William ! " said Fanny, who knew how 
 terrible his revenge would be, if permitted to have free 
 play, " listen to me : you say you have treated your in- 
 formants — spies upon my words and actions — as such 
 persons should be treated, and declared your utter disbehef 
 in all their histories for my sake. Is it not clear — con- 
 sult your own judgment, let reason master passion — is it 
 not clear that any steps taken against Mr. Harvey, in a 
 case where, if you consider him faulty, I cannot be blame- 
 less " 
 
 — " Yes, yes," interrupted Harbottle, " you are blame- 
 less." 
 
 " But will the world think so, if my name becomes 
 publicly coupled with an object of your avowed hatred and 
 vengeance ? If, as you say you do, and as I deserve you 
 should, believe me innocent, and should it be your intention 
 to break off your acquaintance with Mr. Harvey, would it 
 not be better to let the intercourse and intimacy cease, 
 without any open declaration of hostility ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it might," said Harbottle ; " but then," con- 
 tinued he, clenching his fist, " he escapes scot-free." 
 
 I
 
 114 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 "Escapes!" said Fanny, "what has he to escape 
 from ? what has he done ? what act " 
 
 " Come, come. Fan," interrupted her husband, " I cry 
 peace, but I must not hear him or his conduct defended. 
 For your sake " 
 
 " For my sake ! " exclaimed Fanny ; " beheve me, if I 
 did not think you were thoroughly and entirely convinced 
 of my innocence, your tenderness or compassion would 
 break my heart — a heart which, God knows, has never 
 entertained a thought derogatory to your honour, or har- 
 boured a wish injurious to your happiness. I cannot live 
 under your suspicions ; indeed — indeed, it would be 
 greater kindness to kill me at once." 
 
 " Come, come, my poor girl ! " said Harbottle, " no 
 crying — no crying. I do believe you innocent of any 
 thing wrong. I myself thought Mr. Harvey was getting 
 rather too free and easy, but I was confident in you, and 
 troubled my head little about it ; but when other people 
 begin to talk, and wink, and nod, and laugh — that 1 can- 
 not bear." 
 
 " The opportunity of checking any such impertinences, 
 if indeed you can imagine they exist," said Fanny, " pre- 
 sents itself. Mr. Harvey is gone — let him never return. 
 You parted not in anger, and if you meet " 
 
 " Meet — God forbid that I should meet him ! " ex- 
 claimed Harbottle, with an expression of countenance 
 worthy the hand of Fuseli, " except face to face, at twelve 
 paces distant, a " 
 
 " Oh ! William, William," said Fanny, " banish such 
 thoughts — he has never deserved your hatt.' 
 
 " You think not," said Harbottle : " ""hs his conduct in 
 the library, when you parted, that of a dear iriend ? was " 
 
 " Oh, pray ! pray, William ! " sobbed Fanny, " end 
 this painful, dreadful conversation ; acquit me entirely, or 
 discard me totally — I am conscious of my own rectitude." 
 
 " Do I deny it ? " 
 
 " Then, for mercy's sake — for the sake of justice — spare 
 me all those allegations, raked together by persons whose 
 duty would be better pursued to their master by attention 
 to their own services, than by poisoning his mind with
 
 THE parson's DAUGHTKR. 115 
 
 details of circumstances of which they can neither com- 
 prehend the causes nor effects, and which " 
 
 " Come, come," interrupted Harbottle, " no preaching, 
 and no running down my servants, who have for years 
 and years been faithful to me, and to whom I have been 
 before indebted for acts of kindness and affection, which I 
 am very proud of and thankful for. Dry your eyes — I 
 hate to see your eyes look red — and dress for dinner. 
 Let 's have no more of this : it is all over, forgiven and 
 forgotten, as far as you are concerned, but " 
 
 Fanny knew enough of Harbottle to know the meaning 
 of the last word he uttered. She was convinced that no- 
 thing but revenge for what, by the exaggeration of spies, 
 he had been taught to consider Harvey's dupliciiy, would 
 calm or satisfy him ; and knowing too, as she did, ihat 
 whatever had occurred, trivial indeed as it was, had its 
 origin in herself, and had arisen from the best and most 
 scrupulously honourable feelings on both sides, it was na- 
 tural that the forgiveness of her husband, of what, in fact, 
 was no offence, should not release her from an anxiety for 
 another, to whom, as we have already seen, she was sin- 
 cerely attached as a companion and friend. 
 
 Such scenes as this, which I have endeavoured faith- 
 fully, yet I fear faintly, to describe, are not so rare in 
 domestic life as the still unmarried world may fancy, and 
 yet, with all its little ills and evils, man knows no happiness 
 until he marries. Let him possess a woman of sense and 
 virtue, and of whom he himself is worthy, and he \vill feel 
 a solid and permanent joy, of which he never was before 
 sensible. " For," as somebody says, " the happiness of 
 marriage, like the interest of money, arises from a regular 
 and established fund, while unmarried libertines live upon 
 the principal, and so become bankrupts both in character 
 and respectability." 
 
 To be sure (as indeed the same authority tells us), 
 " uninterrupted happiness no man can or ought to expect. 
 Life is no sinecure ; fruits do not now spring spontaneously 
 from the earth as they did in the garden, nor does manna 
 drop from the clouds as it did in the wilderness." But, 
 as a scheme of soHd comfort, matrimony affords to well- 
 
 I 2
 
 Il6 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 regulated minds a double share of pleasure in prosperity, 
 and a solace and support in sorrow and adversity. 
 
 The assembled party at Binford " needed no ghost" to 
 teU them that there had been a family storm during the 
 interval between their return and dinner, even if the 
 swollen eyes of their hostess, and the forced smiles which, 
 strange to say, the angry frowns of her husband drove her 
 to assume, had not sufficiently proclaimed the fact ; the 
 ladies' maids had communicated each to her mistress the 
 outlines of the domestic history ; for Devon, although in 
 some sort attached to Mrs. Harbottle, was too vain of 
 being trusted ever to keep a secret, arguing somewhat lo- 
 gically that a secret is of no use in the world if one may 
 tell it ; and, therefore, in the plenitude of her knowledge, 
 and in the exercise of her natural communicativeness, she 
 had mentioned to Mrs. Snagthorpe's and Mrs. Dempster's 
 soubrettes what she knew was to happen when her master 
 returned ; because Mr. Hollis had forewarned her of the 
 course he was about to pursue, in order to put her upon 
 her guard if she should be questioned by the Squire about 
 the note which Ilarvey sent ; Hollis believing her to have 
 a sufficient quantity of the inherent spirit of intrigue, 
 mingled with a certain degree of affection for her mistress 
 in her composition, to induce her to deny, in the most 
 positive manner, ever having carried (or even seen) a 
 hilkt from Mr. Harvey to Mrs. Harbottle. 
 
 The caution of Hollis might lead the speculative reader 
 into the belief that, in the midst of all his mischievous 
 proceedings, he had some feeling towards Mrs. Devon, 
 which induced him to let her into his confidence just as 
 far as was necessary to prevent her committing herself in 
 a falsehood, and being — as he was convinced she would 
 be by his irascible master — kicked into the street on the 
 instant of her detection. Upon this point, knowing little, 
 ■we say less. 
 
 To describe the sort of evening which was passed after 
 this scone would be to recount the duration of dulness 
 from the time dinner was served till the ladies retired. 
 Fanny made her excuses, and left them early. Harbottle 
 ilrank much, and talked much, and even laughed much.
 
 THE parson's daughter. li7 
 
 but the demon of revenge was lurking in his heart ; and 
 when he reeled up stairs to bed, his deepest regrets were 
 occasioned by thinking that Harvey was beyond the reach 
 of his immediate chastisement. He sat himself down in 
 his dressing-room, his temples throbbed, and his eyes swam 
 in his head ; he unlocked his pistol-case, he poised one of 
 the deadly weapons in his hand, raised it, then dashed it 
 upon the table with an oath, as if in despair that Charles 
 was at the moment beyond the range of its bullet. He 
 recurred to all his hospitahty, his friendship, his intimacy 
 with Harvey: recalled to his recollection all the proofs 
 which Harvey had seemed to give of affection and friend- 
 ship for him ; turned over in his mind the numberless in- 
 cidents which had occurred, in which he and Fanny had 
 been engaged together — all such thoughts and recollections 
 being h^ghtened and exaggerated by the effects of the 
 wine he had swallowed. 
 
 To hunt down the miscreant whom he thought had 
 stung him — to call him out — to shoot him if he could, 
 were the objects of his present anxiety ; but the certainty 
 that such a measure would give publicity to his suspicions 
 — to his shame, perhaps — checked his sanguinary desires. 
 He could not endure to become the mark for ridicule or 
 pity, as a dishonoured husband ; and in this struggle be- 
 tween the baser passion for revenge and the more venial 
 feeling of vanity, the distracted man consumed the greater 
 part of the night ; and when at last he laid his head upon 
 his pillow, sobered by reflection, and saddened by sus- 
 picion, he fell into a fitful slumber, from which he awoke 
 next morning as little refreshed in body as he wai relieved 
 in mind. 
 
 I 3
 
 118 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Oh, my Iiard fate! why did I trust her e^^er? 
 
 What story is not full of woman's falsehood ? 
 
 The sex is all a sea ot wide destruction ; 
 
 We are vent'rous barks, that leave our home 
 
 For those sure dangers which their smiles conceal. Lee. 
 
 Return we now to Captain Sheringham, whose expedition 
 to tlie metropolis in some degree resembled that of Cadmus, 
 who being sent oft' by his father Agenor to pursue his 
 sister Europa, happened to be struck with the beauty of a 
 particular situation, and stopped to build the city of Thebes 
 on his way. Sheringham, bound to London, and resolved 
 upon cutting the thread, if not of the Fates, at least of his 
 connection with the fickle Emma Lovell, began to feel his 
 animosity, hke the courage of Sheridan's Acres, " oosing 
 out at his finger ends/' during the first ten miles of his 
 progress. 
 
 It was not, perhaps, that his doubts had so speedily 
 abated, or that the impression which what he had seen 
 had made, was fading from his mind, at a rate so rapid as 
 to entirely alter his views and feelings ; but it was the 
 certainty, in his present humour, if it lasted, that he should 
 take some decisive measure upon his arrival in town, 
 which would utterly and for ever shut the door against any 
 explanation, and terminate irrevocably all further inter- 
 course with the only being for whom he had ever felt a 
 sincere and devoted affection, which induced this modi- 
 fication of his passion. The faint glimmering of hope — 
 and a small spark it was — that, in spite of appearances, 
 she was not the faithless creature he feared her to be, in- 
 creased gradually as the distance between them lengthened, 
 and when he reached UUsford, he ventured to stay his 
 flight ; and if he were not, like Cadmus, disposed to found 
 a city, at least he felt a powerful incHnation to indulge 
 himself by building a few castles. 
 
 According to this plan he resolved to ensconce himself in 
 the best inn at that excellent market-town, and write by
 
 THE parson's daughter, lip 
 
 the night's mail back to his lady mother, informing her of 
 his halt, and begging to hear from her by return of post ; 
 thinking, by this proposition, with which he was quite 
 sure she would agree, to hear something relating to the 
 politics of Binford, which might serve to throw a light 
 upon his own particular affair, being at the moment de- 
 cidedly of opinion that the denouement of Emma's accept- 
 ance of Harvey was at hand, and that, in all probability, 
 that very day would be selected for its announcement. 
 
 Having written his letter, the unhappy captain ordered 
 his dinner ; for he was not one of those sighing swains 
 " who," the proverb says — why, nobody has ever exactly 
 ascertained — " Uve on love, as larks on leeks," but, on the 
 contrary, held that the diseases of the mind were rather 
 allayed than excited by the refreshment of the body ; and 
 while the repast was preparing, he took a stroll about the 
 town. 
 
 There had been times when the sight of the well-curled 
 damsels, standing at the shop-doors, or working, or seeming 
 to work, behind their counters, would have excited his at- 
 tention at least : the library, half-filled as it was, with the 
 best of the neiglibours, would once have drawn liim into 
 its gay vortex ; and the promenade, at the end of the town, 
 called there the Esplanade, had his heart been at ease, and 
 his mind in tune, would have charmed him, so thronged 
 was it with pretty people, all looking as fresh and gay as 
 none but English-women ever look by daylight. All 
 these he now gazed at with lack-lustre eye, and bent his 
 sohtary way to the church-yard, where he lingered and 
 loitered, reading epitaphs and watching grave-diggers, tiU 
 it was time, as he thought, to return to his hostelry. 
 
 There are periods of a man's existence, when being left 
 alone — all entirely alone — is very delightful: this evening 
 was one of those in Sheringham's life — he could have been 
 happy in no society but Emma's, and that he was not des- 
 tined to enjoy. All conversation but hers would have 
 tormented him to death — alone, he could think of her and 
 of her falsehood without fear of interruption ; and, after 
 dinner, while sipping his wine, and reading the " Ladies' 
 Magazine for 1789 and 1790," adorned with plates of 
 
 I 4
 
 120 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 distinguished persons, he "ever and anon" lifted his eyes 
 from the book to the ceiling, as he came to passages in the 
 pleasing little romances of those days, under the titles of 
 " Eloise, or the Delicate Distress," — " Jacintha, or the 
 Cruel Uncle," — " Henry, or the Stray Lamb," &c., which 
 he could, by the force of ingenuity, twist into an apphcation 
 to his own unfortunate case ; and in this state of vegetation 
 he remained until about ten o'clock, when, at about the 
 period at Avliich a London afternoon begins, he betook him- 
 self to rest — or at least to horizontal reflection; for so 
 fixed were his thoughts upon his false fair one, that, up or 
 in bed, his cogitations were the same, the only difference 
 being in the attitude which he chose his body to assume. 
 
 The post arrived in the morning ; no letter from Lady 
 Frances in answer to his, which she must have received 
 early in the })receding evening, and quite in time to reply 
 to it — what was the meaning of that? — was she ill — or 
 would she not write ? In answer to the questions which 
 the Captain put to the waiters at the inn, and subsequently 
 to the post-master's daughter, he found no solution of the 
 mystery of the non-arrival of her despatch. His mother 
 was an excellent correspondent — she loved writing, and 
 did nothing else all the morning long than cover sheet after 
 sheet of paper, not only with lines liorizontal, but lines 
 perpendicular, and lines diagonal, so that no possible spot 
 or corner of her letters should escape unwritten on. She 
 could not surely be unwell — but if she were, she knew by 
 his letter where to address him ; and supposing her illness 
 sudden, as it must have been, and so serious that she could 
 not herself write, her maid might have acted as secretary 
 for the home department for once. He was, however, 
 greatly annoyed by the failure of the intelligence, and re- 
 solved upon going back himself to Binford by that night's 
 mail, if something did not turn up in the course of the day. 
 He would then get there by night — neither would his 
 eyes be pained with the sight of Harvey and J^mma taking 
 the " walk of the affianced," nor would they enjoy the 
 triumph of beholding the defeated and discarded lover 
 moping in solitary sadness under the spreading yew-trees, 
 which shelter the walk from the Rectory to the church.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 121 
 
 That scheme was selected, and another day of agreeable 
 single-blessedness was before him. 
 
 He lengthened his walk upon this occasion, and enjoyed 
 his own thoughts uninterruptedly in a stroll for upwards of 
 five hours ; having returned from which, and finding no 
 news from his lady mother, he again proceeded to the 
 worldy pursuit of dining. 
 
 As he passed to his sitting-room, a man whom he re- 
 cognised as Harvey's servant, Evans, touched his hat to 
 him in the passage. Sheringham was startled. What 
 brought hiyn here .'' a spy, perhaps. To ask after his mas- 
 ter, whom of all other people upon earth he hated most, 
 and least wished to see, would be absurd ; and yet, what 
 should he do ? At the moment he did nothing but pass on 
 
 — the waiter followed — of him he enquired if Mr. Harvey 
 was in the house? — Yes; he had just arrived. 
 
 " This," thought George Frederick Augustus, " is 
 deucedly provoking. What can have brought him here ? " 
 — " Is Mr. Harvey alone?" said the Captain. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the waiter, " he sleeps here to-night, 
 and has ordered horses to-morrow for his britcska to Mr. 
 Mordaunt's." 
 
 " Oh," said Sheringham, " he is not going back to 
 Binford ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " That's odd," thought the Captain, " that now is very 
 odd. I don't see why I should quarrel with him — we 
 parted good friends — never spoke so civilly since we knew 
 each other as we did when we separated at the Parsonage. 
 If he is not going to Binford — eh — how is it — let me see, 
 she cannot have jilted him too — one down another come 
 on? No, no, that cannot be — but then, the conservatory 
 
 — the breakfast — the walk — these are so many 'hand- 
 kerchiefs which the Egyptian did to my mother give' — 
 are tliey all ' trifles, light as air ? ' — but then, he is here — 
 Emma there — she is not coming away, he is not going 
 back. Oh, let me break the ice — let me overcome sus- 
 picion — let us either fight or be friends. Hang it, one way 
 or another it must end." 
 
 At the conclusion of this soliloquy, he gave the bell a
 
 122 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 tremendous pull, and, at hie bidding, the waiter stood be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " Has Mr. Harvey ordered dinner ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 '' Is he come down.''" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 '' Where is his servant } " 
 
 " Here, sir." 
 
 Evans appeared. 
 
 "When did Mr. Harvey leave Binford.?" said the 
 Captain, 
 
 " About half-past two, sir," said Evans. 
 
 " He is going to Mr. Mordaunt's } " 
 
 " Yes, sir, to-morrow." 
 
 " Does he return soon to Binford ? " 
 
 " I think not, sir," said Evans ; and in saying it, 
 George, who was watching him like an Old Bailey counsel, 
 saw an expression in his countenance which he vainly en- 
 deavoured to suppress, and which meant more than the 
 simple answer seemed to convey. 
 
 "Come away suddenly — eh?" said George. 
 
 " Very, sir," said Evans. 
 
 " I wish — I wish," said Sheringham, " you would go 
 to your master — make my compliments, and say that I 
 am here alone ; and that if he will do me the favour to join 
 me at dinner, I shall be too happy." 
 
 " I will, sir." 
 
 Away went Evans. This was curious — a triumphant 
 lover would not leave his prize thus — what could it mean .'* 
 was he in despair ? — had he been beaten — rejected — 
 deceived — it was quite a case of sympathy. Harvey s 
 answer in the affirmative was couched in the most friendl f 
 terms, and Evans was directed to order the people to blend 
 the dinners — another case of sympathy — the same soup — 
 broiled whitings — a roast-fowl and egg-sauce — an ome- 
 lette anx herbex fines, and a tart, had been ordered by both 
 the gentlemen ; four whitings instead of two, two fowls 
 instead of one, and so on in progression, accordingly ap- 
 peared, and shortly after entered Charles Harvey himself. 
 
 When he came into the room he affected a gaiety which
 
 THE parson's daughter. 123 
 
 Sheringham in an instant saw was forced — he was de- 
 lighted to see it ; and instantly shook hands with the man, 
 whom an hour before he considered his deadliest foe, with 
 the greatest cordiality. 
 
 " You don't look well, Harvey," said Sheringham. 
 
 " I am not well at all," replied Harvey ; '■' but, pray, 
 may I enquire what on earth took you so suddenly from 
 Binford, and what on earth brings you here ! " 
 
 " Sympathy, I suppose," said Sheringham ; " for your 
 own questions echoed would be those most suitable to my 
 enquiries about yon." 
 
 " I am here," said Harvey, " malgre moi — I am going 
 to the Mordaunts." 
 
 " You had not long fixed that visit," said Sheringham. 
 
 " It depended entirely on my stay at Harbottle's," re- 
 plied Charles ; " I promised, whenever I left Binford, to 
 go to Marchlands." 
 
 " I had no idea that you were going to leave Binford so 
 soon." 
 
 " I did intend coming away the day before yesterday," 
 said Harvey; '-'but the Squire would insist upon my stop- 
 ping. I wish I had not been persuaded to stay. I saw 
 Miss Lovell just as I left the village this afternoon — look- 
 ing handsomer than ever." 
 
 " The devil you did," thought the Captain. " I wish 
 you had kept that fact to yourself, at least tiU we had 
 dined." 
 
 " Lady Frances," continued Charles, " I did not see : 
 she dined with us yesterday at the Hall ; and 1 am afraid 
 Harbottle was excessively rude. I know from the convers- 
 ation at breakfast this morning, that poor Emma Lovell 
 was made extremely uncomfortable by his allusions." 
 
 '■ Miss Lovell, too," said Sheringham, " his allusions — 
 oh!" 
 
 " About you," said Harvey. 
 
 '^Me! " 
 
 At this crisis, when the Captain was wound up to a 
 pitch of excitement and expectation, which nobody not 
 chin-deep in love can properly estimate, the door of the 
 room flew open, and the ma&ter of the George appeared at
 
 124 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 the head of his waiters, bearing the Siamesed repast for the 
 two disconsolate lovers. The noise the men made in put- 
 ting the things down rattled through the brains of the 
 friends, for such they now seemed destined to be; and by 
 the time the Yahoos, who invariably couple noise with 
 smartness, had, in their slap-dash manner, arranged the 
 table and placed the chairs for the guests, they each wished 
 the meal over, in order to get rid of the encumbrance of the 
 attendants, in whose presence it was, of course, impossible 
 to touch upon the subject nearest their hearts. 
 
 The meeting between these two young gentlemen was 
 curious : the circumstances were such, and so peculiar, that 
 they produced in the course of the evening from Harvey 
 what perhaps nothing else upon earth could have extracted 
 from his bosom, the confession of a fervent, deep-rooted, 
 and unalterable attachment for Fanny. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed," said Harvey, " if any human being 
 had told me that, living as I have been with Harbottle, it 
 was possible I should have allowed passion so far to gain 
 the mastery of reason, of principle, and of honour, I would 
 have felled him to the earth. Unconsciously and unwit- 
 tingly did I entangle myself in this fatal attachment. Not 
 one word of love has ever passed my lips, not one thought 
 has ever crossed my mind, which I would have disowned 
 or disguised even from her husband ; but, Sheringham, the 
 moment came when I was undeceived ; she painted her 
 own unhappy circumstances to me ; she said little ; but 
 then it was, and then, for the first time, I knew, I loved 
 her. All I have explained to you about my long convers- 
 ations with that most amiable of beings, Miss Lovell, 
 heightened rather than diminished my affection. An ap- 
 peal was made to my feelings, to my honour, to save her — 
 save her from what, George ? — was not this a confession 
 that my fatal passion was in some degree reciprocated.''" 
 
 " My dear friend," said Sheringham, " you must not 
 agitate yourself thus ; you have acted honourably and 
 wisely; time, and reflection, and reason will overcome 
 this, and " 
 
 " Preach, Sheringham, preach," said Charles ; " but re 
 collect, that the preacher is most efficient who acts up to
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 125 
 
 his doctrines. Had your Emma (for yours she is, rely 
 upon itj heart and soul^) been torn from you, or had you 
 quitted her under the impression that you never weie again 
 to see her, what would you have done ? " 
 
 "Why, my dear friend," said George, ''^ precisely what 
 / have been doing for the last four-and- twenty hours, and 
 you should console yourself with the reflection that, how- 
 ever much you suffer, the object of your ill-fated attachment 
 is safe — safe beyond the reach of pain or calumny." 
 
 " True, so she is," answered Charles ; " but what a 
 blank is my existence now! 'Where shall I find solace, 
 where dissipate regrets of which I never anticipated the 
 depth or extent, until forced to endure them ! Travelling — 
 travelUng, must be my resource. On the Continent, through 
 scenes unconnected with any recollections of her, I may 
 perhaps be tormented into other thoughts. But for life the 
 feeling lasts, here — here, in my heart." 
 
 " 1 thought," said Sheringham, " when I first met you 
 at Harbottle's, that you entertained rather a favourable 
 opinion of the lady of the house, and I must admit that I 
 also thought her opinion of you was not much less friendly ! 
 but one sees so very much of that sort of family compact 
 in the general run of society, that I, who make a point of 
 never interfering where I think my oflSciousness might be 
 superfluous, troubled my head no more about it; but I de- 
 clare to you that the greatest surprise your confidential 
 communication has created on my mind is the fact, that 
 the denouement of the affair is a thing of only a few days 
 old." 
 
 "Ah, Sheringham," said Harvey, "you do not know 
 what an admirable creature that woman is — xvhat, in point 
 of fact, she suffers, and how she bears her sufferings ; but, 
 never mind, leave me to a course of sorrow which I de- 
 serve, and of repentance which I need. As you justly say, 
 thank God ! she is safe and blameless ; and in that recol- 
 lection I am comparatively happy, even in my misery. 
 You have a brighter prospect before you, and so has Emma ; 
 for although in point of fortune slie may all her life be- 
 poor, she will marry the man she loves, and who is calcu- 
 lated to make her happy."
 
 126 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " But, my dear fellow/' said Sheringham, who, having 
 received from Harvey all the particulars of his interviews 
 with Miss Lovell, all the causes of their conversations and 
 meetings, had become the gayest of the gay, and, above all, 
 most anxious to console and enliven his companion, " you 
 really are forerunning my expectations. I have no assur- 
 ance, but your word, that Emma Lovell cares one single 
 sixpence about me. 1 have, like you, never spoken of 
 love : she has never expressed any thing but good-nature 
 and kindness, and at those luncheons " 
 
 '' Ah," said and sighed Charles Harvey, " those fatal, 
 fascinating meetings — now terminated ! " 
 
 " Well terminated for all parties," said George. " No 
 sorrow — hope — hope, Charles." 
 
 " Where am I to look for hope — for comfort?" 
 
 " Time and patience," continued the Captain, " are re- 
 quired to soothe us in all great calamities ; but rely upon 
 it " 
 
 Here entered a waiter with a small brown paper parcel, 
 directed to Captain Sheringhaiu, R. N., George Inn, UUs- 
 ford, per Swannington coach. It was a letter from Lady 
 Frances, thus enveloped, innocently to defraud the General 
 Post-office, and secure the receipt of its contents that even- 
 ing, her ladyship having, from some cause, "yet unex- 
 plained," missed the day's post — as ladies with a large 
 correspondence sometimes do. 
 
 The seal broken, the packthread cut, George read as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Dale Cottage, Aug. 30. 1830. 
 " My Dear George, 
 
 " I cannot describe to you the pain and agitation I suf- 
 fered from your sudden and most unexpected disa})pearance, 
 and I assure you the mortification I have undergone since, 
 upon account of your flight, has, in ;no small degree, in- 
 creased the effects of that uneasiness. I have had Popjoy 
 with me, and have taken an ocean of camphor julep, and 
 some other horrid messes which he has sent me. I of 
 course gave him Ilalford's prescription, which, as usual, 
 brought me round a little, and your kind and affectionate 
 letter has, for the present, effected my cure.
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. l!27 
 
 " I had, last night when I came home, made up my mind, 
 certainly, if you did not return, never to visit the Harbot- 
 lles again. His rudeness is beyond endurance, and, under 
 the influence of constant intoxication in the evening, he 
 throws off every thing like restraint or a regard for the 
 common decencies of society. The people who are staying 
 with them are, a horrid wooden-headed looking man, with 
 red cheeks and a black bristly head, whose name I have 
 never been able yet to pronounce, with a mawkish^ pale- 
 faced dawdle of a wife, drest after the prints in the maga- 
 zines, and a sister who, upon my word, is not presentable 
 any where. Then there is an old lawyer, (Dumps, I think 
 they call him,) as deaf as a post and as rude as a bear, with 
 a prim starched better half, who talks shp-slop more ad- 
 mirably than the lady in the Rivals — when speaking of an 
 open heath, she talks of a dissolute situation in the country; 
 and while Mrs. Harbottle, who really knows something, was 
 speaking of the arts, she volunteered her opinion that 
 'statutes were nasty things, but that of pictures she had 
 always heard the most beautiful that ever was painted was 
 the An7io Domini of Apelles.' 
 
 " At such things as these I could laugh if I had any 
 body to laugh with me; but the people who are here, of 
 course, see nothing ridiculous in their own absurdities or 
 those of their companions, and sit round the room in 
 sober sadness, and fancy that society. 
 
 " What put me in a serious passion with Mr. Harbottle 
 were some very coarse allusions about you and the Parson's 
 Daughter, and that too in her presence ; now really a joke, 
 if joke it may be considered, at the expense of two people 
 when absent, is all very well ; but while the poor creature 
 was present, filling her head with notions which could only 
 end in disappointment to her, was too outrageous ; and when 
 the Squire said that she had given up Mr. Harvey for your 
 sake, I really was in such a passion as to tell him that upon 
 that subject he had better look nearer home, for that there 
 was a lady of his acquaintance who did not seem disposed 
 lO give up Mr. Harvey for any body. 
 
 "This morning the Squire called upon me full of apolo"-ies 
 for what he had been told had offended me. He appeared
 
 128 THE paeson's daughter. 
 
 to recollect nothing of the matter himself, but some of his 
 odious friends had, at breakfast, recalled to his memory my 
 observation about young Harvey ; and you cannot imagine 
 what I suffered between the stupidity of the man himself 
 and my own anxiety not to be mixed up in any of their 
 quarrels or grievances. When he insisted, jocularly of 
 course, upon my telling him who the lady was who was so 
 devoted to Charles, as he called him, I could say nothing, 
 but advised him to try and find out, which I should not 
 have done if I had imagined he had the least chance of suc- 
 ceeding in his scrutiny. He insisted upon ray dining with 
 them to-day, to show that I was not offended ; and as I 
 could not in this place plead any other engagement, I am 
 going fully prepared for the frowns of the lady, who, I have 
 no doubt, will erroneously attribute what I said in a moment 
 of irritation to annoy him some little tittle-tattle desire of 
 showing her up, which I declare to have been the farthest 
 thing in the world from my intentions. 
 
 " I, however, took the opportunity of this tete-a-tete with 
 the Squire to set him right upon the subject of Miss Lovell. 
 I had, indeed, in the course of our drive homewards from 
 the Hall, talked at her, in describing the sort of person I 
 should like you to marry ; and I believe, from the tone of 
 voice in which she replied, for I could not see the expression 
 of her countenance, that I completed the affair entirely, gave 
 her hopes the coup de grace, and prepared her for woe and 
 willows; but it struck me, as I know Mrs. Harbottle to be 
 her chief, indeed oiily friend and confidant, that it would 
 be wise to instil into the thing, which Mr. Harbottle calls 
 his mind, the conviction that any serious connection with the 
 Lovells had never entered your head. 1 represented you, as 
 I think you merit, full of vivacity and general admiration 
 for nice and pretty people, with a turn for flirting, and ac- 
 complishments exactly suited to the indulgence of the pur- 
 suit. Be that as it may, I made them understand that you 
 have no more idea of connecting yourself with the Parson's 
 Daughter than the Pope has, nor much more right than his 
 holiness to think of such a thing ; that being yourself with- 
 out fortune, you certainly could only marry with money ; 
 and that, therefore, putting all th» other impossibilities out
 
 THE parson's daughter, 12,9 
 
 of the question, you certainly could not, even if you wished 
 it — which I am sure you did not — marry such a person 
 as the poor little girl whose head I am really afraid you have 
 turned. Having charged the Squire with all these views 
 and intentions, 1 despatched him to his wife to make a con. 
 fidence, and was not at all ill-pleased that he proposed taking 
 the Rectory in his way to join ' the ladies ' in some excur- 
 sion to his fishing-house, which has cost him more money 
 than fishing-house ever cost, and is not yet half finished. 
 
 " I was so extremely unwell that 1 could not write in 
 time for to-day's post, and I therefore have ordered them 
 to forward this by the coach ; and one of my principal rea- 
 sons for regretting my inability to write sooner is, that I am 
 extremely anxious you should go to Somerfield. I wish 
 you to cultivate the acquaintance of Catherine. She is an 
 amiable creature, and, tliough somewhat older than yourself, 
 so superior, and with such an understanding and such a 
 heart — and I dare say you will jokingly add — and such 
 a fortune ! But there you will do me an injustice. I feel, 
 certainly, as I told Mr. Harbottle, that you ought not to 
 marry without money, but that is a totally different thing 
 from marrying for money. There are as lovely and as ex- 
 cellent young women rich as there are poor; and although 
 I have no desire to spoil you, and perhaps see you with a 
 mother's eye, I do really think, considering your personal 
 qualifications and the circumstances of your birth and con- 
 nections on both sides, that you are fully entitled to aspire 
 to the union of beauty and wealth in the lady with whom 
 you link your fate and fortune. A woman's heart is always 
 disinterested ; a rich girl is as easily won as a poor one ; it 
 is true, friends and relations may in the one instance thwart, 
 while in the other they would encourage, a successfnl ter- 
 mination to your suit ; but, as far as the being herself is 
 concerned, I have known the world a long time, and I never 
 knew a rich girl think of her riches, except as affording the 
 means of making liini happy whose happiness it was her 
 anxiety to make. 
 
 " You must be aware, dear George, that in advising you 
 to proceed, and not return to this place, I make a great 
 personal sacrifice ; indeed, 1 shall quit it very shortly my-
 
 130 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 self. I am so entangled with these oppressive people and 
 their inevitable hospitality, that I am gened to death ; and 
 the horrid monsters who compose the rest of the population 
 are so detestable to me, that I cannot make up my mind to 
 get off of the invitations to the Hall, by mixing in the other 
 parties of the place. 
 
 " To-morrow comes partridge-shooting, and the recur- 
 rence of that day brings forcibly to my mind all the festivities 
 at Grimsbury, and the joyous meetings in which my poor 
 dear father, and my venerable grandfather before him, took 
 so much delight. All these things are changed ; and here 
 am I destined, I conclude, to pass the anniversary of that once 
 really happy day in the society of the Harbottles and their 
 extraordinary companions. However, do not disturb your 
 arrangements for me, and let me hear Irom you as soon as 
 you reach town. I will furnish you with a periodical 
 account of our proceedings here; not but that 1 think, if I 
 kept a diary for your edification, I might detail the events 
 of Monday at the beginning of each week, and put ditto, 
 ditto, ditto to every succeeding day until Monday came 
 again. 
 
 " Do not fail to write to me ; and believe me, dearest 
 George, your affectionate mother, 
 
 " Frances Sheringham. 
 
 " P. S. Popjoy has just been here. He tells me he 
 was sent for, this morning, to see Miss Lovell, whom he 
 found extremely unwell. Poor thing ! I have no doubt 
 her indisposition proceeds from the enlightenment she 
 received last night from me. However, George, tlie days 
 when ladies died for love are past, and I really think, as 
 indeed I told Popjoy, that his assistant, who is a remark- 
 ably smart, red and white young gentleman, would, in the 
 shape of a husband, be of more service to her than all the 
 physic in his shop. There is nothing like putting notions 
 into young men's heads. I am quite sure, Popjoy will 
 tell the lad what I said, and I am not much less sure that 
 I shall get up a flirtation between them." 
 
 This letterand postscriptcame most opportunely, or rather 
 inopportunely — opportunely to open Sheringham's eyes.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 131 
 
 as to his lady mother's manceuvrings, and inopportunely 
 as far as their success was involved. They however cor- 
 roborated^ if they had needed corroboration^ all tbe asser- 
 tions and statements of Harvey, as to his entire innocence 
 of either attachment or offer to jNIiss Lovell ; for her lady- 
 ship, in her anxiety to exhibit the success of her convers- 
 ation with Emma, had, in point of fact, admitted that 
 the object of her affections was CJeorge himself ; and this 
 she — the woman of the world — sits down and writes to 
 him, as a probable means of inducing him to relinquish 
 the girl whose head he had turned, and of proceeding to 
 Somerfield to conclude a match with " Catherine." 
 
 That her ladyship had over-reached herself in this pro- 
 ceeding is clear ; but it must be admitted, in vindication 
 of her policy, that she did not believe in the existence of a 
 serious attachment to Emma on the part of her son. His 
 sudden departure she could not exactly account for ; but 
 such had been the by-play of the parties concerned, 
 whilst under her ladyship's surveillance, that what she 
 really thought, and what she did not in the slightest degree 
 allude to, was, that George had started off in a fit of jea- 
 lousy with Harvey, whom she considered his rival in the 
 good graces of ]\Irs. Harbottle. Upon that point, there- 
 fore, she never touched farther than to record her belief 
 of Harvey's success in that quarter, because she was just 
 as anxious that her son should not entangle himself in any 
 scrape with the lady of the Hall, as that he should be iu 
 any degree committed to her of the Parsonage — all she 
 desired was, that he should not return to Binford ; and 
 when she had sealed the letter we have just read, she 
 thought she had decided that question finally and en- 
 tirely. 
 
 The effect produced, however, was precisely tlie re- 
 verse of that which was expected. Sheringham had 
 quitted his home distracted with jealousy, and convinced 
 of the destruction of all the hopes of happiness to which 
 liis acquaintance with Emma had given birth ; he was 
 then so far from being assured of her sympathy, that be- 
 fore his eyes, as he believed, he had evidence of her in-
 
 132 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 difference towards him ; for, even in the depths of his 
 distress, he could not bring himself to imagine that she 
 could have willingly and wilfully played the deceiver's 
 part ; he, therefore, concluded that she had always pre- 
 ferred Harvey, whom she had known so much longer, 
 and attributed to his own vanity the impression he had 
 taken of her partiality. 
 
 But now, Harvey's visit and Lady Frances's letter had 
 cleared up all his doubts ; he had not misconstrued the 
 artless manner of the amiable girl ; she was even now 
 suffering perhaps from his absence, coupled with the cruel 
 explanation of his mother; — there was not a moment to 
 doubt what his course should be — he was resolved to 
 return to Binford in the evening of the following day, to 
 proceed direct to the Parsonage, and there put it beyond 
 the power of his mother to influence the abandonment of 
 his purpose, by proposing to his beloved Emma, and under 
 the sanction of her excellent and exemplary parent, plight- 
 ing her his faith and truth. 
 
 His intention was to take this step before he saw Lady 
 Frances. He had a double motive for adopting this 
 course. He should, in the first place, avoid any discussion 
 with her (for if he saw her, he felt he should be compelled 
 to communicate his intentions to her) ; and, in the second 
 place, if — and there is no certainty in love — Emma should 
 refuse him, or her father decline his consent to her mar- 
 riage under the circumstances, he could then effect his 
 retreat from the village, without incurring, in addition to 
 all other evils, the ridicule and exultation of his noble 
 parent, which she would, no doubt, triumphantly bring 
 into play against him in case of his defeat. 
 
 To Charles Harvey, the Captain of course communi- 
 cated his design, who agreed in its prudence and propriety; 
 but it was not without a sigh that the unhappy Charles 
 thought again of Binford and all that it contained — its 
 pleasures and amusements, never to be renewed by liim, 
 and the society so dear, in which Sheringham might stiil 
 rejoice, but in Mliich he must never hope to mingle. 
 
 Sheringham saw wliat was passing in Harvey's mind — 
 the sad contrast between the dawning hopes of future joys
 
 THE parson's daughter. 133 
 
 for his friend, and the dark clouds closing in upon the set- 
 ting sun of his happiness. 
 
 " Rally, rally, my dear fellow," said Sheringham, — 
 " you will hereafter rejoice in the step you have taken — 
 no medicine is palatable ; you have swallowed the bitter 
 potion, and you will in time recover ; if you had ventured 
 to stand your ground, you might have been beaten ; you 
 fly, and will not be overtaken. Religion, reason, honour, 
 all point out to you the wisdom and propriety of your 
 conduct, and you must not relax." 
 
 " I am firm, Sheringham," replied Harvey, " but more 
 astonished at the real state of my heart and feelings than 
 I can describe to you; I admit that^ during my acquaint- 
 ance and constant association with her, I admired her 
 understanding, her virtue, her feelings, and I became at- 
 tached to her — devotedly attached as a brother — as a 
 friend. By degrees I observed the coarseness and indeli- 
 cacy of Harbottle in her presence. I have often seen with 
 pain the blush mantling on her cheeks at expressions or 
 allusions of his. I could not but lament her destiny, and 
 pity her distress ; but all these feelings were pure and 
 disinterested ; nor, till I was forced from her presence, 
 had I an idea of the intensity of my affection, or of its 
 ardour and devoted character." 
 
 " How well then and wisely has she acted ! " said 
 Sheringham : " she saw the danger to which you were 
 blind, and like a guardian angel has interposed herself to 
 save you from destruction." 
 
 Harvey, who seemed perfectly bewildered at the disco- 
 very of the real state of his heart, was not exactly in the 
 humour to agree with all his friend's propositions ; pro- 
 positions, perhaps, not the more acceptable from being 
 made by a lover, at the very crisis of happiness, to a 
 wretched outcast, driven from the scenes in which alone 
 he loved to dwell. 
 
 The friends, however, agreed to remain together till the 
 following afternoon, when Sheringham was to proceed to 
 Binford to put his plan in execution, and Harvey to fulfil 
 his engagement at the Mordaunts'. 
 
 K 3
 
 1.34 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 • The fatal shock 
 
 Has doubtless shivered her strong side, she sinks 
 
 So swiltly down, that scarce the straii>ing eye 
 
 Can trace her tattered mast — Where is she now ? 
 
 Hid in the wild abyss with all her crew. 
 
 All lost for ever. Mallett. 
 
 While the two friends are waiting at Ullsford, prepara- 
 tory to the execution of their different designs, let us for a 
 moment look into Miss Lovell's boudoir, where, at about 
 twelve o'clock of the day, we shall find her and Mrs. Har- 
 bottle closeted together. 
 
 " My sufferings," said Fanny, " are indeed more aggra- 
 vated than I anticipated. My husband's conduct to me 
 is such as would be little less than I deserved, if I had 
 failed in any one duty towards him. Oh ! Emma, con- 
 ceive, last night, his upbraiding me about Charles before 
 Lady Frances, after all that had passed in the afternoon, 
 and after assuring me that he acquitted me of all partici- 
 pation in what he so cruelly called his misconduct." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" said Emma. 
 
 " Trutli ; not only did he refer to my partiality to 
 Harvey, but exultingly proclaimed to Lady Frances that 
 he had now found out whom she meant by a particular 
 friend of his, who seemed not disposed to give up 
 Mr. Harvey to any body. If it were possible for me to 
 repent of having acted rightly, and done my duty rigidly, 
 liis conduct and language would induce me to regret that 
 I took the decisive step I felt it right to take with regard 
 to poor Charles." 
 
 " The unnatural league," said Emma, " which has been 
 formed between Mr. Harbottle and Lady Frances, (who 
 hate each other, I am sure,) is most dreadful ; for he, in 
 the evening, has no scruple as to language ; and her lady- 
 ship, who has no tie to any of us, and comes here for 
 nothing but to amuse herself at our expense, at the least
 
 THE parson's daughter. 135 
 
 possible expense to herself, encourages him in his discus- 
 sions without intending to do so : for though he is your 
 husband, Fanny, you will, I am sure, admit that there are 
 times and seasons when he does not exactly comprehend 
 the meanings and intentions of his associates." 
 
 "Emma, he is my husband," said Fanny, "and that 
 must serve for answer. That he has faults and imper- 
 fections, I am not so blind as not to know ; but those I 
 could cheerfully endure — have cheerfully endured, and 
 would make any sacrifice to insure his happiness and 
 support his respectabihty ; but to endure cruelty — un- 
 deserved cruelty, — caused, too, by the mahce of his 
 menials, who are now set to watch me, and report to him, 
 upon his return home, as to what I have done, — where I 
 have been, — what letters I have written, — what orders I 
 have given, is indeed a trial. I will, however, submit. 
 I pray to Heaven to grant me patience — and, Avith its 
 blessing, I will continue my straight course, even if ray 
 poor heart break in the effort." 
 
 " Pray, pray," said Emma, " do not agitate yourself 
 thus. Mr. Harbottle will overcome this wayward humour, 
 and " 
 
 " No, Emma, no," interrupted Fanny ; " I know his 
 disposition too intimately to hope that — his mind never 
 divests itself of an impression once received — let him 
 make what declarations he may — let him assure me, 
 however earnestly, that he either has no suspicion of my 
 misconduct, or that he has forgiven and forgotten my 
 indiscretion altogether, — it is not so : if he were to live 
 for ages, his feelings towards Harvey would remain un- 
 changed, unmitigated ; and one of my consolations in 
 sorrow is, that 1 forced him away before the arts and 
 insinuations of tlie people by whom I am surrounded had 
 entirely alarmed his jealousy. Besides, to be watched — 
 mistrusted — doubted — oh ! Emma, Emma, you can 
 have no conception of my unhappiness." 
 
 "Believe in my warmest sympathy," said Emma; "I 
 know what it is to be wretched myself." 
 
 "Ah, dear girl," said Fanny, "and you may well and 
 justly believe that all my own miseries are aggravated by 
 
 It 4'
 
 136 THE parson's DAUGHTEU. 
 
 a conviction that the yilan which I adopted of soHciting 
 your interference with Charles has so sadly interfered with 
 your happiness." 
 
 " Perhaps/' rephed I\Iiss Lovell, " it is all for the 
 best : it is quite evident that even if George Sheringham 
 should feel sufficiently interested about me to return after 
 his delusion is past — and it must surely be dissipated, 
 after he hears of his imaginary rival's departure — I 
 should have no chance of happiness. What Lady Frances 
 said, in our drive home the night before last, was, I felt, 
 intended to kill every hope I might entertain ; and cer- 
 tainly, much as I own to you I admire and esteem her 
 son, I never could consent to be admitted into her family 
 against her wish, or looked upon as an intruder into a 
 circle to mOve in which I have no ambition." 
 
 "Nevertheless, Emma," said Fanny, "my belief is, 
 that if Captain Sheringham were to present himself before 
 you, and, after announcing his mother's disapprobation of 
 the match, propose marrying you without her consent, you 
 would " 
 
 " Do not suppose any thing," said Emma : " I have 
 lived the life of a recluse until twenty-one; for the last 
 four years I have made the happiness, as he says, of my 
 dear father. I am unused to the world, and as yet, 1 
 believed, unspoiled by its ways. George Sheringham has 
 attached me to him without any forced effort on his part ; 
 I knew and admired him for his principles, his talents, 
 his accomplishments, his good-nature, and his agreeable 
 conversation. He is the first and only man who ever 
 made that sort of impression upon my heart or mind ; 
 and, if I lose his affection and his society, he will have no 
 successor in either." 
 
 "Dear Emma," said Mrs. Harbottle, forgetting her 
 own griefs for the moment in the delight of hearing any 
 thing so new and nu'ive, " make no rash vows : my belief 
 is that Captain Sheringham will be here very shortly — 
 for, after all, it seems he has not gone to London. Lady 
 Frances affects great mystery about the place of his pre- 
 sent residence ; but I suspect, from something she inad- 
 vertently let slip last night, that he is still very near us ;
 
 THE parson's daughter. 137 
 
 and that, if her endeavours to keep you asunder fail, which 
 I hope and trust they may, he will be here before many 
 days are over." 
 
 In this supposition, as we know, Mrs. Harbottle evinced 
 her usual discrimination into the human mind, as far as 
 the gallant Captain's intentions were concerned ; but, 
 agreeable as female society is, we must leave the ladies to 
 themselves for a short time, in order to take another 
 glance at the Siamese willow-wearers at Ullsfoid. 
 
 At breakfast these knights-errant met again to talk of 
 themselves; for, as I have elsewhere observed, egotism is 
 the leading characteristic of the lover, — himself, his mis- 
 tress, his hopes and views, his happiness and misery, form 
 the sole subjects of his conversation. They had, however, 
 so far exhausted the theme the night before, that they 
 were enabled to divide their attention between their own 
 personal grievances, and the grilled fowl, and the eggs, 
 and the ham, and the coffee, and the London paper of the 
 previous day, which Harvey undertook to skim for the 
 benefit of his friend, who was performing the operation, 
 which, at Cambridge, is not called by so gentle a term as 
 tea- making, but which, in point of fact, amounts to neither 
 more nor less. 
 
 Charles, accordingly, recited aloud several " we hears," 
 some few " we understands," and many extraordinary 
 falsehoods, of which "we are credibly informed," all of 
 which passed unheeded over the tympanum of Captain 
 George, until, at length, he proceeded to read the fol- 
 lowing: — 
 
 " Extract of a Letter from Malta, dated July 27- 
 
 " We have been greatly shocked by a dreadful accident 
 which has happened to an English nobleman and his family, 
 who have been staying here for some time. On Monday 
 last, his lordship, together with his lady, two sons, and a 
 daughter, proceeded on board his lordship's yacht, in which 
 he came from England. The full complement of his men 
 were on board, and they proceeded on a cruise, such as 
 they were in the habit of taking daily. It appears that 
 the weather changed very unfavourably in the middle of
 
 138 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 the day, and towards the afternoon the wind blew with 
 uncommon severity. Accustomed to the sea^ and confi- 
 dent in his crew, his lordship felt no alarm ; and having 
 plenty of provisions on board, they resolved to stand off 
 from the island, and make the best of it for the night. 
 The weather getting much worse as it grew late, and a 
 heavy sea running, his lordship ordered his captain to let 
 the yacht run away before the wind, under a close-reefed 
 square topsail. The night was pitch-dark ; and, about 
 half-past eleven o'clock, she unfortunately came in contact 
 with a large ship close hauled, which struck her just amid- 
 ships ; and in one instant, accompanied with a shriek of 
 horror, the ill-fated vessel sunk, with every soul on board. 
 
 " Robert Halsey and George Pytts, two of the crew, are 
 the only persons saved. The force of the concussion was 
 such, that the bowsprit of the yacht was torn out of the 
 step, together with several feet of the bulwarks, and part of 
 the cutwater, to which tlie bob-stay was made fast. Upon 
 this raft, so providentially supplied, the poor fellows floated 
 until morning, when they were fortunately seen by Captain 
 Sale, of the brig Florentia, from Liverpool to this port, 
 who got them safely on board, supplied them with every 
 comfort, and brought them to A'aletta. 
 
 " The survivors describe the shij) which caused their 
 misfortune to be a large black-sided vessel, of about three 
 hundred and fifty tons' burden ; but the night was so dark 
 that, of course, in tiie confusion of the minute, they had 
 neither time nor opportunity to make out what she was. 
 
 " The following are the names of the sufferers: — Lord 
 Weybridge anil his lady ; the Hon. Howard Bouverie 
 Sheringham, his eldest ; the Hon. Spencer Cavendish 
 Russell Slieringham, his second son ; and the Hon. Caro- 
 line Brandenburgh Sheringham, his lordship's only daugh- 
 ter ; Mr. Thomas Hopkins, Captain " 
 
 " Stop, stop," said Sheringham : " what, in the name 
 of Old Scratch, are you reading about.''" 
 
 Harvey, who was unconscious of the title which the 
 head of George's family bore, was going on methodically 
 to enumerate the crew of the vessel who had perished, but, 
 upon the sudden exclamation, he stopped.
 
 THE parson's daughter'. 159 
 
 " ^Vhv, my dear fellow," said George, " you are making 
 this up — this is gibberish of your own, in order to astound 
 me — it wo'n't do, Charles. I rejoice to see your spirits 
 return ; but drowning a whole family to give me a peerage, 
 is rather too romantic — it is carrying the joke too far; it 
 would not be tolerated even in one of Colburn and Bent- 
 ley's namby-pamby novels. Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 " Upon my honour, it is here," said Charles. " What ! " 
 cried the Captain, " dispose of a whole family of Shering- 
 hams as you would of a litter of bUnd puppies I" 
 
 " Look there," continued Harvey. 
 
 And he did look ; and notwithstanding that he saw it 
 all in black and white, and that it bore the stamp of au- 
 thenticity, which to the unenlightened mind is always 
 conferred upon a falsehood by appearing in a newspaper, 
 he could not bring himself to believe that so extraordinary 
 an event could have occurred, which should, " at one fell 
 swoop," dispose of all these people, and place him in a 
 situation which, three months before, was so far out of 
 his reach as in the ordinary course of mortal events to 
 appear unattainable. 
 
 " By Jove," said George, " but it looks like truth. No 
 man could sit down and furbish up the facts and names 
 which appear here, without foundation. What ought I to 
 do ? " 
 
 " Why," said Harvey, " as T never unexpectedly suc- 
 ceeded to a peerage, I don't feel competent to advise ; but 
 you will hear more of it, of course. You had better start 
 for Dale Cottage directly." 
 
 " No, Charles, no," said George. "If the report is 
 false, I should needlessly agitate my mother and expose 
 myself; if it should be true, it wiU only be a stronger 
 inducement for me to go to Lovell's this evening before it 
 is known ; and if Emma accepts me for my own sake 
 alone, a poor half-pay commander in the navy, it will at 
 once secure me from attributing her consent to ambitious 
 or interested motives; and I, on the other hand, shall have 
 the delight of hailing her Lady ^\'eybridge, with a hand- 
 some fortune and a place in societyj which, dear angelj sh« 
 is fully qualified to fill."
 
 140 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " But," said Charles, " you seem, in tlie most cf your 
 anticipations with respect to her, to forget your grief for the 
 loss of all your relations." 
 
 " Why," replied the captain, " in the first place, I have 
 not quite made up my mind to the truth of the story ; and, 
 in the next place, if it be true, I never beheld the late lord 
 but once in my life, and that only when I was at Eton; and 
 his half-sovereign tip so affronted me that I never sought 
 or saw him afterwards. My father's eldest brother, whose 
 son he is, was never upon good terms with any of us — him 
 I scarcely recollect — he was nearly twenty years older than 
 my father ; and the present or the late lord, if late he be, 
 married an extremely disagreeable person, by whom he had 
 the three children enumerated in the newspaper, and two 
 others who died young. The eldest must be now, or was, 
 fifteen, the second about thirteen, and the girl about eleven. 
 I confess that the accident is a sad one, and I should la- 
 ment it in any case ; but for the little I have known or 
 seen of my relations, I am not dis2)osed to feel more than 
 I should if it had happened to any body else." 
 
 " More especially," said Charles, " as a coronet falls 
 into the opposite scale." 
 
 "■ If the coronet," replied George, " should become the 
 fair forehead and blue eyes of my dearest Emma, I should 
 indeed value it, else I declare to you I care little about it. 
 I am, however, decided in my course." 
 
 " I never saw a fellow bear elevation with such philo- 
 sophy," said Harvey ; " why, my dear Ceorge, there are 
 men, ay, dozens of them, who are ready to forswear their 
 principles, their politics, their creed itself, for the sake of 
 the thing whicli has just dropped upon your brows, and 
 which you receive with perfect indifference." 
 
 " To tell you the truth," said Sheringham, " it is that 
 very readiness, on the one side, to barter honour and honesty 
 for title, and the more shameful readiness, on the other, to 
 grant it as a political bribe and withhold it from just and 
 honourable claims, that so far degrade the dignity in my 
 eyes as to make me indifferent to the advantages it may give 
 me in society, while it puts me on a level with a host of ad- 
 venturers and pretenders, who, in return for their venality
 
 THE parson's daughter. 141 
 
 and tergiversation, are permitted to be accounted peers of 
 the highest and noblest men in the country." 
 
 " Do you consider, my dear friend, or lord, " said Charles, 
 " as the case may be, what a narrow escape of " 
 
 What he was going to add, we know not, for on the in- 
 stant, a carriage having been driven up to the door of the 
 inn, which " made the very stones prate at its whereabout," 
 the room-door was suddenly opened, and George's servant 
 rushed in, more dead than alive with haste, and presented 
 his master with the foUon'ing note from Lady Frances, thus 
 addresed : — 
 
 " Lord Weybridge," 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 This was conclusive : the black seal (wax sent for to the 
 Binford ''shop" express) settled it all. 
 
 "Dearest George, — A dreadful event has happened in 
 the family. I trust this will find you still at Ullsford. I 
 have given Roberts orders to follow you if he can trace you. 
 I can explain nothing. Compose your mind, my dearest son. 
 A complication of miseries has befallen your cousin and 
 his family — its importance and extent you may guess by the 
 superscription of this. I have sent the carriage. Come to 
 me instantly. There is much to settle and arrange. I trust 
 you are not gone forward. 
 
 " Ever your affectionate mother, 
 
 " Frances Sheringham." 
 
 *' Has any body arrived at the cottage, Roberts .'' " said 
 George to her servant. 
 
 " No, my lord" was the answer. 
 
 It did not sound so much amiss, after all. 
 
 " My mother is quite well } " 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 George rather liked the reply, and asked another question 
 just for the sake of the answer. 
 
 " When did you leave Binford ? " 
 
 " About half-past nine, my lord." 
 
 " ^^ell, order horses, and go back immediately." 
 
 " Yes, my lord, " said Roberts ; and when he got to the
 
 142 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 door, turning himself round, added, enquiringly, " four^ my 
 lord ? " 
 
 " Four ! what on a bowling-green road as flat as a billiard 
 table ? No, a pair, sir." 
 
 " Very well, my lord," said Roberts, evidently much dis- 
 concerted at his lordship's not immediately altering his mode 
 of travelling. 
 
 " 'WeW, my dear lord," said Charles, " let me sincerely 
 congratulate you: it is clear that your bright hours are be- 
 ginning, and it will be no little consolation in my unhappi- 
 ness to hear of your brilliant progress." 
 
 " I assure you, my dear Harvey," said Lord Weybridge, 
 " this accession of rank and fortune — for the fortune is very 
 extensive — has but one effect upon me. I do not in the 
 slightest degree deny, what it would be affectation not to 
 admit, that the position in which I am so suddenly and un- 
 expectedly placed has, as I have already said, considerable 
 advantages in society ; but what I chiefly look to is the in- 
 creased means it may give me, first, of exhibiting my devo- 
 tion to that dear girl ; and, next, of employing my means 
 and interest for the advantage of deserving people, and for 
 the advancement and support of principles which I have 
 always maintained, and which I pledge my honour — I must 
 do no more now — I never will desert for earldom, marqui- 
 sate, or dukedom." 
 
 " Your lordship's carriage is ready," said the master of 
 the (ieorge, who appeared in propria persona, Men poudre, 
 with a large white waistcoat and top-boots. " I hope, my 
 lord," added the jocund Boniface, " I may be permitted to 
 congratulate your lordship, and to solicit a continuance of 
 the favours whicli your lordship has been pleased to bestow 
 upon my house ? " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said George, " I fear my con- 
 nections and pursuits will necessarily take me away from your 
 county ; but I shall, I have no doubt, be occasionally at 
 Binford, and shall not fail to remember your courtesy and 
 attention." 
 
 The parting of Ciiarles and his now noble friend was ex- 
 tremely cordial. Lord AV'eybridge apologised for the abrupt- 
 ness of his departure, and promised to write him a succinct
 
 THK parson's daughter. 143 
 
 account of the state of affairs at Binford^ and a faithful re- 
 port of his proceedings at the Parsonage, and, having shaken 
 hands with his disconsolate companion, stepped into the 
 chariot which was to bear him to all he held dear ; while 
 Harvey, longing and half-resolved to accompany him, at least 
 as far as the Binford tinger-post, nevertheless conquered his 
 rash inclination, and, ordering his horses, in half an hour 
 more was on his road to the hospitable home of the Mor- 
 daunts. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Be thou blest, Bertram .' and succeed thy father 
 In manners as in shape, thy blo(jd and virtue 
 Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness 
 Share with thy birthright. Shakspeare. 
 
 The meeting between Lady Frances and her son was of 
 course most enthusiastic : her ladyship caught the ennobled 
 George Augustus Frederick in her arms, and, after the 
 fashion observed by corporations to kings, presented at once 
 her addresses of condolence and congratulation, concluding 
 the latter with the use of the somewhat homely adage, that 
 " it is an ill wind that blows nobody good." 
 
 Her ladyship's chief alarm upon the occasion had been 
 excited by an apprehension that the new lord might be over- 
 come by the sudden surprise caused by the intelligence of 
 his unexpected accesion to the family honours ; but she soon 
 found that all her cares upon that point had been superflu- 
 ous, since the common newspapers had made him acquainted 
 with the event even before the receipt of her letter. 
 
 The despatch which conveyeil the news to Lady Frances 
 was written from London by the Reverend ]Mr. Crabshaw, 
 who had been tutor to the two young Sheringhams ; but who, 
 on account of indisposition, had not, as usual, accompanied 
 them in their excursion on the day of the fatal accident : he
 
 144 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Stated that he had, upon his arrival in town, visited the late 
 lord's solicitors, in whose hands he knew his lordship to 
 have left a will, and that they — who he presumed would 
 also write to Lady Frances (being, as he himself was, ig- 
 norant of her son's address) — were extremely anxious to 
 see his lordship ; and tliat in his (Mr. Crabshaw's) opinion, 
 his lordship ought not to lose a moment in proceeding to 
 visit their chambers, as, of course, the unexpected and 
 afflicting event would cause a great change in the actual 
 disposition of the late lord's personal property. 
 
 " You see, my dear George," said her ladyship, " you 
 hav'n't a moment to lose. What an extraordinary and sud- 
 den alteration in your position, — from a poor half-pay 
 commander in his Majesty's navy to a peer of the realm !" 
 
 " True," said George, " and if it might be permitted for 
 a sailor to joke upon so melancholy an accident, which has 
 deprived him of a family of cousins, about whom he knew 
 little and cared less, I might certainly boast that I still owe 
 my promotion entirely to the sea. However, I suppose 
 there is no necessity for my immediate departure." 
 
 '' I should say immediate, " said Lady Frances ; " I re- 
 peat my conviction that not a moment is to be lost. How 
 do you know who are your cousin's executors } how do you 
 know but steps may be taken which ought not to be taken 
 without your presence and concurrence .'' Take my advice, 
 my dear George — order horses directly, and be off." 
 
 *' Hang it," said George, " I have sometimes dreamt — 
 or in my waking dreams, perhaps, fancied — myself Lord 
 Weybridge, and I used to think myself a great deal happier 
 in the enjoyment of my visionary title than I do in this ac- 
 cession to the real one. The change of station will produce 
 a change of scenes and circumstances, and I had begun to 
 like Binford so much " 
 
 " That you went away from it in disgust," inter- 
 rupted her ladyship, '' two days ago : depend upon it, 
 my dear George, when you have tasted the sort of life 
 to which this accession to title and wealth will habituate 
 you, you will soon learn to look upon the circle in which we 
 have been lately moving with a mixture of pity and 
 disgust. I don't mean to deny Mrs. Harbottle her merits.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 145 
 
 nor to gainsay the virtues of Miss Lovell^ but — what are 
 such people as Lovells and Harbottles in the scale of 
 society ? — what can be more flat, stale, and unprofitable 
 than to live with people highly respectable and vastly good, 
 and very rich, and all that, who exist upon surmises and 
 contradictions, when, as you are now qualified to do, a 
 man can mingle in the very scenes of which the amiable 
 middling classes speak only traditionally, and bear a part 
 in transactions, the discussion of which forms the subject 
 of their uncertain conversations ? No, no, from this day 
 forward^ depend upon it, Binford is no place for you." 
 
 " I don't quite see all that, my dear mother," said 
 George. " It is true I am Lord Weybridge ; and, there- 
 fore, nominally, something better-sounding than I was 
 yesterday ; but my blood, my family, my connections are 
 all precisely the same; and I am sure of this, that hitherto, 
 amongst your associates and companions, I have never 
 found any very great favour. Lady Gorgon, your most 
 intimate friend, used, when I went to her house, to drive 
 her daughters out of my way, as a shepherd would his 
 flock from a wolf; and if ever I danced with one of those 
 Lady Janes or Lady Annes, the looks of the duchess during 
 the whole quadrille were Uke those of a basilisk." 
 
 " Ah, but then " 
 
 " Then, my dear mother, I was a commander in his 
 jVIajesty's navy, with the splendid revenue of seven shil- 
 lings and sixpence per diem ; and, therefore, noble as my 
 blood was — and I know you agree with me that it is 
 noble on both sides," added the Captain, smiling, — " none 
 of your noble acquaintances ever smiled upon me. Here 
 I came to Binford^ the same poor half-pay fish, and 
 found " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake don't talk of what is to be found 
 here," exclaimed her ladyship. " Go to London, and 
 see what is to be found there." 
 
 " Oh," said George, " 1 am quite prepared for my 
 reception ; George Sheringham, having cast his skin, and 
 burst from the chrysalism of a commander on half-pay 
 into the splendid butterflyism of a barony, will find 
 mothers^ and aunts, and dowagers, and chaperones, press-
 
 146 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 ing forward to proffer the sweetest buds and blossoms for 
 him to flutter and flirt withal ; but then, Lady Frances, is 
 it not possible that your ladyship's son may have sense 
 enough to discriminate between the favour and affection 
 which are bestowed upon him for himself alone and those 
 ■which are excited by his title and fortune. Depend upon 
 it, one of the most difficult positions in the world is, that 
 of a young and wealthy nobleman, who, differently placed 
 from men in different circumstances, finds ready access to 
 the homes and hearts of all the beauties of his country. 
 He sees their smile, he hears their praise, he finds himself 
 sought, he feels himself admired. Where vanity exists 
 not in an eminent degree, doubt qualifies the pleasure this 
 encouragement inspires, and he immediately begins con- 
 sidering whether he individually, or the title and station he 
 commands, are the objects of attraction. For myself, I 
 honestly confess I believe there never existed such a thing 
 as an interested young woman upon earth — there may be 
 ambitious ones, and where the heart is not prepossessed, 
 those might prefer a coroneted lover to one who merely 
 wears a hat ; still, when a man knows that he is so loved 
 for himself alone " 
 
 " Well, but, my dear George," said Lady Frances, " as 
 you know no such thing, and as you have thrown over poor 
 Catherine, who, dear soul, really was, I believe, very fond 
 of you once — what can you mean ? " 
 
 *' Thrown over Catherine," said George; " why, my 
 dearest mother, I never knew any thing of her affection for 
 me till you urged me, the day before yesterday, to go and 
 renew my acquaintance with her, and 1 —— — " 
 
 " Oh, well," said Lady Frances, " it 's no use talking of 
 Catherine at present. It was all mighty well to talk of 
 her yesterday, poor dear thing ! but that 's quite at an end 
 now ; so let me beg of you not to lose time in arguing 
 j)oints which will keep for future discussion. Have you 
 ordered the horses ? " 
 
 " No, no," said George ; " I cannot leave Binford 
 without going to take leave of the Harbottlos and the 
 Lovells. I will order them at three o'clock, and so travel 
 till late, and be in town by to-morrow noon,"
 
 THE parson's daughter. 14? 
 
 " Surely, my dear child," saiJ her ladyship, " you cannot 
 think of calling upon any body before you go ; recollect 
 your loss ; so many relations lost at one blow. It would 
 be in the highest degree indelicate." 
 
 " My dear mother," said George, " what indelicacy can 
 there be in just " 
 
 " WeW., George, if you choose to do such a thing, of 
 course " 
 
 " I do, I assure you," replied George : " they have aU 
 been extremely kind to me; and as I cannot exactly fix th 
 time for my returning here, I " 
 
 ^' But," said Lady Frances, " you do not seem to reco 
 lect that you had actually left the place — were absolute 
 gone, without taking leave of any body." 
 
 " That," said Lord Weybridge, " is precisely the 
 reason why I am now so anxious to make the amende 
 honorable for so gross a rudeness ; so let me order the 
 horses — say at four — and I shall be able to make my little 
 round of visits, and then start for the metropolis, of which 
 I have so suddenly become so bright an ornament." 
 
 " As for the Lovells," said Lady Frances, " a call there, 
 except to leave a ticket, will be useless. The young lady 
 has been recommended a change of air, and they have con- 
 trived to lift poor Mr. Lovell into the carriage; and the 
 whole party have betaken themselves to Merrington, where 
 the waters and the company, and all the other attractions 
 of the place, are supposed likely to be of use either to him, 
 or his daughter, or his sister, or some of them. I was 
 surprised to hear of their movement, but they went this 
 morning." 
 
 " Well, then," said George, who, truth to be told, 
 rather doubted the history, " I can do a civil thing without 
 much difficulty or waste of time. The Harbottles are 
 here, I conclude, for they have friends staying with them." 
 
 " They are here," said Lady Frances ; " but their 
 friends, I rather think, have left them." 
 
 " Well, then, I '11 be off on my tour of civility," said 
 George, " and be back long before the carriage is ready. 
 You have no intention of coming up to town immediately, 
 have you .'' " 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 '•' Not unless I am wanted/' replied her ladyship. " If 
 I can be of any use, of course you will send for me — but 
 till my mourning is ready, and all that sort of thing, 
 I otherwise shall not quit the cottage." 
 
 Away went Lord Weybridge to fulfil his self-incurred 
 engagements, and away went Lady Frances to write circu- 
 lar letters with deep black edges to every body who she 
 imagined could be interested in the events which had oc- 
 curred — events which, for more reasons than those which 
 ambition might supply, were, in point of fact, momentous 
 to her in the highest degree, as far as her comfort was con- 
 cerned ; for, upon an enumeration of the costs and ex- 
 penses of furniture and fitting, up — calculated not upon 
 the bills, for they had not yet been sent in, but upon the 
 estimates — which made the matter worse — she found 
 that she had so very far exceeded her original intentions, 
 as every body does who begins altering and decorating, that 
 her income for three consecutive years would not, if all 
 appropriated to the purposes of payment, meet the charge; 
 so that, in addition to the honour and dignity which had 
 accrued to her son, and was thence reflected back upon 
 herself, tlie supply of argent comptant, which his accession 
 to the estates as well as title of his late cousin Avould 
 secure, was a happy relief, for which she was really and 
 sincerely grateful to Providence, lamenting at the same 
 time, with every decent feeling of regret, the calamitous 
 event by which her circumstances were so very much and 
 suddenly improved. 
 
 Lord Weybridge, after having given directions to his 
 servant about the post-horses, proceeded direct to the Par- 
 sonage, where he found that the history which his lady 
 mother had given him was but too correct. INIr. Lovell, 
 alarmed by the sudden indisposition of his daughter, 
 had quitted liinford for the watering-place specified by 
 Lady Frances ; not more, as the servant told George, 
 on account of the change of air, but for the purpose of ob- 
 taining the advice of a celebrated provincial physician, who 
 was resident there. 
 
 From the Parsonage George ])rocecded to the Hall, 
 revolving in his mind the scene he had last seen enacted in
 
 THE parson's daughter. 149 
 
 the very path where Harvey and his beloved Emma passed 
 hhn ; and, at the same time, considering how he should 
 shape his conduct, so as to put beyond any future doubt 
 or contingency his attachment and devotion to the lovely 
 and exemplary girl. From the tenour of his confidential 
 conversations with Harvey, he was inclined to anticipate 
 any thing rather than an agreeable interview with the 
 Harbottles. He hoped that he might encounter them 
 singly : but even then he felt how much delicacy he must 
 necessarily observe with her, if he admitted that Charles 
 and he had met ; which, for many reasons, he intended 
 to do. 
 
 He was fortunate in his approach. The Squire was out, 
 but expected shortly in — i\Irs. Harbottle was at home, 
 and received him with her ususal warmth and sweetness 
 of manner ; but (certainly without anticipating who had 
 been his companion for the last twenty-four hours) there 
 was a consciousness of something on her mind apparent in 
 her expressive countenance, which might have been a dread 
 lest George should enquire after Charles Harvey. 
 
 The viper HoUis knew already, from George's man, that 
 Charles and he had been staying together at UUsford. 
 
 " I suppose," said ]\Irs. Harbottle, " that the intimate 
 friends of Captain Sheringham must not venture to be so 
 intimate with Lord Weybridge .'' " 
 
 " So," said George, " my fame and title have preceded 
 me, have they ? My dear mother seems to have taken as 
 much pains as the gazette writers to proclaim my style and 
 title. You, my dear Mrs. Harbottle, may depend upon it, 
 that if I were to become emperor of all the Russias, instead 
 of an humble English baron — for which title his imperial 
 majesty, I dare say, has the most sovereign contempt — I 
 should never forget the hospitality and kindness which I 
 have experienced in this house, nor the many very, very 
 happy hours I have passed under its roof." 
 
 " I regret to tell you," said Mrs. Harbottle, "■ that one 
 of our once agreeable parties ' — and here she paused 
 for a moment — '' is, I fear, extremely unwell : — Emma, 
 I mean." 
 
 L 3
 
 150 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " I called at the Parsonage before I came here/' said 
 George. 
 
 " Did you ? " said Fanny, her eyes sparkling with joy 
 which she could not conceal. " Did you, indeed ? " 
 
 " Indeed I ilid." 
 
 " I knew it — I knew it," said Fanny; " I would have 
 staked my existence that you would ; but Emma, who 
 knows nothing of your elevation, Emma would not have 
 beUeved me, if I had said so." 
 
 " Why should she have doubted me .'' " 
 
 " Your sudden departure " 
 
 " Charles Harvey " 
 
 " Oh, for mercy's sake," said Fanny, " don't speak — 
 he — he has no more thought of Emma " 
 
 " Hush !" said Weybridge; " for Heaven's sake do not 
 agitate youself. He and I have been staying together the 
 last day and a half at UUsford, where, luckily for all par- 
 ties, we met by accident." 
 
 " With him, Captain Sheringham ? " said Fanny. 
 
 " "W'ith him ?" repUed his lordship; " and he has com- 
 pleted the friendly duty of entirely undeceiving me with 
 respect to those appearances of that particular intimacy be- 
 tween him and Emma which cut me to the quick, and 
 drove me from this dear, dear village, in which all that I 
 care for on earth exists." 
 
 " Not at this moment," said Fanny ; " but, pray, how 
 did Charles — Mr. Harvey I mean — prove to your satis- 
 faction that " 
 
 " Ask me no questions," said George. " Satisfy your- 
 self of his honour and mine. Be assured that both of us 
 possess that feeling of devoted friendship towards you, with 
 which, as I firmly believe, nobody who has seen and known 
 your excellence and virtues as we have, can fail to be in- 
 spired. He is an excellent, amiable creature : he has won 
 my regard and esteem in the two last days of our acquaint- 
 ance ; and I hope and trust, in spite of all the crosses and 
 losses which man is destined to encounter in life, he wil 
 yet be as happy as he deserves." 
 
 Lord \\'eybridge flattered himself that he had got rid of 
 that part of the subject in a skilful manner, without too
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 151 
 
 much exciting Fanny's womanly feelings : for it is im- 
 possible that any woman should divest herself entirely of 
 interest in a man who once has been so dear to her as a 
 friend — but he expected that those very feehngs would 
 have prompted her to make some little — very little — ad- 
 ditional enquiries about him. She, however, disappointed 
 the peer, and, with a prudence quite philosophical, checked 
 her curiosity upon a subject to her of more importance 
 than she desired his lordship to consider it. 
 
 " But of Emma Lovell," said George, after a pause, 
 which he considered quite long enough to give his com- 
 panion the opportunity of questioning him ; " tell me, sin- 
 cerely and candidly, when was she attacked by this illness .^ " 
 
 " The evening of the day you left Binford." 
 
 " And why, may I ask," said George, " do you connect 
 my departure in the morning with hei- indisposition in the 
 afternoon } " 
 
 " Because that," said Fanny, " and a conversation with 
 Lady Frances on their way home from here, I believe to 
 have been the cause, not perhaps of any serious indispo- 
 sition, physically speaking, but of an indisposition to stay 
 here, at least for the present." 
 
 " I have heard of that conversation," said George; "but 
 tell me, when does she return ?" 
 
 " You are serious in asking?" said Fanny. 
 
 " Perfectly and entirely serious, my dearest, best of 
 friends," said George : " I have not a moment to spare 
 here. I start for London almost immediately. I can have 
 no opportunity of seeing her either before, or, I fear, soon 
 after my departure. May I trust — may I entreat you, 
 seriously, and from the very bottom of my heart, to beg 
 and implore her to bear me in mind : tell her, that hurried 
 away as I am, and uncertain of the immediate period of 
 my return, I have made you the depositary of the master- 
 secret of ray heart ; and tell her, above all, that if she 
 encourages my pretensions, and favours my hopes, no hu- 
 man being in existence shall separate us : tell her, too, mv 
 dear Fanny, — so let me call you in the entirety and purity 
 of our friendship, — that the gratitude I feel for her kind- 
 ness towards me, as the humble unpretending person she 
 
 L 4
 
 152 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 first knew me^ has made me more anxious to make this 
 declaration^ the very first act I perform in my new, and, 
 as the world will consider it, superior character ; and I 
 entreat you here to bear witness for her and for me, that 
 if she consents — I am pledged." 
 
 " She will consent," said Fanny, whose eyes were filled 
 with tears of pleasure at the happy result of the acquaint- 
 ance between Lord ^Veybridge and her friend ; " and I 
 shall be too much rejoiced to send her tidings, which I not 
 only know will gladden her heart beyond all others, but 
 which have given me a higher idea of human nature, as 
 far as you particularly, and men generally, are concerned, 
 than I ever had in my life." 
 
 " Why," said George, somewhat archly, " all men are 
 not exactly alike in their views and feelings." 
 
 " No," sighed Fanny, "^ I am aware of that." 
 
 " Aware of what ? " said a voice of thunder, which 
 proved to be that of Harbottle himself, who came bouncing 
 into the room, after having, under Hollis's suggestion, 
 waited a minute or two at the door before he entered. 
 " AV'hy, Sheringhani, my boy, how are you, eh .'' — What's 
 all this, Sheringham ? — you are a lord, they tell me, eh ? 
 — that's a pretty go ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — plenty o' money, 
 1 hope : — a poor lord's a poor thing ; — but I give you 
 joy of your coronet, and wish you health and happiness to 
 wear it." 
 
 " Tliank ye, Squire," said Lord AV^eybridge : " I almost 
 despaired of seeing you, for I am just on the move." 
 
 " Oil, to be sure," said Harbottle, whose fish-like eyes 
 and bloated cheeks denoted that he had eaten luncheon, 
 and was, moreover, out of humour ; " the moment 1 come 
 in, out goes every body else. Well, so you saw Mr. Harvey 
 at Ullsford, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lord AV^eybridge ; " he was there all yes- 
 terday with me. " 
 
 " Did he tell you any lies about us ? " said the Squire. 
 
 " William !" said Fanny. 
 
 " WilHam !" re])lied Harbottle; " yes, it is AVilliam. 
 What is that gentleman stopping at Ullsford for } Did 
 you bring any letter over here from him .'' "
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 153 
 
 " My dear Harbottle/' said Lord Weybridge, " I am 
 not a general postman. Harvey is engaged to the Mor- 
 daunts for a day or two, and is gone over there." 
 
 " Oh, I thought you, — 1 beg pardon, your lordship, I 
 mean, — ha ! ha ! ha ! — might have had some message 
 from him for my wife. They are very great friends, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Indeed we are," said Mrs. Harbottle, trying to laugh 
 oflP the barbarity of her boorish husband's coarse and bar- 
 barous remark, " and I hope we shall always remain so." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say you do," replied the husband. 
 
 "Well," said Lord Weybridge, "although I am bound 
 to apologise, 1 am compelled to take my departure : my 
 lady mother will rate me soundly if I do not attend to my 
 own business, and what she calls the duties of my new sta- 
 tion. So adieu, Harbottle, I have just been telling your 
 lady that I never shall forget the kindness I have experi- 
 enced here, and which I hope to be permitted to enjoy 
 again." 
 
 "Ah, that's all mighty weU," said Harbottle; "but I 
 don't think we shall see much more of you, nor of Binford. 
 I am sick and tired of every thing. You are a lord : if 
 you turn out to be a rich lord, the chances are you wo'n't 
 come near me; and if you are a poor lord, I shall laugh 
 at ijou. My best days are over, Sheringham. We have 
 had the devil to pay here, and as for your friend " 
 
 " Oh, pray, spare my friends," said Lord ^Veybridge, 
 who anticipated what was likely to follow; "never let us 
 look forward in anticipation of ill — you have every thing 
 man on earth can wish for, and I am going on, they tell 
 me, to a similar fate. As Queen Mary said, when she lost 
 Calais, that she was sure Calais would be found engraven 
 on her heart after her death ; so, if I thought I should 
 never return to visit you again, 1 believe Binford would 
 make an equally deep impression upon mine. Heaven 
 bless you botli ! be happy as you deserve to be ; and, as 
 Hamlet's ghost says in his evanishing, ' Remember me !'" 
 
 George took leave of them botli affectionately, but in 
 going down the steps he added, in the ear of Mrs. Har- 
 bottle — loudly enough, however, to prevent the Squire
 
 154 THE parson's davghter. 
 
 from supposing that it was a message from Harvey — " do 
 not, on any account, forget my message to Miss Lovell. 
 Remember, 1 rely on you." 
 
 Knowing Emma's feelings upon this most important 
 subject, it was not likely she would. 
 
 It is curious to reflect upon the wonderful difference 
 which existed between the immediate pursuits of the three 
 persons at that moment collected, and at that moment 
 separated. Harbottle, reduced by the irritating malevo- 
 lence of his spies into a state of mind distressing beyond 
 measure to himself and dreadful to his unhappy suffering 
 wife, had brought himself to the adoption of language with 
 respect to Charles Harvey, in his conversations with her, 
 which no company could check and no circumstances con- 
 trol ; and during the whole of that afternoon and evening, 
 although one or two of his congenial neighbours dined with 
 him, he could neither get rid of the suspicion that Lord 
 Weybridge had been the bearer of some message from 
 Charles, or check himself in the frequently recurring ex. 
 pression of that suspicion ; so that, what one would think, 
 even if he really believed in the existence of any improper 
 partiality on the part of his wife, it would have been his 
 first object to conceal, he himself made the subject of re- 
 mark at his own table, and of conversation at every other 
 table in the parish. But the truth is, his mind had room 
 but for one idea at a time, he had now got hold of one, and 
 it entirely occupied him. His judgment never controlled 
 his temper, and to his passions he sacrificed every thing — 
 hence the brutality which his unhappy wife innocently 
 suffered. 
 
 " Look upon this picture, and on this ! " George, in the 
 very heyday of life, full of spirit, vivacity, talent, and 
 accomplishment, was quitting the confined circle of all these 
 domestic evils for the great world, upon which he was to 
 enter the next day, with all the advantages of rank and 
 fortune. It is not quite certain whether this sudden up- 
 lifting of the commander, whom Harbottle had been pleased 
 to patronise, had not added to the general acerbity of his 
 manner. George, however, took no offence ; he regretted 
 deeply what he saw; for, couiding the severity of the
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 155 
 
 Squirfe's manner, and the subdued wretchedness of Fanny, 
 with the ardent and strangely excited enthusiasm of Charles 
 Harvey, he could not but anticipate a result the most to be 
 dreaded ; nor did he think, in spite of all the young gen- 
 tleman's protestations, that his lingering about in the 
 neighbourhood — a fact much dwelt upon by Mr. Mollis — 
 was altogether so indicative of his determination to abandon 
 every idea which could militate against Harbottle's honour 
 or Fanny's respectabihty, as the said young gentleman 
 wished it to appear. It seemed to George (and he had 
 seen a "case" or two in his life), by the alteration frona 
 what the Hall was a month before, to what it appeared at 
 the moment he ran down the steps at his present depart- 
 ure, that if things went on progressively for another four 
 weeks as they had gone on for the four preceding ones, he 
 should have very little chance of running up those steps 
 again, and finding the master and mistress of the house 
 standing together at the top of them to receive him. 
 
 It is scarcely possible to describe, on the other hand, the 
 effect which had been produced upon the spirits of Mrs. 
 Harbottle by the visit of Lord Weybridge ; for although 
 conscience, which makes cowards of us all, had hindered 
 her from making the slightest enquiry after Charles, still, 
 seeing the individual who had been his companion, in fact 
 ever since he had quitted Binford Hall at her earnest soli- 
 citation, was something; but much more was it that the 
 unexpected meeting of the friends at Ullsford should have 
 produced the much-desired eclaircissement of the apparent 
 frivolity or fickleness of Emma, which otherwise it would 
 have been most difficult to have brought about properly and 
 satisfactorily. 
 
 It must be pretty clear to the reader that Fanny was not 
 long before she seated herself in her boudoir to communi- 
 cate to her dear suff'ering friend the whole of Lord Wey- 
 bridge's declaration, made more striking to the poor inno- 
 cent girl by the circumstance of her previous ignorance of 
 his accession to the title. And the task was a relief to her, 
 for she was doomed, unless, indeed, the Squire might have 
 beaten up a recruit or two in the village, to a tete-a-tete 
 dinner with her churlish husband.
 
 156 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 But even in this innocent, and, as it could not fail to be 
 to her, agreeable pursuit, she was forced, to gratify her 
 anxiety, to despatch the welcome intelligence to her friend 
 by stealth, and have recourse to stratagem to convey her 
 letter to the Rectory, whence it was to be forwarded. For 
 to such a pitch had Harbottle now carried his suspicions, 
 that he would have insisted upon reading the contents of 
 the epistle, which, if he had seen them, would have cor- 
 roborated his previously expressed opinion, that his wife 
 was making up a match between the " Captain" and " the 
 Parson's Daughter." 
 
 Thus it was that mistrust on the one side naturally bred 
 deception on the other ; and the present life of the Squire 
 and his lady appeared to present rather a series of evolu- 
 tions and mantjeuvres than the interchange of kindness and 
 affection, by which it had been hitherto illustrated ; and, 
 although the sufferings of Fanny were considerably aggra- 
 vated by the sort of interference and surveillance to which 
 she was subjected, there is no denying the fact that she 
 herself had been the primary cause of all her subsequent 
 afflictions. 
 
 Nothing can more strongly point out to women, situated 
 as Fanny was, the absolute necessity of maintaining the 
 straight course, deviating neither to the left nor to the 
 right, tlian her own particular case. The moment her de- 
 licacy had been alarmed — the instant her mind was awak- 
 ened to the state of her feelings — she acted morally, virtu- 
 ously, and heroically — but this was in the second stage of 
 the proceedings ; and, disguise it or palliate it as we may, 
 Harvey must have become an object of much greater in- 
 terest to her than he ought to have been, at the period 
 when she felt it necessary to her character and comfort that 
 they should part. Once admitted, the passion, so closely 
 resembling friendship at its birth, goes on gradually gain- 
 ing an influence, till at last — as was the case with poor 
 Harvey — its victims awaken too late to a certainty of the 
 delusion. 
 
 But to return to Lord AV^eybridge. When his lordship 
 got to Dale Cottage, there stood the carriage waiting : he 
 had been talking of Emma and himself, and had no idea 
 how time flew.
 
 THE parson's daughter." 157 
 
 " Well/' said Lady Frances^ " and now whom have you 
 
 " Oh," said George, " the Squire and his lady, of whom 
 I have taken leave ; but, as you told me, the Rector and 
 Emma are gone to that infernal watering-place." 
 
 " I dare say," said Lady Frances, " you contrived to 
 send her your remembrances through the Squire's lady, 
 who is her great friend and confidant." 
 
 " I did, indeed," said George ; " and I should have 
 been very ungrateful if I had not. But, come, you say I 
 must go, and the sooner, therefore, the better. You know 
 how much 1 hate farewells and adieus." 
 
 " And yet you have been making them," said her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 " Yes, my dearest mother," said George ; " but partino- 
 from a parent, upon an expedition like this, is a very dif- 
 ferent affair, indeed, from bidding good-by to a casual 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " You tuill write to me the moment you get to town 
 George ? " said her ladyship. 
 
 " Rely upon me," rephed her son : " I will tell you 
 every thing that happens ; and if I find that any thin"- in- 
 tricate occurs, I will run down to you and talk it over. 
 Upon my honour," continued he, " now the moment ap- 
 proaches — I feel it to be one of trial and difficulty; my 
 position is altogether new and exciting ; but, strange as it 
 may appear, I don't feel half so happy as I am sure I 
 ought to be." 
 
 " Of course not, George," said her ladyship, " because 
 the dreadful events by which you are so placed naturally 
 disturb your mind. I hope, by the %vay, poor dear Lady 
 Weybridge hadn't her beautiful diamonds on board the 
 yacht with her at the time of her accident. I should not 
 think she had." 
 
 " It makes little difference to me," said George, " whe- 
 she had or not. 1 want no diamonds ; and I declare to 
 Heaven, now that I am stepping into the carriage, to take 
 possession of I know not how many thousands a year I 
 would, if I could afford it, give twice as much, if the 
 people were all alive again, and 1 in the quiet possession
 
 158 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 of just such an income as would support me comfortably 
 with — — " 
 
 "Catherine?" 
 
 "^ Catherine be — hanged^ my dear mother," said the 
 vehement baron ; " you'll forgive the strength of my lan- 
 guage. No, no, I mean with her to whom I am sincerely 
 attached, and " 
 
 "Come, come," said Lady Frances; "let Roberts call 
 your carriage. Get away with you, you horrid Goth; 
 — and don't talk of attachments to any body just now, 
 except to me. Kiss me, my dear George, and begone. 
 Heaven speed you in all your proceedings, and make you 
 a better man, if there can be one, than your dear father 
 was, as you are now a greater ! " 
 
 Fervently embracing each other, the fond mother and 
 dutiful son separated : — she retired to her boudoir to 
 write more letters, and he dashed away for London. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 150 
 
 VOLUME THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 What was the message I received ? 
 
 Why, certainly the Captain raved 
 
 To dine with her — and come at three ; 
 
 Impossible! — it can't be me — 
 
 My lord 's abroad — my lady too. 
 
 What must th' unhappy doctor do? 
 
 Is Captain Cracherode here, pray ? — No! 
 
 Nay! then 't is time for me to go. Swift. 
 
 It may easily be imagined that Fanny lost no time in 
 communicating to Emma Lovell the interesting and con- 
 clusive conversation which she had had with Lord Wey- 
 bridge. She knew too well the real cause of her fair 
 friend's illness not to be fully aware of the most essential 
 remedy for effecting its cure. She understood the art of 
 " ministering to a mind diseased/' and earnestly pressed 
 upon Miss Lovell the advantages of a return to Binford ; 
 for although other reasons had been given to enquiring 
 friends, Lovell was as perfectly aware of his daughter's 
 true motive for quitting the Parsonage and changing the 
 scene of her existence for a short time as she herself was. 
 Fanny's letter, it was evident, would change the whole 
 complexion of affairs ; and the devoted girl would anxiously 
 desire to return to the spot which had derived intense in- 
 terest in her mind, from an association with Sheringljam, 
 and which, now that he had declared himself, would bring 
 back to her thoughts the pleasure she had experienced in 
 his society, and to her hopes the anticipation of future 
 happiness, instead of offering to her recollection only the 
 bitter memorials of departed joy, and the still more painful 
 evidences of his cruelty and falsehood. 
 
 Consistency, nevertheless, and a regard for outward
 
 l60 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 show, required that Emma's stay at Merrington should he 
 prolonged for a few days. However, the period of, what 
 now appeared to her, a hanishment from Binford, was in- 
 geniously abbreviated by the alleged impossibility of Mr. 
 Lovell's being absent from his duty on the following Sun- 
 day ; and, therefore, on the Saturday next, the parson and 
 his daughter were to return to their peaceful home. 
 
 Lady Frances, who had so entirely rejoiced in the ab- 
 sence of the Lovells during her son's flying visit, felt now 
 perfectly secure of his escape from the clutches of his rural 
 beauty ; for she was not aware that he had been favoured 
 with a tete-a-tete in his visit to Mrs. Harbottle, nor was 
 she sufficiently certain of the character of his friendship 
 for that lady, to determine (even if she had known of it) 
 whether he would choose to jeopardise his own pretensions 
 to her favour, by making a confidence with regard to a 
 purer and more serious passion ; but, above all, she was 
 satisfied that the change of his position and circumstances 
 would produce a corresponding alteration in his views and 
 feelings, and that the flattery with which he would, as a 
 matter of course, be assailed in brighter spheres and gayer 
 circles, would totally obliterate the recollection which, at 
 parting from her, he had confessed, of his entanglements 
 at Binford, whether in the shape of friendship for the 
 Squire's lady, or love for the Parson's Daughter. How far 
 her ladyship was justified in these suppositions, we shall 
 presently see. 
 
 Lord Weybridge, in passing through Ullsford on his 
 •way to London, staid just long enough to write to Charles 
 Harvey, according to his promise, detailing the events of 
 the morning at Binford ; and, perhaps, if Lady Frances 
 had been permitted to see the letter which her noble son 
 despatched to his young friend, she might have been dis- 
 posed to doubt the results of his separation from Emma, 
 which she so ardently desired and so confidently antici- 
 pated. 
 
 " Emma Lovoll," said his lordship, in that letter, " was 
 not at Binford ; she is gone to Merrington for her health. 
 M'as this necessary to add to the interest I feel for her.'' 
 How strangely accidents hajipen and coincidences occur!
 
 THE parson's DAUGHTKR. iGl 
 
 I saw her not, nor have I written either to her father or 
 herself; but I have had a conversation with Mrs. Harbottle, 
 which decides my fate. Yes, Charles, I have owned, admitted, 
 declared my devotion to the dear girl ; it is now, as 1 meant 
 it to be, irrevocable; and lest any unforeseen circumstances 
 should occur, or that, by repetition, the conversation I have 
 had with her friend should lose any of its point or real 
 intention, I here record mv resolution, either to marry her, 
 or nobody. Keep this letter ; register it amongst your 
 archives ; and if I am forced or driven by a dangerous and 
 powerful influence, of which I confess I live in dread, into 
 any thing like a dereliction of principle, or a desertion of 
 my resolution, I claim from you, as an act of friendship, 
 the production of this declaration, unreservedly, unequivo- 
 cally, and deliberately made. 
 
 " I would have given worlds to have seen her — to have 
 pleaded my own cause — to have received her assent from 
 her own sweet lips ; and yet, perhaps, it is better as it is. 
 True love is always accompanied by respect and restrained 
 by timidity ; the sentiment Avith which this bewitching 
 girl has inspired me is so intimately connected with those 
 feelings, that if we had met, the chances are, 1 should have 
 been unable to use the language of adoration, which I 
 should have been most anxious to let her hear, and thus 
 have permitted my expressions to do an injustice to my 
 feelings. Oh ! joy of my life — that I may by faith, con- 
 stancy, and devotion, at last obtain the blessing of knowing 
 myself not indifferent to you." 
 
 It must be confessed, that in this part of his communi- 
 cation there is no appearance of lukewarmness, nor any 
 symptom of fickleness. In another portion of his letter he 
 slightly touched upon what struck him to be the unliappi_ 
 ness of Mrs. Harbottle, and the " almost" ferocity of her 
 husband. Upon every account, however, he was anxious 
 not to excite Harvey's feelings upon a topic whidi had 
 already too much interested them ; but, even beyond the 
 desiie he felt to preserve his friend from any decisive step 
 which might ])roducc eventual misery to himself, and pro- 
 bable dishonour to the being to whom there could be no 
 question he was fervently attached, he was solicitous that 
 
 u
 
 l62 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 nothing should occur wliich might displace Fanny from 
 the station which she filled in the world generally, and in 
 Binford particularly, inasmuch as he felt how great a con- 
 solation her society must prove to Emma, and what an 
 additional support and even respectability were given to 
 her, motherless as she was, by possessing so amiable a 
 friend and so valuable a chaperon as the Squire's lady. 
 
 After having left his letter to be forwarded to Harvey at 
 Mordaunt's, Lord Wey bridge proceeded on his journey; and 
 having slept on the road, arrived early the next day, at the 
 hotel in Brook Street, in which Lady Frances had always 
 occupied rooms, and before two o'clock in the afternoon 
 was seated in the chambers of Messrs. Wickins, Snell, and 
 Sibtliorpe, his late noble cousin's solicitors, in New Square, 
 Lincoln's Inn. 
 
 It appeared that, by the unexpected annihilation of the 
 entire family, the objects of the late lord's will were, as 
 had been anticipated, totally frustrated ; the fortune of his 
 second son and his only daughter fell into the general resi- 
 due, and all the personal as well as real property became 
 George's. His regret for the loss of his relations, however 
 natural a few sighs might be, was not greatly aggravated 
 by finding himself set down for a legacy of five hundred 
 pounds, and his mother assigned, as her share of her 
 nephew-in-law's bounty and remembrance — a mourning 
 ring. The testator had named two noblemen as guardians 
 of his children, and appointed two executors to his will, 
 which had been made seven years before his death. Both 
 the executors so named were dead, and it appeared from 
 some conversation which he had with Mr. Crabshaw (the 
 tutor to his lordship's sons), that, a short time before his 
 death, he contemplated making a second will, and appoint- 
 ing new executors. This, however, he did not live to do ; 
 and George, the heir-at-law, became possessed of the whole 
 mass of his cousin's property of ^.very description. 
 
 He resolved immediately to fulfil his late cousin's in- 
 tentions, with regard to the few legacies which appeared 
 in the will ; but, with that exception, there he stood, who 
 two days before, as a commander in the royal navy, was 
 satisfied that his annual revenue amounted to one hundred
 
 THE parson's daughter. 163 
 
 and thirty-six pounds seventeen shillings and sixpence, a 
 peer of the reahn, with a mansion in Grosvenor Square, two 
 country houses in England, and one in Scotland, and an 
 unincumbered annual income of forty-six thousand, seven 
 hundred and twenty-five pounds, nineteen shillings and 
 seven-pence — (^Vide the last year's accounts). 
 
 After a long and laborious sitting with j\Ir. SneU, a 
 most active and intelligent gentleman, his lordship returned 
 to the hotel, fatigued with details, of which the results only 
 were satisfactory ; and tired, like a bee with the load of his 
 own honey, threw himself upon a sofa to " think." 
 
 The decencies of society, to which his mother so ear- 
 nestly insisted upon his sacrificing at Binford, would, of 
 course, prevent his proceeding thither again, and hurrying 
 on his union with Miss Lovell ; and the dulness and 
 emptiness of London holding out no temptation to stay in 
 town, gave him ample leisure to reflect upon the one sub- 
 ject nearest his heart and dearest to his memory. 
 
 Long before dinner-time, however, a message arrived 
 from his maternal uncle. Lord Pevensey, couched in the most 
 aflPectionate terms, and despatched by courier from a place 
 which he had in Buckinghamshire, congratulating and con- 
 doling, and begging him not to lose one moment in starting 
 to join the family circle, to which there could be no objection, 
 even in his supposed state of mourning ; and, before the 
 man, covered with mud and anxiety, who had brought this 
 invitation, could lead his tired horse from the door, a billet, 
 tenderest of the tender, from the Duchess of Malvern, the 
 dear friend of his mother, solicited him to make Rochdale 
 Priory his home for the next few days ; as, although her 
 son the Duke had not returned from Scotland, where he 
 had gone for grouse shooting, her grace and the girls would 
 endeavour to make it as agreeable as they could to him, 
 especially Catherine, who would read to him, sing to him, 
 &c. &c. 
 
 Immediately following her grace, " baud passibus equis" 
 came a three-cornered note from Lady Gorgon, who, hap- 
 pening to be in London, having only come into town the 
 night before, and being about to quit it the next morning, 
 implored Lord ^Veybridge to come to them, and dine en 
 
 M 2 c
 
 164- THE parson's daughter. 
 
 famille. — '■'' They had no servants in London — but if he 
 
 would " Maria- Jane would break her heart if he 
 
 refused — and Louisa and Anne would scold her to death 
 for not being warm enough in her invitation. And this 
 note was signed by all the ladies. A postscript, in one 
 corner, begging him not to mind dressing — " come in 
 your boots:" — in another, " not a soul but yourself:" — 
 in a third, " come, come, come," all along the bottom. 
 
 George looked first at one of these, and then at another, 
 and then at the third. Were these the people who formerly 
 had driven their daughters into corners, when he ap- 
 proached ? Was this the lady who had even ordered her 
 porter to exclude him from her house '? Were these the 
 relations Avho had scarcely ever invited him into their 
 doors ? Was this the duchess who once actually forced 
 the Lady Catherine, of whom she now spoke so particularly 
 in her letter, to quit his side, after he had led her to din- 
 ner, in order that she might sit by the bachelor marquess 
 of the season ? 
 
 " To my uncle," said Lord Weybridge to himself, " I 
 certainly will not go ; and Rochdale is too far from town ; 
 but I think a party en famillr, with Lady Gorgon would 
 be good fun, at least as much of fun as 1 ought to enjoy 
 in my present season of mourning — this invitation I will 
 accept." 
 
 Accordingly, having sent off negatives to his rural 
 friends, he wrote an affirmative to her ladyship's invitation, 
 taking her at her word that there were to be no strangers, 
 and that he might come in boots. 
 
 Nobody could imagine, who did not know, the state of 
 effervescence into which this brief answer of Lord Wey- 
 bridge threw the whole family. More like Fates than 
 Graces, the three daughters of Lady Gorgon had been, first 
 one, then the second, and lastly, the third, dragged about 
 to every possible place — balls, concerts^ parties, dinners, 
 fetes, dejeutiern a-la-J'oiirchettc, and dejeuners dinatoires. 
 They had acted in private theatricals — stood and sat in 
 talileaux — been all over the Continent — at all the best 
 watering-places, in the best seasons. 'J'v.'o of them had 
 been down in the diving-bell at Plymouth — the third had
 
 THE parson's daughter. 165 
 
 volunteered an excursion in a balloon ; — Maria- Jane had 
 given tlie Loyal Horsemonger Troop of Yeomanry a standard, 
 worked with her own fair hands. The heads of all the 
 three had been examined by Deville — they had climbed 
 poles, and swung on sticks under Captain Chas — they 
 all painted and lithographed — all spoke six living lan- 
 guagesj and understood three dead ones — they all sang, 
 and all played, and all danced, and all did every sort of 
 curious work — and they all of them stuck prints on boxes 
 with varnish — and all understood conchology, and icthy- 
 ology, and erpetology, and botany, and chemistry — and 
 they all had albums — and all collected autographs — they 
 all admired Pasta — and they all delighted in Switzerland, 
 and adored Paris — they all loved yachting, and they all 
 idolised the lakes — they were all enthusiasts, and all sym- 
 pathetic in their tastes. But with all this, they remained, 
 at the period of Lord ^Feybridge's arrival in London, 
 precisely what they had been in the beginning — the three 
 Miss Gorgons. 
 
 The provoking part of the affair was — for what pleasure 
 is there without a drawback ? — that there was no oppor- 
 tunity for display — not one trunk, except those containing 
 the ordinary run of drapery, was unpacked ; and the graces 
 had to appear before their visiter in all the disadvantages 
 of a deshabille : a trial to which the goddesses, who con- 
 fidently anticipated the fall of their Paris, with great diffi- 
 culty submitted ; but, as Lady Gorgon said, he had seen 
 them often enough before ; and they might rely upon it, 
 Avith a man of his lordship's turn of character, mental 
 attractions were those which would most decidedly insure 
 success. 
 
 " And now," said Lady Gorgon, "■ before we go to 
 make ourselves ready for dinner — dress I certainly can- 
 not call it — let me entreat you to recollect what is, I 
 believe, within the reach of one of you. You are 
 charmingly cordial with each other ; and it is delightful to 
 see such unanimity. Indeed, I must say, there is not a 
 mother in the world hajipier in her children than I am ; 
 but you ought to remember, tliat, however much you may 
 all admire Lord AV^eybridge, only one of you can possibly 
 
 M 3
 
 L66 the parson's daughter. 
 
 marry him ; and, therefore, if, in the course of the evening, 
 he should evince any thing hke a preference, I am quite 
 sure the good sense and good feehng for which you are all 
 so remarkable will teach you so to arrange yourselves, as 
 not to thwart or interrupt any conversation or little party 
 he may think proper to make. I have so far broken my 
 word with him about strangers, that I expect Count Alouette 
 and young Doldrum. I thought it would be better to 
 have somebody upon whom you might fall back in any 
 case of emergency." 
 
 "Oh," said Maria- Jane, ^' I assure you, mamma, I have 
 no disposition to interfere with Arine or Louisa : only, 
 certainly he wns very attentive last year ; and if you had 
 given him any encouragement, instead of actually prohibit- 
 ing him the house — — " 
 
 " My dear child," said Lady Gorgon, " how could 
 I foresee — he was not within three lives of the peer- 
 age ! — two of them certainly better than his own — and 
 he had literally nothing to live upon. Your fortunes, 
 very respectable for gentlewomen, I admit, are in the 
 world, nothing. And it is not in the world as it is in 
 grammar, where two negatives make an affirmative — two 
 notliings never make any thing." 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Maria-Jane, who seemed rather 
 inclined to stickle for precedence, agreeably to her seniority; 
 " of course one could not know — only all I meant was, 
 it was a pity ; because he really is a very charming per- 
 son — so very agreeable ! " 
 
 " I remember thinking him delightful," said Anne, 
 " that day at Lady Mallerton's breakfast." 
 
 " Well," said Lady Gorgon, " in conclusion, all / mean 
 is, that, with the extraordinary friendship which has so 
 long existed between me and dear Lady Frances, I should 
 consider myself extremly fortunate indeed to have him for 
 a son-in-law ; but I never will force any thing of the sort; 
 I am sure it never answers — it must all come naturally, 
 and so I shall let things take their chance ; only what I 
 intend to say — and I shall never touch upon the subject 
 again — is, that I lielieve he is timid and shy, and ex- 
 tremely delicate in his opinions about women ; and if he
 
 THE parson's daughter. 1 6"7 
 
 should find us agreeable and pleasant, and suitable to him, 
 I should not like him to be driven away by any httle tra- 
 casserie or idleness on the part of any one of you which 
 might unsettle and disturb him. So now come, let us get 
 ready for dinner ; for we have not a minute to lose." 
 
 Thus saying, her ladyship led the way from the drawing- 
 room, and the graces proceeded to their several apartments 
 to prepare for the meeting which they fully believed to be 
 fraught with consequences of the greatest importance to 
 their future hopes and prospects. 
 
 The silvery bell of the clock on the chimney-piece had 
 scarcely sounded seven, when the ladies re-appeared in the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Do come here, Anne," said Lady Gorgon : "what has 
 your maid been doing with that head of yours ? why, I 
 never saw — here, let me just turn that curl — there, so 
 
 — why, my dear child, what a horrid pimple you have 
 got on your cheek ; and, Maria-Jane, now do let me beg 
 of you not to sit directly under the lamp — with light hair 
 it wo'n't do — it wo'n't, upon my word. Louisa, my dear 
 girl, you are not looking well — I don't know what it is — 
 
 — I suppose it is the travelling — or the sea — or some- 
 thing, but " 
 
 The drawing-room door opened; Mr. Doldrum was 
 announced. 
 
 " How d 'ye do, Henry ?" said Lady Gorgon ; " how's 
 Lady Doldrum this evening ?'' 
 
 " Better, I thank you," replied Doldrum, who of shy 
 young men was the shyest : — he bowed to the girls and 
 blushed. Maria-Jane held out her hand to shake hands 
 with him — take it he did — but shake it he did not. 
 
 '•' This is very good natured of you, Henry," said Lady 
 Gorgon, "^ to come on such short notice. Maria-Jane said 
 she was sure you would not mind." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Doldrum, and again he blushed. 
 
 " There is nobody in town, I suppose"?" said her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 " No, nobody," echoed the young gentleman. 
 
 " We came through the city last night from the 
 
 M 4
 
 l68 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 country," said Anne, "and there were a great many no- 
 bodies there, for Ave could hardly get along." 
 
 " Yes, a great many," observed JVIr. Doldrum. 
 
 "^You know Count Alouette, don't you?" said Maria- Jane. 
 
 " Yes, very well," said Doldrum ; " that is, I never 
 was introduced to him ; but I have met him about, a good 
 deal." 
 
 " He is every where," said Lady Gorgon ; " and a 
 charming person he is — he is coming to us to-day — 
 
 he " 
 
 Count Alouette was at the moment announced ; and to 
 be sure, as a contrast to the visiter who had so recently 
 preceded him, nothing could be more remarkable. The 
 one, red-cheeked, round-faced, heavy, dull, and awkward ; 
 the other, fair, pale, light, gay, and airy ; his eyes sparkling 
 with animation, and his countenance beaming with good 
 sense and good nature. 
 
 " My dear Lady Gorgon," said the Count, whose accent 
 gave a na'ivete and piquancy to the merest common-places, 
 " I am so shocked to be so late — dis comes of having a 
 servant which loves to drive his cabriolet in de afternoon ; 
 my man shall have been to drive seme ladi to whom he is 
 fond in his cabb, and not to come back till so late as give 
 me jost ten minute to dress ! How do you do. Miss Gor- 
 gon > — ah — Miss Anne — to be sure, always well, — 
 always pretty — always pretty well; — dat is good English 
 — eh ?" 
 
 " How is your beautiful horse, Count ?" said Louisa. 
 
 "Oh, my war-horse, as de Duke calls him ; he is as 
 well as can be expected. I rode him dis morning. Your 
 ladyship shall not have been out to-day ?" 
 
 " No," said Lady Gorgon, " we are merely passing 
 through town." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Count, " dat is always the way this 
 time of the year : every body you meet in de street has 
 jost come to town last night, and is to go away to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " That is precisely our case," said Maria- Jane : " how 
 long have you been in London ?" 
 
 " Oh," said the Count, " I came last night — I am
 
 o 
 
 THE parson's daughter. 169 
 
 going away to-morrow morning. I have been to Scotland 
 to shoot grose — but I could not stay some time so long 
 as I wish, for I have to make visit at Rochdale next 
 Tuesday, when the Duke shall be back." 
 
 " Is not it getting late, Louisa ?" said Lady Gorgon. 
 
 "It is more than half-past seven^ mamma/' replied 
 Louisa. 
 
 " Do you know Lord Weybridge ?" said Lady Gorgon 
 to the Count. 
 
 "Yes, I did," said Alouette ; " 'pon my word dat is 
 very horrible affair — a whole familie abime in dat dread- 
 ful manner," 
 
 " I mean the present Lord Weybridge," said her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 " No, I do not." 
 
 " We expect him here." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Oh \" said Anne, "I 'm sure you recollect him. Count 
 Alouette ; don't you remember at Lady IVIallerton's break- 
 fast, I sat between you and him } Lady Harriet sat next 
 you on one side, and I on the other ; — and he next me 
 
 — he was Captain Sheringham, then." 
 
 " Oh ! Sheringham ; I recollect him perfectly," said 
 the Count ; " a very pleasant, agreeable fellow. Oh yes, I 
 have met with him — 'fallen in with him,' as he would 
 say in his ship tongue, several times — a, very nice person 
 
 — and he is Lord Weybridge — upon my word I am not so 
 sorry for de late lord as I was ten minuets ago.'' 
 
 The senior servant of the establishment in town, here 
 made his appearance, to enquire if her ladyship was ready 
 for diimer — implying thereby, that dinner was ready for 
 her ladyship — and whether her ladyship expected any 
 body else } 
 
 "• Yes," said Lady Gorgon, " I expect Lord Weybridge; 
 we are not ready for dinner till his lordship comes." 
 
 " What can make him so tedious }" said Maria-Jane, 
 casting her eyes towards the looking-glass, at the same 
 moment giving her ringlets a new twirl round her fingers, 
 and refreshing her lips with a gentle bite. 
 
 " Upon my word," said the Count, whose delight was to
 
 170 THE parson's daughter. ' 
 
 make English puns, " I should not think he had just 
 succeeded to his title : he is de late lord himself. — Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " I dare say," said Lady Gorgon, " that he has a vast 
 deal to do — an accumulation of family papers to look 
 over — an extensive correspondence to maintain — indeed, 
 coming into a fortune of sixty or seventy thousand a year 
 landed property, at least, is a very serious affair." 
 
 " Agreeable, for all dat," said the Count ; " I should 
 like to try." 
 
 " Yes, hut a pleasure attended with vast responsibihty," 
 observed her ladyship. 
 
 " He is not married," said Alouette. 
 
 " Not he "— " no "— " he is not "— " Oh dear no ! "— 
 responded several voices in different tones. 
 
 " You know Mr. Doldrum ? " said Lady Gorgon ; just 
 recollecting that he was in the room, and that, however 
 unusual introductions are, as it was out of the season, and 
 the young man was shy and awkward, it might be proper 
 to bring him and the Count acquainted. 
 
 " No ! " said Alouette. 
 
 The ceremony was performed. 
 
 "(I think," said the Count, "I saw you dancing at de 
 last ball of de season, in INIay-fair, with dat beautiful Miss 
 Lillesdale : — ah, me ! "What a woman that is — eh ? — 
 (hd not you find her quite charming ? " 
 
 "Very," said Doldrum. 
 
 " I think she is so clever, as well as so beautiful." 
 
 " "W^e did not talk much," said Doldrum : " the figure 
 was very difficult, and I cannot do two things at a time 
 well I " 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Louisa, "^ then you are not at all like 
 the Count, for he can do half a dozen things at a time." 
 
 " You do me proud. Miss Louisa," said the Count. '' If 
 I make some smile come upon your pretty face I am too 
 happy ; — toujours gai, is my motto; what is it in English? 
 something about — ah — I forget de words ; but it meant 
 what I mean, and I always mean in EngUsh if I cannot 
 speak him so well." 
 
 Here the clock on the chimney struck eight.
 
 THE PAKSOn's daughter. l?! 
 
 " Isn't it strange that George does not make his appear- 
 ance ? " said Lady Gorgon. 
 
 " Suppose, mamma, said Anne, who was the liveliest 
 of the party, and by far the most active in mind and mo- 
 tion, " suppose you were to let a servant go and tell him 
 we are waiting — you know his hotel is only in the next 
 street." 
 
 " I would, upon my word, Ladi Gorgon," said the Count. 
 " and so will you if you haf had no luncheon, nor nosing 
 in de world to eat since breakfast." 
 
 " Upon my word I see no harrti," said Lady Gorgon. 
 " Henry, dear (to Doldrum), do ring the bell." 
 
 " An hour's law," said the Count, '' in September is 
 great deal. I am terrified to come so late as I did ; but 
 dis is worse." 
 
 Upon the servant's appearance, orders were given that 
 one of the men should step to Lord M^ey bridge's hotel — 
 enquire for his lordship's servant, and deliver Lady Gorgon's 
 compliments and say, she had been waiting dinner, half 
 an hour. 
 
 " Don't you think. Lady Gorgon," said the Count, in a 
 droll, half-supplicating tone, — " don't you think the cook 
 might begin to ' dish up } ' " 
 
 " Yes ; — and tell them to serve dinner," continued her 
 ladyship : " as for them," added she, '' it souiuls extremely 
 fine — but I have nothing in town but a kitchen maid — 
 all the establishment is at Grindell's, where I hope, County 
 you will come and see us ; it is a place of poor Sir Alex- 
 ander's own creation, but it is extremely pretty, and " 
 
 " Oh I know it perfectly," said the Count ; " Miss 
 Anne's drawings make me familiar to him — and I shall 
 be too glad to go — when shall you be there ? " 
 
 " The week after next, 1 hope," said Lady Gorgon. 
 
 "Oh do come," said Maria- Jane to the Count; " I can 
 show you some of the most beautiful shells in the world." 
 
 " And I," said Louisa, " have the most perfect love of 
 a garden — to be sure it will be out of beauty at this 
 season of the year." 
 
 " Every thing what belong to you, my dear Miss Louisa," 
 said the Count, " is beautiful always — always."
 
 172 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " You '11 turn my poor girls' heads, Count Alouette," 
 said Lady Gorgon. 
 
 " So as dej are not turned from me wen I look to dem, 
 I don't care," said the Count. 
 
 " Cruel man," sighed Louisa, afFectedly, " to be so 
 indifferent to our utter subversion ! ' 
 
 Here a pause ensued, which, in Alouette's presence, was 
 odd enough. 
 
 " Have you seen the steam -coach in the New Road ? " 
 said Mr. Doldrum, asking generally. 
 
 A general negative was the reply. 
 
 " It is very curious," said Doldrum, and sighed. 
 
 Another pause. The Count could not joke on an empty 
 stomach. Doldrum could not joke at all. Lady Gorgon 
 began to get fidgety, and fancy she had been thrown over 
 by the new lord. The poor woman-cook was in a state 
 of greater agony than any of them, and thought that her 
 coup d'esmi would be entirely destroyed by the procrasti- 
 nation of dinner ; and the girls began to look at each other, 
 and doubt seriously whether their mother had really 
 succeeded in securing the peer at all. 
 
 At length the servant returned. , 
 
 He had been to the hotel. His lordship had walked 
 away from the door exactly as the clock struck seven to go 
 to Lady Gorgon's, and had not been heard of since, and 
 his lordship's servant had gone out. 
 
 " How very extraordinary! " said Lady Gorgon, "■ surely 
 nothing can have happened to him." 
 
 " Perhaps," said the Count, with a comic expression of 
 countenance, which made even the servant burst into a 
 fit of laughing, " perhaps he is Burked, and his body 
 sold for nine pounds." 
 
 " Upon my word," said her ladyship, " it is a very 
 curious thing." 
 
 " I have heard. Miss Louisa-Jane," said the Count, 
 " some of your friends called lady-killers, but if de lord- 
 killers are about, what shall become of us ? '* 
 
 "■ Who is in the hall ? " said Lady Gorgon. 
 
 " Stephen, my lady," said the man. 
 
 " Ask him if Lord Weybridge came here — it is quite
 
 THE parson's daughter. 173 
 
 possible he might have forgotten something — or — yet 
 
 — and there could be no mistake^ because he knows the 
 house." 
 
 " Oh, perfectly," said the young ladies. 
 
 This servant was just disappearing when another an- 
 nounced, " dinner on the table." 
 
 Lady Gorgon hesitated, but Alouette was on the alert, 
 and with all that gaiete de carnr which so eminently dis- 
 tinguished him, exclaimed, " two gentlemen to four ladies 
 
 — two to two — I shall take my lady and Miss Gorgon. 
 Mr. Dol, Del, (how d'ye call it?) drom, drum — take 
 de oder two, and wid wide staircase we shall do — tree of 
 a row — come, my lady, come." 
 
 They proceeded down stairs. Lady Gorgon distressed 
 beyond measure at what appeared the result either of some 
 unforeseen accident or premeditated affront ; and having 
 reached the dinner-room, the party seated themselves, their 
 countenances saddened with a gloom which the vivacious 
 expression of that of the Count, who entered upon the task 
 of helping the soup with the most amiable alacrity, could 
 not succeed in dispelling. 
 
 Helped they were, when Stephen, who had been doing 
 duty in the hall as porter, entered the room to assume the 
 task of waiting, since hands ran short. 
 
 " Stephen," said Lady Gorgon, the moment she saw 
 him, " you are sure Lord Weybridge has not been here.'' " 
 
 " No, my Lady," said Stephen, " I am quite sure — 
 that foreign Baron called a little before seven, my lady." 
 
 '• AV'ho is dat," said Alouette ; — " Taganrag.^ " 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Gorgon. 
 
 " About dinner-time always," said the Count; "he has 
 a good smell, I don't think, eh ? " 
 
 " I said your ladyship was not at home ; and about five 
 minutes afterwards, that Captain Sheringham called, who 
 used to call so often last year." 
 
 " Captain Sheringham ! " screamed Lady Gorgon ; " why 
 Captain Sheringham is Lord Weybridge, the nobleman for 
 whom we have been waiting ; mercy on us, what did you 
 say to him ? " 
 
 '■ He asked me, my lady, if your ladyship was at home,"
 
 174 THE parson's daughtkr. 
 
 said the man ; " indeed he was a-coming right in, without 
 asking one thing or another, so I said you was out ; and 
 he asked me if I was sure, for he was come here to dinner ; 
 and I said I was sure your ladyship was not at home, and 
 that you did not dine at home ; and then he made a sort 
 of a sniff with his nose, because he could smell the dinner 
 quite plain in the hall ; however, I persisted, and so at 
 last of all he said, says he, my lady, ' That 's uncommon 
 odd,' and off out he went like a shot.' 
 
 " "Why, what on earth could induce you to do such a 
 thing, Stephen ? " screamed her ladyship. 
 
 " Why, my lady, your orders to me when we were in 
 town last year were — says your ladyship to me, says you, 
 ' If ever that Captain Sheringham calls when I am at 
 home, say I am out ; and if he calls when I am out, and 
 any of the young ladies are at home, say they are out ; and 
 if ever he calls about dinner-time, as he sometimes does, 
 never let him m;\ so I did as I was bid." 
 
 '^ Bid ! " exclaimed her ladyship ; " and what on earth 
 shall I do ? " 
 
 " Eat your dinner. Lady Gorgon," said Alouette ; " you 
 can do no good now ; never let nosing at all interfere with 
 de gastronomic : he is gone to one of his clubs to dinner ; 
 he will do very well, and it will all keep till to-morrow. 
 It is a sad mistake, to be sure." 
 
 It was so sad a mistake that no dinner was eaten, no 
 wine was drunk, no conversation occurred, and the ladies 
 retired almost immediately after the dessert was put down, 
 each to write a note of condolence and apology. Alouette, 
 who enjoyed the defeat of a plotter and match-patcher, 
 kept his dull friend Doklrum drinking a great deal more 
 claret than either of them liked, and when they went to the 
 drawing-room, they found that the graces had all retired 
 for the evening ; one because she had a violent head-ache, 
 the other because she had been up so late the night before, 
 and the third because she had to get up so early the next 
 morning. Cafe and (Jhasse were very soon despatched, 
 and the Count and his heavy-in-hand acquaintance quitted 
 her ladyship's mansion, more diverted with the amusement 
 with which they had provided themselves, than with any
 
 THE parson's daughter. 175 
 
 which had been furnished by their dreadfully disconcerted 
 hostess. 
 
 Lord Weybridge, who could scarcely comprehend why 
 he had been excluded, having, as Stephen judiciously ob- 
 served, smelt the dinner, cared little about the mistake, 
 whatever it was ; and seeing two cloaks lying on a table in 
 the hall, and having also just seen a cabriolet drive from the 
 door, and being convinced that there had been other visiters 
 invited, took advantage of the blunder, stepped off, and, 
 turning down Grosvenor Street, walked himself down to 
 one of the once fashionably frequented coffee-houses in 
 Bond Street, where it was not likely he should be known, 
 and dined solitarily ; after having done which, he re- 
 walked himself back again to his hotel. 
 
 Alouette's delight at this incident is not to be described : 
 to find his old manoeuvring friend. Lady Gorgon, foiled at 
 her own w^eapons ; her pet lord excluded by a mandate of 
 her own, which, being fulminated against the person of 
 Captain Sheringham, was, according to her own special 
 directions, put in execution against him in his improved 
 state, was much too charming to be enjoyed by himself 
 alone ; and he forthwith proceeded to Crockford's, to dis- 
 seminate the houleversement of her ladyship's finesse by 
 the plain dealing of her footman ; but he, like her lady- 
 ship, was foiled in his game there, for the coffee-room was 
 deserted, and in the morning room (doing duty at that 
 season of the year in the evening) one solitary individual 
 only appeared, and he — was fast asleep. 
 
 Such are the contre temps which sometimes occur in the 
 best regulated families, and such is London in the begin- 
 ning of September.
 
 176 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Should errins! nature casual faults disclose, 
 
 Wound not the breast that harbours your repose; 
 
 For every grief that breast from you shall prove. 
 
 Is one link broken in the chain of love. Langhornk 
 
 Let us now revert for a moment to the eomitry. Four 
 days had elapsed after the departure of Lord Weybridge 
 for London, before the return of Miss Lovell to Binford ; 
 during which four days. Lady Frances had considered it 
 right to seclude herself altogether, Harbottle had two or 
 three male friends shooting with him, and Fanny was left 
 ail day to the contemplation of her own thoughts. She, 
 however, diverted her mind as much as possible from her 
 own circumstances, by reading and otherwise employing 
 her time, resolving meekly and patiently to wait until her 
 husband's temper should amend. 
 
 On the return of Miss Lovell, the clouds which darkened 
 the fate of poor Fanny were in some degree dispelled ; and 
 if not happy herself, it was delighttul to her to see how 
 much happiness she had caused to her amiable friend. The 
 declaration of Lord ^\^eybridge seemed to afford a justi- 
 fication for Emma's admission of an affection for him, and 
 a report wliich was pretty general in the village, that his 
 lordship was shortly to return to Dale Cottage, set the 
 heart of the Parson's Daughter into a sort of palpitation, to 
 which, before she saw George, it had been a perfect stranger. 
 
 Two days more elapsed, and the report still gained 
 grountl. Lady Frances, after having exliibited at church 
 on the preceding day a huge crape boimet, and a capacious 
 cloak, trimmed with all the emblems of grief, in which it 
 was generally supj)osed her ladyship herself was personally 
 present, but out of which she did not permit 'any portion 
 of her face or figure to emerge, admitted Mrs. Harbottle to 
 her sanctum on the Monday, Emma declining from ner- 
 vousness to accompany her friend on her visit to the 
 Cottage.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 177 
 
 '' My clear Mrs. Ilarbottle," said her ladyship, in a half 
 sobbing tone^ bathing her temple, witli Eau de Cologne at 
 the same time, " this is very kind of you. I have heard 
 of your visits, but really the events of the past week have 
 quite overset me. Did you ever hear of any thing so 
 dreadful as the accident?" 
 
 " Dreadful, indeed ! " said the Squire's lady. 
 
 " Poor dear Lord Weybridge," said Lady Frances, " was 
 a very eccentric man ; he married an immense fortune, but 
 a person of no family ; he liked her, and although she was 
 very rich, those who knew him best said that her money 
 did not influence his choice. She was a very odd crea- 
 ture — very odd, indeed ; the boys were fine lads, and the 
 girl quite charming — with an aquiline nose and an oval 
 face, and intelligent eyes, and a graceful figure, and a 
 charming manner — in short, she was a Sheringham ; and 
 to think of their all being lost — at once." 
 
 " It is extremely melancholy," said Mrs. Harbottle, 
 trying to look serious, and as if she believed in the sorrow 
 of her noble friend. 
 
 " And how have you been these last few days?" said 
 Lady Frances ; " I must make much of you while I can 
 enjoy your society, for I rather think George is coming 
 here to fetch me away, and carry me with him to his 
 place in Worcestershire, where I imagine, from what I 
 hear, he means to stay till after Christmas ; thence I shall 
 go to Grimsbury, according to annual custom." 
 
 " We shall not lose you altogether. Lady Frances," 
 said Fanny : " it will be really too bad to have made us 
 acquainted with you, and then leave us." 
 
 " Oh, we shall no doubt meet in London in the season," 
 said Lady Frances : " I have no idea of immediately giving 
 up this place — it is a pied a terre for me, and it is quiet, 
 and I like it, and I like all of you here ; but of course 
 George's position is altered, and I suppose he will scarcely 
 return at all after his next filial visit. He is absolutely 
 devoured in London : I heard a day or two ago from a 
 very old friend of mine. Lady Gorgon, who tells me, that 
 she and her daughters were au descspoir at his being pre- 
 vented by some important business dining with them, after 
 
 N
 
 178 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 having promised. She has three charming daughters, so 
 accomphshed and so delightful. Do you know her ? " 
 
 " No, I do notj" said Fanny, which was truth ; not hut, 
 in the days of their unrestricted association. Lord Weyhridge 
 had given her and Emma a description of the whole family, 
 "which had the effect of entirely overthrowing, by anticipa- 
 tion, the little scheme of Lady Frances, of endeavouring to 
 impress her friend with an idea that George had " some 
 idea" of making one of them Lady Weyhridge. 
 
 " I was delighted," said Lady Frances, " to see our 
 dear invalid, Emma, returned, and at church. What a 
 sweet dispositioned creature it is — so mild and gentle, 
 and so amazingly well regulated. I wonder she doesn't 
 marry." 
 
 " Binford is not very prolific in beaux," said Fanny. 
 
 "No — not in beaux," replied Lady Frances; "but 
 there are a vast many persons in the neighbourhood who 
 • would make suitable husbands for such a girl — I once 
 thought ]\Ir. Harvey was rather touched in that quarter." 
 
 Fanny, who knew that Lady Frances never thought any 
 such thing, felt herself grow particularly uneasy. 
 
 " And I really fancied," continued her ladyship, " the 
 conservatory scene one night at your house would have 
 produced a denouement ; and, perhaps, it did, although 
 poor ^'nnocent I know nothing of it ; for Mr. Harvey went 
 his way very shortly after that evening, and Miss Lovell 
 went her way — another way shortly after that." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Mrs. Harbottlc, " Emma is innocent of 
 any attachment to Mr. Harvey : he told us he thought he 
 had business in London." 
 
 " And, perhaps, my dear," said her ladyship, with one 
 of those looks and smiles in which she excelled, " some- 
 body else thought he had no business here. Hearts are 
 strange things — there is no accounting for their wayward- 
 ness and stubbornness." 
 
 ' There may be no accounting for their waywardness," 
 said Mrs. Harbottle ; " but surely reason, religion, and a 
 sense of duty may overcome their stubbornness." 
 
 " I hope no friend of mine," said Lady Frances, " will 
 ever have occasion to make the struggle — however, I am
 
 THE parson's daughter. 179 
 
 quite relieved about our young friend, since you tell me 
 there had been no tendre between her and Mr. Harvey. I 
 did not believe it, I confess ; for, of course, however 
 much Mr. Harvey might admire her, with the fortune Mr. 
 Harbottle tells me he has, and the prospects which are 
 before him, he would not think of setting himself down 
 at four or five and twenty with a portionless Parson's 
 Daughter." 
 
 Lady Frances felt her cheek glow as she experienced a 
 consciousness that she was sailing before the wind, ripping 
 up and cutting down hopes and expectations, fully con- 
 vinced that every word she was saying at Miss Lovell now 
 would be repeated to her in half an hour after her visiter's 
 departure. 
 
 " I am sure of this," said Fanny, " that if Mr. Harvey 
 had been attached to her, and she had smiled upon him^ 
 he could have done nothing better or wiser than unite him- 
 self to a being so good, so amiable, and so charming." 
 
 " I don't know, Mrs. Harbottle," said her ladyship : 
 " in society a man wants something more than a mere wife 
 — poor Miss Lovell has no place in the world, and JMr. 
 Harvey, though a man of fortune, is, you know, in fact, 
 
 nobody — and I don't see " 
 
 " Oh, then," said Fanny, " you think it necessary in a 
 marriage for the world, that if the woman has no place of 
 her own, her husband ought to be of sufficient consequence 
 to give her one ; for it is invariably allowed, that hov/- 
 ever humble the young lady may be who is lifted to the 
 peerage by a husband, provided she is amiable and good, 
 the effect of the marriage is to raise her, without at all de- 
 grading him." 
 
 " Yes, my dear Mrs. Harbottle," said Lady Frances, 
 " to quote the old proverb, ' \\'hen the sky falls, we may 
 catch larks.' AVho in the world could anticipate that poor 
 Miss Lovell should be lifted, as you call it, in so extraor- 
 dinary a manner ! peers are not so plenty." 
 
 " Why," said Mrs. Harbottle, " they have increased in 
 number a good deal latterly, and some of those, at all events, 
 might not be disposed to reject so fair an opportunity of 
 happiness." 
 
 N 2
 
 ISO THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " Ill-assorted marriages never succeed," said Lady 
 Frances ; " and " 
 
 Here the announcement of Mr. Popjoy ended the con- 
 versation — that gentleman's attendance having been deemed 
 necessary by her ladyship, and considered very convenient 
 by himself, ever since the lamentable occurrence which 
 more unequivocally contributed to her ladyship's happiness, 
 than any thing that ever had yet happened in the course of 
 her noble career, not even excepting the propitious mar- 
 riage of her ladyship with her ardent and aristocratic hus- 
 band. 
 
 Fanny took her leave, and proceeded homewards ; but if 
 the lecture which Lady Frances had read in the carriage to 
 Emma on the evening when they journeyed together from 
 the Hall to the Parsonage failed of producing a conviction 
 of her ladyship's sincerity upon the mind of that amiable 
 girl, the conversation which had just terminated shared a 
 still worse fate at the hands of the Squire's lady. She 
 made every allowance for the plating of sorrow, which the 
 mother of the new Lord Weybridge thought it right to put 
 on ; but what with a slight knowledge of the world, a 
 strong insight into human nature, and an intimate acquaint- 
 ance with the sentiments and character of her ladyship's 
 son, Mrs. Harbottle was so established in her dissatisfaction 
 
 — to call it by the gentlest name possible — with Lady 
 Frances' attempt at imposition, and the use of a principle 
 of generalising, in order that she might make particular 
 applications, that she felt no desire to repeat her visit, and 
 rather — placed as she was in the confidence of both George 
 and Emma — hoped that she might not have occasion to 
 receive her ladyship again at the Hall before her departure 
 
 — for in that particular the straightforward intelligence of 
 Fanny discovered that her going was certain, and would 
 take place forthwith, but that her ladyship, unwilling to 
 have it supposed that her love of retirement had, in the 
 first instance, been generated by necessity, or that the re- 
 linquishment of " her shady blest retreat" was consequent 
 upon the change of fortune in her family, had determined 
 to continue in the nominal occupancy of Dale Cottage for 
 some few months longer.
 
 THE PAKSOn's daughter. 181 
 
 Yet she had one bit of news for Emma — one drop of 
 honey in the midst of the gall — George was really expected 
 — this she could confidently communicate to her anxious 
 friend, and she, who knew more of the real motives by 
 which he was urged to visit Binford, was perfectly as- 
 sured, that however brief his visit might be, the opportu- 
 nity would not be lost, and that he would then complete 
 the honourable work he had begun, and repeat to the 
 amiable Miss Lovell and her exemplary father the declar- 
 ation which he had, as it were, rehearsed to her. 
 
 Full of these agreeable anticipations, the Squire's lady 
 drove her pony phaeton back to the Hall, whence she de- 
 spatched a short, but very expressive note to the Parsonage. 
 
 At dinner Harbottle appeared to have, in some sort, re- 
 covered his good humour ; but it was impossible to ascer- 
 tain his real feelings by his outward appearance, except ' 
 when violent passion began to display itself. He had shot 
 well — bagged four and twenty brace and a half of par- 
 tridges, besides hares unnumbered, and rabbits innumer- 
 able. His three friends were bad shots, and he had been 
 the crowning sportsman of the day ; altogether he was 
 almost good tempered, and enquired, with considerable 
 affection, after Emma — talked over the follies of Lady 
 Frances, and concluded by hoping the Parson's Daughter 
 would become Lady ^V^eybridge. 
 
 And what could prevent it } — apparently nothing. 
 
 George having received Lady Gorgon's explanatory letter, 
 and three minutely explanatory ktterettes from the girls, 
 found himself tied to London for a week by inevitable 
 business. He went nowhere — he avoided his family — 
 he shirked society — he lay concealed, thinking not of the 
 wealth and importance to which he had succeeded, for 
 himself — but really and truly only as they would eventually 
 contribute to the happiness and comfort of his dear Emma. 
 What was the next step he proposed ? The instant that 
 he could shuffle off the trammels of occupation, it was his 
 determination to return to Binford, in the way to his place 
 in ^V^orcestershire, whither, as we already know, he pro- 
 posed his lady mother should accompany him ; but, be it 
 observed, Binford was by no means the direct road to Wor- 
 
 N 3
 
 182 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 cestershire, and Lady Frances was quite old and inde- 
 pendent enough to order her carriage, and pack herself up 
 ■with her maid and her man, and find her way to Severn- 
 stoke House (such was the Worcestershire residence of his 
 lordship called), without either the protection or guidance 
 of its new master. His point, his object, his sole intention 
 in returning to Binford was precisely what Fanny antici- 
 pated : under the semblance of fulfilling a duty, he was 
 resolved to accomplish the most ardent desire of his heart ; 
 and at the very moment that Lady Frances was spinning 
 her fragile web to catch the flies of the village, her son was 
 preparing to take a step which would effectually sweep 
 away all the cobwebs from his speculative parent's eyes. 
 
 ^' I have not seen her ladyship," said Harbottle, "since 
 George's accession, unless, indeed, beholding tliat huge 
 black bonnet and cloak which she brought into her pew 
 yesterday may be called seeing herself. I suppose, Fanny, 
 she is what I call uppish." 
 
 " She appears to lament the death of the late lord and 
 his family," said Fanny, before the company. 
 
 " 1 daie say she does," said Harbottle, " as much as I 
 lamented the deatli of my old uncle in the East Indies, 
 who left me the best part of a couple of hundred thousand 
 pounds. I had never seen the old chap ; he went out five- 
 and-forty years ago, and took to the trick of shaking the 
 pagoda-tree early in life, and shake he did, till at last he 
 made as handsome a fortune as ever was screwed out of a 
 free labour population. Bless their brown hearts, they are 
 none of 'em slaves in India. They do their own work, eat 
 their own curry, and smoke their own Chilums ; no doubt 
 they do, according to our accounts here ; but I know this, 
 I have got letters from my uncle, Alexander Marc Antony 
 Anderson, who at last became what they call resident at 
 Futtymungumleum, in which he tells my father rather a 
 different tale. No matter. I remember the story in the 
 Roman History, which I shan't repeat now; but, as I say 
 to myself, says I, when I cast my eyes round and see all 
 my handsome property — Thompson, arn't those rosewood 
 chairs beautiful, eh ? So they are. — A\'ell, I always say 
 to myself, what is it to me } 1 did not see the blacks
 
 THE parson's daughter. 183 
 
 work ; I don't know whether indigo is planted by slaves or 
 free men, or whether cotton and rice grow without trouble ; 
 all I know is, Paxtoii, Trail, Cockerell, and Co. stumped 
 me up the money: and I declare, that if I had shammed 
 sorry when 1 heard of old Alexander Marc Antony Ander- 
 son's death, I should have been as great a hypocrite as — 
 I shan't say who, for fear of affronting somebody without 
 meaning it. Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " The circumstances of Lord ^^eybridge's death, with 
 his whole family, are certainly very peculiarly affecting," 
 said Thompson. 
 
 '' I don't see that, T.," said the Squire. " Help your- 
 self — don't miss the bottle — that's my best — I don't 
 see that. "W^hy the devil should a parcel of English lords 
 go saihng about the Mediterranean in yachts, who had 
 much better live in England ? If a man or a woman 
 should be ill — if they find their healths benefited by re- 
 siding ia a warm climate, well and good. Health before 
 wealth, says I. But here was this lord, as well in his 
 body as any of us, posting himself at Malta — you might 
 as we'd live in a stone quarry — with a jigermaree Isle of 
 Wight yacht — hoartUng his money — spending nothing 
 at home — draining the country for rents to feed foreigners. 
 I don't mean to say it's a judgment; but, by Jove, I 
 should not be sorry if he had been my nearest relation ; 
 and as he isn't, and as his nearest relation is a deuced 
 good fellow, and my friend, why, to tell you the truth, of 
 the two I am rather pleased at it than vexed. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! — pass the bottle." 
 
 " Lord ^V^eybridge is coming here soon," said Fanny. 
 
 "Ah, so HoUis told me," replied the Squire. " Hollis 
 picks up every thing, somehow. I don't know how it is — 
 1 suppose servants correspond, eh ? Well now, I shall be 
 curious to see what he does with the Parson's Daughter. 
 I 11 take long odds he pops. I know, if I said so in the 
 hearing of Lady Frances, I should have my head in my 
 ha.id — eh — snap — bit — whipt off — but I do think so." 
 
 " I should very much rejoice," said Fanny. 
 
 " That," said Thompson, " is the young lady I saw here 
 after church yesterday" 
 
 N 4
 
 184^ THE parson's daughter. 
 
 '' Exactly/' said the Squire. " She and my wife are "as 
 thick as thieves, as the proverb goes : they know each 
 other's secrets, and lay their heads together, to do all the 
 mischief they can. However, it would be a great match 
 for her if it was brought about. He is a good fellow, and 
 she a good girl." 
 
 The turn the conversation had taken proved to Fanny 
 that her husband, for some reason or other, had very much 
 amended his opinion of her ; for he never condescended to 
 be what he called playful — and of his jocoseness the pre- 
 ceding conversation is a brilliant specimen — if any thing 
 were lurking in his mind ; and she left the dinner-table 
 with a feeling of hope that brighter days were in store for 
 her ; that by the very means, perhaps, through which he 
 had acquired his knowledge of Harvey's indiscretions with 
 respect to her, he had eventually ascertained the nature and 
 character of her conduct towards him. What it might be 
 she could not exactly understand, but certain it was that 
 something had occurred to calm him, and render him as 
 endurable as he generally could contrive to make himself. 
 
 A new era seemed to be beginning. The absence of 
 Harvey had lost its novelty ; and although she could not 
 avoid thinking of him as a frit-nd — and as she might 
 think of him — she felt all the pain and anxiety which the 
 measure of separation from him, on which she had deter- 
 mined, had in the first instance caused her, amply repaid 
 by the conviction that she had acted wisely, and moreover 
 by the assurance that her husband at length saw her con- 
 duct in a similar point of view. 
 
 The next day to this of which we are now treating broke 
 up the party at Binford, and the Squire was invited to a 
 day's shooting at Colonel Bradfield's, a neighbour within 
 six miles, Avliere another party were to assemble. This 
 day Emma and Fanny had resolved to enjoy together, and 
 in the mean while they abandoned themselves to the agree- 
 able anticipation of Lord AV'eybridge's visit ; and in a firm 
 reliance upon his lordship's honour, and integrity, and 
 principle, and affection, and the certainty of his redemp- 
 tion of the pledge which he had desired Fanny to give 
 Emma, went into details which would have sounded most
 
 THE parson's daughter. 185 
 
 unwelcome to the ear of Lady Frances, could she have 
 listened to the discussion. So far, indeed, did their fancy 
 lead them, that even the style of the bridal dress occupied 
 some portion of their attention ; and the important ques- 
 tion whether there should be favours or not, was debated 
 with an ardour and eloquence well worthy of St. Stephen's 
 Chapel in its best days, where it is surmised the distribu- 
 tion of favours forms no very unimportant subject of con- 
 sideration. 
 
 These two simple creatures, as Lady Frances held them 
 to be — and if single-mindedness, straightforward policy, 
 and a resolution to do good, are characteristics of simplicity, 
 she most rightly judged them — duly appreciated the feel- 
 ings and sentiments of the lover whose merits and inten- 
 tions they were discussing, and an agreeable day they 
 passed. The hours flew, and still they were talking on 
 the one sweet theme. They had even ascertained — how 
 I do not pretend to say — the day fixed for his lordship's 
 arrival. Others had heard of it, too ; and although he had 
 been resident only for a short period at Binford, it seemed 
 that the tradespeople of the place were actively engaged in 
 preparations to give his lordship an agreeable welcome to 
 Dale Cottage. 
 
 It was impossible, in the midst of all this excitement 
 and the conversations which were going on, that I\Ir. 
 Lovell himself could remain in ignorance of the real state 
 of the case. Emma had never vainly or idly encouraged 
 the idea that Captain Sheringham was seriously attached to 
 her ; but her watchful parent, who knew the world, felt 
 assured, by the Captain's manner when in his presence, and 
 by his daughter's manner in the Captain's absence, that 
 their acquaintance was not of an ordinary or common- 
 place character. He knew his child too well to scrutinise 
 needlessly into her conduct, perfectly assured that she 
 would never be found erring from the straight path of rec- 
 titude. But she had felt it her duty to him to explain 
 punctiliously the whole of her conduct with respect to 
 Harvey; and had the happiness to find that her venerable 
 j)arent, although admitting the delicacy and difficulty of 
 her interference^ entirely approved and sanctioned the
 
 186 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 course which, at her friend's entreaty, and for her advan- 
 tage, she had adopted. 
 
 The discussion of this circumstance it was, that pro- 
 duced a conversation in which the gallant Captain's name 
 Avas frequently introduced, and the impression upon Lo- 
 vell's mind at its termination was, that his daughter was 
 deeply interested about the said Captain. He did not feel 
 himself called upon to make any serious observations upon 
 what she had said ; but he, like Lady Frances, dealing in 
 generals, had offered an opinion, that a girl, without for- 
 tune or rank, should be careful how she permitted her 
 affections to be gained by a suitor whose means, however 
 honourable his intentions and ardent his affections, were 
 not adequate to the support of an establishment, and who, 
 above all, was the son of a lady whose claims to patrician 
 precedence would render the alliance eminently disagreeable, 
 considering that it would afford neither consolation for her 
 pride, nor alleviation of her poverty. 
 
 Emma received these side-winded lectures as her father 
 wished. She restrained every hope and curbed every feeling 
 which miglit induce her inclinations to rebel against the 
 soundness of his doctrines and the wisdom of his argu- 
 ments ; and if ever she felt her affections for the only man 
 she had ever loved in her life getting the better of her re- 
 solution, she brouglit to the aid of her philosophy the 
 vision of the visage du bois, with which her noble mother- 
 in-law would receive her, if she rashly consented to be- 
 come the wife of her ladyshiji's only son. 
 
 Now, however, the case was altered. That son had 
 gone the length of making a ])roposal — he was now power- 
 ful and wealthy. No longer dependent on his mother, it 
 seemed as if the first act of his new life had been to ratify 
 the preliminaries which had been almost exchanged, I be- 
 lieve, in his old one ; and under these circumstances the 
 two ladies felt no hesitation in admitting the excellent 
 I'astor into their confidence, and receiving — as could not 
 be well doubted — his entire concurrence in the marriage, 
 and hearing his grateful thanks to Heaven that Providence 
 had opened sucli a prospect of earthly happiness to his be- 
 loved daughter.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 187 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The morning dawns with an unwonted crimson. 
 
 The flowers more od'rous seem ; the garden birds 
 
 Sing louder, and the laughing sun ascends 
 
 The gaudy earth with an unusual brightness : 
 
 All nature smiles, and the whole world is pleased. Lee. 
 
 I HAVE already stated that the Squire was engaged to a 
 neighbouring battue. His parting from Fanny upon this 
 occasion was a memorable one : the morning broke beau- 
 tifully, and the smiles of nature, kindly bestowed upon his 
 expedition, seemed somehow to have inspired him with a 
 kindness towards Fanny, which she had hoped, in the con- 
 sciousness of her own deserts, would eventually return, 
 but the appearance of which she had scarcely anticipated at 
 so early a period. 
 
 " Good-by, Fan," said Harbottle : "I'm off— the 
 weather is charming ; and if 1 do but keep up my shooting 
 as I have begun, I shall, I think, take the lead at Bradfield's. 
 Good-by. I shall be home at the latest by eleven to- 
 night, and I will give you a fair report of the day." 
 
 " I am glad you return to-night," said Fanny, " for I 
 want you to. morrow to go with me about a subscription 
 for the Infant School." 
 
 '•' Subscription, Fan.''" said the Squire, " rely upon it 
 I will subscribe to the last farthing, to take care of the 
 poor little brats. I think you will do me the justice to say, 
 as far as money is concerned, you have never found me 
 backward. I'm glad of it, too — it was wanted — you are 
 quite right ; so good-by. Give me a kiss. Fan, and I shall 
 be home by eleven. Mind, now, nothing shall keep me — 
 indeed, nothing can, for I have no clothes to dress, and no 
 servant — no carriage — nothing but my chesnut, so I am 
 sure to be back. Good-by — good-by." 
 
 And away he went, whistling loudly a favourite air of 
 his, as he descended the staircase ; and having hastily 
 swallowed a cup of coffee and a slice of toast, he mounted
 
 188 THE parson's daughteb. 
 
 his favourite hack, and started across the country to 
 Colonel Bradfield's. 
 
 Dr. Johnson said, as we are told by one of his bio- 
 graphers, that the happiest time in the whole course of a 
 man's life was that which he passed in bed, in the morning, 
 after he was awake : whether Mrs. Harbottle fixed the 
 most agreeable part of a lady's existence at the same period, 
 it is impossible to say ; but certain it is, that the convers- 
 ation of her husband, and the evidently returning kind- 
 ness of his manner, afforded her so much gratification, that 
 she felt her mind relieved from the dread which had been 
 hanging over it for several days past, and, after his de- 
 parture, turned her damask cheek upon her pillow, and 
 sank into a slumber, such as, in truth, she had not en- 
 joyed during the whole preceding week. Away went the 
 Squire, whistling and cantering over mead and meadow, 
 stubble and furze ; sure of his chesnut, and careless of 
 every thing else. He had, perhaps, been deceived in 
 Harvey ; but he was gone — that thorn was out of his 
 foot, as he would have said ; and Fanny was a good girl, 
 and so handsome ! Bradfield was a good fellow, and so 
 hosjjitable ! and the day was fine, and tlie weather was 
 good for shooting, and his spirits were good, and, in short, 
 every thing was exactly what it ought to be: and what a 
 happy temper of mind to find himself in, going to join, as 
 he was, an agreeable party, after his own heart ! Never, 
 in fact, did he leave home more contented or more com- 
 fortable. 
 
 " I am rewarded," said Fanny to Emma, " amply re- 
 warded for all the sufferings I have undergone : William 
 is restored to good-temper, which of itself is delightful to 
 me — but doubly so, because 1 see in the alteration of his 
 manner the effect of a cause ; he has undeceived himself 
 with regard to my conduct, and I look forward at least to 
 a calm enjoyment of existence, brightened by a partici- 
 pation in your more positive happiness." 
 
 " I called on Lady Frances," said Emma, " on my way 
 hither, and found her, of course, at home : I felt that I 
 ought to call, that 1 could not avoid it ; and I preferred 
 going alone, because I thought, if she opened a series of
 
 THE parson's daughter. 189 
 
 general observations and remarks bearing upon her son's 
 position in the world, I could endure it better without 
 having a witness to the attack, and it turned out I was 
 right." 
 
 " Did she touch upon the subject ? " said Fanny, 
 
 " Precisely as I expected she would," replied Miss 
 Lovell: '^ she introduced it apropos to nothing; and told 
 me that almost the greatest satisfaction she had received in 
 his accession to the title was derived from the certainty 
 she now possessed that he would be able to marry the 
 person to whom he had for many years been attached — 
 ' a young woman of the very first rank, my dear,' said her 
 ladyship, ' whose mother would not hear of George's pre- 
 tensions while he was untitled and without an adequate 
 fortune ; but now,' continued she, ' all will go smoothly ; 
 and I think it is such an advantage to a man of George's 
 grade to marry — it settles him, gives him a character and 
 respectability, and, by fixing him at home, makes him a 
 better landlord, a better master — in short, a better mem- 
 ber of society altogether.' " 
 
 " Her ladyship has already mentioned some duke's 
 daughter to me," said Fanny ; " and as she talks of the 
 highest rank, I concluded she means that " 
 
 " I suppose it must be the Catherine of whom she spoke 
 to me in the carriage that night," said Emma. 
 
 " It matters little whom she means," replied Mrs. 
 Harbottle. 
 
 "Yes, Fanny," said Emma, " it does; because, al- 
 though Lady Frances talks in this way in order, perhaps, 
 humanely uu fond, to destroy any hopes or expectations 
 which she may fancy her son's attention to me, during his 
 residence here, have raised, it is painful for me to see the 
 determination she has formed to lead or direct his in- 
 clinations into other channels : he is fondly attached to his 
 mother ; and in all she says about his rank and station there 
 is, independent of the interest she feels for him and the in- 
 fluence which she must have over him, so much truth and 
 common sense, that I own I dread its effect upon him 
 "when they meet." 
 
 " But, my dear Emma^ admitting the power," ex-
 
 IpO THM parson's daughter. 
 
 claimed Mrs. Harbottle, " what can it avail ? Suppose 
 even that he himself were conscious of the weight of his 
 mother's arguments and the plausibility of her propositions, 
 he has put it out of his power to yield to them ; nay, he 
 has done so, neither blindly nor unequivocally — he has 
 irrevocably declared himself, and registered his declaration 
 in the very first moment of his nobility, in order to prevent 
 the possibility of the success of his mother's persuasions or 
 entreaties." 
 
 " We shall see," said Miss Lovell : " to you, from 
 whom I have no secrets, I frankly admit, as I have ad- 
 mitted fifty times before, that my future happiness or 
 misery is involved in the result of this attachment, and yet 
 my own mind has been so trained to filial obedience, and I 
 hold the duty of a child to a parent to be so superior to 
 every other consideration, that it cuts me to the heart to 
 think that m.y only hope of comfort in this world is 
 grounded upon a son's neglect of a mother's injunctions and 
 his disobedience of her commands/ 
 
 " My dear Emma," said Fanny, " we must not refine 
 too much : nobody can deny the reason and justice of your 
 views of parental autliority and filial concession ; but when 
 a man has arrived at Lord ^\^eybridge's time of life, he 
 certainly is competent to form a judgment upon a point so 
 distinctly and personally interesting to himself as marriage. 
 A mother, to be sure, would be justified in interposing 
 advice if she saw a son rushing into a connection either dis- 
 graceful or imprudent; but " 
 
 " Ah ! my dearest P^anny," said Emma, " like all the 
 rest of the world, we are too apt to shape circumstances 
 to suit our own immediate case, and to view them only with 
 our own eyes. Kely upon it, however amiable you think me, 
 and however worthy I may be of Lord Wcybiidge's good 
 opinion in your mind, the very case you liave supposed 
 exists ; and Lady Frances thinks tliat nothing could be 
 more imprudent or more disgraceful, by way of connection 
 for her son, than his marrying a poor Parson's Daughter." 
 
 " Then she must be extremely silly." 
 
 " No — proud perhaps, and jierhaps not prouder of his 
 title, than of her son for himself alone ; and it is natural
 
 THE parson's daughter. 191 
 
 — call it weakness — it is natural. Truth, and innocence, 
 and virtue, and good conduct are not claims upon the 
 aristocracy sufficiently strong to induce it to submit to an 
 alliance so close as marriage — in every grade of society it is 
 the same. Suppose, instead of the attachment to George 
 Sheringham, which I admit, my affections had been ob- 
 tained by some one equally gifted, equally good, perhaps in 
 every point, excepting rank and station, would not my 
 father have remonstrated, would he not have interposed 
 his " 
 
 " Advice, I dare say," said Mrs. Harbottle, " which 
 you would 
 
 " Implicitly have followed," interrupted Emma. " I 
 should have felt it right to struggle with my feelings, 
 and make them subservient to my duty — how, then, can I 
 complain if George should act similarly?" 
 
 " He cannot, Emma — it is too late," said Fanny. 
 
 " Believe me, no, my dearest Fanny," said Emma, " I 
 am the only judge on that point ; I know the generous 
 enthusiasm of his nature, the warmth of his heart, the 
 generosity of his disposition ; he has acted his part towards 
 me nobly, and it becomes me, if occasion calls for it, to 
 follow an example so honourably afforded me. If I can 
 be satisfied, that his marriage with me is to cause dis- 
 union between him and his mother, it will be my duty, my 
 pride, to make the greatest sacrifice a woman can make, 
 and positively refuse my consent to a step which is to break 
 the ties of nature, and separate a parent from a child — I 
 am resolved, Fanny." 
 
 " I give you every credit, dearest girl," said Fanny, 
 " for the exalted principle you possess ; for its exercise I 
 am sure there will be no occasion. I have no\loubt that 
 Lady Frances will, at first, look grave, and even jjcrhaps 
 scold, but it will wear off — if iAc loves her son, why mar 
 his happiness — besides, .sliv herself married for love." 
 
 " Oil," said Fanny, " that's no rule to go upon ; persons 
 in after-life are never more lenient towards the foUies of 
 others because they have committed similar follies them- 
 selves in their youth. On tlic contrary, they profess a 
 greater severity, on the ground that they have purchased
 
 192 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 experience, and are, therefore, entitled to speak strongly. 
 Besides -which, although Lady Frances married for love — 
 and hateful to me is the woman who marries for any thing 
 else " 
 
 This was one of those remarks which, in the warmth of 
 eloquence, sometimes are made in conversation and meant 
 to be general, but which, now and then, unfortunately 
 prove, unintentionally, extremely personal. Fanny felt it 
 — but she felt that Emma herself never thought of its ap- 
 plication ; and, therefore, as all well-bred persons do, she 
 considered the observation as rather compUmentary than 
 not, seeing that, if Emma had imagined it possible for her 
 friend to appropriate it to her own case, she would cer- 
 tainly not have made it. 
 
 " She married a man of family, from whom her son 
 obtains a peerage — this makes all the difference." •■•; 
 
 '' My dear child," said Fanny, " you make me quite 
 angry — you are pleading against yourself, and antici- 
 pating results that may never happen." 
 
 " They must happen," replied Emma, " the convers- 
 ations of Lady Frances have quite prepared me for all 
 that — I plead against myself because I endeavour not to 
 buoy myself up with hopes and expectations, the failure of 
 which would, if I did, make my fate more terrible. I 
 have, however, marked out the line 1 shall take, and traced 
 the course I shall pursue. I feel myself placed in a dif- 
 ficult position ; but I put my trust in that which never yet 
 has failed me, and, rely upon it, I will do my duty." 
 
 Fanny, it must be confessed, was surprised and almost 
 disappointed at the fastidiousness which her fair friend 
 exhibited upon this point. Fanny's mind and disposition, 
 pure and excellent as they were, had never undergone that 
 discipline to which Emma Lovell's had been subjected 
 under the watchful tutelage of an anxious mother. Fanny 
 had never received that advantage; and instead of the disin- 
 terested devotion which such a parent, as Mrs. Lovell had 
 been, instinctively feels for an only child, she had derived 
 from a governess — exemplary of her class — the care and 
 attention which money can purchase, and a conscientious 
 discharge of duty can secure. The difference between the
 
 THE parson's daughter. IgS 
 
 two courses of education it is needless to discuss. The one 
 fitted its object for society, adorned with every accom- 
 plishment, and regulated by every principle of right, which 
 tuition and precept can instil; the other trained its beloved 
 pupil to the practical knowledge of every religious and social 
 virtue, and transferred the piety and excellence of the parent 
 to the fond and willing child. 
 
 And what was the result ? Fanny, tired of her governess, 
 and a home in which her father passed little of his time, 
 accepted Harbottle's offer — certainly not because she loved 
 him with that entirety of affection — that genuineness of 
 feeling — that exclusive love, on which alone, when found, 
 is raised a lovely superstructure of happiness — but because 
 she did not dislike him, and did like the freedom and con- 
 trol which the character of wife would devolve upon her, 
 and because her assumption of that character would take 
 her from the regular and somewhat tiresome routine of 
 walks and drives, and dinners t^te-a-tcte with Miss Gub- 
 bins, who was just sufficiently advanced in life to regret 
 the days that were past, rather than anticipate with plea- 
 sure those that were to come. 
 
 Those who marry without loving, and fancy that love 
 will come afterwards, are like sailors who put to sea in a 
 gale of wind, in the expectation of fine weather. Fanny's 
 case was a peculiar one, and involved many palliating and 
 redeeming circumstances ; and, above all, whatever might 
 have been her real inducements or provocations to unite 
 herself to such a man as the Squire, she had so admirably 
 conducted herself as a wife, that the greatest credit was due 
 to her, more especially as the course of her married life had, 
 been regulated rather by a sense of duty than prompted by 
 a paramount feeling of affection. 
 
 How long the conversation of the two ladies might have 
 continued, it would be difficult to say, had not the entrance 
 of some " callers" put a period to it. Fanny, however, 
 had engaged herself to dine with the Lovells at their usual 
 early hour, as giving her more of Emma's society, without 
 depriving her father of it ; for the aunt, of whom we have 
 already spoken, had been away for a few days during their 
 

 
 194 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 visit to Merrington, and was not expected to return till 
 late in that very evening. 
 
 All that was proposed was performed, and Fanny re- 
 turned home in better spirits, and happier, in short, than 
 she had been for a long, long while. The Squire had not 
 arrived when she reached the Hall. He had no servant 
 with him, except one of his under-keepers, who had gone 
 over to Colonel Bradfield's the night before. This man 
 had already come back, and had reported to his superior 
 that the day's sport had been excellent, and that his master 
 had outdone his usual outdoings in shooting, and had told 
 him, when he gave him his gun, that he should be home 
 between twelve and one. 
 
 It was about that time he returned. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Farewell to virtue's peaceful times. 
 Soon will you stoop to act the crimes 
 
 Which thus you stoop to (ear : 
 Guilt follows guilt ; and where the train 
 Begins with wrongs of such a stain 
 
 What horrors form the rear! Aeenside. 
 
 " Who's there ? " said Emma Lovell, suddenly awakened 
 from her sleep by some one hastily knocking at her bed- 
 chamber door very early in the morning — " who's there?" 
 
 "'Tis I, dearest Emma, " replied a voice, which she in- 
 stantly recognised as Fanny's. 
 
 It is needless to say how speedily the summons was 
 obeyed. Fanny — pale as death, and trembling from head 
 to foot — tottered into the room, and sank almost lifeless 
 on the bed. 
 
 " In mercy's name, tell me," said Emma, " what has 
 happened. What brings you here .'' " 
 
 " No — no," said Fanny, "never — never — you must 
 not hear what J have to tell. Give me some water —
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 195 
 
 give me something to save me from dying at your feet. 
 Ruin — ruin and desolation have fallen upon us. 1 must 
 see your father, Emma, as soon as possible — instantly, if 
 I can — to him, to him alone can I confide my story : he 
 must hear it." 
 
 " But why am I excluded from your confidence .'' " 
 
 " Ask me not, Emma — it must be so." 
 
 " Has any thing happened to your husband .?" 
 
 " Happened > " exclaimed Fanny, with a look of horror 
 such as never yet had Emma seen upon her countenance — 
 " no — no — nothing has happened. All I entreat — all 
 I beg — is to see Mr. Lovell. I know his early habits — he 
 is no doubt up ? " 
 
 " You shall see him instantly," said his daughter. " But 
 am I to know nothing more .^ " 
 
 " You will know all too soon/' said Fanny. " Only let 
 me see your father — confide in him — consult him, and 
 act upon his advice. Oh ! Emma, Emma, into the house 
 I have just left, never — never more can I enter." 
 
 " My dearest friend, calm yourself." 
 
 " I shall be better — calmer — quite myself — after I 
 have relieved my heart of the horror which oppresses it. 
 Oh ! Charles, Charles " 
 
 Here her utterance was stopped, till her agony was alle- 
 viated by a flood of tears. Emma was terrified — her 
 mind was prepared for something dreadful ; but all this 
 agitation — the resolution never to return to her home and 
 her husband, coupled with the name of Charles, disarmed 
 — unnerved her — and she determined to accelerate the 
 interview which Fanny seemed so anxious to have with 
 her venerable parent. To him, thought Emma, she is 
 willing to reveal some horrid history — to him she dare 
 not communicate that which I may not hereafter hear ; to 
 me, presuming upon our friendship, upon the affection she 
 knows I bear her, she might entrust some secret which I 
 dare not keep, or ask some confidence I might not grant. 
 
 Hurrying, therefore, to her dressing-room, Emma threw 
 on her robe fie rhamhre, and flew, rather than ran, down 
 stairs, to her father's door, to communicate the unexpected 
 arrival of Mrs Harbottle, and the urgency of her desire to 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 see him. All was as it should be. Lovell had been up 
 and dressed already more than an hour, and he desired 
 Emma to bring Fanny to him in his own little library. 
 
 When Emma returned to her room, she found Fanny 
 kneeling at the foot of the bed, in the act of prayer ; but 
 so wild was her look, so incoherent were her expressions, 
 that she could not endure the spectacle presented to her 
 eyes. Question her she dare not^ lest she should hear, as 
 she sadly anticipated, the disclosure of some event which 
 perhaps might for ever separate her from her much loved 
 friend. 
 
 " My father will see you now, dearest Fanny," said 
 Emma. 
 
 " Thank God for that .'" sobbed the wretched woman. 
 
 " Lean on mc," said Emma. " Come to him — 
 come." 
 
 " Oh !" said Fanny, as she passed along, '^ what a con- 
 trast does this house of piety and virtue afford to that 
 which yesterday was mine ! " 
 
 Again were Emma's ears stung by an observation which 
 pointed, as she felt, but too clearly to the nature of the 
 calamity which she dreaded. 
 
 " Come^ come," said Emma ; and leaning on her 
 friend's arm, the half-dead Fanny reached the library Avith- 
 out uttering a syllable. She threw herself into a chair, 
 and covering her face with her hands, burst into a flood of 
 tears — nobody spoke. Lovell felt that it was best to let 
 her grief have way ; and Emma, adown whose pale cheeks 
 the tears were also streaming, stood by her friend, and cast 
 upon her a look of wonderment and pity, not unmingled 
 with fear for her discretion. 
 
 After a minuie or two she raised her head — her eyes 
 fastened themselves upon the pious master of the house, 
 and again she relapsed into her former excess of grief. 
 
 " 1 cannot — cannot speak it" — sobbed the unhappy 
 woman — " where is Emma ? " 
 
 " Here, dear," said Miss Lovell. 
 
 " You must go — Emma, dearest, you must leave us," 
 said Fanny. " One — only one person must hear it — 
 and that one must be your father. That alone can save
 
 THE parson's daughter. 197 
 
 me — save me from horror — from myself — from mad- 
 ness." 
 
 Lovell motioned for Emma to leave the room. She 
 obeyed, but as she parted with the fevered hand of Fanny, 
 she kissed her forehead, and inwardly feared she had done 
 so for the last time. 
 
 ^V'hen they were alone, Fanny's first precaution was to be 
 assured that it was impossible for human ear to catch the 
 sound of her voice. Her trepidation was such, that with 
 difficulty could she make herself intelligible. Their inter- 
 view lasted upwards of an hour. ^Vhat transpired while it 
 endured, it is not for any person, except the parties 
 concerned in it, to know. Fanny unburdened her op- 
 pressed spirit ; and when she came forth from the library, 
 leading jMr. LoveU into the breakfast-room, (for during the 
 last few weeks he had regained sufficient use of his limbs 
 to move, with assistance, from one apartment to another,) 
 calmness and resignation were painted on her countenance, 
 such as could not have rested there had Emma's apprehen- 
 sions been justified ; besides, to see her thus associated 
 with her parent, and led by him into their family circle, at 
 once convinced, and soothed, and charmed her. She 
 scarcely anticipated the events which were so speedily to 
 follow. 
 
 Fanny endeavoured to rally her spirits sufficiently to sit 
 at the table while the family breakfast was in progress ; 
 but the effort was too much, and she quitted the room and 
 went to Emma's boudoir, where she entreated to be left 
 alone ; and as she left the parlour, her words to Lovell 
 were — " For all the rest, ray best of friends, I trust 
 to you." 
 
 " ^V^hat is the meaning of all this .'' " said Emma, when 
 she returned ; " am / really not to know ? " 
 
 ''' Eventually, J^mma, you will — you mii.st know all," 
 said Lovell ; " but when I tell you that, for your friend's 
 sake, I am going not only to make one of the greatest 
 sacrifices that can be made by vie, but that I am going to 
 ask a sacrifice of you, being unable, at tlie present moment, 
 to tell you my motives for such a course, you will, per- 
 
 o 3
 
 198 THE PAKSOn's daughter. 
 
 haps, be more discontented still. In general terms 1 can 
 explain the principle upon which I act : to your own good 
 sense, and your reliance upon my good judgment — putting 
 any thing like parental control at the moment out of the 
 question — I trust for your seeking no further." 
 
 " You have only to express your wishes, sir," said 
 Emma. 
 
 " My dearest child, I know it," said Lovell. " Now, 
 hear me. You already know that our poor afflicted friend 
 has quitted her home and the protection of her husband. 
 Why she has done so, it is impossible you should know — 
 it is impossible that any body should know. Her reasons 
 are unanswerable — her motives, unimpeachable ; but 
 such is the world, that though she be excellent and ex- 
 emplary in every relation of life, the step she has taken, 
 unless she is publicly and evidently supported in it, ruins 
 her eternally. If it were practicable for her to remain in 
 Binford, this house should be her home ; but that is 
 impossible. The sacrifice I myself am about, for her 
 sake, to make, is that of your society for a short time. The 
 sacrifice I ask you to make to friendship, and the happiness 
 and respectability of your friend, is, that you should be her 
 companion in a journey which she proposes to begin im- 
 mediately, to visit an aunt in the west of England, whom 
 she has never seen since she was a child, and who has not 
 visited London for upwards of forty years." 
 
 "Me! — I take a journey!" — said Emma, all her 
 thoughts instantly reverting to the one anxiously looked-for 
 event — that of Lord Weybridge's arrival at Binford. 
 
 " I told you I should ask as well as make a sacrifice," 
 said Lovell ; " but the moment I had assured myself that 
 nothing else could save our friend, I resolved on perform- 
 ing my share of the duty ; I think I shall find no difficulty 
 in persuading you to accom])lish your.s." 
 
 " Let me but feel it a duty, sir," said Emma, " and 
 this instant I am ready to undertake whatever you wish." 
 
 "■ It is a duty, P^mma," said Lovell ; " for I require it 
 of you : but as I am sure your feelings of friendship for 
 our poor friend are warm and enthusiastic, when I tell you 
 that the step I suggest will insure her respectability, and.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 199 
 
 no doubt, an affectionate reception at the house of her re- 
 lation, and that nothing else, as I see it, can avert a ruin 
 so complete and tremendous in all its consequences, that I 
 dare not contemplate it — I do think " 
 
 "Think!" interrupted Emma, "do not think — be 
 certain, father. Sanctioned by your approbation, strength- 
 ened by your support, 1 would traverse the world for 
 Fanny's sake. And, oh ! my dearest sir," continued she, 
 " what a weight of pain and doubt you have, by those few 
 words, lifted from my heart ! Knowing the fallibility of 
 our nature, and aware of the trials to which my suffering 
 friend has constantly been subject, I dreaded " 
 
 '^ Dread nothing, Emma ! " said Lovell : " after what 
 I have suggested as the course of conduct for you to pursue, 
 your confidence in Fanny may be as unbounded as your 
 reliance is on me. She is, she must be, miserable ; but 
 she is excellent in all her views, in all her thoughts. Even 
 at a moment when every passion and feeling to which 
 human nature is liable has been called into action, her con- 
 duct is above praise. One condition of the journey is, 
 that it must be begun immediately — in an hour — in 
 short, before Mr. Harbottle returns home." 
 
 " Is he not aware " 
 
 " Hush ! — no questions, my child," interrupted Lovell. 
 " In my carriage, with your maid, and one of my 
 servants, you must undertake the expeilition. From the 
 Hall Fanny w^ill neither take servants, nor any thing that 
 ever has been in it. She goes — not for a transient visit, 
 but for EVER ! " 
 
 " For ever .'' " 
 
 " Ay, for ever," said Lovell ; " and with my sanction, 
 and under my advice " 
 
 " But her husband " 
 
 " Him I shall see after your departure," said Lovell ; 
 " and him I will bring to the opinion which 1 at present 
 hold : but as you know that I should never deny you any 
 information, which with safety I could impart to you, so 
 you will be satisfied with this assertion ; and let me entreat 
 of you — that is, if you undertake this extraordinary 
 journey — that, during its progress, you will not press 
 
 4
 
 200 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Fanny upon any subject at all connected with her departure 
 from home. The less she tells you^ the better for both of 
 you. 
 
 " My dearest father," said Emma, in tears, and ready 
 to fall at his feet, " pardon me, pray — pray, pardon me — 
 doubt you, who could ? — and how, of all created beings, 
 I ? But one question do answer me. I am sure — quite 
 sure — that our dear Fanny is right — that something 
 terrible has happened — some dreadful quarrel between her 
 and her husband ; — and I have no doubt — no doubt, 
 dear father, that she has been ill treated, and will be 
 eventually justified in all she does. But do, do tell me — 
 if I may know it — is Charles Harvey in any degree " 
 
 " Emma," said Lovell, " never name his name to 
 her " 
 
 " I should not have named it now, but that she called 
 on it unconsciously when up-stairs, and " 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! hush !" said Lovell : " if she imcon- 
 sciously called upon his name, notice it not — neither to 
 her nor to any one else. She must have wandered — she 
 must have been dreaming. Dismiss him from your 
 thoughts, my child : — above all, keep his name from your 
 lips during your progress. Remember, if she speak of 
 him — if she tell you all that / know — listen, but urge 
 her not. I have advised her to keep her story secret from 
 all but the one to whom it was necessary she should confide 
 it. It is a dreadful history, Emma, and you are better 
 without the knowledge of it. She, being sincere, as I 
 know she is, had better not confide it even to you. Thus 
 much, if, as I know you do, you value her happiness 
 dearly, you may tell her, whenever she evinces a disposi- 
 tion to admit you into her confielence. 1 repeat to you, 
 that I have advised her not to tell even you. Having said 
 this, I leave you together, secure in the virtue and for- 
 bearance of the one, and in the exemplary principle 
 and devotion of the other. Go your way together — press 
 her to your bosom when you meet again, and say your 
 father has told you, adoring i/ou as he does, that you are 
 worthy to be friends eternally." 
 
 This was a trial for female curiosity, far and away be-
 
 THK PARSON S DAVGHTEK. 201 
 
 yond the natural interest which Emma really felt for her 
 friend. She had quitted her home and husband /or ever ; 
 in her mental wanderings she had called upon the name of 
 the man whose name had not been agreeably associated 
 with her's — that name was never to be mentioned to her 
 
 — and yet she was blameless — and, even upon the snength 
 of her separation from her husband, rendered, as her fa- 
 ther had told her, more worthy than ever of being the 
 friend of his darling daughter. This was a mystery. 
 
 And i)oor Fanny ! — Oh ! that we dare contemplate the 
 state of her mind — oh ! that we might enter into all those 
 generous, kindly, womanly feelings, by which the suffer- 
 ing angel was actuated. No one who did not know what 
 had occurred, could even imagine the extent of her suffer- 
 ings — yet how beautiful is the security of religion ! — how 
 cheering, how charming, the feeling of admiration for the 
 piety of others, to which our smaller pretensions dare not 
 with confidence aspire ! 
 
 In her own mansion — the scene of wealth, of gaiety, of 
 dissipation, and once of happiness — her mind was dis- 
 tracted ; she was fevered, agitated, tormented — her heart 
 anxiously beating and almost bursting till she made a dis- 
 closure of circumstances the most appalling and distressing 
 
 — distressing in every point of view — and in the midst of 
 this tremendous whirl of feeling, and passion, and horror 
 — for there was horror mingled in it — she fled to Lovell ; 
 and in the house of that excellent man, strengthened by 
 his support — cheered by his exhortations, and soothed by 
 his condolence, she rested her aching head upon the sofa 
 in Emma's room, and even slept awhile. Such is the 
 tranquil security with which the slumber of the erring sin- 
 ner is blessed beneath the roof of the truly pious man of 
 God ! 
 
 No time, it appeared, was to be lost before the departure 
 of the ladies upon this most extraordinary pilgrimage to 
 Somersetshire. Lovell's carriage, which seldom saw the 
 light, but which luckily had conveyed him and his child to 
 Merrington the preceding week, was sooner ready for ser- 
 vice than it would have been if he had not made that ex- 
 cursion. At other periods, sundry of the gallinaceous
 
 202 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 breed of birds were in the habit of using the outside of it 
 as a resting or roosting place, they being enabled by cer- 
 tain dilapidations in the coach-house to make good a " set- 
 tlement" thereupon. 
 
 Difficulties seemed to vanish before the required ex- 
 ertions of the establishment, like Alpine snow before the 
 acid of Hamilcar's son ; and in less than an hour the 
 travelling chariot of the reverend Rector might have been 
 seen rolling away from the Rectory-door, containing 
 Fanny and Emma inside, bearing also Miss Stevens, Em- 
 ma's maid, and Wilson, the Rector's servant, without. 
 Lovell bade them an affectionate adieu, and away they 
 ' went. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A crowd of thoughts 
 
 Doubting, discordant, tumult in my breast, 
 
 Unsettling my resolves — what should I think? 
 
 Suspicion may enquire, but must not judge. Mallet. 
 
 When one is engaged simultaneously in three different 
 pursuits, the appropriation of time is somewhat difficult, 
 and, at the present moment, having a good deal to say to 
 the reader, I can hardly decide wliether to carry him to 
 London to the hotel, which has the honour of numbering 
 the Right Honourable Lord Weybridge amongst its dis- 
 distinguished inmates ; or take him to Dale Cottage, whose 
 humble thatch has the supereminent gratification of cover- 
 ing the aristocratic head of Lady Frances Sheringham ; 
 seat him in the carriage " bodkinized" between the two 
 fair ladies travelling rapidly westward ; or bring him tete- 
 a-tcle with the Reverend Mr. Lovell in the Rectory, and 
 so let him hear the repetition of the very extraordinary and 
 important conversation which took place shortly after
 
 THE parson's daughter. 203 
 
 Fanny's departure between that reverend gentleman and 
 the Squire. 
 
 According to the order of things by which the world is 
 regulated and arranged^ the peer should precede — but^ 
 
 " When a lady 's in the case 
 
 ^ AH other things of course give place." " 
 
 And, accordingly, we will first endeavour to find out the 
 subject of Mrs. Harbottle's travelling dialogue with her fair 
 and devoted friend. 
 
 It may easily be imagined, that, after having taken so 
 decisive a step as quitting her father's house at a moment's 
 notice, to undertake a long journey with an abdicating 
 wife, Emma's anxiety to hear the real cause of such a 
 measure explained was not little. She was assured by the 
 manner in which her excellent parent had urged her to ac- 
 company Mrs. Harbottle, that it was right and just that 
 she should do so, and it was from no feeling of apprehension 
 as to the appearance such a proceeding might have in the 
 eyes of the world — of Binford, that her desire for " fur- 
 ther particulars" was excited; but she really longed to 
 know for the mere pleasure of knowing, and for the satis- 
 faction of feeling that she was entirely trusted. 
 
 Indeed, considering all things, she felt that it was no 
 more than her right to be informed upon every point con- 
 nected with the separation, to the propriety and necessity 
 of which she had — under command — lent the whole 
 weight of her character and countenance ; but, however 
 just Emma's feelings might have been, and however unde- 
 niable her claim upon Fanny for an entire and implicit 
 confidence, she was not destined to be satisfied during their 
 expedition. 
 
 Three or four times during the morning she had en- 
 deavoured to break the ice ; but Fanny, who for liours was 
 absorbed in the deepest grief, relieved only by bursts of 
 tears, uniformly checked that disposition to enquire, which 
 she saw gradually increasing, on the part of her companion. 
 At length Emma, having j)erniitted her friend to indulge 
 in her fruitless sorrow, ventured again to urge her to give 
 her only the outline of the circumstances which had oc-
 
 204 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 curred, and which had conspired so suddenly to induce 
 the desperate step she had taken. 
 
 " Emma," said Fanny, " I am conscious, perfectly con- 
 scious, that you who have made such a sacrifice for my 
 welfare and happiness — a sacrifice for which no gratitude 
 of mine — no, not the devotion of a whole Ufe to your ser- 
 vice, could compensate — are fully entitled to hear every 
 circumstance connected with our journey ; but when I de- 
 clare to you that nothing but horror and destruction could 
 result from the disclosure of any part of the occurrences of 
 last night, I am sure you will place so much confidence in mc 
 as not to press me to detail them — or even to allude to them." 
 
 " My father knows them," said Emma. 
 
 " \i was absolutely necessary that some one person 
 should be in possession of them," said Fanny, " else I 
 could not have justified my present conduct. Your father, 
 by his age — his character — his profession — by all his 
 virtues — and all his tenderness to error — was the only 
 being I could select for the depositary of my dreadful se- 
 cret : a second confidence would be ruinous." 
 
 " But surely, dearest Fanny," said Emma, " if my 
 father knows the secret, you do not imagine that he will 
 not some day tell me what it is." 
 
 " The day," said Fanny, " may — must come when it 
 may be told — but better it be for ever buried in oblivion 
 
 — from these lips never syllable shall be uttered connected 
 with it. I have separated from my husband on account 
 of the incompatibility of temper — your father justifies the 
 view I have taken of the case ; and as a proof that he does 
 so, and as a pledge to the world of my propriety and in- 
 nocence in the separation, affords me the friendship and 
 society of his dear and exemplary daughter. The world 
 
 — if any of the world should trouble themselves to talk or 
 think about me — dare not whisper a syllable to my pre- 
 judice. That they should be equally tender to my hus- 
 band's cliaracter I sincerely wish. We are parted — there 
 is the simple fact — and — I repeat the words — from in- 
 compatibility of temper." 
 
 Fanny was scarcely able to maintain her firmness during 
 this attempt at rallying her spirits, and asserting her fear-
 
 THE parson's daughteu. 205 
 
 lessness and independence of the Avorld, and^ at its con- 
 clusion^ again burst into an agony of tears. 
 
 " But," said Emma, recurring to the subject with a 
 perseverance worthy of a better cause — as soon as Fanny 
 was somewhat recovered — " but surely some other form 
 or ceremony is necessary to effect a separation, so entire as 
 you propose, between a married coujile, than the mere will 
 of the wife. Mr. Harbottle may — and will, I dare say — 
 follow and claim you from your aunt, and " 
 
 " No, no, Ernma, not he," said Fanny. 
 
 " I am sure, Fanny," said Emma, " that Avith all his 
 faults and all his irritability, he is devotedly attached to 
 you — proud of you — and unless something which it is 
 impossible for me even to imagine has happened " 
 
 '■' There has, there has," interrupted Fanny, wildly — 
 " my dearest child, there has — he never will follow me 
 
 — he never will see me more — he will learn to hate me 
 
 — and — there an end " 
 
 " Now," continued Emma, who in her heart W'ished to 
 lead her companion into a train of conversation whence she 
 might discover some faint glimmering of hope that an 
 eventual reconciliation between her and her husband might 
 take place — " in all those brusqueries of his about Charles 
 Harvey " 
 
 " Oh ! mercy, mercy, mercy ! " exclaimed Fanny, with 
 a wildness in her eyes such as Emma had never yet seen : 
 — " spare me — spare me that. Never — never repeat 
 that name — oh, Emma — Harvey — Harvey — Harvey!" 
 
 Again she relapsed into her former state of wretchedness, 
 leaving Miss Lovell considerably more surprised than satis- 
 fied with the talismanic effect which the name of Harvey 
 evidently had upon her companion. It was clear to her, 
 that the suspicion which she had all along entertained, that 
 the preceding night's quarrel between the Squire and his 
 lady originated in some observation about her conduct to- 
 wards Charles, was correct ; but she was not ])repared to 
 find the lady so violently affected by the mere mention of 
 the name of a man, for whom she had to herself, only a 
 few days before, denied any thing like an indiscreet af- 
 fection, at the moment of all others when she was anxiouslj
 
 206 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 vindicating her separation from her husband, on the ground 
 of her own propriety and virtue. 
 
 Surely, thought Emma, while Fanny still lay absorbed 
 in her misery — surely she could not have seen Charles 
 Harvey — he could not have visited Binford in her hus- 
 band's absence ! Even if he had ventured upon conduct so 
 imprudent and improper after what has passed, she would 
 not have admitted a Visit from him. Besides, she was at 
 the Rectory until late in the evening — it was, therefore, 
 impossible. And so it seemed — and most impossible of 
 all, because the Rector would not have considered a quarrel 
 with Harbottle, upon such a subject, a justifiable ground 
 for his wife's abandonment of him. 
 
 " Emma," said Fanny, some time afterwards, faintly 
 and fearfully, " have I been wandering — talking idly .'' 
 have I named names — spoken of persons .'' I surely have 
 been dreaming — I feel sick and weary — my head is 
 splitting." 
 
 To Emma it appeared that Fanny was growing delirious 
 — the agony of her mind was visible in the impassioned 
 expression of her countenance, and it was evident that rest 
 was absolutely necessary for her. Emma proposed that 
 they should stay the remainder of the day, and sleep at the 
 next stage, if the inn promised such accommodation as they 
 might approve of. Her proposition to that effect was re- 
 ceived by Fanny with complacency, and the observation 
 which she made in giving her assent, " that now, all places 
 in the world were alike to her," from its character, and the 
 tone in which it was delivered, increased rather than 
 diminished tlie apprehension which had latterly been grow- 
 ing in Emma's mind — that Fanny had not confided the 
 truth, or if the truth, not the whole truth of the cause of 
 the quarrel to her father. 
 
 How could such an ungenerous suspicion haunt an inno- 
 cent mind, tlie reader will naturally ask. But let him con- 
 sider the circumstances, and the doubt which hung over 
 Emma will be found to be extremely natural. Fanny had 
 made her a confidant in matters connected with this very 
 Charles Harvey, of a nature as delicate as tlicy well could 
 be, and still uiaintaining the character of honour and pro-
 
 THE PAKSON S DAUGHTER. 207 
 
 priety. In the very anxiety she had evinced for his 
 departure, she certainly admitted that she was conscious of 
 some influence which he had over her feehngs ; and, how- 
 ever right and proper the decision at which she an'ived 
 might have been, the very fact of its having been called 
 for marked a very strong distinction between her feelings 
 towards Charles and those which she entertained towards 
 the other numerous visiters at the Hall, amongst whom, in- 
 cluding Harvey, she should have made no distinction what- 
 ever. 
 
 It turned out that the inn at which they were next to 
 change was one of the most comfortable in England. I 
 have my reasons for not naming it, for that might lead to 
 discoveries which I am not over-desirous to have made ; but 
 it was an inn on the scale of accommodation of the Fountains 
 at Canterbury ; the Rose, at Sittingbourn ; the Castle, at 
 Marlborough ; or the Plough at Cheltenham. Every com- 
 fort was in actual readiness, as if the travellers had been 
 waited and watched for ; and Emma found herself, at six 
 o'clock in the afternoon, installed with her suffering friend 
 in a home, made so at the shortest notice, endeavouring, 
 by every exertion in her power, to support her companion 
 — never, however, I must admit, losing sight of the hope 
 of soothing her intoa more communicative state of mind than 
 that in which she actually appeared to be. 
 
 Precisely at the same moment, Lord Weybridge in Lon- 
 don, cloyed already with the honey of flattery with which he 
 had been most plenteously besmeared from every imagin- 
 able quarter, was writii)g and despatching a letter to his 
 lady-mother, announcing his intention of visiting Binford 
 on the following Thursday — making her the offer of ac- 
 companying him on his viiit to ^V^orcestershire, and 
 desiring, in the most cordial manner, to be remembered to 
 all her friends at Binford, whose kindness he should never 
 forget, &c. &c. &c. 
 
 By the same post he wrote to Charles Harvey, to com- 
 municate what he had written to his mother, upon the 
 subject of his visit, and announcing to him his intention of 
 being at Ullsfurd on '\\'ednesday evening, if by so doing 
 he could have the pleasure of his company at dinner there.
 
 208 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 in order that they might enjoy a httle sympathetic con- 
 versation, and that 'M'"eybridge might judge how far his 
 friend's reason, morality, and philosophy had overcome his 
 misdirected affection for Mrs. Harbottle. 
 
 These he sealed and despatched, and then proceeded to 
 make preparations for dinner, at which he expected a 
 friend — a friend of his own, who was his friend when he 
 neither ivas Lord ^V^eybridge nor expected to be Lord 
 Weybridge — a naval surgeon, who had been his messmate 
 in the ward-room of the flag-ship in India — one Dr. Mac- 
 Gopus, for whom he had the warmest esteem and affection, 
 and with whom he constantly quarrelled whenever they 
 met, and as regularly became friends when they met again. 
 He had a high opinion of the Doctor's judgment ; a great 
 respect for his honour and principle. LTpon him he 
 devolved very much of his confidence, and from him 
 derived very much counsel upon his accession to the title, 
 at which period the Doctor, retired from the service, was 
 laid up in ordinary somewhere in the neighbourhood of 
 the New Road. 
 
 The Doctor had his peculiarities. They generally 
 amused George, and sometimes provoked him. In the 
 first place, the Doctor uniformly differed in opinion with 
 every body round him. Shape the question how you 
 might, he always contrived to take a different view of it 
 from every body else. He always met every assertion with 
 a plump negative ; and, lastly, which to a fluent fellow 
 like George, who loved to tell a story, and tell it in his 
 own way, was most provoking, he had a mode of 
 stopping a narrative — however interesting it might be in 
 its nature, however important in its character — by "query- 
 ing" the smallest possible details connected with it. How- 
 ever, as he is coming to dinner, his little peculiarities will 
 shew themselves ; for the fact of George's elevation to the 
 peerage had not produced the slightest effect upon the 
 Doctor's conduct and conversation. 
 
 As an officer, he was skilful to admiration, and brave to 
 heroisim — as a companion, he must speak for himself. 
 
 " \FelI, now," said the Doctor, " tell me, are you much
 
 THE parson's daughter. 200 
 
 happier, with all these fine things and fine people ahout 
 you, than you were in the old craft in India ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Weybridge, " I am. My increased 
 fortune will increase my means of doing good; and, above 
 all. Doctor, it will enable nie to marry according to my 
 inclination." 
 
 " Oh," said MacGopus, "^ you are going to marry ! 
 "What will our lady-mother say to that?" 
 
 " Give her consent," replied George. " Not that it is 
 absolutely necessary." 
 
 "Who is the girl .?" 
 
 " The only child of Mr. Lovell, the Rector of Binford." 
 
 '^'^ Oh, a Parson's Daui^hter !" said MacGopus, cram- 
 ming a huge load of snufF up his nostrils : " that wo'n't 
 do." 
 
 " It will do," said Lord "Weybridge. 
 
 " It wo'n't," said MacGopus. " If you marry beneath 
 yourself, you'll break your mother's heart." 
 
 " If I don't marry Emma Lovell, it will break my own." 
 
 ''Stuff!" said MacGopus ; "hearts never break; how 
 should they.'' Nonsense! No, no — don't think of the 
 Dominie's daughter." 
 
 " When I cease to think of her, may -" 
 
 ''Psha!" interrupted the Doctor; '• make no profes- 
 sions — take no oaths — the wind will change, whether you 
 like it or not. You'll forget her now you are a lord." 
 
 " There you mistake me," 
 
 "Not I. I know human nature. What's good for a 
 half-pay commander wo'n't do for a peer of the realm." 
 
 " Well, I start for Binford on Friday." 
 
 "What's Binford.''" said MacGopus. 
 
 "I told you just now," said Lord Weybridge ; "the 
 place of which Emma's father is rector — and where my 
 mother has established herself. I consider that journey as 
 the deciding one of my life." 
 
 " Pah !" said the Doctor, taking more snuff. 
 
 " I shall start Friday morning." 
 
 "Stop a minute: — why Friday? — Never start on 
 Fridays. Ships never do, if one can help it. If they do, 
 they are lost. Well — go on."
 
 210 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " Saturday, then, if you like. I shall order the britcska 
 to the door at " 
 
 " What is a britcska ?" 
 
 " The name of the carriage, and " 
 
 " Unde derivatur?" 
 
 " Oh ! — don't worry me about such infernal nonsense. 
 Listen. I shall start about seven — and so get to Oxford 
 about half-past twelve." 
 
 ''Quere, now — why do you go through Oxford?" 
 
 " AVhy — why — because'tis the nearestroad, and " 
 
 "^ Stop a minute — University College is the oldest col- 
 lege at Oxford, isn't it?" 
 
 " I don't know — I don't care. Will you hear me ? — 
 From Oxford I get to Chapel-house, through Wood- 
 stock " 
 
 "Ay, I know Woodstock," said MacGopus. "Let's 
 see — Blenheim was built in " 
 
 " The deuce take Blenheim. Let me tell you my plan." 
 
 " Ah — well give us some wine, my lord." 
 
 " I don't mean, however, to get to Binford till the next 
 day." 
 
 " Quere, now — what's Binford ? " said the Doctor. 
 
 " ^Vhy, I have told you fifty times every day — the 
 place where our cottage is — and " 
 
 " Oh — I know. AVhat did you say the parson's name 
 was? 
 
 " Lovell." 
 
 " Ah — well, go on." 
 
 " Because," continued Lord Weybridge, with an ardour 
 ill adapted for the reception of the perpetual checks inter- 
 posed by his inquisitive and methodical companion, " I 
 shall, I dare say, meet at Ullsford with " 
 
 " Ullsford ! quere " 
 
 " No. — Tiang your queries. — Ullsford is the stage but 
 one before Jiinford." 
 
 " And Binford, you said " 
 
 "Pooh! — yes — fifty times. I say, at Ullsford I shall 
 meet an excellent fellow — a friend of mine — Charles 
 Harvey " 
 
 "Harvey!" said MacGopus. "Ah — fish sauce —
 
 THE parson's daughter. 211 
 
 meditations — circulation of the blood — who is Harvey, 
 my lord ? " 
 
 " A particular friend of mine, for whom I have the 
 highest regard." 
 
 " Have you known him long ? " 
 
 ''Ever since we went to Binford." 
 
 "Ah? — Binford! — Binford is the place where you 
 mother's cottage is — is not it ?" 
 
 "Why — yes, to be sure it is," 
 
 " Where the parson lives ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What d'ye call his daughter?" 
 
 " Emma." 
 
 "Emma ! — you'll never marry her." 
 
 " But I will. Doctor." 
 
 " You never will. There'll be Old Nick to pay, if you 
 try it," 
 
 "So you said just now — but I am resolved," 
 
 "Ah — you think so." 
 
 " Think go ! — Why you'll drive me mad. If I think 
 so, I mean so — and thinking so " 
 
 " You never will," 
 
 " Mercy on me ! — How provoking you are ! Harbottle 
 himself is not half so tormenting." 
 
 "Quere, now — who's Harbottle?" 
 
 " I told you yesterday — the Squire at Binford." 
 
 " Binford ! — Oh, ah." 
 
 " Now, do contrive to recollect ; or, if you don't recol- 
 lect, don't try to learn the name of any thing." 
 
 " How should I know about your Harbottles ? " 
 
 "Of course not; but you can, at least, remember 
 names." 
 
 "It seems, I cannot. Well ! " 
 
 " Well ! Nothing is well. You never attend to what 
 a man says to you." 
 
 "Then why do you talk to me?" said MacGopus, 
 giving his lordship an arch look, expressive of his own 
 consciousness, that the peer prized him highly, even while 
 abusing him for his love of minutiae. " I was always the 
 
 same; it is not because you are changed that I can alter, 
 
 V 2
 
 212 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 I am off. When you — I mean when your lordship — 
 wants me again, send. You know where I live. If you 
 don't send I shan't come, I 'm not company for a man in 
 love ; but Emma you shall never marry ; at least, with my 
 consent." 
 
 " Your consent ! " exclaimed Lord Weybridge ; " who, 
 in the name of all absurdity, ever thought of asking your 
 consent ?" 
 
 " Why, you," said IVIacGopus ; " when you were a 
 youngster you never did any thing without my consent^ 
 and many a mast-heading I have saved you, my Hne fellow; 
 rely upon it you had better stick to my advice now. I 
 have no interest in what I say — I want nothing of you; 
 and although I might have called to wish you joy of your 
 elevation, if it is a thing to congratulate you upon, 1 never 
 should have sought you, if you had not sought me," 
 
 "All this 1 admit," said George; " I admit a thousand 
 obligations to you — but you are deucedly provoking, and 
 that's the truth of it — as for my elevation, of which you 
 
 speak, the accidental circumstance " 
 
 " What do you call an accidental circumstance ? " said 
 MacGopus, — "a lubberly trick of a landsman's sailing- 
 ■boat — a yacht, of ninety tons, that could not find sea-room 
 in the Mediterranean. 'AydemU' as the Spaniards say, 
 what odd notions some people have of pleasure !" 
 " Think of Grabshaw's escape ! " 
 "Ah !" said MacGopus, " who's Crabshaw.''" 
 " Why, I told you, the tutor." 
 
 "Ah ! I recollect," said MacGopus. "Now what does 
 a tutor of that sort get by way of salary?" 
 " How should I know ! " 
 "Ask your friend the parson — at — what's the name 
 
 of the place — at ' 
 
 " Oh, the devil ! " said George, " you are enough to 
 drive a man mad." 
 
 ' I will not endanger your lordship's intellects," said 
 the Doctor ; " good night. You are going out of town. 
 When you return, you know where to hear of me ; but, 
 
 take my advice, get rid of this Miss whatever her name 
 
 is, as fast as you can."
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 '' Never, never, never ! " said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " That's a long time to wait," said MacGopus. " Fare- 
 well ; good-night." 
 
 Saying which, the lofty monitor retired, much after the 
 fashion of John Kemble (whom he greatly resembled in 
 countenance and features) making an exit ; leaving Lord 
 Weybridge in a state of fever, brought on by impatience 
 of his friend's anxiety for particulars, and an apprehension 
 that he had offended him by his exhibition of it. 
 
 It was now Wednesday evening, and Lord Weybridge 
 had begun to count the hours until he should start for the 
 Rectory, little dreaming or suspecting what had occurred in 
 the village so entirely to disorganise his plans and arrange- 
 ments. We will leave him, until the arrival of the post 
 the next morning puts him in possession of several facts ; 
 some of which are already known to the readers, and of 
 certain others, which are not. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 How strangely am I tempted 
 With opportunity, which li:ke a sudden gust 
 Has swelled my calmer thoughts into a tempest: 
 — Accursed opportunity ! De.Vham. 
 
 LoVELii had taken, or rather sanctioned, a most important 
 step in his daughter's career through life ; so important, as 
 Emma herself considered it, that she could by no means 
 account for his conduct. But Lovell had yet a duty to 
 perform connected with that step which, be it never for- 
 gotten, had for its object, under his auspices, to " put 
 asunder those whom God had put together ;" and which, 
 if not more important, was infinitely more difficult. 
 
 He was aware, that when Fanny had — the moment 
 that the Squire quitted the Hall, early in the morning, 
 with the professed object of returning to Colonel Brad- 
 
 p 3
 
 214 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 field's for another day's shooting — quitted it also eternally, 
 she had left a note addressed to her hushand, containing 
 the following few but important words : — 
 
 " I have quitted Binford for ever. To Mr. Lovell I 
 refer you for all further informatipn about nie. 
 
 " F. H." 
 
 This was all — the measure was decisive — its an- 
 nouncement brief. Mr. Lovell felt the extent of responsi- 
 bility which was left upon his shoulders. If he had dif- 
 fered in the view which Mrs. Harbottle took of the state of 
 circumstances, his task would have been less difficult, for 
 sTie was resolved to go, at all hazards and all perils. The 
 moment, however, that he marked his approbation of her 
 decision by sending his daughter as her companion, he in- 
 curred the entire responsibility of an adviser ; and, invalid 
 as he was, and unaccustomed to controversial discussions, 
 he felt an internal confidence, and even a constitutional 
 strength, which he was sure would enable him to vindicate 
 the line he had taken. 
 
 Harbottle, however, was not destined to wait until his 
 return in the evening for the receipt of his wife's note. 
 HoUis, the faithful and active, convinced by his mistress's 
 early departure, her hurried manner, her neglect of Devon's 
 services, and other trifling incidents, which, to persons of 
 watchful and suspicious minds, are " confirmations strong 
 as proof of holy writ," that something more than ordinary 
 was about to happen, sent off the note she had left by a 
 special messenger to the Colonel's, with orders to find his 
 master wherever he might be shooting. 
 
 The messenger proceeded as directed ; but, when he 
 arrived at Colonel's Bradfield's, a spectacle far different 
 from one of joy or felicity presented itself. 
 
 It appeared that, late in the day preceding, and just as 
 the party at Colonel Bradfield's were shooting their way. 
 home, they fell in with Charles Harvey, who, the reader 
 will recollect, was staying at Mordaunt's, within four miles 
 of Bradfield's house. His appearance was quite a surprise, 
 and an agreeable one, to all of the party except Harbottle;
 
 TOE parson's daughter. 215 
 
 however, Bradfield and all his party insisted upon it that 
 he should dine with them ; Mordaunt they knew was gone 
 to town on business; and as they were only men, Charles 
 need not care about dress — and Ilarbottle did not dress — • 
 and none of them would dress — and he could just as well 
 ride home after dinner as before. Harvey assented. Har- 
 vey and Harbottle met: Harvey felt awkward — why, he 
 could scarcely tell — so did Harbottle ; but the awkward- 
 ness displayed itself rather to their own consciences than 
 to tlie observation of the company^ and the day passed off 
 admirably. 
 
 When they broke up, Harbottle rode home, and, as we 
 know, arrived in safety. So rode Harvey; but, to the in- 
 finite horror of the assembled party at Bradfield's, at break- 
 fast the next morning, news was brought that his body had 
 been found, with that of the horse on which he rode, dead 
 (the latter dashed almost to pieces), at the bottom of a 
 gravel pit, in the middle of Broustead Common ; a pit 
 which had been recently opened and dug, and of which, 
 consequently, even he who knew the country well was not 
 avi'are. 
 
 The lamentations which this melancholy intelligence 
 created were general ; and it is scarcely necessary to add, 
 that, however keen the different members of the party were 
 for the sport of shooting, an ac^dent so dreadful in its re- 
 sults put a stop to their proceedings. The body of the 
 unfortunate gentleman had been removed to the Half- 
 moon, a public house on the road to Broustead, and a 
 coroner's jury was summoned to hold an inquest on it the 
 following morning. 
 
 To moralise upon the uncertainty of life, or enlarge upon 
 the precariousness of existence, would be neither new, nor 
 in this place edifying ; but the effect produced upon the 
 company, of which, in high health and spirits, tliis agree- 
 able and accomplished young man had, not twelve hours 
 before, made one, by the intelligence, may easily be' 
 imagined ; even Harbottle, who, with feelings of jealousy 
 rankling in his breast, had learned to hate his society and 
 fear his influence while alive, appeared overcome by the 
 event ; and tears, ay ! tears were seen to roll down his 
 
 V 4
 
 216 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 iron cheeks as they related to him the circumstances of ' 
 finding the body. Such symptoms were not looked for in 
 such a being as the Squire. Those Avho knew nothing of 
 the real state of his acquaintance with Harvey, wondered 
 to see such marks of tenderness ; ])ut if they could have 
 known how angrily they had parted, a cause for their ap- 
 pearance might have been found in a feeling of remorse 
 and regret. 
 
 The party at Colonel Bradfield's separated : their diver- 
 sions were for the present suspended, and each man betook 
 himself to his home. Amongst the number, Harbottle 
 prepared to go his way, when, just as he was taking leave 
 of the Colonel, the brief note which the active and vigilant 
 Hollis had despatched to his master, and of which we 
 already know the contents, were put into his hand. 
 
 Dreadful was the state to which the perusal of this an- 
 nouncement reduced, or rather elevated, Harbottle. Anger 
 
 — surprise — remorse — terror, all were at once operating 
 upon his mind. What had he said or done — what had 
 been the immediate cause of her flight ? — not love — not 
 guilt. No — no — the object of her guilty love — as he 
 had deemed it — was dead. Was it in an agony of sorrow 
 for his loss that she had fled ? — no — t/utf could not be^ 
 for she could not have known of it — yet she might. It 
 was scarcely possible — whither was she gone ? — she had 
 no relation but an aunt, of whom she knew nothing. What 
 was he to do .'' he should become the by- word, the mark 
 for scorn to point his finger at — and all that he had 
 dreaded far beyond the loss of her of whom he Avas so vain 
 
 — the ridicule of the world — would fall upon him — ridi- 
 cule — contempt perhaps. But he would undeceive the 
 world, he would exhibit his wife's conduct in its proper 
 point of view — would he ? — what bad she done — how 
 had she misconducted herself ? Could Hollis substantiate a 
 crime against lier ? — could he safely attribute to the ill- 
 fated Harvey, now stretched upon the paliet-bcd of the 
 '' worst inn's worst room," guilt or intrigue ? — Hollis 
 would say any thing — and, with his views of religion and 
 morality, would not scruple, pw-haps, to substantiate his 
 evidence by an oath — but what could he say ?
 
 THE parson's daughter. 217 
 
 Lovell was to give him all the intelligence he was to 
 receive about his wife — how was this ? — if she had been 
 guilty, she would not have made him her confidant — how 
 far had she trusted him ? — had she betrayed the last night's 
 conversation ? — had she proclaimed him — what ? — that 
 be dare not ask himself. His quivering lips, his trembling 
 knees, and his parched throat, were all of them proofs how 
 mxich he dreaded, as well as regretted, Fanny's flight. 
 
 He had not courage to see any of the party — all of 
 whom, as has just been mentioned, were on the point of 
 flying from the centre of affliction — but mounted his 
 horse, and cantered homewards, nearly unconscious of what 
 he was doing. 
 
 '' Send Hollis to me," were his first words on his arrival 
 at Binford. 
 
 He passetl across the hall and through the drawing- 
 room : there lay her work — on a table were her gloves — 
 her writing-desk — the pen with which she had written 
 her last, last letter ; there were the flowers her hand had 
 placed, the evening before, in one of the vases on the 
 chimney-piece — they were still fresh and fragrant, but 
 she that had placed them there was gone ; the book from 
 which she had been reading to him lay open at the very 
 page where she had ceased, and a copy, which at his desire 
 she was making of a drawing of his favourite dog, lay by 
 his side. Base and barbarous as he might have been, the 
 pang he then felt was almost punishment sufficient to atone 
 for all his cruelty to her. 
 
 Where was she ? — she that he had loved — adored — 
 with all the love and adoration of which he was capable — 
 the pride of his heart, the ornament of his house — gone 
 — gone ! and, as she had said, for ever. On his knees 
 would he now have supplicated for hours to see her again 
 in her wonted place — again smiling — again attending to 
 his wants, and even anticipating his wishes. AVhat was to 
 be done .^ 
 
 " I thought it best to send the note to you," said Hollis : 
 " I was sure my mistress never meant to return." 
 
 " Is Devon with her } " 
 
 " No, sir," said Hollis, " no human being from this
 
 218 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 accompanies her, iior did she take with her one single article 
 of dress. She left the house before / was up. Djvon did 
 not see her before her departure. I heard afterwards that 
 she had been at the Parsonage, and I thought it might be 
 only some early expedition with Miss Lovell j but when I 
 saw the letter I thought differently." 
 
 " Have you enquired how she went from Binford/ " 
 
 " In Mr. Lovell's carriage; that I found out at the 
 George. It has not been away more than an hour. I 
 understand they were going towards Bath." 
 
 " What do you mean by they ? " 
 
 " Miss Lovell is gone with my mistress/' said Hollis. 
 
 " Miss Lovell gone with her ! " 
 
 " Yes — so that any notion of her meeting Mr. Harvey- 
 is out of the question." 
 
 " Harvey !" exclaimed Harbottle, " Harvey — meet 
 him ! What ! haven't you heard — Harvey is dead — a 
 corpse — stiff — cold! Harvev — no! no!" 
 
 " Dead !" said Hollis. " What, murdered ?" 
 
 " No, no !" said Harbottle ; " who should murder him? 
 
 — an accident. His horse, it is supposed, ran away with 
 him on returning from Colonel Biadfield's last night, and 
 pitched head foremost with his master on him, into a gravel- 
 pit, which has been incautiously left open on Bruustead 
 Common." 
 
 " Was he at Colonel Bradfield's last night ? " said Hollis. 
 
 '^ He was." 
 
 " And found dead this morning ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Harbottle ; " would he had been dead a 
 year ago I " 
 
 " Ay, so indeed ; and it had been well, and I believe 
 our mistress would have been here to-day," said Hollis; 
 " but the accident is strange." 
 
 " Not strange at all. He had drank much wine, the horse 
 he rode was that bay which he had here — always a runaway, 
 
 — and I suppose, in his harum-skaruni way of liding across 
 a country, he pitched into the pit before he was aware of 
 his danger." 
 
 " There'll be an inquest on tlie body, of course.''" said 
 Hollis.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 219 
 
 " Of course, to-day. What evidence can be adduced, I 
 cannot see ; for who is to be a witness to an accident which 
 happened on a dark night, to a man alone on a heath, it 
 would be difficult to guess.'' 
 
 " That's true," said Hollis; " but who saw him last?'' 
 
 " That's more than I know," said Harbottle: " it's a bad 
 thing, and a shocking thing, and at any other time I should 
 have felt it more than now ; when, besides all other circum- 
 stances connected with his name and conduct,! have a sorrow 
 of my own, much deeper than any which the sorrows of 
 others can afflict." 
 
 " My advice, sir," said Hollis, '^ to you, in the business, 
 as regards my mistress, is not to disturb yourself about it. 
 Now she is gone, I declare, to my mind, I don't believe she 
 ever cared about you — never valued you as she ought to 
 have done. If I were you I would make her a suitable al- 
 lowance, and live on, as comfortable and as happy as a prince 
 without her." 
 
 " Unfeeling scoundrel!" said Harbottle: "how dare you 
 presume to utter advice to me, a master for whose respect- 
 ability you have pretended to have a care !" 
 
 " I spoke but what I thought," said Hollis : " the mo- 
 ment a woman — a lady, I mean, I beg pardon — but, ladies 
 or not ladies, they are all much the same — shows that she 
 cares nothing about her husband, why, then, what I say is, 
 her husband " ■ 
 
 '^ Care nothing ! Hold your tongue, this instant," said 
 Harbottle : " leave me — get out of my sight : it is to yon, 
 rather than to your mistress, I owe all this misery, this heap, 
 this accumulation of wretchedness that I feel, and from 
 which all my money, ten times told, can't release me. Yon, 
 sir, it was, who first excited my suspicions about the unfor- 
 tunate, poor, lost Harvey !" 
 
 " Poor !" muttered Hollis : " oh, he pities Jiim, and / 
 am a scoundrel I " 
 
 If Mr. Hollis had not known the violence of his master's 
 temper, and moreover been quite clear as to the side on which 
 his " bread was buttered," he would have made that mas- 
 ter such an answer as would have astounded him ; but he 
 was a patient creature, he knew into what this fever of tern-
 
 220 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 per would subside, and was quite certain that in the next 
 twelve hours he should have the Squire as much under com- 
 mand as ever. Only let the master or mistress condescend 
 to make the servant a friend, the tables are turned in the 
 twinkling of an eye, and the menial ceases to be the inferior. 
 In Hollis's hands, the purse-proud Squire had placed him- 
 self; to him had he humiliated himself even into the request- 
 ing rather than ordering (for it forms no specific part of the 
 servant's duty), to pry, and listen, and pick up intelligence 
 connected with the domestic proceedings of his own esta- 
 blishment; and now, because the results of his inquisitorial 
 system had been most calamitous, he found himself at the 
 mercy of the fellow with whose insolence and revengeful 
 malignity he had the misery of being threatened. 
 
 Harbottle — and that astonished his familiar — although 
 evidently shocked and startled by the flight of his wife, 
 was less agitated by that event, which, HoUis thought, would 
 have excited bim most violently, than by the death of Har- 
 vey, which the same discerning individual seemed to think 
 ought to have had no terrors for him. The Squire, how- 
 ever, resolved upon proceeding to the Rectory instantly, and 
 making such enquiries as he considered necessary as to 
 Fanny's arrangements, and as to the reasons she had given 
 Lovell for her svuldcn adoption of the measure M'hich she 
 had taken. It is quite possible that he was not himself 
 conscious of all that had passed the preceding evening, and 
 certain it is that he was not prepared for what he was to hear 
 from the lips of his reverend friend, for whom he had really 
 a great respect, and for whose pious and exemplary character 
 he perhaps never felt a higher regard than at a moment 
 ■when he felt himself lowered to a pitch of misery and degra- 
 dation, hitherto beyond his imagination, and at present far 
 beyond his expression. 
 
 He walked to the Parsonage — cursed as he passed his 
 own threshold by the servant who, under his own auspices, 
 had destroyed, him — sneered at by his groom-boys, and 
 most especially ridiculed by his housemaids, who peeped 
 from the bed-room windows as he ]iassed along to join in 
 the mockery that was going on below. Of his liability to 
 this sort of observation he was fully conscious, and to its
 
 THE parson's daughter. 221 
 
 unpleasantness most sensitively alive ; and his heart beat, 
 and his cheek blanched, as he approached the shops of 
 Binford, at the doors of which the red-faced bumpkins who 
 owned them were standing, with the bare apprehension that 
 they might be rude, or cold in their civility, or insolent in 
 their bearing ; but little did Harbottle know, however much 
 he gloried in it, of the influence which wealth possesses in 
 a community like that composed of ten-pound householders. 
 The "^ fat and greasy," and the " great unwashed," bowed 
 and smiled their best, as usual, and as they would have done, 
 if, like Bluebeard, he had cropped his ladies by dozens, and 
 had not been detected. But the bright-eyed wives and 
 daughters of the gentleman •' soap and tallow line," hidden 
 behind their muslin curtains and Venetian blinds, looked on, 
 and, in " their looking, looked unutterable things;" for, be 
 it understood, excellent and exemplary as Fanny was, the 
 female portion of the Binford population had been for the 
 last two years wondering how Mrs. Harbottle could endure 
 such a man, more especially as Mrs. Devon, who was a per- 
 fect oracle among the second-rate inhabitants, and who, at 
 that period, considered her mistress quite (as she called her 
 in writing of her) an '' angle," related such a collection of 
 historiettes connected with the disagreements between her 
 lady and her master, as led them to suppose that a very 
 slight strain upon the cord would snap it asunder. 
 
 Harbottle never before, in walking through Binford, felt 
 what he did on that memorable day ; nor was the wretched- 
 ness of his present feelings at all relieved by the anticipation 
 of the conversation which must ensue between him and the 
 Rector. He turned the different points of the case over in 
 his mind, and resolved, at all events, to rate his reverend 
 friend for permitting his daughter to accompany Fanny, 
 thus lending a marked and important sanction to a step 
 which, at that moment, he was prepared to contend, nothing 
 that he had either said or done could possibly justify. 
 
 In this state of turmoil and agitation he reached the gate 
 of the Parsonage-house. He rang the bell, and was ad- 
 mitted ; but such is the peculiar sensitiveness of human 
 nature at certain periods, that he felt a conviction that the 
 Rector's man, who happened to open the door, did not re-
 
 222 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 ceive him with the same respect which he was formerly 
 wont to use ; and when Miss Lovell — the aunt, who had 
 returned the preceding evening to give Emma her holiday 
 — rcss as soon as he came into the drawing-ronm^ and said, 
 more coldly, as it seemed to him than usual, that she would 
 herself go and tell her brother he was there, it struck him 
 that there was an alteration in her manner which nothing but 
 a family determination, decidedly against himself, could 
 have induced. 
 
 She (lid not re. appear ; nor did even the Rector's man 
 show himself again ; a small white-faced boy, who was 
 called " page" to aunt Eleanor, the sister, and who in that 
 character, superseding what commonly-minded persons were 
 accustomed to consider footboys, wore red seams down his 
 pantaloons, and two hundred and forty-eight white sugar- 
 loaf buttons on his jacket, came into the room, told the 
 Squire that the Rector would be glad to see him, and " mar- 
 shalled him the way that he should go." 
 
 The Squire entered the library in which his unhappy 
 wife had detailed her sorrows but a few hours before ; and 
 Mr. Lovell, having received him calmly, yet coldly, desired 
 that he might not be disturbed while Mr. Harbottle was 
 with him ; the pale-faced urchin with the buttons bowed 
 obedience, and the double doors of the sanctum were closed 
 upon the anxious pair. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The parent's partial fondness for a chili]. 
 
 An only child, can surely be no crime. Shirley. 
 
 The longest day must have an end. The morning so much 
 wished for, because it was the one immediately preceding 
 that on which Lord Weybridgo was to start for Binford, 
 dawned — his lordship rose — dressed, and proceeded to 
 breakfast, when, amongst various letters from different parts
 
 THE parson's daughter. 223 
 
 of England, one from his mother, larger in its size and im- 
 portant in its weight, first caught his notice — he broke 
 the seal and read : — 
 
 " Dale Cottage, Monday. 
 " My dear George, 
 " News, and of much importance, from a village like 
 this, may be unexpected — if I suspect rightly, it may be 
 unwelcome. So many events have been crowded into the 
 day, that the whole place is literally ringing with them, 
 and so very curious are they in their nature, that I scarcely 
 know where to begin. 
 
 " In the first place, prepare your mind for a shock — a 
 serious shock — your friend Mr. Harvey is dead ! — killed 
 last night as he was returning to Mr. Mordaunt's from 
 Colonel Bradfield's: he and his horse were both found, early 
 this morning, in a gravel pit which has been recently opened 
 on Broustead Common. This intehgence, I am sure, will 
 agitate and affect you, as indeed it agitated and affected me, 
 not only because I admired Mr. Harvey for his accom- 
 plishments and qualities, but because I know he was an in- 
 timate and favourite friend of yours : such, however, is the 
 fact. The coroner's inquest is to be held to-day; but as he 
 was galloping home alone, of course there can be no evidence 
 to show how the accident occurred, and therefore nothing ex- 
 planatory of the distressing circumstances can be expected. 
 "This melancholy occurrence is to be coupled with an- 
 other event wholly unconnected with it, but which affordsan 
 example of those curious coincidences which you and I have 
 so often discussed, as forming a striking part of the romance 
 of real life. Mrs. Harbotfle has eloped from the Squire — 
 she went off to-day, about twelve o'clock, nobody knows 
 why — nobody knows whither. She has not taken her 
 own maid with her nor any servant of the house. But 
 there is another circumstance connected with her flight 
 which, perhaps, will interest some people more than the 
 flight itself, — she is accompanied in her notable expedition 
 from her home by your innocent, shy, unassuming, unpre- 
 tending fair friend. Miss Emma Lovell, who, in the broad 
 face of day, has had the assurance to play companion to a 
 lady running away from her lawful husband.
 
 224 THE parson's DATTGHTER. 
 
 " These incidents, as I have just said, in one day, are 
 tolerably well for a quiet place like this. The Squire was 
 sent for home, after her departure, and returned to the 
 Hall. What steps he intends to take nobody here knows; 
 but at present he has exhibited no inclination to follow 
 the fugitive. I have seen nothing of him; but Mrs. 
 Harbottle's maid has told mine that he has been raving and 
 storming like a madman all the forenoon, more particularly 
 since his return from the Parsonage-house, whither he, in 
 the first instance, proceeded to enquire about his lady. 
 
 " I made particular enquiries whether ]\Irs. Harbottle 
 knew of the fatal occurrence to poor Mr. Harvey before 
 her flight, and I find that she could have known nothing 
 about it — nobody had been to Binford from Colonel Brad- 
 field's till long after her departure, and the Squire himself 
 only heard of it at the moment he arrived to join the day's 
 shooting. 
 
 " If, as is generally whispered here, the lady had made 
 an appointment to meet and go off, or rather go on', with 
 Mr. Harvey, the sudden intelligence of his death must 
 have been an awfully serious blow to her. But what 
 puzzles every body is the connivance of the grave, pious, 
 and venerable Parson in the expedition of his daughter in 
 the lady's company. Some people deduce from this event 
 an idea that Mrs. Harbottle has suffered some grievous 
 injury or ill treatment from her husband, and that Mr. 
 Lovell has lent her his daughter's character and reputation 
 to support her in the struggle. This I, for one, do not 
 believe, nor am I at all sure that the poor old man, even at 
 this moment, knows any thing about his girl's going. At 
 all events, Mrs. Harbottle has one satisfaction with which 
 to console herself; in falling, she has pulled down her 
 friend, for I hear that Popjoy's assistant, whom you re- 
 collect I recommended as an excellent husband to the inter- 
 esting young lady, has already declared off; so that you 
 see the Parson's Daughter is nearly as much damaged as her 
 imprudent and most probably guilty companion. 
 
 " To-niorrow, or the next day at farthest, I conclude 
 you will be here; and then, perhaps, you may sift out
 
 THE parson's daughter. " 225 
 
 some farther particulars : the sensation created in this 
 monotonous circle is quite extraordinary, 
 
 " I have had a very long letter from the Gorgons — 
 they quite rave about you ; but I have written to dear 
 Lady Gorgon that sort of letter in reply which she will 
 perfectly understand as a hope-killer for any of her girls. 
 The Duchess, too, tells me that you have promised to go 
 to them very soon, and " 
 
 " The Duchess may " — what, it is impossible 
 
 to surmise — but so exclaimed George when he came to her 
 Grace's name — throwing down his mother's letter, and 
 hiding his eyes with his hands — " Emma — gone — lost 
 to me — and herself — it cannot be! Why that croaking 
 doctor must deal with some familiar, to have threatened 
 me so earnestly with losing her — Emma — the pure — the 
 good — the beautiful — accompany a wife flying from the 
 arms and home of her husband? — It cannot be — I say 
 again, and again, it cannot be. I'll never go near Binford 
 — I'll never see that hated place again. — What could I 
 say to Harbottle? — what to Lovell ? — I dare not ask 
 them any thing concerning what has happened — and you, 
 too, my poor, kind friend, Harvey — you to whom I ad- 
 dressed the expression of all my feelings only yesterday — 
 anticipating that you would bound to meet me at Ullsford 
 to talk over our sorrows and hopes together — gone — dead! 
 is it all a dream? — Harvey dead — the honest hand that 
 pressed mine a few short days ago — cold — stiff — sense- 
 less — surely this must be some trick to cozen me — some 
 frightful story wrought up by my mother in a fit of frenzy, 
 to drive me for ever from the place so intimately associated 
 with all the people she has named — now dead — or, per., 
 haps, worse ! " 
 
 Lord Weybridge's first impression was to seek his old 
 friend, the Doctor ; but he felt himself at the moment 
 unequal to his society, not only because the numerous inci- 
 dents which had occurred would naturally give rise to 
 innumerable interrogations, which he was quite sure he 
 should have neither patience nor temper to answer, but 
 because he felt convinced that the Doctor would consider
 
 22() THE parson's baughter. 
 
 liimself amazingly strengthened in his dictum about not 
 marrying the Parson's Daughter^ by the recent extraordi- 
 nary occurrences, and would consequently deal out his 
 decisions upon that point so triumphantly as to drive him 
 half mad. 
 
 To what line of conduct Lord "VYeybridge might have 
 eventually committed himself, it is impossible to say, for 
 distracted as he was with his view of Emma's extraordi- 
 nary conduct, in countenancing and supporting Mrs. Har- 
 bottle^ and grieved to the heart as he was by the dread- 
 ful accident which had occurred to his amiable friend, he 
 was compelled, by circumstances over which he had no 
 control, to attend — as much as in him lay — to law busi- 
 ness of a nature so dry and dull, that even the gratifying 
 fact of his own exaltation and aggrandisement could 
 scarcely repay him for his application to the subject. It, 
 nevertheless, forced him to make that application, and 
 consequently draw, or rather drive, his attention from the 
 circumstances much more interesting to his heart and 
 mind, if not so vitally important to his property and pre- 
 tensions. 
 
 That he would have hastened his departure for Binford, 
 or made up his mind never to see it again, appeared 
 equally probable when he had read the dreadful accounts 
 contained in his lady-mother's letter. But whatever might 
 have been his resolution, it was stayed and checked by 
 another event, equally unexpected with either of the others 
 which have just been detailed, and which was neither more 
 nor less than the arrival, about the middle of the next day, 
 at the door of his lordship's hotel, of Lady Frances She- 
 ringham herself and her maid, in a " yellow and two," 
 with her tall footman, Robert, bumping his plush upon the 
 bar of the " chay," outside. 
 
 Iler ladyship had, previously to that morning, felt vari- 
 ous suspicions about the interest which her son took in 
 Binford, its politics and its inhabitants ; but whether the 
 real object of attraction were the Squire's lady or the Par- 
 son's Daughter, she had not, even up to that period, satis- 
 factorily to herself ascertained. She had now convinced 
 herself. If the reader recollects the precetling narrative.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 227 
 
 he will see how the discovery arose : — her ladyship had 
 received, by that morning's post, a letter from her son, di- 
 rected to the Lady Frances Sheringham, Dale Cottage, 
 Binford, which she had no sooner opened than she found 
 it was not intended for her, but on the contrary for his 
 friend Charles Harvey, at that time no more. George 
 had, it will be remembered, written a letter to his mother, 
 and another to his ill-fated friend, and sealed, addressed, 
 and despatched them both at the same time. In the con- 
 fusion of the moment he had mis-directed, and conse- 
 quently mis-despatched, his epistles — the result of which 
 confusion, not so uncommon in society as steady-going 
 methodical people may suppose, was the perusal by Lady 
 Frances of the following confidential and explanatory 
 epistle : — 
 
 " Tuesday evening. 
 " Dear Harvey, 
 " I verily believe that nothing upon earth is so delight- 
 ful as meeting with a little sympathy. I do assure you 
 our dinner and evening at UUsford were to me most agree- 
 able, so agreeable, indeed, that I am going to propose our 
 meeting there again on Friday. On that day I shall be 
 en route to Binford, whence I shaU take my mother to 
 Severnstoke, which she has never seen, and which now is 
 mine. I shall, therefore, if it suit your engagements, call 
 a halt at Ullsford, and repeat our last fishing and fowling 
 repast on Thursday. The Mordaunts can surely spare 
 you for one dinner ; and as your heart is not yet, I pre- 
 sume, quite at your own disposal, the thread-paper misses 
 of the house cannot have sufficient attraction to keep you 
 tethered to their apron-strings — they are indeed mordantes ; 
 but I think you are not likely to be a sufferer — so let me 
 hear that you will meet me. 
 
 " I hate any thing that sounds romantic, and am al- 
 most as great an enemy to what ladies of a certain age call 
 sentiment, as the veriest dandy in London. But, my dear 
 Charles, I honestly confess to you that Emma and her 
 beauties — not only personal and mental, but of disposition 
 and heart — are not to be got rid of — she is so natural, so 
 mild, so amiable, so gentle, and so good, and rely upon it,
 
 228 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 my dear friend^ however lax a man of the world may be 
 in his morality^ and however loosely he may appear to hold 
 the ' bonds of reason/ as some poet says, there is no being 
 — at least I hope, and even believe — so callous or de- 
 praved, as not to be affected seriously and most advantage- 
 ously by the sight of virtue and innocence like hers, 
 brought into play in their natural sphere of action, with- 
 out forcing, without pretension, without affectation. The 
 sinner's tear is a pearl of precious value ; and I am not 
 ashamed to admit to you — although I might not venture 
 to do it at my Lady Tom-Tit's soiree — that I have felt 
 one ready to start, when I have contemplated the excel- 
 lence of that exemplary girl, and thought to myself how 
 blest, how infinitely blest he would be, who could attach 
 to himself, and to his heart and soul, such tenderness, such 
 kindness, such affection, and such piety ! 
 
 " It is a dangerous theme. If I were to write all I 
 think and feel about this dear good girl, I verily believe I 
 should outwrite my most voluminous mother. My doom 
 is sealed : — either Emma Lovell is Lady Wey bridge, or 
 Lady Weybridge never exists during my lifetime. 
 
 " My good and fond parent, who is, I assure you, a 
 most admirable woman — spoiled, perhaps, a little by 
 flattery at her first outset in the world — will scarcely bear 
 to hear this determination; — and yet, how odd! She 
 married my father against the wishes of all her relations, 
 who, as I have heard, were most anxious that she should 
 set her cap at a duke of sixty-four ; and yet she took her 
 own way ; and, as far as worldly affairs go, her decision 
 has turned out well — for here I am, what I am. But I 
 am sure I should never get her to listen to my proposition 
 about dear Emma. That ahe has gentle blood in her veins, 
 who that has seen her can doubt ? That she has more 
 than gentle blood in them, I am prepared to contend with 
 my sensitive mother. Her mother was literally noble ; 
 and although you know enough of me, to know that I care 
 nothing for the small differences of name in the same 
 essential fluid, it may perhaps make a great difference in 
 my discussions with Lady Frances, who is a stickler for 
 such things, and, the other day, seriously justified some
 
 THE parson's daughter. 229 
 
 man who paid seven hundred pounds to the heralds, for 
 making out a pedigree, in which the principal charge was, 
 for kings, at iive shillings apiece: — a proper price for 
 crowned heads, I know you would say, if you wore in 
 spirits. It was an Irish gentleman of whom she was 
 speaking, as you may naturally suppose ; for kings were 
 never quite so plentiful in England ; and, I suspect, if the 
 Reform Bill passes, the scarcity, for the future, will be 
 even still more striking. 
 
 " I must not go on filling up this sheet with my rhap- 
 sodies. When we meet, my dear fellow, we may talk of 
 her — of her — ay ; and if you promise me, as your senior 
 
 — we sailors look sharply to seniority — to behave well, 
 give your own passions the curb, and allow mine the snaffle 
 
 — we will talk of another she — and a lovely one, too. 
 But remember, Charles, — yet why should I lecture — you 
 have taken your step — love is not to be trifled with if 
 you keep the field — retreat in good time, as you have most 
 judiciously done, and you will not, perhaps, be pursued. 
 
 " Oh, Harvey ! this horrid London — bad in its best 
 season — but now beyond endurance. I cannot tell you 
 how I look forward to Thursday — fresh air and fresh 
 manners — and that unsophistication which is so much 
 ridiculed here — but which holds out an assurance of per- 
 fect happiness — are to me essential — indispensable. I 
 must have them, Harvey — and so, my dear fellow, write 
 tome — write — but meet me you must at Ullsford on 
 Thursday. Entre nous — the blue eyes shall not be men- 
 tioned. You know what I mean. All I say is, meet me. 
 On the very brink of happiness myself, trust to me for 
 being a most worthy sympathiser in the sorrows of others. 
 Now, do not fail me, my dear Harvey, and believe me 
 truly yours, 
 
 " George Psha ! — what am I writing ! 
 
 " Weybridge." 
 
 "So so!" said Lady Frances, as she laid down this 
 mis-directed letter, " and have I, by an extraordinary 
 accident, after all discovered the real inclinations of my 
 son ! Now it comes clear as daylight to my mind's eye. 
 
 Q 3
 
 230 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Now I can understand his coldness to all his relations at 
 the present auspicious moment — his avoidance of all my 
 friends, and his anxiety to return here. And he thinks 
 his mother was spoiled by flattery, does he ? And he 
 believes that Miss Lovell has noble blood in her veins ! — 
 indeed ! — fifteenth cousin of the great aunt of an Irish baron, 
 perhaps. Miss Lovell to be Lady Wey bridge ! — to be 
 7ny daughter-in-law! — No, no, son George, that may 
 never be " 
 
 And thus she went on soliloquising, until she had 
 worked herself into the determination of the absolute ne- 
 cessity for immediate action. Something must be done 
 on the instant. George must not return to Binford. He 
 must not have the opportunity of hearing Emma's vindica- 
 tion from the lips of her venerable father, nor the justifica- 
 tion of his permission for her to accompany Fanny. If, 
 as she had really been told, Emma had generously and 
 considerately volunteered, under her father's sanction, to 
 make the journey to the residence of Mrs. Harbottle's 
 aunt, her merit and kindness would be instantly made 
 manifest, while the termination of their otherwise myste- 
 rious expedition at the house of the nearest female relation 
 she had, would rescue Mrs. Harbottle from any imputation 
 of blame. All these facts must unquestionably come to 
 the knowledge of George, if he were suffered to make liis 
 promised visit to the Cottage, and therefore the blow must 
 be struck instantly. Lord AFeybridge must be stopped in 
 London, and their journey to A\^orcestershire made with- 
 out reference to Binford, and without any deviation from 
 the straight road, in order to visit it. 
 
 On her way to London, Lady Frances took into her 
 consideration the course she should pursue with regard to 
 the letter, which had thus accidentally and unexpectedly 
 come to her hands ; and after a lengthened debate with 
 herself, she resolved altogether to conceal the receipt of it 
 from her son, judging, that, in the confusion which the 
 death of his friend must have occasioned in the Mor- 
 daunt family, either the letter which had of course been 
 misdirected to him by Lord AV^eybridge would be entirely 
 lost, or, if preserved, necessarily opened by some of his
 
 THE parson's daughter. 231 
 
 connections, who, when it was found to have been so'mis- 
 directed, would, in all human probability, forward it to 
 her ladyship ; her ladyship, in her anxiety to appear to 
 George perfectly disinterested, in her assaults upon the 
 propriety and respectability of Miss Lovell, losing sight 
 of the much more probable, as being the more obvious 
 course to be pursued — that of returning the letter, un- 
 opened, to the peer from whom it came franked. Strange, 
 however, as it may seem, her ladyship's silence was 
 effectual; for whether the letter were opened by servants 
 or accidentally mislaid, certain it is, it never turned up, 
 and Lord "VVeybridge never was in the slightest degree 
 enlightened as to the source of his mother's authentic in- 
 formation with regard to his real views and intentions. 
 
 Lady Frances, however, had a curious mind. If she 
 had an object to attain, she %vould always go about it as 
 engineers approach a fortified place, by a zig-zag, or like 
 a waterman, who looks one way while he pulls another. 
 A story Squire Harbottle used to teU in his happy days 
 might serve as an illustration of her ladyship's character. . 
 He had ordered one of his labourers to cut a path across 
 a field for the accommodation of his neighbours by short- 
 ening a distance between two given points. The man 
 obeyed his orders ; and when the Squire came to look at 
 the path, he found it, instead of being straight, and in a 
 direct hne from boundary to boundary, sinuous and snake- 
 like, upon which he abused the labourer for his stupidity. 
 The labourer looked sceptically at his master, and said, 
 '' Love your heart, sir, a path's never straight; it's out 
 o' the nature of a path to be straight." So was it out of 
 the nature of Lady Frances Sheringham's mind to be 
 straight, and she felt herself in the present instance fully 
 justified in exerting all her tact and trickery in carrying 
 the present principal object of her life — that of over- 
 throwing and utterly destroying tlie much-dreaded con- 
 nection between her son and the Parson's Daughter. 
 
 " My mother ! " exclaimed Lord A\'eybridge, as his 
 servant announced Lady Frances. 
 
 "^ Yes, dearest George ! " exclaimed her ladyship, run- 
 
 e 4
 
 232 TUE parson's daughter. 
 
 ning into his arms ; " I could not endure the thought of 
 the distress you must be suffering, on account of your 
 poor friend's death, in the midst of the worries of 
 business and the duhiess of London ; and I resolved to 
 volunteer my society. If you had come to me at Binford, 
 on your way to Worcestershire, it would have made nearly 
 forty miles difference in the journey ; now that I am here, 
 all that will be saved, and we can go to ^Worcestershire 
 direct. Tell me, my dear child, how are you ? " 
 
 " In health, well enough," said George ; " but in mind 
 diseased. The events with which your letter have made 
 me acquainted, only prove that rank and fortune cannot 
 alone secure happiness. So severe a blow has never fallen 
 upon me as that which your intelligence inflicted." 
 
 " The news of the death of one to whom we are 
 attached," said Lady Frances, " coming so suddenly, has 
 all the terror of a frightful dream ; it seems impossible, 
 and we vainly hope to awake from the terrible illusion. 
 Is it not curious, that such an event should have occurred 
 so near to the period of Mrs. Harbottle s elopement.''*" 
 
 " Curious, indeed," said George ; '' but strangest of 
 all is it, that she should have persuaded Emma Lovell to 
 accompany her, or that her father should have sanctioned 
 such a step, which he must have done. However, a few 
 days will clear up that part of the story, for if we do 
 not pass through Binford, going to Worcestershire, I shall, 
 at all events, see the poor old gentleman when 1 leave 
 you there, on our return." 
 
 " I don't think I shall go back to Binford,'' said Lady 
 Frances, '' till after Christmas. My present intention 
 i&, to go on from you to the north, and so remain till I 
 return from Grimsbury. Binford is so cut up and altered 
 by the events which have so unexpectedly occurred, and_, 
 as circumstances now stand, one must take a decided line 
 in the politics of the place — that I shall retire from it, 
 until it has again settled down into its wonted tranquillity. 
 I have made my arrangements ; the furniture is all to be 
 taken down, and the cottage, as you would say, to be 
 ' laid up in ordinary' till January, or, perhaps, Feb- 
 ruary."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 233 
 
 " If I ever see Binford again," said George, " I shall 
 see it before January." 
 
 " I was sure your feelings would be sadly excited about 
 the dreadful accident to Mr. Harvey," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " And, tell me," said his lordship, " did any thing 
 appear in the evidence before the coroner to account for 
 the destruction of my poor friend .'' " 
 
 '• Nothing," said Lady Frances ; " nothing beyond the 
 fact which I wrote to you ; the people have made a strong 
 representation of the dangerous state and position of the 
 gravel-pit ; but the precaution comes rather late. I never 
 saw a more powerful feeling than the event has created in 
 the neighbourhood." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said George. 
 
 And thus did Lord Weybridge continue enquiring, and 
 Lady Frances replying, until at length it occurred to them 
 both, that her ladyship might perhaps require some re- 
 freshment after her hurried journey, and they parted 
 only to meet again at dinner. 
 
 Lady Frances could not help congratulating herself on 
 the execution of her plan, and rejoicing greatly in the 
 readiness wdth which George had altered the arrangement 
 of taking Binford en route to his country house ; but she 
 still saw the difficulty she had to encounter in preventing 
 a correspondence between him and the Rector, which she 
 considered, as things stood, almost certain to be entered 
 upon. George, however, could not write to him that day, 
 and before the close of the next, she hoped she might 
 contrive to hit upon some expedient which should frustrate 
 the intention altogether. 
 
 The party at dinner was originally to have consisted of 
 Lord Weybridge, his privy-counsellor, MacGopus, and the 
 tutor of his late cousin, Mr. Crabshaw, whom he had 
 appointed one of his chaplains. This little junto was 
 agreeably increased by the unexpected arrival of Lady 
 Frances, who had never yet seen either of those gentle- 
 men ; for George before his elevation had never any liome, 
 except his mother's house or hotel, and, therefore, had no 
 opportunity of entertaining his own personal friends at, 
 what would else no doubt have been, his hospitable board.
 
 234 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 In anticipation of the arrival of the guests, and in an 
 interesting conversation about themselves, we shall for the 
 present leave ^the lord and the lady, and take a view of 
 events as they appear to be in progress in the country. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Your thoughts are still as much your own 
 
 As when you kept the key of your own breast. Drvden. 
 
 It has long been a question — and by many very zealous 
 persons — a question of vast importance, whether the 
 Eleusinian and Dionysian mysteries, the fraternity of 
 Ionian architects, and the Essenian and Pythagorean 
 associations were the same as those of freemasonry at the 
 present moment, varied only as the religious opinions and 
 rites of the different fraternities themselves differ. Huge 
 volumes have been written, and great names made in the 
 discussion of these topics, which, to the " profane" and 
 uninitiated, may appear not of such transcendent conse- 
 quence ; but we must leave them all, wherever they may 
 be found, to the contemplation of our reader, and content 
 ourselves with merely telling him that no lodge in the 
 world was ever more closely tiled than Lovell's library 
 during Harbottle's visit ; nor any secret more unattainable 
 than the history of what passed within its walls between 
 the Squire and the Rector, pending their interview. 
 
 He entered the Parsonage red and raving with rage, he 
 left it pale and subdued ; he spoke, as he entered, in a 
 tone of authority and passion, he quitted it with lowliness 
 and submission, and betook himself to the Hall, where he 
 remained for a short time only, and then departed in his 
 travelling carriage, as most people supposed, in pursuit of 
 his lady. 
 
 This, however, was not the case. She was not destined 
 to be so followed ; and on the second day from their de-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 235 
 
 parture, she and her friend reached the residence of her 
 much-talked-of aunt, the elder sister of her late father, a 
 venerable lady, rigid in her morality, wholly unused to the 
 world as it goes, a stranger to London for forty years, and 
 one of the most peculiar characters imaginable : she was 
 fuU of the anecdotes of her day, and of the period when 
 she had known a great deal of every body and every thing, 
 and when her father, the grandfather of Mrs. Harbottle, 
 was a man of wealth and importance. 
 
 Fanny, who, to Emma's great disappointment and even 
 vexation, had never gone one step farther in the disclosure 
 of her reasons for so abruptly quitting home, evidently 
 began to feel nervous and agitated as she approached the 
 house of the veteran Diana, to whose care she was about 
 to commit herself, and whose protection was so requisite 
 and important to her character in her present difficult and 
 delicate position. It was in vain Emma periodically re- 
 newed her enquiries on the subject ; she was met by her 
 friend with one of those " pray don't ask me's," which are 
 invincible, and the claims of friendship, which Emma, 
 upon a principle of duty to her father, could not hesitate 
 to admit. 
 
 Is it, however, to be supposed, that when the day ap- 
 proached on which George was to revisit Binford, and 
 when, even by Fanny's own statements, and the repetition 
 of the conversation she had with him, it was evident he 
 intended to make a formal proposal for Emma's hand, she, 
 withaU her friendship, all her fortitude, all her philosophy, 
 coidd keep her thoughts from wandering homeward ? a 
 tendency to which, it must be admitted, they the more 
 inclined, from the unusual, and to her unaccountable, re- 
 serve of Mrs. Harbottle. 
 
 She had sacrificed every thing for her, even from the 
 very first proposition she had made to the last, and yet she 
 was not deemed worthy of her friend's confidence. " In- 
 compatibility of temper" was to be the plea to her aunt 
 for her separation, backed and corroborated by a letter from 
 Lovell. But whatever old Miss Jarman might think of 
 the matter, Emma knew, for she had been told so much, 
 that " incompatibility of temper" was to be called the
 
 236 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 cause of their disunion ; but that^ in fact, it was not the 
 real source of the evil. Surely, placed as she was, she 
 ought to know the whole truth ; but no, her father had 
 entreated her not to press Mrs. Harbottle on the subject, 
 to which she had agreed ; convinced that she would, of 
 herself, communicate all the circumstances connected with 
 it : on the contrary, she found that she would communicate 
 none ; and as Emma's suspicions, during the progress of 
 their journey, turned more decidedly than ever towards 
 something connected with Charles Harvey, and she ven- 
 tured even to liint as much, Fanny's agitation and suffering 
 were visibly increased, and, as she had before done, she 
 earnestly entreated her never to let her hear his name 
 mentioned. 
 
 But there was another thing which mortified poor Miss 
 Lovell almost as much, if not quite, as the silence of her 
 friend upon her own particular affairs, which was, that 
 she never, or if ever, only cursorily alluded to hers. Once 
 or twice she expressed a regret, rather civil and formal, 
 though apparently sincere, that her misfortunes had been 
 the cause of taking Emma away from Binford at the very 
 point of time at which Lord ^Veybridge was expected ; but 
 she did not dwell upon the circumstance, she did not talk 
 about him, or his merits, or his attentions, or his affection ; 
 on the contrary, she maintained a sort of sullen silence, 
 which, particularly as far as his lordship was concerned, 
 was extremely unpleasant to Emma, and, moreover, had a 
 tendency to connect, in some way or other — how, she did 
 not, it is true, distinctly make out — her removal from 
 JJinford with his lordship's arrival there. 
 
 About the dusk of the second day's journey — not ex- 
 peditiously jierformed, for a carriage with a pair of horses 
 on the outside and a couple of ladies within, is seldom put 
 into any very ra])id motion — they reached the top of the 
 hill which commands a view of the town, in the neigh- 
 bour liood of which Miss Jarman's residence was situated. 
 The fading redness of the setting sun displayed to their 
 eyes the castle and church-tower, and the most prominent 
 buildings of the town, blended in one deep blue mass.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 237 
 
 fantastically shaped, and animated by the lighter blue and 
 curling smoke from the chimneys. 
 
 The post-boy, taking advantage of the moment to rest 
 his tired steeds, touching his hat, turned on his horse to 
 enquire whether he was to go across the mead, or along the 
 high road, to IMiss Jarman's. As not one individual of 
 the party had ever seen the town, the road, the mead, cr 
 Miss Jarraan, the question was hard to answer; but the 
 reply, " whichever is the shortest way/' was safe and 
 considerate ; except, indeed, that as much time was con- 
 sumed in traversing the worse road as would have been 
 expended in covering the longer distance on the better. 
 
 In going for the first time to a place, more especially 
 if any circumstances of interest are likely to result from 
 the visit, one feels, however glad for many reasons to have 
 finished the journey, a sort of regret that the moment of 
 arrival is at hand. It is true, that by the preconcerted 
 division of their progress into two days, Mr. Lo veil's letter 
 to Miss Jarman, which was to pave the way for ]\Irs.Har- 
 bottle and prepare her aunt for her reception, accompanied 
 by one from herself, would have been in her hands several 
 hours before they reached her residence, still there was 
 something awkward, and almost awful, in their meeting ; 
 for Miss Jarman, whose retirement from the world was 
 a matter of choice, had never accepted any of the invit- 
 ations of the Squire, of whom, however, it was in some 
 degree fortunate she had, from all she had heard of him, 
 formed a very unfavourable opinion. There was one pe- 
 culiarity for which she was rather remarkable : — with 
 every disposition for conversation, and a good deal of 
 general information and anecdote, she had not the faculty 
 of recollecting any thing in the world which she wished to 
 remember ; her mind was as quick and vigorous as ever ; 
 and this want of recollection did not in the slightest degree 
 affect her as to persons or objects, or places present, nor 
 did it curb her fancy or deaden her imagination ; but it 
 gave to her conversation a strangeness of character, which, 
 to any one — to every one who had not the pleasure of her 
 acquaintance — must unquestionably have the air of carica- 
 ture. Of this peculiarity, unluckily for her approaching
 
 238 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 visiters^ they were not, in the shghtest degree, aware; and, 
 certainly, if they had not both been absorbed in grief and 
 anxiety, the display of it would have caused, with their 
 perception of the ridiculous, a scene the very reverse of 
 what might be considered genteelj in the west of England. 
 
 As they crossed the mead, which they did with nearly 
 as much motion as a frigate would feel in a gale of Avind 
 off the Cape of Good Hope, the chariot pitching and roUing 
 terribly, the hollow barkings of two or three dogs pro- 
 claimed to their ears the position of the house, the exterior 
 of which their eyes were not destined distinctly to see; 
 suddenly their progress was checked by a low green gate ; 
 this opened, they moved with somewhat more of ease along 
 a narrow road, until a second gate arrested their career. 
 Having passed this barrier, the post-boy appeared to gain 
 considerable confidence, and putting on his horses, gave a 
 sudden turn into a third gate, and they found themselves 
 wheeled half round a gravel circle encompassing a bosquet 
 of laurel, laurestinus, and holly. 
 
 The door was opened, and a servant was ready to re- 
 ceive them. The dogs having duly announced their ap- 
 proach, the ladies alighted, Fanny trembhng excessively, 
 and Emma quite as nervous as it was necessary to be in a 
 state of uncertainty as to their reception : the lamp which 
 swung in the centre of the square ball (around which ran 
 a gallery protected by oaken balusters, in which two 
 servant-maids, one holding a candle in her hand, were 
 peeping over to look at the new arrivals,) burned dimly ; 
 and as the man preceded them across the marble floor 
 along a path of mat to the door of the drawing-room, 
 Fanny gave Phnma a look terribly expressive of her feel- 
 ings, and which Emma could not help thinking had some- 
 thing regretful in its character, eUcited, perhaps, by the 
 striking contrast which the chilly twilight of their new 
 abode afforded to the brightly illuminated, well;-warmed 
 corridors and vestibules of Binford, 
 
 ' What name shall I say, ma'am ? " said the servant. 
 
 Fanny was ashamed of mentioning hers, and Emma 
 afraid to ])ronounce her own. Havbottlc, to be sure, was 
 not a soft-sounding patronymic ; however, Emma un-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 239 
 
 (lertook to be spokeswoman^ and informed the servant. 
 The door was thrown open, and presented to view a re- 
 markably comfortable square room, low, but snug ; the 
 doors trimmed with gilt leather, and the windoAvs covered 
 by rich damask curtains ; a thick Turkey carpet concealed 
 the floor, excepting round the skirting-boards, where the 
 well polished oak proclaimed the antiquity of the man- 
 sion and the industry of the housemaids : a large wood fire, 
 the first they had seen that year, crackled in the grate, and 
 two small dogs, one a poodle, and the other a pug, both 
 very fat, and both wearing ribands and collars, as if it 
 were a gala day, were dozing on the rug, from which they 
 simultaneously rose to bark at the ladies as they entered. 
 
 Some few pictures adorned the walls ; two cages of 
 canary-birds hung near their mistress, and a huge grey 
 cat, with immense whiskers, who had for many years 
 been on terms of the most perfect amity with the dogs, 
 sat close to the old lady's chair, purring and winking in 
 the best possible temper. 
 
 " How do you do, ray dear niece?" said IMiss Jarman^ 
 laying down her spectacles and extending both her hands 
 towards Fanny : " I am vastly glad to see you. You 
 must excuse my getting up ; I am almost a cripple. Miss 
 
 — Miss . What is the young lady's name, Budd ? " 
 
 " Lovell, ma'am," said the toady. 
 
 " Ah ! jNIiss Lovell, I am happy to see you," continued 
 Miss Jarman ; "what sort of a — journey have you had — 
 I have got your father's letter — we shall discuss that 
 by-and-by — wo'n't you ? — Miss Budd — ring the — puH 
 the " 
 
 Miss Budd understood, and rang the bell. 
 
 "And have the goodness to show the — ladies — their — 
 what rooms ? " 
 
 " Sleeping rooms ?" 
 
 " Exactly. Take off your things — and we will order 
 
 — what d' ye call — the — thing — the tea and coffee — to 
 be ready when you come down " 
 
 In ordinary conversation Miss Jarman, who, as the 
 reader already knows, was somewhat advanced in years, 
 got on at the rate we have just ventured to exhibit. It
 
 240 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 was when she attempted narrative and tried her hand at 
 the descriptive, that her pecuharities more splendidly dis- 
 played themselves. 
 
 She was a fine-looking person, and Fanny was much 
 struck by a strong resemblance between the expression of 
 her countenance and that of her late father. Her reception 
 of them was kind and affectionate, and at once set Fanny's 
 heart at rest, as to the effect produced by Lovell's letter 
 and her own ; still she looked forward with a most dis- 
 agreeable sensation to the conversation which must in- 
 evitably take place after tea. 
 
 Miss Budd, Avho had resided for many years with 
 Miss Jarman in the capacity of companion, and had now 
 become absolutely necessary to her as interpreter, or rather 
 " flapper," was a tall, gaunt person, with a long face, and 
 a countenance of immovable inexpressiveness ; and, in 
 her opinion — but which she did not, of course, venture 
 to express — the conduct of the new visiter, in quitting 
 the protection of her husband, was only equalled in base- 
 ness on the part of Miss Jarman, by her ready reception 
 of the guilty fugitive under her roof. To be sure, cir- 
 cumstances might be explained ; and a clergyman would 
 scarcely pledge his character and reputation, or suffer his 
 daughter to be the associate of a female, who had con- 
 ducted herself impropeily ; but, however, she would wait 
 and see, and in either case say nothing. 
 
 During and after tea the depression of Fanny's spirits 
 became so evident, and her efforts to rally so unavailing, 
 that, by the unanimous decision of the other three ladies, 
 she was persuaded to retire — if not to sleep, at least to 
 rest. The whirl and rattle of the journey, and the 
 varying objects which had met her eye — even abstracted 
 as she had been — kept her mind, during their progress, 
 in a small degree diverted from the undivided consideration 
 of her own position ; but when she found herself seated 
 in a strange house, with persons unknown to her, in a 
 silence unbroken, except by the heavy ticking of a tall 
 japanned-casc clock in one of the corners of the room, 
 and contemplated the sudden change which the events of 
 eight-and-forty hours had wrought in her condition, and
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 241 
 
 recollected that she had chosen her course — that it was 
 now irrevocable — and that the intelligence of the morning 
 from Lovell would^ of course, be seriously important as 
 regarded her future character and conduct in the world, 
 she could no longer bear up ; and, accordingly, she was 
 led by Emma and Miss Budd to her bed-room, where, in 
 opposition to their wishes, more especially those of Miss 
 Lovell, she entreated to be left to herself. Her com- 
 panions returned to the drawing-room, much to the delight 
 of the rigid, frigid Diana, Miss Budd, who hoped that 
 Miss Jarman would take the opportunity of Fanny's 
 absence to extract as much information as ])ossible out of 
 her companion, upon which they might form a better 
 judgment, than they yet had been able to arrive at, as to 
 the circumstances of the case. 
 
 Miss Jarman, however, who, besides being better bred 
 than INIiss Budd, was, for family reasons, and, moreover, 
 because she had consented to receive and shelter her niece, 
 not at all inclined to throw more light upon the affair 
 than was just necessary, lest a too powerful illumination 
 might betray more than would be agreeable, resolved 
 rather upon leaving the main question untouched, and of 
 making herself acquainted with the disposition and con- 
 versational talents of Miss Lovell. 
 
 " Have you been much in London, Miss Lovell?" said 
 the okl lady. 
 
 " Not much," said Emma. " We were always in 
 town for iwo or three months every year till my dear 
 mother's deatVi ; but, since that event, we have been only 
 twice away from Binford." 
 
 " I was very fond of London once," said Miss Jarman ; 
 " but it is so altered, I dare say I should scarcely know 
 it. 1 am told they have taken up all the — what d'ye call 
 it. Miss Budd?" 
 
 " The pavement, ma'am." 
 
 " Yes — pavement ; and that Mr. what 's the 
 
 name of the man who came from the place where that 
 doctor who wrote th« — what d' ye call the book Avith the 
 words ? " 
 
 R
 
 242 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " Dictionary, ma'am," said Miss Budd. 
 
 "Dictionary — yes," continued Miss Jarman ; "where 
 he said the people eat — what's the name of the thing 
 they make water-gruel of?" 
 
 " Oatmeal, ma'am," said Miss Budd. 
 
 " Ah, oats. He said they eat oats ; I recollect now. 
 Well, that Mr. Somebody has taken up all the — what did 
 I say, Budd?" 
 
 " Pavement, ma'am," said Budd. 
 
 " Ay, pavement ; and put down pebbles instead." 
 
 " Oh, MacAdam," said Emma. 
 
 " Yes, MacAdam," said Miss Jarman. — '' Recollect 
 ]\Iiss Budd, always remind me of MacAdam — and that 
 must very much have altered the place; and they have 
 pulled down — I forget the name of the place — where the 
 Prince of — psha ! the king's eldest son lived, opposite the 
 man with the red — what d' ye call the thing in his button- 
 hole ? — the man who used to scrape my — ray " 
 
 " Teeth, ma'am," said Budd. 
 
 This, which no doubt appears caricature in writing, 
 was what Emma had to endure vird voce ; and the ease 
 and volubility with which it all glided over the lips of 
 Miss Jarman, who, being extended at her ease on a huge 
 arm chair, moved neither hand nor foot during her 
 oration, but only turned her head on her neck pivot- 
 wise towards Miss Budd, whenever she wanted a re- 
 freshener, was most marvellous. 
 
 " Every thing changes," continued the lady. " I re- 
 collect when nothing was too gay for me. I never missed 
 a night of the — that place where I used to go twice a 
 week, see what I did not hke, and hear what I couldn't 
 understand, and paid three hundred a year for a — what 
 d'ye call the thing?" 
 
 "■ An opera-box, ma'am," said Miss Budd. 
 
 "^ You are not old enough. Miss " 
 
 " Lovell." 
 
 " Miss Lovell, to remember another place that I, as 
 a girl, delighted in, where we used to walk round and 
 round a great room, like so many horses in a mill, to the 
 sound of horns and clarionets, in an atmosphere of tea-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 243 
 
 kettle smoke, smelling coffee and muffins — I do recollect 
 the name of that, Miss Budd — Ranelagh." 
 
 " I have had a great loss in being born so late," said 
 Emma, 
 
 " Why so ? " said Miss Jarman. " As I was saying 
 to Miss Budd, the other day, the discoveries of the last 
 twenty years have been such as to set us wondering, and, 
 as far as I am concerned, make one sorry to have been 
 born so soon." 
 
 It would be scarcely worth setting down the convers- 
 ation which was maintained between the two ladies, 
 with the interpolations of the refresher, nor should ihe 
 reader have been troubled Avith the small specimen here 
 offered, but to enlighten him as to the sort of society into 
 which poor Mrs. Harbottle had voluntarily plunged her- 
 self. Having taken the step, a removal from the pro- 
 tection of her aunt would be destruction ; and after a 
 tedious sitting of three hours of forgetfulness and recol- 
 lections, Emma, not yet knowing the nature or extent of 
 Fanny's provocations to flight, could not help thinking 
 that, if they arose from " incompatibility of temper," as 
 she had been told, she would find the remedy worse than 
 the disease ; or, at all events, much upon a par as an ex- 
 periment with putting on a perpetual blister to cure a tem- 
 porary disorder. 
 
 She visited Fanny before she went to her own room — 
 she found her awake — bathed in tears, and pale as death. 
 It was her own desire that she should not be visited by 
 any of the family until Emma retired to rest — a smile 
 of friendship and affection beamed through the sorrowful 
 expression of her lovely countenance as she extended her 
 hand to her kind companion, and to the enquiry how she 
 felt, her reply that she should be better to-morrow, struck 
 Emma as having something extremely peculiar in its man- 
 ner and emphasis : there was a wildness and an earnest- 
 ness, even a solemnity in it, uncommon, unusual in the 
 tone of Fanny's voice, and in her way of speaking; it 
 seemed to imjily much more than Miss Lovell could com- 
 prehend — the words, too, were followed by another gush of 
 tears.
 
 244 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Emma knew that her father was to write after having 
 seen the Squire ; she had heard him promise that ; and he 
 had promised, also, that she should have a letter from 
 him ; but no letter, let its contents be what they might, 
 could have the effect of altering Fanny's position ; be- 
 cause, although she had sedulously concealed the imme- 
 diate circumstances which had produced the separation, 
 she had more than once during the journey declared that 
 no earthly power could induce her ever again to see her 
 husband. 
 
 At one moment a horrible idea entered Emma's mind — 
 she thought she knew the principles and character of her 
 friend too well to entertain it — yet, for the instant, it 
 flashed across her imagination. She thought that Fanny 
 meditated some rash act by which she should terminate 
 an existence, now, as she had repeatedly declared, grown 
 irksome to her ; but, no ! — a moment's reflection assured 
 her of the impossibility of such conduct on her part ; and 
 although she entreated her to let her sleep on a sofa which 
 was in the room, and remain near her during the night, 
 she felt no apprehension when Fanny insisted upon her 
 going to her own bed, to take the rest of which, after their 
 journey, she must stand so much in need, that she left 
 her in any danger from her own hand. 
 
 She enquired of Emma if lier conduct had been the 
 subject of their evening's conversation, and felt well 
 pleased with her aunt's delicacy and consideration, when she 
 found it had not been so much as touched upon. The 
 old lady had received both her and Miss Lovell merely 
 as visiters whom she expected, and, conscious how pain- 
 ful any recurrence to the topics, nearest her heart as well 
 as theirs, must be, reserved for a private interview with 
 her niece, at some more seasonable opportunity, those en- 
 quiries which she might think proper to make, proving by 
 her warmth and kindness that she was perfectly satisfied 
 with the general impression she had taken of the deUcate 
 affair. 
 
 Emma, in saying what had not been the subject of 
 their conversatioji, did not tell Fanny the nature of the 
 conversation which really did take place, nor point her at-
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 tention to the extraordinary failing of her venerable re- 
 lation, convinced that Fanny would in an instant detect 
 the old lady's habitual forgetfulness, which in brighter 
 days no doubt would have had its full effect upon her 
 then joyous disposition ; but Emma could not help think- 
 ing to herself, that however warm the reception she had. 
 •met with, and however kind the old lady's manner to- 
 wards her might be, she was not sorry that her stay was 
 not to be prolonged beyond a week or ten days at the 
 farthest, although she deeply regretted the absolute necessity 
 of leaving her sorrowing friend behind her. 
 
 While this most respectable and amiable family are 
 asleep, or at least when 
 
 " All did sleep. 
 
 Whose weary hearts could borrow 
 One hour from care and love to rest" 
 
 it may not be improper to introduce the reader to another 
 member of it, who did not make his appearance during 
 the evening of the arrival of the ladies, but who had been 
 staying for some weeks at Miss Jarman's. 
 
 This other member formed, perhaps, an addition to the 
 old lady's family circle, not exactly anticipated by either 
 of the travellers ; and it might appear strange, even to 
 the reader, that the name of the individual had not even 
 been mentioned during the long conversation between the 
 ladies in the drawing-room. 
 
 The individual in question was a young French count, 
 Alexis de jNIontenay by name, who had been staying, as 
 it afterwards turned out, v.ith JMiss Jarman for several 
 weeks. He was the son of an old friend of hers, and 
 having been in some degree Anglicized by education, had 
 become a regular visiter at her house once or twice in 
 every year. The distance at which Miss Jarman lived 
 from Fanny, and the very casual intercourse which existed 
 between them, confined entirely to correspondence, and 
 even, in that respect, restricted to a seasonable letter of 
 good wishes at Christmas, will account for her not having 
 been prepared to find such a visiter there. Indeed, if 
 she had been aware of the circumstance, knowing, as she 
 did, the ill-nature of the world and the vindictive spirit 
 
 B 3
 
 246 THF parson's daughter. 
 
 of her husband, it might have altered her intention of 
 throwing herself under the care of her aunt, whose man- 
 sion she considered to be, as, indeed, it looked very like, 
 a sort of Protestant nunnery, in which all the rigid ob- 
 servances of such establishments were maintained, without 
 any of the mummery and hypocrisy so generally to be found 
 in them. But to find the dull circle of Mopeham House 
 enlivened by the wit and vivacity of a French count, an 
 Alexis de IMontenay, was what neither of the lady tra- 
 vellers expected. 
 
 So, however, it was; and when Emma was being 
 dressed, the announcement of the fact was made to her by 
 her maid, who not only told her that there was a French 
 count in the family, but that she had seen him — that he 
 had spoken to her — and thence she proceeded to eulogise 
 his beauty and affability, in terms which made JMiss Lovell 
 wonder. She felt no gentle alarms, no tender fears for the 
 safety of her own heart, but she certainly did think, as far 
 as the sound of the thing went, it was not the most for- 
 tunate circumstance in the world as related to her friend, 
 placed, as she was, in so very delicate a situation. 
 
 Fanny was made acquainted with the intelligence as 
 soon as limma visited her, but she was not in a state to 
 take an interest in any thing that might happen. The 
 dread, the anxiety, the wildness, at which Emma had 
 treinblcd the night before, still oppressed and agitated her, 
 and it was with tlie greatest difficulty she could speak even 
 toiler constant and faithful companion. Her earliest en- 
 quiry was " at what hour the post came in ? " On the 
 receipt of letters all her anxiety appeared to be fixed ; and 
 when at last they actually arrived, it was in a fit of some- 
 thing like frenzy that she rallied all her energies, and, 
 starting up in her bed, broke the seal of that which she 
 recognised as coming from Lovell.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 247 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1 would by contraries execute all things. SaARSPEiRE. 
 
 It will be recollected by the reader, perhaps, that we left 
 Lord Weybridge at his hotel in London, waiting, with 
 his lady-mother, the arrival of Dr. MacGopus and the 
 chaplain to dinner. It is necessary to the conduct of our 
 history to revert to those important personages, and leave 
 our poor suffering friend, Mrs. Harbottle, to the uninter- 
 rupted perusal of her much-wished-for despatch. It is 
 also necessary to add, that their expectations with respect 
 to their visiters were only half realised ; the Doctor came, 
 but the chaplain sent an apology for his absence. 
 
 It turned out that Lady Frances was extremely pleased 
 with MacGopus; for, although the Doctor had something 
 bj-usque and abrupt in his manner towards men, he was, 
 by comparison, as soft as oil and sweet as honey to the 
 ladies. His entire want of sentimentality rather operated 
 against him in her ladyship's opinion, and at any other 
 time might perhaps have proved fatal to his progress in 
 her good opinion ; but at the present moment, as he took 
 the turn of rallying George upon his romantic attachment 
 to the Parson's Daughter, it was extremely gratifying to 
 her, most particularly now, that she had herself ascer- 
 tained, under his own hand, that her son was so entirely 
 devoted to her. 
 
 "^ I told him," said the Doctor, " before your ladyship 
 came to town, what a silly thing it would be to go and. 
 commit himself to a young woman like that. I admit 
 Emma is a very pretty name, and is associated in my 
 mind with as charming a creature as ever lived ; and his 
 lordship is pleased sometimes to joke me thereupon ; but I 
 am one person and he is another, and he himself is another 
 person from what he was a fortnight ago." 
 
 " Exactly," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " And as I tell him, my lady," continued MacGopus, 
 
 & 4
 
 248 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 taking a huge pinch of snuflF, " the very change in his 
 position ought, as well for her sake as his own, to make a 
 change in the whole affair. The young hody might do 
 admirably well for the wife of a half-pay commander in 
 the navy, who would be iU at ease as a peeress of the 
 realm, and " 
 
 "No — but. Doctor," interrupted Lady Frances. " George's 
 position in society is not so much altered by his unexpected 
 accession to the title : he was always of the same blood, 
 you know — noble on both sides — and 7 should havehad just 
 as much objection to the match while he was a commander 
 in the navy, and my son, and Lord Pevensey's nephew, 
 and Lord W'eybridge's cousin, as I have now." 
 
 '■' Qucre, my lady," said MacGopus, " how did your 
 ladyship's family come by the title of Pevensey ?" 
 
 "Oh, hang it," interrupted George, "what has that to 
 do with the subject we are discussing } The point upon 
 W'hich you choose to give your advice, and upon which we 
 entirely differ, is that of the eligibility of Miss Lovell to 
 be Lady Weybridge. My mother says she thinks I am 
 . not one bit exalted by my adventitious accession to the 
 peerage, and therefore the thing is at an end. I quite 
 agree with her ; and as I had made up my mind to marry 
 Miss Lovell when I was Captain ShoringJiam, I can carry 
 that intention into practice as Lord "Weybridge, witiiout, 
 as she admits, incurring eitlier her displeasure or dis- 
 approbation." 
 
 " Stop, now," said MacGopus, with an expression of 
 sometliing like anticipated satisfaction at what he was 
 going to say playing about his mouth ; " when you was 
 Captain Sheringham, Miss Lovell bad not been the com- 
 panion of a fugitive wife on a runaway expedition." 
 
 "Oh, for shame, MacGopus," said Lord Wey bridge; 
 " how can you attach any importance to that event } Do 
 you imagine that a man like Mr. Lovell, a clergyman of 
 the Establishment, exemplary in every point of his cha- 
 racter, would have permitted his child to be the partner 
 of such an expedition, unless he had satisfied himself, 
 l)eyond the chance of deception, of the purity and pro- 
 priety of Mrs. ILirbottle's character,?"
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 249 
 
 " I don't know," said MacGopus : " the clergy of 
 your church are no better than they should be." 
 
 " And who amongst us is } " said Lord "NVeybridge : 
 " I am vexed to hear a man of sense and judgment^ like 
 yourself, fall into a vulgar cry against our clergy. Take 
 them collectively, or individually, and I will stake my 
 existence, that, with fewer exceptions than are to be found 
 proportionably in any other profession, such a body of 
 men of piety, learning, charity, and benevolence is not 
 to be found on the face of the globe as the clergy of the 
 Church of England." 
 
 "George," said the Doctor, chuckling with delight; 
 " what d' ye think of Dr. Doddipole, of the Grampus, who 
 ■went to prayers with " 
 
 '' Think!" interrupted Lord Weybridge — whose mother, 
 by the way, invariably started back in her chair, and stared 
 •whenever MacGopus called his lordship George — "I 
 think he was a disgrace to his cloth ; but you are not to 
 judge the many by the scoundrel few — you are not to 
 stigmatise four or five thousand gentlemen because of their 
 profession there are four or five vagabonds ; nothing in 
 the whole world is more detestable and degraded than a 
 sensual, dissipated parson." 
 
 " One thing, if you please," said MacGopus ; " a shabby, 
 sneaking, shuffling attorney — and, exactly as much op- 
 posed to the high-minded, gentlemanly, well-bred prac- 
 titioner in that branch of the law as " 
 
 " Your friend Dr. Doddipole is to my friend Mr. 
 Lovell," said Lord AFeybridge. 
 
 " Stop, now," said MacGopus, " who is Mr. Lovell ?" 
 
 " Why, psha ! " said George ; " who is Mr. Lovell ? " 
 
 " Don't be angry, my dear George," said Lady Frances, 
 who was not exactly aware of the terms upon which her 
 son and his prime minister were in the habit of living; 
 " the Doctor didn't remember at the moment." 
 
 " Not he — he argues only to provoke me; and if I 
 were base, mean, and wicked enough to turn my back on 
 .this dear delightful girl, to whom I feel myself bound by 
 honour and affection, he would be the first to reproach 
 me with my heartlessness and infidelity."
 
 250 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " Not I/' said MacGopus, again taking snufF : " I have 
 said you 'II never marry her — I don't see why you 
 should." 
 
 " I quite agree with the Doctor," said Lady Frances ; 
 " and 1 am very much indebted to him for having drawn 
 you into so clear a declaration of your feelings and opinions 
 with regard to the young lady." 
 
 " I see no necessity for disguise/' said George, " and 
 therefore cannot perceive the great advantage derivable 
 from the Doctor's perverseness and ill-breeding." 
 
 '' My dear ! " said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Oh, my lady," said the Doctor, as deliberately as if he 
 had been fighting or amputating, at both of which per- 
 formances he was universally allowed to be a remarkably 
 steady hand — '^' that's only his way of talking — it is 
 mighty easy to call that ill-breeding which does not ex- 
 actly suit our fancy at the moment. I know, profession- 
 ally, that no physic is pleasant and no operation particularly 
 agreeable. But the patient, when his cure is complete, 
 is always grateful to the Doctor, although he wishes him 
 at Old Nick while he is actually suffering under his 
 discipline." 
 
 " All that," said Lord Weybridge, " is vastly fine and 
 vastly clever, I dare say, and may amuse my mother ; but 
 I do not see what earthly right you can possibly have to 
 interpose advice in a cause where you are retained by 
 neither party." 
 
 " It puts your Lordship into a passion," said MacGo- 
 pus, " and that 's something." 
 
 " It does put me into a passion, and I admit it," said 
 Lord Weybridge ; " and when you are in one of these 
 infernal humours, I most heartily and sincerely wish you 
 at Jericho." 
 
 " Quere, now," interrupted the Doctor — " about Jer- 
 icho — do you think that the Zakoun of our time is the 
 same thing as the old balm of Mecca.'' " 
 
 " Stuff! " said his lordship. 
 
 "No stuff at all," said the Doctor ; " I have been there 
 and tasted the Myrabolam, the date, and the opobalsamum.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 251 
 
 and I wanted to know if you could give me any inform- 
 ation." 
 
 " The deuce take it all ! " exclaimed his Lordship, un- 
 able any longer to endure the torture of the Doctor's im- 
 perturbability, and starting from his chair, he bounced 
 out of the room, banging the door after him with a report 
 like that of a thirty-two pound carronade. 
 
 " There," exclaimed Frances, " now he 's off." 
 
 " He '11 come back again, my lady," said the Doctor, 
 taking more snuff: — " your ladyship has known him longer 
 than I have, but I have seen more of him than your 
 ladyship has — he ought not to marry this young lady — 
 he is not pledged to her — and " 
 
 " My dear Doctor," said Lady Frances, " I am sure 
 you %vill forgive my earnestness ; but, seeing how com- 
 pletely we agree upon this point, let me entreat you, use 
 the influence you possess over him and put an end to it — 
 I have secured him from visiting Binford." 
 
 " Stay, my lady, — where 's Binford ? " said the Doctor. 
 
 " Binford ? " said her ladyship, not yet perfectly aware 
 of the Doctor's peculiarities, and wondering at the question 
 — " vvhy, Doctor, Binford is the place where my cottage is, 
 and where " 
 
 " Oh, I see," said the Doctor. " Go on, my lady." 
 
 *' I say, I have effectually prevented his return there ; 
 at all events, for the present." 
 
 " Stop, my lady," said the Doctor — '• why should you 
 prevent his returning there ? " 
 
 " In order," said Lady Frances, " to put an end, if 
 possible, to his connection with the Parson's Daughter." 
 
 " Quere," said MacGopus — " why should you wish 
 to put an end to his connection with the Parson's Daughter? 
 Many peers have married parsons' daughters — many 
 peers are parsons themselves. If she is goofi, and amiable, 
 and accomplished, I don't see " 
 
 " Why, mercy on me ! " interrupted her ladyship, 
 " haven't you yourself been arguing against the connec- 
 tion ? Haven't you yourself pointed out all the numerous 
 objections ? " 
 
 "■ To be sure I have," said the Doctor, -with one of his
 
 252 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 subdued laughs, " but that was only for argument's sake. 
 George is all for marrying her ; I therefore differ from 
 him. You are altogether against the match, upon totally 
 different grounds ; therefore I differ from your ladyship.'' 
 
 " How extremely provoking ! " said Lady Frances ; 
 " then you were not in earnest when you supported me in 
 my views while my son was present ? " 
 
 '"^ Never more in earnest in my life," said MacGopus. 
 
 " I really do not comprehend your character. Doctor," 
 said Lady Frances, somewhat angry. 
 
 " You never will," said MacGopus. "Your son is old 
 enough — wise enough — and now rich enough, to make 
 a choice ; why should 1 interfere ? If I advised him not 
 to marry, he would still marry if he chose ; and I should 
 have the satisfaction of making his wife my enemy for 
 life, with the certainty that she would make him hate me 
 too; and if he followed my suggestions, the same results 
 would arise, with this only difference — that, in addition 
 to herself, all the young lady's family would hate me into 
 the bargain." 
 
 " But he considers you his prime minister — his first 
 counsellor." 
 
 " No, he does not/' said IMacGopus. " If he respected 
 my advice, or cared for my opinion, he would not bounce 
 about and burst out of the room." 
 
 " But you irritate him by your inveterate coolness, 
 which is so strongly opposed to his own fervour and 
 volatility." 
 
 "That 's the only chance I have of keeping him steady," 
 replied the Doctor. " 'i'our ladyship will see in a quarter 
 of an hour, when the effervescence has subsided, he will 
 come back again, a most calm and reasonable creature." 
 
 " For my part," said Lady Frances, " I do not think 
 calmness always a proof of rationality." 
 
 " I do," said j\Iac(iopus. 
 
 " VV'hy, now," continued her ladyship, " look at George. 
 You talk of his effervescence subsiding — I know that, 
 with all that appearance of unsteadiness and thought- 
 lessness, his attachments are firm and lasting." 
 
 " They are no such thing, my lady," replied the pro-
 
 THE parson's daughter, 253 
 
 Yoking stoic ; " I have seen more of his attachments than 
 you possibly can have seen — he 's a weathercock — a dog- 
 vane. The scud in the sky is not more easily affected by 
 the wind than he by variety. At Madras, he " 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear sir," said Lady Frances ; " but 
 those were youthful indiscretions, and mere heartless flirt- 
 ations, and " 
 
 " No such thing, my lady," said the Doctor : " each 
 one of them was just as serious as the present affair; but 
 change, change did it, and may do it again. I don't 
 advise, as I have already said ; but if you want this Par- 
 son's Daughter to be driven out of his head, throw him 
 into the society of something new — and pretty — and 
 gay — and graceful, and you '11 see the result." 
 
 " It is the very experiment I am about to try," said her 
 ladyship : '^ I mean to persuade him to collect a small 
 agreeable party at his place in AVorcestershirc, and amongst 
 them I shall secure one or two famiUes of the very best 
 sort, who have amongst them three or four of the most 
 attractive girls of the year." 
 
 " Do no such thing," said MacGopus ; " find out one 
 family with one daughter, and have them down if you 
 please. If she is amiable and handsome, she will appear 
 ten thousand times more amiable, seen quietly in domestic 
 life, without the excitement of rivalry, or the compulsion 
 to show off. Let her be fair, gentle, and unassuming in 
 manner — accomplished but not showy — kind without 
 pretension — and pious without ostentation ; — and, above 
 all, let her be a good daughter; — for of such stock come 
 good wives." 
 
 " Why, my dear sir ! " exclaimed Lady Frances, " you 
 have exactly described the young person to whom he is at 
 this moment attached. She is all you require for him." 
 
 " Why, then, how can yoa be so silly as to oppose their 
 marriage.''" said MacGopus, chuckling in an under tone, 
 at having hit her ladyship hard. 
 
 ^' Silly, sir!" said Lady Frances, who was more puz- 
 zled by her new acquaintance than by any body she had 
 ever met with ; " I am not conscious that it is silly to
 
 25 i THE parson's daughter. 
 
 requii-e something more for a person destined, as George 
 is, to move in a higher sphere." 
 
 " He requires no such thing, my lady," said the Doctor. 
 " If I'rovidenceihas given the young woman virtue, beauty, 
 and ability, and disposition to make a husband's happi- 
 ness, you ought to be thankful to that same Providence 
 for having given your son the power of securing that 
 happiness, by placing her in a sphere which, by your own 
 account, she seems destined to adorn." 
 
 " Well," said Lady Frances, getting almost angry, " I 
 have met with many people — but I declare I never did 
 see so extraordinary a person as yourself." 
 
 " I'm not in the least extraordinary, my lady," said 
 MacGopus ; " I speak plain truth." 
 
 '• But you blow hot and cold in the same breath." 
 
 '^ No I don't. You think I do as the foolish country- 
 man did in the fable. I like to argue ; I like to look 
 on both sides, my lady." 
 
 " Then you mean to say that I am extremely silly, or 
 selfish, or worldly, in opposing my son's marriage with 
 Miss Lovell } " 
 
 " I mean no such thing," said MacGopus. " I cannot 
 enter into your ladyship's views, because I never was a 
 marquess's daughter, nor a baron's mother. I only say 
 what / think — I cannot appreciate what you feel." 
 
 " ^Vcll, but then, why support this marriage ? " 
 
 " I didn't," said JMacGopus. " On the contrary, I told 
 you how you might put an end to it." 
 
 " I shall adopt your advice." 
 
 " It wo'n't succeed, if you do," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Why, five minutes ago you said it would." 
 
 " So I did," said the Doctor ; " but then your ladyship 
 had not told me what sort of person the Parson's Daugh- 
 ter was. I had heard (Jcorge speak of her ; but I have 
 heard so many lovers describe their mistresses, that I have 
 learnt to put but very little faith in their accuracy. Your 
 ladyship, however, admits the likeness to what 1 supposed 
 would win him, and to what he himself depicted as a 
 portrait of his beloved. That alters the case.' 
 
 >>
 
 THE parson's daughter. 256 
 
 " Why, then," said her ladyship, *'' we end where we 
 hegan." 
 
 "^ No we don't," said the Doctor. " I started by op- 
 posing the marriage — now I end by supporting it." 
 
 " Have you become rational yet ? " said Lord Wey- 
 bridge, opening the door, and addressing the Doctor ; 
 "may I come in, and sit down in peace ? " 
 
 " As far as I am concerned, yes," said the Doctor ; 
 " for I am going. I always conceive, when my host 
 abandons me, that it is time I should retire. I did 
 not think it right to leave her ladyship alone ; but now 
 that you have thought proper to return, I m off." 
 
 '"' To-morrow we start," said Lord Weybridge ; " so sit 
 down and finish your wine." 
 
 " I have finished my wine." 
 
 " Will you have some more .'' 
 
 ''None, I thank you." 
 
 ''Come, Doctor," said Lady Frances, "stay for coffee." 
 
 " I never drink coffee, my lady." 
 
 " Do not go this minute," said her ladyship, who, not 
 being yet accustomed to the strange, abrupt manners of 
 the Doctor, felt assured that if he departed in his present 
 humour, he would never return. 
 
 " I must," said MacGopus. 
 
 ' Well, shake hands," said Lord Weybridge. " Good- 
 night, old fellow. "W^ill you come down to Severnstoke .'' — 
 we shall be there for a week or ten days, I dare say." • 
 
 " We'll see. If Lady Frances wants my opinion or 
 advice, perhaps her ladyship will summon me," said the 
 Doctor, again laughing to himself with exultation at having, 
 as he truly enough believed, puzzled her ladyship as to his 
 character most amazingly. 
 
 " I," said Lady Frances, with one of those smiles for 
 which she was renommee, " shall be always happy to see 
 you." 
 
 " Ah," said the Doctor, " your ladyship is very good." 
 And so making his bows, and shaking liands with mother 
 and son, the gallant philosopher betook himself to his Tus- 
 culum in the New Road.
 
 256 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Tears 
 
 Stood upon her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew 
 
 Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. SH\KSPEiRE. ' 
 
 It would be impossible properly to describe the sensation 
 produced upon Emma and her friend by the contents of 
 Mr. Lovell's letters. That to Fanny announced the result 
 of his interview with the Squire, as well as his promise 
 neither to follow nor molest her, and a declaration of his 
 intention to make her an annual allowance of three thou- 
 sand pounds per annum ; a resolution which appeared so 
 liberal in its character to Emma, that she ventured to hope 
 it might, by exhibiting to Fanny not only the strength of 
 bis affection for her, but his conviction of her perfect in- 
 nocence from every imputation which circumstances, or 
 the misrepresentation of servants might have cast upon her, 
 induce the lady to overlook the past, and return to her 
 home and her natural protector ; but all her avowals of ■ 
 admiration of the Squire's conduct produced only a faint 
 smile upon Fanny's countenance, changed almost instantly 
 to an expression, which convinced her friend, that the 
 offence, whatever it might be which he had committed, was 
 considered unpardonable by his lady, and that their separ- 
 ation was irrevocable. 
 
 But even her own position, and all the circumstances 
 connected with it, appeared to occupy but a secondary 
 place in the mind of IMrs. Harbottle. The dreadful intel- 
 ligence of Harvey's death had thrown into shade all selfish 
 considerations; and although it appeared to Emma that 
 she exhibited less wildness of manner, less eagerness and 
 anxiety of rnind, after the fatal catastrophe had been an- 
 nounced to her, than while she was occupied solely with 
 lier own peculiar grief and misfortunes, the helplessness 
 and wretchedness, against which she had during the pre- 
 vious days struggled, appeared entirely to overcome her.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 257 
 
 She had exerted herself to take the deciding step of her 
 life, and, under the operation of that stimulus, had en- 
 dured much of mental excitement and bodily fatigue. The 
 suspense, in which she naturally existed until she heard 
 the result of her husband's conversation with Mr. Lovell, 
 was now terminated ; she knew her fate ; she knew that, 
 by the line of conduct Harbottle had been induced to 
 pursue, her character was cleared — her quitting hirn jus- 
 tified. So far the circumstances of her case were altered ; 
 while the death of one whom she had so much esteemed, 
 and who was remotely the cause of the general break-up at 
 Binford, coming so suddenly to her knowledge, changed 
 the nature of her feelings, and excited in her bosom, which 
 before had been agitated by her own personal distresses, a 
 new and deeper feeling of regret for another. 
 
 " 1 am easier at heart to-day," said Fanny to Emma ; 
 " I can cry — but, Emma — happiness for m.e is gone for 
 ever." 
 
 " My dearest friend," said Miss Lovell, " you must, 
 indeed, calm yourself; this dreadful accident to poor 
 Charles Harvey " 
 
 " For mercy's sake," said Fanny, " in pity, spare me ; 
 never, as you value my existence, name his name. Poor ! 
 poor Charles Harvey! — he is gone! There can be no 
 harm now in owning how much I esteemed him, how much 
 I admired him. But, dearest, dearest Emma, hencefor- 
 ward, from this hour, name him not !" 
 
 " Rely upon me," said Emm.a ; " although I cannot 
 but deeply grieve to see you so much affected by- — — " 
 
 " Affected ! " interrupted Fanny. " Oh ! Emma I 
 Oh ! if I could tell you all I have suffered ! — all the hor- 
 rors 
 
 " Again," said Miss Lovell, " let me entreat you to 
 calm yourself. Trust to my discretion ; never again will 
 I touch upon this subject." 
 
 " Poor, poor Charles!" again sighed Fanny, as her 
 head dropped on the pillow, already bathed with her tears. 
 
 Lovell's letter to his daughter was little more than a 
 duphcate of that to her friend, except that it omitted some 
 of the details which hers contained, connected with Har- 
 
 s
 
 258 THE parson's DAUGnTER. 
 
 bottle's arrangements, under the circumstances of her separ- 
 ation. Harbottle had himself left Einford, and several of 
 the servants had been discharged ; but he jiroposed, it ap- 
 peared, to return thither, in order that he might maintain 
 liis dignity and respectability by entertaining some parties 
 of his convivial companions at the Hall, and thus exhibit 
 his independence of spirit and strength of mind ; for, 
 although he never could venture to suggest that the loss of 
 his wife was the consequence of any misconduct of hers, 
 he was determined that nobody should suppose him to be 
 so weak of purpose or undetermined in character, as to be 
 shaken or affected by her voluntary and sudden separation 
 from him. 
 
 Amongst the principal points in Lovell's letter to his 
 (laughter, his anxiety for her return home appeared par- 
 ticularly prominent; and she rejilied to his desire to see her 
 back again, that she should only delay her journey home- 
 wards until Fanny was sufficiently restored to be able to 
 enter into the ordinary amusements and occupation of 
 Mopeham House. 
 
 It was not until the expiration of the third day, that 
 Fanny felt herself competent even to join the family circle 
 down stairs. She was anxious to explain to her aunt the 
 conditions under which she alone would consent to continue 
 an inmate at her house ; and JMiss Jannan was delighted, 
 from the conversation which passed between them, to find that 
 the allowance proposed by her husband was so liberal, as 
 at once to stamp his view of the circumstances under which 
 she had fled from his society ; but it was not at all difficult 
 for Fanny to perceive, that she had taken a step for the 
 preservation of her character nearly as desperate as that 
 adopted by the memorable nuns of Cottingham ; and that 
 no vestal ever was buried alive in greater security than she 
 should be, immured in her present domicile in the society 
 of Miss .larman and her friend. Miss Budd. 
 
 The young Count Alexis de jMontenay, who made his 
 appearance after breakfast, was, to be sure, a great relief to 
 the general dulncss of the eotrrie. Theie was a gaiety 
 and grace in his manner — a playfulness, natural and con- 
 stitutional, which rendered all he said agreeable, and all
 
 THE parson's daughter-. 259 
 
 he did amusing. He appeared to pay more attention to 
 Emma than Fanny ; and it must be admitted, that Emma, 
 in the naturahiess of her character and disposition, seemed 
 to encourage a preference, which, within such limits as 
 she proposed for it, there could be no great reason for her 
 concealing. 
 
 The occupations of the Count, and his amusements, kept 
 him a good deal separated from the ladies ; he breakfasted 
 and dined early, so that it was only in the evenings that 
 they had much of his society ; his time was much occu- 
 pied in acquiring the English language; and, in order to 
 begin his favourite study betimes in the morning, he ge- 
 nerally retired early to rest at night. 
 
 Mrs. Harbottle appeared to take more pleasure in his 
 society than her friend, although, as has already been ob- 
 served, the Count evidently preferred Emma to her ; and 
 his little gahinferic-? spoken in a foreign language with a 
 broken accent, amused and pleased both the ladies. Had 
 it not been for him the monotony of Mopeham would have 
 been dreadful ; the mistress of the house moved out never, 
 and never permitted Miss Budd to quit her — a pony 
 phaeton, chiefly for the conveyance of the Count to the 
 town, about half a mile distant, was the only carriage on 
 the establishmenf, and the only presentable neighbour lived 
 at a considerable distance. However, Mr. Lovell had been 
 directed by the Squire to inform his lady that whenever 
 she wished it, her own chariot, with her favourite pair of 
 horses, should immediately be sent to her ; and the Squire 
 further added, that he hoped she would make no scruple in 
 letting Mr. Lovell know when sh.e desired to have it. 
 
 Altogether, the separation between these people had 
 something in it very extraordinary ; and Emma, who never 
 could extract the real truth from her friend, began almost 
 to be a convert to Harbottle's cause : she had heard Fanny 
 here, at the very last moment, calling upon the name of 
 the man to whom she had confessed herself almost attached, 
 and seen her decidedly more affected by his death than by 
 any other event which had occurred during the whole pro- 
 gress of the affair ; and here was her husband, deserted, 
 and avowedly detested by his wife, loading her with liber- 
 
 s 2
 
 26"0 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 ality, and heaping favours and attention upon her, even in 
 the minutest particulars. 
 
 That Emma's mind ever misgave her, or that she for a 
 moment doubted her father's propriety in permitting her 
 to accompany Mrs. Harbottle, cannot be said ; but it must 
 be admitted, that so many odd, and to her inexplicable, 
 circumstances had occurred since their departure from Bin- 
 ford, that she felt every disposition to obey her parent's 
 injunctions, and return home, as soon as she possibly could, 
 ■without disarranging the comfort and tranquillity of her 
 friend. 
 
 While things were thus proceeding at Mopeham, Mrs. 
 Harbottle gradually recovering from the excess of grief 
 into which she had been plunged, Emma looking forward 
 to home, and Count Alexis gaining ground every day in 
 the good graces of both ladies. Lord Weybridge, who 
 doubted a little the accounts brought to London by his 
 lady-mother of the events which had occurred at Binford, 
 and startled a little by her earnestness and activity to pre- 
 vent his return thither, took occasion, the day before their 
 departure for VForcestershire, to write to Lovell in the 
 most friendly terms, telling him that he had heard from 
 Lady Frances of the sudden flight of the Squire's lady, 
 and of her being accompanied by Miss Lovell — that al- 
 though he felt he had no right to make any further en- 
 quiries upon the subject, he could not but recollect the 
 happy hours he had passed in his and Miss Lovell's society; 
 which recollections, added to the deep interest those asso- 
 ciations had inspired, induced him to enquire what the 
 cause of separation between Harbottle and his lady really 
 was, perfectly certain, that, having permitted his amiable 
 and exemj)lary daughter to accompany the lady, he could 
 have no difficulty in furnishing him with such inform- 
 ation, as might, by justifying Mrs. Harbottle, entirely ex- 
 onerate ]\Iiss Lovell and himself from the charge which 
 might otherwise be adduced against them, of protecting 
 vice or supporting impropriety ; that he was quite sure 
 what the answer he should receive would be — that the 
 anxiety he felt upon the subject would, he trusted, be a
 
 THE parson's daughter. 261 
 
 sufficient apology for the intrusion ; and he remained. Sec. 
 &c. &c. 
 
 To this letter Lord Weybridge received the following 
 ansAver : — 
 
 « Binford Rectory, Oct. 4. 18—. 
 
 " Dear Lord Weybridge, 
 
 " In acknowledging your lordship's kind letter of yes- 
 terday, permit ine, in the first place, to return you my 
 sincere thanks for the interest you are good enough to ex- 
 press for myself and my daughter. I do assure you, that 
 nothing can be more gratifying to me, nor I am sure more 
 agreeable to her, than to feel that we are not forgotten 
 under the circumstances which have occasioned your lord- 
 ship's removal from our neighbourhood. 
 
 " Being thus flattered by your attention, it naturally 
 follows that your lordship should feel anxious for some 
 information upon a point which, I admit, places the cha- 
 racters of three persons in a very doubtful position. If I 
 coukl explain the circumstances under which Mrs. Har- 
 bottle so promptly decided to quit her husband, I should 
 have no difficulty in exonerating her and ourselves, who, 
 in the minds of many here, and I fear in the minds of 
 some who are gone hence, are labouring imder a suspicion, 
 if not of impropriety, at least oP incaution beyond vindi- 
 cation ; but I cannot do it — I can afford you no satisfac- 
 tory reason for the lady's flight — no justification for her 
 abrupt departure. Our characters must stand or fall by 
 the tenour of our foregone lives ; and we are, it must be 
 admitted, considerably strengthened by the fact, that Mr. 
 Harbottle, who is looked upon by many as an injured man 
 and a deserted husband, has bestowed upon his wife a 
 most liberal allowance, has removed from his service the 
 domestics she declined to take with her, and, in short, ex- 
 hibited, by every moans in his power, his conviction of her 
 innocence and propriety. 
 
 " The real ground of their disunion is incompatibility 
 of temper. This is admitted by both parties. The i n- 
 mediate cause of their sudden separation, therefore, mat ers 
 little ; and if it did, as I have already said, I am so pledged 
 
 8 3
 
 262 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 £o her that I could not explain it even to your lordship, 
 whose good opinion I am so anxious to retain. 
 
 " My daughter will remain with her friend only as long 
 as it apjiears essential to Mrs. Harbottle's comfort and the 
 safety pf her health. She will then return ; but, i appre- 
 hend, the best days of Binford are past. The Hall, I sus- 
 pect, if not deserted, will be occupied by ])ersons not exactly 
 suitable to our quiet habits, and Lady Frances, I appre- 
 hend — your lordship, of course, knows best — has quitted 
 Dale Cottage for ever. 
 
 " I was quite sure what your lordship's feelings about 
 poor Charles Harvey would be. The circumstances are 
 peculiarly painful : it seems that he met with Colonel Brad- 
 field's shooting party accidentally, and having joined it, 
 was invited by the Colonel to dine with him. At this 
 dinner some bets were made about the relative strength of 
 wines, or quantities of wine which different men could 
 drink ; and Harvey, who had been in extremely low spirits 
 during and after dinner, was induced to swallow more port 
 or claret, or whatever the wine suggested for the experi- 
 ment might have been, than he was in the habit of drink- 
 ing ; he had no servant with him when he left Colonel 
 Bra 1 field's, but rode off with one or two of the neighbours 
 from whom he parted at some point of the road, and made 
 directly across Broustead Common, on his way to the Mor- 
 dauuts, with whom he was on a visit. He knew the 
 country well, and, if he had been peri'ectly collected, would 
 have reirieu)l)ere(l that a gravel-pit had been opened in the 
 middle of the common, right in his path from road to 
 road, and which was most shamefully left without any 
 railing or other protection. It was in this pit he was 
 found with his horse, both dead, soon after daylight, when 
 the labourers came to woik in the morning. In the fall 
 of the horse poor Harvey had pitched over its head, and 
 the spine was dislocated : he had else no mark or bruise 
 about his person, and must have died instantaneously. 
 
 " His remains were removed to his own place in Berk- 
 shire, from Mr. Mordaunt's, whither they had been con- 
 veyed after the coroner's inquest had been held — a 
 ceremony perfectly useless on this occasion, e.\cept as esta-
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 263 
 
 Wishing the fact of finding the body by certain individuals. 
 There never was a more gentlemanly being created, and 
 never, that I have seen, a more general display of unaf- 
 fected grief than his premature death has occasioned. 
 
 " I shall not fail to acquaint my daughter with your 
 kindness in making enquiries after her. The day may 
 come when I, or, if I am gone, she may be enabled to ex- 
 plain our present mystery ; but if I duly appreciate your 
 lordship's feelings towards us, I think 1 may venture to 
 hope that you will give us credit for having acted neither 
 imprudently nor improperly, but as became Christians ; I 
 should, however, add, that at this moment Emma herself 
 is as ignorant as your lordship of the immediate cause of 
 the separation. Before I die, if circumstances do not per- 
 mit of her knowing it earlier, I shall confide it to her for 
 her own justification ; but, as I assure you most solemnly 
 and sincerely, it affects no human being except the parties 
 themselves, its immediate declaration, if it were not pre- 
 vented by the most important considerations that can exist, 
 would reflect not the slightest shadow of blame upon Mrs 
 Harbottle, who, with myself, must alone remain in posses- 
 sion of the truth. 
 
 " I mention this, because, even supposing me to blame, it 
 is I who am wholly to blame ; Emma is, I repeat, entirely 
 ignorant of the facts of which I am in possession, and, in 
 supporting and accompanying Mrs. Harbottle, acts not only 
 under my sanction, but with my advice, both of which she 
 considers sufiicient justification for her own conduct, with- 
 out stopping to investigate that of her father. 
 
 " In the sincerest wish and prayer, that every happiness 
 may attend your lordship through life, and with gratitude 
 for your kindness and the interest you continue to express 
 towards us, 
 
 " I remain, dear Lord ^Veybridge, 
 
 " Your lordship's faithful servant, 
 
 " W. LoVELIi. 
 
 " Lord Weybridge. 
 
 '^ P.S. — There is a probability, if I should be sufS. 
 ciently strong, of our being in London before Christmas ; 
 
 s 4
 
 264 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 should your lordship be in town at that period, we shall 
 hope to meet you." 
 
 This letter, which, according to Lord Weybridge's de- 
 sire, the Rector addressed to him in Worcestershire, and 
 which his lordship duly received there, was not sufficiently 
 satisfactory for him to show to his mother as a sort of 
 " certificate" of the family prudence; however, when he 
 recollected that, in her first letter on the subject, she sug- 
 gested that Emma had taken the journey without her 
 father's sanction, he felt comparatively easy — not that his 
 doubts and misgivings were entirely at rest. It seemed so 
 strange that a young woman should be forced or persuaded 
 into such an excursion, without knowing what grounds her 
 companion had for undertaking it, that between his appre- 
 hensions on the one hand, and the constant worry to which 
 he was exposed on the other, by the persuasions, and sug- 
 gestions, and insinuations, and declarations of Lady Frances, 
 he began most certainly, not to Avavcr in the constancy 
 of his attachment to Emma, but to doubt, more seriously 
 than he ever yet had done, whether it were likely to ter- 
 minate propitiously. 
 
 According to her well-devised design, Lady Frances per- 
 suaded George just to visit the " dear" Duchess for a day 
 or two on their way into ^Vorcestershire, and to invite her 
 and her lovely daughter to accompany them — a bidding 
 which they most readily accepted. And then, on his ap- 
 proach to Severnstoke, he was welcomed by his tenants with 
 bands of nmsic and garlands of flowers, and passed under 
 triumphal arches built across the road ; and there were 
 roaslings of sheep and ringings of bells ; and tlie bright 
 eyes of Lady Catherine, and the Duchess full of vivacity 
 and gaiety, were gleaming and sparkling around him ; and 
 the gentlemen of the county were mustered there to give 
 him a cordial reception, and tlie betterniost inhabitants of 
 the neighbouring town, and amongst them the clergyman 
 and his daughters ; and when the Lady Catherine began to 
 ridicule tlie two gauky girls, who stood blushing up to their 
 elbows, George felt an inward horror ; but whether of the 
 gaucherie at which the aristocratic ladies were sneering, or
 
 THE parson's DAUGHTEn. 265 
 
 at the idea of having a wife of liis own, perhaps, subjected 
 to a similar ordeal, it is impossible to say. Certain it is, 
 that fi-om the day of his arrival at Severnstoke, until the 
 expiration of a fortnight, he thought less of Emma than he 
 ever had thought of her during any similar period of time 
 since their acquaintance had first begun. 
 
 Events had occurred during that fortnight which could 
 not have been foreseen ; and while George was in the hands 
 of his friends, gradually melting into their opinions, and 
 leaning towards their advice, Emma was unconsciously en- 
 tangling herself in an affair at jNIopeham, for which, per- 
 haps, the reader is not altogether prepared. 
 
 It was clear that the plan of domesticating George with 
 one agreeable family, which had been suggested by Mac- 
 Gopus, had been to a certain extent successful ; but, beyond 
 that particular circumstance, the change of his position in 
 society did a great deal towards diverting his thoughts into 
 new channels. He was sensitively alive to the force of 
 ridicule; and the incessant fire kept up by his mother, the 
 Duchess, and her daughter, upon the school of girls, of 
 which he felt himself conscious Emma was a disciple, had 
 the effect of hindering his speaking of her as he had been 
 formerly accustomed to do, while the varied attractions of 
 the brilliant creature with whom he was now constantly 
 associated engaged his attention and occupied his thoughts. 
 
 Lady Frances, who anxiously watched over the process 
 of ridding his mind of an object, the exclusion of which 
 from it, was the height of her ambition, did not fail to 
 enlarge upon the unsatisfactoriness of Mr. Lovell's letter, 
 which (after all his doubts respecting its character) her son 
 had shown her ; his doing which it must, however, be ad- 
 mitted was a strong proof of his own improved opinion of 
 its nature and value. A severer blow, however, awaited 
 him than the apparent imprudence of P^mma's flight with 
 Fanny, and one whicii certainly threatened to complete the 
 work of which Lady Frances had so ingeniously laid the 
 foundation.
 
 266 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Against the head which innocence secures. 
 
 Insidious maUce aims lier darts in vain, 
 
 Turn'd backwards by tlie pow'rful breath of heaven. 
 
 Dr. Joii.Nsox. 
 
 Fanny's recovery at Mopeham was slower than Emma had 
 hoped. ^Ve have already seen tl)at, after the arrival of the 
 letter announcing the death of their poor friend Harvey, 
 her grief appeared to take a more settled character ; and 
 the tears, whicli, by an effort she had previously checked, 
 flowed in torrents from her eyes. 
 
 To Emma, this continued appearance of unmitigated 
 sorrow, in common with every thing connected with Har- 
 vey, was extremely painful. She saw in her friend's man- 
 ner a depth of interest displayed, whenever the slightest 
 allusion was made to him, or his untimely fate, which 
 did not appear at all consonant with the professions she 
 had made before Emma undertook the mediation between 
 them, and which, to a certain extent, justified, in Emma's 
 mind, the violence which she concluded must have been 
 adopted towards her by her husband ; which violence her 
 separation from him was calculated to expose to the world, 
 and in which expo?ure her father had permitted her to be 
 so painfully and prominently connected. 
 
 " My dearest Fanny," said Emma, who was anxiously 
 hoping to be permitted to return to Binford, " you really 
 should struggle witli the feelings wl)ich you express with 
 regard to poor Charles. Nobody can more deeply regret 
 his loss than myself, and under such circumstances ; but 
 separated as you now are from your husband, and intimate 
 as you previously were with Mr. Harvey, the devoting your 
 undivided regrets to his loss cannot fail to give an idea that 
 you are more interested about him than, in point of fact, 
 is quite consistent with your ])resent position in society, 
 and which may, to ill-natured persons, afford the oppor- 
 tunity of saying, or at least a reason for thinking, that your
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 267 
 
 disunion from Mr, Harbottle was caused by some discovery 
 on his part of a too favourable opinion of yours towards 
 his friend." 
 
 " His friend ! " said Fanny. " Oh ! such a friend ! 
 Heaven knows, and you know, Emma, every feeling of my 
 heart towards Charles Harvey. You know the sacrifice I 
 made to what I considered clue to my husband and myself. 
 Surely — surely you cannot believe that I permitted any 
 feeling to exist in my mind which could call for censure?" 
 
 '• Do not misunderstand me," said Emma, who feared 
 she had wounded her suffering companion. " I know 
 you : it is not in my mind that you will suffer by the 
 course you are pursuing. I mean that to tho e people who 
 will, when you are well enough to see them, visit you here 
 — your aunt herself — and especially to her friend and 
 companion, ]\Iiss Budd — your constant recurrence to the 
 one subject — will have — nay, as far as the last person is 
 concerned, I believe, has had, an appearance the least de- 
 sirable." 
 
 " Emma," said Fanny, " if I could tell you all — if I 
 dare open my heart, you .would wonder rather that 1 am 
 alive than that I lament so deeply the death of our poor 
 unoffending Charles." 
 
 " Why, Fanny," said Emma, smiling faintly, " you this 
 moment told me I did know all the secrets of your heart 
 connected with him." 
 
 "All but one," said Fanny. "One — one remains 
 untold, and must remain so. But I repeat what 1 have 
 before said, which, as you appear to think, is inconsistent 
 with what I have said since, that as far as thouglit, or 
 wish, or act is concerned, my acquaintance with and affec- 
 tion for Charles Harvey were, from first to last, as disinter- 
 ested and unimpassioned, as your present intimacy with 
 Count Alexis de Montenay." 
 
 " The cases are not parallel," said Emma. " The 
 Count delights me, I admit. The natural frankness of his 
 manner, the muvefe of his character and conversation, are 
 to me charming ; but then " 
 
 " Oh, my dear Emma," said Fanny, " you need not 
 vindicate yourself, or endeavour to extenuate your most
 
 268 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 justifiable affection for your young friend. I merely men- 
 tion that, as the most immediate instance to which I would 
 compare mine. I meant really neither more nor less than 
 that my regard and affection for Charles were as perfectly 
 divested of every tender feeling, as your friendship and 
 regard for the Count are." 
 
 " Then why — why, let me ask you, once for all," said 
 Miss Lovell, " why, in reflecting upon the very important 
 events of the last few days, do your thoughts ever and in- 
 cessantly cling to the one point? You endure the parting 
 from your husband — you sustain the shock of quitting 
 your home, and of leaving the friends who loved and 
 esteemed you — you are content to endure the malice and 
 slander which the world will doubtlessly endeavour to ac- 
 cumulate upon you ; and all these without a sigh. But 
 the moment Charles is mentioned " 
 
 " Oh, do not question me," said Fanny ; " in justice 
 trust me — in mercy spare me ! 1 am innocent, but irre- 
 vocably wretched. Your father knows all ; he alone must 
 know it ; and knowing it, he sanctions my conduct by 
 giving me your societv. He pledges himself to my aunt, 
 who, like yoilrself, is in ignorance as to the real cause of 
 n y separation from my husband. Never, therefore, press 
 me more, but let me weep. J\ly tears are my only con- 
 solation ; tliey are guiltless, but they must have Avay." 
 
 Emma found it was in vain to touch this theme ; and 
 the voice of ("ount Montenay on the staircase, calling on 
 Emma to come and take her accustomed ride, induced her, 
 rather than permit him to see Fanny bathed in tears, to 
 obey his summons, and take leave of her friend, promising 
 not again to recur to the theme of their past conversation, 
 but still advising her, as much as possible, to check a sen- 
 sibility which she knew had seriously attracted much of 
 the notice of her aunt and Miss Budd. 
 
 Miss Budd was, as we know, of a most rigid turn of 
 mind. Long past the age of love or hope, her disposition 
 had curdled, and she was the most inveterate enemy of any 
 thing which savoured of levity of manners, or gaiety of 
 temper. The (Jount, who was universally a favourite with 
 every body else, was considered by her as far too lively to
 
 THE parson's daughter. 269 
 
 be proper, and much too presuming to be correct ; and his 
 free and easy manner of running about the house, and 
 calling for this lady, and hunting for another, and his 
 dancing and his tricks, ivhich in the exuberance of his 
 spirits he was remarkably fond of exhibiting, kept the an- 
 tiquated virgin in a state of agitation, from which she 
 hoped to be relieved in a few days, when that volatile 
 visiter was to leave their else quiet, blest retreat. 
 
 Emma made no secret of the pleasure she took in the 
 society of the gentle Alexis. They became inseparable 
 companions ; and Miss Jarmaii, Avhose character was ex- 
 actly the reverse of her faithful companion's, if she could 
 but have recollected them, would have made numberless 
 jokes at their expense. 
 
 In the course of this agreeable intimacy, Emma re- 
 ceived, as indeed she had expected, a letter from her father, 
 which perhaps it may be as well to submit to the reader, 
 as giving a slight sketch of the state of Binford. 
 
 " Binfoid, Oct. 19. 18—. 
 " i\Iy dear Child, 
 
 " Another week has elapsed, and still you are absent; 
 this worries me — not only for that I love your dear so- 
 ciety, but because I fear Mrs. Harbottle does not sufficiently 
 rally to permit you to quit her — I have not, therefore, 
 written to her to-day, lest I should increase her agitation 
 by recurring to scenes and circumstances, in which she 
 must be so much and naturally interested. You can read 
 to her such parts of this letter as you may conceive she 
 would like to hear ; but it is better, I think, to leave to 
 conversation any remarks upon our town and its inhabit- 
 ants. 
 
 " Mr. Harbottle is in London — he returns, I hear, 
 next week ; it seems that he is mixing in all the gayest — 
 if the most mischievous scenes in town, even if this dull 
 season of the year, may be called gay — and is described 
 by a friend of mine, who met him one day last week, ap- 
 parently reckless in his career : he did not make the 
 slightest reference to Mrs. Harbottle, in the conversatioix 
 he had with my friend, but invited him to the Hall for the
 
 270 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 hunting season, as he had always done hefore. Most of 
 the servants have been discharged, and a new domestic ad- 
 ministration is formed, of which his old minister, Mr. 
 Hollis, is the premier. 
 
 " Dale Cottage is deserted ; Lady Frances left this sud- 
 denly, and went to her son in London, after which they 
 proceeded together to his place in Worcestershire ; he wrote 
 me a long and kind letter, to which I returned an answer^ 
 giving him all the account I could of your expedition into 
 the west, but 1 have not heard since. 
 
 "■ It is curious that you should have met Count de Mon- 
 tenay in a place where I never should have expected to 
 find such a nerson — your account of him is most favour- 
 able — tell him that I quite well remember his late father, 
 and that we were great friends during the time he resided 
 in England ; and tell him, that if he feels inclined to visit 
 me, I shall be delighted to receive him^ for as long a period 
 as he can spare, at the Rectory. It is quite curious to see 
 how connections come round, and quite romantic that you 
 should have found the son of an old friend of mine do- 
 mesticated at the house of an aunt of a friend of yours. 
 
 " You must use your own influence, and my entreaty, 
 with Mrs. Harbottle, to check the violent grief with which 
 you tell me she continues to be afflicted : melancholy as all 
 the circumstances of the case are, she ought to feel com- 
 paratively happy that she has nothing in the world to re- 
 proach herself with. The subject is one upon which I 
 most unwillingly touch, and 1 must entreat of you, when 
 you return to me, to abstain from recurring to it. I make 
 this request, because I perceive in your letters a strong 
 disposition to enquire more particularly into some parts of 
 the affair ; and I am bound, as solemnly as man can be, 
 to divulge none of them ; it will, therefore, spare both of 
 us time and pain, if we come to this right understanding 
 now. I know you too well to expect a question upon the 
 subject, after this gentle admonition. 
 
 " I have seen nobody since your departure : your aunt 
 is, of course, still with me, and is very much affected, I 
 may almost say distressed, at your absence. I believe, 
 from what she has heard, that Lady Frances takes a very
 
 THE parson's daughter. 271' 
 
 unfavourable view of your expedition ; but rely upon your 
 own conscience, your sense of duty to others, and have 
 faith in your father. I hear from the same quarter — a 
 correspondent of her ladyship's — that the party at Severn- 
 stoke are extremely gay, and that the Duchess of Malvern 
 and her daughter. Lady Catherine, are there. 1 suspect 
 Lord Weybridge — kind as the tone and manner of his 
 letter to me is — is not exactly what our friend George 
 Sheringham was. His ideas, tliey say, are princely ; the 
 improvements he projects in Worcestershire, magnificent ; 
 and the preparations making for his reception at his town 
 house, in the spring, carrying on upon the most brilliant 
 and extensive scale. 
 
 " It is curious to peep through the loop-holes of the 
 world, and see the extraordinary changes and mutations of 
 society, and the suddenness with which they are effected, 
 ^yho, a month since, would not have chosen to be Harbottle 
 rather than Sheringham? — the one, rich beyond care; the 
 other, poor, and in a perilous, though noble profession ; 
 and now, to see the one elevated to nobility, and affluence, 
 and consequence ; and the other, debased and degraded, 
 and a wanderer from home, from the comforts of which he 
 is cut off by his own miscdViduct ! 
 
 " Make my kindest remembrances to your friend ; bid 
 her calm herself, and tell her, that in my opinion the sooner 
 she lets you leave her, the better for herself. New objects, 
 new associations, will relieve her mind, which cannot fail 
 to be filled with her own affairs, so long as she has you 
 constantly with her. My best compliments await Miss 
 Jarman, for whose very kind letter I am much obliged : 
 owing to her having forgotten to put the address on it, it 
 had a circuitous journey to find m.e ; however it arrived 
 safe, and I am quite happy to find that her niece has made 
 so favourable an impression. 
 
 " Again I say, Emma, come — come home, the moment 
 you can do so consistently with Mrs. Harbottle's health and 
 wishes ; and if you choose to volunteer a seat in the car- 
 riage to the Count, and see no imjiropriety in making the 
 offer, I shall be glad to have him here for a week or ten 
 days, on his way towards London ; tell him so, and see if
 
 272 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 you can prevail upon his excellent hostess to part with 
 him. Once more, farewell ; may every blessing await you, 
 and good providence bring you back to the fond heart of 
 your affectionate father ! " W. Lovell." 
 
 " I see how it is, my dear Emma," said Fanny to Miss 
 Lovell, when she had read such parts of this letter to her 
 as she thought proper for her to know, " your dear, good 
 parent is wretched and unhappy without you — so shall I 
 Ije — but what are my claims upon you compared to his ? 
 so, as I cannot have you always with me, I shall insist 
 upon your returning home immediately." 
 
 " My father, you see," said Emma, " seems to think 
 that my quitting you will be a relief to you — you will be 
 forced more completely on your own resources ; and you 
 must, whether you like it or not, mix with the. more general 
 society of the house. I certainly have a mind, if I go, to 
 engage the Count as my cavalier." 
 
 " You don't really mean it ? " said Fanny : " I never 
 heard of such a scheme.,' 
 
 " My father sanctions it," said Emma, archly ; " and 
 when he supports me Avith his approbation, I never enquire 
 why ; I take it for granted tha^ he is anxious to receive a, 
 visit from the son of his old friend, and sees no sort of im- 
 propriety in our travelling together. I confess I perceive 
 none." 
 
 " I haven't a word to say," said Fanny; " it sounds odd, 
 but " 
 
 " Yes ; but to us, who know the real state of the 
 case " 
 
 " As you say," interrupted Fanny, " in the state of 
 your heart, I don't think there will be any serious danger 
 in it." 
 
 I\Iiss Budd, however, was of a very different opinion 
 when the proposition was made. The Count was literally 
 overcome with joy, which he displayed with perhaps more 
 sincerity than civility towards the lady of the house in 
 which lie liad been so kindly received, when Miss Lovell 
 mentioned her father's wish to see him at Binford. It was 
 so convenient — all the way on the road — and then his
 
 THE parson's daughter. 273 
 
 dear Miss Lovell, or Emma, as he even ventured to call 
 her sometimes, for a companion on the journey : but Miss 
 Budd, although she said nothing, looked vinegar and ver- 
 juice ; and Miss Jarman, having declared that she could 
 not interfere to prevent so pleasant an excursion, could not 
 let the subject drop without warning Emma to take care of 
 her — " what do you call the thing on one's left side?" 
 
 " Heart, madam," said Miss Budd. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Jarman, " of her heart ; on the road 
 homeward." 
 
 The caution was the work of supererogation. Emma's 
 heart, unfortunately perhaps, was not hers to lose ; and 
 although she found Fanny so entirely absorbed with her 
 own affairs as to leave her no time for the discussion of 
 those of her friend, the very anxiety to hear of George — 
 nay, the desire again to see the place where she first had 
 met with him, preyed upon her spirits, and considerably 
 sharpened her readiness to obey the calls of duty, and 
 return to her paternal roof. 
 
 A day or two afterwards, she again tried her friend upon 
 the subject of their separation ; and Fanny, conscious as 
 we have already seen she was, of the uneasiness which 
 Mr. Lovell was suffering Horn the absence of his darling 
 daughter, spoke more calmly and composedly than usual of 
 her return. The terms upon which they separated were, 
 a constant and continuous correspondeAce ; and the condi- 
 tion, that nothing should interfere with the daily commu- 
 nication of their feelings, hopes, fears, wishes, and intel- 
 ligence by letters ; a few more similar conversations 
 gradually moderated Fanny's dread of losing her ; and 
 early on the following Thursday Emma quitted Mopehani, 
 having taken leave of Fanny the night before, without dis- 
 turbing her in the morning from a sleep which she had 
 procured by means of an opiate, and in which it was held 
 best, by the counsel of ladies, she should remain, without 
 undergoing the pain of parting from a friend whom she so 
 dearly loved, and whom it was quite uncertain when she 
 should see again. 
 
 That Count Montenay accompanied Miss Lovell on her 
 return is a fact which must not be concealed. Thev
 
 274 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 started by day-dawn^ so as to reach Binford to a late 
 dinner^ the necessity of sleeping on the road being obviated 
 by the absence of the invaHd, whom they now left behind 
 them. 
 
 It might, perhaps, be thought rather edifying to detail 
 the conversations which passed between the independent 
 " Parson's Daughter" and her French friend ; but they 
 would scarcely repay the trouble of putting them to paper. 
 The Count, roused earlier in the morning than usual, was 
 silent and even sleepy ; and after affecting to be extremely 
 gay and playful for about half an hour, threw himself into 
 a corner of the carriage, and, after struggling with his 
 somnolency for some time, went into a sound nap, while 
 Emma, not sorry to be left to her own meditations_, after a 
 fortnight or three weeks constant " talk," placed herself in 
 a similar attitude in the other corner, and, lulled by the 
 motion of the chariot and actuated by the force of example, 
 also fell into a most 3grceable slumber. 
 
 Anxiously, as the day went on, did the excellent Lovell 
 listen for the sound of approaching wheels ; six o'clock 
 came — no Emma: seven — no Emma: the ticking of 
 the clock on the chimney-piece sounded louder and heavier 
 to him than usual, amid the stillness which he and his 
 sister preserved, in the hopes of hearing the welcome roll 
 of the carriage. At last, the ringing of the bell, the 
 barking of the dogs, and the trampling of horses, announced 
 the approach of his darling child ; and at half-past seven 
 the faithful Emma was safely clasped to the heart of her 
 kind and anxious parent. 
 
 Lovell was overjoyed to see the Count, whom he received 
 with every mark of kindness and hospitality ; and Miss 
 Lovell the elder pronounced an opinion to Emma, after 
 dinner, that she had never seen any thing so handsome 
 in her life, especially French. The travellers were, how- 
 ever, too much fatigued to " show" to advantage that 
 night; and, therefore, after tea and a brief converse, they 
 retired to the rest of which they appeared to have so much 
 need. 
 
 It turned out, jierhaps unluckily, that the Squire had 
 returned to the Ilall on the very day of lilmina's departure
 
 THE parson's daughter. 27-5 
 
 from Mopeham. As he was aware that she had been the 
 companion of his wife's extraordinary flighty it was most 
 natural he should seek an interview with her, in order to 
 make some enquiries concerning her; and Lovell, who was 
 particularly anxious that no such interview should take 
 place between Harbottle and his child, was in a sad state 
 of worry lest he should make his appearance at the Rec- 
 tory, in spite of a prohibition which he had received from 
 the Rector on the morning of their dialogue with closed 
 doors. 
 
 It was just the day of trial : — if he did not make the 
 experiment of calling that evening, as he was alone at the 
 Hall, or next morning before his expected company arrived, 
 the probability was that he never would subsequently at- 
 tempt it. He had written to Fanny at Mopeham ; but 
 with an obdurate resolution, which Emma at the time en- 
 deavoured to soften, his wife returned the letter unopened, 
 and it was from Lovell alone that she would receive the 
 information that he had made arrangements for the pay- 
 ment to him, in trust for her, of a sum of three thousand 
 five hundred pounds a year, to be entirely at her own dis- 
 posal, being, in fact, the same amount as her jointure would 
 have been, had she become a widow. 
 
 Lovell was quite convinced that if Harbottle met Emma, 
 or conversed with her upon the subject, he would in some 
 way commit himself, or entangle her in the discussion, 
 which, upon every account, it was most desirable should 
 be avoided ; and therefore it was, that he doubly rejoiced 
 in the presence of the Count, who from being (as of course 
 he would during his stay at the Rectory) the companion 
 of Emma's walks and rides, would destroy the chance of a 
 ttte-a-tbte between her and the S(juire. 
 
 There were many events near at hand which were little 
 expected by any of the Rectory party, when they laid their 
 heads upon tlieir pillows, on the night of jNIiss Lovell's re- 
 turn. As the Rector said, it %vas wonderful to see the 
 suddenness of human mutations, and with how little warn- 
 ing or preparation the greatest changes are effected. But 
 there was one tiling which yet remained unaltered and un- 
 changed, and that was the affection of Emma for Lord 
 
 T 2
 
 276 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ■W^eybridge : of the stability of that feeling Lovell was 
 perfectly convinced in less than half an hour after his 
 child's return, and, to say truth, be saw it with pain, for 
 he had heard more of the proceedings at Severnstoke than 
 he had thought it necessary to tell his daughter. 
 
 Of the servants — admirable chroniclers — who were left 
 at Dale Cottage, one of the maids was in the habit of cor- 
 responding regularly with the tall man in the plush gar- 
 ments, who accompanied Lady Frances to London and 
 thence to IVorcestershire. There was a tendre existing 
 between them ; and the hopes and wishes of the servants' 
 hall were, therefore, intimately interwoven with the pro- 
 ceedings of the superior members of the family. From 
 this maid-servant, the elder Miss Lovell's maid derived 
 much information ; and it certainly appeared, upon putting 
 together all the different circumstances which the knight of 
 the plushes detailed in his different epistles to the virgin 
 of the ginghams, that Lord 'Weybridge had given strong 
 evidence of an intention to make Ladv Catherine his wife. 
 The maid, who knew enough of her own family concerns 
 to be quite aware of her young mistress's penchant for the 
 noble lord, felt she was doing her old mistress a kindness 
 to open her eyes to the deceitfulness of the peer, which the 
 maid at Dale Cottage most empliatically contrasted with 
 the constancy of her long and liveried correspondent. 
 
 From the elder Miss Lovell to her brother this news was 
 thus as it were subterraneously conveyed ; and amongst the 
 different subjects which glanced before her eyes in con- 
 templating the varying and evanescent qualities of mundane 
 matters, the insincerity and heartlessness of George, who 
 had, by every means in his power, evinced his feelings to- 
 wards Emma, was not one either of the lightest or briglitest 
 character. He knew her tenderness — her devotion — her 
 enthusiasm ; and he felt sure that such a change in his con- 
 duct as the intelligence from ^V'orcestcrshire seemed to 
 threaten, would go nigh to rob him of the " prop that did 
 sustain his house.'' It was this fear and apprehension 
 that induced him to encourage the notion of receiving the 
 gay Count Montcnay at the llectory, in the hope that he 
 might serve to divert his child's thoughts from the one en-
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 277 
 
 grossing subject, and by dividing her time between the 
 Count's agreeable society and the graver duties of her or- 
 dinary domestic life, save her some of those pangs which 
 those only who have lived for years in the lingering sus- 
 pense, to be at last betrayed, can even guess at. How the 
 reverend gentleman's notable scheme succeeded we shall see 
 in the sequel. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 She wrote to him a letter, 
 
 And she seal'd it with a ring. Old Song. 
 
 The reader has now seen that a constant communication 
 was kept up between the reduced establishment at Dale 
 Cottage, and those servants whom Lady Frances had with 
 her, at her son's ; and although her ladyship's woman might 
 not, upon ordinary occasions, choose to hold " gentle con- 
 verse " with a man in livery, still when an anxiety for in- 
 formation once seizes th^ female mind, high or low, many 
 smaller sacrifices are made to the one great object ; and 
 accordingly Mrs. Hall made no scruple of culling in- 
 telligence from Robert the footman, touching affairs at 
 Binford. 
 
 Through this channel, low and dirty enough to be sure. 
 Lady Frances herself condescended to obtain intelligence 
 of her ci-dcvmit neighbours, of whom, it must be admitted, 
 she was particularly jealous and suspicious in as far as her 
 darling George was concerned ; more especially after the 
 disclosures unintentionally made to her in the misdirected 
 letter from London, which held firm hold of her mind in 
 opposition to his since apparent indifference ; and, there- 
 fore, in the hope of picking up a few pearls, her ladyship 
 permitted herself to dabble in the muddy stream of domestic 
 correspondence which " tided" between Binford and Se- 
 vernstoke. 
 
 T 3
 
 278 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 The imaginative disposition of travellers^ in their de- 
 scriptions of scenes and events, is universally admitted; 
 not less certain are the inventive powers of an ingenious 
 letter-writer^ more especially when his sphere of action is 
 confined, and the incidents which have occurred to him 
 few — he or she, in such a case, feels it necessary to en- 
 liven the mortal dulness of plain fact with a dash of ro- 
 mance, and reward the reader for poring over a page or 
 two of business, by affording him at least an equal portion 
 of more lively and generally amusing matter. 
 
 This was the case with the red-elbowed correspondent 
 of Robert the footman : she wrote about him and about 
 herself, to show the interest she took in him, and to main- 
 tain the interest which she truly believed he felt about her. 
 But, in order to entertain him and exhibit the versatility 
 of her own genius, she mixed in her letters much inform- 
 ation upon " affairs in general," to which, it must, how- 
 ever, be admitted, she was more particularly induced, by 
 the solicitude of Robert to " tell him something of what 's 
 going on," made, as we have ascertained, at the suggestion 
 of Mrs. Hall, under the direction of her noble mistress, 
 who kept her eye upon the yet quiet village which she had 
 left, as the skilful geologist watches, with deep anxiety, 
 the place where a volcano exists, ^ut which has ceased, for 
 some time, to exhibit its smoke and flame, in expectation 
 of some violent convulsion. It seemed to her ladyship all 
 mined ground ; and we know enough of her, to be assured 
 that her dread of a match was unconquerable. 
 
 The letter, which produced the strongest effect upon her 
 ladyship, and which, as it contained scarce any thing 
 about love, Mrs. Hall borrowed of her fellow-servant, 
 under the pretence of wishing to read it alone, but in fact 
 to submit its contents to her lady, we think it may be as 
 well to subjoin, as a specimen of the style and character of 
 a corres})ondence doomed so materially to affect the destiny 
 and liapi)iness of two personages of such importance as the 
 Right Honourable George Augustus Frederick, Baron 
 "W^eybridge, and Emma, only daughter of the Rev. William 
 fiovell, M.A., Rector of Biiiford, and perpetual Curate of 
 (Jrmersly, and which, as indicative of the beauties of do-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 279 
 
 mestic literature^ may be found not quite unworthy of 
 notice. 
 
 " Dale Cottage. 
 " Deer Robert, 
 
 " Yours of Sunday cum safe to and, — I am mutch 
 obhgged to yew for hall you say, as wel as for Missus Alls 
 civilarity ; pies mak my ruspecks too her, and ope she is 
 ■well, as for youre aving ad my air put into a lochete, i 
 niver cud ave thot of sich a thing and shall never foggit it. 
 
 " Yew ask me for noose, noose here is scace. This 
 place isn't the same since yew went. The Squirr is at the 
 all, but no sich doins as wen Missis Arbottle was there — 
 all mail creturs now, not a phemale cums nigh the plaice, 
 and the Squirr always inhebrewated. Miss OUis is gon to 
 toun with her brother Gorge, — they say to be marred to 
 some rich man ; but this I think is all fuge, and bleve the 
 Squirr is not so thick with Ollis has eretofore, and as bor- 
 dered them of. Mister Ollis was very much shagreened 
 at the suppuration. 
 
 " Miss Hemmer Lovell is returned, but not Missis Ar.. 
 bottle, which has said she sliall nivir come back to the 
 Squirr, because thy say he beet her, the nite she went away 
 in the morning — and thy say she was so black and blu 
 with the brewses that she would not take Missus DefFou 
 with bur on account she shud not see the whales wich were 
 to be seen playing round her boddy. Miss Hemmer has 
 not cum aloan. she has brote home a bow wich I have not 
 seen, a french lord — I here he is very ansum and that 
 Miss Hemmer is very fond of him — her maid you now is 
 as close as whacks and theres no gitin nothing out off her, 
 speshally to sich as me — wot she is amungst the ladys 1 
 cant say, but I sed to her yestardy nowing ow fond Miss 
 Hemmer is of Lord W. that I was afrayed she was 
 cockgetting about with this french nobbelman, and she 
 laffed phit to kill husself. wech I tuk to meen that eyes 
 right in my conjectures howsowver Robert i never middles 
 nor mucks which i am sewer is the whysest whey. 
 
 " We ad a goose on Micclemus day wich pot me so in 
 mind of yew, because of what yew used to say about good 
 luck ; and we drunk hall habsent frends. incloodeng my 
 
 X 4
 
 280 THE parson's dadghteb. 
 
 Lord and my Lady Phransis wich i ope is in jood ealth as 
 i am at present, and so is the knary burds and the vergin 
 knyhtangull wich as been a malting but as now in eye 
 pheathir. 
 
 '^ So jood bye, send me sum noose of your sylph and 
 wen yew think it lickly you shall cum here, for 1 feel quit 
 dissolute without you and mop aboat all day for yewer 
 sack — sins the Squirr has begun to shoote the Peasants on 
 his hestate, there is more company at the All and sevril 
 grums and helpers hat the Gorges but 1 never goes out of 
 the gait, except in the ducks of the heavening praps to 
 Mrs. Hervins for hany triffling things we wants — the 
 hold ooman and i are good frends, and if we ad yewer 
 sockity I shud be ass apie has the dey is long. Adoo, no 
 more at present, giv mi luv and komps to Missus Ail from 
 " Yewers truly and fatfully 
 
 " Marv Grken." 
 
 Humble as is the style — strange as is the orthography, 
 and uninteresting as the matter of this letter mighty by 
 some, be supposed to be^ to Lady Frances it was every 
 thing. Madame de Sevigne never wrote any thing half so 
 delightful to her, as Mary Green had written. Emma 
 Lovell returned — coquetiiig with a youn j French noble- 
 man ! under her father's roof — htere was an accession of 
 incident for crimination in the eyes of her son — a defection 
 from prudence, even from virtue, as her ladyship made it 
 out, of which the Parson's Daughter had been guilty, in 
 accompanying a fugitive wife from the arms and house of 
 her husband, followed up by an affaire de aear with a 
 young foreigner carried on under the paternal eye. This 
 was a new charge in the impeachment of her honour and 
 propriety, or perhaps, under the peculiar circumstances of 
 the case, we might say a new count in the indictment. 
 But however dehghted her ladyship was with so much of 
 the discovery as she had already made, she was anxious to 
 obtain further information before she actually sprang the 
 mine which was not only to annihilate the lunette, but to 
 blow the citadel itself to atoms, by ascertaining the name 
 of the new lover. How to do this she scarcely knew : — it
 
 THE parson's daughter. 281 
 
 was dear that a French title was not hkely to " come to 
 hand" at all in its proper form through the medium of 
 such a " speller and putter-together" as Mary Green ; 
 and how else could she get at the intelligence she wanted 
 without committing herself to somebody in Binford, and 
 betraying an interest in the Lovells, which she was most 
 anxious nobody in the world should imagine her to feel ? 
 
 Her ladyship yet had one resource. There was one 
 person to whom she could write, in his professional cha- 
 racter, who would be so highly flattered by her application 
 for advice made from under the aristocratic roof of Severn- 
 stoke, that, dazzled by her condescension, and blinded by 
 his own vanity, he would, upon a very slight provocation, 
 be as communicative as she could wish. This was Popjoy, 
 h.e of the Galen's head — the smart, smug, neat, and 
 dapper apothecary, whose rosy-cheeked assistant her lady- 
 ship had proposed as a suitable match for Emma, and to 
 whom she could, as if accidentally, refer, in order to draw 
 him out upon the subject of the Parsonage politics, and so, 
 as she believed, secure the information which she now so 
 ardently desired. 
 
 She knew George to be constitutionally sensitive with 
 regard to the deceptions of women. She had already 
 brought him into a very favourable state of mind for her 
 further purposes, by devoting herself and enlisting into the 
 cause of persuasion, and, as has already been said of 
 ridicule, the Duchess and her beautiful daughter — George 
 was already more than half convinced of the impropriety of 
 Emma's conduct ; and that half conviction led him back to 
 a reconsideration of her former conduct with respect to 
 Harvey, and made him doubt the sincerity of Mrs. Har- 
 bottle's estimate of Emma's affection for himself ; and then 
 he, naturally enough, asked himself how be had obtained 
 any assurance of Miss Lovells regard and esteem, and as 
 naturally answered himself through the medium of a third 
 person, a lady who almost immediately after the convers- 
 ation which he had with her upon this vital subject had 
 eloped from her husband, and made this very INliss Lovell 
 the partner of her flight. 
 
 Lady Frances had watched him during his residence at
 
 282 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Severnstoke — there had been various changes of visiters — 
 the Duchess and her daughter remaining however fixtures 
 — she saw that George had made no new confidences — 
 that although he would occasionally seem dull, his dulness 
 lasted but a short time. He mixed willingly in all the 
 amusements of the day and all the entertainments of the 
 evening, and she saw that Lady Catherine had succeeded in 
 attracting and even fixing his attentions and regards : they 
 tacitly fell into each other's society, joined in the same 
 pursuits, and, in short, at the end of the month, the stay 
 at Severnstoke which was originally only to have occupied a 
 fortnight, was again lengthened at George's own proposal ; 
 and Lady Frances felt sure that, before the next fortnight 
 ended, matters would take the turn she so much desired, 
 and that the Morning Post would speedily have to an- 
 nounce the approaching nuptials of Lord ^Veybridge and 
 the beautiful Lady Catherine Hargrave, third daughter of 
 her Grace the Duchess of Malvern. 
 
 But still, with this conviction on her mind. Lady 
 Frances thought the denonenieiit of the French count 
 would at once produce the crisis she was so anxiously anti- 
 cipating — that her son would turn suddenly round from 
 the disclosure of the falsehood and frivolity of the sly and 
 silent Emma, and make an instant declaration to the splendid 
 creature who had been now so long domesticated with him, 
 and who bore in her countenance all the beauty for which 
 her illustrious family had been so long distinguished, and 
 in her mind all that, which Lady Frances held to be es- 
 sential in the world, and of which it was quite clear the 
 Parson's Daughter possessed not one atom. 
 
 Thus excited, and thus resolved, the Lady Frances 
 Sheringham, after having condescended to read Miss 
 Green, her housemaid's letter, written in confidence to Mr. 
 Robert Long, her ladyship's footman (that confidence 
 having been violated at her la(lyshi[)'s own suggestion by 
 her ladyship's own woman Mrs. Hall), sat down to address 
 herself to her own apothecary at Binford. Perhaps the 
 reader who is offered the perusal of her ladyship's epistle, 
 without making any such sacrifice as those which her lady- 
 ship made in order to obtain a sight of Miss Green's, had
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 285 
 
 better see what her ladyship said to the Binford Para- 
 celsus. 
 
 " Severnstoke House, Oct. 1830. 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " I do not know how it is, but the camphor julep 
 which I get here is totally different from that which you 
 were good enough to send me when I was at Binford : 
 somehow the camphor curdles in the hquid, and is ex- 
 tremely unpleasant to my palate. I am going I know to 
 be very troublesome, but if you could do me the favour to 
 make me up two or three good-sized bottles, and have 
 them packed carefully, I should feel extremely obliged. 
 Perhaps you would take the trouble to let some of your 
 people carry them to the Cottage, and the servants there 
 will forward them without any farther inconvenience to 
 you. It maybe, that the difference in the julep is ima- 
 ginary, and occurs only from the sort of feeling we na- 
 turally have towards any medicine from which we have de- 
 rived benefit in particular time, and from particular persons. 
 I am sure I have every reason to be grateful for your pro- 
 fessional care of me. 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Popjoy and your very nice daughter are 
 quite well. I expect very soon to hear of her marriage. 
 I am sure you will not keep her to yourselves long. 1 know 
 nothing of Binford politii?s here, and any thing you can tell 
 me will be interesting, for I quite love the neighbourhood. 
 
 " I was very sorry to hear that there seems no chance 
 of a reconciliation between Mr. and Mrs. Harbottle. They 
 were excellent people, and I never felt greater regret than at 
 their unfortunate separation. I conclude dear Miss Lovell 
 is returned to her amiable father. 1 hope you did not 
 mention to your young gentleman, I forget his name, what 
 I hinted about a match in that quarter — I am sure she 
 would be a treasure to any deserving husband. 
 
 '' With many apologies for the trouble, and begging 
 you to take my compliments to your lady and Miss 
 Popjoy, 
 
 " Believe me, dear Sir, 
 
 " Your obedient, humble Servant, 
 
 " Frances Sheringham."
 
 284< THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " What ! " said Lord Weybridge, who happened to see 
 the direction of this unsophisticated letter, " are you in 
 correspondence with our village apothecary ?" 
 
 " Professionally," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Ah, dear Binford," muttered the Baron, as his pen 
 traced the word on the envelope, " I could have been happy 
 enough there." 
 
 " Where is Catherine ? " said Lady Frances, who heard 
 this soliloquy. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Lord "Weybridge, " I am going to ride 
 with her almost directly. I have written to ask my old 
 doctor here." 
 
 '•' I'm glad of it," said Lady Frances — which she was 
 not. 
 
 " I don't know whether he will come," said his lordship. 
 " He is an odd fellow — but he is an excellent fellow, and 
 I want to talk to him." 
 
 Lady Frances did not half like this apparent desire for 
 an adviser, for she guessed that something important was in 
 her son's mind; and believing it to be the doubt whether he 
 should make his offer to Lady Catherine, she did not fancy 
 JNIacGopus quite the sort of person to admire the high-bred 
 woman of fashion, and feared lest he should eulogise, as a 
 contrast to the decided nonchalance of her polished man- 
 ners, the retiring modesty of Mit/; Lovell, which he had 
 often heard praised, and of which, from what he had heard, 
 until somebody agreed with him, he professed himself the 
 decided admirer. 
 
 To oppose his visit would be destructive to her plan of 
 acceding to all Lord AVeybridge's present propositions, and 
 making the sejour at Severnstoke as agreeable to him as 
 possible. She, therefore, appeared cordially to acquiesce 
 in the invitation, satisfying herself by a determination, first 
 to discover the history of P^mma and her new gallant, and 
 then to insure the Doctor's most violent opposition to her 
 by vindicating her conduct in his presence, which she now 
 knew enough of him to know would produce the effect she 
 most desired, from the lips of the man to whom her son 
 looked up with respect and veneration in matters of dis-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 285 
 
 cretion and judgment. Thus, while Lord Weybridge was 
 applying to one medical friend for counsel upon some im- 
 portant question, which he was revolving in his mind, his 
 mother was consulting a minor member of the faculty upon 
 a point of equal importance to her, and which, in all pro- 
 bability, might turn out to be identically the same. 
 
 The real truth appears to have been, that George began 
 to feel himself daily getting more and more entangled in 
 the web which his mother, and the Duchess, and her 
 (laughter, had been weaving for him. Lady Frances had 
 succeeded in bringing him to feel the impropriety of 
 Emma's conduct, and, as lias been just mentioned, he had 
 no proof direct, no testimony coming from her, either of 
 her affection for him, or vindicatory of the extraordinary 
 step she had taken. Mr. Lovell's letter, in answer to the 
 one he had written, was any thing but satisfactory ; yet, 
 with all these accumulating doubts, he felt himself pledged 
 to her, although he also felt that the pledge had been 
 given to a person under very different circumstances, at 
 the time, to those in which she was now placed. 
 
 George was not insensible to the attractions of Lady 
 Catherine — nor was he blind to the course he was pur- 
 suing. That love formed no part of the inclination he 
 felt for the Duchess's daughter, was plain, for his heart 
 still lingered at the Parsonage; but he was conscious that 
 with all ihe admiration he felt for his fair visiter, the con- 
 stant association, the anxiety of both mothers for the match, 
 the connection, merits, and charms of the young lady her- 
 self, nothing was required but finally to cut all connection 
 with jMiss Lovell in order to bring the other matter to an 
 immediate conclusion. He felt that he could love as he 
 had loved Emma but once in his life — were he sure of 
 her fidelity, and convinced of the propriety of her conduct, 
 he wouhl not hesitate to make any and every sacrifice 
 to redeem the pledge he had given her — but upon that 
 point his doubts had been excited, his fears awakened, and 
 therefore it was he wished to consult his iMentor. AVhat a 
 delicate crisis was now approaching, and how curious that, 
 at such a moment, when a feather might turn the scale 
 Lady Francos should have opened, by dint of her surpris-
 
 286 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ing activity, a fresh source of intelligence, which must, 
 if confirmed agreeably to her anticipations, make the scale 
 kick the beam. 
 
 Having ascertained that MacGopus was invited, it 
 became Lady Frances's earliest duty to put the Duchess 
 and the young lady au fait as to the character of that 
 worthy personage ; and, accordingly, all his merits were, 
 in the first place, displayed to their knowledge ; then came 
 the corrective exhibition of his defects, and the whole his- 
 tory of his peculiar disposition to contradict ; to all of 
 which her ladyship thought it necessary to allude, lest her 
 grace and the younger grace, her daughter, should suddenly 
 take alarm at the abruptness of the new visiter and shorten 
 their stay at Severnstoke — a course of proceeding which 
 would have been most particularly disagreeable to her 
 ladyship. 
 
 The party, after various fluctuations, was again reduced 
 to themselves, with occasional additions, at dinner, of one 
 or two dependents of the house, in the shape of the pro- 
 vincial attorney, the rector, whose living was in my lord's 
 gift, and the medical gentleman, with whom Lord Wey- 
 bridge was perfectly certain the Doctor would have some 
 serious disagreement the very first hour they met, and who 
 was consequently to be invited the next three days, in 
 order that he might not expect an invitation for the next 
 fortnight after. 
 
 It appeared altogether as if things were drawing to 
 a close; and that although it would be impossible for a 
 marriage to take place in the family for some considerable 
 time, it seemed as if the arrangements for such a consum- 
 mation were very speedily to be made, and rendered ir- 
 revocable.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I would be drunk » 
 
 To stupify the sense of inward torment. Lee. 
 
 If the reader should be at all desirous of knowing how 
 things were proceeding at Mopeham, the readiest way 
 of satisfying his curiosity will be to permit him the same 
 sort of inspection of the last letter which Emma Lovell had 
 received from Fanny, as he has already been allowed in the 
 cases of Mary Green and Lady Frances Sheringham. 
 
 « Mopeham, Oct. 9. 18.30. 
 " My dear Emma, 
 
 " Every day increases my regret at your absence. In 
 vain I try to rally — in vain endeavour to divert my 
 thoughts from the horrors of my own position. I have 
 received a letter from my husband, which is in character, 
 both contrite and affectionate ; he seems to have entirely 
 abandoned those suspicions of my levity and impropriety 
 of conduct which he so cruelly expressed before our friends 
 and visiters ; and yet if. he has so satisfied himself, I can 
 in no degree understand how he yet exists. He solicits 
 my return to Binford, promises entire oblivion of all that 
 has passed, and tells me, that he has discarded some of 
 those of his establishment who could not fail to be odious 
 to me, and that even his principal favourite, Hollis, is on 
 the eve of departure. 
 
 " I have answered his letter, and have written to your 
 father, enclosing a copy of that answer. I have firmly and 
 strenuously refused to listen to any suggestion as to my 
 return to Binford Hall, or to any farther association with 
 him. Indeed, I can hardly fancy how he could have 
 brought himself to make the request. His feelings must 
 be more extraordinary than even 1 imagined, as, if ever 
 the day comes when I may speak out, you will, I am sure, 
 agree with me in thinking.
 
 288 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " At the present inoment, considering how 1 am placed^ 
 and considering how happily I should be situated with re- 
 gard to yourself^ if I returned, independently of the re- 
 sumption of my position in the house of my husband, 
 I have no doubt that your first impression will be un- 
 favourable to the firmness of my resolution not to go back. 
 But when I repeat to you that it is impossible, all com- 
 ment upon the course 1 have adopted, and still persist in, 
 may be spared me. I am content to remain here, forgotten 
 by the world, I hope, and seek solace and consolation for 
 what is past, in pursuits, to which, perhaps, I had before 
 devoted too small a portion of my time, and to the task of 
 self-correction and humiliation, of which I stand so much 
 in need. 
 
 " Placed by my husbands pecuniary liberality in com- 
 parative affluence, I am endeavouring to profit by the right 
 example you have set me. I have already planned a 
 school, and have raised a subscription upon your system, 
 for furnishing the neighbouring poor with comforts for the 
 approaching winter, and have found myself encouraged and 
 supported in my efforts by our clergyman here, who seems, 
 in his degree, to emulate all the virtues and merits of your 
 excellent father, as 1 in mine am endeavouring to make 
 myself a worthy follower of his daughter. 
 
 " My poor aunt, whose decreasing memory ceases to be 
 a joke, such as, if we had been in our usual spirits when 
 we arrived here, we should have been inclined to consider 
 it, grows more and more oblivious every day ; and Miss 
 JJudd, who sees in me a rival near the throne, is more 
 cross and ill-natured than ever. She is quite safe as far as 
 I am concerned, for I have no desire to influence my poor 
 aunt one way or the other; although, it must be confessed, 
 her partiality for her niece, in preference to her ' eligible 
 companion,' is nothing so vej-y marvellous, if we could but 
 make her think so. 
 
 " So you have kept our young friend at the Rectory till 
 now. This surprises me, knowing what the object of his 
 journey eastward was ; but, wlien you tell me he will 
 probably remain with you till Christmas, I am strangely 
 puzzled. He certainly is a very captivating person, and
 
 THE parson's daughter. 289 
 
 we miss him here extremely. Even Miss Budd smiled 
 upon him. Pray remember me kindly to him, and tell 
 him, I expect he will not forget his promise of writing 
 to me. 
 
 " My health, dear Emma, keeps pace, I regret to say, 
 with my spirits. Indeed, the intimate connection of our 
 mental and bodily affections I have long been aware of ; 
 for in those days of what were called my gaiety and happi- 
 ness, the iUnesses of which I so often complained were 
 always cccasioned by mental sufferings, which then it 
 would have been undutiful, and now would be useless, to 
 express. I have, perhaps, enjoyed some bright, sunny 
 hours, and none more bright and sunny than those which 
 I have passed since I knew you ; but they are all out- 
 weighed and obliterated by occurrences, such as, perhaps, 
 few women ever were mixed up with, and none, in ray 
 position in society, could ever have anticipated. 
 
 " I see by the newspaper — which we get here once 
 a week, three or four days old — that Lord ^V'eybridge 
 is still entertaining a party at Severnstoke. Pray tell me, 
 have you heard nothing from him ? Possessed, as you 
 are, of the secret of his heart, you need apprehend no 
 change in such a mind and character as his. Rely upon 
 it. Lady Frances will use every endeavour in her power to 
 keep him from Binford ; and, from the provoking circum- 
 stance of your absence the day he came to visit you, and 
 when I saw him, the devoted, ardent lover, ready to 
 throw himself at your feet, the link was broken, which 
 you cannot attempt at present to re-unite ; for it appears 
 to me to be as impossible for your father to recommience a 
 correspondence with him, as it would be for you to evince 
 any desire of renewing your acquaintance. 
 
 " This unfortunate combination of events I feel most 
 deeply, because 1 cannot be blind to the mischief I have 
 unconsciously done to your brightest prospects. Years of 
 sorrow and repentance will not free my mind from this 
 conviction, nor relieve me from the misery 1 suffer in con- 
 sequence. But of this I am sure, that whatever worldly 
 evil may assail you or cross you in your path to happiness, 
 
 u
 
 290 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 yoiir piety, your virtue, and your excellence in every moral 
 duty must eventually triumph, and secure you the enjoy- 
 ment of every temporal comfort. 
 
 " My aunt desires to send her affectionate regards to 
 you, and her love to the Count, whom, when she can 
 recollect his name, she calls dear Alexis. Miss Budd 
 is half scandalised at such terms of affection ; however, 
 even she transmits her best remembrances. So you see, 
 having carried off our general favourite, you must content 
 yourself to be the channel of our general regards. Tell 
 your dear, good father, that when it is quite convenient, I 
 should like to hear from him, and have his opinion about 
 my answer to Mr. Harbottle. Tell him the letter required 
 an immediate reply ; and J)eing tolerably well assured 
 beforehand of his acquiescence in my views, I ventured to 
 send the answer without consvdting him. Indeed, from 
 circumstances which I need not repeat, I am not quite 
 certain that the letter was not w)itten and addressed to me 
 here, in order to ascertain whether I was not somewhere 
 else ; this, in my mind, added to the importance of 
 answering by return of post. 
 
 " Write, my dear Emma, for you are better able to do 
 so than I am. I grow so unaccountably weak — I rally 
 — 1 exercise faith and hope, and, in some small degree, 
 charity ; I struggle with my fate and my feelings, and put 
 my trust in other and better things than those of this world. 
 But I have a sad pain on my heart which weighs me 
 down, and which I cannot overcome. Farewell, dear 
 Emma, and believe me affectionately yours, 
 
 " Frances Harbottle. 
 
 " P. S. — I wish — I know you will forgive me — 
 I wish you could find out for me where our poor 
 friend Charles Harvey was buried. All we heard 
 was the name of the house to wliich his body was 
 first carried after it had been found. I conclude his 
 remains were removed to his own home. It would be a 
 melancholy satisfaction to me to know this. Perhaps your 
 father can tell ; ask him from nie. Emma, adieu ! "
 
 THE parson's daughter. 291 
 
 " So," thought Emma, " her mind still lingers there ; 
 her heart still yearns for news of him, even though he be 
 dead. There is nothing in her letter which my father may 
 not see. She bids me ask this last, yet leading question. 
 He shall read it." 
 
 Lovell did read it, and Emma gazed on his fine, ex- 
 pressive countenance with intense anxiety as his eyes fol- 
 lowed eacli line. Accustomed to watch and comprehend 
 each turn of his features, she looked intently till he came 
 to the postscript: she saw no change — no anger — no 
 surprise — no strong emotion as he read it. On the con- 
 trary, a benign smile of pity and affection played on his 
 lips, and all he uttered was, " Poor soul ! " 
 
 Lovell was able to give her the desired information; and 
 directed Emma to tell her, that the remains of the unfor- 
 tunate Harvey, after having been, in the first instance, 
 carried to IMr. Mordaunt's, were eventually removed to the 
 church of the parish in which his property was situated, 
 (and which, indeed, comprised nearly the whole of it,) 
 and there interred ; and that his uncle, who succeeded to 
 his fortune, had just taken up his abode in the house on 
 the estate, where he proposed to estabhsh his permanent 
 residence. 
 
 " Count," said Lovell — who, as it may be remembered, 
 had persuaded this sprig of French nobility to remain at 
 the Parsonage for a mudi longer time than he had origin- 
 ally intended — " how do you reconcile it to yourself 
 to make so many conquests .'' Why, here are the 
 united regards of a lady separated from her husband, and 
 two entirely single ladies into the bargain, all in one 
 letter." 
 
 " They are very good," said the Count, smiling, and 
 dashing away the curling locks of raven black hair from 
 his high snowy forehead ; " you must send my love back 
 to them, Miss Emma." 
 
 " You may depend upon it I will, Alexis," said ]\Iiss 
 Lovell ; " but I cannot help thinking that you will be 
 spoiled in England." 
 
 "^ Trust me," said the Count, in tliat sort of broken 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE parson's daughter, 
 
 English which is so extremely winning, " it shall take a 
 great deal to spoil me." 
 
 " Extremely modest," said Emma : " some of lis think 
 that enough has already been done, and done, too, with no 
 little success." 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Emma ! " said the Count, " you are so droU 
 — but I don't mind — I know you don't really think so." 
 
 How far the Count's assertion might be borne out by 
 his experience in such matters, it does not become us to 
 determine, certain it was, that Emma never seemed half so 
 happy as in his society ; and Lovell himself, who saw — 
 for who could be blind to it — the pleasure his daughter 
 received in the company of her gay and amiable visiter, 
 was quite restless and uneasy if the Count were absent 
 for any length of time ; in fact, it seemed as if he 
 were completely domesticated at the Parsonage, and the 
 elderly ladies in the Paragon began to talk and wonder 
 what it could mean, and why he staid — and why he did 
 not go — wonderments of which they were not likely to be 
 speedily relieved, as the Parsonage was one of the houses 
 in the parish into which the members of the " tea and 
 toast " society of Binford put not their feet. 
 
 The reader must have already perceived that, with all 
 the shrinking dehcacy and diffidence of the blue-eyed Emma 
 Lovell, the mind that was enshrined within that delicate 
 casket was vigorous and independent> — resolute and unbend- 
 ing. Conscious of the rectitude of her intentions, strong in 
 the purity of her conscience, and implicit in her obedience to 
 her father, she needed only to be confirmed in the impulse of 
 her feelings by his sanction to defy all the envy, the calumny, 
 and the uncharitablcncss of the world. In the case of Harvey 
 and Fanny — satisfiedherself at thcmoment of the excellence 
 of her friend, and feelingly alive to the delicacy and dif- 
 ficulty of her situation, she had stepped from the quiet 
 sphere of her good deeds into a position most arduous for 
 one so young and so inexperienced. She confided in the 
 propriety of her own motives — she spoke the plain language 
 of truth, and she triumphed. 
 
 Then, when the blow fell, which after all divided Fanny, 
 for whom she had already made this incipient sacrifice,
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 293 
 
 from her husband, another call was made upon her forti- 
 tude and friendship — this was a step too deciding and too 
 decisive to take without the sanction of her father — that 
 sanction given was never questioned, and the lovely girl 
 set forth upon a pilgrimage to rescue and support her friend. 
 
 The last case — this present one of Count Alexis Mon- 
 tenay — other young women might have been squeamish, 
 and have affected a false delicacy in making the long 
 journey homeward alone with a young French nobleman, 
 without either chaperon or bodkin, to play propriety in the 
 carriage. Not so Emma : her father had with pleasure re- 
 cognised in the Count the son of an old and early ac- 
 quaintance, and solicited him to make a visit to the 
 Rectory — the course was obvious — indeed so obvious, 
 that Mr. Lovell himself suggested that the Count should 
 be his daughter's companion. Emma took no more thought 
 about it, but assumed her seat in the carriage with as much 
 confidence in herself, and as little care for the world's 
 maUce, as if she had been going on a similar journey with 
 her aunt Lovell, or her starched friend Miss Budd. 
 
 But, with all this firmess and independence, her heart 
 was gentle, tender, and kind; and however anomalous it 
 may sound, convinced as the reader must be of her devotion 
 to George Sheringham, the only solace she found in her 
 sorrows on his account she received in the society of the 
 Count ; and herein she only displayed another proof of 
 the admirable regulation of her mind and passions. In 
 every action of her hfe, she was more familiar with the 
 Count Alexis, than she had ever been with George. 
 Alexis with all his national gallantry would kiss her hand 
 — sit by her side for hours — and yet she felt neither 
 diffidence nor difficulty in the enjoyment of his con- 
 versation. She was conscious that her heart was in 
 other keeping, and was perfectly confident that how- 
 ever much she might admire the vaivetc and vivacity 
 of her young French friend, she was in no danger of 
 being inspired by a sentiment likely, in the slightest degree, 
 to endanger her sincerity or weaken her constancy. 
 
 There are people ivho would act unwisely thus to tamper 
 with their passions and feelings, and amongst the number 
 
 u 3
 
 294 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 we should class Lord ^V'eybridge himself ; but there was 
 a constitutional firmness and integrity in Emma^ which 
 rendered it a matter of impossibility to change or dete- 
 riorate the character of an attachment formed as hers had 
 been for George Sheringham. 
 
 At the Hall, the proceedings were very much what Miss 
 Mary Green, in the " viridity of her intellect" described 
 them. The people by whom Harbottle was surrounded 
 had more of fiends than friends about them ; and the orgies, 
 which had been before in some degree modified by the 
 presence of his lovely wife, were now continued through- 
 out the night, and drunkenness, incessant and unmitigated, 
 reigned throughout the mansion. As for Harbottle him- 
 self, he remained sometimes for two or three days together 
 in a state of insensibility, either sullenly silent, or raving 
 incoherently; indeed the only sign of life or intellect he 
 gave one morning, after about eleven hours sitting, was 
 displayed when two or three of the servants endeavoured 
 to lift him from the floor of the dinner-room to carry him 
 to bed. Raising himself on his arm, upon this memorable 
 occasion, he stammered out, " Stand off — stand off, I say, 
 or I'll lodge an information against you at the Excise 
 Office — I have swallowed more than a dozen of wine — 
 you must not move me without a permit." 
 
 This lucid interval was followed by shrieks and shouts 
 most sonorous and inharmonious, 'and he was lifted into 
 his truckle bed in the little room adjoining the library — 
 for he had never set foot in his own room after Fanny's 
 departure, nor even gone up the staircase which led towards 
 it — and there he relapsed into the state of unconscious- 
 ness, in which he slumbered away the greatest part of his 
 now wretched existence. 
 
 One effect had been produced upon his character, which 
 threatened to leave him very shortly shorn even of the 
 hangers-on, who literally lived upon him, and for what 
 they could get out of him. His temper, which till now 
 had been variable, and at times boisterous, was formerly 
 enlivened by occasional gleams of bright sunshine, and he 
 was for hours together good humoured and gay. Now all 
 this had turned to moroseness when serious, and ill nature
 
 THE parson's daughter. 295 
 
 when excited. The coarsest negatives couched in the 
 coarsest language were his ordinary replies to the observ- 
 ations of his boon companions ; and his conversation was 
 made up of oaths and imprecations, adopted to give greater 
 force to the expression of his hatred and contempt for every 
 thing on the face of the earth except himself. 
 
 Amongst all the objects of his detestation, HoUis had 
 become to him the most odious. He could not endure the 
 sight of him, yet he did not know how to part with him. 
 The consequence was, that the menial, feeling conscious of 
 his master's divided power and inclination, became rather 
 his opponent in discussion, than his subordinate in execu- 
 tion; and in short the house, neglected in all its ornamental 
 parts, deserted by every body who could adorn or dignify 
 it, became little less than a rendezvous for all the neigh- 
 bouring sportsmen, without regard either to rank or cha- 
 racter. Whether Harbottle were there or not, in or out, 
 visible or invisible, the same continual routine of jest and 
 ribaldry went on, until at last the Squire became severely 
 ill ; and HoUis, in order to rid himself and his fellows of 
 the trouble of waiting on a crowd of their equals, declared 
 his master to be dangerously indisposed, and announced a 
 discontinuance, at least for the present, of the unhmited 
 licentiousness which had been for many days going on. 
 The combined avowal of the Squire's illness, and the ab- 
 sence' of "the meat %nd drink," answered the purpose 
 effectually; and the next day Binford Hall was as dark and 
 as decent as Mopeham House. 
 
 What might have been the imprecations bestowed by the 
 Squire upon the head of Hollis, for the "bulletin" which 
 he had thought proper to issue without authority, had he 
 been well enough to rise the next day, it is impossible to 
 guess. The truth is, that Mr. Harbottle was really and 
 truly too seriously indisposed to quit his bed ; and Hollis, 
 having administered all the usual remedies upon such oc- 
 casions, and finding his "poor master" slower in recover- 
 ing than usual, deemed it necessary to send for Mr. Popjoy 
 to visit the Hall : this measure he took about fire o'clock 
 in the afternoon ; the necessity for which, in his own mind, 
 may be calculated by the fact, that as soon as it was dark, 
 
 u 4
 
 296 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 the tilted cart belonging to the establishment was seen 
 leaving the park-gates richly stored with well-piled ham- 
 pers^ (whether full or not, it does not become the historian 
 to surmise), together with divers and sundry other articles 
 "unknown to deponent," all of which were safely de- 
 posited in the London waggon the same night, and des- 
 patched at the rate of three miles an hour to the raetropoUs, 
 directed to the exemplary son of the worthy house-stewartl 
 and butler, whose departure for town has previously been 
 noticed by Miss Mary Green. 
 
 The call upon Popjoy to visit the Squire came very op- 
 portunely ; for according to the arrangement of the Binford 
 post, it would just give him an opportunity, in liis reply to 
 the letter which we happen to know he had received from 
 Lady Frances, to convey to her ladyship some intelligence 
 with respect to his patient's health ; and, as has been ob- 
 served in an earlier page, nothing is so delightful to a cor- 
 respondent from a duU place as a bit of something local, 
 which may, for a moment, excite or interest a friend. 
 
 Upon the apothecary's return from the Hall, he there- 
 fore concluded his epistle to her ladyship ; and his red-and- 
 Tvhite young gentleman having made a proper admixture of 
 camphorated alcohol and aqua pura, according to her lady- 
 ship's directions, the bottles were packed and the letter 
 sealed, into which we shall take leave, en passant, to peep. 
 
 * 
 
 " Binford, Oct. 1 3. 1 830. 
 " My Lady, 
 
 " I have had the honour to receive your ladyship's letter 
 of the 10th, and have made up three pint bottles of the 
 camphor julep, such as I had the pleasure to furnish your 
 ladyship with at Dale Cottage, and hope the same will be 
 found to answer accordingly. I have much to thank your 
 ladyship, for your ladyship's kind recollection of Mrs. P. 
 She begs to be remembered to her ladyship, as does my 
 daughter, to whom we did not venture to exhibit your lady- 
 ship's letter for fear of turning her poor little head. 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I have been sent for to-day to 
 Mr. Harbottle, who is in a very bad way I fear : he is in 
 a violent fever, and in some degree delirious, the effects of
 
 THE parson's daughter. 297 
 
 constant intoxication, under which, I am told by the ser- 
 vants, he has been labouring now for two or three days 
 incessantly. I have not ventured to bleed him in his pre- 
 sent state of unconsciousness, because I am no advocate for 
 phlebotomy, but I shall see him again this evening, and if 
 he is not better, shall certainly call in Dr. Bogie, who is 
 our nearest physician. 
 
 " Mr. Lovell is pretty well in health. Miss Emma has 
 returned home ; and they have a young French nobleman 
 staying with them. Count Alexis Montenay, who seems a 
 very particular favourite with Miss Lovell and her father. 
 He stops, I hear, until Christmas. He is, however, a 
 great resource to Miss Lovell, whose constant companion 
 he is ; for I am sorry to say, since her journey with Mrs. 
 Harbottle, at the time of her elopement, the ladies here are 
 not quite so attentive to her as they ought to be. 
 
 " I hope your ladyship will forward me any further 
 commands, and I shall always be too proud to obey them 
 on the instant. Your servants here are in good health, 
 except the housemaid, Mary Green, who had a smartish 
 bilious attack on the 30th of last month, but which disci- 
 pline and abstinence soon set to rights. 
 
 " I have the honour, my Lady, 
 
 " to remain your Ladyship's 
 " most obedient, 
 " faithful, 
 
 " Olin'thus Popjoy." 
 
 By the perusal of this letter — how acceptable to Lady 
 Frances, who can describe? — we are put into possession 
 of several interesting facts relative to the internal economy 
 of Binford, the state of the Squire's health, and of the po- 
 pular opinion of the elderly ladies with regard to Emma's 
 flight, the apothecary's surmises about the P'rench count; 
 and, above all, the indigestion of IVIary Green, on the morn- 
 ing after the day when, like Queen Elizabeth, she had eaten 
 goose, and thought of her sweetheart. 
 
 Who can doubt the efficacy of this double-edged sword 
 in the hands of Lady Frances against the suffering martyr, 
 Emma .'' Not only the view that Lady Frances had taken
 
 298 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 of her journey, but the view th'at all the old ladies took of 
 it — not only the innuendo of a French count, but the 
 actual fact of his residence at the Parsonage, and his name, 
 Alexis Montenay — and all this, and the bulletin from the 
 Hall, for the value of a httle condescension, and three pints 
 of camphor julep. 
 
 The effects of this communication remain to be exhibited 
 in the sequel ; suffice it to say, that the letter, carefully 
 sealed and delicately deposited in the packing-case, in com- 
 pany with the three bottles, quitted Binford at eight o'clock 
 in the evening, and at half-past eight the gentle apothecary 
 again proceeded to the Squire's bed-side, where he seated 
 himself, and remained unnoticed by his much-damaged 
 patient, until ten minutes past nine ; when, opening his 
 eyes, the sick man swore a tremendous oath at the village 
 Galen, and having thrown one of the pillows at his head, 
 turned himself round again to sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 My banc and antidote are both before me. Addison. 
 
 " Exactly the reverse, my lady," said MacGopus, who 
 had arrived at Severnstoke just in time for dinner, and was 
 now sitting after it, in the yellow drawing-room, debating 
 a question with the Duchess and her daughter ; Lord Wey- 
 bridge being occupied in a distant corner writing letters. 
 
 " Surely, my dear sir," said the Duchess, " you must 
 agree with Catherine that equal matches are more hkely to 
 produce happiness than those in which there exists a great 
 disparity of rank and fortune between the husband and 
 wife." 
 
 " Quite the contrary, my lady," replied the Doctor. 
 " If a rich man marry a poor woman, she feels grateful as 
 well as affectionate, and vice versa."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 299 
 
 " Well, now/' said Lady Catherine — who being ex- 
 tremely amused by the quaintness and oddity of the Doc- 
 tor's manner, determined to have her full share of the 
 conversation — " when we were at St. Leonard's last 
 year ■ 
 
 " Stop, my lady," interrupted MacGopus — " where 's 
 St. Leonard's ? " 
 
 " Oh, the sea watering-place, close to Hastings," said 
 her ladyship — " when " 
 
 " Stay now — I beg pardon," said the Doctor, — " that 
 must be near the spot where AV^illiam the Conqueror 
 landed." 
 
 " Exactly. Well, when we were at St, Leonard's last 
 season " 
 
 " Wdi^ it full, my lady, when you were there }" asked 
 MacGopus. 
 
 Lady Catherine, unused to such strange interruptions, 
 stopped for an instant — and then looked at her mother. 
 
 " Why don't you answer, Catherine ? " said her grace. 
 
 " Oh," cried Lord Weybridge, from his corner, " Lady 
 Catherine is not used to my old doctor yet. You wo'n't 
 get him out of St. Leonard's this side midnight, if you in- 
 dulge him." 
 
 '' Mind your letter, my lord," said MacGopus. " Leave 
 her ladyship alone. Well, my lady " 
 
 " Upon my word I- have entirely forgotten what I was 
 going to say," said her ladyship. 
 
 " Something illustrative of the question concerning 
 unequal marriages," said the Doctor, " which was to refute 
 my decision." 
 
 What the anecdote illustrative of the question concerning 
 unequal marriages might have been, the assembled party 
 were not at that period destined to hear ; for Lady Frances, 
 who quitted the room a short time before, on a summons 
 brought to her by a servant, returned full of exulting smiles, 
 and, with an expression of triumph on her countenance, 
 threw the newly received letter of Popjoy (in the reading 
 of which we have taken the liberty of anticipating her) 
 upon the table before George, with an air of decision and
 
 300 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 self-gratulation, which it would be vain to attempt to de- 
 scribe. 
 
 George ran his eyes along the lines, and Lady Frances 
 watched the expression of his countenance as they followed 
 the words of the Binford apothecary. A smile played on 
 his lips at one moment, and then he paused. — "I am 
 sorry to hear of Harbottle's illness," said his lordship ; 
 " it is a result which one might have anticipated. He 
 might probably have been saved, if your communicative 
 correspondent had been able to bleed him at the moment." 
 " Well — read on," said Lady Frances. 
 Lord Weybridge obeyed. He came to the paragraph 
 about the Lovells — his colour changed — his lip quivered 
 — symptoms which would have been most unpleasant to 
 her ladyship, had she not felt assured that the inteUigence 
 which followed would cure the disorder altogether. George 
 concluded so much of the epistle as concerned the family ; 
 and, throwing it upon the table with an air of indifference 
 and firmness, said — " What a scandalous place a country 
 town is. 1 think these old women, affecting to look shy 
 upon a girl for conduct sanctioned by her father, and that 
 father such a man as Lovell, is rather too much of a joke." 
 " What do you think of the history of the Count ? " said 
 Lady Frances. 
 
 " Why, that he is some old friend of Lovell's on a visit 
 to the Parsonage, to whom Emma^n the plenitude of her 
 good nature and good breeding, thihks it right to be ex- 
 tremely civil." 
 
 " Surely," said Lady Frances, " my dear George, you 
 haVe not read the letter attentively. The words are ' young 
 French nobleman.' " 
 
 "^ Ay, ay," said Lord 'Weybridge, who was determined 
 not to be annoyed — " but estimates of age are always 
 comparative. Popjoy, at sixty, fancies any thing at fifty 
 juvenile, just as a veteran of eighty laments the untimely 
 death of his friend, at ninety-two, as an awful and unsea- 
 sonable visitation. Duchess, do you, amongst the cloud 
 of foreigners who migrate hither in the season like herrings 
 
 and woodcocks, know any thing of a Count what do 
 
 you call him. Lady Frances?"
 
 THE parson's daughter. 301 
 
 " Alexis Montenay," said or rather read her ladyship, 
 
 " Montenay ? " said her grace — " No. What was 
 that man's name with the mustachios we met at the How- 
 ards, Catherine ! " 
 
 " I quite forget," said Lady Catherine, " but certainly 
 not Montenay ; and yet I do think I have heard the name. 
 If you are very much interested. Lord ^Feybridge, I will 
 write to-morrow to Lady ^V'interbourne, who has a list of 
 the arrivals regularly furnished from the Foreign Office, 
 and keeps a register of their names, in order to have them 
 for lions at her parties during the season." 
 
 " Oh, I don't think," said Lady Frances, " George cares 
 much about it." 
 
 *' I think he does," said MacGopus, taking a pinch of 
 snuflP, and looking excessively cunning; for doing which 
 Lady Frances could have killed him. 
 
 " Where did you hear of this ' outlandish person ? ' " 
 said Lady Catherine. 
 
 " From Binford," replied Lady Frances. 
 
 •^"^Wliat's Binford, my lady?" said MacGopus. 
 
 " Don't answer him, my dear mother," said Lord Wey- 
 bridge. " He knows as well as you do. I have told him 
 at least a hundred times, and it is all affectation. He has 
 heard that the majority of clever people in the world are 
 short-sighted, and so he fancies that a short memory is a 
 proof of great wit." 
 
 " I only asked what Binford was, ' said MacGopus, 
 neither disturbed by his noble friend's raillery, or diverted 
 from his purpose. 
 
 " Why," said Lady Catherine, " it is the place where 
 Lady Frances lives when she is at home." 
 
 "Ah!" said MacGopus, "^ that's the place where the 
 parson lives who has the daughter." 
 
 " Have you ever seen the Parson's Daughter .'' " said the 
 Duchess. 
 
 "No, ma'am," replied MacGopus; '^'but I have heard 
 a great deal about her. ' 
 
 " I think you will not hear much more," said Lady 
 Frances, who looked at the Doctor as if she could have eaten 
 him alive.
 
 302 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " I really don't see," said Lord Weybridge, " why Miss 
 Lovell is to be an interdicted subject. She has shown her 
 independence by accompanying a lady in her flight from a 
 husband, and is now exercising her taste by flirting with a 
 young French nobleman ; whereupon the elderly ladies of 
 Binford, to whose taste and judgment my dear mother was 
 not always in the habit of deferring when they were her 
 neighbours, think it prudent and wise to look cool upon 
 her." 
 
 "And with good reason, too/' said MacGopus ; "why 
 did she go scampering over the country with a runaway?" 
 " Ah, why indeed ? " said Lady Frances, who was con- 
 vinced she had got the Doctor in the right key to serve her 
 purpose — " what excuse can be made for that ? " 
 
 " Friendship, my lady," replied MacGopus, ''^ which is 
 an excuse for many things. She has got a father, hasn't 
 she ? " 
 
 " She has," said George, arousing himself to make the 
 answer, from a reverie, the appearance of which was any 
 thing but agreeable to his lady-mother. 
 
 '•' Well then, surely," said MacGopus, "if he — a good 
 man — and a prudent man — and a wise man — permitted 
 his child to make the excursion, there can't be much harm 
 in it. 
 
 Here Lady Frances, who was dying to change the con- 
 versation which she had herself somewhat incautiously 
 started, proposed music, ecarte, chess, and fifty minor 
 diversions ; and Lady Catherine good-naturedly seated her- 
 self at the piano-forte, and played some of the last new 
 quadrilles ; but George, instead of following her to the in- 
 strument, as usual, took MacGopus aside, and muttered to 
 him in one of the windows of the next drawing-room; and 
 Lady Frances went and sat by the Duchess, to endeavour 
 to talk down the unfortunate allusion wluch had been made 
 to Emma ; during which conversation. Lady Catherine 
 blundered over Auber, unconscious of what she was about, 
 and full of the belief that she was not so near the heart or 
 coronet of their noble host as she had, during the last week, 
 fancied herself. 
 
 It was just at this period — perhaps at the very moment
 
 THE parson's daughter. 303 
 
 of which we are now treating — ^that the two mothers began 
 to take counsel, and agree that the crisis had arrived — 
 that the particular turn in the affair upon which both their 
 hearts were fixed was at hand — and that it became a duty 
 on the part of the Duchess to come to some explanation 
 with Lord ^V^eybridge on the subject of his intentions to- 
 wards her daughter. This feehng on the part of her 
 grace. Lady Frances endeavoured by every means in her 
 power to strengthen. She was assured, by her son's man- 
 ner, that his interest in Emma Lovell was in no degree 
 decreased ; but she was equally convinced, judging by the 
 same criterion, that his faith in her Avas shaken. Her con- 
 duct subsequent to the very unsatisfactory letter of her 
 father, in which he had evidently condescended to equivo- 
 cate, was any thing but gratifying ; and now this account 
 of her new attachment, or flirtation, or whatever it was, 
 coupled with the description of the impression which her 
 imprudence had made in the immediate neighbourhood, her 
 ladyship was perfectly convinced would prove a powerful 
 blow to his personal vanity, or perhaps, as it might be con- 
 sidered, to his pride and delicacy. 
 
 Feehng conscious, as he did. that he had, in fact, and to 
 all intents and purposes, made Emma an offer of his heart 
 and hand through the metlium of her friend — who, under 
 all the circumstances, could neither have concealed nor 
 misrepresented the fact — he certainly was staggered by 
 the intelligence which his mother had received. Matter of 
 opinion would have had little or no effect upon him ; be- 
 cause he felt himself competent, upon an explanation of all 
 that had occurred since his departure from Binford, to 
 make up his own mind, and come to a decision upon 
 Emma's conduct : but matter of fact he could not combat. 
 
 He certainly could not have expected any communica- 
 tion from Miss Lovell herself. He was not so certain as 
 to the impracticability of Mrs. Harbottle's writing to him 
 to announce the fulfilment of her engagement to plead his 
 cause with her friend. There was no reason, considering 
 the terms upon which they had been living, and consider- 
 ing the nature of the mission she had undertaken, why she 
 should not have done so ; and yet, on the other hand, the
 
 304 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 sudden separation from her husband having taken place 
 since she had seen Lord Weybridge^ a difficulty and deli- 
 cacy, either as to observing a total silence upon that point, 
 or making any reference to it, might have restrained her 
 from opening any thing like a correspondence with an un- 
 married man, whom she had known only under her hus- 
 band's roof as his friend and acquaintance. Her silence, 
 however mortifying, he could therefore account for ; but 
 he could not account for the display made by Emma of a 
 new acquaintance domesticated at the Parsonage House, so 
 immediately upon her return from the society of the friend 
 to whose care the suit of her once evidently-favoured suitor 
 had been entrusted. 
 
 These things were passing in his mind, and more than 
 once during the evening he recurred to the name of Mon- 
 tenay with an interest and anxiety not to be mistaken. 
 This night, therefore. Lady Frances resolved to press upon 
 him the necessity of making some declaration with respect 
 to Lady Catherine, and to tell him, in confidence, that by 
 so doing in the morning, he would only anticipate a con- 
 versation upon the subject, which the Duchess felt it her 
 duty to have with him the next day; and that by thus 
 forerunning her grace's intentions, he would secure to him- 
 self the credit of a voluntary declaration, rather than the 
 stigma of a forced explanation of his intentions. 
 
 Lady Catherine retired to rest early. She had — at 
 least she said so — a head-ache, and she looked languid 
 and patheticj and her affectionate mother thought sleep, if 
 she could get any, would do her good ; and her ladyship 
 quitted the drawing-room evidently out of spirits, and not 
 without a somewhat reproachful glance at Lord Weybridge, 
 who had never gone near her, or even spoken to her, since 
 the perusal of his lady-mother's apothecary's letter. 
 
 Far be it from me even to surmise that the Duchess and 
 Lady Frances had entered into any preconcerted arrange- 
 ment for the purpose of leaving the family trio — for the 
 Doctor, so far as its politics went, might fairly be consi- 
 dered one of the family — to a consultation upon matters 
 of importance — but certain it is, that her grace was not 
 long in following the example of retiring, which her
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 305 
 
 daughter had set her, at least an hour and a half before her 
 accustomed hour. The Duchess departed, with a signifi- 
 cant nod to Lady Frances, given with an expression of 
 countenance which seemed to say — " I wish you would 
 settle it to-night, it will save us a world of difficulty and 
 embarrassment ;" nor did her grace omit to take leave, in 
 the most friendly way, of the Doctor, whose opinion she 
 felt would have great weight in the cabinet ; nor to wish 
 Lord Weybridge good night, with one of her sweetest 
 smiles, and a pressui-e of the hand, which he felt at the 
 moment was ominously maternal. 
 
 " Strangers having withdrawn," George, who knew — 
 and, to a certain degree, habitually participated in — his 
 excellent friends partiality for one glass of grog, at least, 
 before turning in, and who was ordinarily supported in the 
 pursuit by Lady Frances's already mentioned bottle of soda- 
 water, ordered all the essentials for such enjoyments, Avhich, 
 to the unaccustomed servants — who, till the Doctor's 
 arrival, had not been in the habit of serving refreshments 
 so purely nautical — seemed "passing strange;" being 
 much encouraged therein by his noble mother, who wished 
 to make what the Scotch courts call a "^ sederunt," in order 
 at once to conclude the matter, which 'she considered of 
 such vital importance to her own happiness and her son's 
 respectability. 
 
 " Now, George," said her ladyship, " now that we are 
 here — three — yourself — your mother — and your faith- 
 ful and favourite friend — what season can be better for 
 the discussion of a topic which must inevitably be forced 
 upon you to-morrow ? " 
 
 " What topic may that be ? " said Lord "Weybridge. 
 
 " Why," said her ladyship, " I will be candid — and 
 I throw myself entirely upon Dr. MacGopus's judgment 
 to decide whether I am right or wrong. The fact is, that 
 your attentions to Lady Catherine Ilargrave have be- 
 come so marked and so pointed, and her reception of them 
 so decidedly favourable, that you are bound to take some 
 decisive step immediately with regard to her. Remember 
 now, 1 tell you, that in what I am saying, as your mother, 
 
 X
 
 306 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 this evening, I believe myself only to be anticipating what 
 her mother will say to you to-morrow." 
 
 " My dear madam/' said George, "^ I am not conscious 
 that my attentions have been particular ; — I admit, I think 
 that Lady Catherine is extremely agreeable, and hand- 
 some, and all that, and " 
 
 '■' And you have taught her to believe in your good 
 opinion, George," said her lailyship : " the effect that con- 
 viction has had upon her is evident to-night. Did you 
 ever see such an alteration in her manner, in her appear- 
 ance, even in her countenance, when she saw the interest 
 you took about that French lover of the little dowdy Par- 
 son's Daughter .'' " 
 
 " Umph ! " said JMacGopus, " that goes for nothing — 
 the grape ice the young woman ate after dinner disagreed 
 with her. I knew she would be ill in the evening — that 
 was all stomach — nothing to do with heart." 
 
 '' Heart or not," said Lord ^V'eybridge, " I certainly 
 should be extremely sorry that any conduct of mine should 
 have led either Catherine or her mother to anticipate a 
 proposal on my part, which I certainly had not three 
 weeks since tlie slightest idea of making. I confess candidly 
 to you both, that if I could believe the history of Miss 
 Lovell's frivolity " 
 
 " Stay, George — stay, my lord," said MacGopus ; 
 " who's Miss Lovell ? " 
 
 " Psha ! " said Lord Weybridge — " don't worry me to 
 death." 
 
 " How should I know," said MacGopus. 
 
 " Why, because you have been told a thousand times," 
 said Lord ^^'eybridge : — "I say, if\ could believe first in 
 the indelicacy of Miss Lovell's conduct with regard to Mrs. 
 Ilarbottle " 
 
 "Upon whicli," interrupted Lady Frances, "'you never 
 can possibly form a judgment, till you know Mrs. Har- 
 bottle's motives for eloping from her husband." 
 
 " And which motives," said Lord ^V^eybridgc, " from all 
 I have heard from a friend of mine, I honestly admit I 
 most seriously suspect." 
 
 " Well then^ why doubt ? " said his mother.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 307 
 
 " Because it is impossible not to doubt." 
 " Then you do doubt," said MacGopus, " and isn't that 
 enough ? " 
 
 ' What damned minutes counts he o'er, 
 Who doats, yet doubts, suspects, yet fondly loves.' " 
 
 " That 's what I say. Doctor," said her ladyship, much 
 encouraged by MacGopus's advocacy; "Caesar's wife should 
 not be suspected." 
 
 " I don't see how that applies, my lady," said Mac- 
 Gopus — " Lord 'Weybridge is never likely to be a Caesar, 
 and he has no wife." 
 
 " I mean, sir," said her ladyship, rather angry, " that 
 a doubt of that young woman's propriety ought to satisfy 
 him." 
 
 '' Quite the contrary, my lady," replied the Doctor ; 
 " nobody can be satisfied with a doubt, because if you are 
 satisfied, no doubt remains." 
 
 " Don't quarrel about terms or play upon words," said 
 Lord Weybridge : " I agree with my mother, that the 
 conduct of ]\Iiss Lovell is very strange, and I should say, 
 if I had not a very high opinion of her character and 
 disposition, that she seems to have been playing a reck- 
 less game ; that from some unaccountable motive she had 
 plunged into a new sphere of action, and rather gloried 
 in her singularity." 
 
 " Is she handsome-?" said the Doctor, sipping a glass of 
 mahogany-coloured brandy and water, such as he was 
 wo'n't to make and circulate on board of his Majesty's 
 ship Elephant ; for although one of the strictest ob- 
 servants of duty, and in himself one of the most rigidly 
 correct and sober officers in the service, his skill in com- 
 pounding and dispensing grog to his messmates in the ward- 
 room, in a lawful and reasonable degree, was proverbial. 
 
 " I have told you a hundred times — beautiful," said 
 his lordship. 
 
 " Beautiful ! my dear child," said Lady Frances : " I'll 
 tell you. Doctor, she has very handsome blue eyes, well- 
 formed features, a fair complexion, light hair, and a very 
 pretty figure." 
 
 " Umph ! " said MacGopus, his huge black eyes rolling 
 
 X 2 .
 
 308 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 about in their orbits ; "I don't consider that ugly — and 
 they call her Emma ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you know that/' said Lord Weybridge impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Wei], and you see. Doctor MacGopus," said Lady 
 Frances, " here is this young woman without family, 
 fortune, connection, or as it seems conduct, on the one 
 hand, who, if George really ever had any penchant for 
 her while domesticated in that odious place, has set him 
 at defiance, and evidently made her choice ; for, of course, 
 her father, even if he were fool enough to allow her to be 
 the companion of a married runaway, would not permit the 
 constant attentions of a young man of rank like this 
 Count " 
 
 " Montenay," said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " Montenay — to be received," continued her ladyship, 
 " without a certainty of some serious and permanent 
 result — there can be no question about thatT 
 
 " I own your arguments are extremely plausible," said 
 Lord Weybridge ; " but I have confessed to you, and to 
 this old scarecrow over and over again, a devotion to this 
 misrepresented, excellent creature." 
 
 "To me!" said the Doctor, "you never did — you 
 made a confidence about the Bibi Saab at Calcutta, and the 
 wine-man's black-eyed daughter at the Cape, and the 
 beautiful blue eyed yam-stock at St. Helena ; but you 
 never confided any thing to me about this Miss — whatever 
 her name is. Tut, man — look at Lady Catherine — there 
 in a lovely young body — blood, beauty, rank, and accom- 
 plishment ! " 
 
 " Psha ! " said George, half wavering. 
 
 " You are right, Doctor MacGopus," said Lady Fran- 
 ces ; " Lady Catherine would make an admirable wife 
 for him." 
 
 " I 'm not so sure o' that, my lady," said the Doctor : 
 " those fine showy creatures about in the world don't 
 always settle down like the quiet ones." 
 
 " No to be sure," interrupted George, — " the quiet ones 
 for me." 
 
 " Why so ? " said MacGopus : " the quiet ones abroad
 
 THE parson's daughter. 309 
 
 are the noisiest at home — a tall woman and proud, and a 
 little woman and loud, is the proverb in my country." 
 
 " Then whom do you agree with ? " said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Not with your ladyship/' said the Doctor. 
 
 " Nor with me," said George. 
 
 " Certainly not,'' replied MacGopus. 
 
 " Then you agree with neither of us," said Lady 
 Frances. 
 
 " On the contrary with both of you," answered the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Illustrious humbug," said George. " I shall go to 
 bed — I am sick of this unprofitable discussion about 
 nothing." 
 
 " Excuse me. Lord Weybridge," said IMacGopus ; " it 
 is about a great deal — it is about whether you are to sacri- 
 fice your honour and propriety, and all your future pros- 
 pects, to a visionary scheme of happiness with an obscure 
 hugger-mugger Parson's Daughter, who has been scamper- 
 ing all over the country with a profligate woman, and 
 comes home to her father's manse, or whatever you call 
 the thing here, with a French dandy count, Avhose very 
 name makes me sick." 
 
 " W^hat, have you deserted me } " said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " No ; 1 am adhering to you and to your interest," said 
 MacGopus. — " I am sure this young lady is attached to 
 you — Lady Frances says you have made her believe you 
 are attached to her — fie ! man — where are your manners ? 
 you have lost them all by grubbing ashore so long." 
 
 To Lady Frances this familiarity, which was quite unac- 
 countable, and would at any other time have been vastly 
 irritating, was quite charming : the rough grating of the 
 Doctor's rebuke, so unHke the soft melodious tone in which 
 he had been addressing the " ladies " during the earlier 
 part of the evening, sounded like music to her ears ; and 
 she sat silent, partly from amazement, and partly because 
 she found that if she ventured to agree with her eccentric 
 coadjutor, he would instantly convert himself into her most 
 violent antagonist. 
 
 " ^Vhat have I done," said George, " to commit myself, 
 as you call it, to Catherine ? I tell you now as I told you 
 
 X 3
 
 310 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 before, I think her an extremely delightful person — I enjoy 
 her society — I love to hear her sing, or speak — for the 
 one she does sweetly, and the other agreeably — but I am 
 not conscious of having paid her more attention than is 
 inevitable in a country house, especially if that country 
 house happens to be one's own." 
 
 " The Duchess feels it differently," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Let me drink — drink and forget all this," said Lord 
 Weybridge ; " let me forget Emma Lovell and the infernal 
 French count. Come, MacGopus, make me one of those 
 tremendous north- westers, that when I was a youngster 
 and sick in love you prescribed for me on board the Ele- 
 phant. I could have overlooked all the elopement story — 
 but that infernal revolutionary " 
 
 " Ay de ini," said the Doctor, " what a whirligig your 
 head is ! so now, because the poor body has taken a walk 
 with one of the French ' noblesse,' you are to cast her off 
 
 — and — well, well — here drown your sorrows." 
 
 " Sorrows ! he ought to have none to drown," said Lady 
 Frances. 
 
 " No," said MacGopus, taking an extra pinch of snuff, 
 " all his sorrows were drowned, four months ago, in the 
 Mediterranean." 
 
 Lady Frances was shocked at this unfeeling allusion. 
 
 " To be sure," said the Doctor, glancing off entirely 
 from tlie point to which she was endeavouring to keep her 
 son, " that must have been a most lubberly business; but, 
 no matter — the Royal Yacht Club in the Mediterranean 
 
 — a cat in " 
 
 " Come, come," said Lord "Weybridge, " still your 
 satire, most excellent Caliban ! I wish I knew what I have 
 done to deserve being called to account about Lady Ca- 
 therine Hargrave." 
 
 " Nothing, dear George," said Lady Frances, " nothing; 
 only followed the dictates of judgment and good taste. You 
 saw and admired her — constant association has confirmed 
 your first impression, and she is destined to make you 
 happy," 
 
 " Me happy!" said Lord Weybridge, upon whose un- 
 accustomed head the potential mixture of his nautical
 
 THE parson's daughter. 311 
 
 Mentor began to take considerable effect : " Me ! — why, 
 my dear mother, you fancy every woman who sees me is 
 in love with me, I believe. Suppose — suppose, I say, at 
 this very moment — oh ! that French monster, how I hate 
 the recollection. Well — well — it is all her own fault; — 
 I say if at this very moment I were to propose to Lady 
 Catherine, I would stake my existence she would refuse 
 me." 
 
 " Commission me, George, to make the experiment," 
 said Lady Frances, " this very night — for the Duchess is 
 not gone to bed — this very hour I will satisfy you on that 
 point. Come, George." 
 
 " Do, George," said the Doctor, because he was con- 
 vinced he would not. 
 
 " I will do what is right," said Lord Weybridge, worked 
 up into a state of excitement very nearly bordering on de- 
 lirium : " you may tell the Duchess, if you like, that I 
 admire her daughter, and that if she thinks I have evinced 
 more attention towards her than a man without intention 
 has a right to do — I — I — shall be delighted to marry 
 her." 
 
 " You commission me to say this," said Lady Frances, 
 " and permit me to put it in my own way — softening 
 down the expressions, and modifying the language." 
 
 "' Any thing for a quiet life," said Lord AVeybridge, 
 ■who was at the moment in a state to require quiet more 
 than any thing else. 
 
 " Now recollect, George," said Lady Frances, " before 
 I go, the commission is a serious one — it decides your 
 fate." 
 
 " I consider my fate decided already," said George ; 
 " I have been duped — deceived — cheated and despised ; 
 there are no such things as innocence, and virtue, and 
 sincerity in the world." 
 
 " Very little of any of them, indeed," said the Doctor. 
 
 " I tell you honestly," continued George, " I am careless 
 and reckless : I believe marriage the best chance of happi- 
 ness — not the happiness I once hoped for, but — there — 
 there," said he, starting up, " do what you please — there's 
 a carte blanche." 
 
 X 4
 
 312 THE parson's daughtek. 
 
 " And a Dame Blanche into the bargain," said the 
 Doctor : " go to bed, my lord — go to bed ; take my ad- 
 vice, and think of this again in the morning." 
 
 " There can be no occasion for that," said Lady Frances: 
 " the management of the affair is now in my hands — isn't 
 it, my dear George ? " 
 
 " E'en as you please," said Lord Weybridge, scarcely 
 knowing -ivhat he said, and not considerably indebted to 
 his nautical friend for any thing like an explanation. 
 
 " Then I'll leave you to finish your evening," said Lady 
 Frances. " Good night ! Heaven bless you, dear George ! " 
 here she kissed his cheek. " Good night, Doctor — to- 
 morrow we will resume the subject." 
 
 '•' I'll talk it over with you all day, my lady," said 
 MacGopus, " good night ! " 
 
 And so departed Lady Frances, and straightway pro- 
 ceeded to the Duchess's dressing-room, where she found 
 Lady Catherine so much recov'|!-ed as to have got up to 
 drink some tea, which she fancied she should like, and the 
 Duchess herself sipping the same beverage, just pour passer 
 le temft. In this little committee all that had occurred 
 below stairs was detailed by her ladyship, witli such addi- 
 tions and new colourings as she thought might make it 
 more amiable and acceptable to Lady Catherine, who bore 
 the announcement of Lord W'eybridge's intention with as 
 much philosophy as " strong affection" could exhibit. 
 After which Lady P'rances took leave of her grace and her 
 future danghter-in-law, in the best possible spirits at having 
 attained her object, and brought matters to a point from 
 which it appeared impossible for her son now to recede. 
 
 " Why, what a tom-noddy you have made of yourself!" 
 said MacGopus to his noble friend, after Ladv Frances had 
 left the yellow drawing-room, " that is, if you care for the 
 Parson's Daughter." 
 
 " ^V^hat do you mean ? " said George. 
 
 " Mean ? why you have made an offer to Lady Catherine 
 — you are aware of that, I suppose .'' " 
 
 " Not exactly an offer." 
 
 "Yes, exactly an offer — you have said you'll marry 
 her. I should be sorry to trust myself to say so much to
 
 THE parson's daughter. 313 
 
 any woman in the world, if I didn't mean her to accept 
 me. 
 
 " Well done, Venerable Vanity," said Lord Weybridge ; 
 " I am distracted — I dare say I have talked nonsense; 
 but why should I not marry her ? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know/' said the Doctor, " only you 
 told me that you were devoted — as you called it — to this 
 unsophisticated creature at that place — the Parson's 
 Daughter — and in two hours after you commission your 
 mother to negotiate a marriage in another quarter." - 
 
 " Stuff," said Lord ^V^eybridge ; " she will negotiate no 
 marriage — it will all end in talk." 
 "Not a bit of it," said the Doctor. 
 " Nous verrons," said his lordship ; " I would give 
 the world to see this Count Montenay." 
 
 " It 's all too late, I tell you," said MacGopus ; " your 
 fate is settled — so count or no count — true or false — all's 
 one to you, luy lord ; come, let us to bed ; you '11 have a 
 head-ache in the morning." 
 
 " A heart-ache, perhaps," said Lord Weybridge. 
 " That 's your affair," replied the Doctor ; " we shall 
 see, as you say." 
 
 " But if you thought I was committing myself," said 
 Lord Weybridge, " why did not you stop me — check 
 me.'' 
 
 " What have I to do with \t} " said MacGopus, " I am 
 only a passenger. You told me one story, and I believed 
 you ; you told your mother another, and she beUeved you. 
 She has a stronger claim upon you than I have, so I sup- 
 pose you told her the truth. What had I to do with it ? 
 As for Lady Catherine, if what you told me be true, I 
 would rather marry the Parson's Daughter with a penny 
 portion, than I would tie myself to this one with a million." 
 " Then why the devil did not you say so ? " 
 " If I had said so, you would have contradicted me, and 
 I hate contradiction." 
 
 " You are a most unaccountahle animal, to be sure." 
 " Come, my lord, to bed — to bed," said the Doctor; 
 " to-morrow may bring us something new ; but if you 
 have not the whole bevy of beauties, dowager, duchess.
 
 314 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 daughter, and all on your hands, before twelve o'clock, I'm 
 a Dutchman." 
 
 " And whatever misery happens to me in conse- 
 quence " 
 
 " Say it was me, my lord," said the Doctor : " good 
 night — you '11 be better after a sleep. Don't be angry with 
 me — I dare say it will all come right in the end; so — 
 say good night." 
 
 " Well then, good night," said Lord Weybridge — and 
 so they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Had you a friend so desperately sick — 
 
 That all physicians had ibrsook his cure, 
 
 All scorch'd without and all parch'd uj) within ; 
 
 The moisture that niaintain'd consuming nature 
 
 Lick'd up, and in a fever fried away ; 
 
 Could you behold him heg wilh dying eyes 
 
 A glass of water, and refuse it him 
 
 Because you knew it ill for his disease, 
 
 When he would die without it ? How could you 
 
 Deny to make his death more easy to him ? DrydeN'. 
 
 When, after a feverish sleep, disturbed and interrupted by 
 wild and uncomfortable dreams. Lord Weybridge awoke in 
 the morning, his feelings were any thing but calm or satis- 
 factory — his recollections were unpleasant, his anticipations 
 distressing. It was clear that, under an irritation caused 
 by the unequivocal description of Emma's inconstancy in 
 the Jiinford letter, and the united and separate persuasions, 
 irony, entreaty, and ridicule of his mother and his friend, 
 he had empowered the former to pledge him to the Duchess 
 witli respect to her daughter. 
 
 As soon as he had partly dressed, his lordship despatched 
 his man to MacGopus's room, to beg him to come to him 
 directly. The Doctor, who liad previously taken an hour's 
 " (juarter-deck walk" on the terrace, obeyed the summons, 
 and Lord Weybridge dismissed his valet.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 315 
 
 " Doctor," said George, " I believe I have made my- 
 self the most unhappy man in the King's dominions : in a 
 fit of spleen, much aggravated by your infernal sneers, 
 I have permitted myself to abandon the only woman in 
 the world I ever cared for, and pledge myself to one, 
 for whom, now the hour is come, I am sure I care 
 nothing." 
 
 " The hour isn't come," said MacGopus ; " it is gone. 
 Your mother and the Duchess have been walking in the 
 flower-garden for the last hour and a half." 
 
 " What made them so early ? " said his lordship. 
 
 " They are not early," said the Doctor. " What made 
 you so late ? " 
 
 " Head-ache and fever — all owing to that odious 
 brandy and water." 
 
 " Brandy and water, in moderation, is a very wholesome 
 thing," said MacGopus — "I say nothing in favour of an 
 excess." 
 
 '•' What am I to do ? " said his lordship ; " of course 
 the conversation must take place after breakfast — am 
 I really committed?" 
 
 " Nailed like a mole on a barn door," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Then I arn ruined ! 
 
 " Psha ! "NMiat 's the matter ? — isn't the young lady 
 noble, and handsome, and accomplished ? " 
 
 " Hang her accomplishments," said George ; " to think 
 I should have been provoked into such silly — such wicked 
 conduct — pledged as I am to Emma." 
 
 " A man should never pledge himself," said MacGopus, 
 "■ except at an election, and there it does not signify. 
 Hustings pledges — as you will find when they become the 
 fashion • — go for nothing. " 
 
 " And as for this French count," continued his lord- 
 ship, " why should I be jealous of a French count ?" 
 
 " I don't know, I 'm sure," said MacGopus: "I should 
 think, running against an English baron, he can't have 
 much chance." 
 
 " Why (hd not you say that last night } " said Lord 
 Weybridge. 
 
 '' It didn't occur to me," replied the Doctor — " at present
 
 Sl6 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 I tell you that 's past ; you have authorised your mother to 
 open the preliminaries with the Duchess, and she has lost 
 no time in doing so. You are as fast in the noose as 
 if you had just returned from church." 
 
 " By heavens," said George, " I shall not be able to 
 endure their looks, their words, their remarks at break- 
 fast." 
 
 " Lady Catherine wo'n't come down," said MacGopus. 
 
 " How may you know th^t ?" 
 
 " The Duchess," said the Doctor, " asked me to give 
 her some advice about her head-aches and fever, and I 
 recommended her lying in bed." 
 
 " In that I do thank you," said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " So, therefore, I would advise you to prepare for break- 
 fast as fast as you can, and come to your reflections after- 
 wards." 
 
 Saying which, the 'uncommunicative doctor retired, and 
 Lord Weybridge began the completion of his toilet. 
 
 We have read in an account of an execution, how the 
 culprit bore up with surprising presence of mind, and how 
 his firmness never forsook him, even when the attendants 
 came to pinion his arms, nor even while the great finisher 
 of the law fastened the fatal noose round his neck. The 
 fortitude of such unhappy sufferers was emulated by his 
 lordship during his preparations for the breakfast-room. 
 He felt the noose already fastened, and, having been self- 
 condemned, had not even the distant glimmering hope of a 
 reprieve before his eyes — all his thoughts dwelt upon 
 procrastination and delay ; and as he was quite certain that 
 nothing could be said during breakfast itself, surrounded 
 as they should be by servants, he resolved upon making a 
 dash at the outset, and endeavour, if possible, to evade any 
 thing like a tete-a-tete with any body during the rest of the 
 day ; in order to achieve which object, he resolved never 
 to part with MacGopus until dressing time for dinner. 
 But the postponement was childish — it was like smelling 
 to a bitter draught which was sure to be administered, and 
 which he had himself proposed to swallow. 
 
 The remorse which his precipitancy on the previous 
 night caused him was deeper than either his friend or his
 
 THE parson's daughter. 31? 
 
 mother, or certainly Lady Catherine, could have imagined; 
 and he only relieved himself from the poignancy of his 
 feelings by anathematising the Doctor in terms the least 
 gentle that can well be imagined. 
 
 At breakfast, the gracious and complacent smile of the 
 Duchess, which played over a countenance expressive of a 
 deep and intimate interest in all his lordship's proceedings, 
 w^as worse to him than the grin of a Gorgon. He saw 
 precisely all that was passing in her mind, and he watched 
 the interchange of looks between her grace and his mother; 
 and it was with difficulty he restrained himself from 
 bursting into an exclamation, at once renouncing all his 
 promises and permissions of the preceding evening, con- 
 cluding the display of his feelings by rushing out of the 
 room, throwing himself into his travelling carriage, and. 
 starting for a tour. 
 
 The sinking sailor sometimes finds a plank, the en- 
 gulfed miner hears the sound of help at hand, the be- 
 nighted wanderer sees some friendly light to save him from 
 perdition. Little did Lord Weybridge, when he sat down 
 to breakfast, anticipate what would occur . before he had 
 concluded it, which not only should rescue him from the 
 jeopardy in which he felt himself, but carry him, as fast 
 as horses' feet could move, to the very spot of all others to 
 which he was most anxious to go. 
 
 Scarcely had he finished his coffee, when his own man 
 entered the breakfast-room, pale with alarm, and breathless 
 with haste, bearing in his hand a letter, which he whis- 
 pered his lord had that moment arrived by express. It 
 came from Binford. 
 
 " Binford ! " exclaimed Lady Frances ; " what ! is my 
 cottage burnt down .'' " 
 
 " No," said Lord Weybridge : " hear this," and he 
 read as follows : — 
 
 " Binford Hall, four o'clock, a. m. 
 " Mv Lord, 
 '' At the desire of Mr. Harbottle, who, I regret to say, 
 lies without hope of recovery, I write these few lines to 
 request — to ' entreat and implore' are his own words —
 
 318 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 that your lordship will not lose a moment, if it be possiblcj 
 in coming to him. From myself I may add, that a few 
 hours may render your journey needless. He has soine 
 most important communication to make to you, to whom, 
 of all persons in the world, he says it ought, for many 
 reasons, to be made. His fever and delirium are violent ; 
 and although I have little hope of his recovery, I have no 
 hesitation in saying, that the gratification of his desire to 
 see your lordship would, more than any thing, I believe, 
 tend to compose his mind, and reduce the irritation under 
 which he labours. Let me venture to entreat your imme- 
 diate compliance with what I almost fear you may consider 
 his dying wish. 
 
 " I remain, my Lord, 
 
 " Your Lordship's obedient servant, 
 
 " W. Grover." 
 
 " From Doctor Grover is the letter ? " said Lady 
 Frances. " Well, now, what a shocking thing, George ! 
 What will you do, dear ? " 
 
 " Go this instant," said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " Go ! " said her ladyship. 
 
 " Go ! " exclaimed the Duchess. 
 
 " To be sure, go," said the Doctor. 
 
 " What earthly use is your going ? " said Lady Frances. 
 " What was, or is, Mr. Harbottle to you, or you to him, 
 that he should send express to see you, of all the people in 
 the world ? " 
 
 " My dear mother," said Lord Weybridge, " your elo- 
 quence will all be vainly exerted upon this occasion. I 
 have eaten of his bread, I have drank of his wine ; his 
 house has sheltered me, and his welcome has greeted me ; 
 he is ill — perhaps dying. His last desire is to see _^rae ; 
 shall I refuse him?" 
 
 " But such a man !" said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Exactly such a man, my dear mother," said Lord 
 Weybridge, " as you found it convenient or agreeable to 
 visit ; and who, although rude in manner, was kind after 
 his nature." 
 
 " Yes, like a bear," said her ladyship, who saw in this
 
 THE parson's daughter. 319 
 
 unexpected expedition a most dangerous impediment to 
 her manoeuvrings. 
 
 " Well, like a bear, if you please/' said George ; " but 
 if ladies admire bears^ they must abide by their taste. I 
 repeat to you, he has been kind to me — I now may be of 
 use to him ; and if on his death-bed, as the physician 
 thinks it, he begs to see me — I go. Here,'"' continued his 
 lordship, " order four horses to the chariot directly ; and 
 you, my gentle Mac, will be my companion on the journey." 
 
 " Dear, dear," said the Duchess, " what a very extra- 
 ordinary circumstance." 
 
 " j\Iost extraordinary," said Lady Frances, " to send 
 for George, whose only attraction to his house, as I believe, 
 was his pretty wife." 
 
 "It is to prove that Mrs. Harbottle was not my only 
 attraction," said Lord Weybridge, " that I am going to 
 the house where she is not." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say they have made it all up again," said 
 her ladyship ; " and this is some trick of hers to get you 
 there." 
 
 " I think," said Lord Weybridge, " Mrs. Harbottle is 
 too well aware of my feelings upon such matters to fancy 
 me into her cicisbeo. Come, Doctor, bestir yourself — my 
 fidus Achates — come." 
 
 " Are you really going } " said the Doctor. 
 
 " ^V^hy, to be sure I am : have I not said it ? have I 
 not ordered horses ? Come — come." 
 
 "■ Of course you will not stay," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Cela depend,'^ replied his lordship : " I shall stay to 
 fulfil whatever duty I may consider it right to perform. 
 I shall venture to establish myself at the cottage, with your 
 ladyship's permission, and shall moreover introduce the 
 Doctor to your snuggery, in the full and perfect confidence 
 of his finding fault with every part of it." 
 
 Lady Frances, of course, smiled agreeably, and looked 
 quite charmed at the idea ; but her heart ached, as any 
 body might have known who knew her countenance, be- 
 cause in a moment she saw all that would follow. Har- 
 bottle might have lived for ages or died the week before, 
 and it would have been a mactcr of perfect indifference to
 
 320 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 her ; but she anticipated the meeting which must infallibly 
 take place between the Lovells and her son ; she dreaded 
 the effect of the interview ; she feared the plausibility with 
 which the Parson's Daughter might explain her acquaint- 
 ance with the Frenchman, and, perhaps, completely ex- 
 onerate herself from any thing like impropriety in the 
 journey with ]\Irs. Harbottle ; in short, if that terrible per- 
 sonage, who is said to make his appearance immediately 
 after being talked of, had arrived at Severnstoke instead of 
 the messenger from the sick squire, he could scarcely liave 
 been less welcome, or have created more dismay. 
 
 " Mind, my dear George, now do take care," said her 
 ladyship, " if you do go to the cottage, pray see that your 
 beds are well aired." 
 
 " That 's of no consequence," said the Doctor ; " the 
 prejudice against the danger of lying in damp sheets — 
 except, indeed, to a printer — is all a vulgar error," 
 
 " My dear sir !" said her ladyship. 
 
 " Come, MacGopus," said Lord Weybridge, " let us 
 have no discussions — 1 have a duty to perform, and the ra- 
 pidity with which I perform it constitutes part of the 
 duty itself. I shall return as soon as possible, and the 
 sooner I go, in all probability, the sooner I shall be home 
 again : meanwhile, my dear duchess, make yourselves as 
 happy as you can — there are two or three people, I believe, 
 expected to-day and to-morrow ; and to you, my dear mother, 
 I trust their reception, with all due ardour and hospitality 
 — and now, come along." 
 
 " Not one word for poor Catherine ! " said the Duchess, 
 " who will sincerely lament missing you, I know." 
 
 " Oh !" said Lord Weybridge, " present my kindest re- 
 gards and remembrances ; we shall, however, meet again 
 so soon — and I hate the formalities of leave-taking — come, 
 come, let us prepare ourselves." 
 
 Saying which, he literally turned MacGopus out of the 
 breakfast-room, and pushing every preparation with the 
 greatest rapidity, was in a short time waiting for nothing 
 but his servant and the carriage. 
 
 There remained two manffiuvres to be performed, for 
 which there was just sufficient time : — as soon as George
 
 THE parson's daughter. 321 
 
 had quitted the breakfast-parlour, the Duchess hurried to 
 Lady Catherine's room, she found her in her dressing-room, 
 having breakfasted ; two small plates entirely empty, two 
 egg-cups quite vacant, and only half a well-sized loaf re- 
 maining on the table, indicating that her ladyship's appetite 
 had not suffered — herself dressed for the morning. Her the 
 Duchess hurried down stairs, to take leave of George by 
 surprise just as he should be stepping into the carriage — 
 this was the manoeuvre of the Duchess. 
 
 Two minutes before his lordship's foot was on the steps, 
 Robert, Lady Frances's footman, made his appearance, evi- 
 dently labouring under some embarrassment of a serious 
 character : he suggested, that as my lord would go to Dale 
 Cottage, his presence might perhaps be more useful as being 
 better acquainted with the locale than any of his lordship's 
 footmen, and that, perhaps, her ladyship, if Mr. Roberts 
 had no objection, would allow him to go in the rumble, 
 and 
 
 " To be sure," said Lady Frances : " tell Roberts, that 
 I think, if his lord likes it, you had better go — to be sure 
 — very thoughtful, indeed, Robert." 
 
 Wide apart were the spheres in which moved the 
 Duchess and the footman, but the influence of passion and 
 policy was pretty equal in either. The Duchess roused 
 her noble daughter, and Robert aff^ected an interest in Lord 
 Weybridge ; the one to carry the point of producing an 
 interview, between his lordship and Lady Catherine, and 
 the other to secure himself ihe jileasure of a brief associ- 
 ation with Mary Green ! 
 
 (^ne might stop to moralise upon these graduated trick- 
 eries, but we have not time ; the horses were actually at 
 the door, and his lordship, sensitively grateful for the par- 
 ticular attentions of the lovely Catherine and her disin- 
 terested parent, and perfectly alive to all the embarrassments 
 and anxieties of his mother, having thrown himself into 
 the carriage, followed by his travelling companion, Roberts, 
 with Robert the footman, mounted the rumble ; and, the 
 postboys giving the rein to their steeds, away went the 
 noble baron and his nautical friend.
 
 322 THE PABSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 His eve-balls roll at death : 
 
 Behold the ling'ring soul's convulsive strife, 
 
 His thick short breath catches at parting life. Dryden. 
 
 The suddenness of all this proceeding, which was quite in 
 accordance with Lord Weybridge's wishes, and far beyond 
 his hopes, inasmuch as his extrication from the difficulty 
 in which he was plunged gave the affair all the character 
 of a dream. To MacGopus it made not the slightest dif- 
 ference, whether he were musing by his fire- side, reading 
 his book, contradicting his friend, or scampering across a 
 country at the rate of a dozen miles an hour ; he was 
 equally immovable, imi)erturbable, and philosophical. They 
 had proceeded three miles before either of them spoke. 
 
 " I think I 'm out of that, Doctor ? " said his lordship, 
 breaking silence. 
 
 " Out of what, my lord ? " said MacGopus. 
 
 " The scrape I got myself into last night." 
 
 "Not you," said the Doctor; " you'll never get be- 
 yond the tether of your lady-mother's apron-string ; your 
 fate is fixed." 
 
 " It seems something like an interposition of fortune in 
 my favour," said Lord "Weybridge, " that Harbottle should 
 express this wonderfully strong desire to see me ; and still 
 niore curious is it, as it will afford me an opportunity of 
 seeing Emma, and " 
 
 " You must not see her," said MacGopus ; " what 
 would be the use of ripping up old wounds, and putting 
 the poor girl into an agitation, exciting her hopes and 
 flattering her vanity, when you have just put it out of 
 your power to realise the promises you have made her } " 
 
 " Do you mean to say," said Lord AVey bridge, " that 
 if I find her blameless in the affair of Mrs. Harbottle's 
 elopement — and I cannot but believe that the desire of her 
 husband to see me has its origin in his anxiety for her 
 exculpation upon that point — I have any possible excuse
 
 THE parson's daughtkb. 323 
 
 for flinching from the fulfilment of my promise made to 
 her friend ? " 
 
 " The French count ! " said the Doctor, taking snuff, 
 as usual. 
 
 " Hang the French count." 
 
 " ^Fhy didn't you think all these things over last 
 night? " said MacGopus ; " I'll tell you why — the Duchess's 
 daughter has got hold of you, and she pleases you, and 
 amuses you, and flatters your vanity, and you had thrown 
 over this Parson's Daughter, and had forgotten her." 
 
 '^ / forget > " 
 
 " Yes, you had," said the Doctor, " forgotten her so 
 far, that if this strange thing had not happened, you would 
 before now have been as firmly engaged to marry Lady 
 Catherine as you were engaged to marry the other, two 
 months ago. Now that circumstances have roused your 
 mind from the repose which it has been enjoying in society 
 to which you have become habituated, with people whose 
 whole aim and object are to make themselves agreeable to 
 you — you return to your senses, and every hour as you 
 approach the scene of what you once thought happiness, 
 you will find the recollection strengthen upon you ; till at 
 last, if you permit your feelings to get the better of you, 
 you will go so far as to renew your offer to your first love, 
 even although she has been the associate of a wanton wife 
 and the willing listener to the professions of a foreign ad- 
 venturer : you must not see her, George." 
 
 " You might as well prevent the needle pointing to the 
 pole, ' said his lordship. 
 
 " That's a very odd simile," said the Doctor ; " you 
 may rely upon it, your pole, as you call it, is in another 
 place," 
 
 " I most certainly will see Miss Lovell." 
 
 " You wo'n't." 
 
 " But my dear doctor, I tell you I will." 
 
 " We shall see." 
 
 Here Lord Weybridge had recourse to his long esta- 
 blished method of avoiding any farther altercation with 
 his positive friend. He said no more, but throwing him- 
 self into a corner of the carriage, with a half-uttered ex- 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 clamation of rage at the obstinacy of his companion, 
 affected to sleep, MacGopus chuckling to himself at hav- 
 ing effectually silenced his agitated companion. 
 
 This sort of discussion was occasionally renewed during 
 the journey, which was pursued as rapidly as possible, and 
 terminated at the door of Binford Hall, about ten o'clock 
 at night. 
 
 When the carriage drew up, what a melancholy con- 
 trast did the appearance of things present to that which 
 was last exhibited to George's sight ! One faint light 
 glimmered in the Hall, and one or two peals at the bell 
 were rung before any one appeared to open the doors. 
 The drawing-room, once the bright centre of a brilliant 
 circle of apartments, stood open, but dark, and the night 
 wind whistled along the once well warmed and brightly 
 lighted passages. 
 
 Lord Weybridge had arranged that the Doctor should 
 proceed with the carriage to the cottage, and urge by his 
 presence the preparations for the night's accommodation, 
 about which Mr. Roberts the valet, and Robert the foot- 
 man, had directions forthwith to busy themselves. His 
 lordship had, in the first instance, requested MacGopus to 
 stay at the HaU ; but he peremptorily refused, from a 
 feeling that his appearance there might create some ground- 
 less jealousy on the part of the medical attendants, and 
 have the air of intrusion, of which his pride and dignity 
 could not for a moment endure the suspicion. 
 
 " How is your master ? " said Lord Weybridge to the 
 servant who appeared. 
 
 " As bad as bad can be, sir," replied the man : " the 
 doctors think he can't live out the night." 
 
 " Tell Dr. Grover that I am here ; but let him be 
 told," said Lord ^Veybridge, " so that Mr. Harbottle may 
 not hear it." 
 
 The servant ushered Lord Weybridge into the library, 
 and proceeded to do his lordship's bidding. The library, 
 like the rest of the house, exhibited all the melancholy 
 marks of desertion and neglect. The cold stillness of the 
 room, which erst had rung with laughter, struck upon 
 George's heart j nor was this feeling unmixed with the
 
 THE parson's daughter. 325 
 
 recollections of the society he had enjoyed here, and the 
 indiscretions which he had somehow to atone for at home. 
 Every object revived his affection for Emma, and con- 
 vinced him, that however agreeable the dream in which 
 he had been slumbering away his hours at Severnstoke, 
 the moment of awakening had arrived, and all perhaps 
 too late. 
 
 From his reverie Lord Weybridge was aroused by the 
 entrance into the apartment of Dr. Grover, who, after 
 having made his excuses for taking the liberty of writing 
 so hastily and abruptly to request his lordship's attendance, 
 told him that he believed his unhappy patient had but a 
 few hours to live — the ease which he at present was 
 enjoying he believed to be only a symptom of mortifica- 
 tion ; and he felt happy that his lordship had so kindly and 
 so speedily compHed with Mr. Harbottle's anxious desire, 
 as he evidently had something most important to disclose 
 to him, and, as he had said over and over again, to him 
 alone. 
 
 "Has Mrs. Harbottle been sent for?" asked Lord 
 Weybridge. 
 
 " She has," repHed the Doctor, " and will, I know, 
 if possible, be here : her own state of health, Mr. Lovell, 
 who is in Mr. Harbottle's room, has informed me, is so 
 delicate, that caution was necessary in taking such a jour- 
 ney rapidly. However, it is a gratifying circumstance 
 to know how anxiously her husband desires to see her." 
 
 " Mr. Lovell is here, you say," said Lord Wey- 
 bridge. 
 
 " Yes, with the kindness and devotion to his duty and 
 his friend, he has made an exertion beyond his strength, 
 and has been conveyed hither — himself an invalid. Mr. 
 Harbottle has appeared much more tranquil since his ar- 
 rival ; indeed, he has scarcely left liim for the last three 
 days." 
 
 " And Miss Lovell " said his lordship. 
 
 "Is at the Rectory : in scenes like that to which 
 you will soon be summoned, of course she could in no 
 degree participate ; nor did we consider it prudent, under 
 the circumstances of the case, to agitate her by more fre- 
 
 Y 3
 
 326 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 quent accounts of the progress of the inflammation than 
 absolutely necessary. Her care and anxiety about her 
 father^ so unused as he is to quit his home, have been 
 quite sufficient to keep her mind painfully employed ; and 
 we have restricted Count Montenay — whom, of course, 
 your lordship knows — to three visits here in the day, to 
 carry her intelligence as to how matters are going on. 
 However, to-night, I apprehend, will close the sad history, 
 and poor Mr. Lovell may be restored to the calm retire- 
 ment of his own peaceful dwelling." 
 
 " ButCount Montenay," said Lord Weybridge, "is " 
 
 " I beg your lordship's pardon for one moment," said 
 Doctor Grover ; " some one calls me." 
 
 Saying which he went to the door of the room, and 
 found the officious Popjoy, who had been sent by the 
 patient to summon the Doctor, and to conjure Lord Wey- 
 bridge, if he had arrived, to come to him instantly. He 
 had heard the sound of wheels when the carriage drew up 
 to the door, and, with an earnestness amounting almost to 
 frenzy, entreated — implored — and at last insisted, that 
 not a moment should be lost before he saw his friend, as 
 he emphatically called his lordship. 
 
 To such a summons, under the sanction of Doctor 
 Grover, there could be but one answer ; and George 
 followed the medical man along the lobby, which led to 
 what was in other times Harbottle's morning-room, but in 
 which now stood his bed ; for, as has been already stated, 
 he had never left the ground-floor of the house since 
 Fanny's departure. The door was opened, and George 
 entered. All was still — save a subdued moan uttered by 
 the unhappy master of the mansion. 
 
 *' Who 's there .'' " cried Harbottle, raising himself in 
 bed. "You — you, George — George — you — Shering- 
 ham!" 
 
 " Be calm, my dear friend," said Grover. 
 
 " Be calm," repeated Lovell. 
 
 *' Calm — I can't be calm — George — George!" 
 
 *' I am here at your desire, Harbottle," said Lord Wey- 
 bridge, at the same moment taking Lovell's hand aflf'ec- 
 tionately as he jjassed to the bed-side.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 32? 
 
 " I see — I see ! " cried Harbottle. " Now — now — 
 there's no time to be lost; Doctor — Grover — all of you — 
 go — go — leave us ; you — you, Lovell, stay — go, all of 
 you. I '11 give ye a thousand pounds to go this minute — 
 I 've plenty of money still — go ! " 
 
 Grover beckoned his colleague and the servant who was 
 in attendance, and they retired. 
 
 " Are they gone ? — is the door shut ? — quite shut — 
 close — close — close !" 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Weybridge ; " but now let me entreat 
 you to calm yourself." 
 
 "^It's all over George; let me call you George — to-^ 
 morrow I shall not be able to call you any thing — I'm 
 dying — they know it — / know it — but I could not die 
 in peace — in peace I cannot die even as it is." 
 " Be patient," said Lovell, "be calm." 
 " Oh ! Sheringham, I have sent for you — to unburden 
 my mind. You were my friend — I loved you — I esteemed 
 you ; you had a regard for my wife — my poor, poor ill- 
 used wife ! You loved Harvey — poor Harvey ! you love 
 Emma — Lovell's daughter — you do — you do — I know 
 all that — I have my senses yet." 
 " Well, but, now ?" said Lovell. 
 
 "I know — I know," said Harbottle, "I'm coming 
 to it — I cannot buy time — or breath — I have none to 
 spare. He knows the history — Lovell knows it all, 
 George — but he would never have told it. It is to clear 
 my wife — my Fanny — she I was once so fond — so 
 proud of. She's coming, though — she's to be here, 
 George — 1 shall see her yet ; — give me some drink — I 
 must speak it all yet — my tongue is parched." 
 
 " Why agitate yourself in this manner?" said George; 
 
 " nobody doubts or suspects your wife, nobody " 
 
 " Ay, that 's it," said Harbottle, " but / did — that 
 villain Hollis — he's gone — it was my last act — he's 
 gone — last night, he went — villain. — But listen : I gave 
 the cue to the world to suspect her ; she left me — fled, 
 and Lovell's pure, good daughter went with her — she is 
 injured by it — she is doubted and suspected. He — this 
 good, kind, kind man would never vindicate his child at 
 
 Y 4
 
 328 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 my expense. I must — hear me, George — you will con- 
 sent to be one of the executors of my will — I have clone 
 this on purpose — my wife — my wife has every thing — • 
 aU I can do to atone for my conduct. Oh ! — jealousy — 
 meanness — drunkenness " 
 
 Here again he fell back, exhausted. Lovell spoke to 
 Lord Weybridge a few words. 
 
 "No — no," said Harbotde, "1 have strength left for 
 that ; George — hear it — hear trie — Harvey — how dare 
 I pronounce his name — he was 7ni/ friend — your friend 
 — he — George, George — oh God — I am his murderer!" 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " said Lovell. 
 
 " No — hush ! let it be heard — let it be heard," said 
 Harbottle : " Sheringham, I did not strike him to the 
 earth — my hand was never stained with his blood ; but 
 his blood is upon my soul — money — money cannot buy 
 it off." 
 
 " You rave, Harbottle," said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " No — no ; hear me — I recollect all the circum- 
 stances — it is fit you should hear them from my lips. 
 I went to Bradfield's to shoot — we were out ; while we 
 were beating a cover, Harvey, who had ridden over from 
 Mordaunt's, joined us. You see I am not mad — I re- 
 collect all the circumstances. Nobody there knew of our 
 differences — not even Harvey liimself was aware of the 
 strength of my feelings. He joined us — he spoke to 
 me — I returned his salutation. We were for an hour 
 near each other in the field. Ten times did I feel as if I 
 should like to shoot him on the spot." 
 
 " Oh, for mercy's sake !" said Lord "Weybridge. 
 
 " Ah, but it's true, and I killed him at last," said 
 Harbottle, with a horrid smile : " 1 did ! Listen — listen 
 — hear me; he was pressed to dine at Bradfield's; he as- 
 sented — we dined ; we drank much wine — he saw my 
 coldness of manner — I saw he did — there was some 
 joke — some bet, I believe about drinking — and to rally, 
 he drank more wine than ever I saw him drink, but not 
 so much as 1 did ; yet I recollect all — the party broke 
 up — we two were the only men going away — all the 
 rest slept in the house. He had no servant — I had none.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 329 
 
 Our horses were brought to the door together, Bradfield 
 came out with us — we mounted and took leave of him 
 together. Give me some drink, Lovell." 
 
 Lord Weybridge handed him some lemonade^ which 
 he sipped. 
 
 " We rode forward together, without speaking, for 
 some minutes. He made an observation — I answered as 
 I should have answered a stranger, and put my horse into 
 a canter. He did the same — my blood was boiling — 
 my head whirled — my heart was full of revenge, and I 
 only cast about in my mind how to pick a quarrel with 
 him which might have no reference to what I fancied my 
 real grievance ; but I could not, in my confusion of ideas, 
 hit upon any thing plausible, and we cantered on till we 
 came to the corner by Broustead Gap. There it was he 
 broke silence, by asking me if there was not a way across 
 the common which led into the upper road by Mordaunt's. 
 The thought — the devil, I should say, glanced into my 
 mind at the moment ; the night was pitchy dark. — ' Yes,' 
 said I, '^ there — d' ye see yon light — ride straight for it, 
 as straight as you can ride — that light is in the upper 
 road.' — ' Good-night, Harbottle,' said Harvey ; I could 
 not answer him — my tongue clove to my mouth. — They 
 were the last words he ever spoke — I knew they would 
 be, George ! He put spurs to his horse, and gallopped off 
 at my bidding. I knew what was to happen. I pulled 
 up, and listened. — I sat in an agony of anxiety — my 
 ears throbbed, and my heart beat — I heard the hoofs 
 pattering on the turf — the sound grew fainter, but still I 
 heard them going — it lasted but a minute. I heard a 
 sharp cry, and then a crash — it was the headlong fall of 
 both man and beast into a deep gravel pit, which I knew 
 lay right in his path — there — there his mangled body 
 was found the next morning." 
 
 Harbottle sank on his pillow for a moment — he raised 
 himself. 
 
 " I hear the horrid clatter now — it was momentary — 
 not a sound — not a groan followed — all was still — I rode 
 home as hard as I could gallop — I fancied Harvey was 
 behind me. I smelt his blood in my nostrils, and tasted
 
 330 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 it in my throat. I came home — here in the room over 
 this — I gloried in the work. I bragged of it to my wife 
 — I did — I jeered her about Harvey, and gloried in being 
 his murderer. She left me, George, as soon as the day 
 dawned ; was she wrong ? This good, good, kind man's 
 daughter, like a ministering angel, went with her to her 
 aunt's. Oh ! George ! I shall never see her again. She 
 wo'n't come — no — no — I know she wo'n't — I dare not 
 pray for her — no — nor for myself — yet now you know 
 the truth ; you ought to know it. Curse me not ! I am 
 not mad now! — I was mad then — raving mad! — but 
 Fanny is innocent ! — and Emma, who has been traduced, 
 is innocent ; I alone am guilty." 
 
 '' Can this be true .^ " said Lord Weybridge to Lovell. 
 
 " I have been till now the sole depositary of this dread- 
 ful secret," said Lovell ; " no evidence could have sub- 
 stantiated the fact legally ; he confessed it to his wife, and 
 she quitting him immediately, gave me that account which 
 he has just repeated, as the reason of her forming the 
 sudden and immutable resolution never again to associate 
 with him." 
 
 '■' What is it you are saying?" said Harbottle. " All 
 you can say of my guilt, say — if it will anwer any end of 
 justice, you have my consent to publish it all. Whatever 
 is necessary to establish Fanny's character, let every body 
 know ; but, oh I she will not come to me, George. I 
 would give ten — twenty tliousand pounds, for one for- 
 giving smile — one single kiss, such as she used to give 
 me; but no — blood! — blood! — blood! She will not 
 come near me ! " 
 
 Here he seemed to faint from exhaustion, and Lord 
 Weybridge thought it advisable to call Dr. Grover into 
 the room. He came ; Harbottle immediately recognised 
 him. 
 
 " You are returned, Doctor," said he. 
 
 '' I merely came to see if you wanted any thing," said 
 Grover. 
 
 " No, no ! nothing ! I feel sleepy. Doctor ; very 
 sleepy." 
 
 " Indulge it, sir," said the physician.
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 331 
 
 " Ah ! nothing will avail ; it 's all over ! " said Har- 
 bottle. " So much the better ! but I am easier ! I am 
 happier, Sheringham ! — shake hands with me — bear 
 with me — bear with a repentant sinner ! You and Lovell 
 will have all my affairs to arrange ; forgive the trouble I 
 impose : it will be useful to Fanny to have a man of your 
 rank and character to support her — you will — I know 
 you will — and Lovell — and his daughter. Oh ! Lovell ! 
 
 — remember me kindly to your excellent child." 
 A flood of tears here relieved the unhappy man. 
 
 " Try and sleep, sir," said Grover ; " lay your head on 
 the pillow.'"' 
 
 " I will, I will," said Harbottle. " I am sure I shall 
 sleep! — but hear ! — mind what I say — if Fanny comes 
 
 — if it is one — two — three o'clock — any hour — don't 
 mind my sleeping — wake me — wake me the moment she 
 arrives. Bless her ! bless her ! — Now, don't forget ! pro- 
 mise me that." 
 
 " Rely upon me," said Grover. 
 
 In a few minutes Harbottle, as he had anticipated, fell 
 into a profound slumber. 
 He never woke again. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
 
 332 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 VOLUME THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Death is the lightest evil we should fear — 
 'T is certain, — 't is the consequence of life. 
 Th' important question is not when we die. 
 But how we die. Havard. 
 
 The dreadful scene which Lord Weybridge and Lovell 
 had just witnessed had a powerful eft'ect upon their feelings 
 — to Lovell the intelligence conveyed in Harbottle's 
 confession was of course not new ; upon the mind of 
 George it acted doubly ; first, in exciting the most un- 
 qualified horror at the barbarity of the wretched culprit, 
 and the bitterest grief for his lamented and unhappy friend 
 Harvey ; and, secondly, in at once exonerating from all 
 blame or imputation his beloved Emma, who now stood 
 wholly and entirely acquitted of indiscretion or impropriety 
 in sharing the sorrows and journey of her wretched friend, 
 driven as she had been from the home of her husband by 
 no fault, no failing of her own, but by the horror naturally 
 created by his savage boast of being a murderer. 
 
 All the doubts which Lady Frances Sheringham had 
 been labouring for weeks to instil into George's mind were 
 scattered, dissipated, and obliterated, by this most un- 
 looked-for discovery ; all the reflections which she had 
 cast upon the selfish meanness and hypocritical piety of 
 the good clergyman were exploded and overthrown ; and 
 he felt anxious for the moment when he might throw 
 himself at Miss Lovell's feet and implore her forgiveness, 
 for having suffered himself to be duped into the belief of a 
 possibility of her imprudence or her father's venality ; for 
 to the latter base source Lady Frances affected to attri- 
 bute the permission he had given his child to be the part- 
 ner of Mrs. Harbottle's retreat.
 
 THE PAKSON 3 DAUGHTER. 333 
 
 At the suggestion of Dr. Grover, Mr. Lovell, who had 
 not quitted the Hall for the last two days^ agreed to re- 
 turn home, the Doctor giving it as his opinion that " all 
 was over/' but promising that if, contrary to his expect- 
 ations, nature should rally, he would immediately send to 
 the Rectory and to Dale Cottage ; to which, also, Lord 
 Weybridge agreed to retire to wait the event which was 
 hourly expected, or the alteration for the better, at which 
 the Doctor so slightly glanced j in fact, it was not until 
 Harbottle himself was fully convinced he was past recovery, 
 that he could prevail upon himself to make such a confes- 
 sion as that which they had just heard. 
 
 To some it may appear strange that he should have been 
 induced under any circumstances to proclaim himself so 
 great a culprit on his death-bed, but it should be recol- 
 lected that Lovell was already apprized of the affair ; at 
 least Mrs. Harbottle had confided to him so much that the 
 subsequent admissions of her husband to him completed 
 the horrid history ; and that he, being the sole depositary 
 of the secret, and knowing how materially Mrs. Harbottle 
 had been injured in popular opinion by the steps she had 
 taken, and aware, of course, that a proportion of the blame 
 and censure which attached to her devolved upon his poor 
 innocent child, was most anxious that some less interested 
 person than himself should also be admitted into Har- 
 bottle's confidence, at a period when the disclosure could 
 only affect his memory, by which not only his exemplary 
 widow would be restored to her place in society, but the 
 mean and insidious calumnies of the coteries of Binford 
 and their various centrifugal ramifications might be ex- 
 ploded and exposed. It was he, therefore, who, when he 
 saw the disposition of Harbottle, as his illness increased, 
 to apply to Lord "W^eybridge to accept the executorship of 
 the wiU conjointly with himself, urged upon him the pro- 
 priety and justice of exculpating with his own lips his 
 unhappy and injured wife, thus enabling Lord ^^'eybridge, 
 whenever the occasion might offer, to vindicate her reput- 
 ation and support her character ; and Harbotde was the 
 more ready to agree to Lovell's proposition, from the cer- 
 tainty that Lady Frances wovdd be, as, indeed, he had
 
 334i THE parson's daughter. 
 
 heard she already had been, one of the first to asperse 
 poor Fanny's reputation, and attribute her separation from 
 her husband to the worst possible causes. 
 
 In pursuance of the physician's advice, Mr. Lovell pro- 
 ceeded, with assistance, to his pony chaise, in which — 
 strange coincidence of circumstances, after their extra- 
 ordinary sejjaration — he was driven by Lord Weybridge 
 to the Rectory, his lordship hardly knowing what the 
 reverend gentleman was observing upon the merits of the 
 case, or the horrors of the exhibition they had just wit- 
 nessed, while his thoughts were fixed upon the possibility — 
 the mere possibility — of his being in ten minutes more in 
 the presence of the much injured Emma, having utterly 
 forgotten that there existed such a being as Lady Ca- 
 therine, or, what was even more terrible, any thing very 
 like an engagement between them. 
 
 They reached the Rectory-gate. George drove in, and 
 drew up at the door with Buxton-like dexterity. 
 
 " Is Miss Lovell gone to bed } " said the Rector to the 
 servant. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the man ; my young mistress went 
 to bed about eleven, and the Count went to bed before 
 that." 
 
 The Count! — "Ay, there's the rub," — George felt 
 himself strangely agitated. 
 
 " I wo'n't ask you to come in, Lord Weybridge," said 
 the Rector, " for 1 know you have a friend at the cottage : 
 you'll take the chaise." 
 
 " Oh, no, no," said Lord Weybridge, " not I — I — . 
 would rather walk — I m cold — or — indeed I prefer 
 walking." 
 
 "If we should not be summoned in the course of the 
 night," said Lovell, "^ we shall meet in the morning — 
 perhaps your lordship will call here." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Lord Weybridge — " yes, my dear 
 sir — that 1 will — good night — good night — don't stay 
 in the air." 
 
 " Good night," said the Rector. 
 
 " The devil take that Count !" said Lord Weybridge, 
 before he had got out of the grounds. " So — all my
 
 THE parson's daughter. 335 
 
 castles are down again. — What signifies her prudence with 
 respect to Mrs. Harbottle if she cannot palliate her conduct 
 with this infernal French fellow ? — I might know all 
 about hira by asking any of the people around me, but I 
 will not. I will not suflfer myself to be prejudiced ; he 
 may be no lover, after all, and the scandal and absurdity 
 of the neighbours might give a colouring to his acquaint- 
 ance at the Parsonage which the real facts of the case 
 do not in the least justify. No — I am resolved — I'll 
 see the man — and if possible see him with Emma. I 
 think I know enough of the world to form a judgment of 
 the state of their intimacy by appearances, and after the 
 disclosure of to-night, by which her conduct stands cleared 
 to view, I will not permit myself to be swayed or 
 governed by any thing short of ocular demonstration or 
 viva voce evidence." 
 
 From himself and his own affairs his thoughts reverted 
 to the wretched subject of his late contemplation, and the 
 wreck of the happiness and respectability which, to the 
 eye at least, appeared so firmly established at the HaU but 
 a few weeks before. A thousand things occurred to his 
 recollection which brought his murdered friend before 
 him, while almost every incident with which he was con- 
 nected involved his still beloved Emma in its developement. 
 Full of clashing hopes and conflicting sentiments, the 
 noble baron reached the cottage. 
 
 There he found MacGopus sitting over a blazing fire, 
 reading with the deepest attention an odd volume of some 
 book which happened to be lying upon the table when he 
 came in, absorbed in its contents, and almost unconscious 
 of his right honourable friend's arrival. 
 
 " Well, Doctor," said his lordship, " I suppose your 
 patience is nearly exhausted ; we could not get away 
 before." 
 
 " Oh ! said MacGopus, " your friend took more killing 
 than the physician thought for — is he dead.-*" 
 
 " No," said George, " but he has fallen asleep ; and 
 Dr. Grover is of opinion that it is his last." 
 
 " Why should it be his last t" said MacGopus — " quite 
 contrary."
 
 336' THE parson's daughter. 
 
 "■ That cannot be/' said George, " for it is evidently 
 not his first." 
 
 " Psha ! " said MacGopus, " I didn't say it was his 
 first. I say that after this sleep he may awake refreshed — 
 you don't seem to have suffered much in your feelings if 
 you can condescend to quibble." 
 
 " Why, what I have heard and seen are not calculated 
 to create any great sorrow, or move much pity. — I drove 
 Lovell home." 
 
 " Lovell — stop now/' said the Doctor, '^'^ who's Lovell ?" 
 
 " Oh !" cried Lord "W^ey bridge, infuriated at the calm, 
 placid, persevering enquiry about a man whose name he 
 had heard five hundred times in the course of the day. 
 " W^hat nonsense — why, Mr. Lovell is the rector." 
 
 '•^ Oh ! — ay,'' said MacGopus, "well — how should I 
 know.?" 
 
 "Have they announced our supper?" said Lord Wey- 
 bridge, '-' I am faint and weary — and, moreover, Har- 
 bottle's executor, which will detain me here some two or 
 three days." 
 
 '' You must not stop here," said MacGopus. 
 
 *'' I must." 
 
 " Your mother will go crazy, and the Duchess grow 
 desperate." 
 
 " I must do my duty to my departed friend." 
 
 " He is not departed." 
 
 ''■ Well, but he cannot linger long." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that — if the Doctor leaves him 
 to himself, the chances are that he will." 
 
 " What a satire upon your own profession !" said Lord 
 Weybridge. 
 
 " I don't profess to be a physician," said MacGopus: 
 " surgeon's work is all fair and aboveboard — a cut's a cut, 
 and the thing speaks for itself. I hate physicians, they 
 keep grubbing like moles in the dark. How should a 
 clock-maker know what's the matter with a clock unless 
 he looks at the works ? I never regretted any thing so 
 much in my life as not having pulled a physician's nose 
 five-and- twenty years ago."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 337 
 
 " And yet you would not go into Haibottle's house to 
 see him ?" 
 
 " Not I," said MacGopus ; " I "m only a passenger, as 
 I once told a cockney on board a ship that was foundering 
 — it is no business of mine." 
 
 " You are a strange compound of materials," said Lord 
 Weybridge ; " when I have you here, I don't know what 
 to do with you ; and when I haven't, I don't know what 
 to do without you." 
 
 "Come, ring for supper," said MacGopus, "I'm 
 starving." 
 
 George, who had never entirely shaken off the awe 
 with which INIacGopus had inspired him, when he was 
 a "young gentleman" in his Majesty's ship Elephant, 
 under his special patronage, obeyed the surly-sounding 
 mandate of his guest, and a few minutes placed them at 
 table. 
 
 " There now, I am better," said the Doctor, having 
 concluded his repast, and drawing his chair towards the 
 fire ; " now for a pinch of snufF, and a glass of grog, and 
 then for a turn in." 
 
 " Well," said Lord Weybridge, " one thing has re- 
 sulted from this luiexpected application of Harbottle's, 
 and I think you will be glad to hear it. Doctor. Emma's 
 character and conduct stand completely fair and clear to 
 view, and her suffering friend and companion is exonerated 
 from every suspicion which envy or maUce may have 
 excited against her." 
 
 " Glad ! " said MacGopus — " not I ; on the contrary, 
 I am particularly sorry — because, if this Parson's Daughter 
 had been what your mother made you believe her to be, 
 you would have treated her properly by casting her off, 
 and engaging yourself anew ; as it is, you will have the 
 perpetual satisfaction through life of knowing that you 
 have behaved most scandalously." 
 
 " Why," said George, " didn't you yourself join in 
 running poor Emma down .''" 
 
 " To be sure I did," replied the Doctor. " You chose 
 to exalt her; I knew you must never marry her; and so, 
 
 S
 
 S38 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 as I saw a fair opening for a cut, I thought it no sin to 
 take advantage of it." 
 
 '^ But now that these calumnies are falsified 
 
 " You never can have Emma," said MacGopus. 
 " Never ?" 
 
 " No ; and therefore, as I have aheady said, you will 
 live a life of wretchedness with your right honourable 
 wife, and gratify the wishes of your mother's heart by 
 breaking your own." ' 
 
 " What a pleasant picture !" 
 
 ''It's one of your own painting, my lord. — And so 
 Mrs. Harbottle's running away is justifiable." 
 " Perfectly — entirely." 
 " Upon what grounds ?" 
 
 " That I cannot — at all events yet — confide even to 
 you." 
 
 " WTiat ! I suppose her husband smoked tobacco — or 
 eat onions — or drank too much wine — or did as he liked, 
 without asking her leave — or objected to her flirting? 
 Ay de mi, it's a nice world we live in." 
 
 " Assure yourself that she had the most serious reasons 
 for quitting him — reasons which, when knowUj will place 
 her above the shafts of malice." 
 
 " Well, why not tell me what they are ?" 
 *' Till Harbottle is dead, my lips are sealed." 
 " I should think, if your friend the physician is up 
 there still, you may open them without injuring the 
 patient." 
 
 "^ 1 am convinced, so will you be ; and being satisfied 
 of the justice and propriety of her conduct, it naturally 
 follows that Emma is equally blameless." 
 
 " 'W^ell, but, George," said MacGopus, " putting aside 
 the elopement, and all that, how do you get over the 
 French count — eh ?" 
 
 " Oh — hang the French count." 
 
 " As many as you please, with all my heart," said the 
 Doctor, who hated a Frenchman as cordially as ever Nelson 
 did. " But he is not dangling yet, my lord ?" 
 
 " I am afraid he is," muttered his lordship, who did 
 not venture to quibble openly in the presence of his friend.
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 339 
 
 who could not endure — because, like the rest of his 
 countrymen, he could not understand — a pun. It, how- 
 ever, must be confessed that the Count was yet a stumbling- 
 block in the way of a perfect reconciliation between Lord 
 Weybridge and Miss LoveU ; still the moment was not 
 far distant, when he would boldly face the foe, and make 
 such a reconnoisance in person as should satisfy his mind 
 as to the force and intention of the enemy. 
 
 " Pray, are we to sit up here till your friend dies.''" said 
 MacGopus, with one of his arch chuckles. 
 
 " No," rephed his lordship ; " should that event occur, 
 a message will be immediately sent here ; or should he 
 linger on till the morning, we shall of course hear, and I 
 shall again resume my post at his bed-side." 
 
 " Ugh ! — he wo'n't live till morning." 
 
 " Why, just now you said he would." 
 
 " What does that signify ? His own doctor says he 
 wo'n't ; and these fashionable fellows, when once they 
 have issued their ^«^, generally back their opinion by their 
 practice." 
 
 " My dear doctor," said Lord Weybridge, " you are 
 more than usually bitter to-night." 
 
 " Not I," said MacGopus ; " on the contrary, I never 
 was in a better temper. But I see that you are in a web — 
 caught as securely as ever fly was, and that you will make 
 yourself either " 
 
 ''Oh! spare me, my dear Mentor!" interrupted his 
 lordship. " Rely upon my prudence as a man — my spirit 
 as a gentleman — and my honour as a peer — not to speak 
 of my sincerity as a sailor." 
 
 " Your prudence you showed in first attaching yourself 
 here," said MacGopus ; " your spirit I expect you will 
 exhibit by horsewhipping the French count ; your honour 
 you must vindicate by marrying Lady Catherine, and 
 your sincerity you will exemplify by deserting the Par- 
 son's Daughter." 
 
 " As for the horsewhipping," said George, " I make no 
 bargain ; but as for deserting the Parson's Daughter^ 3S 
 you call her, I " 
 
 " Psha ! light your candle and go to bed," said Mac 
 
 z 2
 
 340 THE pabson's daughter. 
 
 Gopus ; " how can you help deserting her ? You have 
 an oath — an oath at Severnstoke ; and^ besides, you have 
 a mother, and so has Lady Catherine. Come — come — 
 you want rest." 
 
 " I do," said Lord Weybridge ; " but your conversation 
 is not the soother which is hkely to give it me. The re- 
 turn to this place awakens every recollection, and recalls 
 every tender feeling of my heart ; and to think that I 
 should have quietly abandoned all the happiness which is 
 yet before me, if this singular turn of affairs had not 
 brought me back to it " 
 
 "■ A little too late, my good lord," said the Doctor — 
 " I only warn you about your conduct to-morrow with 
 this young lady. Commit yourself to her, and a pretty 
 affair it will turn out altogether. Now recollect what you 
 are about; and above all — for /h?/ sake don't spare the 
 French count." 
 
 It must be admitted that, however contradictory in 
 terms, and however unpalatable in language, all that Mac 
 Gopus said was perfectly and entirely true. No doubt 
 Lady Frances had now completely arranged — not only in 
 her own mind, but in consultation with the Duchess and 
 her daughter — the marriage after her own heart, and was 
 triumphing in her successful attack upon George at the 
 most critical period of time. She knew him, and she felt 
 secure that, after the permission he had given her to open 
 the preliminaries to her friend, he would avoid Miss Lovell ; 
 or, if he saw her, would at all events render his interview 
 such as would at once terminate, if not her anxiety, at 
 least her hopes ; more especially as he left her ladyship 
 under the conviction that Emma's conduct could not have 
 been justifiable under any possible circumstances. 
 
 How all these things turned out, we shall see ; for the 
 present we have little to do but to live in expectation of 
 decisive news of the Squire, and wish Lord Weybridge and 
 his eccentric friend a very good night, as they wished each 
 other, on arriving at the head of the staircase which led to 
 their bed-rooms.
 
 THE FARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 341 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Where there 's a will, there 's a way. Old Proverb. 
 
 As the reader has anticipated Lord Weybridge in the in- 
 teUigence which, in the morning, reached him of the 
 death of the Squire, it will be needless to recur to that 
 event farther than to mention that a note from Lovell 
 summoned his lordship to the Hall at ten o'clock, for the 
 purpose of arranging matters, and opening the will of the 
 deceased, to which he had particularly directed the Rector's 
 attention, and had indeed furnished him with the key of 
 the escrutoire in which it was deposited. 
 
 Before, however, the hour of meeting arrived, a des- 
 patch had reached Mr. Lovell from Mrs. Harbottle, stating 
 not only her readiness but her anxiety to comply with her 
 husband's desire to see her, and lamenting that the delicate 
 state of her health, still more shaken by the unexpected 
 news of his rapidly approaching dissolution — prevented 
 her putting her design into execution ; that she had 
 been suffering under a nervous depression of spirits, and 
 that the abruptness with which her aunt had communicated 
 the intelligence which it had been intended she should 
 impart to her with the greatest care and caution, had 
 brought on a fever which confined her to her bed. The 
 rest of her letter was such as might be expected from 
 such a person ; conveying to her wretched husband en- 
 tire forgiveness as far as she herself was concerned, and 
 deploring a catastrophe which it was evident had been 
 accelerated by his own reckless disregard of his health and 
 his constitution, and which, however much justified she 
 might feel herself in having quitted him, she could not 
 but think might have been long delayed, had her influence 
 — much ridiculed, yet deeply felt by him — been at hand 
 to have checked his irregularities, and modified his in- 
 temperance. 
 
 To regret such a man — guilty of such crimes — and 
 
 z 3
 
 342 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 a martyr to such passions — would scarcely be possible ; 
 but in her gentle heart, shuddering as it did with horror at 
 his premeditated cruelty, there still existed that unquench- 
 able spirit of pity and compassion which a woman never 
 ceases to feel for one with whom she has been linked by 
 the strongest tie, next to those of nature, which mortals 
 acknowledge. For his crimes, he was to answer before a 
 higher tribunal ; for his occasional ill-treatment of her- 
 self, she pardoned him ; and her absence from his death- 
 bed was really and truly, as she stated, the effect of illness 
 she could not combat, and of feelings she could not over- 
 come. 
 
 Before ten. Lord Weybridge was on his way to the 
 Hall. MacGopus did not object to accompany him now ; 
 for not only was the patient dead, but the Doctor gone. 
 Dr. Grover had left a note for Lord Weybridge and Mr. 
 Lovell with Popjoy, and had taken his departure almost im, 
 mediately after the termination of the scene ; for being 
 pressed greatly for time, in order to get back to London, he 
 preferred leaving the apothecary in charge of the Hall until 
 the executors should arrive ; and considered it best, as 
 Mr. Lovell had had no rest for the two preceding nights, 
 not to have the intelhgence of Harbottle's death conveyed 
 to him until a reasonable hour in the morning, seeing that 
 the immediate presence of the executors could be of no 
 use, and that every necessary duty to the deceased could be 
 performed, without needlessly disturbing them. 
 
 The morning was ushered in by the deep-toned an- 
 nouncement that death had done his work. The air was 
 thick and murky, and the heavy-tolhng church-bell seemed 
 muffled by the density of the atmosphere. The depend- 
 ents on the departed squire had only half-opened their 
 little shops, and groups of the inhabitants were scattered 
 here and there, detailing the particulars of the event. Yet 
 unbreathed was the damning secret of his life, the crown- 
 ing agony of his death ; and there was a stillness, and a 
 sadness, and a gloom over the place, which did honour to 
 the feelings of those who then had known him only as a 
 generous landlord and a hberal customer. 
 
 At the Hall, the silence had something a\yful in it —
 
 THE parson's daughter. 343 
 
 the servants trod lightly along the half- darkened passages, 
 and the only sound which broke upon the ears of George 
 and the Doctor, as they entered the doors, was the howl- 
 ing of the dead man's favourite dog, which had been tied 
 up that he might not force his way to the room where the 
 corpse of his once fond master lay. 
 
 Lovell had arrived previously, and, conjointly with the 
 apothecary, had given such directions as were immediately 
 necessary, and was waiting to receive his co-executor, who 
 presented his friend the Doctor to the worthy Rector, 
 adding in an under-tone to MacGopus, that, now he had 
 become personally acquainted with him, he hoped and 
 trusted he would contrive to remember his name. 
 
 Soon after the arrival of his lordship, he and Lovell 
 retired to the apartment where the will was deposited; 
 and the Doctor, having by a sort of instinctive genius 
 hunted out the library, proceeded, as usual, to pounce 
 upon a book, and establish himself in a corner of the 
 little breakfast room, where there was a fire, in order to 
 the quiet perusal of it ; which, as he had no other part to 
 perform, and %vas, in his own phraseology, " only a pas- 
 senger," he thought himself fully justified in doing. 
 
 There is a naval joke, pretty common amongst those of 
 the " cloth," touching a sailor's walk. He gets leave to 
 go ashore to take a walk, and that walk is uniformly com- 
 prised in the distance between the landing-place and the 
 nearest public house : so with MacGopus ; his morning 
 walk, let him be where he might, was extended just from 
 the breakfast parlour to the library: the only difference 
 between the pursuits of the erudite surgeon and those of 
 his shipmate Jack being, that the day's pleasure of the 
 one consisted in " pouring down," and the other in 
 *' poring over." 
 
 According to the directions of the departed squire, the 
 looked-for wiU was found — it was short, concise, and 
 entirely written by himself, bearing date only a few days 
 previous to the last accession of his disorder. It con- 
 tained a most ardent and unquaUfied eulogium upon his 
 beloved Fanny, to whom he felt he could never sufficiently 
 express his regrets and remorse at what had occurred to 
 
 z 4
 
 34't THE parson's DAUGnTEIJ. 
 
 induce her departure, exonerating her from all hlame, and 
 affording, as he said, the strongest proof of his feelings 
 towards her, by leaving her the whole of his property, real 
 and personal, of every kind and description, with the ex- 
 ception of a feAv legacies; a thousand pounds to Miss Lovell, 
 as a small mark of his gratitude for her conduct towards 
 his Avife ; five hundred pounds to each of the executors, 
 and some smaller remembrances to a few of the neighbours 
 and the servants. He left it entirely to the discretion of 
 his wife to dispose of Binford, " which," he added, " for 
 several reasons, I am inclined to think she may be disposed 
 to do ; and I make this remark upon the subject, only to 
 relieve her mind as to any wish or feeling of mine respect- 
 ing her occupancy of that place." 
 
 The minor directions, with respect to his funeral, are 
 not worth recording ; but it must be confessed, that, as a 
 triumphant vindication of his ill-fated Fanny, nothing 
 could be more agreeable either to Lovell or Lord "Wey bridge, 
 than the distribution of his property which he had ac- 
 tually made ; besides, independent of their personal feel- 
 ings with regard to the effect producible upon the character 
 and respectability of one, about whom they Avere both so 
 deeply interested, there was, in the disposition of his 
 wealth, a strong and powerful evidence of a feeling, not 
 only of forgiveness but of repentance, which offered the only 
 atonement in his power for an act, the result of violent and 
 diabolical passion^ unsoothed by religion and untempered by 
 principle. 
 
 It was clear to Lord Weybridge, that with any thing 
 like a' show of decency, he could not quit Binford until 
 after the funeral, nor indeed until such communications 
 had been received from the widow as might regulate their 
 conduct in the execution of the trust which had devolved 
 upon them. Lovell suggested, that if Lord Weybridge 
 would so far condescend, he ought, if possible, to make a 
 visit to Mrs. Harbottle at Mopeham. But his lordship, 
 who was in his heart anxious to stay where he was, 
 pleaded the circumstance of her serious illness as an 
 objection to this plan. However, upon consulting the 
 Doctor, MacGojiuSj who really acted Mentor to the life^
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 345 
 
 expressed his opinion, of course, in direct opposition to 
 that of his noble friend, he being beyond all things anxious 
 to keep him away from the society of his Calypso, in 
 which he was quite sure, to use his own phrase, he would, 
 sooner or later, make " a torn-noddy" of himself. 
 
 Lovell declared that nothing but his own infirmities 
 would prevent his making the journey, but that certainly 
 he could not take the liberty of urging his lordship to the 
 fatigue of the expedition. 
 
 " The fatigue will do him good," said MacGopus. 
 
 " But what time will it occupy ? " asked his lordship. 
 
 " Not so much time as must, for decency sake, elapse 
 between this and the funeral." 
 
 " WeU;' said Lord AVeybridge, " I certainly did not 
 anticipate such an undertaking. — I confess I should be 
 most happy to pay every proper attention to Mrs. Har- 
 hottle; and if you consider, either as a matter of duty, 
 it would be right, or as a matter of courtesy, civil to go, 
 I am off — especially if you think, that in her present 
 state of health, a more abrupt communication of the con- 
 tents of the will, or the necessity of a correspondence, 
 would excite or agitate her too much," 
 
 " You Ve a good fellow, George," said MacGopus, to 
 the infinite astonishment of the Rector, who was not, of 
 course, aware of the connection which had so long subsisted 
 between our Telemachus and the Kish-like sage who 
 so familiarly accosted him. 
 
 " It will, indeed, be very kind of his lordship," added 
 Lovell. 
 
 " Say no more, say no more," said Lord AVeybridge. 
 " You '11 go with me, Doctor ? and we will start forthwith. 
 Is Miss Lovell visible?" said his lordship to Lovell. 
 
 '•' Indeed is she, and will be glad, I am sure, if you 
 would take charge of any letter or packet which she may 
 wish to send to her friend." 
 
 " If the Rectory is in the road," said MacGopus, " you 
 can call, on your way." 
 
 " Your suggestion is prophetic — it is in the road," said 
 Lord Weybridge; " I should think an hour will suffice for 
 preparation — I must write to my mother before my de-
 
 34:6 THE parson's DAUGHTER. 
 
 parture, and, perhaps, my dear sir, you will complete 
 whatever directions are necessary here, and at one we will 
 be at your door." 
 
 " This is, indeed most kind and generous, my lord," 
 said the Rector ; " it is a severe duty imposed upon you, 
 but " 
 
 '^ Oh, not a word," said George ; " we 11 be iu time, 
 depend upon it." 
 
 Saying which. Lord Weybridge and the Doctor quitted 
 the house of mourning, and proceeded to Dale Cottage, 
 his lordship being every where received with marked 
 respect from his neighbours, whose faces, however, it was 
 not very probable he should often, if ever, see again. 
 
 When they readied home, two letters from Severnstoke 
 awaited them, both from Lady Frances, which, as they 
 may serve to illustrate the progress of our history, shall 
 be submitted to the reader. 
 
 The first to Lord Weybridge : — 
 
 " Severnstoke, Tuesday, i 
 " My dear George, 
 
 '' Your sudden departure hence has thrown a sad gloom 
 over us — we are, however, in hourly expectation of your 
 return. It seems, from what we have heard, that Mr. 
 Harbottle is in a most dangerous state ; and if so, as you 
 can have no cause for remaining after your interview with 
 him, you will of course join us as soon as possible. 
 
 " It is impossible to describe to you how beautifully 
 dear Lady Catherine conducts herself. After what has 
 been communicated to her, with regard to your sentiments, 
 of course her situation is painful and delicate, but she 
 feels that you are performing a duty ; and although it is 
 impossible not to perceive how deeply she is affected by 
 your absence, yet the way in which she bears up is so 
 amiable, so little selfish, and so extremely natural, that I have 
 conceived a higher opinion of her mind and character than 
 even I had previously formed. The Duchess is quite 
 charmed with the prospect — she is a dear, amiable crea- 
 ture, and I am sure if any thing were wanting to complete 
 the excellence of her character, her conduct, as a mother.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 347 
 
 would alone be necessary. I assure you we should all be 
 in the highest possible spirits if you were back — we very 
 much miss the dear Doctor, who is^ in truth, a worthy 
 creature, and, as being one of your sincerest and oldest 
 friends, doubly valuable to me. 
 
 " I cannot rest without writing to you, to tell you how 
 we desire your return. If you should see any of our 
 neighbours, pray remember me kindly to them. I have 
 written to the Doctor from myself. 
 
 "^ Ever yours, dear George, 
 " affectionately, 
 
 " Frances Sheringham." 
 
 This was a decided refresher — one of those gentle jogs 
 to the memory which are seldom pleasant, and which never 
 could have arrived more inopportunely. George's answer, 
 however, was as little agreeable to Lady Frances as her 
 letter was to him ; he wrote hastily to tell her of the 
 necessity he felt himself under of going to Mopeham 
 officially. That he could not leave Binford until after the 
 funeral, and above all, he told her, that the confession of 
 Harbottle had entirely overthrown every imputation upon 
 the character of his widow, and consequently those which 
 had been cast upon Miss Lovell ; winding up this disap- 
 pointing epistle by informing her ladyship that they were 
 engaged to take luncheon at the Rectory, in their way out 
 of Binford. He begged his compliments to the Duchess 
 and Lady Catherine, and took no further notice of the 
 allusions to the excellence of the noble mother, or the 
 amiability of her right honourable daughter ; and, having 
 sealed the despatch, enquired of MacGopus what his 
 exemplary parent had communicated to him. 
 
 But MacGopus was a man of honour, and he declined 
 answering his noble friend's question, and denied him in 
 such a calm, provoking way, that George was driven to the 
 last pitch of anger, when the Doctor, with the same 
 tranquillityl which characterised all the rest of his pro- 
 ceedings, threw the much desired epistle into the fire. 
 
 Its contents consisted of an exhortation to the Doctor 
 to keep George out of the snares of the Lovells, to impress
 
 348 THE parson's daugiitek. 
 
 upon his mind how serious his engagement was to Lady 
 Catherine, and how seriously she considered it ; and above 
 all, to take every fair and proper advantage of the presence 
 of Count Montenay to excite and influence her son's 
 jealousy, striving, if possible, to prevent any confidential 
 conversation between him and Emma, and, at all events, 
 to hurry him back to his house and visiters as speedily as 
 possible, 
 
 MacGopus could have had but two reasons for not per- 
 mitting Lord Weybridge to read this letter. One, on his 
 own peculiar principle of action, because his lordship par- 
 ticularly wished to read it ; and the other, because he was 
 resolved, that let him act' as he might during the critical 
 period of their absence from Severnstoke, he would not 
 appear to his lordship to take instructions, or act under 
 any superior influence. The Doctor was far from denying 
 the correctness of what Lady Frances said, nor did he 
 demur to the propriety of her endeavours to extricate her 
 son from the trammels of Miss Lovell, whose merits and 
 beauties, as he had not yet seen her, he could by no means 
 appreciate ; and to whose criminaUty, as he considered it 
 in having " taken up " with a French count, stood so 
 prominently forward in the list of her faults, that it was 
 scarcely with common patience he could listen to the 
 praises which George was still perpetually bestowing on 
 her, certain as he was at the moment, that he would be 
 forced eventually to surrender all hopes of possessing her 
 as a wife. ;< 
 
 The time drew nigh when the eyes of MacGopus were 
 to be feasted with the sight of this rural beauty, and that, 
 too, under an impression of sorrow and of sadness ; and 
 fascinating as loveliness may be in all the glow of health, 
 and all the brilliancy of high spirits, to one who could 
 estimate the feelings of Emma's heart, the look of grief, and 
 the character of pity and distress, could not fail to add new 
 charms to her sweetly expressive countenance. 
 
 " I suppose," said MacGopus, as the carriage drove up 
 to the door, " we shall see this Johnny Crapaud ? " 
 
 " I will see him," said Lord Weybridge ; " upon that 
 point I am resolved — by the by, let us walk on, it is
 
 THE parson's daughter. 349 
 
 not worth while getting into the chariot for so short a dis- 
 tance—let them pack the carriage and bring it to the 
 Parsonage." 
 
 " A very good notion," said the Doctor. 
 "Come, then— don't be long," said his lordship to 
 Roberts and the other people ; " in half an hour we shall 
 be ready to start— ^//ons done." Saying which, he put 
 his arm into that of MacGopus, and stepped out with a 
 steadyish step, but a fluttering heart, to the humble home 
 of his beloved, his almost betrothed Emma. 
 
 " I think this visit indiscreet," said MacGopus.^ 
 " Not to make it would be rude and barbarous/' replied 
 Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " Better to be rude and barbarous outright, than be 
 kind in appearance and barbarous in reality." 
 " I have no intention to be barbarous." 
 " Consider, said the Doctor, " you have read Lady 
 Frances's letter — does not that corroborate all I have said } " 
 " Am I not my own master ?" 
 '^ No, you have delegated your authority." 
 " But my faith is plighted here." 
 
 " No such thing, you never spoke to the girl upon the 
 subject." 
 
 " But I opened my heart to her dearest friend." 
 " Since which you have openly neglected her — ad- 
 mitted her misconduct — consented to marry another — 
 while she, on the other hand, has accepted your conge, and 
 engaged herself, for all you know, to a Frenchman." 
 
 " Oh, hang that," said George ; " however, the mo- 
 ment of trial is at hand ; of course if that should be the 
 case, I have only to take my hat and go." 
 
 " You must do that if it should not be the case," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " Hush ! — we are there," said his lordship. 
 " No, we are not ; we are here," said the Doctor. 
 " Well, so be it," said his lordship ; " it is vastly lucky 
 you will condescend to admit that we are any where." 
 
 A loud ring at the bell summoned the servant to the 
 gates, and the visiters entered the pretty grounds of the 
 Parsonage. They reached the house-door, and the servant
 
 350 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 preceding Lord Weybridge and the Doctor, led the way 
 to the Rector's library, where they found him occupied in 
 writing to Mrs. Harbottle, as was his daughter, he said, in 
 her boudoir. George felt much more agitated than he had 
 expected ; and a sort of faintness came over him, which 
 induced him, after MacGopus had seated himself, to quit 
 the room, which was excessively warm, for the drawing- 
 room, where the fire was less and the space larger. 
 
 " Don't let me interrupt you, sir," said MacGopus to 
 Mr. Lovell ; " I can find occupation while you are writing " 
 
 George strolled to the window ; and looked to the lawn, 
 which, being studded and fringed with evergreens, had 
 still, during the gleams of sunshine, the appearance of 
 summer. A thousand recollections flashed into his mind at 
 the sight of this once familiar scene ; and the varied events 
 of the last eight-and-forty hours, combined in imagination 
 with those which would probably occur during the next 
 similar period of time, had abstracted him from surround- 
 ing objects, when the gentle voice of his beloved Emma — 
 for so she was — aroused him from the painful reverie in 
 which he was absorbed. 
 
 " My dearest Emma, is it you ? " said his lordship ; 
 " how I rejoice again to see you !" At the same moment 
 clasping both her hands in his, and drawing her towards 
 him in all the warmth of friendship. 
 
 " What a dreadful cause of meeting ! " said Emma, 
 who, in the naturalness of her character, delighted as she 
 was to behold the only man who according to her own 
 admission had ever interested her, first thought of her 
 unhappy friend ; " and how kind, how very kind of you 
 to consent to take this long and tiresome journey !" 
 
 " Fanny is your friend," said Lord VV^eybridge, " and 
 that of itself would be a sufficient reason for my sacrificing 
 any little personal convenience to her service ; but, besides, 
 it is my duty, and we sailors have a strong idea of the 
 obligations of duty. But tell me, Emma, are you yourself 
 quite well." 
 
 " Yes," said or rather sighed Emma ; " I am well'; but 
 really these frequently -repeated trials upon the spirits do
 
 THE parson's daughter. 351 
 
 us more injury than all the bodily ills to which we are 
 subject," 
 
 " You have not been suffering mentally ? " said George, 
 tenderly. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed I have," said Emma : " the separation 
 of Fanny from her husband — my association with her in 
 the flight — the consequences of that expedition, as far as 
 the gossip of the neighbourhood can affect me, and the 
 constant agitation and excitement under which I laboured, 
 till I knew the dreadful cause of her flight, which I have 
 only been acquainted with since my father's return from 
 the Hall, have preyed upon me and made me wretched." 
 " Were you ignorant of the dreadful history ? " 
 " Totally, and the circumstance itself, as it turns out, 
 added to the pain I felt, and increased the doubts with 
 which I had to contend, during our journey, and during 
 my stay with Fanny ; for whenever poor Charles Harvey's 
 name was mentioned, her agitation so visibly increased, 
 that I could not — and perhaps it was not unnatural — 
 divest myself of the idea that she had somehow committed 
 herself with him, and that I had been made a dupe in the 
 part I took between them. How many, many pardons do 
 I now require from her for my base and ungenerous sus- 
 picion ! Still I think I might have been trusted." 
 
 " However, your triumph and consolation are now at 
 hand," said his lordship — " my message to her will set all 
 that matter right, and you wiU again rejoice without quali- 
 fication in the noble course you have pursued. But tell 
 me, Emma, did Fanny convey my message to you ; that 
 which I entrusted to her when I was here and you were 
 absent?" 
 
 Emma blushed deeply, and trembled exceedingly. George 
 took her hand ; she gently, but not angrily, withdrew it. 
 
 " Don't ask me," said Emma ; " this is not a time to 
 speak on such subjects. We are here in the midst of death 
 and distress, and you — you since that period have been 
 prejudiced against me. Some other day we will talk of it 
 — at present let us confine ourselves to the sad business 
 which must be transacted, and which you are so kind as to 
 undertake."
 
 So2 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " But J Emma," said George, forgetting his mother, the 
 Duchess, Lady Catherine, and even the French count 
 into the bargain, " she did dehver that message ? " 
 
 Emma bowed her head assentingly. 
 
 " And has any thing since occurred to induce you to 
 decide against the petition it contained ? " 
 
 She blushed still deeper, and strove to take her hand 
 from his, which held it ; her silence vpas followed by a 
 tear, which stole down her cheek. Then it was that the 
 truth flashed into his mind — then all the horrors of 
 jealousy struck into his brain — the history of the French 
 count was all too true ! The object he had in view, by 
 pressing the question before his departure for Mopeham, 
 was a most important one ; if he could ascertain that the 
 message he had sent had been delivered, and if Emma 
 had acceded to his solicitations, he resolved, during the 
 week of absence from home, to open the real state of his 
 heart to his mother, and lay the blame of precipitancy 
 upon her who had excited hopes and expectations on the 
 part of the Duchess and Lady Catherine, which his com- 
 mission to her ladyship tlid not certainly warrant. The 
 truth is, that at the moment he gave her the permission to 
 open the subject, he believed Emma to have transgressed 
 the commonest and most observed rules of society; he now 
 saw her exonerated, and free from the imputation ; his love 
 was as strong as ever ; and he resolved to abide by the 
 resolution which he had made when he was able to judge 
 her character fairly, and not suffer himself to be the victim 
 of an alteration in that resolution, made under a totally 
 false impression. 
 
 The trembling, blushing, and weeping, however, awak- 
 ened in his restless and sensitive mind the new and still 
 more dreadful suspicion of the Count's ascendency ; he 
 checked his anxiety to enquire about him ; he would not 
 exhibit himself in the character of a jealous lover, but he 
 was more than ever resolved to see and judge for himself 
 how far his apprehensions were well grounded. 
 
 " Pray, pray," said Emma, " do not press this con- 
 versation to-day ; we have much to think of, for poor 
 Fanny in her new position. Your own kind, generous
 
 THE parson's daughter. 353 
 
 heart, will teU you that we should devote our thoughts to 
 her. Do let us join my father, and consider what wovdd 
 be her best course, for I very much fear her health is so 
 delicate that it will be impossible for her to leave her 
 present residence for some time." 
 
 " At your bidding," said George, convinced that her 
 heart was otherwise disposed of, " I will be as mute as the 
 grave ; we shall meet again on my return, for I have de- 
 cided to remain here till after the funeral ; and then, 
 Emma " 
 
 ^' Come, come. Captain Sheringham," said Emma — 
 " Lord Weybridge, I mean — remember your promise — 
 come into the library." 
 
 She led the way, and George followed her implicitly, 
 with his eyes fixed upon her, in a stupor of doubt and 
 apprehension, scarce knowing where he was going. 
 
 " Papa," said Emma, opening the door, and instantly 
 starting back at seeing a stranger, "I — beg pardon " 
 
 " It is only my particular friend. Dr. MacGopus," 
 said Lord '\Fey bridge, " who will be delighted to have the 
 honour of making your acquaintance, and of contradicting 
 every thing you may venture to advance from this day 
 forward." 
 
 JVIacGopus was near-sighted, but he saw the sort of re- 
 proachful look which Emma gave his lordship, and satisfied 
 himself that whatever the Frenchman was, he had not 
 quite succeeded in driving his lordship out of the heart of 
 the Parson's Daughter. 
 
 " You must not beUeve Lord Weybridge," said Mac- 
 Gopus ; " he always gives his best friends the worst 
 character." 
 
 " I have ordered them to put luncheon in the dining- 
 room," said Miss Lovell to her father. 
 
 A saying which much rejoiced George, because, as he 
 knew the Count was domesticated in the house, he felt 
 convinced that he would " show" at luncheon ; or at least, 
 if he did not, he should set it down as an affaire finie, and 
 that being the accepted lover, and consequently intended 
 husband of Emma, it was considered more dehcate to keep 
 him out of sight. 
 
 A A
 
 S54 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Emma here proceeded to enter into conversation with 
 her father, and speedily Lord Weybridge was called into 
 council. 
 
 " We make no apology to you," said Mr. Lovell-, ad- 
 dressing MacGopus ; " ours is really business, and with 
 much to do we have but little time." 
 
 " Not a word, sir, not a word," said the Doctor, who 
 reseated himself in the leathern chair by the fire, and be- 
 gan to read again ; but, had there been any body to watch 
 the venerable sly-boots, he would have perceived that he 
 was not quite so devoted to his book as he ordinarily was; 
 he kept his keen black eyes glancing away from the page 
 to the face of the young lady, who was looking lovely be- 
 yond description ; and as he saw the heads of the con- 
 sulting two brought near each other across the table, he 
 did not fail to observe that the fair curls of the sweet girl 
 were remarkably near the black whiskers of his noble 
 friend, and that his lordship did neither start nor draw 
 back from an approximation which, it must be confessed, 
 could not but have been extremely agreeable to him. 
 
 " Here '11 be Old Nick to pay," thought MacGopus ; 
 " it is all over — this must be the girl ; I wish I was well 
 out of it : but what is it to me — I 'm only a passenger." 
 And so he laid down his book — drew forth a huge round 
 snuff-box — rapped the lid, as was his custom — opened 
 it — took a glorious pinch — shut the box — restored it 
 to his pocket — and took up his book again. 
 
 The conversation had continued for nearly half an hour, 
 and the carriage had been at the door some time, when 
 luncheon was announced. jMacGopus, who did not com- 
 prehend the motives which Lord AVeybridge had for stop- 
 ping, but attributing his desire to partake of the repast to 
 his anxiety for enjoying another half hour of Emma's 
 society, pressed him to go off without eating ; but Emma, 
 in returning to her own room to seal her letter to P'anny, 
 entreated the Doctor to stop in a tone so winning, that 
 the stoic himself was meltedj and he withdrew all further 
 opposition to the delay. 
 
 'When Emma was gone, and Lovell just concluding his
 
 THE parson's daughter. 355 
 
 despatches. Lord Weybridge led MacGopus into the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 '' You know why I stay luncheon ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " To see the Frenchman — he is in the house, I know." 
 
 " Ugh ! I don't think that's all of it." 
 
 " Hush ! " 
 
 Emma having returned, charged his lordship with her 
 packet, and Lovell, having completed his communication, 
 enclosed the %vill itself, and delivered it to Lord 'Weybridge; 
 and thus having completed all the business essential to the 
 journey, and Emma having again reverted to the horrid 
 circumstances connected with the whole affair, and her 
 fears of Fanny's health, they proceeded to the room where 
 luncheon was laid ; Mr. Lovell, assisted by the Doctor 
 and George, breaking through his usual custom, by pro- 
 ceeding to join them. 
 
 They reached the dining-parlour — the table was laid 
 for five persons. George looked at jMacGopus ; he seated 
 himself next Emma. MacGopus placed himself on the 
 other side of her ! she appeared discomposed, and some- 
 what fidgety, as if she expected some other person who 
 ought to sit there : she said nothing, but began doing the 
 honours. 
 
 George, who saw all this manoeuvring, became not a 
 little agitated, and, anxious to bring the affair to a crisis, 
 said, " By the by, here stands Banquo's chair, whom do 
 you expect here ? " 
 
 ".Oh!" said Lovell, " only the Count; he'll be here 
 I dare say in a minute. I believe," added he, " Dr. Mac- 
 Gopus, you have committed a sort of treason against my 
 daughter ; you have usurped unwittingly the Count's place 
 next to her." 
 
 This confirmed all the worst suspicions which George 
 had entertained. 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir," said the doctor, " I '11 move down 
 — make way for my superiors." 
 
 " What Count — is — this }" said George. 
 
 " Count Montenay," said Emma ; " havn't you heard 
 of him ? he has been staying here now for some time." 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 A servant having entered the room with some new dish? 
 Emma continued the speech by enquiring where the Count 
 was. 
 
 " He is coming directly. Miss," said the man. 
 
 " Oh dear," said Emma, evidently deeply interested 
 about him, " open the drawing-room doors ; he can come 
 that way, it will save him the trouble of going round." 
 
 Her solicitude was not lost upon either Lord Weybridge 
 or MacGopus. 
 
 " Come, come," said Emma, in a bewitching tone of 
 sweetness, to the approaching but yet invisible stranger. 
 
 The servant threw open the battants, and in bounded a 
 beautiful boy, of about nine years old, with his hair all 
 about his ears, and a hoop over his shoulder. 
 
 " Who is this ?" said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " Oh!" said Emma, " I must present you in due form. 
 That, Alexis, is Lord Weybridge : this, my lord, is my 
 darling. Count Alexis Montenay." 
 
 " Ugh !" said MacGopus, looking at George with an 
 expression wholly indescribable. 
 
 " That Count Montenay ?" said George. 
 
 '' Yes," said Emma. " Oh ! come, then, you have heard 
 of him before .'' isn't he a dear little fellow ? " 
 
 " I assure you," said Lovell, " tliat when I am forced 
 to send him to school I shall be most sadly vexed : he is a 
 good boy, and I have grown as fond of him as if he were 
 my own." 
 
 " He was my companion all the way from Mopeham," 
 said Emma, " and is my companion always now." 
 
 And then she began filling his plate with all the things 
 she knew he liked best, and parted his hair, and patted 
 his cheek, and drew his chair to tlie table, and divested him 
 of his hoop, and did all she could to make the dear nice 
 little child connfortable. 
 
 " Doctor," said Lord AVeybridgc, " 1 think we must 
 start ; we shall be late on the road." 
 
 " And a dull, dull road it is," said Emma ; " however, 
 you will of course sleep by the way." 
 
 " I put myself under the guidance of the Doctor," said 
 George, whose eyes remained fixed upon the unconscious
 
 THE parson's daughter. 357 
 
 child in a sort of amazement. Say any thing about the 
 protracted error in which he had been Hving, he neither 
 could nor would ; and all his anxiety now was to get away^ 
 so that the Doctor and he might give full scope to their 
 self-malediction for their remarkable credulity and super- 
 eminent innocence, in never having thought it worth the 
 trouble to ascertain what might be the age of the redoubt- 
 able French count, who had caused so much mischief and 
 occasioned so much speculation. 
 
 Emma, who, with all her apparent quietude, was as 
 quick as lightning, saw in a moment that something con- 
 nected with the boy had affected both her guests. She 
 could not, certainly, anticipate or imagine that kindness 
 and attention displayed to an orphan child, had been mis- 
 interpreted or misrepresented into a flirtation, or an attach- 
 ment, or something even worse ; but she was conscious 
 that her little favourite had, somehow or another, made a 
 sensation. The visiters tacitly agreed that any explanation 
 would tell considerably against their own wisdom and judg- 
 ment, and accordingly hurried their departure; and, in less 
 than ten minutes after the appearance of the boy, they 
 were snugly seated in Lord Weybridge's carriage, having 
 taken a kind and affectionate leave of the Rectory, and, as 
 the Doctor thought, as far as his lordship was concerned, a 
 particularly affectionate leave of the Parson's Daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 He was a man 
 
 That lived up to the standard of his honour, 
 
 And prized that jewel more than mines of wealth. Otway, 
 
 " Well, Doctor," said Lord Weybridgc, pulling up the 
 carriage-window, " the Count's story is a bit of a botch." 
 " Eh ! you might have taken the trouble to enquire his 
 age, before you deserted your sweetheart upon his account," 
 said the consoling Doctor. 
 
 A A 3
 
 358 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " To be sure, how calumnies and falsehoods prevail !'' 
 said George. " Poor Emma ! — the kindly affection for 
 an orphan child to be perverted into a flirtation with a 
 gallant, gay Lothario !" 
 
 " Have you been putting your foot in it again, George?" 
 said MacGopus ; " renewing yoiu- suit — blowing the 
 ashes "' 
 
 " Pooh !" replied his lordship; "Emma interdicted any 
 conversation on the subject." 
 
 " Very judicious, too," said MacGopus. ''' No doubt 
 the same communicative friends from whom you derived 
 your intelligence about the Count have been favouring her 
 with the details of your affair with Lady Catherine." 
 
 " An affair of which T am resolved to hear no more 
 myself," said George. " If I have been induced, under 
 the influence of falsehood and misrepresentation, to abandon 
 the only being with whom I could be happy, and to vio- 
 late a pledge solemnly and seriously given, I contend that 
 the moment I am undeceived, and the accused sufferer is 
 exonerated from blame and reproach, the acts which I 
 have committed under that erroneous impression are nul- 
 lified ; and the promises I may have made, or the per- 
 mission I may have given, are utterly anniliilated." 
 
 " You have heard the Scottish song, George," said 
 MacGopus — 
 
 " ' It is well to be off' with the old love 
 Before you arc on with the new.' 
 
 I don't think the Duchess — or her daughter — or her son 
 — if it were referred to him, would see the case exactly 
 in the light in which you see it. You have allowed your 
 mother to make the match, and she has done it ; and as 
 for your backing out of it, I '11 tell you, you can't. I told 
 you, you never would have this Emma, and you never 
 wUl." 
 
 " At all events, if they have hooked me," said Lord 
 Weybridge, " I will show them some sport in landing me ; 
 I shall make a few struggles and flounderings ; and the 
 first evolution I shall perform will be writing to my mother 
 from the place at which we may decide upon dining, and 
 stating to her tlie exact position in which 1 am placed.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 359 
 
 and how entirely my happiness, as well as my honour, will 
 be jeopardized by abandoning Miss Lovell." 
 
 " I would not do any such thing," said the Doctor ; 
 " it will only expose you to their observation, and can do 
 no good." 
 
 " And I am quietly to sit down a miserable man for 
 life. Oh ! what would I give that the infernal black-sided 
 ship had not run down my poor uncle's yacht, and that I 
 was again the plain George Sheringham I was, without 
 title or fortune, proud and happy to share my splendid 
 half -pay with Emma ! " 
 
 "Where's the use of wishing?" said MacGopus ; 
 " besides, for all your pining and whining, you Uke play- 
 ing lord as well as your neighbours ; so let us talk of 
 something else — I m sick of your love story." 
 
 Lord Weybridge and the Doctor made out the journey 
 tolerably. They quarrelled four or five times, and were, 
 of course, reconciled as often. George put into execution 
 his design of writing to his mother ; and having pursued 
 their route, the travellers reached Mopeham in the middle 
 of the next day, having slept where they dined. 
 
 Lord Wey bridge's proceedings after his arrival are so 
 fully detailed in a letter which he despatched to his col- 
 league, the Rector, that a perusal of that document will 
 render any other description of them unnecessary. 
 
 "Mopeham, Nov. 18. 1830. 
 " My dear Sir, 
 *' 1 arrived here about one o'clock ; and having trans- 
 acted the most important part of my business, sit down to 
 report progress for your information. I very much regret 
 to state that I found our poor friend, Mrs. Harbottle, 
 dreadfully ill — worse, indeed, than 1 had anticipated, even 
 after your account. I very much fear that coi^umption 
 is already far advanced. A few weeks have made a more 
 extraordinary alteration in her appearance than you can 
 imagine ; and the shock which tlic intelligence of her hus- 
 band's hopeless situation, delivered abruptly by her aunt, 
 who is a most extraordinary person, has completely broken 
 her down — in truth, I think her position miserable, and I 
 
 A A 4-
 
 360 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 have strongly recommended, if she can bear the journey, 
 to change the scene as soon as possible. She seems ear- 
 nestly to desire to see Miss Lovell ; but, of course, I dare 
 not second her wishes, knowing, as I do, how indispensable 
 to your comfort and happiness her presence is at the 
 Rectory. 
 
 " i\Irs. Harbottle, immediately on the arrival of the 
 express from her husband, soliciting her to come to him, 
 started to fulfil his desire ; but at the end of the first stage 
 tt was found wholly impossible for her to continue the 
 journey, and she was compelled to return. 
 
 " She has expressed her positive resolution never to re- 
 visit Binford. She was dreadfully agitated when I read 
 the will to her, and she found herself the possessor of the 
 whole of her late husband's immense fortune. Of course 
 it is not possible for me to attract her attention at this 
 moment to minor details ; but it is evident to me that she 
 will sell the Binford property, and the house and fur- 
 niture as it stands, for she expresses something like horror 
 at the idea of seeing any thing which can be associated in 
 her mind with the events which have recently occurred in 
 that place. I regret the determination to which I clearly 
 see she will come upon this point, because I think the 
 intimacy which would subsist between her and Miss Lovell, 
 if she again took up her residence at the Hall, would be 
 agreeable and even advantageous to both. 
 
 " 1 have promised to remain here till to-morrow after- 
 noon, in order to give Mrs. Harbottle time to rally her 
 strength, so as to endure a second conversation upon busi- 
 ness. I have already explained to her, as briefly as possi- 
 ble, the arrangements we have made with respect to the 
 funeral, of which she entirely approves. 
 
 " I do assure you, I never have seen a more interesting 
 or melancholy picture of human suffering than she exhi- 
 bits ; and, as I have before said, the weakness and little- 
 ness of mind so predominant in the character of Miss Jar- 
 man are ill calculated to soothe or mitigate her sufferings. 
 The sight of me, associated as I was in her thoughts with 
 our unfortunate friend Harvey, connected as he is in her 
 memory with the terrible revenge of her rash and desperate
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 361 
 
 husband, affected her dreadfully, and I almost regretted 
 that I had undertaken the mission. However, she now 
 bears to speak of past events, and with care and attention 
 might rally ; — if she has not these, my firm opinion is, 
 that her days are numbered. 
 
 " I have much more to communicate, and shall have 
 more still, when we have had our second conversation to- 
 morrow ; but it will be as useless for you to answer this, 
 as it will be needless for me to write again, for your letter 
 would cross me on the road, and I shall be at Binford my- 
 self before any letter from me could reach you. 
 
 " Pray make my kindest remembrances to Miss Lovell, 
 for whom I shall have a packet from Mrs. Harbottle ; 
 and believe me, my dear Sir, 
 
 " Yours, most faithfully, 
 
 " Weybbidge." 
 
 On the day following that on which Lord Weybridge 
 despatched this, he had, according to previous arrangement, 
 a long interview with the suffering widow, who appeared 
 to agree with him in thinking change of scene would be 
 serviceable to her, — if, as she added, her life was worth 
 preserving ; but that, without a companion who suited her, 
 and one with whom she could freely talk of by-gone days 
 and circumstances, even that experiment would be of 
 doubtful effect. She again glanced at the possibility of 
 securing Emma for a long visit, and seemed particularly 
 struck with a suggestion of Lord Weybridge, that as she 
 had resolved not to re-visit Binford, she might engage not 
 only Emma but her father, on a visit to her at some other 
 place, by which means the objection he had to be left 
 without his daughter might be overcome ; and his duty 
 devolving upon his curate during his absence, the variation 
 of scene and circumstance might have also a salutary effect 
 upon him. 
 
 Fanny had been so short a time in her new situation, 
 that when Lord Weybridge first made the proposition of 
 her removal to some sea-watering place, habit so prepon- 
 derated, that she felt as if she were unable to decide upon 
 any measure of such a nature without referring to some
 
 362 
 
 THE PABSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Other authority ; she had not become accustomed to the 
 independence of the wealthy widow ; and such is human 
 nature, and such the inherent kindness of woman's heart, 
 that hateful as her husband had rendered himself by his 
 odious and cold-blooded destruction of a fellow-creature^ 
 she could not think of her own position without weeping 
 for days that were gone, and mingling in her sorrow, for 
 the destruction of a fabric of domestic happiness which 
 once looked brightly, remorse and repentance for the share 
 which she attributed to herself in its overthrow and 
 downfall. 
 
 Lord Weybridge had entered upon the duties of execu- 
 torship with a warmth and earnestness, which, however 
 amiable and friendly in their appearance, were, if truth 
 could be entirely known, in no small degree attributable to 
 the desire he felt of making occupation for himself and 
 giving a plausible reason for his protracted absence from 
 Severnstoke. Of Emma he spoke to Fanny as much as 
 he felt himself allowed to do, under the peculiar circum- 
 stances in which the widow was placed. She, however, 
 told him that she had faithfully fulfilled the commission 
 with which she was intrusted ; and that certainly the 
 manner in which Emma had received the communication 
 fully corroborated all she had said to him upon the subject 
 of her feelings, and entirely fulfilled the expectations she 
 had formed of her answer. 
 
 It was clear that Fanny rallied from her own overwhelm- 
 ing sorrow in order to cheer Lord AV'eybridge with the 
 prospect whicli was opened before him of happiness with 
 the only woman, as he himself had said, who could in- 
 sure it. Little did she think that every word she spoke 
 was a dagger to his heart ; for although he made a point 
 of running down the doubts and overcoming the obstacles 
 which MacGopus appeared so charmed to create and esta- 
 blish in the way of his felicity, the Doctor had succeeded, 
 more than George would admit to him, in establishing 
 the obligations under which he lay with regard to Lady 
 Catherine. 
 
 On their return homewards, MacGopus, whose sense of 
 honour was nice, and whose feelings upon such points
 
 THE parson's daughter. 363 
 
 were rigidly conscientious, went more minutely than ever 
 into the discussion with his noble friend^ and begged him 
 by all that was sacred, and by every hope he had of com- 
 fort himself, to undeceive Miss Lovell upon the subject of 
 their probable union. " Tell her/' said MacGopus, " every 
 fact connected with the affair — explain to her how you 
 have been deceived with regard to her — show how her 
 now proved exemplary conduct with respect to her friend 
 has been misrepresented and misinterpreted, and let your- 
 self down sufficiently low to admit your jealousy of a fine 
 boy of eight years and a half old — vindicate your conduct 
 in the best way you can — palliate the turn you have been 
 induced to take ; but, for God's sake, don't leave the inno- 
 cent girl to live a hfe of hope and expectation, which can 
 never be fulfilled, and the frustration of which she will 
 read in the published accounts of your marriage with 
 another woman." 
 
 The firm tone and unflinching remonstrances of the 
 Doctor most assuredly had their effect, — indeed George 
 had at one time felt very much inclined to make Fanny 
 his confidant, and confess to her the situation in which he 
 was placed, or ratherhad placed himself; but he was checked 
 in this instance by the recollection, that, in making the 
 explanation, he must have admitted a belief that her abdi- 
 cation of Binford was not untinctured with impropriety, 
 and that Emma's participation in her flight was the grand 
 pivot upon which his mother had contrived to turn the 
 whole question. 
 
 From Miss Jarman the Doctor had taken the most bitter 
 aversion — nor did Miss Budd please him much better ; 
 but he was charmed with Fanny, and certainly, if she had 
 been in a more approachable state of mind, would have 
 saved Lord Weybridge the trouble of stating his own case 
 with regard to the Parson's Daughter. As it was, he 
 merely threw in a word or two, when in the evening the 
 widow came for a short time into the drawing-room, and 
 satisfied himself with the hope of being able to convert 
 George to his way of thinking on the road home. 
 
 Fanny's gratitude to Lord Weybridge for his kindness 
 and consideration was unbounded, and the thing of all
 
 ^04 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Others that he would most have delighted to do would 
 have been to invite her and the Lovells to Severnstoke ; 
 indeed he went the length of sounding the Doctor as to 
 the possibility of such a measure, which^ while it might 
 be the most agreeable to himself, might be the most 
 decisive to others. 
 
 "Pooh!" said MacGopus, with a sort of Johnsonian 
 manner, which he sometimes did not disdain to affect. 
 " Psha ! — a murderer's widow packed up with a duke's 
 wife, and a Parson's Daughter pitted against a duchess's 
 dariing — madness — no — no — be wise — be prudent — 
 
 the follies you have committed you cannot recall die 
 
 like Caesar, with decency." 
 
 " Et tu Brute ! " said Lord Wey bridge; " ' why that is 
 the most unkindest cut of all.'— If Emma, whom with 
 your Scotch-Kirk bigotry you call a Parson's Daughter, is 
 not fit to be pitted, as you term it, with a duchess's 
 daughter, she is not fit I conclude in your estimation to 
 be a peer's wife." 
 
 "Oh !" said MacGopus, affecting a profound humility; 
 " I beg your lordship's pardon — 1 see I have touched the 
 chord — but it is an unlucky twang I have given, for you 
 have just said what you imagined I inferred, and what 
 your mother most decidedly declares. The Parson's 
 Daughter is not fit for the peer's wife." 
 
 " MacGopus," said his lordship, pale with rage ; " I 
 can bear your infernal, placid obstinacy as well as any 
 man, better than any man, because I know when one 
 suffers a bear to play fly-catcher, he must compound for 
 occasional ugly pats ; but you have touched a point where 
 I admit 1 am not only vulnerable but sore. What do you 
 mean by the cant of a Parson's Daughter.? —a clergyman 
 is essentially a gentleman." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said MacGopus ; " what d' ye 
 thmk of the fellow who " 
 
 " There are exceptions to all general rules," said Lord 
 Weybridge ; " I am not going to wait for you to pick out 
 of tlie whole mass of English clergy one or two, or one or 
 two and twenty black sheep. I say, and I maintain it, 
 that collectively there does not exist upon the face of the
 
 THE parson's daughter. sSb 
 
 earth such a body of piety, intelligence, education, and 
 good conduct as the clergy of the Church of England. 
 Look at their families — visit their houses — watch their 
 pursuits — trace their amusements — scrutinise their duties 
 — whence then can a man select a wife with a greater 
 chance of happiness and comfort than from the domestic 
 circle of such an individual as Lovell, or from the circles 
 of hundreds like him in the same sacred profession ?" 
 
 " You are all wrong, depend upon it," said the Doctor; 
 " Miss Lovell, or whatever you call her, is an ornament 
 in her own sphere — shines like a jewel — but it is in the 
 dark, or when darkness is made just visible : she woidd 
 not do at Severnstoke — she would not do in Grosvenor 
 Square," 
 
 '^Virtue, modesty, talent, and ingenuousness will do 
 every where," said George. 
 
 " Ay, ay — so you say now." 
 
 " Am I not ready to marry her — prove my words, 
 and " 
 
 " You can't marry her, I tell you," said the Doctor, 
 with the provoking immovability from his point, which 
 irritated George beyond measure : " it is not for the sake 
 of running down the girl I talk, but to reconcile you to 
 the separation which must take place between you." 
 
 '' I certainly," said George, in explanation, " do not 
 mean to put Emma Lovell in competition with Lady 
 Catherine for showy accompUshments and ease of man- 
 ners. 
 
 " Why not?" said MacGopus: '^'^her manner is a great 
 deal more agreeable, and I hate a showy woman." 
 
 " Why, mercy on me," said his lordship, " this instant 
 you told nie, or at least inferred, that I should be ashamed 
 of Emma as a wife. " 
 
 " Quite the contrary — proud of her as a wife — 
 but " 
 
 " Faith, I cannot talk with you ; as my mother says, 
 you blow hot and cold in the same breath. " 
 
 "I am constant to one point You must undeceive 
 
 the girl as to the possibility of your marrying her, or I 
 shall."
 
 366 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER, 
 
 " You ! — what in the name of fate or fortune have you 
 to do with it ? " 
 
 " I shall protect her ; her father is old, and kind, and 
 blind, and patient, and thinks you a phoenix of perfection. 
 1 will not suffer you to play with her feelings." 
 
 " Nor," said Lord Weybridge, " will I suffer you to 
 interfere with my conduct." 
 
 "So be it, my lord," said MacGopus : "we shall soon 
 stop to change horses. I '11 trouble your servant for my 
 portmanteau and bag, and pack myself on the outside of 
 the first stage-coach that comes, or walk my way up to 
 London if it be necessary ; but I never will be a pander 
 to your folly or your vices, and most assuredly not permit 
 the peace of mind of an innocent and unworldly creature, 
 like this Parson's Daughter, to be disturbed and ruined 
 by you. You cannot marry her — you know you cannot 
 — and you shall not make her fancy that you can." 
 
 The storm had now reached its height, and George 
 took his ordinary course of remaining silent ; the real fact 
 was, he did not regard his engagement to Lady Catherine 
 in so serious a light as the Doctor did; probably, because 
 he was not quite so calm, or so much in the possession 
 of his reasoning faculties as the Doctor was at the time 
 that he made Lady Frances his accredited agent to the 
 Duchess. 
 
 As for the resolution of the Doctor to interfere, he was 
 quite certain if he once seriously made it, he would as 
 surely put it into execution ; and, therefore, instead of 
 flying into violent bursts of passion, or attempting to 
 divert him from his design, he soothed him into good 
 temper and a consent to continue the partner of his 
 journey, by agreeing with him that something ought to be 
 done, but that he felt as if he could better open his heart 
 and develope the state of his circumstances to the Rector 
 himself than to his daughter. 
 
 To this alteration of person the Doctor advanced no 
 objection, and the journey was performed with safety and 
 perfect liarmony ; IVIacCiopus entirely agreeing with his 
 companion, that Mrs. Ilarbottle ought to have some 
 favourite and agreeable friend as a companion, and that
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 367. 
 
 nobody would be, if it could be so managed^ half so 
 suitable as Emma ; at the same time the Doctor, %vith one 
 of his cunning looks and shrugs of his shoulders, declared 
 his belief that it would be a work of impossibility to save 
 the life of the widow, and that, therefore, it became a 
 more urgent duty of those who were attached to her, to 
 soothe and console her in her progress towards another and 
 a better world. 
 
 George was altogether upset by the mission he had un- 
 dertaken, the sight of his so recently blooming and lovely 
 friend, the unexpected death, and still more unexpected 
 confession, of the Squire, and the consciousness of his own 
 credulity in believing the report which had been circulated 
 about Emma, superadded to his return to Binford and a 
 renewal of his acquaintance at the Rectory, were, in fact, 
 too much for him to bear. 
 
 It must be said, however, to the honour of his lordship;, 
 that he bowed to the dictates of the worthy Doctor, and 
 pledged his honour to come to such an explanation as 
 should clearly and distinctly undeceive Miss Lovell as to 
 any immediate hope of the fulfilnient of what he never- 
 theless still held to be a sacred and binding promise. 
 
 It Avas not to be supposed, that all the passages of their 
 existence at Binford, and the proceedings at the Hall, were 
 to remain unknown or unnoticed at Severnstoke. Lady 
 Frances had condescended to instruct her maid to enter into 
 a correspondence with Plush and his favourite at Dale 
 Cottage, and thence derive another version of the state of 
 affairs, from that which the principal actors in them might 
 choose to convey; but these underhanded proceedings 
 produced her ladyship very little gratification, and in- 
 deed very little intelligence : for George, in his letters, 
 had been as explicit as any man could be, with regard to 
 his feelings about Emma, and had spoken so plainly and 
 strongly, that nothing but the impossibility of leaving the 
 Duchess and Lady Catherine would have prevented Lady 
 Frances from hurrying over to liinford, to condole with 
 dear Miss Lovell, and support her during the period in 
 which her " excellent papa" Avas destined to be worried 
 with the details of business.
 
 368 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Pen and ink, however, she had at command, and she 
 did not fail to avail herself of the advantages derivable from 
 their use; and although she was hindered from flying on the 
 wings of friendship to visit her dear young friend, she took 
 care that the following amiable and affectionate letter, borne 
 from, rather than on the " grey goose wing," should reach 
 Miss Lovell the very day after her dear son's departure for 
 Mopeham. 
 
 " Severnstoke, Nov. — , 1 830. 
 " My dear Miss Lovell, 
 
 " Although I am a good deal hurried with visiters, and 
 a hundred Uttle arrrangements which occupy my time, I 
 cannot avoid writing a few lines to you, to tell you how 
 very much 1 feel for your situation and of that of your 
 dear and excellent father. 
 
 " With respect to our poor friend, Mr. Harhottle, as I 
 never possessed any very great admiration of his qualities 
 or character, it would be affectation to pretend to any serious 
 regret for his death, which is rendered less afflicting, 
 although not less awful, by the circumstances connected 
 with it ; but I cannot express to you how truly I sym- 
 pathise with poor dear Mrs. Harhottle, and with you na- 
 turally ; your kindness to her has been extraordinary, and 
 her gratitude must be no doubt proportionate ; and I do 
 hope that you will continue to give her as much of your 
 society in her present bereaved state as you are able. 
 
 " I suppose she will return to Binford, for your sake, if 
 for no other reason ; and 1 shall hope to meet her when I 
 return to the cottage, and shall most gladly add my en- 
 deavours to yours to support her in her sorrow, and check 
 a disposition to melancholy and regret, which, if what I 
 hear can possibly be true, ought not to weigh upon her 
 mind too heavily. 
 
 " Of course you have seen dear George ; I am sure he 
 could not be at Binford many hours without making you 
 a visit. The affair of Mr. Harbottle's death comes rather 
 mul apropos, for it takes him away from home at a moment 
 when his presence here is most essentially necessary. I 
 dare say he will not tell any body at Binford the real truth ; 
 so I will mention it — entre nous — to you. He is engaged
 
 THE parson's daughter. 369 
 
 to be married to Lady Catherine Hargrave, a daughter of 
 the Duchess of Malvern ; — I say of the Duchess, because 
 the poor Duke has been dead several years ; she is every 
 thing I could wish in a daughter-in-law and he could aspire 
 to as a wife. She is devoted to him ; and, I assure you, 
 his sudden departure, and prolonged stay, have thrown a 
 gloom over her which it requires all my little management 
 to dispel. 
 
 " Do me the favour net to allude to this affair if you see 
 him on his return, for he is so extremely shy upon some 
 points that he might be seriously annoyed with my having 
 told you any thing about it. I am happy at the settlement 
 of the arrangement, because I have always observed that an 
 equal marriage makes the happiest menage. If a man, in 
 George's station, were to have married a person of inferior 
 rank, however amiable and respectable, she never could have 
 felt at her ease amongst his family and connections ; on 
 the contrary, she must have experienced, daily and hourly, 
 mortifications from her total want of place and station. 
 Catherine is a delightful creature, and, I am quite sure, 
 would suit you amazingly in all her ways. 1 hope we 
 shall some day have the pleasure of seeing you here, and 
 at all events in London, which I think you told me you 
 proposed visiting next season. 
 
 " This is a charming place, and George is doing wonders 
 with it ; a few thousand pounds scattered with taste makes 
 such alterations, not only in the decorative parts of a house 
 like this, but in its essential comforts. — I really think, 
 when I get home to Dale Cottage, which I now much fear 
 I shall not do till next summer, I shall feel as one always 
 does returning to a small house from a large one, " cribbed, 
 cabined, and confined;" however, there are certain agre- 
 mens in your village which perfectly compensate for any 
 minor inconveniences, and amongst them, assure yourself, 
 my dear Miss Lovell, your society is to me the principal 
 
 one. 
 
 " Let me beg you to remember me to dear Mr. Lovell, 
 and beg him not to exert himself too much in the discharge 
 of his duty as executor, but to take care of himself, not 
 only for your sake and his own, but for the sake of the 
 
 B u
 
 370 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 numberless people who look up to him and exist upon his 
 bounty. Adieu, my dear Miss Lovell, and believe me, 
 always most sincerely yours, 
 
 " Frances Sheringham. 
 " P. S. Write to me when you have a leisure hour, and 
 tell me what you are doing." 
 
 This was an agreeable epistle — it saved a world of 
 trouble, although it gave a world of pain. Emma read — 
 re-read it — not exactly all of it — but those particular 
 iiassages which authoritatively and unequivocally announced 
 the marriage of Lord AVeybridge with Lady Catherine Har- 
 grave. It seemed to Emma that she had dreamed a hor- 
 rible dream, or rather that she had suddenly awoke from a 
 happy dream to a horrible reality. Could it be — was it 
 possible, that George should have so entirely forgotten his 
 own voluntary pledge — h.ave belied the earnest feeling 
 of his heart, and one which he had flown, at it were, to 
 express the moment that his change of station had left him 
 at liberty to act as he pleased ? 
 
 Emma knew the character of her right honourable cor- 
 respondent, and she saw through the filmy web of compli- 
 ment and civility which she had wove to catch her ; she 
 could have disbelieved the whole of the contents of the let- 
 ter — but no — Lord "W'eybridge was at hand to confute 
 it, if it were untrue — besides, Lady Frances would not 
 venture to insert the names of persons in connection with 
 that of her son unless the thing was irrevocably fixed and 
 settled. 
 
 And yet — George had made an effort to resume the 
 subject the day before — slie herself had checked it — and 
 could he pursue a course of such useless duplicity, trifle 
 with her feelings, and wantonly excite hopes of happiness, 
 merely to crush them ? — no — that she could not believe. 
 — Then how was it — or what was she to do, upon his 
 return to the Rectory ? — If she spoke of Lady Frances's 
 letter, he would naturally inquire what were its contents ; 
 and if he did, she must, of course, confess their nature, 
 wliich Lady Frances had especially begged her not to do. 
 
 Jn the difficulty of the case, she came to a resolution, to
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. SJl 
 
 which her father, to whom she imparted it, at first seriously 
 objected : however, upon a further discussion of the subject, 
 he acceded to her proposition ; and if he were not altogether 
 in the secret of her feelings towards Lord ^Feybridge, she 
 permitted him to understand so much of the point and ob- 
 ject of Lady Frances's letter, that he held out but a very 
 short time against the request she made, and at lengtli 
 agreed to it, convinced, by her manner and observations 
 upon its results, that it was the wisest, the kindest^ and the 
 most delicate step she could take. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 •^— Till this cruel rnoment 
 I never knew how tenderly I loved thee; 
 But on this everlasting separation, 
 Methniks my soul has lelt me, and my time 
 Of dissolution points me to the grave. Lec. 
 
 Wjien the travellers reached Binford — George having 
 promised MacGopus to follow his directions in the con- 
 duct of his affair with Emma — they found Lovell as they 
 had left him ; but his daughter was gone. She had 
 winged her way to her suffering friend at Mopeham, and 
 had so timed her departure as to pass Lord VVeybridge 
 on the road. 
 
 The mortification of George, when he heard this intelli- 
 gence, is inconceivable ; for it left him exactly where 
 he was when he first arrived at the Rectory, and placed 
 him in the situation from which, of all others, INIacGopus 
 was most anxious to extricate him : but his mortification 
 was very speedily converted into another feeling, when 
 Lovell put into his lordship's hands a pacquet from his 
 daughter, telling him, that, although he did not profess to 
 be fully acquainted with its contents, it would be worse 
 than affectation not to admit that he could comprehend the 
 
 B B 2
 
 •i/" THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 general purport of her letter. That he placed such im- 
 plicit reliance on the conduct and discipline of his daugh- 
 ter's mind, that he did not hesitate to state his entire con- 
 currence in all she had said ; but he must beg, as a favour 
 of his lordship, that the subject of her letter might not be 
 referred to so long as he remained at Binford ; that after- 
 wards, when the letter was burnt and its cause forgotten, 
 they might live upon the same terms of friendship as then 
 existed between them, and that the subject never siiould be 
 mooted again. 
 
 George was a good deal staggered at this appeal, and at 
 the p)resentation of Emma's epistle ; it Avas evident — how 
 he did not exactly at the moment understand — that she 
 had anticipated him in breaking ofF the connection, and 
 that lie was placed in the position of a professing suitor, 
 unable to fulfil the promises which he was making — 
 in short, it was so overpowering an incident to him, that it 
 was with difficulty he could restrain his inclination to 
 break the seal and ascertain the contents, imtil he reached 
 Dale Cottage, where, esconced in his dressing-room, he 
 burst open the envelope to read as follows : — 
 
 " Binford, Thursday. 
 
 " It may, perhaps, seem strange that I should take such 
 a step as to address a letter to you, upon a subject, too, of 
 a most delicate nature, and upon whicli I believe we have 
 never exchanged a syllable; but I have no hesitation in 
 doing what I think and believe to be a duty to you 
 and to myself. Upon your generous feelings and kind 
 consideration I must rely for an excuse for thus committing 
 mvself. 
 
 " Fanny — my kind, and now unhappy friend — lost 
 no time in delivering the message to me with which you 
 entrusted her, and I shall neither degrade myself nor 
 affront you by denying that I received that communication 
 with the liveliest sentiments of gratification and jileasure. 
 I see neither impropriety nor indelicacy in confessing, 
 under my present circumstances, that esteem and regard 
 for you which I have never attempted to disguise, and 
 which might, perhaps, had events turned out differently.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 373 
 
 have given place to sentiments and feelings which I should 
 have been proud and happy to have cherished and ac- 
 knowledged. 
 
 " So much for what is past : — I feel I have nothing to 
 reproach myself with — I have no intention of reproaching 
 you. That you were misled with regard to the conduct of 
 poor Fanny, I know; and, having taken that impression of 
 her innocent and almost compulsory fliglit from her home 
 and her husband, I was naturally involved in her fault and 
 her disgrace. This I completely understand ; yet when I 
 found you again here, undeceived by the dreadful con- 
 fession of the wretched man who yet lies unburied, I did 
 hope that I should be cleared in your eyes of any miscon- 
 duct, and flattered myself that I might, after your return 
 from Fanny's, have hoped for a realisation of those visions 
 which you yourself taught me to contemplate, and have 
 endeavoured to make the happiness of one for whom my 
 regard will for ever remain unaltered. You yourself spoke 
 on the subject to me — you endeavoured to induce a con- 
 versation, which I checked, for reasons which I can and 
 will yet give you — and you left me evidently discontented 
 with my disinclination to listen to a renewal of topics 
 which I had strong reasons for believing were most 
 objectionable to part of your family. 
 
 '^ It was not because I esteemed you less — it was not 
 because my heart had changed its feeling, nor that my re- 
 gards were elsewhere directed, that I he^itated to listen to 
 your protestations ; it was because I was sure, from Avhat 
 I had heard, that any connection between us would be 
 a cause of contention and difference between you and your 
 mother. God forbid that I should ever become the cause 
 of such a dissension ! It was clear to me that I never 
 could be received into your family upon an equality of 
 terms, and I could not endure to be admitted into it 
 on sufferance, and considered a blemish upon your ancient 
 and honourable bearings. I then resolved to stifle every 
 selfish feeling, and leave you free as air to select from 
 a more suitable sphere one who might do you honour and 
 credit, and who might be taken to your mother's bosom as 
 a daughter-in-law, without one qualifying doubt or one 
 
 B B 3
 
 Ot-r 
 
 >74 THE parson's DArGHTER. 
 
 harassing regret. That sacrifice^ George, I had determined 
 to make, and that was the cause of my hindering you from 
 touching upon a theme as near my heart as it ever could 
 have been near yours. It was not alone that I was too 
 proud to endure the humiliation, but I was too much 
 devoted to you to permit you to suffer from my want of 
 importance. 
 
 " Tliis I had done — and I could have met you on 
 your return from Fanny's, and have told you my decision, 
 I could have parted from you like a sister, and have loved 
 you all my life as a brother. But there are sufferings 
 which even stouter hearts than mine cannot endure. I 
 enclose your mother's letter, which I received yesterday. 
 It may seem that I violate a confidence in making a com- 
 munication to you which she desired me not to make; but, 
 judging of the sincerity of that request by all the other 
 parts of her letter, I do not think it of sufficient im- 
 portance to outweigh what I feel to be a duty to myself, 
 before I take the deciding step of my life — that of im- 
 ploring you never to attempt to see me again — never 
 to wi-ite to me — never, if possible, to think of me. 
 
 " Is it possible, that when, accidentally returning to my 
 father's house, the opportunity was afforded you of speak- 
 ing to me alone, you, parted as you were but a few hours 
 from her who is desiined to possess your heart and share 
 your honours, could have availed yourself of that op- 
 portunity to affront, insult, and wound me with a revival 
 of the sentiments which you expressed some time ago 
 through Fanny ? What have I done to deserve such 
 cruelty ? 
 
 '' I tell you — because I have been taught to speak 
 plainly and truly, and because truth is, in me, habit — 
 that, when I first became acquainted with you, I admired 
 those qualities which you appeared to possess, and sympa- 
 thized in those sentiments which you were in the habit of 
 expressing; your mind, your manners, your accomplish- 
 ments, all combined to increase the prepossession I felt, 
 and I saw in you candour, and honour, and rectitude. 
 Your conduct and conversation evidently inferred that the 
 feeling 1 entertained was reciprocal, and I would have
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 375 
 
 sacrificed every hope in the world to have ensured your 
 welfare and comfort. You suddenly became ennobled — 
 did I seek you then ? did I value your rank ? did I gaze 
 with delight on your coronet ? No. The very first act of 
 your life in your new station was to seek me out ; and, in 
 a manner to me the most flattering — Avhy should I not 
 say the most delightful — you, for the first time, solemnly 
 and seriously declared your affection, and vowed eternal 
 constancy to me. Why — why did you do this ? Believe 
 me, I do not reproach you for attending to the advice 
 of Lady Frances, nor do I blame you for connecting your- 
 self with the house of Hargrave — it is right, it is prudent, 
 it is wise, it is dutiful to do so. But why break a heart, 
 which you knew was your own, by singling out a being who 
 never would have aspired to think of you ag a husband in 
 your new position in life, merely to delude, and then deride 
 her. Oh ! how — how — can this be reconciled with 
 your previous conduct .'' How, when we met after that — 
 how — only three days since — could you again allude to 
 the declaration you had made, while your beautiful bride 
 was waiting your return from the house of mourning to be 
 led to the altar } 
 
 " It is now all over — I can and I will bear it — the 
 consolations of religion will support me in my trial, but I 
 must not see you again — I have taught myself to look up 
 to you as a superior being. Let me think of you — when 
 1 do — as you were — but let me hear nothing from you — 
 I will sit calmly and patiently, and watch your bright 
 career through life, and pray for your happiness : but, let 
 me implore you, think no more of me. I here release you 
 fi-om every promise — every vow — every protestation : 
 be free as air — and be happy — and oh ! in that happi- 
 ness be just, and good, and true, and so shall you prosper. 
 1 have said more, much more, than 1 intended — more 
 than I ought to have said. My father knows of my having 
 written this letter — indeed he will give it to you. With 
 Fanny I may be of use — 1 may cheer and soothe her : — 
 ray aunt will go to Binford, to-morrow or the next day, to 
 stay with my dear father. Again I implore you not to 
 write to me — not to mention my name to Lady Frances — 
 
 3J B 4
 
 376 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 never, never to revive the recollection of me in your mind, 
 but utterly to forget a being who seems to have been need- 
 lessly made the sport of fate and the object of vexatious 
 persecution. Again I repeat, 1 forgive and release you ;■ 
 and most fervently and sincerely do I conclude my first 
 and final letter to you, with the earnest prayer of my heart 
 that God may bless you, and for ever ! 
 
 " Emma." 
 
 When George had read this letter and its enclosure, his 
 feelings were more bitterly excited against his mother than 
 he ever expected they could have been. The complaints of 
 the deluded girl were all so just, so fair^ and yet so mildly, 
 so patiently expressed, and there was so much genuineness 
 of feeling and devotion of sentiment in all she said, that it 
 was with difficulty he masked his feelings so as to hand it 
 over to his friend. 
 
 "Well," said MacGopus, when he had read it, " I told 
 you so — I said you would never marry that girl ; — now 
 Avhat I have said is come to pass, and no thanks to you — 
 she Avo'n't have you." 
 
 " She will have me," said Lord Weybridge ; " and she 
 shall." 
 
 " She never will," said the Doctor ; " I know some- 
 thing of human nature, and something of womanly pride 
 and dignity — so long as your mother lives and flourishes, 
 so long will she remain Miss, Avhatever her name is " 
 
 " I will write to her this moment." 
 
 " She will return your letter unopened." 
 
 " I will follow her the instant the funeral is over." 
 
 " She will not admit you." 
 
 " I'll write to Mrs. Harbottle." 
 
 " Who will merely repeat, in the young lady's name, 
 what she herself has personally said." 
 
 " I will, at all events, deny the fact of my engagement 
 to Lady Catherine." 
 
 " You cannot deny it." 
 
 " Then by Heaven I'll never fulfil it." 
 
 " You must." 
 
 " Am I to be forced — pressed into the service ? **
 
 THE parson's DAUGHTKR. 377 
 
 " You could not argue against the system if you were — 
 but you volunteered." 
 
 ''' The fault is all your's." 
 
 " Ah, that's right, say it was me." 
 
 " So it Avas — the irritation — the ridicule — the calumny 
 raised ao;ainst Emma, and the effects of that infernal four 
 square inches of mahogany-looking brandy-and-water." 
 
 " You made it yourself." 
 
 " So I should have prepared poison at that moment with 
 equal readiness." 
 
 " Not you." 
 
 '' How such an infernal mixture should have been 
 seen in decent society, 1 cannot make out ; nobody on 
 earth but yourself would have thought of asking for such 
 a thing." 
 
 " I don't know what people on earth may do, but I 
 remember on the water you used to ask for it, and have it, 
 too, as often as your neighbours. Don't reproach me 
 with your own rashness — don't attribute to your con- 
 descension, in permitting me the privilege of doing what I 
 like in your house, and what you like to do yourself every 
 where else, the overthrow of your hopes and wishes — 
 put it rather to the score of your own jealousy and 
 credulity, and the active perseverance of your proud 
 parent." 
 
 " Aye, aye, that's right," said Lord "^V^eybridge, whose 
 anger and mortification had nearly blinded him to the 
 truth, " endeavour to make a breach between me and my 
 mother, after having seconded all her propositions and 
 supported all her arguments." 
 
 " I suppose you want me to leave you ? " said MacGopus. 
 " Another such imputation upon me, and we part for 
 ever. No, sir, I have no wish to sow differences between 
 you and Lady Frances ; but I tell you the truth, and I 
 tell it you fearlessly, because I am sure you ought to be 
 convinced of it, and regulate your conduct accordingly. 
 Neither did I carelessly nor wantonly take part with her 
 ladyship upon the subject of j\Iiss Lovell. I told you 
 from the outset that you would not be permitted to marry 
 her. I knew the abandonment of that match was the nine
 
 378 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 qua non of your domestic tranquillity, and, having es- 
 tablished that fact in my mind, I did not hesitate, when I 
 heard your mother express an opinion of her conduct, 
 founded upon facts, which induced even you to abandon 
 her, to concur in an opinion, which I shoukl be now 
 as ready to retract as you are to revoke your pledge to 
 Lady Catherine, if by so doing 1 could dissolve the bonds 
 that are forged for you, or place Miss Lovell in your 
 mother's estimation exactly where I think she ought to 
 stand. But, I repeat it, it is nov/ all too late, and honour 
 and delicacy, both as respects Lady Catherine and regards 
 Miss Lovell, demand that yOu should obey the injunctions 
 contained in this letter : and as she releases vou from all 
 your engagements, you should release her from any 
 further persecution." 
 
 '^ Forgive me, my dear fellow," said Lord Weybridge ; 
 ''I speak hastily — I see things inaccurately — I cannot 
 argue — I feel bitterly — you are right — quite right — and 
 I am wrong — wrong in every thing I have done. How 
 could I have been persuaded to imagine the possibility that 
 a venerable excellent Pastor of our church should have sent 
 his child as companion to a runaway wife, if he had not 
 been assured of the reason and propi'iety of her abdica- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " Or how," continued the Doctor, '' could you be cheated 
 into the conviction that your place in your beloved Emma's 
 heart was usurped by a nice little boy of eight years and a 
 half old ! Psha ! and then you blame nie." 
 
 " Of one thing, I think," said Lord Weybridge, "^ you 
 will not deny the possibility, if not the propriety, of my 
 doing. There can be no objection, surely, to my stating 
 exactly the circumstances in which I am placed to her 
 father. There can be no indelicacy in that course ; it will 
 satisfy >??^; without agitating or annoying her: and at all 
 events I shall stand better with that good man than I do at 
 present." 
 
 " I would not do any thing of the sort. You have got 
 yourself into a scrape — this generous young lady has ex- 
 tricated you. You are free. \^hat good can explanations 
 do ? She is much too clever and clear-sighted not to per-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 379 
 
 ceive the trick. She has seen it — she has acted upon the 
 conviction — and why any more? If you tell him why 
 you suspected her, he will naturally conclude that you must 
 have had a very mean opinion of his principles and pro- 
 priety ; and if you impart to him the last cause of your 
 jealousy, he will think you a most particularly silly and 
 easily deceived person, and refer you to your little rival 
 with the top and hoop, as the most suitable companion for 
 your conversation." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said Lord Weybridge, 
 " and I shall consider that part of the question coolly and 
 dispassionately. As to Emma herself, I believe, painful as 
 is the conviction, that you are correct in your views, and 
 that I ought to pursue her no farther ; but I can adopt 
 another course of conduct in another quarter, and at least 
 fulfil my determination of not marrying any other woman." 
 
 " I tell you, you must." 
 
 "^ But at no stated period, at no given time. I may 
 delay — procrastinate — " 
 
 " And so try your best at breaking another heart. No 
 
 — your course is not merely negative : it is positive. It is 
 as much your duty to marry Lady Catherine, as it is to 
 give up the Parson's Daughter. To fulfil that duty honour- 
 ably and conscientiously, you ought to time your n arriage 
 so, that it shall take place at the same period as you would, 
 by circumstances, have been enabled to unite yourself to 
 your former love." 
 
 *"' This is a bitter draught to swallow," said George. 
 
 " It is my duty to prescribe it for you," replied Mac- 
 Gopus. " And if you think it worth your while to profit 
 by my advice in future, I tell you distinctly, you must be 
 content to gulp it." 
 
 " This is sharp practice," said Lord Wcybridge. 
 
 " It is the straight path of honour — you must take 
 it. 
 
 " "Well, give me time to think of it." 
 
 " You have other things to think of," said MacGopus ; 
 " other duties to perform — solemn and serious ones too ; 
 
 — that, perhaps, is so much the better." 
 
 "Aye — it might be so ; but," said George, "recollect
 
 380 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 the scenes in which those duties are to be fulfilled — that 
 business to be transacted — under the roof of her fatlier — 
 in rooms once blest with her presence, and adorned by her 
 society. Can I — can 1 abstract my thoughts — conquer 
 my feelings, or subdue my recollections, while there, and 
 devote myself to the dry matters of fact which must come 
 under my consideration?" 
 
 ''Can you? — yes," said MacGopus, "you can and 
 must — because you ought. Duty demands that of you, 
 as strongly as honour requires you to take the course I 
 have pointed out in the other affair." 
 
 The time was not far distant when the trial was to be 
 made. The arrival of the solicitor of the late Mr. Har_ 
 bottle was shortly afterwards announced to Lord ^^ey- 
 bridge, and his presence requested at the Hall, whither 
 Mr. Lovell had, it appeared, preceded him. There was 
 much to be done, indeed ; and, upon an examination into 
 the state of his affairs, it appeared that the Squire's pro- 
 perty, derivable from various sources, by far exceeded the 
 amount at which it had been generally calculated. 
 
 Relations he had none living — incumbrances few — 
 debts trifling. In short, by a rough calculation, it seemed 
 probable that his widow, after the final arrangement of 
 every thing and the payment of the few small legacies 
 mentioned in his will, would be in possession of funded 
 property and freehold estates to the amount of tvvo-and- 
 twenty thousand pounds per annum, exclusive of Binford 
 Hall, which, with the land surrountiing it, might be fairly 
 calculated at ninety thousand pounds more ; the whole of 
 which was left entirely at her own disposal, without con- 
 trol or limitation. 
 
 The disposition of this wealth by Harbottle, at his de- 
 cease, exhibited a very striking instance of retributive jus- 
 tice, and the ruling quality — passion it cannot be called 
 — strong in death. He had committed an act of atrocity, 
 almost unparalleled in the annals of crime — the effect of 
 sanguinary and diabolical revenge and misplaced jealousy. 
 He iiad destroyed the man whom he imagined had injured 
 him. He had, by so doing, securely gratified his malice, 
 and triumphed, as he believed, over his guilty wife, by
 
 THE parson's daughter. 381 
 
 depriving her for ever of the chance of again enjoying the 
 society of his supposed rival in her affections. So far the 
 fiend-like quality predominated. 
 
 Fanny left him. His first impulse was dread of the 
 consequences of her revenge. After his interview with 
 Lovell, tliat apprehension ceased, and he resolved to show 
 the world how careless he was of her presence, by letting 
 them see hov>' lightly he felt her absence. During this 
 career of dissipation and hypocrisy, a circumstance oc- 
 curred, which led to the conviction of his prime minister, 
 Hollis, of some act of fraud in the management of his 
 household finances ; for Hollis, relieved of the check which 
 a mistress and Iter housekeeper maintained over the ex- 
 penses, procured the dismissal of that once favoured do- 
 mestic, and, having secured her rem.oval, began a course of 
 cheating, which was eventually stopped by the barefaced 
 impudence of its contriver. 
 
 Then came into Harbottle's mind the suspicion that 
 Hollis, proved guilty in one case, might have been equally 
 false and base in others. By dint of violence he extracted 
 part of his criminality from the trembling wretch ; and the 
 other part was confessed by the culprit, not in the hope of 
 forgiveness — for he saw it was far past that — but in a 
 triumpliant burst of gratified revenge against his credulous 
 master, whom he instantly quitted, leaving him in a state 
 of anguish and horror not to be described. 
 
 Now came that sudden revulsion to which, upon all oc- 
 casions, the Squire was liable. The more he dwelt upon 
 the profligacy of the knave, the more brightly and purely 
 shone the suffering excellence of Ids ill-treated wife. No 
 reparation could ever be sufficient to atone for the barbarity 
 of his conduct — no submission compensate for the cruelty 
 which he had exercised towards her : — and all his hopes 
 ill this world were centred in the one great anxiety to ob- 
 tain her forgiveness before he died. In this, as we know, 
 he failed : but still, as in life he had considered money to 
 be every thing, so in death he exhibited the same affection 
 for it ; and satisfied himself that all he could do, to ensure 
 forgiveness here and hereafter, he had consummated, when
 
 382 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 he bequeathed every thing he possessed in the world to his 
 unhappy Fanny. 
 
 On the day of the funeral, the shops of the principal 
 tradesmen of the place were closed ; and in the park near 
 the house, and along the road by which the procession was 
 to move, considerable numbers of persons were assembled 
 — some few out of respect, but by far the g: eater part 
 from curiosisy. There was wanting, in all the indications 
 of feeling, that appearance of interest, which attaches to 
 the closing scene of the life of a landlord and master who 
 has been esteemed and beloved. The tradesmen lamented, 
 as they did on the day of his death, because they had lost 
 a good customer ; and the bettermost classes regretted the 
 break-up of a '' free and easy" establishment, where they 
 had been hospitably received and liberally regaled. But 
 there was no absorbing sorrow — no silent grief — no mute 
 watchfulness for the approach of the hearse. The boys in 
 the throng played, jumped, and frisked about as usual ; 
 and the itinerant venders of spruce-beer and gingerbread 
 availed themselves of the somewhat unusual " gathering,^' 
 to proclaim most audibly the merits of their respective 
 commodities. One pea-and-thimble man, from a neigh- 
 bouring fair, made his appearance ; but his little apparatus 
 soon fell a victim to the just indignation of the parish- 
 beadle, who, at one smash, entirely destroyed it with the 
 crape covered knob of his long staff of office. 
 
 There was one heart deeply and bitterly affected — that 
 of Lord ^\'eybridge. His mind was attuned to sorrow. 
 The recollection of his own position predisposed him for 
 the reception of melancholy impressions : and there was, 
 in the scene before him, a combination of qualities well 
 calculated to excite a powerful feeling in his breast. 
 
 Here in the darkened dining-room, where so often he 
 had seen the hospitable and then blameless Squire presiding 
 at his festive board, making th.e walls echo to his boister- 
 ous mirth, stood the black cofHn which contained his mor- 
 tal remains. On the very spot where one of the tressels 
 rested, which supported the corpse, he had first known 
 Harvey — since snatched from the world. How } —
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 383 
 
 There, too, l:e had seen the lovely, lively Fanny, dis- 
 pensing smiles and kindness — now herself stretched on a 
 bed of sickness, and most probably hastening to follow her 
 ill-starred husband. And beyond all, had he there first 
 seen his Emma — noAV separated from him for ever. 
 Never had there been a wreck of happiness^ and hope, and 
 joy so sudden or so sweeping. 
 
 The mourners had now all arrived, and the hearse was 
 drawn up to the door. The people stood around and 
 watched, as the body was placed in the funeral carriage. 
 The heavy tolling of the church-bell announced that the 
 cortege had moved, and the train of followers increasing as 
 it proceeded, a large concourse of spectators surrounded it 
 when it reached the church. 
 
 Lovell read the beautiful service for the burial of the 
 dead, with a solemnity that awed and moved his hearers. 
 The coffin was lowered into the vault — the earth rattled 
 on its lid — the ceremony ended — the people dispersed, 
 and returned to their usual occupation or amusements ; and, 
 in an hour after the gorgeous display of funeral pomp, 
 Binford resumed its usual appearance : dinners were given 
 in the noon, scandal was talked in the evening, ladies sang 
 and gentlemen laughed, and the day concluded exactly as 
 it would have closed had Harbottle been alive, or had never 
 lived. 
 
 Lord "^Feybridge took leave of Lovell at the church- 
 door, and proceeded to Dale Cottage, whence in a short 
 time he started^ accompanied by his friend the Doctor, in 
 his travelling carriage, on their return to Severnstoke.
 
 384 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Say, what strange motive, goddess! could compel 
 A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle; 
 <)! say, what stranger course yet unexplored 
 Could make a gentle belle reject a lord. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 The reader must not suppose, because he is yet uninforraed 
 upon the subject, that Lord Weybridge really quitted Bin- 
 ford without having had his intended conversation with 
 the Rector on the topic which, after all, was nearest his 
 heart. He had;, on the contrary, availed himself of the 
 first favourable opportunity which their association on 
 matters of business afforded, to open the matter to him, by 
 deploring deeply the tone and character of his daughter's 
 letter, which he felt it no breach of confidence to mention 
 to her father, under the circumstances, and Avhich he 
 seriously apprehended had been intended, as it was calcu- 
 lated, to put a final termination to all his hopes regarding 
 her. 
 
 He found, as indeed he had anticipated, that I\Ir. Lovell 
 was intimately acquainted witJi all Emma's proceedings, 
 and to his infinite dissatisfaction also discovered that the 
 old gentleman perfectly entered into all his daughter's feel- 
 ings, and participated most unequivocally in the view which 
 she had taken of the affair. 
 
 " My child," said the exemplary pastor, " however 
 small her pretensions and however humble her station, 
 possesses an inherent pride, not incompatil)le, I trust, with 
 the exercise of every moral and religious duty. It is, as I 
 need scarcely tell your lordship, neither the pride of wealth, 
 nor the pride of birth, nor is it the still vainer pride of 
 beauty or accomplishments, by which her actions are 
 prompted and her conduct is regulated. It is the pride of 
 integrity, of honour, and of truth. The sacrifices she is 
 capable of making to filial duty and friendship you have 
 yourself seen. Her firmness of resolution, when her de- 
 termination is founded upon principle, I cannot for a 
 moment doubt. Her delicacy has been wounded — her
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 385 
 
 feelings have been trifled with, and the dignity which she 
 feels it due to her sex and character to maintain has been 
 offended. She has taken her line, because she thinks it the 
 right and just course to pursue, and I am assured, that 
 neither your lordship's solicitations nor mine would induce 
 her to waver in the conclusion at which she has arrived." 
 
 " But," said Lord Weybridge, " you possess a para- 
 mount power — you can command obedience." 
 
 " That power, my lord," said Lovell, " I must be par- 
 doned for declining to use upon this occasion. In what I 
 am saying, I speak only as a friend to both of you — I 
 am, as you already know, informed of every thing that has 
 passed between your lordship and my daugliter — I feel 
 honoured, as she felt gratified, by the unequivocal expression 
 of your regard and esteem for my child, and the commu- 
 nication which she received from you, through her friend, 
 Mrs. Harbottle, spoke in glowing language to our ears, the 
 noble generosity of your character, and the unqualified 
 sincerity of your heart. But she paused before she gave 
 herself permission to believe in the realisation of the bright 
 prospects your offer opened to her sight ; there then existed 
 a determination on her part to decHne what I beheve would 
 have constituted and secured her happiness, unless the 
 result could have been met with the most unequivocal ap- 
 probation from Lady Frances " 
 
 " But, my dear sir," interrupted Lord Weybridge, " my 
 mother " 
 
 " Hear me out, my lord," said Lovell, " Without this 
 entire concurrence, Emma never would have consented to 
 the marriage ; I speak all this plainly and candidly, and I 
 speak her words — that concurrence I believe never could 
 have been obtained, and " 
 
 " Yes — but " 
 
 " One moment," said Lovell, " that question is 
 
 now at rest — the justice of my daughter's apprehensions 
 upon that subject is proved ; for the fact is now notorious 
 that your lordship is actually under an engagement to 
 another lady." 
 
 " It is not so, indeed it is not," said George. " I cer- 
 tainly permitted my mother to open a negotiation on the 
 
 c c
 
 386 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 subject of marriage with Lady Catherine Hargrave, but it 
 lias gone no length — it has " 
 
 " Stay, my lord," said Lovell, somewhat indignantly, 
 '' I must not hear this language. My child may be un- 
 protected in the unfashionable acceptation of the word, but 
 I cannot permit her to be so outraged as to be told that 
 any man, Avhatever be his rank, has permitted a negotiation 
 of marriage to be entered into with one lady, at a moment 
 when he is soliciting the hand of another." 
 
 " I am not surprised at your anger," said George ; " you 
 are not aware of the circumstances. I had heard rumours 
 of the most extraordinary nature, connected with Mrs. 
 Harbottle's flight — of Emma's participation in that 
 flight " 
 
 " And. you had not sufficient reliance in her or me, to 
 suspect their truth .'' " 
 
 " Other circumstances were put in array before me — 
 my jealousy was excited — I admit it — I felt I had been 
 neglected, betrayed, abandoned ' 
 
 " In favour, perhaps, of Count Alexis Montenay ? " 
 said Lovell, smiling. 
 
 " No matter," said Lord Weybridge ; '' I was worked 
 upon — my feelings were soured — falsehood and perver- 
 sion were brought to bear upon my constancy and resolution 
 — and T admit that I permitted, as I have already said, 
 the bubject of marriage to be mentioned to the Duchess of 
 Malvern, but it was in a fit of madness." 
 
 " May I ask," said Lovell, " who the person is by whom 
 all this excitement has been ])roduce(l — from whom all 
 this intelligence was derived ? " 
 
 " My mother told me " 
 
 " Enough, enough, my dear Lord Weybridge," said the 
 Rector ; " could you, if you spoke for hours, exhibit a 
 stronger reason for Emma's determination not to enter your 
 family under existing circumstances, or produce a more 
 powerful justification of the course she has resolved to 
 pursue, than the plain simple fact that the disinclination of 
 Lady Frances from the connexion is sufficiently inveterate 
 to induce her to exaggerate and misrepresent circumstances . 
 and occurrences of which, in fact, she knew nothing, and
 
 THE parson's daughter. 387 
 
 subsequently go the length of making a confidential com- 
 munication to a girl with whom she never had before cor- 
 responded^ announcing the death-blow to wliat her ladyship 
 imagined her hopes and expectations, by proclaiming to 
 her your approaching nuptials with Lady Catherine Har- 
 grave ? " 
 
 " But, my dear friend," said Lord Weybridge, " I am 
 my own master — free and uncontrolled : I have admitted 
 that doubts and fears, and even jealousies, were created in 
 my mind. But truth, like the sun dispelling clouds, has 
 cleared away every apprehension I entertained, and I am 
 ready at this moment to overcome all obstacles and sur- 
 mount all difficulties which may appear to present them- 
 selves, and throw myself at Emma's feet, as ardent, as 
 sincere, and as devoted a lover as ever existed." 
 
 " I tell you plainly. Lord Weybridge," said Mr. Lovell, 
 " your attempts to shake the resolution of my daughter 
 will be fruitless. I will add — and here let me beg that 
 the conversation may terminate, and that the subject may 
 never be recurred to, in any future communication which 
 I hope, may exist between us — that if I could believe, 
 which I do not, that Emma's determination could be sub- 
 dued, and that she were to yield to a tenderer feeling all 
 that is dear to herself and her character, I myself should 
 interpose my parental authority to save her from such a 
 degradation, and if she persisted, consider her for ever lost 
 to me : but I have that confidence in her which makes me 
 careless of results : I know her, and I know that the 
 strongest proof you can give of that friendship which we 
 both of us shall continue to feel for you, will be exhibited 
 in abstaining from any further solicitation on a subject 
 which is henceforth eternally interdicted." 
 
 Here Lovell, much to the surprise of Lord ^V^eybridge, 
 who was not prepared for so decided a movement on the 
 part of the old gentleman, rose, with an evident intention to 
 conclude the conversation. 
 
 It was clear to George, as it must be to the reader, that 
 both Lovell and his daughter exonerated him from blame 
 in the affair — that they both felt conscious of the ex- 
 traordinary influence Lady Frances possessed over her son, 
 
 c c 2
 
 388 THE I parson's daughter. 
 
 and while they could not but despise the meannesses of 
 ■which she had been guilty during the progress of her 
 manceuvrings, they saw, in her resolution to thwart the 
 union of the lovers, the seeds of future misery to both of 
 them, if they should either out- general her ladyship in 
 strategy, or declare open hostility and marry in spite of 
 her. 
 
 This dialogue Lord "^^^eybridge related, as nearly as he 
 could remember it, to MacGopus, on the road home- 
 wards. 
 
 " You had better have let it alone," said MacGopus ; 
 " your mother's letter to the girl shews what she thinks of 
 the other affair : take my advice, marry the Duchess's 
 daughter, and have done with it.'' 
 
 "'Not I." 
 
 " You must." 
 
 " Who is to force me ? '' 
 
 " The prejudices and customs of society," said the 
 doctor ; " if those don't answer, there's her brother the 
 young duke : if that does not drive you into it, there's an 
 action at law." 
 
 " Absurd," said George, " as if a daughter of the 
 Duchess of Malvern would hunt a husband through West- 
 minster Hall." 
 
 " A duchess may do worse than that,''' said MacGopus ; 
 " you are pledged, so there's an end : besides, your quiet 
 rural beauty won't have you — you are rejected — dis- 
 carded : I think my Lady Frances would go crazy if she 
 knew of that." 
 
 " I am crazy myself," said Lord Weybridge, " and was 
 more crazy still when I permitted her to negotiate." 
 
 ''Crazy ? — hazy you mean," said his comforter. 
 
 This sort of sneer brought on one of their ordinary 
 quarrels, and the rest of the journey was made up of a 
 sort of April conversation, alternately storm and sunsliine, 
 till at length they found themselves deposited in safety at 
 Severn stoke. 
 
 In the mean time Emma had reached Mopeham, and 
 was again in the society of her afflicted friend. But how 
 differently circumstanced from what she had been when
 
 THE parson's daughter. 389 
 
 she was last domesticated with her ! Then she felt^ amidst 
 her sorrow and sympathy, an apprehension which she 
 dared not cherish, and a dread which she could not en- 
 tirely overcome. Now, all the horrid mystery had been 
 cleared up, and Fanny stood exonerated from every im- 
 putation. 
 
 It mattered, however, little to the poor suffering object 
 of Miss Lovell's solicitude. The first dreadful incident, 
 involving, as it did, the death of one whom she truly 
 esteemed, and the barbarity of another, whom it was her 
 duty to love, had produced a violent shock upon her nerves, 
 and, indeed, upon her constitution generally. The sudden 
 change from a life of careless gaiety and constant plea- 
 surable excitement to a mere existence of dullness and 
 quietude, unbroken and unmitigated, added to the effect 
 produced by the catastrophe which had driven her from 
 her home, and those acted upon again by the unexpected 
 demise of her husband, parted from her, and anxious, yet 
 unable, to see her once before his eyes closed for ever, had 
 been too much for her ; and when Miss Lovell reached 
 her bed-side, she was barely conscious of her approach 
 and presence ; a restless languor had entirely overcome 
 her, and she felt wholly unequal to follow the advice of 
 her physicians to try the effect of sea-air and sea-bathing. 
 Never was being so sunk — so wasted — so exhausted. 
 
 After a short period, and when she became assured of 
 Miss Lovell's presence, she appeared to recover a little ; 
 but it appeared to Emma that her memory was confused, 
 that her mind was affected, and it was with difficulty the 
 affectionate girl could sufficiently command her feelings to 
 take part in what could scarcely be called a conversation, 
 but in answering Fanny's questions, which were not un- 
 frequently incoherent and even frivolous. 
 
 She, however, evidently improved in the course of a few 
 days, but not sufficiently to speak upon general topics. 
 Almost all she said related to her late husband, and 
 Harvey, and Binford. Her heart and thoughts seemed 
 settled there ; and she talked of her home incessantly, ex- 
 pressing at the same time the most decided repugnance to 
 
 c c 3
 
 oQO THE parson's daughter. 
 
 seeing it again, or any object which she could with pos- 
 sibility associate with it in her mind. 
 
 In the course of three weeks after the death of the squire, 
 the sale of the house and furniture, library, plate, pictures, 
 ■wines, horses, carriages, &c. took place, and Binford be- 
 came for three days the centre of gaiety. It was a melan- 
 choly sight, however, for those who had feasted and revelled 
 under the once hospitable roof, to see the crowds of dirty, 
 callous, calculating bidders and purchasers tumbling over 
 the beds and curtains, and poising the spoons, and measur- 
 ing the glasses, criticising this thing, and ridiculing that, 
 and trampling down with reckless indifference the once gay 
 parterres in which poor Fanny took such delight ; and to 
 ■witness the anxiety of the brokers and the dealers, and the 
 free-and-easy independence of the bakers and butchers of 
 the place, seated in the luxurious chairs of their once 
 affluent landlord and customer, scrambling for lots of small 
 matters, in order to be enabled to say they had bought 
 something at the sale ; while Harbottle's favourite dog — 
 to whom, next to his wife, he had been more attached than 
 to any living thing — %vas running in and out, and up 
 stairs and down stairs, and in every room, and every pas- 
 sage, whining and crying, and in search of his dead 
 master. 
 
 It was sad to see : but the results, financially speaking, 
 were most satisfactory. Every thing fetched enormous 
 prices, and the proceeds of the sale of the house, estate, 
 and furniture made a noble addition to the funded property 
 of the unhappy and almost unconscious widow. 
 
 Emma, who was convinced that Fanny ought to obey 
 the injunctions of her medical men, pressed her to make an 
 effort to reach the sea, which a journey of less than forty 
 miles from Mopeham would effect ; for not only did she 
 think change of air would be beneficial, but she felt quite 
 assured that change of scene and of society would be 
 of great advantage to her. At length her persuasions 
 were successful : and Mrs. Harbottle agreed to undertake 
 the removal by easy stages on one condition — that Mr. 
 Lovell should join them, and continue with them during 
 the winter and spring.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 391 
 
 Lovell conscientiously resided almost constantly on 
 his living; but as he had, in other years, made it a 
 rule generally to visit the metropolis in JNIay or June, he 
 could not very well resist the invitation which the lady 
 sent him, not more from a love of his society, and a wish. 
 to have such a person near her, than from the certainty 
 that Emma's separation from him was most painful. This 
 last part of the consideration had its effect, and rendered 
 him much more willing to fall into her views than he 
 might otherwise have been ; and accordingly he resolved, 
 upon joining them at Mopeham, thence to proceed to such 
 town at the sea-side as she might suggest or the physicians 
 recommend. 
 
 Circumstances so far coincided agreeably, that he was 
 enabled to wind up all the affairs at Binford before his de- 
 parture, so as to make a report to the widow of his 
 executorship as far as matters had gone. She on the other 
 hand expressed in a letter, which she partly wrote to the 
 Rector, a great anxiety to see him, and concluded by 
 expressing great doubts, if he did not speedily arrive, that 
 she should ever have that great gratification. The ravages 
 which the sorrows of a few weeks had made, were indeed 
 most surprising ; but the tone of her mind improved con- 
 siderably after Emma's arrival, and she looked forward 
 with great hopes to her resuscitation in her new residence. 
 This plan was extremely agreeable to all parties ; and 
 ■Emma, who, in the struggle to enliven her friend had no 
 little difficulty in contending with her own feelings, felt 
 greatly relieved by not immediately returning to the Rectory, 
 where the events which had occurred since Lord AV'ey- 
 bridge's last visit would be constantly kept in her mind by 
 the surrounding objects. 
 
 Fanny could not quite agree with Emma on the very- 
 decided line she had taken with regard to George. She 
 could not but be aware that the first circumstance which at 
 all shook his fidelity, or induced him to waver in his con- 
 stancy, was the journey which Emma had taken for her 
 sake, and it was a delicate subject for her to touch upon, 
 feeling as she did how very much she owed to the friend- 
 ship of her companion. 
 
 c c 4
 
 392 THE parson's DAUGHTEll. 
 
 " Yes ; but," said Emma, in reply to some observations 
 on this point, "^ a man who loves a vroman sufficiently to 
 propose to make her his wife, should surely have sufficient 
 confidence in her to believe her innocent until she is proved 
 guilty. I certainly acquit George of the whole fault, 
 because I know the powerful influence his mother has over 
 him ; and I know, as I have told you fifty times, how 
 incessantly and systematically she has exerted it on this 
 particular subject." 
 
 " But, my dear Emma," said Mrs. Harbottle, " Lord 
 Weybridge is surely capable of judging for himself." 
 
 " So you have said before," replied Miss Lovell; "but if 
 a man has such reliance in another's judgment, and such a 
 respect for the opinion of that other, what signifies his age 
 or competence to judge for himself ? However, all my 
 prayers are for his happiness. I am sure that his real 
 feelings towards me are not altered — he has suffi^red him- 
 self to be worked upon by misrepresentations, and asser- 
 tions, and calumnies." 
 
 " Of which, dear girl," said Fanny, " I have been the 
 unhappy cause. Yes, Emma, it is too true — I feel it — 
 I think of it by day and by night — but repentance and 
 regret, however natural, cannot alter the course of circum- 
 stances. T consider myself the destroyer of your happiness, 
 and the cause of all your misery: for this fault — not 
 intentional either — I can never make you reparation." 
 
 " You must not talk thus," said Emma ; " believe me, 
 truly, I am not unhappy. 1 live upon the hope and ex- 
 pectation of seeing those Avhom I love and esteem happier 
 than I could have made them ; and as to my conduct with 
 respect to yourself, which appeared sa equivocal, and to 
 •which, as my father tells me in his letter, George attributes 
 the first failure of his implicit confidence in me — although 
 it is the ostensible, the tangible point, upon which we are 
 separated — I solemnly declare to you, as my father knows, 
 that no power on earth would have induced me to marry 
 him unless with the free, full, and entire consent of Lady 
 Frances. Under any other circumstances, both our lives 
 ■would have been lives of misery ; and it was not less with 
 a view of securing his happiness than preserving my own
 
 THE parson's daughter. oQS 
 
 that I came to that resolution long before I quitted Binford 
 with you.'' 
 
 " You are a kind, considerate girl^ Emma," said Mrs. 
 Harbottle ; " but I never can believe that if he had not 
 been drawn into conduct which, in my view, nothing can 
 possibly justify, arising from that unlucky journey, you 
 would have had cruelty enough to refuse him." 
 
 " It would have been just and right, and wise and pru- 
 dent," said Emma. 
 
 " Yes," said Fanny, " but I remember the time when 
 wisdom and prudence were not considered the most striking 
 characteristics of love." 
 
 " I will not argue with you upon this matter as one of 
 feeling," said Emma ; " 1 have decided — it is therefore 
 now my duty to overcome the sentiment I once delighted 
 to cherish ; and thus, being no longer in love, as you call 
 it, I may, without any great inconsistency, be both pru- 
 dent and wise. All I entreat of you is not to agitate or 
 worry yourself by any reflections on what has happened, as 
 far as I am personally concerned." 
 
 It was in vain for Emma to endeavour thus to sooth 
 her friend. She was assured of Lord 'NYeybridge's attach- 
 ment — of his devotion to her ; and, however powerful his 
 mothers influence might be, she was convinced that if she 
 herself had not unfortunately afforded her a ground to 
 work upon, the dislike to the connection would have been 
 conceded to her son's representations, and that Miss Lovell 
 would have become Lady Weybridge : a circumstance of 
 the occurrence of which there did not now appear to be the 
 shadow of a possibility. 
 
 As we have elsewhere to go, in order to watch the pro- 
 ceedings of the noble baron, at his place in Worcestershire, 
 we had better dispose of the Rectory party before we take 
 our departure for Severnstoke. Mr. Lovell, in about a 
 week after the sale, arrived at Mopeham, and all tlie neces- 
 sary arrangements having been made, it was settled that he 
 and Emma should proceed to the place which Fanny had 
 selected for her retreat ; and, having in some degree esta- 
 blished themselves there, she was to follow. 
 
 This order of march appeared, both to Lovell and his
 
 39i THE parson's daughter. 
 
 daughter, strange, and neither of them could exactly under- 
 stand what Fanny's intention could be in thus dividing 
 their forces. But she remained positive upon the point, 
 and of course there was no resisting her reason, at least 
 that which she assigned — namely, that they would be 
 enabled to judge of the accommodations which might be 
 available, and that she could at once proceed to the house 
 that might be taken, without the necessity of staying pre- 
 viously at an inn, or of moving about after she had once 
 reached her place of destination. 
 
 That she had another motive, the reader will perhaps 
 hereafter discover ; be that as it may, their progress was 
 regulated according to her directions, and the Rector and his 
 daughter, in one of the carriages, with two of Mrs. Har- 
 bottle's servants and Emma's maid, proceeded to the se- 
 questered and romantic town of Minehead, Mrs. Har- 
 bottle having been recommended to the air of that side of 
 the Bristol Channel in preference to the milder and more 
 relaxing climate of the western and southern coast of 
 Devonshire, to which she at first purposed going. 
 
 The feeling which Mrs. Harbottle appeared to entertain 
 towards the Rector was more closely allied to that which a 
 daughter entertains towards a father than any other. She 
 felt how much she owed him, and reposed a confidence in 
 him, which, strange as it may sound, she had never felt 
 disj)Osed to place in her husband. The gentle and refined 
 manners of Lovell, subdued and tempered by age, and a 
 knowledge of the world and its ways, soothed her sorrows 
 and gained her affection ; and it is, perhaps, no discredit 
 to her to say, considering how she had gained and how she 
 lost her husband, that the peaceful quietude of her present 
 life, passed in the society of such estimable companions, 
 had a tranquillising effect upon her mind, which that ex- 
 cellent man took advantage of, to lead her thoughts to 
 worthier and more exalted subjects than perhaps she had 
 been sufficiently in the habit of considering ; and profiting 
 by the occasion, without either forcing her inclinations, or 
 appearing to regulate her pursuits, prepared her, imper- 
 ceptibly, for the awful change, which, from the moment
 
 THE parson's daughter. SQS 
 
 he first saw her at Mopeham, he was convinced she was at 
 no great distance of time destined to undergo. 
 
 The accommodations at Minehead, romantic and beau- 
 tiful as is the neighbourhood, were scarcely adequate to the 
 demands of the visiters, and it was not until after two or 
 three days' management, during which Lovell and his 
 daughter were lodged at the Feathers Inn, that any 
 arrangement, with a prospect of comfort, could be made. 
 At length two houses were secured^ which, adjoining as 
 they did, were capable of being united in one ; and there, 
 with a fine view of the Bristol Channel and the opposite 
 Welsh coast before their windows, the Rector and his child 
 erected their standard, despatching one of Mrs. Harbottle's 
 servants to announce the result of their inquiries, and to 
 pilot the main body of the establishment to their quiet re- 
 tirement. 
 
 In three or four days Fanny arrived and joined them, 
 but so much exhausted by the effort, that it was not with- 
 out the greatest alarm and anxiety Lovell insisted upon 
 calling in the Paracelsus of the place, in combination with 
 the Galen of Dunster, who agreed — as doctors are not 
 always said to do — upon the absolute necessity of the 
 patient's being kept perfectly quiet, enjoying as much as 
 possible the sea air, and divesting her mind of every thing 
 like care or anxiety. 
 
 How easy it is for doctors to prescribe ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Around 
 
 The boat, light skimming, stretcli'd its oary wings ; 
 
 While deep the various voice of fervent toil 
 
 From bank to bank jncreas'd, whence, ribbed with oak. 
 
 To bear the British thunder, black and bold. 
 
 The roaring vessel rush'd into the main. Thomson. 
 
 The three weeks which had been occupied by the party in 
 settling themselves at Minehead had been passed at Severn-
 
 396' THE parson's PAUGHTER. 
 
 stoke in a very different manner. In the one place all that 
 had been done had been regulated by an unqualified desire 
 for peace and quietude ; at the other, truth to be told, 
 bickerings, anger, and jealousies were in constant operation; 
 and it was with the greatest difficulty that Lady Frances, 
 by dint of continued contrivances, managed to keep the 
 Duchess and her daughter in ignorance of the rooted dis- 
 inclination of George from the match — because she felt 
 sure that their pride would instantly have fired at the 
 notion of any thing like doubt or hesitation on the part of 
 their noble host ; notwithstanding which, it may be as 
 well to observe, that the determination of her Grace to 
 make Catherine Lady Weybridge before she had done, was 
 so marvellously strong as to close her eyes and ears against 
 much, which, with the aid of a running commentary on 
 the part of Doctor MacGopus, must otherwise have opened 
 them to the real state of the case : but, as the proverb says, 
 " none are so blind as those who wont see," and to use a 
 very liomely expression with reference to so very fine a 
 lady, her Grace during the last fortnight had pocketed 
 several affronts, which, in a less worthy cause, she neither 
 could have been prevailed upon to overlook nor forgive. 
 
 George fought off his mother with great ingenuity, and 
 argued upon the intlelicacy of forcing on any thing like a 
 marriage so shortly after the death of his relations. 
 
 "My dear child," said Lady Frances, " this is all false 
 delicacy, and a punctiliousness now exploded. If a death 
 happens in a family, in these days nobody stays at home 
 but the deceased. AV'hat were these people to you? by 
 blood, relations I admit — but you had no ties to them of 
 affection or friendship ; you never associated with them, 
 and they are gone." 
 
 " True," said George, '" they are gone — and so, we are 
 here — but still it seems to me, as if ' the funeral baked 
 meats would coldly furnish forth the marriage tables ; ' and 
 I think a somewhat longer pause between the events might 
 seem more decent to the world," 
 
 " To this," said Lady Frances, " I can have no objec- 
 tion, provided you so conclude the affair that it may be 
 talked of — promised — expected; and that the pledge
 
 THE parson's daughter. 397 
 
 which, in your name, I have given to Catherine, may be 
 redeemed." 
 
 " I gave no pledge," said George. 
 
 " Forgive me, George," said his mother ; " I have your 
 own friend for my witness : you commissioned me to 
 make the offer — I lost no time in doing so, and had you 
 not been called away by the death of that horrid man 
 (whose face I wish with all my heart I had never seen), 
 that day would have concluded the preliminaries. As 
 things unfortunately turned out, you have been removed 
 from an association with a being who loves you, to the in- 
 fluence of a faction — a clique, who wish to secure you for 
 the mere sake of rank and connection ; and you return from 
 their society labouring under the efl^ect of misrepresenta- 
 tions which have been imposed upon you by the artful 
 pretender to a rank she would disgrace, and the anxious 
 coveter of a fortune she would abuse." 
 
 " Mother," said Lord Weybridge, "praise Catherine as 
 much as she deserves ; she is fair, accomplished, amiable, 
 and agreeable — of high blood and noble lineage — ad- 
 mitted ; but do not, in endeavouring to exalt her, attempt 
 to debase a being of whom you literally know nothing. 
 Your onlv chance of obtaining my consent to make this 
 very noble alHance, upon wliich you have fixed your heart, 
 arises from the avowed resolution of this adventurer, this 
 ravenous seeker of place and fortune, never to see me 
 more." 
 
 " Ridiculous," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Yourself shaU see the proof," said George: " this plain 
 and humble, unsophisticated Parson's Daughter rejects 
 me — spurns me — banishes me from her presence — forbids 
 my pursuit of her ; and your excellent and accomplished 
 son, the idol of your heart, and the much desired of her 
 Grace the Duchess of Malvern and her right honourable 
 daughter, is cast off as unworthy the notice of this envious, 
 ambitious plebeian." 
 " You surprise me." 
 
 " I tell you truth," said George ; " and her father 
 seconds all her determinations upon the subject. She 
 abandons me eternally, and he applauds the decision." 
 
 i
 
 398 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " The man is wiser than I took him for," said Lady 
 Frances. 
 
 " And the girl ? " said George. 
 
 " A greater fool than I imagined," replied her ladyship ; 
 " however, I presume you are not of a temper to bear an 
 insult like this. You have the spirit of a mouse, I con- 
 clude — or of a worm : you will not be trod upon by such 
 people as these without turning." 
 
 " I will not wound your feelings, my dear mother," said 
 Lord VFeybridge, " by going into details upon the subject. 
 I shall content myself by telling you that I never can sin- 
 cerely love any woman, as a wife ought to be loved, but 
 Emma Lovell. How this wide difference has arisen be- 
 tween us, I leave to those who are adepts in making mis- 
 chief, to determine : their plots have been successful, and 
 she and 1 are separated for ever." 
 
 " Then," said Lady Frances, " your course is so much 
 the easier — you will not consent to wear the willow for 
 the Parson's Daughter, or let the recollection of her inof- 
 fensive mediocrity weigh in the scale against the claims 
 and qualities of Lady Catherine?" 
 
 " Let me beg of you not to institute comparisons," said 
 George ; " they are always invidious, and must be unjust 
 to one of the parties. I tell you 1 have not a word to 
 say against Lady (Catherine : and if, as I sincerely believe 
 to be tlie case, Emma has finally discarded me — and if 
 it is shewn that I must, unwillingly I confess, and most 
 assuredly under the influence of false reports, marry 
 another person, I have no greater objection to marrying 
 Lady Catherine than any body else ; but with feelings of 
 such a nature I must have time to make up my mind to 
 a step so decisive as that which you call upon me to 
 take." 
 
 " And how am I to amuse her with hopes, or lull her 
 into patience?" said her ladyship; "every day I expect 
 the Duchess herself, to speak to you on the subject." 
 
 "If she does, I shall tell her Grace the truth," said 
 George. 
 
 " Then she will snatch up her daughter and fly." 
 
 " If I were quite sure of that," said George, "my ve-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 3QQ 
 
 racity in the description of my sentiments would be most 
 rigidly correct." 
 
 " You are incorrigible, George," said Lady Frances ; 
 " for noWj even upon your own shewing, I see no reason 
 for your coldness and hesitation. Admit that you did 
 admire this Parson's Daughter, you yourself allow that that 
 affair is all over — I conclude you are not going to stoop 
 to intreat and implore." 
 
 " Indeed / am not," said George, '' because I know it 
 would be all in vain ; but this I know, that I am not able 
 to command my feelings or dictate to my heart as I may 
 be imagined to command my ship or order my crew. It 
 requires time to obliterate, or rather sufficiently to weaken, 
 such an impression as Miss Lovell has made upon me, to 
 endure such a proposition as that which you think proper 
 to make. I honestly and fairly tell you I never can love 
 as I ought to love, the woman I may be married to, Em- 
 ma not being that person. Surely then it is only just and 
 reasonable to let the poignant disappointment which over- 
 sets me at present wear off in some degree, before I am 
 called upon to fulfil an engagement into which I entered, 
 if indeed I entered into it at all, in the full conviction 
 that the being to whom I was entirely devoted had forfeited 
 all claim to my esteem and affection, and had not only 
 most imprudently committed herself in the flight of a 
 runaway wife, but had subsequently entered into a new 
 engagement with a Frenchman." 
 
 " Which Frenchman," said Lady Frances 
 
 " Turns out, as I wrote you word, to be a child of nine 
 years old, now gone to school for the first time in his short 
 life." 
 
 " Well then, George," said Lady Frances, " you shall 
 neither be hurried nor worried — you must see how very 
 much attached Catherine is to you; do be good-natured 
 and lively — and kind — and speak to her and the Duchess 
 
 — and do what she wishes about sitting for your picture 
 
 — she paints admirably — and there are several of her 
 likenesses excellent — sit to her as she begged you yester- 
 day — it will make so good a plea for two or three hours' 
 conversation — and she will delight in it so."
 
 400 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 '• I have no objection," said his Lordship, " if I may- 
 have MacGopus in the room." 
 
 ''My dear George, what on earth for ? " said Lady 
 Frances — " she is frightened to death at your Doctor — 
 whom she calls 'your pet' — and so am I : to tell you the 
 truth, 1 do not think he improves upon acquaintance." 
 
 " He comes out with some ugly truths now and then," 
 said George ; " but tliey cannot be disagreeable to such 
 spotless angels as the Duchess and her daughter." 
 
 " Well, and then, George, there is another point upon 
 which I wish to speak," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Proceed, madam," said her son. 
 
 " I do think you ought to cultivate your neighbours 
 more than you do," said Lady Frances ; " you see every- 
 body has been here — I have driven half over the country 
 to leave your tickets ; but that is not enough, you have 
 evaded several invitations on a plea of business and so on, 
 but I think you ought to give one or two parties." 
 
 " I still plead the brevity of our mourning," said George. 
 
 " Indeed there is nothing in that," replied Lady Frances; 
 " I was talking to the Duchess about it, and she quite 
 agrees with me. It is right to form connections and sup- 
 port interests ; and, both as a matter of private convenience 
 and public advantage, we think tliat bringing your neighbours 
 round you will be ot'intinite service, morally and politically." 
 
 " For the moral part of the affair I grant you," said 
 George, " but for the political utility of it, the day is 
 over — the course which public affairs are taking will, 
 in three or four years from this time, neutralise all the 
 powers of the aristocracy, and all the distinctions which 
 have hitherto existed between the peer and his dependants 
 will be cancelled. I should be glad to stand well with 
 my neighbours ; and, therefore, if you have satisfied your- 
 self that we have done all that decency requires in so long 
 abstaining from gaiety or mirth, let us have some parties, 
 let us bring the county together ; oidy, if I could, I would 
 rather consult my homme d'affaires here, in making out 
 the lists of invitations, so as not to bring together clashing 
 factions, or pit foe against foe at the dinner table." 
 
 " And let there be something like a ball in the evening,"
 
 THE parson's daughter. 401 
 
 said Lady Frances ; " nothing is so gratifying to foolish 
 people as dancing — they are pleased with themselves, and 
 pleased with their partners, and they are pleased with the 
 animal exercise ; and the small mental exertion required 
 to jump and shuffle about a room just suits the ordinary 
 run of people, and we will give them plenty of supper and 
 oceans of champagne, and make them as happy as the 
 season requires." 
 
 " Agreed," said George ; " it shall h& done." 
 
 " And, George, you will sit for your likeness to Cathe- 
 rine," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Whatever you wish shall be executed, my dear mo- 
 ther," replied his lordship, who readily caught at any 
 thing Avhich he fancied likely to occupy his attention, and 
 keep his thoughts from straying to his obdurate Emma. 
 
 The portrait-painting scheme her ladyship considered 
 excellent ; it would associate George and Catherine to- 
 gether morning after morning ; and, as for the skill of the 
 amateur artist, she troubled her head little about that, so as 
 she could complete the family picture Avhich she herself 
 had so anxiously designed. 
 
 Amongst the other changes which had taken place in her 
 ladyship's feelings, she had conceived an inveterate hatred 
 for MacGopus, upon whom she looked as the confidant of 
 George in the Binford affair, and to whose counsel she at- 
 tributed much of his lordship's too evident coldness and 
 indifference towards Lady Catherine. She knew, however, 
 she could not succeed in detaching her son from his ancient 
 friend ; and, therefore, she impressed upon his mind the 
 propriety of assembling larger parties at Severnstoke, in 
 order, as she hoped, to drive away the Doctor, who was 
 continually^ expressing his love of snugness and a select 
 circle. This was one of her objects in suggesting an influx 
 of company ; and another hope which she had in reserve, 
 even if that scheme failed of success to its fullest extent, 
 was, that the change of society, and the introduction of 
 new visiters, might divert George from the contemplation 
 of his unfortunate attachment, and rescue him from his 
 protracted after-dinner conversations with his influential 
 adviser. Thus will be seen her ladyship's motives for 
 
 D D
 
 402 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 changing her policy, and for advocating parties not resident 
 in the house, so as not to interfere with the morning avo- 
 cations of George and the bride elect ; but so contrived as 
 to enliven him in the evening, to raise his spirits, to amuse 
 his mind, and to render the repose of the next morning's 
 "sitting" a relief after the excitement of the preceding 
 night. 
 
 Accordingly, the picture scheme was forwarded with 
 laudable activity. -^ Canvass stretched, and colours ready, 
 with palettes, palette-knives, bottles, bags, oil, and brushes, 
 speedily arrived from London, to furnish the means for the 
 mornings' avocations. — While, in order to give eclat to 
 the parties, the family plate, new polished and burnished, 
 was conveyed to Severnstoke in charge of a couple of at- 
 taches to Messrs. Rundell and Bridge ; the rooms, which 
 had been newly furnished, were completed — the curtains 
 were put up — the carpets laid down — furniture of the 
 most elegant and novel description, selected under the clas- 
 sical eye of Lady Frances, crowded the suite of apartments, 
 and the seat of the Sheringhams looked as it had never yet 
 looked since it was built. 
 
 George, it must be admitted, took little if any pleasure 
 in these magnificent proceedings ; and it appeared to his 
 anxious parent that, in proportion as the place became 
 gayer and more splendid, he grew more melancholy and 
 abstracted — a circumstance which did not escape the 
 notice of the Duchess, and had excited the remarks of her 
 daughter ; but Lady Frances satisfactorily accounted for 
 the depression of his spirits, by attributing it to the shock 
 he had received by the sudden and terrible death of Har- 
 bottle, connected as it was with the destruction of his 
 amiable friend Harvey. It was not in his nature to be 
 unkind, and therefore his manner towards Lady Catherine 
 was all gentleness and good nature. — The total absence of 
 any thing like enthusiasm, his sullen silence upon the 
 subject most natural to be spoken of under these circum- 
 stances. Lady Catherine attributed to the general want of 
 sentiment now so observable in all such matters ; and she 
 saw, in his careful avoidance of what used to be called love- 
 making, nothing beyond a desire to steer clear of the charge 
 of romanticism^ which would infallibly attach to any man
 
 THE parson's daughteb. 403 
 
 who, in these enUghtened days, might be detected in the 
 expression of a feehng which, in other times, it was the 
 lover's glory to admit. 
 
 The age of sentiment is past — the world is much too 
 wise to encourage any thing so childish ; and the same 
 enlightenment which is destined to level all distinctions, 
 and throw down all barriers in the pohtical world, has 
 opened the eyes of hitherto deluded lovers to the folly of 
 feeling and the absurdity of tenderness. 
 
 Lady Catherine neither expected what she considered 
 the mawkish, whining, schoolboy solicitude, nor the un- 
 varying, shadow-like attendance upon her, such as ladies 
 of other times required of their cavaliers. Like her mother. 
 Lady Catherine admired Severnstoke and Grosvenor Square 
 — had no objection to a baronial coronet, nor to an income 
 of thirty or forty thousand pounds a year ; with these she 
 had no objection to take George Sheringham. It was not 
 that she was mercenary, neither would she have Hnked 
 herself to age or decrepitude for the sake of wealth or rank, 
 nor would she have done a violence to her feelings by 
 marrying in any way against her inclinations ; but she 
 liked Lord Weybridge, and had liked him before he was 
 Lord Weybridge — that is to say, she liked his convers- 
 ation — was pleased in his society — and perhaps liked it 
 better, because at that period George, from not being con- 
 sidered an eligible parti for her, had been, as we already 
 know, driven away from her, and she kept away from 
 him. At present she felt, by the assurances of both mothers, 
 that, whatever appearances might be, she was the affianced 
 wife of Lord Weybridge ; and, although her consent had 
 never been formally asked by him, it had been, as she felt, 
 tacitly given by herself ; and so she went on, satisfied how 
 the affair must end, and that she should marry a very 
 agreeable man, with a very pretty sounding title, and a 
 very handsome property ; and that, all things suiting, they 
 should make a very happy couple, and on the whole they 
 should do extremely well. 
 
 " INIacGopus," said Lord Weybridge, " I have done 
 something to-day that will make you stare." 
 
 D D 2
 
 404 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Not it," said the Doctor; " I am surprised at nothing, 
 now-a-days." 
 
 " I have written to London " 
 
 " For a license to be married." 
 
 " No, upon a totally different subject. You will promise 
 not to betray me to my mother } " 
 " Not I," said MacGopus. 
 
 " You will think me mad, I dare say," said George, 
 " and 1 believe I am so ; but I have done it — I have 
 written to the Admiralty to be employed." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed MacGopus, opening his eyes to 
 
 their greatest width 
 
 " I have," said Lord Weybridge. " A ship would re- 
 lieve me from my difficulties — time would change all 
 these things. I should like to get my post rank, and take 
 three years' swing in a frigate." 
 
 " Mad, if ever any man was mad in this world," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " I shall be driven mad if I stay here," said Lord Wey- 
 bridge. I have tried every effijrt to rally — I have endea- 
 voured to act as my mother wishes, and as you have taught 
 me to believe 1 ought to act ; but the impression which 
 -has been made upon me is not to be effaced, and I can 
 fight up against it no longer." 
 
 " AVhat good will the ship do ? " said the Doctor. 
 " Take me from all this entanglement, and leave me 
 at liberty for the term of my command," said George. 
 
 " I should think," said MacGopus, " that, instead of a 
 commission for a frigate, the government would suggest a 
 commission of lunacy. Give up all your comforts — your 
 splendour — your ease — and what might be your hap- 
 piness — for a ship ! " 
 
 " D'ye think I shall get one .'' " said George, who was 
 most anxious in his inquiry upon the subject. 
 
 " Leave the government your proxy, and see," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " I have no politics ; my mind is too much occupied 
 by my own misfortunes to allow me leisure to think of any 
 thing else." 
 
 " Exactly so," said the Doctor, " and that's the very
 
 THE parson's daughter. 405 
 
 reason why you should leave your proxy with the minister. 
 Delegate your power to him, and he will save you all the 
 trouble of thinking." 
 
 " Well, now, IMacGopus," said Lord Weybridge, " keep 
 this measure of mine from my mother. If I obtain the 
 ship, it will be a call to service. She knows me well enough 
 to know that such a call no power would induce me to dis- 
 regard. "What I ask is, never undeceive her as to the 
 manner it was obtained." 
 
 '' I see no good in it," said the Doctor ; " you must 
 marry before you go — even supposing you do go. 
 
 " Most assuredly not," said George ; " that would be 
 an absurdity upon the face of it. ]\Iarry only to part — 
 no — my pledge remains, if pledge it is ; and when I re- 
 turn — if I return — if Lady Catherine has patience to 
 wait that event — I shall be able to redeem it, at least more 
 philosophically than I can do so now." 
 
 " All mad, wild-goose nonsense," said MacGopus. '^ It 
 is not a question of her waiting or not ; you cannot get off 
 the match, and I repeat my opinion, that, if even you get 
 the ship, you must marry her before you go." 
 
 " Leave that to me," said Lord Weybridge. " I could 
 not conceal what I had done from you, although I resolved 
 to do it without consulting you, that you might not be in- 
 volved in any responsibiUty as to the consequences. All 
 I ask is secresy." 
 
 " I can hold my tongue," said MacGopus ; " it would 
 have been as well if everybody else had done the same. I 
 presume — if I may be permitted through your interest to 
 serve in a small craft — am I to go afloat with you ? " 
 
 " Serve or not, you shall go," said George. " I shall be 
 too happy to consider you my friend upon the cruise." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Doctor, " it may keep you out of scrapes 
 to have me to vent your ill humours upon." 
 
 " I think the step I have taken a wise one." 
 
 " On the contrary, the height of folly; but 'tis of no 
 use talking — we have only to wait the answer. Come, 
 my lord, it is time you should go and sit for your picture," 
 said the Doctor. " We '11 talk of this another time — a 
 ship ! " 
 
 p D 3
 
 406 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Was there ever any thing so absurd ? " said Lord 
 Weybridge ; " without a master at her elbow^ Lady Ca- 
 therine has just as much notion of painting as I have. I 
 don't Hke to object to the ceremony; but the thing is as 
 much hke me as Juhus Caesar." 
 
 " I think 't is a remarkably good hkenesSj" said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 ■ " Wei], I hope she will please herself with the resem- 
 blance ; it may serve her to contemplate till my return." 
 
 "^ You '11 never go/' said the Doctor. 
 
 " We shall see ; I again enjoin you to secresy as to my 
 application — leave the rest to me." 
 
 " All I say is, marry her you must before you start ; it 
 will be just as well to let the repugnance wear off after you 
 are married, as to delay ; for you'll never be received again 
 by that jMiss '' 
 
 " Lovell." 
 
 *"'' Never/' said the Doctor ; " so between the two you are 
 agreeably placed. Please your mother by marrying Lady 
 Catherine first, and then please yourself by going to sea — 
 you '11 follow your own vagary — fulfil your engagements, 
 get leave of absence, and give the young woman the chance 
 of becoming a rich and handsome widow." 
 
 At this period of the conversation, a summons from Lady 
 Catherine separated the disputants, and the Doctor pro- 
 ceeded to the library to read away the morning, while the 
 noble lord resumed his seat in an armed chair, hoisted 
 upon a table, in a half-darkened drawing-room, which had 
 been expressly converted into a studio for the noble and 
 accomplished amateur. 
 
 Lord "\V\»ybridge, however, was destined to suffer annoy- 
 ances besides those which more particularly applied to 
 himself. His peculiar connexion with Lovell in the Har- 
 bottle executorship rendered a continual correspondence 
 between them necessary, and every letter he received from 
 the Rector — all on pure business, in which not one 
 syllable respecting Emma was mentioned — renewed his 
 griefs, refreshed his recollections, and completely overset 
 liira for a day or two ; and scarcely had he recovered from 
 the agitation and seriousness to which that one had sub-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 40? 
 
 jected him, before another apphcarion from his colleague 
 again tore open the yet bleeding wounds which his pre- 
 ceding communication had inflicted. 
 
 During the week in which he had WTitten to the First 
 Lord of the Admiralty — at that period young in office, 
 and naturally anxious to strengthen a very questionable 
 ministry by all the support he could collect — he had re- 
 ceived a most melancholy account from Minehead. Lovell 
 represented the state of Mrs. HarboUle's health to be, as 
 the local physicians considered it, most precarious. They 
 had, by desire of the medical men on the spot, sent to 
 London for the first of the faculty, who had, at great in- 
 convenience, visited her. His advice, and the opinion he 
 privately expressed to Lovell, induced him to apprehend 
 tlie very worst consequences. 
 
 " Poor soul," said Lovell, in his letter, " she has fallen 
 into a state — not of unconsciousness or insensibility — 
 but of languor, from which she endeavours to rouse herself, 
 but in vain, and I fear that symptoms of consumption are 
 shewing themselves ; the physicians have ordered our 
 changing our position, and removing to the westernmost 
 point of Devonshire. This is in direct opposition to the 
 views and wishes which were expressed when we first took 
 up our abode in this quiet and romantic corner, and she 
 has evinced a strong aversion from moving at all : we 
 must, I conclude, obey our orders, and use a gentle force 
 to put them into execution. 
 
 " She begs me to remember her most kindly to your 
 lordship, and bitterly regrets that circumstances prevent 
 her having the pleasure of occasionally seeing you. She 
 expresses a strong desire and even a resolution to write to 
 you, upon some point which she admits to be deeply inter- 
 esting to herself, but which she strenuously declines con- 
 fiding to us. She is at present forbidden to write or read, 
 and it is but for a short period of the day that she is 
 sufficiently composed to allow herself to be read to. 
 
 " Certainly, if any thing were wanting to convince us 
 poor mortals of the frailty and insignificance of worldly 
 JUlvantages, the havoc which a few weeks have produced in 
 her family wovdd afford a most striking and melancholy 
 
 D D 4
 
 408 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 example. I declare to your lordship my conviction_, that, 
 before two months have elapsed, she will have left us for 
 ever, as far as this life is concerned. 
 
 " There is a point of great delicacy connected with her 
 precarious situation, upon which it is impossible for me to 
 touch, and yet it is one of so much importance that it is 
 almost criminal not to call her attention to it. I mean the 
 disposition of her vast property. Her nearest and only re- 
 lation of whom I have ever heard her speak is her aunt 
 Jarman, at ]\Iopeham ; and it now appears that Mr. Har- 
 bottle himself was a natural and only son, and that his 
 mother has long since been dead. I have no reason what- 
 ever to believe that Mrs. Harbottle has made any will, nor 
 can I venture, in her present state of mind, to say a word 
 upon the subject. Indeed, I doubt at this moment, whether 
 she is even aware of the extent of her fortune — she evinces 
 a total indifference towards every thing connected with 
 such matters, and whatever is necessary to be done for 
 carrying on the establishment, she has commissioned me to 
 do, and has delegated to me the power of drawing upon a 
 considerable sum which she has deposited in one of the 
 Taunton banks. 
 
 " AV^hcn that sum was paid into Kinglake's house I am 
 not aware, for I have not been over to Taunton since our 
 arrival here. I was surprised at the precaution and ac- 
 tivity of the measure ; but I conclude the arrangement 
 was made by her banker when she was at Mopeham. 
 Thus, you see, I have become a sort of steward to the 
 widow, and I feel myself bound to devote my care and 
 attention to her who is, for her standing and rank in 
 society, more isolated and alone in the world than any 
 human being I ever met with. I should be in better 
 spirits if I could hope my stewardship might exist for a 
 much longer period than I expect it will. 
 
 " I have sometimes fancied that the letter which she 
 expresses a wish to write to you might contain some in- 
 formation or wish upon this important subject, and if I 
 can, with safety to her health, encourage her disposition 
 to make such a communication, I shall feel it my duty tp 
 do so. I have had very satisfactory accounts from the
 
 THE parson's daughter. 409 
 
 Solicitors, and the banking-house in London, as to the 
 investment of the proceeds of the sale of the Binford 
 property ; but I feel some degree of nervousness at finding 
 myself the sole manager of concerns not exactly adapted 
 to my time of life, or in accordance with my professional 
 avocations. However, to do our duty must be our first 
 effort, and, since your lordship's manifold engagements in 
 the gay and busy world would be greatly interfered with 
 by a closer attention to the minutiie of our trust, I am too 
 happy to devote as much of my time as I can spare from 
 graver occupations to the regulation of the ill-fated widow's 
 affairs. 
 
 " I would venture, however, to suggest to your lordship, 
 that, in the next letter with which you honour me, you 
 might enclose a short note to her — not, of course, 
 pointedly alluding to matters of business, and least of all 
 to the particular business which appears of the first impor- 
 tance, but calculated to excite her to a reply. It is clear 
 to me that she has something on her mind which she 
 desires to communicate to you specially — but, as I have 
 already said, I fear to argue the point, and should rejoice 
 if she should voluntarily undertake to answer a letter from 
 you, which, from the extremely high terms in which she 
 always speaks of your lordship, I really think she would be 
 very much pleased to receive." 
 
 Lord Weybridge read the letter from which these 
 passages are extracted with eager anxiety, from the first to 
 the last line, in the hope that Emma's name might once 
 occur — but no, the usual silence was preserved ; and al- 
 though it appeared almost impossible, associated as she and 
 Fanny were, to descant upon the sorrows and sickness of 
 the one, without, in some degree, alluding to the sympathy 
 and attentions of the other, — so it was — the resolution, 
 never to hear from or to be heard of by George, remained 
 unbroken and unaltered, and the absence of the one magic 
 word from the Rector's epistle cast an unmitigated gloom 
 over the whole of it. 
 
 It was evident to George that poor Fanny was dying — 
 it was admitted by the Rector that she expressed the 
 warmest regard for him, and the highest opinion of him
 
 410 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 To whom did she express these feelings and sentiments? 
 — the inference was conclusive — to Emma and her father: 
 ■ — still then she was his friend, nor would she have in- 
 dulged in such a strain if she believed it unpleasant to her 
 dear and faithful companion. The business in question, 
 of the will, he did not see how he could interfere about : 
 but upon other grounds he saw good reasons for complying 
 with Lovell's wish that he should write to her ; yes — he 
 would write such a letter as she might show Emma — or 
 perhaps Emma would be commissioned to read it to her : — 
 and yet what dare he say ? — she had insisted upon his 
 silence — he too was now doubly entangled — if he got his 
 ship and saved himself, for the present, from marrying 
 Lady Catherine, he would, by the same measure, be taken 
 away from the possibility of any farther negociation with 
 the Lovells. 
 
 No man who has not been in a situation somewhat simi- 
 lar to that of our gallant hero, can picture to himself the 
 state of his mind and feelings at this critical period — nor 
 were his agitation and perturbation at all calmed by the 
 announcement, from his lady-mother, that sixteen friends 
 had already accepted the dinner invitation at Severnstoke 
 for the following Friday, and that one hundred and seventy- 
 four cards were out for the evening of the same day. 
 
 As for her ladyship, she Avas now in her element ; — for 
 Mrs. Harbottle she cared httle for her illness or her sor- 
 rows — she was associated so entirely in her mind with 
 the bane of her existence, the unoffending Emma, that 
 even the afflictions of the one and the magnanimous con- 
 duct of the other failed to overcome the prejudice she had 
 taken against the whole Binford clique ; therefore did she 
 delight when she found herself, for the first time in her 
 life, able to direct fetes and entertainments upon a great 
 scale, and permit her taste and fancy to luxuriate in the 
 decorations of a fine house upon the occasion of a reunion 
 of all the grace, and wealth, and beauty of the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 • It was, moreover, edifying to observe how her ladyship, 
 in all her orderings and countermandings, appeared to 
 refer to Lady Catherine, always taking her ladyship as her
 
 THE parson's daughter. 411 
 
 companion and counsellor in the different directions she was 
 giving : — " Don't you think, dear Catherine, that will 
 look best ? " — " How would you have it done, my love ? " 
 and half a thousand other expressions of similar import, 
 all tending to impress upon the young lady's mind that 
 she, as mother of the noble lord, was only rehearsing, for 
 her daughter-in-law's instruction, that which she expected 
 her to perform as his lordship's wife. 
 
 And, to be candid. Lady Frances had a great deal of 
 taste — she could not certainly claim the merit of first 
 introducing live fish into a drawing-room, nor appropriate 
 to herself the beautiful design of hiding lights in garlands 
 of flowers ; but she did her best to emulate those who 
 struck out such novelties, and now that the means were 
 afforded her, her genius shone forth. 
 
 The filial attention of George to his mother was exem- 
 plary ; and as her influence over him was, in fact, un- 
 bounded, however free he fancied himself, so his gratitude 
 for all her devotion to him in his early youth manifested 
 itself upon his accession to fortune. On her birth-day he 
 presented her Avith a magnificent set of diamonds, such as 
 he had heard her admire in others. The family jewels, 
 were, with some very trifling exceptions, found at the 
 bankers' — those he touched not : the ornaments which 
 he gave his mother were beautiful beyond even her hopes ; 
 and the Duchess and her daughter sounded the praises, not 
 only of his goodness of heart, but 'of the excellence of his 
 taste, in strains which ought to have made him proudest of 
 the proud, and vainest of the vain. 
 
 But no ! — after the two hours' sitting, in which Uttle 
 enough was said as far as love went, and still less was done 
 in the way of painting, he retired to his room to take 
 counsel of MacGopus with respect to the letter which he 
 had received from Lovell, and which, though it contained 
 no actual reproach for neglect of activity as executor to 
 Harbottle, certainly had the effect of reminding him that 
 he had been somewhat remiss with respect to the widow. 
 
 ]\IacGopus, of course, negatived all his lordship's pro- 
 positions, and contradicted all his assertions ; but, as some- 
 thing Uke a duty was to be done, he eventually came round
 
 412 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 to his friend's opinion ; and, accordingly, by that day's 
 post. Lord Wey bridge wrote to the Rector, and enclosed 
 such a letter as he conceived most likely to elicit the com- 
 munication which it was thought expedient he should have 
 with Mrs. Harbottle. 
 
 When he came to the conclusion of his epistle, he paused 
 
 — hesitated — doubted — should he foUow the example 
 of Lovell? — should he utterly omit the name of Emma ? 
 
 — what should he do ? — what ought he to do ? — What 
 will the reader think he did? — After some deUberation he 
 folded the letter as it was — was going to seal it — had 
 directed it ; when, opening it for one moment, he hastily- 
 added : — " Pray remember me to Miss Lovell." 
 
 Well ! there could be no great harm in that, after aU. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Time on Neptune\ wings 
 
 The welcome letter brings. ~ Old Song. 
 
 The post of the succeeding day brought, amongst other 
 letters, an answer from the First Lord of the Admiralty 
 himself, marked " private," in answer to George's appli- 
 cation for a ship. It was couched in the most civil terms, 
 and stated that, without entering into the motives which 
 might induce Lord Weybridge to desire to be employed, 
 the first lord had the greatest pleasure in acceding to his 
 wishes, both as to rank and service, and that he would be 
 posted forthwith to H. M. frigate Destructive, of forty -four 
 guns, which they were bringing forward at Portsmouth, 
 and which would be ready for commissioning in about ten 
 days or a fortnight. The first lord took the occasion of 
 expressing himself, in the civilest manner, stating that the 
 Destructive was destined for Channel service, and that no 
 difficulty would be interposed to a sufficient leave of ab-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 413 
 
 Sence for his lordship in February, in order to enable him 
 to take his seat in the House of Lords about the time of 
 the opening of Parliament. 
 
 George, when he read this letter, and found his end 
 achieved, felt exactly Uke a school-boy with half a pound 
 of gunpowder in his pocket, which he is afraid to confess 
 that he has bought — he was quite sure that the announce- 
 ment of the intelligence it contained would create a tre- 
 mendous sensation in the family, and, as he always did, 
 when he was in doubt or tlifficulty, he summoned his friend 
 MacGopus into council. 
 
 The Doctor read the letter and threw it down with a 
 sneer ; for the Doctor, generally speaking, cared little for 
 the Admiralty, which, in those days, had not much to say 
 to his department of the service. 
 
 " Well," said his lordship, " what 's the matter ? It is 
 very civil and complimentary ? " 
 
 " You've sold yourself to the devil/' said the Doctor, 
 " and he will have you one day or other." 
 'MVhat d'ye mean ? " 
 
 " Why, that you are gagged — tongue-tied," repHed 
 MacGopus. " A compact is entered into between you and 
 the first lord — he humours you — you must obhge him. 
 I knew you'd get the ship — but I foresaw you would lose 
 your independence." 
 
 "Independence!" said Lord Weybridge — "^ how do 
 I compromise my independence ? I have no object to gain 
 ty truckling or creeping." 
 
 " Not now you haven't," said the Doctor, "because you 
 have got the Destructive ; but, rely upon it, that's a bar- 
 gain, and a blind bargain, and a bad bargain, and it 
 won't save you from marrying Lady Catherine — I told 
 you so before — I tell you so again, and I am more fully 
 convinced than I have been yet." 
 « Why?" 
 
 *' The Duke, her brother, is coming here," said Mac- 
 Gop\is. 
 
 " What the devil do I care for that ? " said his lordship ; 
 " you don't imagine that I am to be drilled into mar- 
 rying?"
 
 414 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " I am firm to my text — marry her you must — youi 
 shilly-shally conduct for the last three weeks has put i% 
 out of your po%ver to back out : if you had cut the knot 
 the moment you came back from that place where we went 
 to the funeral of the man who died, you might perhaps 
 have done some such thing." 
 
 '•' Why, what on earth are you talking about?" said 
 George, " did not you yourself advise my not doing any 
 such thing ? " 
 
 " Not I," said the Doctor ; " I told you that I thought 
 you ought to marry the lady, and give up the Parson's 
 Daughter — and so I think still ; but if you had not 
 thought with me, then was your time to break off — now 
 you cannot — and so I have told your mother." 
 
 " You have ! and pray, why ? " 
 
 " Because I am sure it is right. "WTiy have you gone 
 on sitting, and making that beautiful girl paint your pic- 
 ture, if you did not mean her to have the original ? Why 
 do you stand leaning over her chair when she is playing on 
 the piano-forte ? Why do you listen while she is singing ? 
 Why do you go riding with her, and walking with her ? " 
 
 " Are these crimes in society ? '' said George. " I am 
 sure they are not. They may be amongst the Hottentots 
 in the Highlands, or in the coteries of the New Road ; but 
 what would you have a man do ? turn bear or boar, and 
 treat women who happen to be in his society as if they 
 were unworthy of his notice and attention ? " 
 
 " Quere, now," said IVIacGopus, " what have the Hot- 
 tentots to do with the Highlands?" 
 
 " Psha ! — imperturbable monster ! " 
 
 " Dunce," said the Doctor ; "^ be a man — rouse your- 
 self — see the position in which you stand — do what is 
 right and honourable, and you will prosper : you would 
 have been just as well without the ship, and a good detd 
 better without the obligation — however, that's done — 
 she's for Channel service ; in peace time she'll serve as a 
 yacht, and you can cruise about with your noble lady, and 
 exhibit a splendid pair of aristocrats to the astonished mul- 
 titude." 
 
 " You will drive me mad," said George ; " however.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 415 
 
 promise me one thing — let my mother decide upon the 
 point without influencing her — let me discuss with her the 
 question, whether I may not postpone my marriage till the 
 expiration of my command — that is all I ask." 
 
 " I want to influence nobody/' said jNIacGopus, " ex- 
 cept yourself: I should like to see you act in a manner 
 consistent with your character, and agreeably to the right 
 feelings of your heart — you are now playing the fool — if 
 it were any body else, I should think trying to play the 
 knave ; all this trick about the appointment is visible to 
 the naked eye — it's unlike you." 
 
 " That step is irrevocable," said George ; " I have 
 asked for employment, and go I wiU ; if it will not avoid 
 my union with a person I cannot love, it will at least rid 
 me of all the disagreeable consequences of it," 
 
 To Lady Frances, George was at length compelled to 
 proceed — to her, by degrees, he opened his very extra- 
 ordinary communication, shaping it, however, so as to 
 appear that he had been called upon for service. This her 
 ladyship evidently discredited, and nothing would convince 
 her of the reality of the appointment, but a perusal of the 
 first lord's letter, which completely disclosed the causes and 
 reasons of his receiving it. 
 
 '' I am thunder-struck," said her ladyship ; " any thing 
 so near madness I never yet, heard of: abandon your 
 comforts — the luxuries by which you are surrounded, 
 hearts that love you, and lips that praise you, for a paltry 
 command in jieace time — compromising, too, your parlia- 
 mentary independence to a ministry just formed, and which 
 either will not last six months, or, if it do, will destroy every 
 thing but itself. Haven't you heard your uncle Frederick 
 say that ' Whigs, like pigs, cut their own throats when they 
 attempt to swim } ' and, if they fail in doing that, the 
 chances are, that more throats than their own will be cut 
 before they have done. — Is it for this that you give up 
 all your connexions — every tie to home, and the happiness 
 of your domestic circle — and. above all, Catherine?" 
 
 " There you have come to the very point," said George; 
 " do you consider that I give her up by accepting the 
 ship.?"
 
 416' THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " Give up her society you must." 
 
 " Aye, but — I mean, shall I, in your opinion, be 
 forced to relinquish that t^ery desirable match ? " 
 
 " Assuredly not." 
 • " What must be my course ? " 
 
 " Why, if you have a spark of honour in your heart — 
 if you possess any one attribute of your family — if you 
 are what I have fondly hoped and prayed you might be 
 — your marriage with Lady Catherine must precede your 
 departure." 
 
 " So MacGopus says," said George. 
 
 " And wisely and properly too," replied Lady Frances ; 
 " you have not only permitted me to negociate the mar- 
 riage, but you have, by your attentions and manner towards 
 her, since that event, fully justified all I said. She is con- 
 vinced that she is to be your wife — of course her delicacy 
 never suffers her to make any allusion to the circumstance, 
 and she waits with patience until you shall begin the sub- 
 ject. But it is understood, not only by herself and her 
 mother, but by the whole of her family, and by her brother, 
 who has recognised that understanding as the cause for her 
 protracted absence from Rochdale, and her long continued 
 visit here." 
 
 " What am I to say — how am I to act ? " said Lord 
 "Weybridge. " I admit the justice of many of your ob- 
 sei-vations — I admit that, in a moment of irritation, I 
 authorised you to say more than I should even in a calmer 
 moment have wished you to say : but when you recollect 
 that, if I had not been suddenly called away the next 
 morning, before I had an opportunity of explaining my 
 meaning, I should have revoked that authority ; and when 
 you also recollect that the excitement, under the influence 
 of which I gave you the permission to speak to the Duchess, 
 was created by rumours and reports, all of which have 
 since been proved to be groundless; and that whatever else 
 of irritation I endured was produced by the calm and 
 placid interruption and contradiction of your present great 
 friend and ally, the Doctor ; I think you will make such 
 allowances as might induce you to put an end to the affair
 
 THE parson's daughter. 417 
 
 altogether^ without the slightest imputation upon either of 
 our characters." 
 
 " With all these causes, my clear George," said her 
 ladyship, " Lady Catherine has no concern ; and I only 
 ask you, besides the opinion which your most extraordinary 
 conduct with regard to her would be calculated to excite, 
 to consider what my position is. I stand before her family 
 in the character either of an eager and unauthorised nego- 
 tiator for the hand of the young lady, or as having misre- 
 presented altogether your views and sentiments. Ask 
 yourself what will be thought of all this ? If the young 
 person who caught your fancy at Binford remained as 
 ready to throw herself into your arms as she seemed to be 
 at one time, you might have some reason for hesitating ; 
 but she has discarded — affronted you, and declared, with 
 a pertness wholly unsuited to her place in society, that 
 she will never enter a family with which she is not upon 
 a perfect equality." 
 
 " I have no desire to go into any argument upon that 
 subject," said George ; '' I had hoped, by the step I have 
 taken about my employment on service, to postpone the 
 conclusion of an affair in which my heart is not, nor ever 
 will be, concerned ; but if it is put to me as a matter of 
 duty, and a point of honour, I have only to repent the 
 rashness which induced me to commit myself, and do that 
 which is right," 
 
 " There spoke my own George," said Lady Frances, 
 " you now see with your own eyes " 
 
 " Not so," said George ; " I see with the eyes of others; 
 but I must give way, when in addition to your view of the 
 case, I refer myself to MacGopus (whose principles of 
 honour are scrupulously rigid, and who, with all his per- 
 verseness of expression, never fails to judge correctly), and 
 receive from him a similar decision against me. One 
 favour I entreat ; and upon the condition that it is granted 
 I will submit to any thing ; let no notice be taken of what 
 you know to be a change in my determination. I cannot 
 make an alteration in my manner towards Catherine ; let 
 it be understood that every thing is in progress to the 
 point which you all seem to think so desirable, and let 
 
 £ E
 
 418 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 matters go on as they are. Recollect the struggle I am to 
 make : if uiihappiness follows^ be the fault where it ought, 
 I must be the victim." 
 
 " Well, but now, clear George," said Lady Frances ; 
 ■who having worked him into this lukewarm compliance 
 •with her wishes, " do write to this first lord, or whoever 
 your correspondent is, and tell him that you don't want the 
 ship ; that you " 
 
 " No, not I," said George ; " no ship — no wife ; if it 
 were not that I had a handsome excuse to separate myself 
 from the lady to whom I am in honour bound, I should 
 not so readily acquiesce in the arrangement. I tell you 
 that the impression made upon my heart by Miss Lovell — 
 an imjiression strongly increased by the recent discovery of 
 her entire innocence of every imputation against her — is 
 such that time alone can weaken it^ or reconcile me to an 
 existence shared with any other woman. I am ready to 
 marry — to please others ; but I am resolved to go to sea — 
 to please myself. Lady Catherine is an Englishwoman, 
 and will not, therefore, object to her husband's resolution 
 to obey the call of his country.'' 
 
 " This," said Lady Frances, " appears to be so near in- 
 sanity, that, my dear George, I really " 
 
 " WeW, madam," said (ieorge, " 1 have said — you 
 have the condition upon which I am ready to fulfil my 
 engagements." 
 
 " But do you think Catherine will subscribe to that 
 condition ? " 
 
 " That is not my aftair," said George ; " I have applied 
 for employment, because I thought it would relieve me 
 from this tie ; you tell me it will not : well and good ; I 
 have obtained the favour I asked, and 1 shall have the com- 
 mand of which through life I have been ambitious : 1 
 cannot relinquish it. Announce, therefore, to the Duchess 
 that I have got such a command, and leave the rest to 
 time. I have myself little doubt that the arrangement 
 ■will be almost as agreeable to Lady Catherine as myself; 
 and she, as mistress of Sevcrnstoke, will have the advan- 
 tage of your society, that of her mother, and of as many of 
 her friends and relations as she may consider agreeable."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 419 
 
 " This is the most unaccountable — inconsistent scheme 
 — leaving all your • " 
 
 " Madam," said Lord Weybridge, "I make the greatest 
 sacrifice I can make to justify your conduct. I give up 
 eternally the hopes of happiness — I ask but one condi- 
 tion, and you hesitate. At the end of my three years com- 
 mand my mind may be more reconciled to circumstances, 
 and less under the influence of the fatal passion, which I 
 cannot now pretend to conquer. I relinquish Emma — I 
 accept Catherine, and by the help of Providence, and from 
 the effects of time, I trust I may return to my wife with 
 an undivided affection, and that our future lives may prove 
 as happy as I, at least, have any right to expect." 
 
 " A more extraordinary compact, perhaps, never was 
 entered into," said Lady Frances ; " however, I must not 
 stand out upon terms. And pray how long do you expect 
 it will be before this odious ship will be ready for sea ? " 
 
 " Perhaps, three weeks, a month, or five weeks," said 
 George ; " she will be ready for me in less than half that 
 time ? " 
 
 "And how should the marriage take place before that 
 period } " said Lady Frances. 
 
 " I think it extremely absurd, and I have said so," said 
 George ; " but you find me in all things obedient to your 
 will ; therefore do you make your arrangements." 
 
 "■ But surely you will avov/ your intentions to Cathe- 
 rine.?" 
 
 " I consider that done," said Lord Weybridge ; " I 
 have acted," they tell me, as if I acknowledge myself her 
 affianced lover ; and, therefore, all we have to discuss is 
 the happy day." 
 
 " I can scarcely reconcile it to my conscience," said 
 Lady Frances, " to permit you to marry this dear amiable 
 girl under the influence of such feelings ; and yet ■ " 
 
 " Oh ! I will be any thing you please," said George; 
 "I will bring on the subject this very day — for as you 
 say there is no time to be lost — and we shall be exceed- 
 ingly joyous, and all will go well and gaily." 
 
 These words were uttered by Lord AVeybridge in a tone 
 of such cutting irony, with a look vdiich so entirely belied 
 
 E E 2
 
 420 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 the expressions he had uttered, that his mother began really 
 to fear that the calamity which she thought had befallen 
 him when he solicited for a ship had come upon him more 
 decidedly and more seriously. 
 
 " My dear child, be rational." 
 
 '' I am rational," said he, " and resolved ; you prepare 
 the ladies for my departure on service, and leave the rest 
 to me." 
 
 When he parted from his parent, the manner of Lord 
 Weybridge was very unsatisfactory ; there was a reckless- 
 ness in his mode of conducting himself which terrified her ; 
 and she began to recollect that a third cousin, twice re- 
 moved, of the first Lord Weybridge, had died mad, and 
 thence, by a graceful slide down the family-tree, her lady- 
 ship traced out the consanguinity, and almost trembled at 
 the probability of her dear George's being affected with the 
 family failing. 
 
 The moment she had sufficiently recovered herself from 
 the agitation which the interview had occasioned, she 
 sought and found the Duchess and Lady Catherine : to 
 them she explained the history of the ship, and the ap- 
 pointment, and the honourable feelings of George, who 
 would let nothing like comfort, or ease, or independence 
 interfere with his duty. 
 
 " There is one great point gained by the event, I think," 
 said her ladyship ; " George, as I forewarned you, is so 
 exceedingly shy and reserved, that he would have gone on 
 ' loving,' as he says, with our dear Catherine, and never 
 have taken courage to propose in form, or solicit her, as 
 to any ulterior arrangements ; now that the moment is 
 arrived in which he is called upon to decide, he has gone 
 to his room to write, to summon one of his solicitors 
 hither to talk over business, and will I know, Catherine, 
 put some very sly yet serious questions to you this very 
 evening." 
 
 " My dear Lady Frances," said the young lady, '^ you 
 quite terrify me ; besides, supposing he should be serious, 
 what a strange appearance his running away so soon will 
 have ! " 
 
 " You have no idea of his sensitiveness about the ser-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 421 
 
 vice," said Lady Frances ; " the effect will only be to 
 mark his devotion to you^ and his anxiety to secure your 
 hand before his departure ; besides which, as his frigate is 
 destined, at least for the present, for Channel service, you 
 will be able to enjoy his society by taking up your resi- 
 dence at the port at which he may be principally stationed." 
 
 " Poor, dear Catherine ! " said the Duchess, " and she 
 hates a ship so dreadfully ! " 
 
 "^ Oh, mamma," said Lady Catherine, " I am sure I 
 should never hate any thing my husband liked." 
 
 " That, my love," said the Duchess, " is not quite so 
 clear to me ; but, however, duty is duty, and the only pro- 
 voking part of the affair is, that he should have been 
 selected just at the particular moment.' 
 
 " Wholly unsolicited on his part," said Lady Frances ; 
 " that you may be quite sure of — for who in his senses 
 would quit all the agretnens of life, and the society of 
 those whom he most loves and admires, to be tossed about 
 in a creaking ship without a chance of honour or glory 
 during the peace ? " 
 
 " I am very glad," said Lady Catherine, " as far as I 
 am concerned, that honour and glory are not taken into 
 the present calculation. I shall be much more at ease 
 about George while he has only the dangers of the sea to 
 contend with, than I should if I were living in daily ex- 
 pectation of hearing of some desperate action, in which he 
 was either to be killed or wounded." 
 
 By the tone in which the young lady spoke, it is pretty 
 clear that she had always understood the engagement be- 
 tween her and George to have been concluded ; and that 
 ! she really believed the account which Lady Frances gave 
 of her son's shyness and diffidence, and attributed his per- 
 sonal silence upon the subject to those particular causes 
 The composure, too, with which she discussed the oddity 
 of appearance, which his sudden departure after their mar- 
 riage would have, and the checking look which the Duchess 
 gave her when she affected to pout about it, all would have 
 proved to the careful observer that, however scant the pro- 
 portion of love which his lordship might bring to the altar, 
 it was quite sufficient to reciprocate the affections of his 
 
 E E 3
 
 422 THE pauson's daughter.^ 
 
 intended, who, although liking him extremely, had never 
 been warmed by his attentions into any feelings of a tenderer 
 nature, and who had persevered in her pursuit of him 
 rather from pique than preference. 
 
 " I have done it, old gentleman," said his lordship to 
 MacGopus, who came into his room almost immediately 
 after Lady Frances had left it. 
 
 " What ? — " 
 
 " Consented to the marriage with Lady Catherine," said 
 his lordship. 
 
 " You have done a very foolish thing," said the Doctor, 
 " but you could not help yourself." 
 
 " 1 have written to Wickins, Snell, and Sibthorpe to 
 send down forthwith." 
 
 " Quaere, now — who are Wickins, Snell, and Sibthorpe ?" 
 
 " My attorneys — one of them will be with us in a 
 couple of days, or on the third at farthest." 
 
 " What d'ye want with attorneys ?" 
 
 " Settlements." 
 
 '^ Oh ! — ah ! I had forgotten aU the preliminaries," 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 " I must have a serious conversation, I suppose, with 
 the Duchess — or — I tell you what, my dear Mac — I 
 will make an agreement not to touch upon business till the 
 lawyer comes ; he shall have the conversation." 
 
 " What, talk by attorney, eh > that's not bad," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " I '11 leave the whole arrangement to her Grace and the 
 solicitor — I shall get another short respite, and save a 
 world of trouble. As to Catherine, I must be a little more 
 gentle this evening, for after all she is a nice girl." 
 
 " I for once agree with you, and I believe you really 
 think so." 
 
 " I should, but " 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " However, the plan I have hit on is the wisest — I 
 fetter myself for life ; all I have done is to lengthen my 
 tether for a year or two." 
 
 " All that I disapprove of," said the Doctor ; " how- 
 ever, you must have your way — you were always fond of
 
 THE parson's daughter. 423 
 
 a bit of romance — but I do think preferring a frigate to 
 what you leave behind — — •" 
 
 " What Avould you say if I gave it up, then ? " 
 
 " I %vould not give it up either/" said the Doctor. 
 
 " Then I '11 keep it." 
 
 " Why, I don't know, I 'm not sure about that." 
 
 " Well, leave me to myself — let me have the next two 
 clear days to consider my bearings, and I shall do : of 
 course they will be glad enough to get back the ship, if I 
 resign it, and say that my marriage will interfere with my 
 proposed arrangement, eh .'' " 
 
 " Take your own way — you have now got your own 
 leave and your mother's, and it is deuced hard if you can't 
 please yourself." 
 
 " But while that one dear object rules here — here in 
 my heart " 
 
 "Psha!" said I\IacGopus, •' come to luncheon — let 
 me hear no more about hearts — you have made yourself 
 quite tom-noddy enough about hearts ; so let us go along 
 and meet the ladies, and let me see you behave like a man. 
 Recollect, that by this time they know the whole history of 
 the ship and your proposed expedition — judge for your- 
 self, and act for yourself ; come, come away." 
 
 Lord Weybridge, so shortly destined himself to com- 
 mand, implicitly obeyed the Doctor ; and the party were 
 seated at luncheon when the conversation took the turn 
 MacGopus had anticipated, and more was done in the 
 way of forwarding the great business of the family in the 
 next two hours, than had been effected in the last six 
 weeks. Indeed, the conversation became so animated and 
 easy, that Lady Catherine and Lord Weybridge began to 
 arrive at little scoldings and recriminations, and she even 
 went the length of insisting upon his giving up his odious 
 Destructive, of which he spoke in the most glowing 
 terms of enthusiasm, although he had never seen her ; as 
 captains invariably do when talking of their craft, whether 
 she be as short and as bluff-bowed as a collier, or as sharp 
 and as choppy as a wedge. 
 
 Every thing was now settled : Lady Frances was in high 
 spirits^ Lady Catherine lively and gay, and George, who 
 
 £ £ 4
 
 424. 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 himself had announced the arrival of his lawyer on the 
 succeeding Sunday, was in remarkably high spirits, which 
 from their violence his mother feared were not altogether 
 natural ; and attributed to the sherry which he had swal- 
 lowed at luncheon, rather than to the feelings of the heart, 
 the vivacity he displayed and the volubility with which he 
 talked. 
 
 In a subsequent conversation between MacGopus and 
 Lady Frances, they both agreed that they thought the 
 chances were, he would give up the frigate ; that he 
 seemed to have made up his mind to the step he was in 
 some sort compelled to take, and that a little persuasion 
 would induce him to make his election between Grosvenor- 
 square and Severnstoke, with Lady Catherine and all his 
 comforts, and his Majesty's ship Destructive cruising 
 during a sharp winter, employed, perhaps, in overhauling 
 the merchant ships of our allies, under the orders of a 
 non-intervention ministry, or carrying out fresh beef to a 
 bevy of traders in the chops of the Channel, during a 
 hard frost. MacGopus promised her ladyship to open his 
 eyes to the wildness of his nautical scheme, a service in 
 which he was likely to be sincerely active, inasmuch as the 
 noble lord had expressed his immoveable intention of 
 pressing him into the service of accompanying him. 
 
 The next day's sitting for the picture — the last but two 
 — was infinitely more lively and agreeable than any of the 
 preceding ones had been. The ice was broken, and the 
 betrothed pair felt themselves at liberty to talk prospect- 
 ively, and build castles ; and Lady Catherine was less 
 reserved and infinitely pleasanter than (ieorge had ever 
 yet seen her. At dinner, some of the smaller neighbours 
 were invited, and the day passed off agreeably, and every 
 thing looked smilingly. 
 
 The following morning George received a letter from 
 Mr. Lovell, in which, after acknowledging Lord Wey- 
 hridge's last, he called his attention to an enclosure from 
 IVIrs. Ilarbottle. It had cost her some hours to write, and 
 she ai)peared greatly exhausted after she had concluded 
 it. The cause of the delay in the answer to Lord Wey- 
 bridge's letter, was the removal of the party across the
 
 THE parson's daughter. 425 
 
 country to Sidmouth. Mrs. Harbottle had borne the 
 journey much better than could have been hoped, but liad 
 continued in a sad state of weakness since their arrival at 
 their new residence. 
 
 George opened the carefully sealed note from Fanny 
 with deep interest, and read as follows : 
 
 " I am faint and weak, dear Lord ^Yeybridge — much 
 weaker and fainter than when you kindly came to see me. 
 It is only by fits and starts that I can sit up to write this ; 
 but I am anxious to do what I feel is my duty to the most 
 deserving of God's created beings. I am speaking of 
 dear, good Emma. She is struggling with feelings which 
 ■will vanquish her before she can conquer them. No sigh 
 escapes her — no tears fall from her eyes — but she is 
 a martyr to an attachment which she has determined to 
 overcome. 
 
 " She will never relax — never yield ; and her father — 
 and where is there on earth a better man ? — supports her 
 in her resolution. God forbid that I should say one word 
 to prejudice you against your nearest relation ! but Lady 
 Frances has been cruel to her — cruel far beyond her deserts. 
 Could Emma feel that she entered your family on terms 
 of equality, all would be well. Her attachment to you is 
 unshaken — nay, believe me, stronger than ever. She 
 speaks of you, and wonders when your marriage is to 
 take place. Oh ! let it be never. The day may come 
 — will come, when Miss Lovell may unhesitatingly advance 
 her ])retensions. Be that my care. I owe every comfort 
 and consolation I possess in the world to her and her 
 excellent father. Should I not be the most ungrateful of 
 beings if I did not secure lier happiness ? I believe it 
 to be in my power. I discredit the whole report of your 
 intended marriage : the delay, the silence about it, con- 
 vinces me it must be all a fabrication. I cannot, I am 
 sure, remain long in this world ; consider this, then, dear 
 Lord Weybridge, as a dying request — continue to cherish 
 the recollection of Emma, as she cherishes her regard for 
 you, and rely upon it all will be well. 
 
 " A thousand thanks are due to you for all your kind-
 
 426 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 nesses to a distressed, wretched woman, whose hopes are 
 blighted — whose heart is broken — and who seeks nothing 
 but the grave as a passage to another and a better world. 
 If you answer this, do not allude to what I have said of 
 Emma. ^V'hen I am very ill, I request her to open my 
 letters and read them to me. I would not for the world 
 have her know that I had touched upon this subject. 
 Farewell, dear Lord ^V^eybridge ! Remember my request 
 — my advice — my prayer. 
 
 '' Yours, truly, 
 
 " F. H." 
 
 This was an agi'eeable letter to receive just at the mo- 
 ment that he had concluded — now irrevocably — his union 
 with Lady Catherine. The appeal of his most alFectionate 
 friend must go unattended to, and the voice from her 
 deathbed be unheeded. It certainly seemed as if fate and 
 fortune, after having conspired to exalt and dignify the 
 gallant baron, had now clubbed to make him miserable. 
 As to answering the letter, what earthly good could that do? 
 The announcement of his marriage would follow so closely 
 upon any thing he might offer by way of explanation, that 
 it would be almost insulting to make any reply. One 
 thing appeared evident by Fanny's letter, — that she intended 
 to secure the happiness of her friend as far as fortune was 
 concerned, and that instead of having neglected to make a 
 disposition of her property, as Lovell had feared, she had 
 bequeathed so much of it to Emma as should give her 
 rank in the aristocracy of wealth. "NV^hat it meant, how- 
 ever, one way or another, mattered little to poor George, 
 who was called away from an attentive perusal of this me- 
 lancholy document to join Lady Catherine in a ride. 
 
 A pretty moment for such an invitation ! With the 
 entreaty of a dying friend in his pocket not to forget the 
 being wlio was entirely devoted to him, with his eyes half- 
 filled with tears, and his heart ready to burst, to be obliged 
 to mount a great tear-away chestnut horse, and scamper 
 over the turf with the betrothed of his heart, to whom he 
 had engaged himself to be married the next week, upon 
 condition of sailing away from her the week after !
 
 THE parson's daughter. 427 
 
 Away they went^ her ladyship in the highest possible 
 spirits, and quite charming enough to have fascinated any 
 body whose heart had been entirely free. Towards George 
 all her extra gaiety was evidently misdirected ; and on their 
 return Lady Catherine could not avoid a remark that she 
 thought Lord Weybridge had surprisingly relapsed into his 
 old melancholy since the preceding evening. His mother, 
 who knew he had received a letter from Mr. Lovell, 
 shrewdly suspected the cause of it. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; 
 
 For by this light ! whereby I see' thy beauty. 
 
 Thou must be married to no man but me. Shakspeare. 
 
 The situation in which Lord 'V^eybridge was now placed, 
 or rather in which he had placed himself, was perhaps as 
 unenviable as his bitterest enemy could have wished." The 
 effect produced by^Mrs. Harbottle's communication was not 
 easily to be overcome ; and when, moreover, it is recollected 
 that, in addition to the ordinary amiabilities of the morning, 
 his lordship had to do the " honours " to a large party who 
 had been invited to dinner that day, and to a " little dance " 
 in the evening, it may naturally be imagined that his varied 
 occupations demanded a more than usual share of attention. 
 To reply to Lovell by return of post was absolutely and 
 indispensably necessary : his communication with regard 
 to the duties of the executorship positively required it ; 
 but with respect to Fanny — what could he do ? The 
 more he considered her letter, the more he was convinced 
 that she had made a disposition of her vast property in 
 favour of Lovell and his daughter, and had done so with- 
 out hinting at her proceedings to either of them ; thus 
 enhancing the value of her noble bequest by a delicacy the 
 most refined, and a consideration the most generous. But
 
 428 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 of this he dared say nothing to her, because he was pro- 
 hibited by her own injunctions from touching upon any 
 subject which it might not be considered desirable to com- 
 municate to her affectionate friends. The same prohibition 
 more particularly extended to any allusion to Emma, for 
 Fanny had specially entreated him to take no notice Avhat- 
 ever of any thing she had said in her letter connected with 
 that young lady. Of what then could his answer consist ? 
 — a mere acknowledgment of her letter ? Would not 
 this appear ungrateful for all the kind intelligence she had 
 given him ? Would it not appear apathetic and indifferent, 
 where, in fact, all his dearest interests centred — interests, 
 too, which he had on the very moment foregone — hopes 
 that he had abandoned — happiness that he had rejected .f* 
 
 It seemed to him that the fairest, the honestest, and the 
 wisest course he could take, would be to announce to 
 Lovell, in the least offensive manner possible, the ap- 
 proaching ill-omened marriage with Catherine, to which 
 he had consented. In a week or two the newspapers 
 would announce it to the world, and how unfeeling and 
 base would it appear to let such a piece of intelligence 
 meet the eyes of his still attached Emma through such a 
 channel ! It appeared to him to require more courage 
 than he possessed to set about this work : however, it 
 must be done, and after revolving in his mind the various 
 means of doing it best, he decided upon confining his 
 letter to LoveU to mere matters of business, and unbur- 
 thening his heart to Fanny ; and without referring to any 
 thing she had said in her communication to him, with 
 respect to Emma, state his case, Avith all the alleviating 
 circumstances, so that if Emma did read her friend's 
 letter, it would contain, in fact, as nearly as possible, 
 every thing he desired to say to her upon the hateful sub- 
 ject, but which, after her resolution not to receive a line 
 from him, he knew it would be useless to address to her- 
 self direct. 
 
 Lord Weybridge accordingly sat down, and wrote to 
 Mrs. Harbottle what follows : —
 
 (C 
 
 THE parson's daughter. 429 
 
 " Severnstoke, Dec. 10. 1830. 
 My dear Friend : 
 I received with gratitude your kind letter^ and re- 
 joice to find you sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of 
 your last removal, to write so much at length. I do 
 assure you that all my humble efforts to be useful are 
 amply repaid by the expression of your thanks. I only 
 lament that the varied circumstances connected with the 
 unfortunate — for so I sincerely call it — change in my 
 position, have hindered me from more particularly evincing 
 my desire to be of service. It gives me some consolation 
 to know that your interests will in no degree suffer, while 
 under the superintendence of our excellent friend jMr. 
 Lovell. 
 
 " You will be surprised — as I am myself, and bewil- 
 dered — to hear that I have been driven into the fulfilment 
 of the marriage which my mother somewhat prematurely 
 announced to our friends. Under a false impression, de- 
 rived from misrepresentation and calumny, I hastily per- 
 mitted a pledge to be given, which I have been called upon 
 to redeem : and since I have been so severely punished 
 by the decided rejection of the only being who ever could 
 have made my happiness, I am careless of what is to hap- 
 pen to me. 
 
 " I have not a word to breathe against Lady Catherine 
 Hargrave, who is amiable, handsome, and accomplished ; 
 nor have I any one so blame but myself for the rashness 
 with Avhich I permitted myself to fall into the snares 
 which my mother laid for me. To her conduct to Miss 
 Lovell I attribute the resentment which has induced her 
 to prohibit my again addressing her, and the excitement of 
 that just, but, as far as I am concerned, cruel pride, which 
 led her to put a period to our acquaintance. That you 
 may judge how far tliis marriage is a matter of my own 
 choice, I must tell you, that in hopes of avoiding it, I 
 have secured an appointment to a frigate which will be 
 ready for sea in three weeks or a month, and that, failing 
 in escaping the trammels which had been spread for 
 me, and forced as I am, by Avhat I am told honour and 
 justice demand, into this to me most wretched connection.
 
 430 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 I propose quitting my home and my bride in the first 
 week of what is called the honeymoon, to assume the com- 
 mand of my ship, and in the solitude of my station, devote 
 myself to a sincere repentance of my folHes, and to an 
 earnest endeavour to reconcile myself to the lot — which I 
 must admit has been partly my own election — but which 
 never would have befallen me, if Emma could have for- 
 given my error, and overcome her own resentment. 
 
 " It is true I applied, in a moment of something like 
 madness, for the command of the ship : my impression 
 was, that my going on service would put an end to the 
 affair with Lady Catherine — or rather the affair between 
 my mother and the Ducliess of Malvern ; but I was 
 deceived : then I imagined that my firm resolution to 
 proceed to my ship as soon after the marriage as the service 
 required, would have induced the contrivers of it to refuse 
 its completion under a condition which must make my 
 indifference plain to the world. But no — they have 
 determined that by the laws of society I am bound to 
 fulfil an engagement which in fact I never entered into, and 
 are satisfied to let it appear that my anxiety to serve my 
 king and country, by cruising about the Channel during 
 a profound peace, is paramount to every other feeling 
 in my breast ; and that the command of the vessel which 
 1 have got, instead of being obtained by special application 
 from myself, has been a tril)ute of approbation of my pro- 
 fessional merits bestowed by a new. First Lord of the 
 Admiralty, who never heard my name as a sailor, till I 
 myself communicated it to him, and who now concedes to 
 my parliamentary power what he would have denied to all 
 my services if they had been detailed to him. 
 
 " My state of mind I leave you to judge : rash and 
 reckless of consequences, I have worked the ruin of all my 
 brightest prospects, and have fallen a victim to the mis- 
 taken tenderness of a mother, whose false estimation of 
 her son's merits and pretensions has been the cause of aU 
 his faults and follies. 
 
 " To Mr. Lovell I have said nothing on this hated sub- 
 ject : how can I } How can I admit myself to be capable 
 of marrying one woman, with a heart devoted to another^
 
 THE parson's daughter. 431 
 
 and that other his excellent^ exemplary child? Long — 
 long may she live blest and happy in the consciousness of 
 her own excellence ! If I dare venture to entreat you to 
 do so much — communicate to her the intelligence I now 
 give, and which she must soon hear from other quarters — 
 explain to her my wretchedness — endeavour to excite her 
 pity for one who is doomed to renounce all tenderer feelings. 
 The whole occurrence seems to me to be a dreadful dream, 
 but alas ! there is no waking from it. 
 
 "I have ill obeyed the injunctions, but the circumstances 
 are imperative. In all your misfortunes I most deeply 
 sympathise — let me claim a similar feeling from you. 
 I hope to be away, and in the enjoyment of my own 
 thoughts and recollections, in less than a month. If you 
 can spare time, let me hear from you before my depar- 
 ture. I hope to hear better accounts of your health, of 
 which, for the sake of your affectionate friends, you must 
 indeed be careful. Upon all matters of your business I 
 have written to ]\Ir. Lovell. 
 
 " Think of me as favourably as you can — recollect the 
 trials I have undergone, and the extraordinary situations 
 in Vv'hich I have been placed ; above all, assure yourself of 
 my continued esteem, regard, and friendship." 
 
 " W." 
 
 To attempt to describe the feelings of Mrs. Harbottle, 
 when she heard this letter — for after the caution she had 
 given Lord Weybridge, she felt secure in permitting Miss 
 Lovell to read it to her — or the agony of Emma in reading 
 it, would be vain. 
 
 " Here then," said Fanny, " are consummated two 
 sacrifices. .He is the victim of stratagem, and manage- 
 ment, and persecution — and you, Emma, have overthrown 
 every hope of your own, and killed every wish of mine, 
 by a feeling of pride which you ought, indeed, to have 
 mitigated under all the circumstances of the case." 
 
 " Fanny," said ]\Jiss Lovell, " I have read this letter 
 with much less emotion, than you have discovered in listen- 
 ing to it. I was prepared for it. I intended, when I 
 said so, to relieve him from all obligations to me — I made
 
 432 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 the sacrifice voluntarily and resolutely — = I knew his hap- 
 piness would never be secured^ if he married contrary to 
 his mother's wishes." 
 
 " And do you think," said Fanny, " that his happiness 
 is insured by what has happened, or by the conclusion of 
 this match with Lady Catherine ? " 
 
 " I hope it eventually may he," said Emma, " but you 
 see the intelligence Lady Frances so eagerly and somewhat 
 officiously communicated to me, as to his intended mar- 
 riage with the young lady, proves to be true, and you will 
 recollect that at our meeting, and previous to his departure 
 to visit you at Mopeham, he anxiously desired to renew 
 that sort of conversation which I fortunately checked. 
 Consider, Fanny, if I had encouraged the renewal of his 
 addresses — if 1 had listened to his professions and pro- 
 testations at that period, when, as it now turns out, he was 
 actually under an engagement to Lady Catherine, what 
 would have been ray present position ?" 
 
 " You would have been his wife," said Fanny ; " nothing 
 but your decided rejection of his addresses — nothing but 
 your resolution not to subject yourself to the violence and 
 pride of Lady Frances, and your anxiety not to separate 
 the interests, or to disturb the affections of the mother and 
 son, hindered him from declaring and proclaiming you his 
 choice." 
 
 " How would he have been placed, then, with regard 
 to his present intended bride.-'" said Emma. " If I re- 
 fused him then for my ov.ni honour's sake, I rejoice now 
 that I did so for his. I have said a hundred times, I was 
 quite aware of the activity of his mother's influence to 
 carry her point about his marriage. I was sure, from 
 knowing his disposition, and the power she has over him, 
 that eventually — I knew not by what means it might be 
 done — that influence would be successful: it has been 
 so, and it is immaterial to both of us how it has so pros- 
 pered. We are parted eternally, and so we should have 
 been if this course bad not been pursued ; some other would 
 have been tried, and alter the violence of Lady Frances's 
 expressions to me, in conversations upon the subject, I had 
 resolved never to consent to a union with her son without
 
 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 433 
 
 iier full and entire consent. I felt confident it was not 
 attainable ; and, of course, that conviction was greatly- 
 strengthened when he was elevated to the peerage. All 
 this I foresaw — all this I had made up my mind to en- 
 dure — and now that the hour of trial is come, and all 
 my forebodings are realised, thank God ! I am prepared 
 to meet my fate without a murmur." 
 
 It was not without some degree of astonishment that the 
 less determined Fanny witnessed the calmness and resig- 
 nation of her poor young friend. Emma felt as deeply as 
 woman could the blow she had received ; but anger to- 
 wards him who had fallen a victim to the trickery and 
 hypocrisy, to which filial affection had rendered him blind, 
 mingled not in those feelings. Upon Lady Frances she 
 rested all the blame, and considered her responsible not 
 only for the misery she had already caused by separating 
 two fond hearts, but for that, which was so likely to re- 
 sult from the uncongenial union she had arranged for two 
 hearts indifferent to each other. 
 
 No tear fell from Emma's eyes, while Fanny lay ab- 
 sorbed in sorrow ; and when her father joined them, and 
 enquired if Lord Weybridge's letter to Mrs. Harbottle con- 
 tained any news of interest, his daughter placed it in his 
 hands with the single simple observation, that all had hap- 
 pened at Severnstoke that she had foretold. 
 
 " Unhappy man !" said Lovell, when he laid down his 
 lordship's epistle ; " he has fallen a victim to an easiness of 
 temper, and a facility of credence, which are the strong 
 characteristics of his mind. His belief in our misconduct 
 would have been ungenerous, were not his mother suffi- 
 ciently artful to impose upon wiser persons than her son ; 
 and his consent to his approaching marriage, under the cir- 
 cumstances he describes, is only another illustration of the 
 same character. Heaven send him happy, but I fear for 
 the success of my prayers, when 1 take into consideration 
 not only his own expression of dislike to the match, but 
 the anxiety of the other parties, who, in the face of such 
 evidence of distaste to it, seem resolved to hasten and con- 
 clude it, in a manner as little consistent with delicacy as
 
 434 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 they must feel it to be in accordance with his own inclin- 
 ation." 
 
 It may be considered somewhat wrong in point of date 
 to submit this little conversation in this ])lace ; but as much 
 is doing at Severnstoke during the morning of the day of 
 preparation for the festivities of the evening, it appeared 
 not an unfavourable moment to snatch a glimpse at Sid- 
 mouth, to which place, as the reader has already been in- 
 formed, the party had removed. 
 
 In this removal they had cause to be thankful ; for the 
 invalid had not been two days in her new residence before 
 she sensibly felt and visibly exhibited strong marks of im- 
 provement in her health and strength. Lord Weybridge's 
 letter, it is true, had the effect of exciting her, and check- 
 ing the progress of her convalescence ; for Fanny, whose 
 mind was not quite so well regulated as Emma's, expressed 
 herself in more worldly and womanly terms upon his con- 
 duct than Miss Lovell could have used, and seemed to 
 feel his abandonment of her friend as a wound to herself, 
 whom he had made the medium of the first communication 
 of his serious and honourable intentions respecting her. 
 
 One effect had been produced upon Lord '^Veybridge by 
 Fanny's letter, which eventually turned out to be an ex- 
 ceedingly important one. He had, up to the receipt of it, 
 from the time he really consented to marry her ladyship, 
 been thinking, that as he must fulfil that engagement, it 
 would be useless, and almost absurd, to accept the com- 
 mand of the ship for which he had applied, and had gone 
 to bed in the mind to write a very handsome letter of 
 thanks to the Admiralty, stating that circumstances had 
 occurred since his application for employment, which had 
 altered his views, and therefore begging to decline the 
 offered promotion as far as the appointment was concerned, 
 and at the same time expressing a wish for the promotion 
 which had been promised him. The announcement of his 
 marriage, so shortly after this letter, would explain what 
 had happened to alter his views, and he should, like other 
 Englishmen — " sit at home at ease " — and making the 
 best of what he still thought a bad bargain, endeavour to 
 reconcile himself to circumstances, and console himself for
 
 THE parson's daughter. 435 
 
 the scorn of one lady in the enjoyment of the kindness of 
 another. But Mrs. Harbottle's letter, painting to him the 
 still smouldering passion of his deserted and outraged 
 Emma, revived in his versatile mind all his dormant feel- 
 ings of affection and devotion ; and he tore the letter he 
 had already written and almost despatched, and renewed 
 his determination of flying to the Destructive, in the cabin 
 of which ship, with a sentry at the door, he might be se- 
 cure from all interruption, ruminate on past happiness, 
 never to return, and, as he said, moreover discipline his 
 mind down to the enjoyment of a calmer and more ra- 
 tional existence with his noble lady on his return to shore. 
 
 What an ingenious creature is man ! there is no situ- 
 ation in the world in which he cannot, by dint of his per- 
 sonal exertions, make himself perfectly miserable ; and 
 certainly of all the examples of that sort of talent with 
 which we have ever met, Lord Weybridge appears to have 
 been one of the most strikinc; — lettina; it never be for- 
 gotten that his mother, whose %vhole aim through life was 
 to secure his happiness, was the most able coadjutor in his 
 efforts to be wretched. 
 
 There are two persons in the drama, whose conduct, it 
 must be admitted, notwithstanding their rank in the state, 
 must appear to be in the highest, or rather lowest, de- 
 gree undignified — and these persons are no other than 
 the Duchess and her daughter. It is true we have had 
 no opportunity of looking at their characters, en deshabille, 
 nor of judging their actions except by report. The 
 Duchess was — as duchesses have been before, and will be 
 again — a match-maker — she has been already noticed 
 for her assiduous preservation of her daughters — (for 
 
 " Garamcr she lia.i five ! " ) 
 
 from George in his earlier career, and was as remarkable 
 in " keeping men off," whom she did not think desirable 
 connections, as she was indefatigable in " keeping them 
 on " v.fhen she considered they were. Three of the Ladies 
 Hargrave had made excellent marriages, and Lady Cath- 
 erine and Lady Isabella, the youngest, were all that now 
 remained on hand. 
 
 F F 2
 
 436 
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTEB. 
 
 To say that Lady Catherine was an interested girl, 
 would be to describe what, as I have already said^ I be- 
 lieve never, or if evei-, very rarely exists. She had always 
 admitted a liking for George, even when he was interdicted, 
 and she herself snapped up, if she spoke three words to 
 him. A very little love in these days goes a great way; 
 and the Duchess rejoiced in having an opportunity of 
 gratifying the slight partiality Catherine had formerly 
 evinced, when she found the object of it placed in a 
 position where he had a right to command such a wife, 
 and greatly excited and encouraged to jierseverance by 
 Lady Frances, who had been for more years than they 
 either choose to own, her grace's bosom friend and as- 
 sociate, had made up her mind, coute qui coutc, that her 
 youngest daughter should be Lady ^Vey bridge. 
 
 It was not to be supposed that either of the mothers — 
 both of whom were perfectly aware of his pre-attachment 
 to '' the Parson's Daughter " — Avere to be baffled in their 
 designs by the absence of sentiment on the one side, or 
 any symptoms of indifference on the other. Lady Frances 
 wanted the connection, which was illustrious — the Duchess 
 required the fortune, which was ample, and thus the two 
 principals v/ere left almost unconscious of the progress of 
 the negotiations with which they were so intimately con- 
 nected. In fact. Lady Catherine, as far as she was 
 concerned, would as readily have consented to marry Cap- 
 tain Sheringham two years before, as she was now ready 
 to unite herself with Lord 'SV'^eybridge — and she was 
 sincere in her regard for him, and quite delighted to find 
 herself permitted to associate with him, upon terms of 
 ease and freedom, so totally different from those which 
 had been permitted before his elevation to tlie peerage and 
 his accession to so large a fortune. 
 
 It is necessary to say these few words in order to acquit 
 the young lady from participating in the plot contrived by 
 the '"'ancients." — She fell into all their schemes, because 
 it was agreeable to herself to do so ; and if George had been 
 more tenderly treated, and more gently managed by his 
 mother, the devoutly-to-bc-wished consummation of the 
 affair would have been brought about with much greater
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 437 
 
 facility. It was the excessive eagerness of Lady Frances 
 which startled him, and her uncalled-for coarseness towards 
 poor Emma which alarmed him ; and the more he con- 
 sidered the means by which his consent had been obtained 
 to the marriage, the more convinced he was, that as love 
 is not to be purchased with gold, so is it not to be excited 
 by compulsion. So it was, however, and so it was to be 
 — Lady Frances thought that a duke's daughter was a 
 very pretty alliance for a baron with forty thousand a year, 
 and the Duchess considered a baron with forty thousand a 
 year a most desirable match for a duke's daughter who 
 had but five thousand pounds in all the world. 
 
 " Come, my lord," said MacGopus — " the first dinner- 
 bell will ring in a few minutes — you must go dress — be 
 in time to receive your new visiters and neighbours." 
 
 " Hang it all," said George ; " I wdsh this odious, 
 great, over-grown party had been fixed for any other day 
 than this. I have had many letters to write — much to 
 do — none of it agreeable." 
 
 " I thought I saw your lordship and Lady Catherine in 
 the library, looking very comfortable," said MacGopus. 
 
 " Trust not to appearances, my friend," said his lord- 
 ship ; " I am doubly unhappy whenever I am in her 
 presence — unhappy because my heart is not mine to give 
 her — and more unhappy still that it is not, because I 
 really believe she is a very excellent and amiable girl." 
 
 " Stick to that opinion for a little, and you '11 think 
 better of her yet," said the Doctor. 
 
 " >fo — there can be no such thing as divided affection," 
 said Lord ^Veybridge. 
 
 " She has a claim, or soon will have, upon your 
 affection undivided." 
 
 " What are her claims compared to those of the being 
 I have deserted .'' " 
 
 " You have done no such thing," said the Doctor ; 
 " she has discarded you." 
 
 " Ay, ay, but how provoked .'' " 
 " By your own proposal to another ! " 
 " Spare me all this," said Lord Weybridge ; " you see 
 before you one of the most unhappy of human beings. 
 
 V V 3
 
 438 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Why did fate ever ordain that I should succeed to all this 
 rank and fortune, to rob me of her whose affections would 
 have been more valuable to me than either ? " 
 
 " That 's nonsense/' said ]\IacGopus ; " Lady Frances 
 would have had just as much objection to her marrying 
 you as you were, as she has to her marrying you as you are ; 
 and therefore your rank and fortune have nothing to do 
 with it, or if they have, they ought to have given you 
 power and independence to do exactly as you pleased, and 
 marry whom you liked." 
 
 " Job's comforter, hold that infernal croaking," said 
 George — " when I get you aboard the Destructive " 
 
 " You never will," said MacGopus, " for you'll never 
 set foot in her yourself. — Tut, man, as your mother says, 
 what will the world say if you marry this fine, handsome, 
 bonnie lassie, and go to sea the next week ? " 
 
 " Why — they will say that I am doing my duty," 
 said Lord Weybridge. 
 
 " Quite the contrary, my lord," said the Doctor. 
 
 " I am called into service." 
 
 " No — you ask for employment." 
 
 " I have got my promotion on condition of serving." 
 
 " A mighty great deal of consequence it must be to 
 you," said the Doctor, " with your peerage and fortune, 
 and all the rest of it, whether you die a commander or a 
 captain — no — give up that mad scheme." 
 
 " As I do not agree in its madness, I most certainly 
 shall not abandon it — I love my profession." 
 
 " You must have wonderfully altered then, since you 
 were in the Old Elephant," said the Doctor — "for, 
 saving your lordship's presence, a lazier hantl I never had 
 the pleasure of seeing on board any of his Majesty's craft 
 than Lieutenant Sheringham." 
 
 " Would I were there again ! " said his lordship. 
 
 " I wish you were," said the Doctor, " and I had your 
 fortune — how happy we two should be." 
 
 " Come — there 's the bell," said Lord Weybridge — 
 " now for this ' solemn mockery ' of receiving a set of 
 people for whom 1 care nothing, in order to keep up a 
 society in which I never mean to join, to be followed by
 
 THE parson's daughter. 439 
 
 an influx of half the county, to support what my mother 
 calls my political influence, which I never mean to exercise." 
 " Now, my Lord," said MacGopus, " I have just one 
 word to say — you must not suppose I have been retained 
 by Lady Frances to worry you or prescribe rules for your 
 conduct — but do, for your own sake — for the sake of 
 appearances, do be civil and attentive to Lady Catherine 
 before the company — you would not wish either to de- 
 grade or distress her." 
 
 " Why, Doctor, this is a new start you have taken," 
 said his lordship ; " turned lecturer upon high breeding, 
 the nobleman's guide to good manners." 
 
 " Psha ! " said MacGopus, " I know nothing of high, 
 breeding — I don't profess it — but I know what good 
 feeling is — I saw that poor girl last night half in tears 
 at something you said — which you did not intend to 
 wound her — but it did." 
 
 " But how can I force myself to be tender ? " said 
 George : " I esteem her — I admire her — would you 
 have me sigh and gaze upon her, and weep, and kneel, like 
 an actor on the stage ? " 
 
 " Ugh ! — no," said the Doctor : " I hate the sight of 
 such monkeyish absurdity — gaze you need not in com- 
 pany — because you can look at her when you please — 
 but be gentle to her — recollect the relative situation in. 
 which she stands to you — it is not her fault that your 
 Emma has been offended — she has had no share in your 
 repulse — be advised by me. ' 
 
 " Your counsel has assumed a new character," said 
 George, " and convinces me that you are more inexplicable 
 than I before thought you — what has made you take such 
 a wonderful interest in Lady Catherine — is it the true 
 instinct — is it because she is a duke's daughter ? " 
 
 '• I shall answer none of your questions," said MacGopus, 
 " nor reply to any of your quibbles — she is a woman, 
 that 's one reason for my advice — she is to be your wife, 
 and that 's another reason for my advice — and rely upon 
 it, the only way to make the woman you love respected, is 
 to show respect to her yourself." 
 " Love ! " said his lordship. 
 
 F F 4
 
 440 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " Well — ought to love — I ask pardon," replied Mac- 
 Gopus — " ought to love — because you will be sure to do 
 sOj in a few days." 
 
 " Oh ! come, come, come," said Lord Weybridge, 
 " give me my candle — let me go dress. If my Mentor 
 lectures so unconscionably, I shall run stark staring mad — 
 watch me this evening, and see how prettily I behave — 
 but mind — however satisfied you may be with my defer- 
 ence to your advice, do not to-morrow morning triumph 
 over me, and accuse me of having forgotten my " 
 
 " Parson's daughter," said the Doctor. 
 
 And so they parted. Lord Weybridge really astonished 
 and even moved at the very unexpected appeal which the 
 Doctor had made. To say truth, although he affected to 
 be ruffled by it, it gave him a higher opinion than he ever 
 yet had of MacGopus, who in the practice of a course of 
 contradiction and interruption, grown into a habit from his 
 having long been the Dictator, first of the gun-room, and 
 of the ward-room afterwards, the protector of midshipmen, 
 and the confidant of his comrades, exhibited a generosity 
 of sentiment, and a tenderness of feeling towards a young, 
 amiable, and sensitive being, placed in a situation of ex- 
 treme delicacy, which would have done credit to many 
 who fill the world with their professions and pretensions, 
 but who for genuine kindness and innate benevolence, 
 must strike their colours to the rough, good-hearted, pro- 
 voking MacGopus. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Duncan sleeps hereto night. 
 
 When goes lie hence? 
 
 To-morrow ai he purposes. Siiakspearb. 
 
 We read of lambs decked out for sacrifice, and Indian 
 women dressed in all their costly array, in order to be 
 burned by the side of their late highly. respected and very
 
 THE Person's daughter. 441 
 
 much-lamented husbands ; but never were greater pains 
 taken to celebrate such orgies with becoming splendour 
 than were bestowed upon the initiatory _/e^e at Severnstoke 
 upon the memorable day it is now our duty to record. 
 Never did the devoted widow behold the Kussumba-dyed 
 robe in which she was destined to expire, with greater 
 horror than George regarded the gaieties in progress ; nor 
 could the saffron and kajala prescribed by Krishna be more 
 palling to her fevered taste, than were the preparations 
 which were on every side making for the festival, which 
 was to exhibit him and his bride elect to the inhabitants of 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 But he was destined to fight a desperate domestic battle 
 before the commencement of the banquet — like a good 
 freemason he was doomed to labour hard, before refresh- 
 ment, and at awful odds with his mother, and all his do- 
 mesticated friends against him, upon a question in which 
 it was clear that he would be left in a glorious minority of 
 one. 
 
 This joint attack was commenced after luncheon, at a 
 period when the troops were invigorated and in high spirits, 
 and was opened by Lady Frances, who having announced 
 the determination of the party not to leave George at rest 
 until he had conceded the point they wished to carry, told 
 him, in plainer terms than any body else perhaps could 
 have ventured to do, that if he persisted in his scheme of 
 going to sea so shortly after his marriage, the world would 
 set him down for a madman. 
 
 " My dear mother," said George ; and he began in such 
 a tone that her ladyship was terrified lest he should be 
 provoked to say something which would even then upset 
 all her arrangements and break off the match, " every man 
 has his peculiar feelings, — you yourself, are the strongest 
 and loudest advocate for the fulfilment of pledges and the 
 observance of honourable duties. 1 am pledged to my 
 king and country to serve them whenever I am called upoUj 
 and " 
 
 " But,' said MacGopus, " you were not called upon to 
 do any such thing." 
 
 " We wo'n't dispute that point," said Lady Frances,
 
 442 THE parson's daughteb. 
 
 who dreaded, lest the Duchess, who did not at all like t^e 
 ship affair, should discover what her ladyship had carefully 
 concealed from her, namely, that it was at George's own 
 solicitation he was employed ; " all I am sure of is, that, 
 under the circumstances, it will have the strangest appear- 
 ance in the world." 
 
 '^ You have the choice of two evils," said Lord Wey- 
 bridge, '•' either I must have my own way, or we must 
 postpone the marriage till my return." 
 
 "■ What !" said the Duchess, '• have you the conscience 
 to wish poor Catherine to wear the willow for three years .f* 
 Oh cruel. Lord Weybridge ! " 
 
 " Come, my lord," said MacGopus, " write a handsome 
 refusal to the First Lord — you might vote with them as it 
 is, for the intentional kindness, and they can job the De- 
 structive for some other support, and they will give you 
 your post rank, and never stop to enquire your motive so as 
 they get the frigate back again. " 
 
 " Et tu Brute .'" said George, " are you against me — 
 you, who first taught me to love the service?" 
 
 " We are all against you," said the Duchess : " it is a 
 subject I cannot bear to touch upon, when Catherine is in 
 in the room, for she feels it deeply. She told me only last 
 night that it gave her an idea that you felt yourself bound 
 to marry her, that you would fulfil the engagement as a 
 matter of duty, and then show the world how little inclin- 
 ation had to do in the affair, by quitting your disconso- 
 late bride upon the expiration of half the honey-moon." 
 
 " Why really. Duchess," said George 
 
 " I know exactly what you are going to say," inter- 
 rupted I^ady Frances, who sat in an agony of alarm lest 
 George should be too candid — " but we will hear no argu- 
 ments." 
 
 " That's the safest way, my lady," said MacGopus, 
 "and it saves conversation: — if the House of Commons were 
 to divide first and debate afterwards, it would mightily 
 facilitate the carrying on of public business. One thing, 
 my lord, I am bound to tell you, and that is, I have pro- 
 mised Lady Frances not to accompany you in any cha- 
 racter."
 
 THE parson's daughter. 443 
 
 " I can do without you," said his lordship — somewhat 
 angry at the sudden conversion of his quondam supporter. 
 
 " But now^ really. Lord Weybridge," said the Duchess, 
 *' let me seriously ask you, is it impossible to get off with 
 honour ? " 
 
 " ^^^hy," said Lord Weybridge, looking very signifi- 
 cantly at his mother, " I — I am told not — 1 repeat, 
 therefore that I am prepared to do what I beheve to be my 
 duty." 
 
 " Are you fond of the sea ? " said the Duchess. 
 
 " Not he, ma'am," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Come, now," said Lady Frances, "be rational — be 
 dutiful; and if you are so punctilious about duty — recol- 
 lect your mother — have I no claims upon you? — you 
 know that my whole life has been one of constant solicitude 
 for your welfare and happiness — I am amply repaid by 
 the circumstances that have occurred during your growing 
 up ! 
 
 " To wit, the lubberly yachting in the ^Mediterranean," 
 said MacGopus, taking an unusually large pinch of snuff. 
 
 " To the dispensations of Providence, sir," said Lady 
 Frances, gravely, and rather angrily, " we must bow ; I 
 am speaking now of my son's conduct through life to his 
 only parent. Never, till the present occasion, have I had 
 a request unattended to, or a desire uncomplied with by 
 him ; and I do think it hard tliat upon a point where the 
 difficulty lies rather in the contradiction to my wishes, I 
 may not expect a deference to them." 
 
 " I assure you, my dearest mother," said Lord Wey- 
 bridge, " as I scarcely need do, that your wish is to me 
 law. I feel a delicacy upon the point under discussion 
 which " 
 
 " Which surely, my dear lord," said the Duchess, 
 " ought, in courtesy, to yield to the delicacy my poor child 
 feels in hearing your preference for the service to her so- 
 ciety made so evident that it must naturally become a topic 
 of conversation wherever our families are known." 
 
 '• Come, my lord," said MacGopus, " recollect what 1 
 said to you upon the same subject last night. Sacrifice 
 this little vanity, or chivalry, or whatever it may be which
 
 444 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 would set you adrift upon the salt sea^ and complete the 
 happiness of those who honour and value you, by settling 
 yourself down amongst your connections, your neighbours, 
 and your tenants, doing good, as your excellent heart will 
 prompt you, and receiving the tributes of affection and 
 gratitude which they will be ready to proffer. Surely that 
 will be better, with a lovely wife into the bargain, than 
 beating about the Land's End through the winter, or 
 reaching, by way of a treat, after a gale of wind, that most 
 appropriate retreat, the Isles of Scilly." 
 
 " There is no standing this combined attack of wit and 
 beauty," said George ; who, to tell truth, had himself begun 
 to think it perhaps wisest, after all, to conform himself to 
 the comforts, if not pleasure, of domestic life ; " all I ask, 
 therefore, is a truce — we have a great deal to do to-day 
 — let me only demand four- and- twenty hours' delay. 
 The appeal of my mother, seldom made to me in vain, has 
 had its effect : a day's procrastination of my letter to the 
 Admiralty will do no harm ; and I think the chances are, 
 if you all behave well to me this evening, that I may 
 abandon my scheme. I shall do so with regret, because 
 it looks trifling, and fickle — one day to seek " 
 
 " Oh ! never mind what it looks," said Lady Frances, 
 again checking his explanation of how he had obtained the 
 appointment ; " leave that to us. Depend upon one thing, 
 that nothing can look so ill as the sudden abandonment of 
 your wife immediately after marriage." 
 
 " Ile'U come round to our way of thinking to-morrow," 
 said the Doctor ; " I ste he relents." 
 
 " I am certain (Catherine's happiness is at stake," said 
 the Duchess. 
 
 " Mine most assuredly is," added Lady Frances. 
 
 " Well," said his lordship, " I have said : give me a 
 respite till breakfast time to-morrow, and you shall hear 
 my final decision." 
 
 And in this way he pushed off the hour in which he was 
 to make his election. It was true he acted upon impulses, 
 and was moreover suddenly acted upon : the letter of Mrs. 
 Ilarbottle had completely unhinged and overturned him — 
 then came his resolution to abandon Catherine • — now he
 
 THK parson's daughter. 445 
 
 felt satisfied that Lady Catherine did care about him, and 
 saw that her mother's pride was wounded by his proposed 
 excursion, and his own mother's happiness very much 
 concerned in it. He saw, too, that all chance of averting 
 the calamity of marriage was passed; the bridal dresses 
 were preparing, and the lawyer was, in aU probability, on 
 .the road, to prepare the settlements; and it therefore 
 seemed probable, unless some new event should arise to 
 give his mind an opposite direction, that he would cleave 
 to the Catherine of twenty, and abandon the Destructive 
 of forty-four. 
 
 And soon commenced the bustle — the carriages began 
 to arrive — the guests to alight and the grooms of the 
 chamber to usher them in ; the dinner-party was swollen 
 to twenty-five, and amongst them were people of strange 
 figures, and strange manners ; few amongst the two dozen 
 and one were on the Duchess's London list, and fewer 
 still known to Lady Frances, whose connections all lay north- 
 ward, and who had for many years never affected to keep 
 any hst whatever, except, indeed, of engagements which 
 she had made at the houses of other people. 
 
 Nothing, possibly could be more cold, stiff, awkward, 
 and uncomfortable than the whole affair. Lady Frances 
 had selected the guests, and they made, thus formed toge- 
 ther, the most incongruous mass imaginable. The leading 
 Tory earl of the county was seated next the wife of the 
 most inveterate Whig baronet, whose eldest son had been 
 defeated at the last general election, by what the baronet 
 thought proper to call the unconstitutional interference of 
 his lordship. A General officer was placed next the lady 
 of a country gentleman, whose sister he had carried off 
 from her husband; and a matured girl of thirty-one 
 divided two men, one of whom had been shot in a duel by 
 her brother, for having broken a promise of marriage he 
 had made to her ten years before, and whom she had 
 never since seen ; and the other a sporting Colonel, who 
 had won the whole of her said brother's fortune at play, 
 in consequence of which he had been living in Paris ever 
 since the year 1824. 
 
 These were but a few of the mishaps and misfortunes of
 
 44<6 TH^ parson's daughter. 
 
 the day ; every thing seemed to go wrong ; and George, 
 who had the strange Countess on his right hand and Lady 
 Catherine on his left, ap{)eared to as Httle advantage as 
 ever he did in his life. He speedily saw the error into 
 which they had fallen in making up their party without a 
 proper earte du pay, and most fervently wished himself 
 pacing the windward side of the quarter-deck of H. M. S, 
 Destructive. 
 
 At dinner there was very little talking, and when the 
 ladies retired, that which did duty for conversation chiefly 
 turned upon local affairs, in which no two people present 
 seemed to agree ; this, added to the necessity of referring 
 to George for opinions upon subjects with which he had 
 not yet troubled his head, and therefore knew nothing of, 
 made up a combination of miseries which were only ter- 
 minated by the announcement of coffee — an announcement 
 not made, however, until after the increased noises, and the 
 sound of many voices in the hall and ante- room, pro- 
 claimed that many of the refreshers had arrived. 
 
 The scene in the drawing rooms was as gay as such 
 scenes usually are, and, no doubt to four or five couple of 
 hearts in the party, every thing seemed very delightful. 
 The rooms were well lighted, and prettily arranged, and 
 if there had been two or three hundred people more, would 
 have been almost brilliant. The party was just too large 
 to be sociable, and much too small to be easy. Dancing, 
 which began a little after ten, broke the formality, and 
 thawe^l the English coldness, which stiffened most of the 
 visiters. There was a sprinkling of rural beauty, and one 
 or two "Almack's" faces, looking fresher and brighter 
 than they were wont to appear towards the end of a Lon- 
 don season. The officers of a crack Hussar regiment 
 quartered in the adjacent town, tipped and tufted, made 
 the floors clatter with their arms and accoutrements, and 
 before eleven the intellectual part of the company were in 
 full motion. 
 
 The scene grew livelier as the evening wore on ; and 
 George, who had for a moment -thrown himself into a huge 
 comfortable chair, contemplated it with a sort of mystified
 
 THE parson's daughter. 447 
 
 -feeling. He found himself accidentally in the possession of 
 all this splendour — capable at his beck of congregating 
 round him every thing presentable in the neighbourhood 
 — possessing vast influence in the county, with every fair 
 prospect of uninterrupted happiness, marred only by the 
 doubt and difficulty he felt about his marriage. Lady 
 Catherine saw his abstraction, and gHding sylph-like across 
 the room, seated herself by his side. She spoke sweetly 
 and gently to him, and he thought at the moment that he 
 ought to be happy in the possession of so lovely and so 
 accomplished a wife! It was ungracious — ungrateful to 
 maintain a coldness and indifference to a being who really 
 appeared devoted to him, and he conversed with her with 
 pleasure. There was a soft and melting tenderness in the 
 expression of her countenance that had never struck him 
 before : in fact, he had resolved to abandon the Destruc- 
 tive long before this ten minutes' tcte-a-tete was over. 
 
 He danced with her, and the visiters admired the hand- 
 some j)air. Her dancing was perfection. He led her to 
 the refreshment-room, and the envious eyes of the women 
 and the approving looks of the men hung upon the fair 
 creature, as she leant upon her future husband's arm. 
 Lady Frances was right in making up the party ; it drew 
 Lady Catherine out — it excited and animated her, and it 
 did one thing much more important still — it showed to 
 George how much she was an object of admiration in the 
 eyes of others. 
 
 Just before supper. Lord AV^eybridge was summoned 
 from the saloon to receive a visiter, whose arrival at that 
 precise period was certainly unexpected. He obeyed the 
 summons, and proceeded to his morning-room, where he 
 found the new arrival anxiously waiting his approach. 
 His surprise when he saw his guest was great and unaf- 
 fected ; however, the nature of his communication was 
 such as to engross all his thoughts, and claim all his at- 
 tention. 
 
 That the individual who appeared so unexpectedly under 
 his roof might at any time have come thither ; nay, if he 
 had only delayed his visit — or rather visitation — for twf
 
 448 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 days, his appearance ■would iieithei" have surprised nor 
 agitated him ; but when George entered the room, and 
 beheld him, it was like a vision. 
 
 It was evident to Lord Weybridge, the moment he saw 
 his friend, that nothing but business of the most urgent 
 and important nature could have brought him there. He 
 was right in his conjectures, and upon that business 
 George and his friend had a full hour's conversation^ 
 during which time all sorts of enquiries were made in the 
 gay circle for the master of the house, but in vain ; and 
 Avhen his retreat was discovered, equally vain were all 
 attempts to draw him from it. At last the dialogue ter- 
 minated, and the visiter, at his own desire, fatigued by 
 his journey, and not prepared for mixing in the gaieties 
 going on, retired to rest, it having been agreed be- 
 tween him and George that all matters of business be- 
 tween them should be postponed till the morning : the 
 visiter, indeed, apologising for his unexpected intrusion 
 upon the festivities, and regretting very much that he had 
 not been aware of the party, so as to have timed his 
 arrival more appropriately. 
 
 \Mien George returned to his company, his appearance 
 was totally changed — he looked reckless and wild — 
 became abstracted — attended to no one, but stood as in 
 a dream or a trance, gazing at all that was passing before 
 him. Lady Frances saw the change which had occurred 
 — she inquired the cause — he told her — " Nothing." 
 
 She thought she knew who the newly arrived visiter 
 was, and laid the abstraction and apparent despondency of 
 George to the account of the approach of the formalities 
 which were necessary to the conclusion of his matrimonial 
 engagement. She then suspected that Mrs. Harbottle, of 
 whose illness she was aware, was dead, and that more 
 journeys, and more worries, as her ladyship considered 
 them, were to be inflicted upon him ; but he told her that 
 she was mistaken — that he was worried, but that he had de- 
 termined to cast aside care till the morning. This, how- 
 ever, was easier said than done, and when he took the 
 Duchess to supper — who at dinner had graciously con- 
 descended to yield her precedence to the stranger Countess
 
 THE parson's daughter. 449 
 
 — he seemed wholly absorbed in thoughts, which, to 
 judge by the sudden convulsive twitches of his features, 
 were any thing but agreeable. 
 
 During supper he spoke not, and the Duchess in vain 
 endeavoured to rally him. She joked with him, and told 
 him she supposed his melancholy arose from being se- 
 parated from Catherine, who was sitting nearly opposite 
 to him, looking with pleasure and condescension to one of 
 the well-dressed men of war who was placed beside her. 
 
 The reply which George gave to this suggestion was a 
 look which implied ten thousand times more than the 
 Duchess sus.pected. " Ah, Duchess!" said he, in a tone 
 of affected heedlessness, " I shall sail in the Destructive 
 yet. 
 
 The Duchess, who herself thought Catherine was rather 
 exceeding the limits usually placed to the flirtations of an 
 affiancce, was convinced that George was actually jealous : 
 this delighted her, because, as there can be no effect with- 
 out cause, so she concluded there could be no jealousy 
 without love ; and accordingly, to gratify him, as she 
 thought breaking up the party would, she whispered to 
 him that she thought they had sat long enough, and, 
 rising from her seat, was immediately fallowed by all the 
 rest of the guests, the majority of whom voted her 
 Grace extremely disagreeable for shortening the season 
 of such agreeable communication. 
 
 Little did the poor Duchess know what was passing in 
 her neighbour's thoughts at the moment that she en- 
 deavoured to secure his peace of mind by removing Cathe- 
 rine beyond the range of Major Evelyn's lire — little did 
 she anticipate what was so nearly happening, or rather 
 little did her Grace imagine what had actually happened. 
 
 George continued some time at table, and rallied around 
 him some of the more solier-minded men whose " dancing 
 dajs" were past, and who chose to sacrifice to Bacchus 
 ratlier than propitiate Terpsichore; he himself drank more 
 than was his custom ; but all in vain, if raising his spirits 
 were the object — it seemed as if a load of immovable 
 weight ha I been laid upon him ; and those of the party 
 who had not the \deasure of an intimate acquaintance with 
 
 G G
 
 450 THE paeson's daughter. 
 
 him, set him down as very well for a lord of the land, but 
 deadly-lively as a landlord. 
 
 All this went on until it grew vastly late, and people 
 wondered at the rapid flight of time, and "who could 
 have fancied it five?" and "how delightful it was!" and 
 what a "charming party it had been I" and then came a 
 sort of breakfast, with which the shattered and fatigued 
 dancers again refreshed themselves previous to their final 
 separation for the night, or rather morning. 
 
 And at last they went, and George's aching eyes fol- 
 lowed the departing train, and he stood lost in thought 
 as the doors of Severnstoke closed upon the last of his 
 guests. 
 
 " George." said his mother, " what is the matter with 
 you.'' who is it that has arrived here — is it Mr. Lovell.''" 
 
 " Mr. Lovell!" said George; " no^ my dear mother; if 
 we wait for visiters till Mr. Lovell comes here, grass will 
 grow on the threshold of Severnstoke." 
 
 " Who is it then ? " 
 
 " There's no mystery in the man or his message," said 
 George ; " the interesting unknown is neither more nor 
 less than my solicitor, Mr. Snell, from London." 
 
 " Oh !" said her ladyship, " why, how foolish I was not 
 to have guessed. You wrote to him to come here — and 
 to think that I should have puzzled myself about such 
 nonsense !" 
 
 " I did write to him certainly," said George; 'but as 
 it was impossible, even with all the excellent regulations 
 of our admirably conducted post-office, that he could 
 have received my letter, my bidding did not bring him 
 hither." 
 
 "Come, come, George," said Lady Frances, '^''you 
 must rally from this sort of -feeling ; the settlements must 
 be drawn, and why assume this air of abstraction and 
 sorrow ? " 
 
 "Settlements!" said George; "come, come, let us to 
 bed. Has the Duchess retired, and Lady Catherine .'' 
 Poor girl — 'tis hard upon her." 
 
 " I think so, upon my word," said Lady Frances ; 
 " and you should consider "
 
 THE parson's daughter. 451 
 
 "We'll put off consideration till the morning," said 
 George. "Come — good night, my dear Lady Frances." 
 
 "Well, but, George," said her ladyship, "hasn't it 
 been a nice party ? " 
 
 '•' Yes, latterly," said his lordship. " The dinner was 
 what I call angular — the guests did not seem to me to 
 dovetail ; however, the ball was gay and pretty." 
 
 " The next dinner you give, George, we will select 
 better," said Lady Frances. '"' We will have up the local 
 lawyer who knows the country politics, and all the friends 
 and foes of the district." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" said George, with a laugh almost 
 sepulchral in its tone, "my next dinner I dare say will be 
 a mighty fine affair. Good night." 
 
 " Heaven bless you, George," said her ladyship ; " I 
 wish I could cure you of the gloom." 
 
 " Cure ! Oh," replied Geoige, laughing, with a ghastly 
 expression on his countenance, and looking as pale as 
 deach, "it will all cu'-e itself soon enough. 1 am pledged 
 to my friend to say nothing to-night " 
 
 " — And tliat, no doubt," said MacGopus, who entered 
 the room at the moment, "is the reason why your lordship 
 will stay up talking with Lady Frances till the sun drives 
 you to bed for very shame." 
 
 " My lords^hip," said George, " will do no such thing. 
 My lips are sealed ; but when the seal is broken and 
 morning comes, I think at all events I shall have the merit 
 of surprising even you, who are never astonished at any 
 thing. Come, let us part — to bed — 
 
 ' Once more, good night.'" 
 
 And so they went — each his way — wondering each 
 after his fashion. A few hours put a stop to all their 
 conjectures, and reduced their vague and wavering doubts 
 to a most positive certainty.
 
 452 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Prepare to hear 
 
 A story that will turn thee into stone. 
 
 Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature, 
 
 A Haw made through the centre by some god. 
 
 Through uhii-h the groans of ghosts might strike thine ear. 
 
 They would not wound thee as the story does. 
 
 i)R\DEN and Lee, in CEdipus. 
 
 Whether George actually went to bed or not, matters 
 little ; that he did not sleep, is an unquestionable fact. 
 He had spared his mother a night's rest, or at least 
 the rest which as much, or rather as little, of the night as 
 was left might afford her ; for himself he cared little — for 
 her every thing — and there was much for her to bear, 
 much to endure, and in all probability much to suffer. 
 
 Long before the ladies were stirring, Mr. Snell and 
 George were together. Their conversation was deeply in- 
 teresting, and, in the course of it, various questions arose 
 as to the best manner of making a very important commu- 
 nication to Lady Frances, so as to prevent any serious 
 effects from its suddenness or its general character. At 
 last it was agreed that she should be summoned to a coun- 
 cil after breakfast, and that Mr. Siiell himself should 
 undertake to break to her what her son, knowing the 
 acuteness of her feelings, and indeed the violence of her 
 temper, had not the courage to impart. 
 
 'NVliat the conduct of the Duchess was likely to be, or 
 what the sensation of Lady Catherine, when the discovery 
 was made, formed an important although a secondary 
 consideration in George's m.ind. It was known beyond 
 a doubt that a storm was brewing, and that an event was 
 to be announced, not calculated upon in the slightest de- 
 gree either by the calculating Duchess or the managing 
 Lady Frances. 
 
 The lawyer suggested admitting MacGopus into council 
 immediately, because, from tlie intimacy which, he saw, 
 subsisted between him and George, he felt that he was
 
 THE PARSON S DAL'GHTEB. 
 
 453 
 
 ■worthy of their confidence : but his cHent refused this 
 proposition, feeUng assured that the safest way avouUI be, 
 to let his mother first into the secret, and let her circulate 
 it after her own fashion. 
 
 The breakfast party did not assemble till noon, and then 
 Lady Catherine did not " show." Her mother had, as it 
 appeared, given her a lecture upon the unguarded manner 
 in which she had permitted herself to flirt with Major 
 Evelyn, and declared to her that all the unhappiness of 
 Lord "\7eybridge at supper, and after it, had arisen from 
 the distress of mind which her conduct had occasioned. 
 Catherine who, on the contrary, felt perfectly conscious of 
 her own innocence in the affair, argued the point with her 
 noble mother most learnedly, and pleaded general usage 
 as a justification of her commonplace civility to a very 
 agreeable person. The conflict, however, had been serious, 
 and as her Grace had told her that George had more than 
 indirectly noticed it — which the read2r knows he never 
 did — she resolved to have a convenient headache, and 
 hot expose herself to the annoyance of any remarks upon 
 her past conduct, or to ths degradation of appearing to 
 endeavour to make the amende for her fault. 
 
 " Mr. Snell," said Lady Frances, when they were seated 
 at breakfast, "ch)n't you think George has done a great 
 deal in the way of improvement here, considering how 
 short a time he has had the place ? " 
 
 " I think he has, my lady," said Mr. Snell, who my- 
 lorded and my-ladied every body who happened to have a 
 title like a footman. 
 
 *' Next year he means to break through the old avenue, 
 and so bring out the church tower as a terminus to the 
 vista." 
 
 " Yes, my lady," said Snell, with a very odd look. 
 
 " I assure you," continued her ladyshii), buttering her 
 little bit of toast with the whitest of hands, on the four 
 fingers of which were at least a score of rings, " that I am 
 extremely happy to see you here — and upon such an 
 occasion " 
 
 " Yes, my lady," replied the lawyer^ with a look still 
 stranger than the last. 
 
 G G 3
 
 454 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 " You seemed quite to have upset poor George last 
 night," said her ladyship. " He hates business — but of 
 course, in his station of life, a man must undergo a great 
 deal of that sort of boring work. How you manage it I 
 cannot understand. I remember the day I was at your 
 chambers with George — the dark, dirty holes you live in. 
 M'^ere you ever in a lawyer's chambers, Duchess?" 
 
 " No," said the Duchess, " 1 don't think I ever was. 
 I have been in the Chancellor's room in the House of 
 Lords." 
 
 "Oh dear!" said Lady Frances, "that's quite dif- 
 ferent : — these chambers are down in areas, or up in 
 garrets, and as dark and dirty as possible — and all around 
 them are stuck great brown canisters, with their clients' 
 names painted on them, just like the things you see in 
 grocers' shop windows, labelled Pekoe, Bohea, Hyson, and 
 Twankay." 
 
 " Your ladyship gives a very accurate account of our 
 dens," said Siiell. 
 
 " I remember," continued her ladyship, " poor dear 
 Lady Stoteused to take me, when I was quite a girl, when- 
 ever she went on an expedition to her lawyer ; and there 
 we used to be — first of all the man — the gentleman, 1 
 mean — that is, the lawyer — used to come out and talk at 
 the window of the carriage ; and then he used to get into 
 the carriage and talk; and then she would pull out twenty 
 or thirty letters, all tied up with red tape ; and then, after 
 reading them all, over, she would get out of the carriage, 
 and go into the chambers, and leave me till it grew quite 
 dark, waiting for her return." 
 
 " Ladies, my lady," said Snell, " are our most per- 
 severing clients — and, I need scarcely say, our most agree- 
 able ones." 
 
 " Oh dear ! " said the Duchess, in a tone of contempt- 
 uous civility, " how very gallant !" 
 
 " Mr. Snell," said George, " has some business to call 
 your attention to, Lady Frances, after breakfast." 
 
 " Oh ! I know," said her ladyship ; " so does the 
 Duchess — I think, at least, she can guess." 
 
 " I should think not," said George.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 455 
 
 MacGopus, who disliked strangers and hated lawyers, 
 spoke little or none — but he supplied bv action Avhat he 
 spared in words, and devoured hot kidneys, cold beef, eggs 
 innumerable, and, as the French say, pain a discretion. 
 
 " AFhen can your ladyship spare us half an hour ? " 
 said George to his mother. 
 
 " AV^henever you please." 
 
 " SneU, what say you," said George, " to fixing our 
 business after luncheon — the delay will not inconvenience 
 you .? " 
 
 " Not in the least/' said the lawyer ; " to-day — to- 
 morrow " 
 
 " Oh no ! " said Lady Frances ; " let us strike while 
 the iron 's hot — I hate delays, especially in matters like 
 that which we have in hand." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" said George, rising from table ; " my 
 poor dear mother ! how little do you know what you are 
 going to hear ? " 
 
 " Xoihing disagreeable, I am sure," said Lady Frances. 
 
 " \V'hy," said George, " ccla depend — whatever it is, 
 it did not very much exhilarate me last night." 
 
 " I have settled all that. Lord 'Weybridge," said the 
 Duchess ; ^' you know what I mean." 
 
 " Upon my honour," said George, " I don't." 
 
 " Never mind — all is smoothed — the path shall be 
 strewed with flowers,' said her Grace. 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it," said George. 
 
 " Now remember," said Lady Frances, " and let no 
 other business prevent it — write about the odious ship — 
 do it civilly — but decl ne it " 
 
 " Wait, my dear mother, wait," said her son. '^ That 
 ship must not be given up so hastily. Mark my words " 
 
 ''Never, Lord Weybridge .''" said the Duchess, who 
 still believed that Catherine's conduct had revived the idea 
 of his romantic cruise. " Assure yourself " 
 
 " I can assure myself of few things. Duchess," replied 
 he; ''but of this, I think, T e(i)i. assure myself, that before 
 the bright sun, which now beams on high, buries himself 
 in the blue sea, you will as entirely agree with me, as to 
 my taking that voyage, as my mother yesterday agreed 
 
 G G 4
 
 4,56 
 
 THE FARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ■with your Grace upon the expediency of my abandoning it ; 
 but no more of this. At two we will have luncheon — 
 at three, my Lady Fi-ances, our conference — and at 
 four " 
 
 " Well/' said her ladyship. 
 
 " Nous verrons," replied her son, with a very significant 
 look. 
 
 The lawyer and his client quitted the break fast- room to 
 talk — MacGopus proceeded to the library to read — and 
 the ladies went to visit Lady Catherine. 
 
 Lady Frances, who knew every turn in her son's mind, 
 became much excited and agitated, when she saw, in its 
 faithful index, his honest countenance, marks of feelings 
 iU in accordance with v/hat she supposed would be the 
 subject-matter of their three-o'clock conversation. She 
 now began to dread that he had determined to marry Emma, 
 in spite of every obstacle — that he considered it the most 
 marked and decided manner of establishing the preference 
 which he scarcely endeavoured to conceal ; and that, by 
 committing what she could not but consider the grossest 
 possible outrage of which man could be guilty, he would 
 at once annihilate the hopes of Lady Catherine^ and defy 
 the consequences. 
 
 The Duchess, too, had confided the little history of her 
 daughter's flirtation to Lady Frances, who received the 
 information with regret and apprehension, believing in the 
 view her Grace had taken of it, and knowing how sensitive 
 her son was upon such points : yet she controlled herself, 
 and subdued her apprehensions, and talked over the con- 
 ditions of the settlement which had been previously ar- 
 ranged, and told the Duchess that she might rely, upon 
 the present occasion, upon her taking care that in the draft, 
 which was no doubt to be made that day, Catherine should 
 be perfectly satisfied with her exertions for her comfort 
 and advantage. 
 
 An attachce of M. Marctdim Carson was expected in the 
 evening, with echantillons of all the most fascinating and 
 bewitching articles of taste and fashion for the bridal dress; 
 and, at her ladyship's request, the diamonds, which George 
 most religiously regarded as family property, were laid
 
 THE parson's daughter. 45? 
 
 before Lady Catherine in the best possible order of ar- 
 rangement, as they were to be presented to her by her 
 future husband in the evening. 
 
 "As for my part, dear Lady Frances," said the Duchess, 
 " I do confess — God knows I have no undue ambition — 
 that I scarcely hoped to be able to marry Catherine so 
 delightfully well. Lord ^Veybridge is so superior — so 
 accomplished — so well principled — so noble in his dis- 
 position — that, if he were nobody, I should consider him 
 an excellent husband for any daughter of mine." 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Frances, " he is a good creature — 
 so extremely kind to me — so considerate. Now this ship 
 affair — you '11 see how it will end ; — he will sigh about 
 his odious frigate for an hovir or two, but depend upon it, 
 without another word, his lettei of refusal goes to town 
 to-night." 
 
 And so this pa:r of mothers went on praising their own 
 dear children in a sti-ain highly commendable in parents ; 
 and they were so happy, and so fond of each other, and so 
 amiable, that it was clear nothing in this world could divide 
 their interests, change their opinions, or disturb their in- 
 timacy. 
 
 At luncheon Lady Catherine appeared — she was all 
 softness, tenderness, and languor ; — her headache was so 
 oppressive, and Eau de Cologne was so refreshing, and the 
 party had been so agreeable: — but there were some bores 
 — some of those officers of the hussars were excessively 
 disagreeable. Lady Catherine really thought that one of 
 them must have drunk too much wine — he worried her to 
 death — and soon : and then she sipped a little sherry and 
 water, and re-invigorated herself — and the carriage was 
 ordered at half-past three — and Lady Frances, and George, 
 and the lawyer, retired to Georges room. 
 
 " Sit down, my dear mother," said George, " and pre- 
 pare yourself to hear something which I am quite sure, 
 even with your felicity of imagination, you are not pre- 
 pared to guess at." 
 
 " Answer me, George," said Lady Frances, " is it 
 connected with Binford — with your marriage ?" 
 
 " It is connected," said her son, " and intimately con-
 
 458 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 nected, not only with Binfoid but with Severnstoke, and 
 with my marriage most certainly : it is, moreover, con- 
 nected with my personal character, and wilh the place and 
 station which I hold in socieiy." 
 
 " ^Fhat can you mean ? "' 
 
 " I mean, my dear mother," said George, " tliat a blow 
 is about to lall upon us — or rather has fallen, in which 
 we ought to rejoice as Christians, but which at once dis- 
 sipates all the splendour wiih which we are surrounded — 
 sends the Duchess from our doors — and bears away the 
 blooming Lady Catherine — melts all our plate — dissolves 
 our diamonds — crops all cur trees — and strips us of a 
 home." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " \V^hy, neither more nor less than this ; we are here 
 only on sufferance, and must go hence at the call of mine 
 excellent lawyer, ]\I,-. Snell." 
 
 " How should he, or anybody else, drive Lord Wey- 
 bridge from his titles and estaies?" 
 
 " Piepare yourself for it,' said George, " I tell you 'tis 
 a blow — I am not Lord Areybridge."' 
 
 " Not Lord Weybri.lge ? — Wliat then ?"' 
 
 George had sprung the mine ; he was too much affected 
 to follow it up : he jumped up fiom his chaii-, and turned 
 his face to tlie window. 
 
 " What do I hear ?" said Lady Frances. 
 
 '' So it is, my lady," said Siiell ; " I have here the 
 narrative of the circumstances forwarded and attested by 
 tlie Englif-.h minii,ler at Naples." 
 
 ''^ Who claims my son's title.^" said her ladyship: 
 " what does it mean ?" 
 
 " The eldest son of the late loid," said Snell, " who, 
 by something like a miracle, escaped from the catastrophe 
 which engulfed the rest of his family." 
 
 " What proofs are there of this?" 
 
 '' Enough, my dear mother," said George ; "the real 
 Lord Weybridge, which I am not, is on his way to Lon- 
 don via Paris — his escape was wonderful." 
 
 " AV'hen the ship struck the yacht," said Snell, " the 
 present lord was in the act of stepping upon deck : he
 
 THE parson's daughter. 459 
 
 describes the shock as violent and instantaneous, some- 
 thing beyond descripl.ioii awful. In the crash — momentary 
 as it was — instinct promj)ted him to catch hold of some- 
 thing : he seized a rope, which struck him in the collision, 
 and in an instant was borne by a huge toppling wave away 
 over the frail vessel which conlaiiied his ill-fated parents 
 and relations — he siill held on, and in anoiher moment 
 found himself clear of the yaclit, and hanging by his 
 hands at the bow of the destroying ship. His cries were 
 loud — they were heard — in an instant all hands ran for- 
 ward to lend him assistance ; he still kept hold of the rope, 
 which fortunately for him was adrift, and he was hauled 
 into the ship more dead than alive." 
 
 " This,'' said George, " is his own narrative, attested 
 by our minister." 
 
 " When he recovered he found himself in bed in the 
 captain's cabin, scarcely conscious wlieie he was, or of the 
 heavy loss he had sustained. He describes the grief and 
 anxiety of the captain to have been excessive, and his 
 exertions to discover any part of ibe wieck unremiLling. 
 It blew excessively hard, and the darkness of the night 
 was such that ihey could form no accurate estimate of the 
 distance which they hail run from the spot where the 
 disaster occurred before ibey could shorten sail, and then 
 it was a matter of utler hopelessness to endeavour to re- 
 trace their course : they lay to and tried to keep their 
 ground, but all ibeir exertions were unavailing, and they 
 never saw a vestige of the unfortunate yacht, nor of the 
 piece of wreck upon which the only other two seamen were 
 saved." 
 
 " But," said Lady Frances, who was not yet aware of 
 half the difficulties and embarrassments in which this event 
 would involve both herself and her son, " what has caused 
 so long a delay in the receipt of this intelligence ?" 
 
 " The circumstances, my lady," said the lawyer, " are 
 these : the vessel which caused the dreadful collision was a 
 French ship, bound from iVIarseilles to Odessa, and it was 
 impossible ibr her to touch at any intervening port, for 
 several cogent reasons, set forth in the attestation of these 
 facts by the captain : it was necessary, therefore, for Lord
 
 460 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Weybridge to proceed to the place of her destination. His 
 lordship's health was extremely delicate, and the circum- 
 stances of the loss of his family told upon his constitution 
 in the protracted voyage, and he remained for several weeks 
 at Odessa, too ill to write or forward any intelligence re- 
 specting his preservation. He continued under medical 
 care in an English mercantile house there, by the owner of 
 which he was supplied with every necessary and comfort, 
 and about ten weeks since left Odessa in better health than 
 could be expected, whence, as Captain Sheringham says, he 
 is travelling via Paris to London, and whither, by my ad- 
 vice, Mr. Crabshaw is gone to meet him." 
 
 " What ! George's chaplain? " 
 
 ''' — My dear mother," said George, " I have no chap- 
 lain — no right to one — and 1 think, as far as my marriage 
 goes, no need of one at present." 
 
 " I am amazed," said her ladyship, 
 
 " I told you to ]n-epare yourself for a blow," said George, 
 " and one which will fall more heavily than you may yet 
 anticipate. 1 am personally responsible to the present lord 
 for all the rents I have received during my delusion, and 
 indebted to him in all the sums I have expended." 
 
 " But what are we to do ? " said Lady Frances. " How 
 shall we break it to our friends?" 
 
 " Let it take its own course for a few days," said George, 
 " and our friends will scarcely be sufficiently numerous to 
 make it any great matter of difficulty to inform them." 
 
 " But what a blow upon the dear Duchess ! " said her 
 ladyship, who at the moment was thinking of her own em- 
 barrassments and involvements. 
 
 " Yes," said George, " her Grace will lose a baron for 
 her son-in-law, unless, with a devotion and delicacy which 
 interest and a predetermination sometimes overcome, she 
 contrives so that her daughter shall transfer her affections 
 to my rescued cousin, and marry the title although she 
 change the man." 
 
 " What an idea !' said her ladyship. " But now really, 
 Mr. Snell, what is to happen ? " 
 
 " Nothing that shall personally inconvenience your lady- 
 ship," said Mr. Snell; " of that I shall take care — but
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 461 
 
 the absolutely necessary part of the affair is the surrender 
 of the whole of the estates and property, accounting, as the 
 Captain says, to the real possessor for the amount received 
 and disbursed." 
 
 " And Catherine's diamonds, George ? " said Lady 
 Frances. 
 
 '' Why,'' said George, " as they are not mine to give, 
 they cannot be hers to keep." 
 
 " How distressing," said her ladyship; ^'because of one 
 thing I am sure, — that neither Catherine nor her mother will 
 hear of any alteration in the errangements: a cottage, with 
 the man she loves, is v.hat that dear amiable girl would 
 prefer to a palace without him." 
 
 " That sounds very romantic," said Sheringham, " and 
 must be, according to your principles, rather foolish : I re- 
 member suggesting something of that sort myself, only 
 reversing the case, and your ladyship was pleased to be ex- 
 ceedingly angry." 
 
 " A\'hen must we quit this. Sir ? " said Lady Frances to 
 Mr. Snell. 
 
 " Only as soon as convenient," replied the lawyer. 
 
 " Thank God !" spid George, " this ends all squabbles 
 about my importance, and the value of an alliance ; and 
 above all I am right glad that I have still under my foot 
 the quarter deck of his Majesty's ship Destructive : I told 
 you it would go hard but 1 should sail in her yet, and now 
 my prophetic anticipations are realised." 
 
 " There will be no occasion for any such proceedings," 
 said Lady Frances. 
 
 "^ 'Well, 1 am glad to see you bear this reverse with so 
 much placidity," said George. 
 
 The truth is, that the stillness of Lady Frances was any 
 thing rather than placidity : she was overwhelmed — 
 paralysed — as the sea in a violent storm becomes smooth 
 by the mere force of the wind : a thousand complicated 
 terrors filled her mind, more immediately personal to herself 
 than the mere loss of the dignity to her favourite son — it 
 seemed as if ruin had fallen upon them ; she was conscious 
 that the demand upon George was more than the whole of 
 her own fortune would defray — that all the bills at Dale
 
 462 THB parson's daughter. 
 
 Cottage remained unsettled — and that even if she weathered 
 the storm by which they were overtaken, she should be 
 compelled to return to Binfoid, in reduced means, an ob- 
 ject, perhaps, of compassion to the Lovells and the rest of 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Under whose care will the present lord be jilaced till 
 he comes of age ?" said her ladyship. 
 
 " That will depend upon himself," said Snell ; " he is 
 of competent age to make his choice ; but I suspect he will 
 be guided in his election entirely by Mr. Crabshaw, his 
 tutor, to whom he was always much attached, and who has 
 gone to meet him at Paris at bis special request." 
 
 " Mr. Ci'abshaw I once saw in Brook Street, George ? " 
 said her ladyship. 
 
 " Yes, you did," said her son ; " and I recollect your 
 most pointedly affionting him because he ventured to differ 
 in opinion wiih you about some exhibition, the merits of 
 which you were discussing. That will not facilitate our 
 arrangements at present : a se'ious injury a man perhaps 
 forgives upon principle, or because it has been somehow 
 atoned for; a ])er»onal affront — the slightest scratch upon 
 the amour propre of such a thin-skinned gentleman as Mr. 
 Crabshaw, never heals." 
 
 " And his influence," said her ladyship, " you think is 
 considerable } " 
 
 " I do, my lady," said Mr. Snell ; " and it seems natural 
 it should be so : he has been his lordship's constant com- 
 panion during his growing up — highly esteemed, and 
 generally consulted by his father, who had the highest 
 opinion of him, and confided to him most of his views and 
 intentions, especially upon the subject of his sons. It is 
 natural that, spared as Mr. Crab&haw has been from the 
 general calamity, he shouhl feel a melancholy pleasure in 
 his society, and a sort of filial gratification in attending to 
 the counsel of one selected by his late father to form his 
 mind and regulate his pursuits." 
 
 " Have you any idea," said Lady Frances, who seemed 
 to entertain a hope that the young lord would select her son 
 as his guardian, "^ as to the probable object of the young 
 man's choice .'' "
 
 THE parson's daughtfh. 463 
 
 " I have reason to think/' said Mr. Snell, " that he 
 will put himself under the care of the chancellor ; and I 
 am led to believe this^ fiotn some conversation which I 
 had with Mr. Craoshaw before his departure for Paris." 
 
 " What, sir," said her ladyship, " have you seen the 
 tutor ? " 
 
 " It was from Mr. Crabshaw 1 first was apprised of all 
 the circumstances of his lordship's existence," said the 
 lawyer. " He wrote to the bankers and to us — he also 
 wrote to his friend and tutor, and at much greater length 
 than to any body else • — indeed, we were referred to Mr, 
 Crabshaw for all the more minute particulars of the affair." 
 
 Lady Frances did not at all admire the rigid impartiality 
 of the solicitor, who had felt it his duty to exert himself 
 most actively in executing the wi^^hes of the young lord; 
 forgetting ihat the natural allegiance of the firm was due 
 to that branch of the family, and that he had only taken 
 up the affairs of her son as being connected with it. 
 
 '^ Rely upon it. my lady," said Mr. Snell, " that every 
 regard will be paid to your laoyshin's comfort and con- 
 venience. I had what I knew to be a most disagreeable 
 duty to perform ; and certainly, if I had been aware of the 
 gaieties of last night, I should not have intruded during 
 their existence." 
 
 '•' Oh ! I am sure," said Lady Frances, " that you — 
 of course you are not to blame — only, what puzzles me 
 — what is best to be done .''" 
 
 " Calm your mind, my dear mother," said George, 
 " and compose your features : impart our downfall to 
 the Duchess and her daughter — prepare to lay aside a 
 state and ceremony which it cost me a bitter sacrifice to 
 maintain, and, thank God, you have a son not worse off 
 than he was before the faial accident which hfled him up 
 for a moment, but who is able and willing to fight his way 
 through the world with just as much philosophy as if he 
 had never been a peer." 
 
 " All that's very true," said Lady P' ranees ; " but " 
 
 " I know," said George ; " but we must bear up against 
 the ills which assail us. The unlucky part of the affair I 
 confess to be the diamonds, to which 1 have no right —
 
 464 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 but you must manage that — and, as I can pretty well 
 guess what the course of the Duchess will be, it is only a 
 matter of delicacy to return the cadeaux de noces, and I 
 shall immediately take the opportunity of handing them 
 over to my trusty friend^ Mr. Snell. — I presume," con- 
 tinued George, addressing himself to the solicitor, '^ that 
 the arrangements necessary to be entered into, for the res- 
 titution of property expended, will not be of a nature to 
 hinder my proceeding forthwith to Portsmouth to commis- 
 sion the ship to which I was, only three days since, so 
 luckily appointed." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Snell ; " I will take care of all 
 that, and I am sure yoa will find every disposition to 
 make the affair as little uncomfortable as possible to you ; 
 indeed, the circumstances are such, that it would be cruel 
 to press hard upon you for a reimbursement of what you 
 had every right to imagine your own." 
 
 " I am bewildered," said Lady Frances — " I see the 
 necessity of taking some decided step — but 1 feel inca- 
 pable of action." 
 
 " In the first place, my dear mother," said George, " I 
 repeat, go and impart our sad secret to the Duchess — 
 that I maintain to be the first thing to be done : as for 
 myself, I suppose my excellent tormentor, MacGopus, 
 will have no objection now to be my companion at sea, 
 and " 
 
 " ■ Still the sea, George,"' said Lady Frances. 
 
 " Oh, assuredly — and, if we are lucky enough to have 
 a war, I will pay off my liabilities with prize-money." 
 
 " Well, I see my influence is unavailing — but," said 
 Lady Frances, " recollect the dear Lady Catherine." 
 
 " Ay, ay," replied George, " you perform your ])art in 
 the affair — relate the history of our unlooked-for tun)ble, 
 and all that will be left for me to do will neither be dif- 
 ficult nor important." 
 
 " I go," said her ladyship, '' because I agree with you 
 in the necessity of making the communication ; — that it 
 will make any serious alteration in your prospects there, if 
 I know any thing of Catherine or her mother, I think I 
 may justly doubt."
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 465 
 
 " Nous verrons, as I say," replied George. 
 
 " You are not going to-day, sir ? " said her ladyship, 
 graciously, to Mr. Snell. 
 
 '• Captain Sheringham is good enough to wish me to 
 stay till to-morrow," replied the lawyer^ " and I shall 
 avail myself of the pleasure of remaining." 
 
 " We shall meet then at dinner " — saying which, her 
 ladyship proceeded to the room appropriated for Lady Ca- 
 therine's studio, where the nearly finished portrait of Lord 
 Weybridge stood waiting on its easel for a last sitting — 
 the expectant artist, en costume, wondering at George's 
 delay, and watching the fast retiring daylight, with an 
 anxiety justly proportioned to the scolding the Duchess 
 had given her for her indifference the night before. 
 
 George and Snell together hunted out the Doctor, and 
 to him the story was confided. He received it in a man- 
 ner different from that which he was usually wont to 
 assume in listening to narratives. He was greatly affected, 
 
 — much, indeed, to George's surprise — he neither queried 
 their statements nor contradicted their assertions ; and all 
 he said, when the story was concluded, and the fact esta- 
 blished, was — "Then the Destructive for ever !" 
 
 " And you on board of her, MacGopus," said George. 
 "■ We'll see, sir," said MacGopus — '' we'll see — umph 
 
 — this is bad. It isn't that in my mind the oldest lord 
 in the peerage is one bit better than a post-captain in his 
 Majesty's navy — but it's hard to be hoisted up, and thrown 
 from a height — the fad hurts — and it wiil hurt Lady 
 Frances : it is an ugly business, and yet one dare not 
 murmur at the dispensations of Providence, which have 
 spared this young man from the general Avreck of his 
 family." 
 
 George saw, or at least fancied he saw, that MacGopus 
 was gieatly annoyed — indeed, almost overcome ; and 
 quitted the room to join his mother, in order to see the 
 effect which had been produced upon the Duchess and her 
 daughter. 
 
 " These reimbursements will worry him," said MacGopus 
 to Snell. 
 
 " I shall manage so as to inconvenience him as httle as 
 
 u u
 
 466 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 possible," said the lawyer — " and it may be that Lord 
 Weybridge will feel no disposition to press the matter ; 
 but, unfortunately, Cra ^shaw, who has great influence over 
 him, has taken deadly offence at some observation upon 
 the vulgarity of his manners or coarseness of remarks 
 which Lady Frances happened to make one day in London, 
 indeed the only day he saw her, and it has left an indelible 
 mark on his mind. I hope and trust that such a feeling 
 will not be permitted to operate seriously to Captain She- 
 ringham's disadvantage, for a better heart or kinder dispo- 
 sition I never met with." 
 
 " What will be the probable amount of the claims 
 against hira ? " said MacGopus. 
 
 " According to my calculation," said Snell, " including 
 purchases of plate and furniture — which, however, may in 
 aU probability be taken over by the new lord — some- 
 where about seventeen or eighteen thousand pounds." 
 
 ' Ah ! " said MacGopus, with a sigh — " more, you 
 see, than he will succeed to, even upon the death of his 
 mother." 
 
 " \Vho," said the lawyer, " I am sorry to hear — and 
 I have heard it, not professionally — is involved to a much 
 greater extent than either her son imagines, or, as I think, 
 she herself believes." 
 
 " It is a bad business," said the Doctor ; " and yet one, 
 as I have just said, at which one ought not, in truth and 
 justice, to repine." 
 
 While this conversation was passing in the library, a 
 scene was in progress in the studio. When George arrived, 
 the disclosure had been made, the merits of the case dis- 
 cussed — the Duchess was evidently much flurried — the 
 affair between the Captain, in the character of Lord Wey- 
 bridge, and her daughter, had gone to such extremities, and 
 the surprise was so great — and the aftair so sudden. 
 
 Catherine was sincerely affected ; because she really 
 liked George — loved is perhaps rather too strong a term 
 — but she was convinced, like or not like, love or not love, 
 that tliL" match was at an end. She was brought to 
 Severnstoke to marry Lord Weybridge, its master ; and 
 she was perfectly convinced, by the experience she had of
 
 THE parson's daughter. 46? 
 
 her mother's conduct towards George on other days, that 
 now^he was not Lord Weybridge, and that Severnstoke did 
 not belong to him, she was not destined to be his wife ; — 
 and it was quite absurd — if any thing could be laughable 
 at a period of such general sorrow — to see her pro- 
 gressively disencumber herself of all the paraphernaUa in 
 which she was habited for the purpose of painting his pic- 
 ture : she disrobed gradually, and dismantled all the ap- 
 paratus regularly, as the history of their discomfiture pro- 
 ceeded, sentence by sentence. 
 
 First, shortly after the opening of the sad story, she laid 
 down the pencils she had been grasping, still retaining the 
 palette stuck on the thumb of her left hand : at another 
 stage of the narrative the palette was abandoned : at a 
 further stage her ladyship untied and took off the curiously 
 contrived apron and sleeves, which were destined to guard 
 lier skin and drapery from the effects of the paint : until 
 at last, when the catastrophe was announced, she silently 
 rose from her seat, and taking the picture of George off the 
 easel, turned it, like Barbara Allan's sweetheart, with its 
 " face unto the wall," and then shutting up the easel 
 itself, deposited it in the corner where it was accustomed 
 to stand when unemployed. 
 
 " Well," said the Duchess to George, as he entered the 
 room, affecting spirits if she had them not, "■' this is a sad 
 history !" 
 
 " Rather a glad one," said the captain : " your Grace 
 must recollect that a life has been saved which %ve believed 
 to have been lost " 
 
 "But such a Wight to all your prospects!" said the 
 Duchess. 
 
 " My prospects are much what they were four months 
 ago," said George ; " I have a profession which has made 
 many a man greater than I have yet been. I have liealth 
 and good will to work my way, and I have plenty of kind 
 friends to cheer me in my task of duty." 
 
 " When do you go to your ship ? " said the Duchess. 
 
 " Exactly at the time 1 proposed tlie day before yester- 
 day," was his reply. 
 
 H H 2
 
 468 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Catherine here somewhat hastily quitted the room. She 
 saw what avouIcI infallibly happen. 
 
 " And disregard all that dear Catherine said ? " asked 
 Lady Frances. 
 
 " ^Fhy," said the Duchess, " as to my poor child, it is 
 certainly a dreadful blow upon her — you see she was 
 unable to remain here any longer." 
 
 " There has no blow fallen," said George, " which can 
 harm her ; it is true I have not the title of VV^eybridge, 
 but I am, barring that small distinction and its concomitant 
 wealth, which never could have weighed with a young 
 heart like Catherine's, to all intents and purposes the same 
 jierson I was yesterday — the same blood runs in my veins 
 
 — the same feelings animate my heart " 
 
 " To be sure," said the Duchess. " Yes — that is all 
 very true ; but — one's arrangements — the difference — 
 that is I don't know — Catherine has told me, long before 
 this event, that she feared you did not feel that affection 
 for her which — in short, I doubt — if " 
 
 " Duchess," said Sheringham, looking at her with an 
 expression which must liave cut her to the heart, " your 
 Grace's daughters have all succeeded admirably in their 
 matrimonial connexions. It is quite right that Lady 
 Catherine should keep pace with her sisters : upon occa- 
 sions like this, the less said the better. Whatever her 
 inclinations may be, remember r/o«r Grace's mind is changed 
 
 — mine is not — I leave this to-morrow, for Portsmouth, 
 to assume the command of my ship." 
 
 " My dear George," ?aid Lady Frances, '^ but consider 
 Lady ('atherine's feelings — the suddenness " 
 
 " My dear Lady Frances," said the Duchess, " I am 
 not sure that the very suddenness of such events as these 
 
 — so unlooked for — so unexpected, does not diminish the 
 pain and distress they would otherwise occasion. We shall 
 only worry and agitate you by remaining here, and I think 
 it would perhaps be wisest if we were to start, so as to 
 avoid a formal separation." 
 
 "Separation," said Lady Frances; "why! my dear 
 Duchess, do you really mean that this event is to terminate 
 the proposed connexion between us .'' "
 
 THE PARSON S DAUGHTER. 
 
 469 
 
 " I think it would be but prudent it should," said the 
 Duchess ; " Catherine's fortune, you know, is small, and 
 
 yours, my dear George " 
 
 " Is all to be made, madam," said Sheringham, bowing 
 with an affected respect. 
 
 " I don't think I should be justified in permitting a 
 daughter of mine to marry under such circumstances." 
 
 " But," said Lady Frances, " do you really think that 
 Catherine will quietly admit the abandonment of a iran to 
 whom she is engaged.''" 
 
 " I think she will," said the Duchess ; " and I am more 
 inclined to think she will, because in ray opinion she ought 
 to do so. In engagements of this sort, there are certain 
 conditions — certain terms. Circumstances unluckily pre- 
 vent your son's fulfilling those conditions, and I consider 
 myself, and consequently my daughter, entirely exonerated 
 from any claim." 
 
 " I really am surprised," said Lady Frances, '•' at the 
 
 view your Grace takes of the affair : I " 
 
 " No," said the Duchess, " I am candid and open in 
 my observations, and I will honestly confess that I am not 
 sorry for what has happened, except for your sake. Ca- 
 therine, I assure you, has complained to me, with tears in 
 her eyes, of coldness on George's part, which so little 
 accorded with her enthusiasm and feelings that she could 
 not but believe his intended marriage to have been more 
 the consequence of a conviction that he was actually under 
 an engagement, than the result of that sort of affection 
 which she considers absolutely and essentially necessary to 
 happiness." 
 
 . "How could she imagine such a thing .'^" said Lady 
 Frances. 
 
 " Easily enough, my dear friend," said her Grace ; " I 
 saw it too, — and," added her Grace, adthessing herself to 
 George, " my apprehensions were not a little strengthened 
 by your extraordinary resolution about going to sea so soon 
 after marriage ; that was a blow which wounded her pride, 
 and offended her delicacy." 
 
 " Let us end this discussion," said George ; " it is most 
 painful : the only consolatory part of the affair is deriv- 
 
 H H 3
 
 470 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 able from your Grace's last observation. If the fall of my 
 fortunes has prevented your Grace's daughter from uniting 
 herself to a man whom she did not think attached to her, 
 it has its advantages. It is not for me, in my present 
 position, to vindicate myself from the suppositions of others. 
 I know myself — I know what I consider my duty — I 
 am prepared to do it. I rejoice that I am spared, by 
 events over Avhich I have had no control, from making so 
 amiable a being as your Grace's daughter unhappy ; and 
 that I am encouraged to withdraw from a connection in 
 which, since candour appears to be the order of the day, I 
 admit I did as little anticipate perfect happiness as Lady 
 Catherine herself appears to have done." 
 
 With these words, George, who was seriously angry at 
 the paltry littleness of the great lady, quitted the room, 
 apparently with the intention of not returning to it again, 
 at least for some time. 
 
 *' Captain Sheringham,'' said the Duchess, " is exceed- 
 ingly rude ; — the habits of his profession, and the man- 
 ners of the gun-room, must be his best excuse. I can of 
 course no longer render myself liable to similar remarks, or 
 a repetition of such behaviour, and therefore, painful as it 
 is, I must beg leave to order my carriage, and quit the 
 house of an old friend, from which I must certainly say I 
 never expected to depart under similar circumstances." 
 
 '^ My dear Duchess," said Lady Frances, who still 
 clung to the hope of the connection 
 
 "\ must be positive," said her Grace; "\ am quite 
 sure of one thing, and that is, that a formal parting or 
 separation between us would be most painful and distress- 
 ing. Indeed, after your son's observations with regard to 
 Catherine " 
 
 " They were provoked by your previous remarks/' said 
 Lady Frances. 
 
 " No matter," continued the Duchess — "I must act 
 according to my feelings of what is due to myself and my 
 family : you are going out — your carriage is at the door 
 — never mind us — we will take our departure when you 
 are absent, and when we meet again I trust we shall meet 
 as friends."
 
 THE PAKSOn's daughter. 4-71 
 
 " Since you are determined to go, Duchess/' said Lady 
 Frances, '' I must insist on remaining to see you off." 
 
 " All I bargain for is, that Catherine may be spared 
 any interview with your son," said the angry mother ; 
 " she would not survive it." 
 
 " I beUeve," said Lady Frances, who, finding sweet 
 words of no avail, began in turn to fire up, " neither your 
 Grace nor Lady Catherine need apprehend any intrusion 
 on his part." 
 
 The Duchess, seeing that Lady Frances was getting into 
 a rage, and preparing to open a battery upon her, adroitly 
 quitted the serious and elevated tone, and dropped into the 
 faraihar, and made preparations for leaving the room — a 
 movement which Lady Frances endeavoured to prevent. 
 Her Grace, however, was resolved, and passed out of the 
 studio in a heat of rage, such as her friend had never seen 
 excited before. 
 
 Her ladyship proceeded in search of her son, to com- 
 municate to him, what to his ears was the most welcome 
 intelligence possible ; namely, that the Duchess was in a 
 passion, and had resolved to depart forthwith in dudgeon. 
 In the mean time, her Grace went to her daughter's room, 
 where she found her, much to her amazement, in tears ; 
 while in the ante-room stood one of the assistants of 
 Madame Maradan Carsan, who had arrived early in the 
 morning with all the bridal finery, which was spread out 
 upon the tables, and sofas, and chairs, ready to be 
 selected and approved of. 
 
 Her Grace was as good as her word — so was George : 
 he mounted his horse, and rode off to the adjacent town 
 in order to get out of her way ; and nlw, having recon- 
 noitred and watched his movements, took aU the advan- 
 tage of his absence which he meant to afford her, and 
 about half-past five, having shaken hands with Lady 
 Frances, who would not leave her, threw herself into her 
 travelling carriage, in which Lady Catherine had already 
 been placed, having resolved neither to see nor speak to 
 anybody connected with Severnstoke previous to her de- 
 parture. 
 
 B H 4
 
 472 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The woes of )ife are lessen'd by a friend : 
 
 In all the cares of life, we by a friend 
 
 Assistance find — who'd be without a friend ? Wandesford. 
 
 "■ I TOLD you SO, my dear mother." said George, as the now 
 reduced circle began to assemble for dinner — the last, or 
 nearly the last, they were destined to eat in Severnstoke 
 House ; " I told you what the character of her Grace's 
 affection for us was." 
 
 " But, my dear George," said Lady Frances, " you 
 offended her — you spoke in a manner which it was next 
 to impossible she should endure." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied the Captain ; " if I had been 
 to-day what I was to all appearance yesterday, she would 
 have called my decision spirit, and my conversation wit. 
 No — I saw she was determined to make a quarrel of it, 
 and I resolved to give her a favourable opportunity. I 
 know her well. As for Lady Catherine, my opinion of her 
 is very different ; her ftiiling is only that of faUing into her 
 mother's views, and being very obedient when her duty 
 does not run counter to her inchnation." 
 
 " Poor Catherine," said her ladyship, " I assure you was 
 deeply affected, and I believe would have given the world 
 to see you and bid you farewell. She cried bitterly when 
 she came to me to return the diamonds and other cadeaux 
 with which you had presented her." 
 
 " Whether her tears were shed for the loss of the 
 trinkets," said George, " or of your ladyship's hopeful son, 
 does not aj)pear so certain." 
 
 " Don't be ungrateful, George," said his mother; "I 
 admit I have been disappointed in the Duchess, but I still 
 maintain my original opinion of her daughter." 
 
 'j-he appearance in the drawing-room of Mr. Snell, who 
 had been occupied during the whole of the day with the 
 bailiff and land-steward, and under whose directions an in-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 473 
 
 ventory of the furniture of tlie house was now making, 
 distinguishing the new from the old^ and who had, in con- 
 sequence of his honest and zealous exertions on the part of 
 his young and noble client, become most particularly odious 
 to Lady Frances, put an end to the conversation, or rather 
 changed it to more general topics. 
 
 "^ To-morrow," said Lady Frances, "I go hence — I 
 suppose for ever. I shall now, however, be able to fulfil 
 my original intentions, of passing my Christmas at my 
 brother's at Grimsbury; so that I have something left to 
 fall back upon." 
 
 "And I," said George, "and my angularly minded 
 companion, the faithful MacCiopus, shall proceed to Lon- 
 don, where I shall merely sleep, and then run down to 
 Portsmouth, where my ship is ; I shall hoist my pendant, 
 and make all speed in fitting out and getting a good crew; 
 and then, down foresail, and be off in a fortnight or three 
 weeks at the latest." 
 
 " How delightful is the elasticity of mind you possess," 
 said Lady Frances, who now as strenuously advocated his 
 going to sea as she had formerly opposed it ; " devotion to 
 a profession is every thing — no success can be looked for 
 without it." 
 
 " 1 must write to Lovell before I start," said George. 
 
 " To Mr. Lovell .''" said his mother. 
 
 " Yes," said George, " about our executorship accounts, 
 and to inquire after the poor widow : perhaps youth and 
 a fine constitution may bring her through ; but, if they do, 
 I shall be most agreeably surprised. Lovell does not yet 
 know of my sudden tumble in society." 
 
 " I dare say it will create a world of sympathy in their 
 little community," said her ladyship. 
 
 The announcement of dinner stojiped Lady Frances in 
 the middle of what, in all j)robabiIity, would have turned 
 into a satirical history of the party, delivered to Mr. Snell, 
 but intended for her son. Snell's modesty held him back 
 from offering his arm to Lady Frances, who, more pleased 
 with his respect than she would have been gratified by his 
 civility, walked mincingly towards the dinner-room alone, 
 followed by the two gentlemen.
 
 474 THE PARSONS DAUGHTER. 
 
 When they came to the table, covers were only laid for 
 three. 
 
 " VV^here is Dr. MacGopus's cover ? " said George. 
 ^' Dr. MacGopus is gone, sir," said the butler. 
 "^ Gone ! " exclaimed George ; " gone where ? " 
 " To London, I believe," said the man ; " he desired to 
 have one of the boys from the stable to carry his bag and 
 portmanteau to the lodge ; and the boy says he got into 
 the London coach that passes at five o'clock." 
 
 " Vyhat is the meaning of all this ? " said Lady Frances. 
 '^'Oh, nothing," said George, "nothing; he had some 
 particular business to-morrow in town. I suppose he tUd 
 not like taking leave." 
 
 This was not true ; but George was stricken to the 
 heart by the unexpected defection of him upon whose con- 
 stancy of friendship under all circumstances he had impli- 
 citly relied : it was a subject he could not discuss before 
 the servants ; he therefore made an excuse for the Doctor's 
 absence ; but the struggle to conceal his feelings rendered 
 him unconscious of what he was doing, and induced Lady 
 Frances, who, like another Lady Macbeth, had no desire 
 that the abstraction of George should be evident to the 
 spectators, to beg Mr. Snell to help the soup. 
 " How very odd !" said George; "umph !" 
 " Why, my love," said her ladyship, " you always knew 
 he was odd ; not that I see any great oddity in not taking 
 leave of persons to whom one is attached — what can be 
 more horrid ? " 
 
 " But he might have staid till morning," said George, 
 " he would then have gone with me." 
 
 And (ieorge felt his going deeply : he had always con- 
 sidered the Doctor as of the pine-apple tribe, rough without, 
 but rich within ; and the loss of his rank, title, place, and 
 pre-eminence scarcely affected him so much as the de- 
 sertion of one whom he believed devoted to his interests 
 under any circumstances. 
 
 The evening passed heavily enough : Snell was not an 
 extremely vivacious companion, and it was difficult to start 
 any very interesting topic : his eyes wandered about the 
 apartments, as Lady Frances thought, with somewhat of an
 
 THE parson's daughter. 47.'5 
 
 appraiser-like anxiety to ascertain the value of the articles 
 which had been brought into Severnstoke by the temporary 
 lord's upholsterers ; and the conversation could scarcely be 
 kept clear of references to matters of business which it was 
 necessary to transact. Then came the surrender of the 
 diamonds that erst had lain on the toilette of my Lady 
 Catherine — and Lady Frances^ as she parted with them 
 for ever, gazed at them, and shook them, and made them 
 twinkle in the light ; and one could have seen, in the ex- 
 pression of her ladyship's countenance, a mingled grief and 
 sorrow — as Shakspeare says, 
 
 " Dumb jewels in their silent kind, 
 
 More than quick words do move a woman's mind ; " 
 
 and certainly the agitation of her ladyship upon restoring 
 — if that might be called restoring which was rendering 
 up what never belonged to her — the casket, was not to be 
 concealed. Truth to be told, there never was a much more 
 melancholy night passed at Severnstoke. George retired to 
 his own room, and occupied an hour or two in tearing up 
 and burning papers and letters, which had accumulated in 
 the drawers of what, eight-and-forty hours before, he had 
 fancied his library table; for papers will accumulate — 
 save and except bank-notes, which seem to have an in- 
 herent jVJalthusianism in their very nature. 
 
 Time wore on, and the carriages were ordered at dif- 
 ferent hours in the morning. — George, having been so 
 unexpectedly deprived of the society of his friend the 
 Doctor, abandoned his plan of going to London, and pro- 
 posed proceeding immediately to Portsmouth, rnd Bath 
 and Southampton ; and Mr. Snell, who intended remaining 
 a few hours after the departure of George and his mother, 
 for the purpose of arranging with the servants of the house- 
 hold, and giving the house into the charge of the local up- 
 holsterers, who had made out the inventory, was to quit 
 Severnstoke at about five or six in the afternoon, intending 
 to reach Chipping Norton, to sleep at the inn there, in 
 which there are more comfort and more pretty faces than 
 might be reasonably expected, and treatment which he- 
 retics have no right to anticipate. There Snell determined 
 to sleep — he liked the snuggery of the place ; and the
 
 476 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 curtained door of the, bed-room so tickled his fancy/ that, 
 upon his return to London, he induced Mrs. S. to have a 
 similar one fitted to their own chamber in Keppel Street, 
 Bloomsbury. 
 
 Lady Frances was amongst the earliest up and ready for 
 the start : her carriage — her servants — all she had ever 
 had, wei'e prepared for her ladyship's reception ; and she 
 took special care, before her departure, to impress upon the 
 mind of the said Snell that it was a matter of perfect in- 
 difference to her whether George had the barony or had it 
 not ; — that she was on her way to her brother, the jMarquis 
 of Pevensey, at Grimsbury, and that she hoped to live to 
 see her darling son cut out a peerage for himself with his 
 own " good sword." Indeed, her ladyship rallied pro- 
 digiously ; and, when she kissed George's cheek, no tear 
 was visible in her eye, although it was observed that im- 
 mediately after she had seated herself in the carriage she 
 pulled down the blinds, — whether to conceal her natural 
 grief, or disappoint the gazers of the town through which 
 she was to pass, history has not determined. 
 
 George had to write to Lovell, and the letter was an 
 arduous and a painful task : he had to express how com- 
 pletely all his grandeur had vanished — how shorn he was 
 of his dignities, and how deserted by his parasites and fol- 
 lowers : he had to admit that, although lie had con- 
 descended to bow to the shrine of rank and connection, he 
 had been spurned and rejected ; and that the example set 
 by Emma Lovell upon a high principle had been followed 
 by Lady Catherine uj)on an extremely low one. He had 
 to announce his departure for sea — his separation, in all 
 probability final, from the Lovclls — his consequent dig.- 
 regard for what Mrs. ILirbottle had bid him consider as 
 her dying request, and to confess his own unworthiness in 
 the course he had pursued, and proclaim the retributive 
 justice by which his vacillating conduct had been rewarded. 
 All this he had to do; convinced now, more than ever, that 
 Emma would refuse any thing like an advance on his part, 
 even if he could so far humiliate himself as to appear before 
 her, the beaten pretender to exalted rank, and the discarded 
 suitor of illustrious beauty.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 477 
 
 No, he was destined to be unhappy — his mother's pride 
 had decitled his fate, and he was bound to endure the con- 
 sequences ; and the more he reflected upon the way in 
 which, in point of fact, he had ventured to trifle with MifS 
 Lovell's feelings, the more he felt convinced of the impos- 
 sibility of overcoming her resolutions ; because, as has 
 been argued over and over agahi in the course of this little 
 narrative, the very fact of his doubting her excellence, and 
 propriety, and even virtue — upon which doubts all his 
 follies and all his excuses were grounded — was of itself 
 so gross an insult, that she never would or could forgive 
 it. 
 
 All he did in his letter to Lovell was to explain suc- 
 cinctly Avhat had happened to deprive him of the honours 
 which he had so briefly enjoyed, and to assUre Mr. Lovell, 
 generally, that every request of his should be attended to. 
 He gav^e a programme of his future proceedings, and begged 
 to receive a letter while he was at Portsmouth. 
 
 George still lingered about Severnstoke. He could 
 scarcely believe that no note had been left by MacGopus : 
 he wandered from room to room — not that he felt an 
 unmanly or needless grief at quitting them as their owner 
 — but because many eventful hours had passed within 
 them ; and there was something melancholy in seeing the 
 men jotting down the different articles of furniture, and 
 measuring, and spanning, and stretching, and shaking, and 
 putting every thing in order. However, all this feverish 
 sensation was doomed to have an end ; and about two 
 o'clock he quitted his lost paradise, having delivered it over 
 to Snell, who took repossession of it and all its appurten- 
 ances in the name of its rightful owner. 
 
 The Captain — for so we must now call him — pro- 
 ceeded direct for Bath, which he expected to reach about 
 ten o'clock. There he intended to sleep ; and thence, pro- 
 ceeding the next morning, he would reach Portsmouth in 
 time for a late dinner. The morning after that, accoutred 
 with his newly anchored epaulettes, he would commission 
 his ship, and there establish himself till she was ready for 
 sea — making the George his head-quarters, — devoting 
 himself, heart and soul, to the work of fltting out.
 
 478 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 All this was executed according to the design^ and, by 
 half-past eight o'clock on the second evening from his de- 
 parture, the travelling chariot of Captain Sheringham — 
 the coronets painted out by a coach-maker in the town 
 near Severnstoke — drove up to the door of the George, 
 and the gallant Captain of H. M. S. Destructive was 
 ushered into the parlour on the left-hand of the hall, which, 
 although small and on the ground floor, possessed the 
 striking recommendation of a blazing fire ; and wherein, 
 without further ceremony, he resolved to ensconce himself, 
 until he could " rig himself out" in proper form to visit 
 the Admiral in the morning, whose immediate proximity 
 rendered his present quarters particularly convenient. 
 
 His mother said he had an elastic mind, and so he had 
 — for, upon taking up the London newspaper of the day, 
 in order to amuse himself while his dinner was getting 
 ready, he found the whole detail of his discomfiture as to 
 the peerage, and the subsequent sudden breaking off of the 
 Malvern match, printed and published at full length for 
 the edification of the town and country ; still his griefs 
 were of a deeper caste — his cares of a more complicated 
 character ; and the very fact that other thoughts occupied 
 him, and other objects interested him, was, perhaps, the 
 greatest blessing that could have befallen him. 
 
 His deeper sorrows were, however, suspended in the 
 necessity of getting scarlet facings put to his uniform coat : 
 having changed kings, the navy had changed colour since 
 he had served. The buttons, too, which before had been 
 in one shape, were now to be placed in another ; and the 
 skirts were to be differently cut ; and there was to be no 
 gold lace where there had been gold lace formerly ; and 
 gold lace now where gold lace had never yet been, and his 
 sword-belt was to be half an inch wider ; and the seam of 
 his pantaloons an inch and a quarter narrower ; and he was 
 not to wear a sword such as he had, but one with another 
 sort of hilt ; and he was to "bend" a differently shaped 
 hat; and a bullion-loop instead of a laced one — and so 
 on, as the tailor told him, producing the corroborative re- 
 gulations, stitched into a sort of pattern-book. All these 
 details, and others of a similarly important nature, forced
 
 THE parson's daughter. 479 
 
 the gallant Captain from the contemplation of his own per- 
 sonal hardships. 
 
 As he had renounced all patronage in the appointment 
 of officers to the Destructive, he was saved much trouble 
 in applications, and many painful necessities of refusal. 
 He longed to be on board the hooker ; and really so busied 
 himself in making out lists and memoranda of what he had 
 to do " for the good of the service," that he scarcely re- 
 collected what he had so recently lost, or whence he had so 
 suddenly fallen. 
 
 "\rhile the Captain is making his preparations, it may be 
 necessary to state that Mr. Crabshaw, who was rather more 
 of a dandy than a tutor need be, and who, as has been 
 already stated, had taken the most violent offence at some 
 observations of Lady Frances, which he thought appHed 
 more personally to himself than there was any necessity 
 for, had arrived in Paris only eight hours before the young 
 lord. His lordship, who was really attached to Crabshaw, 
 naturally took his impressions from that gentleman's account 
 of his relatives ; and tliat report coming after the constantly 
 avowed dislike of his late father and mother for Lady 
 Frances, induced the young nobleman at once to throw 
 himself into the hands of his Stultzified Mentor, and agree 
 to whatever course he thought fit to propose. 
 
 Crabshaw, who had consulted the lawyers previously to 
 his departure, merely repeated what Messrs. AVickins, 
 Snell, and Sibthorpe suggested, — that the safest and best 
 way would be — more especially considering that the actual 
 possession of the rents, estates, and property by the sup- 
 posed Lord Weybridge would involve important matters of 
 account — for Crabshaw, in the character of prochuin ami 
 to the young nobleman, to file a bill in Chancery, so as to 
 make his lordship a ward of court ; — a measure which 
 would at once put him out of any power or influence which 
 (ieorge or his mother might be supposed to be desirous of 
 exercising over him, and render the proceedings connected 
 with pecuniary matters less irksome than if the case were 
 not taken entirely under the Chancellor's jurisdiction. 
 
 Lord Weybridge, who had been received with the great- 
 est kindness by our minister in Paris, and, indeed, remained
 
 480 THE parson's paughter. 
 
 at his hotel during his stay in that city, thus took the most 
 prudent step which could be suggested ; and of course ren- 
 dered poor George liable, without hope of mitigation or 
 any great delay, for all the expenditure in which he had 
 indulged, and all the rents and proceeds which he had re- 
 ceived, in order to defray the charges of maintaining the 
 honour and character of a title which he vainly fancied his 
 own. 
 
 But this was not the only rub he met with. The news 
 of his degradation from the peerage had reached the Admiral 
 before his arrival at Portsmoutii ; and he found a letter 
 from the First Lord, stating that, under the circumstances, 
 he thought he could not expect the ship for which he had 
 appUed — that the promotion had been made, and the com- 
 mission transmitted, under an idea that he actually was the 
 person whom he had represented himself to be ; and that, 
 although the Admiralty were not disposed to wound his 
 feelings by making any alteration in their decision as far as 
 his post-rank went, the ship was wholly out of the question. 
 
 Hereupon a correspondence ensued, in which George 
 stated that he was authorised to commission the Destructive 
 as a post-captain, and not as a peer ; and that it was a 
 case which would aJmit of no equivocation. He was re- 
 plied to; the answer was bungling — it had all the demerit 
 of being shabby without the reileeming quality of cleverness, 
 and to loggerheads they went ; — and the First Lord at last 
 finding it impossible to sneak out, and not being at that 
 period entirely callous to shame, George was permitted to 
 have his ship, liut lier destination was changed, and he 
 was ordered to take out a governor, his lady, two daughters, 
 one son (his aid_de-camp), another son (his secretary), 
 three horses, two cows, four housemaids, a butler, and two 
 footmen, together with one hundred and thirty-eight pack- 
 ages of all sorts, three pointers, and a Newfoundland dog: 
 for all of wliich persons and things Captain Sheringham - 
 was ordered to make suitable accommodation. 
 
 Down went the bulkheads — up went the green-baize par- 
 titions ; — liere was the governor's sleeping- cabin — his lady's 
 sitting-cabin — and opposite, the young ladies' berth, which 
 was death to them. Holes were cut in the deck for
 
 THE parson's daughter. 481 
 
 stanchions for the aid-cle-camp's cot^ and the secretary's 
 cot — a screened-ofF place was made up for the maids, and 
 there were coops for the dogs, and a pen for the cows^ and 
 the horses were slung down into stalls, and four guns were 
 run in, to make room for the stud — so that, what with 
 the cattle, cats, canary-birds, men, maids, and materiel, 
 H.iM.S. Destructive looked more like Noah's Ark than any 
 thing that has been since seen floating upon the face of the 
 waters, except my Lord INfayor's barge on the river Thames 
 when his lordship is graciously pleased to go swan-hopping. 
 
 All this George was forced to endure ; and luckily, too, 
 for there were bustle, and excitement, and variety in all the 
 proceedings connected with his departure, which diverted 
 his thoughts from subjects in fact much nearer his heart. 
 
 The day of departure was at hand. His Excellency 
 and family arrived at the George, and Sheringham pro- 
 ceeded to introduce himself: the aid-de-camp and the 
 secretary proceeded on board, examined and reported mos-t 
 enthusiastically of the admirable accommodations, and en- 
 deavoured to cheer up the young ladies into something like 
 composure at abandoning their native country, Almack's, 
 and all the rest of it ; and nothing was wanting but a 
 slight shift of wind from the south-west to separate them 
 from all their dear friends and acquaintances in happy 
 England. 
 
 On the morning following the arrival of the honourable 
 exiles, George received two letters ; one from Lovell, 
 couched in the most friendly terms, entreating George to 
 bear up against the sports or rather frowns of fortune, as- 
 suring him of tlie deep interest he took in his welfare, and 
 of the anxiety with which he should watch his progress. 
 The old gentleman announced a change for the better in 
 the health of their dear suffering friend ; and, to Shering- 
 ham' s delight and surprise, concluded his welcome epistle 
 by conveying hira Emma's desire to be particularly re- 
 membered to him, as well as her best wishes for his hap- 
 piness and prosperity. 
 
 It seemed to him — but it was almost impossible — as 
 if she had begun to relent in her resolution to abandon 
 him for ever : and if there were any alloy to his pleasure 
 
 I I
 
 482 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 in receiving her good wishes, it arose from the apprehension 
 that he was running away from a chance of happiness, and 
 that he might have obtained her forgiveness and her hand 
 if he had remained at home : that, however, was now past 
 — it was all too late to think of Avhat might have been. 
 The first lieutenant had sent a note on shore to the Cap- 
 tain, to say he thought the wind was getting round to the 
 northward, with a view to hurry the embarkation of the 
 noble passengers ; and such was George's anxiety to lose 
 no time, that he had scarcely given himself a moment to 
 open the second letter w^hich was addressed to him. It 
 proved, however, to be from MacGopus, from whom he 
 had, to his infinite surprise and disgust, heard not one 
 syllable since his abrupt departure from Severnstoke. It 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 «' On board the Dolly, Woolwich, Jan. 1831. 
 " Dear George : 
 
 " You will see by the date of this that I am afloat. I 
 shall pass you at Portsmouth, I hope, in three days from 
 this, if the wind comes fair when we get into the Downs. 
 
 " When I left your house I went to London, thinking 
 I had interest to get the appointment of agent to one of 
 the convict ships bound to New South "Wales. I was 
 right — but I did more — I found a fiiend who was just 
 starting in this craft, who wished to remain in England 
 for a month or six weeks longer : we effected an exchange ; 
 and here I am riding, at single anchor, with three hundred 
 and twenty-four of the most desperate ruffians unhanged 
 under my charge. 
 
 " Perhaps you have called me a brute for quitting you 
 so abruptly ; and perhaps you will think me a fool for 
 taking to the water agaui after having dried my feathers. 
 I will explain all that — I could not bear to see you in 
 your unhappiness. I hate leave-taking — so much for my 
 brutality. As for my folly — I had saved up about three 
 thousand pounds during thirty years' service ; upon the 
 interest of which, with my half-pay and my sinall wants, 
 I contrived to live pretty well ; but I have work in me 
 yet, and why should 1 lie idle ? Your fall was a sudden
 
 THE parson's daughter. 483 
 
 and a painful one to me. Your mother had told me how 
 much involved she was, in consequence of fitting up and 
 altering that jigameree cottage at the place where we went 
 to the man's funeral who killed your friend. The attorney 
 told me there would be a claim against you of nearly 
 twenty thousand pounds. I thought to myself that was 
 hard — it was no fault of yours — and I thought you 
 would want money to fit you out and make a fresh start. 
 I sold out my savings at no bad time either, and you will 
 find enclosed a draft on the Bank of England for two 
 thousand seven hundred pounds : take it. I appoint you 
 my banker till I come home — if ever I do — if not, I 
 shall not want it. I know you are as proud as Lucifer, 
 and that 's the reason why I did not send it to you till 
 your anchor was a-peak, blue-peter up, and fore-topsail 
 loose. 
 
 " You cannot catch me, George ; and all I hope is, this 
 will catch you in time to be of use. Nobody ever played 
 his cards so badly as you have done ; but that 's your af- 
 fair. I don't mean to bore you with sermons, only reiy 
 upon it you have had a good escape from that Lady Cathe- 
 rine — or Catamaran, or whatever they call her. 
 
 '"' I expect to get to Sydney somewhere about June, and 
 if I can manage, when I have landed my cargo and I am 
 turned adrift, to get home by Calcutta, I may have a 
 chance of seeing you. Good-bye, dear Sheringham, and 
 believe me always yours, 
 
 " Andrew MacGopus.'' 
 
 ''Qusere.'' why do they call your frigate the Destructive? " 
 
 George was quite overcome by reading this extraordinary 
 letter — a letter at once characteristic of its writer's pecu- 
 liarities, and illustrative of his higher qualities. The act it 
 announced was princely, and (ieorge could not but reflect 
 on the vast injustice he had for so many years done the 
 character of his excellent friend. 
 
 To decline the offer made was impossible; it might 
 jeopardise the money which the worthy man had placed at 
 his disposal ; George, therefore, repaid from that fund 
 
 II 2
 
 484 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 some advances which he had required from his agent, and 
 paid the remainder into his hands, determined to restore 
 during his period of service that of which he had availed 
 himself ; but he felt, however secure of repaying the Doc- 
 tor his mere money, that he could never sufficiently exhibit 
 his gratitude to a man who had overthrown the whole 
 system, and scatteretl all the savings of his life for his sake, 
 Avithout hope of advantage or even security for his money. 
 
 All that was necessary to be done touching this matter 
 Captain Sheringham did forthwith, and when he went on 
 board the frigate he felt a longing hope that he might fall 
 in with the Dolly in the Channel, although the prevalence 
 of the south-westers rendered it improbable ; especially as 
 H. M. S. Destructive took the earhest advantage of the 
 change, and with her yards nearly square, scudded away 
 before a fresh breeze at the rate of nine knots an hour. 
 
 Nautical scenes have of late years been so amply and 
 admirably described, that it would be idle to attempt to say 
 one word upon the subject of the proceedings of H. M. S. 
 during her voyage to India. She experienced very little 
 bad weather — touched at the Cape — remained there four 
 days — and reached her destination on the seventh day of 
 May, without having suffered any damage or loss of any 
 of the passengers, except one cock canary bird, and his Ex- 
 cellency's Newfoundland dog. Barring these casualties, 
 the reader may put his mind at rest, and ])icture the gal- 
 lant frigate at anchor in Sagor CHiannel, in five fathoms 
 water, about six miles to the northward of the Reef-buoy, 
 waiting for a pilot. 
 
 As the captain and his ship are destined, according to the 
 regulations of the service, to remain three years on the 
 Indian station, we shall have plenty of time, during their 
 absence from England, to cast our eyes upon what is going 
 on at home.
 
 THE parson's daughter. 485 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Oh, name him not, unless it be 
 
 In terms I shall not blush to hear; 
 Oh, name him not, though false to me. 
 
 Forget not he was once so dear. 
 Oh, think'of former happy days, 
 
 When none could breath a dearer name ; 
 And if you can no longer praise. 
 
 Be silent, and forbear to blame. 
 
 He may be all that you have heard ; 
 
 If prov'd, 'twere folly to defend : 
 Yet pause ere you believe one word 
 
 Breathed 'gainst t!ie honour of a friend. 
 How many seem in haste to tell 
 
 What friends can never wish to know ; 
 I answer — once I knew him well. 
 
 And then, at least, it was not so. T. HiYNES Baylt. 
 
 There seemed something like a fate hanging over George's 
 proceedings, connected with his attachment to Emma 
 Lovell. — Her just resentment, and her father's natural 
 indignation, were much weakened by the news of his 
 *' reduction" from the peerage, and of the difficulties which, 
 it was very speedily known, would consequently accumu- 
 late upon him ; but what might have been the result of 
 this change of sentiment, it was now vain and idle to con- 
 sider ; the die was cast, and the gallant Sheringham was 
 ploughing the deep. 
 
 Mrs. Harbottle, in her then state of exhaustion, could 
 scarcely sufficiently exert herself to express her anger and 
 vexation at the course he had pursued, after he had, by 
 their own act, got disentangled from the connection with 
 the Duchess and her daughter. Lovell and Emma, whom 
 she had kept in profound ignorance of the nature and 
 character of the communication she had made to him at 
 Severnstoke, could scarcely account for the energy she dis- 
 played, or the disappointment she avowed in discussing his 
 later proceedings. Jiut Fanny herself felt seriously grieved, 
 that, after all she had openly said, and all she had not very 
 mysteriously hinted, he had not, at least, made an effort to 
 exculpate himself in the eyes of the being who still fondly 
 loved him, and tried to reinstate himself in her favour, 
 
 II 3
 
 486 THE parson's daughtkr. 
 
 knowing how earnestly his endeavours that way tending 
 would have been seconded by his most friendly corre- 
 spondent. 
 
 It seemed really as if the disappointment of her hopes 
 and expectations, on this point, had more severely affected 
 her than the severity of her own misfortunes : she felt 
 that, in her own case, the evil was irremediable, the hope 
 was past ; but, in this affair the hope remained, and she 
 felt assured that all the ills by which it was environed 
 might have been overcome by a little prudence and con- 
 sideration on the part of the most interested person, who, 
 as it struck her, having escaped the real evil which had 
 threatened his happiness, chose voluntarily to sacrifice 
 himself to an imaginary misfortune. 
 
 So it was — he was gone — and three long tedious 
 years were to pass before his return to England. 
 
 " That return," said Fanny, " I shall never see. Care 
 and kindness, and the strength of my constitution, keep me 
 up against the progress of my disorder, but I feel myself 
 daily sinking from a world in which I have no wish to re- 
 main — every prospect of happiness, which I had myself 
 anticipated has been blighted ; and now the only gratifica- 
 tion I looked for, in an endeavour to make the happiness of 
 others, is frustrated. 
 
 In the meanwhile time went on, and the festive season 
 at Grimsbury passed away, and Lord I'evensey's party 
 broke up, and his lordship repaired to London to fulfil his 
 parliamentary duties. The course which Lady Frances 
 felt compelled to steer was somewhat more dubious and ec- 
 centric. — She had received, at Christmas, divers and 
 sundry *' lengthy bills" from the upholsterer, paper hangers, 
 and decorators, &c. ; accounts, most hieroglypbically con- 
 structed, from carpenters and joiners — hundreds of feet of 
 plinths, at so much per foot, super. ; circular dados grooved 
 and backed ; door-linings and sofFets rebated on edge, three- 
 pannelled and moulded and string-boards, with moulded 
 nosings, mitred to risers ; mahogany hand-rails to stairs, 
 cross-handed cramjis and knees, drift iP-'*. ^d. per foot 
 running; triglypbs — common modillions — pilasters fluted 
 with capitals, sash panes, &c. &c. &c.j plumbers and
 
 THE parson's daughter. 487 
 
 plasterers, with all their quirks and wood-beads, and en- 
 richments of cornices ; and painters and paviours — 
 amounting, as has already been anticipated, to the gross 
 produce of her ladyship's income for the next three years. 
 
 The delay in her ladyship's return to Binford, after her 
 departure from Grimsbury, caused some little alarm to the 
 expectant handicraftsmen ; but they waited patiently until 
 they had received authentic accounts of her ladyship's 
 having disposed of her lease of the cottage, with all the 
 furniture as it stood, and of her having commenced a series 
 of soirees (as the elite of the city call evening parties, and 
 fancy it fine) at the pleasant and salubrious town of 
 Boulogne-sur-Mer, to which fashionable watering-place 
 her ladyship had removed for the benefit of "■ her health." 
 
 The young Lord Weybridge, who, on his arrival in 
 England, had placed himself entirely in the hands of Mr. 
 Crabshaw, took no kind of notice of his right honourable 
 aunt : indeed, the character which her ladyship received at 
 the hands of the tutor, followed up by the general on dit of 
 her conduct with regard to the transactions at Binford, 
 was not of a nature to induce him to seek out a branch of 
 his family, against which it was most hkely he should be 
 compelled to enter into legal hostilities. 
 
 As the spring opened, Mrs. Harbottle, instead of rallying, 
 appeared to grow weaker and weaker — her mind was con- 
 stantly worried and agitated, and it was impossible to keep 
 her from a constant recurrence to all that had passed of 
 wretchedness during the last year. Lovell, without whose 
 society and that of his daughter she could not have existed, 
 had been peculiarly fortunate in making an arrangement 
 with the incumlient of a parish near Sidmouth, wlio gladly 
 exchanged duties with him for six months, after his own 
 full period of absence from Binfortl had expired ; and 
 although Emma cast many a thought of affectionate regret 
 upon her little establishments in her own village, she did all 
 she could by insuring the paternal kindness of her father's 
 substitute there — while she set her parishioners the ex- 
 ample of benevolence and charity, by devoting all the time 
 she could spare from the invalid to the institutions of a 
 
 1x4
 
 488 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 similar nature, which had been established in the beautiful 
 and romantic village where they were now located. 
 
 Fanny's health stiU declined. — It is needless to pain the 
 reader's heart by describing the gradual decay which one 
 has so often, anxiously yet hopelessly, watched in young 
 and delicate creatures like herself. The progress of her 
 disorder was gentle, but sure; and the only point in which 
 her case seemed to differ from others, which have so often 
 wrung the hearts of fond and affectionate friends and re- 
 lations, appeared to exist in the circumstance of her being 
 fully aware of the seriousness of her condition. Thus pre- 
 pared for the awful change which she was conscious awaited 
 her, she lingered mider the fostering care of her devoted 
 friends until the middle of August, when she resigned her 
 spirit into the hands of Plim who gave it, and her last 
 breath was expended in a prayer for the happiness of her 
 friends and the forgiveness of her enemies. 
 
 The doubts and apprehensions under which Mr. Lovell 
 laboured with respect to the disposition of her property, 
 were cleared up a few hours before her death. Her object 
 in inducing them to precede her in the journey to Mine- 
 head (a circumstance which we noticed at the time) had 
 not been one of selfish consideration for her own ease and 
 comfort. She proposed this temporary separation, in order 
 that she might take that opportunity of making a will, 
 under legal advice and instruction, by Avhich she bequeathed, 
 with the exception of one legacy to her aunt Jarman, the 
 whole of her ])roperty, real and personal^ to her " beloved 
 and devoted friend, Emma Lovell." 
 
 The reader may have naturally anticipated this proceed- 
 ing, having liad the advantage of seeing the letter which 
 she wrote to George while at Severnstoke ; but aware as 
 she was of the delicacy of Emma's feelings, and anxious- 
 that the world should be convinced of the disinterestedness 
 of her kiiulness and that of her excellent parent, she never 
 divulged one syllable of her intentions to either of them on 
 the subject. 
 
 Thus ended the life of an ill-fated, kind-hearted woman ; 
 and pure, and good, and exemplary as she was, her fate 
 should be a caution to those whoj without the least ill in-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 489 
 
 tention, give way to feelings which, when once they are 
 suffered to make head against principle and resolution, are 
 most difficult to overcome. She had not sinned — but she 
 had erred ; and venal as her crime had been, it had, proxi- 
 mately or remotely, brought death and sin upon those who 
 were most nearly allied to her, and drew down grief and 
 desolation upon herself and on her house. Blame not — 
 censure not — for ye are weak yourselves — but pity and 
 forgive — and, above all, take warning. 
 
 The accession to so vast a fortune as that of which Emma 
 was now mistress, had not the startling effect upon " the 
 Parson's Daughter" which might have been expected. In 
 fact, she did not comprehend the extent of her possessions 
 — nor did her mind, at ease with what she had, and seek- 
 ing only to do good within her sphere, at once grasp the 
 importance of the change which had occurred to her : in- 
 deed, the loss of her friend, and, for a long time past^ her 
 only companion, was to her a blow, the weight of which 
 the accession of all this wealth could but slightly alleviate. 
 Fanny knew her heart to its very core — they had been 
 strangely mixed up in each other's distresses — she could 
 talk of Sheringham to her, and she loved to hear her speak 
 of him : different her father — but she was gone, and the 
 only consolation she had in her sorrows was torn from her. 
 
 The remains of the unhappy widow were interred in 
 the church of which Lovell w as the temporary minister ; 
 and, immediately after the affecting ceremony, the Rector 
 returned to his daughter at their residence, and almost 
 immediately afterwards quitted it on their road home- 
 wards. It may sound strange, perhaps — but Emma, 
 under the circumstances of her affliction, felt that she 
 should be comparatively easier at Binford, excluded from 
 the world, in the scenes of her former happiness, than any 
 where else ; but time, and the exercise of human reason 
 and of pious resignation, were wanting to alleviate a grief, 
 the like of which JOmma had never felt since her poor 
 mother died. 
 
 What may be the extent of the power and influence of 
 sympathy, it is not for us poor finite creatures to know; 
 but we may venture to relate facts, and permit speculative
 
 490 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 philosophers to draw their own conclusions. At the 
 period of Fanny's melancholy death and Emma's conse- 
 quent distress, George Sheringham lay stretched on a bed 
 of sickness at Calcutta;, whence it was found impossible to 
 remove him. 
 
 During the voyage his spirits had been dreadfully 
 affected : there had arisen some squabbling differences 
 amongst his noble passengers, and thence between them 
 and himself, and he was worried, and became nervous and 
 dejected : they fell into extremely hot weather, and he was 
 attacked with fever, from which he never entirely recovered. 
 On reaching Fort William his illness increased, and in so 
 alarming a degree that the physicians declared nothing 
 likely to save his life but his proceeding, as soon as prac- 
 ticable, to a cooler climate, and their opinion was, that 
 nothing short of England could avail. 
 
 He remained, however, until the end of November be- 
 fore there seemed a chance of removing him with safety. 
 He had been invalided from the command of his frigate, 
 and a passage was secured for him in an Indiaman ; but 
 George lingered on, in hopes of the promised arrival of 
 MacGopus, in whose society he felt he should be much 
 happier than with strangers, and of whose medical skill he 
 had moreover the highest opinion: but it was not to be: 
 the uncertainties necessarily attendant upon voyages of 
 such a length, and the variability of seasons — of weather 
 — of wind — and, indeed, of opportunities, somehow pre- 
 vailed against their meeting ; and, early in the month of 
 December, the poor Captain was conveyed from his bun- 
 galow to the Hoogly, in his palanquin, and thence shipped 
 in his budgerow, in which he proceeded to embark in the 
 vessel which was to convey him to what every body who 
 saw him felt assured would be his grave. 
 
 Those, however, who anticipated this conclusion to his 
 career were fortunately disappointed : he was considera- 
 bly restored by the voyage, and before they reached St. He- 
 lena, at which place they touched, he was able to walk 
 without assistance ; and when he went ashore there, with 
 the aid only of a friend's arm, he proceeded on foot from 
 the landing-place to the hotel. This walk, however, re-
 
 THP parson's daughter. 491 
 
 paid him for the effort ; for what should gieet his eyes, as 
 he passed across the square from the castle to the inn, but 
 a tall, black-haired man, sitting curled up at a window, 
 airing himself, reading a two-year old number of Black- 
 wood. — He thought he knew him at a glance — but he 
 could scarcely trust his eyes, — not that it was an unlikely 
 place to find him — he however looked again, and when 
 he saw upon a little table beside him a round black snuff- 
 box, and a tall brown tumbler of brandy-and- water, he was 
 convinced — it was the truant Doctor — Andrew MacGopus 
 himself. 
 
 " You are a pretty fellow to make an appointment," 
 said George, as firmly as he was able (having, thanks to 
 the Doctor's near-sightedness, got Avithin reach of him un- 
 seen), giving him a huge slap on the shoulder at the same 
 time. 
 
 " Dunce !" cried the Doctor — " is it you — my dear 
 George ? — how are you ? — eh — where's Destructive ? — 
 what's the matter ? — are you ill ? " 
 
 "^ You must decide that question," said Sheringham : 
 " they say I am — or at least was, very ill — but, thank 
 God, I am better." 
 
 " I am not sure of that," said MacGopus ; '' show me 
 your tongue — let me feel your pulse. I want to know 
 how you are." 
 
 " And /," said Sheringham, " want to know why you 
 are here, instead of having, according to promise, come to 
 me at Calcutta, or followed me, as 1 know you would if 
 it had been necessary, to iNIadras ?" 
 
 " Why," said the Doctor, " in the first place, we got 
 bedevilled in a gale of wind going out, and were forced 
 to run for Ilio : there we were kept upwards of two 
 months for repairs, and (^Id Nick knows what : the Dolly 
 is a dull sailer, and we did not get to Syilney till the end 
 of October : in ten days I was on board a ship bound to 
 Calcutta — and, in twelve days more, I found the people 
 in her were beasts : in three weeks after that, 1 kicked 
 the doctor and pulled the skipper's nose, for which he is 
 going to trounce me at law when he gets to England. We 
 fell in with a country ship, th; Highgoliglitly, homeward
 
 > 
 
 492 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 bound — so I packed up my traps — out jolly-boat, and 
 aboard of her — and here I am — and there she is," 
 added MacGopus, pointing to a great, square brute, like a 
 collier, with her masts each raking from the other, like 
 the sticks of a fan, or the uplifted hand of Three-Fingered 
 Jack — of ]\Iosely memory. 
 
 At their first rencontre George affected to be jocose ; 
 but when he and IVIaeGopus were seated alone together, in 
 the cheap, clean, and convenient hostelry of James Town — 
 a house which blends comfort and economy in the most 
 surprising way, he did not lose a moment in expressing 
 in terras such as MacGopus did not desire to hear, his 
 gratitude for the unexampled kindness and consideration he 
 had evinced. 
 
 Their conversation became more and more interesting, 
 and the Doctor discovered (which, if he had thought upon 
 the subject, he must previously have known) that the Cap- 
 tain had not yet heard the news, which he had seen in 
 the English papers since his arrival at St, Helena, of the 
 death of Mrs. Harbottle. 
 
 " Ah," said George, " then there ends my last hope 
 about Emma. Fanny, perhaps, might have prevailed 
 upon her to receive a repentant sinner — a returned 
 truant — but now " 
 
 " She would not receive you," said MacGopus, " if 
 you had the whole bench of bishops at your heels — so 
 don't fret about that." 
 
 " ]\Iy dear MacGopus," said George, " I can neither 
 argue nor confute. I regret the loss of that poor amiable 
 woman ; and feeling myself so much mixed up in affairs 
 nearest her interests " 
 
 " Quaere, now — how ? " said the Doctor. 
 
 " Why, am I not her husband's executor } " said 
 George, 
 
 " If you had been his executioner, you would have done 
 no great harm," replied MacGopus, 
 
 "Come now, my dear friend — for so indeed and 
 truly have you proved yourself," said George — "let us 
 endeavour to agree — and above all, in one point — namely, 
 that of your immediately shifting your quarters out of
 
 THE parson's daughter. iQS 
 
 that most lumbering craft, the Highgolightly, into the 
 Honourable Company's ship. Sir Timothy Wadd — in 
 which, as there is a cabin to spare, we can accommodate 
 you." 
 
 " I can't do that," said the Doctor; "'because, three 
 days after I came on board the Highgolightly, I quarrelled 
 with all the passengers, and sent them all to ' Coventry.' 
 And I can't leave her till we get to England, lest I should 
 make them too happy, and they should think I was de- 
 serting my principles." 
 
 "Psha!" said Sheringham, "what idle trash! — 
 come to us — come to me ? You have put it out of my 
 power to doubt your friendship — come — " 
 
 " Ah ! " said MacGopus, " to be sure, yoxi are ill — 
 and sad — and sorry. I'll just step over to Portis's, and 
 see the skipper — give him my opinion of his passengers, 
 and send my traps on board. Qusere — what d'ye call 
 the Hon. Company's ship ? " 
 
 " The Sir Timothy 'NFadd," said Sheringham, "which, 
 I assure you, with the hencoops and bottle-racks stowed 
 amid -ships, and the Honourable John Company's stripes 
 flying, had once the honour of being taken for an American 
 seventy-four." 
 
 " None of your jibes. Master George," said ]MacGopus ; 
 " recollect what Dance did to Linois, before you were 
 born or soon after. These fellows may be tea-dealers for 
 all I know ; but rely upon it, whenever there's occasion 
 for it, they'll try what their gunpowder can do to save their 
 hyson." 
 
 " A pun, j\Iac," said George. 
 
 I believe it's the first I ever let," said MacGopus: 
 it shall be the last." 
 
 It is curious to witness natural effects. Never was a 
 hydrangia, hanging its cauliflowery head, more rapidly re- 
 vived into a state of erect healthfulness by a gallon of 
 water, than was the Captain re-invigorated by thus meet- 
 ing with his excellent Doctor. He had confidence in his 
 friendship and faith in his skill, and the change worked in 
 his spirits, and consequently (since the greatest part of 
 his disorder was nervous) upon his health, was miraculous.
 
 494 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 Their arranj^ements completed, away bowled the H.C.S. 
 Sir Timothy Wadd, bearing within her ample ribs the 
 convalescent George and his invaluable but extraordinary 
 friend. 
 
 The art and science of navigation are now brought to 
 such a nicety, and more especially in the East India Com- 
 pany's service, where every officer undergoes a course of 
 probationary work to fit him for his duty, that it would 
 interest a reader quite as much to give him the history of 
 the journey of an omnibus from Paddington to the Bank, 
 as it would to present him with the log of this Sir Timothy 
 Wadd : the only difference between the passages is the 
 frequency of touching in the one case, which does not cer- 
 tainly occur so often in the other: however, the end jus- 
 tifying the means, and the means having produced a more 
 justifiable end, we have only need to know that the afore- 
 said Sir Timothy Wadd reached Deal in the midtlle of the 
 night, between the first and second of June, when it was 
 just sufficiently light for MacGopus to make out the out- 
 lines of the land, and congratulate himself that he was 
 back again in bonny England. 
 
 George Sheringham and his friend landed immediately, 
 and proceeded to Mr. ^Vright's at Dover, whence, when 
 they had rested themselves for the night, they proposed to 
 proceed to London. All these intentions were fulfilled, 
 and in the morning they quitted the Ship Inn for the me- 
 tropolis, George so wonderfully recovered from his severe 
 illness as only to exhi1)it proofs of im{)roved health — and 
 MacGopus in a humour which deserved to be recorded with 
 the whitest of all stones. 
 
 The intelligence of Sheringham's having been invalided 
 had reached Jl^nglaiul in the preceding January or Fe- 
 bruary, and consequently his London agent, instead of 
 forwarding his letters, had retained them all ; so that, upon 
 his arrival at his office, he found, literally, heaps of cor- 
 respondence. To open these communications in any thing 
 like chronological order was a vain attempt ; and there- 
 fore, taking a whole summer's day to read through them, 
 he received facts the most incongruous, and intelligence 
 the most anomalous. lie found, however, that his mother
 
 THE parson's daughter. 495 
 
 had been driven to the opposite coast, and that the person 
 to whom she had sold her house at Binford had paid no 
 rent to the original landlord, that every thing there was in 
 a dreadful state of confusion, and that the aristocratic 
 name of Sheringham did not stand quite so high as it pre- 
 viously had done in those parts. He found, moreover, 
 several letters from Mr. Snell, stating in different forms 
 that the Court of Chancery had called upon all persons in 
 account with the estate of Lord Sheringham to pay up the 
 amount of his claims forthwith ; and he found himself 
 threatened, on his arrival in England, with a process to 
 enforce that payment, which would instantly deprive him 
 of his liberty, and consign him to prison for life, or at 
 least until the claim was satisfied. 
 
 Poor George ! — how highly had his expectations been 
 exalted — how deeply had they fallen ! — AVhat was he to 
 do ? — Follow his mother, whose flight from England had 
 so seriously annoyed him — or consent to remain a captive 
 during his whole existence ? — and all these perils and 
 difficulties had fallen upon him without his having com- 
 mitted one single act of vice or folly. One letter at length 
 caught his eye — the writing of the superscription was 
 familiar to it — he broke it open and read 
 
 " Grosvenor-Square, Sept. 18. 1832. 
 " My Dear Captain Sheringham, 
 
 " I write this letter, and, according to advice which I 
 have received at the Admiralty Office, direct it to be left 
 at your agent's, so that it may catch you as soon as you 
 reach London. Many things have hapi)oned since your 
 departure from amongst us — some, I fear, most disagree- 
 able in their nature ; as far as I am able, I shall have 
 great pleasure in smoothing over difficulties wliicli may 
 threaten your personal comfort and peace of mind. 
 
 '• I conclude you are acquainted with the death of our 
 excellent suffering friend, Mrs. Harbottle — her heart was 
 broken, and she sank under her afflictions. You, perlia|)s, 
 do not know that she has bequeathed the whole of her 
 vast property to my daughter ; and still more, perhaps, 
 shall I surprise you, when I tell you that my child has
 
 4'96 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 purchased the house whence I date this, from your suc- 
 cessor, the present Lord "Weybridge, who, it appears, under 
 the persuasion of Mr. Crabshaw, his tutor, prefers a resi- 
 dence in France to one in England, and has, after a short 
 residence in London, returned to Paris for a permanency. 
 
 " That we should be in possession of a residence which 
 you intended for yourself, may, according to your view of 
 the case-- or may not be — a reason why we should so- 
 licit the pleasure of seeing you in it ; but that is matter 
 for after-consideration. 
 
 " Mrs. Harbottle, whose interest in you was extremely 
 strong, conscious of the involvements in which the extra- 
 ordinary circumstances of your temporary possession of the 
 title and estates of AVeybridge would infallibly entangle you, 
 bequeathed to me, in trust, such a sum as should entirely 
 clear you from all difficulties on that score ; and I have 
 great pleasure in informing you, that, in pursuance of her 
 dying request, I have paid over to the account of the pre- 
 sent Lord AVeybridge, by the hands of Messrs. ^Vickins, 
 Snellj and Sibthorpe, the sum of twenty-one thousand 
 three hundred and seven pounds, eighteen shillings, and 
 ten pence, being the full and entire amount of their claim 
 against you." 
 
 " What on earth have I done," said George, his eyes 
 overflowing with tears, " to deserve this of any human 
 being ! " He took up the letter again, and resumed : — 
 
 " All that our dear friend added after she had expressed 
 her wish with regard to this point, was — ' entreat him to 
 remember what he knows I considered my dying request 
 at the time I made it.' " 
 
 George could read no farther at the moment — too well 
 did he remember the dying request — too well did he know 
 that he could not now fulfil it. What a metamorphosis — 
 the Lovells domesticated in what was once his house — 
 Binford exchanged for Grosvenor Square ! Every thing 
 seemed to conspire against him — now would he be 
 spurned, rejected, and disdained indeed. He read : —
 
 THE parson's daughter. 497 
 
 " My daughter, who has suffered greatly from illness 
 since the death of her poor friend, is somewhat better. 
 We shall be happy if you will come to us here, should we 
 be in London when you arrive. I ought, perhaps, to add, 
 that I have resigned my living at Binford in favour of my 
 excellent and exemplary curate, and too happy was I to 
 find the good bishop of my diocese ready to second my 
 wishes for the promotion and happiness of as deserving a 
 man as ever lived." 
 
 " What am I to do, MacGopus ? " said George to the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Go to them," said the Doctor; " they have hearts — 
 they have souls — God bless them ! — go to them." 
 
 "^ What ! " said George, " to the Parson's Daughter ? " 
 
 " Yes," repHed MacGopus ; " do you hesitate ? " 
 
 " No," said Sheringham. 
 
 " If you do," said MacGopus, " read this, or let me 
 read it. It's merely a paragraph out of a newspaper; 
 will you hear it } " 
 
 " If it 's not long — yes." 
 
 " ' The lady who last week eloped from her ancient 
 husband, wdth Captain Fuztip, of the Lancers, is, we re- 
 gret to say, the lovely and accomplished Lady C 
 
 H •, daughter of the Duchess of M .' Is not 
 
 that consolatory ? And now, my friend, I will tell you 
 another fact. The picture that dear creature painted of 
 you, and which she or her mother crammed behind the 
 sofa when she found out you were not a lord, is now 
 stuck over the door of a beer-shop not forty yards from the 
 gates of Severnstoke, and does duty for the sign of Leopold, 
 King of the Belgians. This I have just heard. Go — 
 go— go!" — 
 
 "■ Hang the picture," said George ; " what do I care ? 
 But tell me, do you think Emma wiU receive me } — and 
 to my own house .^ How strange!" 
 
 " Quere — how your own ? " — said the Doctor ; " it 
 never was your's, you never had any right to it, go 
 along." 
 
 " Come with me," said George. 
 
 K II
 
 498 THP parson's daughter. 
 
 " I will." 
 
 And so they went — either of them commanding the 
 other^ and neither exactly knowing what they were going 
 for. They quarrelled a good deal on the way, and the only 
 thing in which they really agreed was in arriving at the 
 door of the house at the same moment. IMacGopus knocked 
 — Sheringham rang ; thus for once they pulled together. 
 Lovell was at home : they were admitted. The worthy 
 man, unaltered in his manner, received them both cor- 
 dially. George trembled as he had never done before in 
 his life ; a thousand ideas rushed into his mind ; a thou, 
 sand recollections, a thousand fears, and all the conscious- 
 ness of what was past. 
 
 Lovell saw it all. 
 
 " My dear Sheringham," said the venerable and ex- 
 cellent man, " the last year or two of your life have been 
 marked by strange vicissitudes and events of great im- 
 portance, for little people, have fallen upon those with 
 Avhom you have been intimately connected. All that is 
 past : now hear me. You are going to see Emma — the 
 best of children — devoted to her father as her father is 
 devoted to her. Mark me ; she is too full of feeling — too 
 much overpowered by the prospect of this interview, to 
 speak ; I must therefore speak for her. Your mutual 
 attachment has long been known to me : all this you are 
 aware of — there needs no discussion on that point. You 
 recollect our last conversation ? " 
 
 " Perfectly, sir," said Sheringham. 
 
 " At that period," said Lovell, " she had established a 
 principle which 1 entirely approved : she acted upon it, 
 and 1 supported her; but never, from the moment she 
 first was conscious of your defection, did she attribute 
 the alteration in your conduct to yourself. I speak here to 
 you, and before our friend — for so let me call him — 
 openly and without disguise ; she knew the workings of 
 th.at powerful influence under which you permitted your- 
 self to be led away and estranged. All this, which she 
 believed, has been brought more fully to her knowledge 
 since. But she respected the motives which induced the 
 exercise of that influence, and shrank from the idea of op-
 
 THE parson's daughter. 499 
 
 posing it. Now, I repeat, that is past. Time has clone 
 all that was necessary to establish her first beHef ; and for 
 the rest, all is forgiven — all forgotten." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said George, " how have I deserved this ? " 
 
 " That Emma herself must tell you," said her father. 
 " She feels, and I feel too, that matters are changed, and 
 that she now can — and I can justly and honourably per- 
 mit her to do so — become a member of your family with- 
 out being looked upon as an unwelcome intruder. As to 
 your conduct, which might be inexplicable to others, she 
 justifies it in your filial devotion. She always held that 
 opinion — she always vindicated you upon that considera- 
 tion. The first impulse of her heart will be — if all goes 
 as I pray it may — to place Lady Frances, who so much 
 misunderstood her, in the enjoyment of ease, content, and 
 happiness, of which I fear her exorbitant and ravenous 
 creditors have, for the present, deprived her." 
 
 " ]\Iy dear sir," said George, " what am I to say — 
 am I to believe this real ? " 
 
 " Here," said the Rector, throwing open the door of the 
 adjoining room, " is the living witness to the truth of all 
 I have said." 
 
 And there stood Emma, looking more lovely than ever 
 
 — trembling with agitation, and the hope — the dread — 
 the joy of seeing George, ^\^ords would not have an- 
 swered in such a position of affairs. Lovell had spoken 
 
 — he had told his daughter's story. Sheringham rushed 
 forward, and caught her to his heart — she burst into tears, 
 and her head sunk on his shoulder. 
 
 MacGopus, who, as we know, had previously proved 
 himself so true a friend, maintained his character on the 
 present occasion, and shut to tlie door of the next room, 
 and engaged Lovell in gentle converse. 
 
 " Never," said MacfJopus, " was there a more noble 
 creature than that, sir — proud indeed may you be of such 
 a daughter. 'W'hile George was great, and high, and 
 mighty, she scorned and repulsed him ; now that he is a 
 beggar, she receives him to the heart in which her first 
 affection was cherished. Go into his family with discredit!
 
 500 THE parson's daughter. 
 
 — be regarded by them with coldness — no ! she enters it 
 triumphantly." 
 
 Lovell took the hand of MacGopus, and pressed it fer- 
 vently. George and Emma joined them in a moment 
 afterwards. She, poor girl, was incapable of uttering a 
 word ; — George, nearly overcome, rallied strength enough 
 to stammer out — " this — this is indeed the happiest 
 moment of my life. 
 
 '•' No such thing," said MacGopus, taking hold of the 
 trembling Emma, and supporting her on his arm ; 
 '■' — quere, now — won't you be happier when you are 
 married ? " 
 
 They were all happy. 
 
 That the event added much to such felicity, it is scarcely 
 possible to say ; but the truth is, that in less than two 
 years the young Loi"d ^Veybridge died, and George became 
 really possessed of the title and estates, the " Parson's 
 Daughter" became a Peeress of the realm, and her hus- 
 band the happiest man and the best father Uving. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New.Strcet- Square.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 
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