THE TWO SCHOOLS: A MORAL TALE. BY MRS. HUGHS. BALTIMORE: PUBLISHED BY FIELDING LUCAS, JR. KO. 170 MARKET STREET. ENTERED according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1335, by ST. JOHN'S ORPHAN ASYLK.M, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. TO rpjjans of St. nsms WHICH WAS WBITTF. y FOR T It K 1 H BENEFIT, IS A F FE CT I ONAT E L V INSCRIBED BY THEIR SINCERE FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. 2057013 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER I. " MY dear mamma, I am delighted to find you alone," said Augusta Monkton, as she entered the parlour in which her mother was seated, " for I aro come to beg a favour of you." " It is of little consequence, Augusta," replied Mrs. Monkton, " whether I am alone or not ; for you seldom find me disposed to refuse your requests, however I may be situated." " But the favour I am going to beg is different from any that I ever before asked, and one that I am afraid you will not be very willing to grant." " Then, I suspect, my dear," returned the mother, " that your conscience tells you it is one I ought not to grant." " O, no ! mamma ; indeed, on the contrary, I think it is only what I, as your only child, have a right to expect ; for it is an indulgence which is daily granted by parents to children that are far from having such claims upon them." " Well, let me hear what it is ; and I can only say, that few petitions are offered up where there is a stronger disposition to grant them. Now, let me hea this great affair at once." A3 5 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " "Well then but first, mamma, tell me if I have not taken more pains than usual to oblige and please you ~nd papa." " How far back do you intend that I should date your period of amendment ? An hour, or a day, or a week, or how long ?" "O! much longer than that, mamma," replied Augusta, indignantly, while her cheek reddened with offended pride. " But it is always that way ; however much I try, I never can succeed." " There is so little justice in that assertion," returned the mother, " that I think we had better, before we go any further, take a short survey of your efforts to please. We will begin with last Monday : pray, what was the reason of Mr. Morton's going to your papa and declining tc be your music teacher any longer ?" " Because I told him I would not practise any longei than I liked for any teacher whatever." " And was this trying to please your father and me, Augusta ?" asked the mother, gently. " You know the high value we set upon Mr. Morton, both as a man and as a teacher, and must, therefore, be sure that it gave us great pain to find that you had deprived your self of the advantage of his instructions." " But he had no business to say that he insisted on my practising. What business, pray, had he to insist upon any thing from me ? He ought to remember that 1 am not a child now." " As your teacher, he had a right to insist upon your performing the duties connected with the branch he taught." " If my papa had insisted, it might have had some effect ; but for him, a mere music teacher, to insi? THE TWO SCHOOLS. 7 upon my doing any thing that I did not like, was rather too bad ! He forgot, I suppose, at the time, that he was speaking to the only child of Mr. Monkton, of Monkton Park." " So far from that, Augusta, you see he left you immediately, and came straight to Mr. Monkton, of Monkton Park, and declined in a steady, though respectful manner, any further attendance on his daughter." " And I dare say he has, by this time, heartily re- pented, and would be very glad to be asked to return ; and as I acknowledge I have sometimes felt rather sorry for having offended him, I intend to tell papa that he may send for him to come back." " That would do no good, Augusta, for it is not an hour since your papa told me that he had called upon Mr. Morton this morning, and had endeavoured to prevail upon him to renew his lessons, but he said he could only be induced to do so by your begging his pardon, and promising to behave more respectfully in future." " I beg his pardon !" repeated Augusta, haughtily ; " he surely cannot imagine that I would condescend to beg his pardon ! I might do such a thing of you or papa, but it is not very likely I would do it of a mere teacher." " You do not seem to recollect, my dear Augusta, that when you are placed under the care of a teacher, that for th-2 time L that affair, Augusta ?" continued her mother. " I believe I did get a little out of humour," replied Augusta, her cheek still continuing to be tinged with a higher colour than was natural to it ; " but then it was not till she had provoked rne exceedingly." " Suppose you detail the particulars of her offence, that we may now consider the matter coolly." " Well, you know, mamma, I was very anxious to have my hair put up as prettily as possible the other day, when Lady Clayton was coming to dine with us, and Dawson had put it up three or four times so hor- ribly that I had to take it down again ; and at last I got vexed, and told her she did not deserve to be allowed THE TWO SCHOOLS. 9 to put it up ; when, do you know, she had the imper- tinence to say, she did not consider it any favour to do any thing for me< I told her it was not only a favour but an honour, and that if she did not behave herself properly, I would throw my comb at her head. She said she would like to see me do it ; and that provoked me so much that I did throw it, and one of the teeth stuck in her temple, and the blood spouted out so that I was exceedingly frightened, for I was afraid she would bleed to death. I was so distressed that I actually cried, and begged her to forgive me ; and at last she did forgive me, and promised not to tell any body how the thing happened." Augusta ceased speaking, and her mother heaved a deep sigh. " Do not sigh, my dear mamma," cried Augusta, throwing her arms round her mother's neck as she spoke ; " I never hurt a servant before, and indeed it shall be the last time, for I have felt ashamed whent ever I have thought of it since." " But it is far from being the first time you have hurt the feelings of a servant by your haughty and imperious behaviour, Augusta, and I am afraid it will be long before you learn to know that even bodily wounds are more easily forgiven than those of the spirit ; and that your overbearing disposition often converts those who are disposed to be warm friends into bitter enemies." " It is not likely I shall ever be much in need of the friendship of servants," replied Augusta, haughtily. " It is impossible to say what we may not need in the course of our lives," replied her mother. " Many who were much higher than you, have been indebted for lives, fortunes, and every blessing of life, to the 10 THE TWO SCHOOLS. affection of a servant. But, unhappily, servants are not the only friends whom your behaviour has alien- ated from you." " You refer to Cecilia Clayton ; but she vexed me by threatening that, if I would not walk with her yes- terday, she would never call for me again, and I had no notion of being threatened by her ; and so I told her that I did not care whether I ever had the honour of seeing her again. But who would have thought of her taking me in earnest. She might have been sure 1 only said so because I was vexed." " And your wish was to vex her in return." " Yes, to be sure it was ; but it was very foolish in her to be vexed at what I said. She might ha\e been sure it was not true." " And was there no folly on your side, Augusta ?" " Perhaps there was ; but indeed I do intend to try to cure myself of my faults, but you know I cannot do *t all at once." " You are, indeed, far from doing that, when we have already enumerated three serious transgressions in one week, setting aside the numerous minor circumstances which have tended to offend and mortify those around you. You, however, my dear child, I am well aware, are less to blame for these faults than your papa and myself. You have received your education in a school of almost criminal indulgence, and were it not that I believe your dispositions are naturally good, and your affections warm, I should tremble for the result to your future character. But you are now old enough to be able to judge of the necessity for self-exertion, and I hope that to feel the duty and perform it will soon be one and the same thing with you, Augusta." THE TWO SCHOOLS.' 11 " yes, mamma ; you may be assured it will. I am now nearly fifteen, and you will see how good I shall soon become ; but, by-the-by, this puts me in mind of the favour J came to ask, and which, I hope, you will grant, dear mamma." " And take your reformation on trust, I suppose," said Mrs. Monkton, fixing her eyes with fondness on the beautiful face of her daughter, which the excite- ment of the conversation that had just passed had caused to glow with more than its usual brilliancy. " Yes, dear mamma, give me credit, and say you will grant my request." " Well, let me hear what it is, and I believe you will not have much occasion to fear a refusal." " Then, it is this," replied Augusta, with as much confidence in the success of her petition as if conscious that her mother's indulgence was strengthened by her own deserts. " You know the first of May, which is my birth-day, will be here in about six weeks, [her mother heaved a deep sigh,] and what I want is, that you will let me make a grand gala at Monkton Park on the occasion. Dear me, mamma," continued Au- gusta, looking with an expression of mortified pride at her mother, whose lips began to quiver, while her cheeks became perfectly blanched, " it is very strange that while other mothers always consider their chil- dren's birth-days a time for rejoicing, you always make mine a period of gloom and melancholy." " You know, my dear Augusta," replied the mother, and the large tears traced each other down her cheeks as she spoke, " you know, my love, the same hour that gave you birth made me the mother of another 12 THE TWO SCHOOLS. daughter, and that the first anniversary of your birth deprived me of one-half of my treasure." " I know that, mamma. But surely the loss of one child does not need to make you insensible to all the claims of the remaining one. You surely need not be unkind to me, because my sister is not living." " Have you ever known any thing like unkindness in your life, Augusta ?" asked Mrs. Monkton, in a tone of reproach. " I think it is very unkind for you to make any dif- ficulty about celebrating my birth-day," added the daughter, " but it always has been made a day of gloom and melancholy, and plainly proves that the daughter you have is of little consequence in comparison to the one you lost." " The reproach is an ungrateful one, Augusta ; but it is one that you shall no longer pain me with. You shall spend your birth-day as you desire, and I hope by the time the next comes round you will have learned to be more sensible of the blessings by which you are surrounded." " But you will go with us to Monkton Park, mamma ; you will surely not think of remaining in town while we go there." " You know I have never been at the park since your sister's death, and I can scarcely bear the thought of seeing it again ; but to prove my thankfulness for the treasure that is still spared me, I will go, and en- deavour to rejoice in the midst of the scene of all my eorrow." ".O, thank you, mamma," cried Augusta, delighted t having accomplished her object without allowing THE TWO SCHOOLS. 13 herself to consider that it was purchased at the price of great pain to her over-indulgent parent. But Augusta was a spoiled child, and had been so accustomed to have all her own wishes gratified, or even anticipated, that it had scarcely ever entered her head that there could be any propriety in her yielding to those of others. Just at the moment that she was rejoicing over her mother's compliance, a servant entered the room to say that the horses were at the door, and her father waited for her to go and ride with him ; and she flew off' without bestowing a regret for the pain she had given, or feeling a sensation of gratitude for the indulgence that had been awarded to her. 14 THE TWO SCHOOLS, CHAPTER II. ,-*fyS' .* * .- ,5t *"-f '" .*> : V '.V '->-; - '- -- ""' . J - ' DELIGHTED with the result of her application to hei mother, Augusta joined her father, in the full con- sciousness that all the difficulties of her scheme were removed ; for she well knew that her power over him was unbounded. With her mother, occasionally, a faint effort of judgment would struggle for a time, at least, against that excessive indulgence to which her maternal tenderness but too much inclined her to yield ; but with her father, though in all other respects a sen- sible and judicious man, no such effort of reason ever intervened between her wishes and his compliance. To hear her express a wish, and to use his utmost efforts to gratify it, were with him one and the same thing ; and even when, by her overbearing temper, she had distressed him by offending some of her teachers or friends, the words, " Pear papa, forgive me," accom- panied by a smile or a caress, wiped all in an instant from his remembrance, and the way was cleared for her to offend again, and she knew she could do it as often as she chose with equal impunity. Had Augusta's education fallen into any other hands than those of an almost idolizing father and mother, she might easily have been made as amiable in her manners as she was lovely in her person ; but they unfortunately had not resolution to commit her to the care even of a governess, who might have regulated her manners and superintended her studies, without entirely THE TWO SCHOOLS. 15 depriving them of her society. Under such circum- stances, a judicious woman might have had great influence in awakening the finer feelings of her nature, by rousing her to a consciousness of the debt of grati- tude which she owed to such parents, and to the generous emotions arising from the pleasure of giving, as well as receiving. But to such pleasures Augusta was altogether a stranger. Accustomed to have her wishes not only gratified but anticipated, and in the habit of seeing every thing give way to what was con- ceived to be conducive to her good or her enjoyment, it never once entered her mind that any thing was required from her in return, and no effort, however great, could be made to please her that she did not imagine was fully repaid by a mere acceptance ; or, at most, a show of compliance that cost her no self-denial to make. Had she mixed more with companions beyond the circle of her own family, she might, per- haps, have learned to form a better estimate of herself; but an extreme depression of spirits, and a very delicate state of health, had caused Mrs. Monkton to retire so entirely from the world that though they had, from the time that Augusta was a year old, resided in a town of considerable size and importance, their habits of life had been nearly as secluded as though they had been shut up in the very bosom of the wild and romantic country in which Mr. Monkton's patrimonial estate was placed. Servants, therefore, who, anxious to gain favour with their master and mistress, were always ready to conceal, or even to encourage her prevailing faults, were Augusta's principal companions ; or, if perchance she mingled with others, more on an equality with herself, she seldom failed to offend or 16 THE TWO SCHOOLS. mortify them, by the air of superiority which she assumed, or the want of accommodation that she exhibited. Still, however, as has already been said, her natural dispositions were good, and, under judi- cious discipline, Augusta Monkton would have been a noble and generous girl ; but few are the minds that have power to withstand the too tempting lessons which are to be learned in the schools of fondness, flattery, and indulgence. " I hope you are disposed for a long ride to-day, Augusta," said the fond father, as he placed his daughter on her spirited and beautifully caparisoned palfrey ; " for I feel that I require some exercise." " O, yes, papa, I will ride with you as far as you choose ; the farther the better, for I have a great deal to talk to you about." " Indeed ! what is the subject ?" *' Wait till we are out of the noise of the carts and carriages, and I will tell you. But I do not like, after I have been talking of what interests me, to find that you have not heard half that I have said ;" and as she spoke she gave her steed the hint, and away they can- tered, to the no small admiration of all whom they passed. " Now," said Augusta, drawing in her horse to a gentler pace, as on reaching the outskirts of the town, they entered a shady lane, " now, papa, I can talk and you can hear ; so listen. Mamma has consented to let me have a gala at Monkton Park, on my birth-day ; and you and I must plan how it is to be conducted." " My consent is not to be asked then upon the subject ?" " O, no ! I know beforehand that you will like it as THE TWO SCHOOLS. 17 well as I shall do myself ; and I know too, that you will be as anxious as I am to have it the handsomest thing that has been known in the neighbourhood for many years ; so there is no need to waste time in asking consent. Let us set to work, therefore, to lay our plans." " Well, what sort of thing do you want to have it ?" said the father, smiling with delight at his daughter's confidence in his indulgent fondness ; " is it to be a child's party, or how far do your wishes extend ?" " Not a child's party, certainly," replied Augusta, drawing herself up on her saddle with an air of con- sequence, which she well knew how to assume ; " but for young people about my own age." " I suppose, then, from that day you intend to cease to be a child ; and will put away all childish things." " To be sure I do. I think, at the age of fifteen, I may fairly begin to lay claim to a little more conside- ration." " Undoubtedly ; but yet I am afraid, that even at the mature age of fifteen, you may find it rather an arduous task to entertain so large a party ; especially, when all of whom it is composed may not be so ma- ture and wise as yourself." " 0, leave me to manage that, papa. The thing shall be conducted without any formality or restraint. I will not pretend to amuse any one, but leave all at liberty to amuse themselves ; only putting the means for doing so within their reach. In the first place, I will have tables with refreshments, set out on the lawn. Then, there shall be the apparatus for every kind of game that can be thought of dispersed throughout the park and the woods ; with bands of music stationed at 18 THE TWO SCHOOLS. various points, where they will not interfere with one another. I will have boats and fishing-tackle for the lake " Her father started. " Remember, Augusta, your mamma will never con- sent to your going near the lake." "It is hardly probable I shall have any wish to do so ; but if I should, I suppose I could conquer her repugnance to that, as well as I have done her unwill- ingness to go herself to Monk ton Park." " No, Augusta ; that is a point which must be clearly understood between us, before the matter goes any farther," said the father ; and as he spoke, he drew his horse up into a walk, and looked at his daugh- ter, with an expression of determination that she had never before seen him assume. " I will not have your mamma's spirits harassed and agitated, or her fears excited about that lake. You must promise me that you will not do any thing whatever to call her atten- tion to it, either in your own person or by any other means, or the whole affair must be given up at once. Are you willing to promise this ? Are you disposed to pay this price for your entertainment ?" " I should care very little for an entertainment of which I was not the entire mistress," said Augusta, coldly. " In every other respect you may be so, but in this one particular I am not to be moved. The promise must be given." " You might, I should suppose, have left it to my own discretion, without insisting upon my binding myself down by a promise, like a child that was not to be trusted out of leading-strings." THE TWO SCHOOLS. 19 " In any other case but this I might have done so, but in this it is impossible. Your mother's health and spirits are too closely connected with the subject to admit of any compromise. You must, therefore, accept your entertainment on my terms, or not have it at all." " I would rather give it up altogether, than not have it exactly as I wish," returned Augusta, sullenly. " Very well, then, let the thing be given up," replied her father, with a degree of cool steadiness that made Augusta turn her eyes upon him with a look of ex- treme astonishment. She could, however, detect no relaxation of muscle ; and the rest of the ride was pursued in profound silence on both sides. 20 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER III. THE total disregard which Augusta had shown for her mother's feelings, had excited a stronger degree of displeasure towards her in the mind of her father than he had ever before felt, and had done more towards opening his eyes to the very blamable degree of indul- gence which she had, during the whole course of her life, been in the habit of meeting with, from both her mother and himself, than any thing that had ever before occurred. For the first time, he began to see that the habit of having every wish gratified, at whatever expense to others, instead of calling forth tenderness, and a wish to oblige in return, had only been the means of fostering a selfish and overbearing disposition, and an impatience under every species of opposition, which was rapidly undermining all the better feelings of her nature. And, as is generally the case with extremes of all kinds, his mind, when once roused to a sense of his error, was disposed to think with even too great severity of his daughter's offence ; for he did not take sufficiently into consideration, that though he himself knew how closely the subject on which they had dis- agreed was connected with all the tenderest and most agonizing feelings of his wife's heart, to Augusta the circumstance was almost wholly unknown ; and that he was blaming her for a want of sympathy on a sub- ject with which she had never been made acquainted. She knew that another little girl had been born at the THE TWO SCHOOLS. 21 same time with herself; and that her twin sister had died on the first anniversary of their birth-day ; but the particulars of the event were altogether unknown to her; for all reference to the subject had ever been studiously avoided in the family, in consideration of her mother's feelings ; whose spirits, even after the lapse of so many years, had never recovered from the shock that they had then experienced. So far, there- fore, as her mother was concerned, Augusta was less to blame than her father considered her ; and to one to whom all opposition to her own wishes was invariably considered as unreasonable, such a foundation for a charge of injustice could not fail to give strength and permanence to all her most overbearing and wayward passions. Day after day, therefore, passed over without her making the slightest effort to conciliate her father, or remove the painful impression which had been left on his mind ; though the coldness of his manner plainly told how strong a sense he still retained of her selfish- ness and obstinacy. " I declare," she would exclaim, " it is a great shame that papa cannot find in his heart to let me have any amusement without binding me down to promises and restrictions that would destroy all the pleasure. Nobody would imagine that I am an only child by the manner in which I am kept shut out from the world, just merely because mamma chooses to give way to nervousness and low spirits. They talk of my learn- ing to give up my inclinations to the feelings of others ; but I think mamma had better set me the example, and begin by accommodating herself to what it is natural a young girl like myself would look for and expect. But it is always the way with those who are least 22 THE TWO SCHOOLS. inclined to give way to others ; they are sure to expect the greatest sacrifices to be made to themselves." Augusta was, indeed, right in saying that this was always the case with such people ; but she did not consider how applicable the charge was to herself. Accustomed, from her earliest infancy, to be almost the god of her parents' idolatry, and never having been called upon to practise the art of yielding, the idea of her being forced to do so immediately assumed the appearance of injustice and tyranny, and she imagined that she only had a right to complain, without recollecting that the sacrifices had hitherto been all on the other side. But so it ever is with arbitrary people ; they demand every -species of liberality from others, but never think of practising it themselves. Time went on, and a struggle for power between father and daughter continued with little abatement ; for whilst Augusta found it impossible to convince herself that her father would not ultimately yield to all her wishes, Mr. Monkton had, on his part, been so strongly impressed with a sense of the selfishness and ingratitude which his daughter had evinced towards her amiable, affectionate, and but too sensitive parent ; that he was roused to a determination against the growing evil to struggle, which no other circumstance could have produced. Had the same dispositions been exhibited on an occasion when he only was concerned, his partiality would have discovered a hundred excuses for the fault. But .though less fool- ishly fond, his affection for his wife was not less tender than that for his daughter, and on one point the subject to which his quarrel with Augusta had a refer- ence his warmest sympathies had ever been awake ; THE TWO SCHOOLS. 23 and a point of his character was thus brought to light of which both wife and daughter had hitherto been wholly unconscious. The one pleaded, and the other frowned, in the hope of softening or overcoming his determination, but in vain ; his mind was made up, and the efforts of each were equally unavailing. Things were in this state, when Mr. Monkton one day entered the room where his daughter was sitting, and going up to her, said, in a grave though less distant manner than he had for some time spoken to her, " Augusta, your mother and I have come to a determination, that will, I dare say, appear extraordi- nary, and perhaps disagreeable to you ; but if so, it is my intention to give you an alternative to choose from." Augusta fixed her eyes inquiringly on his face, but did not speak. " I have just received a letter from a gentleman in America," he continued, " informing me of the death of a friend to whom I have been long and strongly attached, and who has left to me the guardianship of his children, a son and a daughter. The son is some- where between fifteen and seventeen years of age, but the little girl is not more than six, and as it would be a difficult thing to have her brought over with so much care and tenderness as one so young, and that has been brought up with so much tenderness, would re- quire, we have determined to go over ourselves and bring them. I am especially induced to do this, from the hope that the voyage and entire change of scene will be of service ta your dear mother's health and spirits ; and as she has agreed to it very cordially herself, I have no doubt of her deriving essential benefit from the expedition. Whether you will choose to join us 24 THE TWO SCHOOLS. in it, or not, rests entirely with yourself, and I will allow you two days to make up your mind on the subject." So saying, he was about to turn from her, but his daughter, stopping him, exclaimed, "There is no need papa, for you to give me any more time than I have already had. I can say at once, what I have said a hundred times before, that nothing in the world would tempt me to cross the Atlantic." "Then if you prefer remaining in England, and allowing your mother to undertake such a voyage without the attention and kindness of her only child, I shall place you at a boarding-school during our absence ; and I must acknowledge that, with me at least, the pain of separation will be greatly alleviated by the hope that, by the time of our return, you will have learned the value of the many blessings with which you have hitherto been surrounded, and especially the inestimable value of a tender mother's love. There are minds, and I am grieved to find yours is one of them, that are incapable of forming an estimate of the blessings they enjoy, till they have experienced the pain of being deprived of them." " I may suffer from the loss of my kind indulgent father's attentions," said Augusta, in a sneering and contemptuous tone, " but I have no fear of being de- prived of those of my mother. She, at least, will not abandon me to strangers, or leave her only child unpro- tected, merely for the sake of taking care of the chil- dren of one she never knew." " I am not at all surprised at your forming this conclusion, from your previous knowledge of your mother's extreme sensibility and tenderness. In this instance, however, you will find that she is roused to a THE TWO SCHOOLS. 25 degree of resolution which she has never before exerted ; and convinced that the discipline of a severe school is necessary for the correction of errors that our ex- treme indulgence has but too long encouraged, she has resolved to put herself to the severest trial that she can possibly experience, for the good of one for whom she would willingly give up life itself." " She may think all this, at present," replied the daughter, looking with a perfectly composed counte- nance at her father, who had now become much agi- tated ; " but I am not at all afraid of her putting her intentions into execution." Mr. Monkton turned from his daughter with a vari- ety of mixed emotions pressing upon his heart. He was shocked at the feelings that she displayed, but still more so at the shameful weakness and impropriety of the course of conduct which he had hitherto main- tained towards her. She was however still very young, and therefore he hoped that the line of conduct which lie had prescribed for himself, and which he trusted he should be able to prevail upon Mrs. Monkton to join him in, would not yet be too late to rectify the error ; though he at the same time sighed deeply to think how much they must all suffer before the necessary remedies could have their effect. Mrs. Monkton, whose disposition was all gentleness and tenderness, had long been almost a martyr to her maternal affec- tion ; and her life for the last fourteen years had been divided between mourning over the loss of one child and indulging and caressing the other. She saw, how- ever, as her husband pointed it out to her, the danger that awaited the moral character of this darling; and in deference at once to his opinion, and in compliance with the dictates of her own conscience, whose still C 26 THK TWO SCHOOLS. small voice, however, might not perhaps have been suf- ficiently attended to, had it not been aideu by the re- monstrances of one whom she both loved and respect- ed, she promised a steady adherence to the determina- tion which had been announced to Augusta, of their going to America without her, in case of her refusing to accompany them ; and placing her in a boarding- school till their return. Augusta's refusal was what they had both calculated upon, but though it was an exceedingly painful idea to them to think of part- ing with her, even for a few months, they were both convinced that it would be of essential service to her future life. Having once made up her mind how to act, Mrs. Monkton, with a degree of resolution very differ- ent from her usual passiveness, resolved to let Augusta see at once that it was needless to hope that her de- termination would give way ; and therefore, on her daughter's hastening to her, to exclaim against what she termed her father's arbitrary and unreasonable be- haviour, she met her with a mournful, but calm and tranquil countenance. " Well ! mamma," cried Augusta, with great indig- nation, " I have something to tell you that will asto- nish you beyond measure." " What is it, my dear ?" asked her mother, gently. " Do you know, papa has just told me that you have agreed to accompany him to America, and that I must either go too, or be left at boarding-school whilst you are away. He has actually tried to convince me that you will really go out of the country, and leave me if I will not accompany you. But he might have saved his eloquence, for I know better than to believe it." " But why should you not believe it, Augusta? your papa is not in the habit of deceiving you." THE TWO SCHOOLS. 27 " Because, mamma, I know very well you could not find in your heart to leave me alone among strangers Me, whom you have never lost sight of for a single day in the last fourteen years." " It will certainly be a most painful trial; but my judgment approves of its being done, and my word is pledged to your father. You will find therefore, Au- gusta, that whatever it may cost me, the effort shall be made." " And am I," said Augusta, " after having been watched over, all my life, as if your very existence depended upon me, to be sent away from my father's house, and left among strangers ?" " But why should that be the alternative, my dear ? Why should you not rather accompany us ?" " Never !" replied the haughty girl, indignantly ; " I would not go upon the sea for the universe ; and, in- , deed, since I am of so little importance to my papa and you, that you can think of withdrawing your protec- tion from me, for the sake of bestowing it upon an- other person's children, it can hardly be expected that I should make any sacrifices for your sake." " You speak at present under the influence of ill humour, Augusta," said Mrs. Monkton, gently ; " but I hope, before long, your better sense will predominate. I shall leave you for the present to yourself, and trust your mind will be in a better state, when your father calls upon you for your decisive answer." So saying she quitted the room, leaving her daughter almost pe- trified with astonishment at her mother's unexampled firmness, THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER IV. NOTWITHSTANDING her astonishment at the behaviour of her father and mother, which was so very different from what she had ever before seen in them., Augusta still clung to the persuasion that she would conquer in the end ; and consequently resjolved to hold out with unshaken resolution. It is true she saw all the pre- parations going on for the departure of her parents by the Liverpool packet of the 8th of the following month, but then she persuaded herself that these were merely meant to deceive, and she only said to herself, " They shall see that I am not to be taken in." At length her father called upon her for her final answer, and it was given with an unfaltering voice and unchanging coun- tenance. "This then, is your decision, Augusta?" said he, with an expression of pain, which he endeavoured in vain to conceal. " Yes, sir," was the daughter's brief return. " Well, whatever may be my real feelings on the subject, I am satisfied I ought to rejoice at the deter- mination that you have come to, as the most likely means to secure your ultimate good. Your mamma and I have determined upon leaving you with some ladies in Liverpool, who have lately opened a boarding- school. We are well acquainted with them, and have the fullest confidence in their care, attention, and capability to instruct. We shall by that means too THE TWO SCHOOLS. 29 be able to have you with us till the very moment of our embarkation, as well as having you on the spot ready to receive us, at the first moment of our return. We shall leave home on the second of next month, that we may have time to see you comfortably settled before our departure." " Comfortably!" repeated Augusta. " Yes, comfortably, Augusta. As much so, I am sure you will be, as the circumstances will admit ; but that the contrast from what you have hitherto been accustomed to will be immense, there can be no question. But it is from that I anticipate your future good. You have hitherto known nothing but indul- gence, and have consequently never had any means of learning a lesson which all, whatever may be your situation in life, have frequent occasion to practise. A school is a sort of little world, and in mixing with its different members, you will have to learn to yield and accommodate yourself to others, which is the only way of getting through life with comfort and respecta- bility. But I must now tell you, Augusta, that your mother, with her usual tenderness, has prevailed upon me to comply with your wishes with respect to the entertainment that you are desirous of giving on your birth-day ; and, as a parting token of affection, to let the treat be given to you without binding you to any disagreeable restrictions." " Oh, I am delighted !" exclaimed Augusta ; " then I shall be able, after all, to fulfil the promises that I have made to so many of my friends. But I am afraid," she continued, recollecting herself, " there will not be time to get things ready now, for it only wants ten days to the 1st of May." c2 30 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " I have, in compliance with your mother's wishes, already made many preparations in anticipation, and shall therefore have no difficulty in having every thing in readiness, so that you have nothing to do but to despatch your invitations, and make your own particu- lar arrangements as soon as you please." Here they parted, and Augusta proceeded not as might have been expected to her mother to acknow- ledge her kindness, but to make preparations for dresses, invitations, and such things ; and in her hurry and bustle, she endeavoured to persuade herself that she was happy and delighted. She was sure, yes, she was perfectly certain, that her mother would not go after all. Even if it came to the very last moment without her resolution giving way, she should still feel sure that she would repent before she got into the vessel ; nay, should she even see the packet set sail with her mother on board, she would still feel certain of her returning with the pilot. " They will try me to the very utmost," thought she, " but they will give way in the end ; at least mamma will, I know, and if she be but in the country, I shall not care for either boarding schools or any thing else, for I shall always be able to get my own way." Thus she tried to persuade herself that she was happy, but a lurking something still hung over her mind, and contradicted the assertion which she so often made to herself, that she had got every thing as she wished. Though haughty and self-willed, Augusta was far from being deficient in affection, nor was she naturally wanting in generous and noble feelings ; but the whole course of her education had tended to fix her thoughts entirely on self, and led her to imagine that the only THE TWO SCHOOLS. 31 duty she had to perform, was that of receiving the homage of those around her. Her affection for her parents had never been called forth by her having to make any efforts on their account; and therefore, though she loved them sincerely, she was unconscious of the strength of that affection, for she had never in her life had occasion to practise a single act of self- denial for their sake. What wonder then, that a sacrifice at the shrine of filial affection was now an idea totally remote from her mind, and that though she expected a sacrifice to be made, she had no con- ception of the propriety of her making it. Busily employed in her own immediate interests and occupa- tions, she had no time to consider what were her mother's feelings, or in what state of mind she viewed all the preparations for festivity on the very eve of her separation from her only and almost idolized child. Augusta observed not that the sweet but mournful countenance had become more than usually pensive ; that the cheek, which had always been pale, wore now a still more pallid hue ; and that her large and melting eyes bespoke the languor of sleeplessness, in addition to the mournfulness of an inward and corroding sorrow. All this passed before Augusta's eyes unobserved, or if noticed for a moment, it only served as a confirma- tion of her belief that her mother would not have resolution to act up to the determination which she had made? so that the sun rose on the 1st of May, and found Augusta in exactly the same frame of mind in which she was, when the subject of her father and mother's visiting America had been first suggested to her. 32 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER V. ON a beautiful and commanding eminence, in the neighbourhood of Borrowdale, that far-famed scene of romantic beauty, stood the venerable mansion of Monkton Park ; whose gray turrets, arched gateways, and moss-grown enclosures, bespoke it the residence of both an ancient and a wealthy family. Having been built at the time when the disturbances between Eng- land and Scotland rendered strong defences necessary, it had not been erected without proper regard for such securities ; but yet a considerable degree of attention had, at the same time, been paid to preserving the pic- turesque beauty of the scenery unobstructed. The eminence, on which the mansion was placed, after extending for a considerable distance as a beautiful park, over which the deer ranged in undisturbed security, and where the knotty oak and venerable elm had long stood the ancient guardians of the domain, terminated, on the one side, in a rugged and pre- cipitous cliff; and, on the other, was bounded by a stream of water, which, after winding almost to the front of the house, flowed in a deep and rapid torrent. When this stream first became visible from the western wing of the mansion, it appeared in the form of a smooth and glassy lake, which, seen through a vista of trees, seemed formed by nature as if for the pur- pose of exhibiting herself in her own bright mirror ; and lay, an emblem of repose and beauty, enclosed THE TWO SCHOOLS. 33 within a wall, whose towering and embattled heights bade defiance to all unwelcome intruders. Escaping from this quiet bed by a rather confined channel, and flowing down a steep descent, the water soon assumed a very different character, and frequent openings of the trees discovered it to the eye of the spectator, as it wound, dashing and foaming, round the margin of the park, till it came nearly in front of the house, when it hurried down the edge of a perpendicular rock of many feet in height, into a deep chasm or basin that seemed formed for the purpose of swallowing up every obstacle that the impatient stream had encountered in its course, and then left it again, to follow on in a smooth and gentle current towards the romantic Ullswater, to which it was a tributary. Thus defended, the noble mansion had little need of walls to secure it from attack, except to the north, and round a part of the western boundary ; but here they were high and strong, and continued till the precipitous cliffs, down which the torrent rushed, made any farther defence superfluous. These walls had, in ancient times, been guarded by armed retainers ; and the warden had blown his horn, with all the precaution that the disturbed times had rendered necessary, on the approach of a stranger : but such distrustful periods were long since gone by ; the massy gates were thrown open, and, though the present owner had not for many years made it his place of residence, it was inhabited by a sufficient number of servants to keep the house and grounds in such a state that he and his daughter could visit it with comfort, whenever they pleased ; and, as it was only the dis- tance of a morning's ride from the town in which they resided, ft seldom happened that many days passed 34 THE TWO SCHOOLS. without their paying a visit to the seat of their fathers. The business of preparing for the intended fete had taken them there almost daily, and Augusta had made frequent attempts to prevail upon her mother to fami- liarize her feelings to the sight of the place from which she had so long absented herself, but in vain. All she could obtain was, a repetition of her promise to be present at the approaching festival, with an assurance that nothing, but a desire to give her daughter, on the eve of their first separation, a proof of her great desire to gratify her, could have induced her to expose her- self to so much unnecessary pain. But like all arbi- trary and self-willed tempers, Augusta, instead of con- sidering the sacrifice which her mother was making, for her sake, as a favour, dwelt only on that which she had refused to make, and because she had declined visiting the park daily, to give the assistance of her advice and taste in the preparations, the self-willed girl persuaded herself, that her mother had refused her every request, and done all in her power to cast a damp over her attempts at pleasure. With these feelings, she saw the sun rise on the 1st of May, and heard the" carriage announced, which was to convey herself and parents to the scene of hilarity, without any of those feelings of pleasure that she had so anxiously strived to anticipate. Wrapped in a mood of gloomy discontent, she passed through the hall lined with travelling trunks, ready packed for their depart- ure on the morrow, without a remark passing through her mind, except that this was either an ostentatious show intended to work upon her feelings, or else another proof, in addition to the many that her mother had lately given, that she was only an object of secondary con- THE TWO SCHOOLS. 35 sideration ; in either of which cases it would be weak- ness in her to evince more feeling than her parent her- self had done. The same frame of mind kept her from making any attempt to second the efforts of her father, during their ride to the park, to divert his wife's thoughts from dwelling on the painful recollections of the past, and enable her to revisit her long-deserted mansion, without recalling any of the distressing cir- cumstances that had induced her so long to absent herself from it. But, for the all-absorbing influence of selfishness which engrossed the mind of the daugh- ter, it would have been impossible for her to witness the expression of mute and unobtrusive agony which pervaded her mother's face, as she alighted from the carriage, and cast her eyes around the scenes once so familiar and so dear to her. The expression, how- ever, did not escape the husband's watchful eye ; and in the tenderest and gentlest manner he led her off, and endeavoured to engage her attention where the enjoy- ment of others was concerned, as the most likely means of drawing her away from herself. As it was too early in the season to make it safe to calculate upon the latter part of the day being warm and fine enough to admit of out-door amusements, an early hour had been fixed for the company's assembling, so that it was not long before the whole family was engaged in the necessary attentions to the guests. Augusta endeavoured to persuade herself that she was exceedingly happy, as she looked around and saw the crowd of visiters assembled at her call. She had made many resolutions to let their amusement constitute her sole business, and to overlook all personal feelings where they were concerned ; and, as the exertion was 36 THE TWO SCHOOLS. new, for a time it seemed pleasant enough ; but it VVH& not long before she began to feel weary of the effort, and to be annoyed at finding that people were not always disposed to be happy or amused in the way which she recommended. Another circumstance that often occurred, and never did so without causing a most uncomfortable feeling in her mind, was the frequent remarks that she heard made, when it was not known that she was within hearing, concerning her mother's looks. *' What an expression of misery there is on Mrs. Monkton's countenance, notwithstanding her efforts to be cheerful," remarked one. "I wonder," said another, " how Miss Augusta can think of letting her mother leave the country without her ; for it seems to me very doubtful whether she will ever see her native land again. She has looked very delicate for many years, but I never saw any thing like the alteration that has taken place in her appearance within the last two months. I am sure I pity her from the very bottom of my heart. It is a sad thing to go away to die in a foreign country, without the attendance even of her only child." " What a fool that girl is," thought Augusta ; " be- cause mamma has not cheeks like red cabbages, such as her own, she thinks she must be dying, forsooth ; and because mamma chooses to take a voyage to a foreign country, and I prefer staying at home, she must lament over her as if she were about to be torn with violence from her home and family, without con- sidering, that if she cares enough for me to stay at home, nobody will attempt even to persuade her against it." THE TWO SCHOOLS. 37 Anxious to escape any further remarks of this kind, and feeling a wish to be alone for a few minutes, by way of resting awhile from the fatigue and bustle that surrounded her, Augusta struck into a shaded walk that wound along by the side of the lake, and wandered on without recollecting a determination that she had made, though it had not been exacted of her by either of her parents, to keep at a distance from the water. But her mind was employed in ruminating upon the folly to which people were so much prone, of making themselves busy in the affairs of others, and especially of finding out subjects of commiseration in the situa- tion of those whose circumstances have made them the objects of envy. " They know that the Mouktons, of Monkton Park, are the most enviable beings they are acquainted with," thought she ; " and just for the sake of quieting their own envious feelings, they try to make us out to be objects of compassion." Irritated and mortified at these reflections, Augusta paced along as if hastening on an errand of great im- portance, and, before she was aware, had reached the point of the lake where the water found its outlet, and rushed impetuously towards the chasm at a few yards distance ; but what was her surprise, when turning suddenly round an angle, she beheld her mother seated on a point of rock, with her hands clasped, and her eyes fixed on the stream before her, with a look of agony that Augusta had never before seen equalled. She had long been accustomed to her mother's mourn- ful expression of countenance, and was familiar with the idea that her kind and affectionate parent laboured under a nervous depression of spirits ; but never had she, till this moment, had it brought home to her D 38 THE TWO SCHOOLS. heart, that a keen and corroding anguish was preying upon her life. In a transport of feeling, that was as new as it was unrestrained, Augusta rushed forward, and throwing herself on her knees, at the feet of her parent, and clasping her arms around her waist, she exclaimed, " My dear, dear mamma, you are in dis- tress, your heart is breaking ; and I, your ungrateful child, am the cause of it all." " Not so, my Augusta," replied her mother, bend- ing tenderly over her, and the tears, as she spoke, happily coming to the relief of her highly excited feel- ings ; " you are far from being the cause of it all ; and now, that I see you a sympathizing friend, you will be my support and comfort. My sorrow is, of all others, the most hopeless, Augusta, as well as the worst to bear, for it is the anguish of an upbraiding conscience." "Impossible!" cried Augusta, looking at her mo- ther as she spoke with an expression of intense anxiety, from the persuasion that a mental aberration of mind could alone make her speak thus. " You have always been loo good and too pure to have an upbraiding con- science ; or, if you have any cause for self-condemna- tion, it can only be for having been too kind, too indulgent to one, who has proved herself most unwor- thy of your tenderness. I, therefore, my beloved mother, am alone to blame. It is I, alone, who ought to listen to the voice of conscience. Oh, do not attempt to raise me," continued Augusta, in a tone of deep feeling, as her mother motioned to her to rise ; " let mo kneel here till I obtain your forgiveness for all the shameless cruelty of which I have been guilty." "Augusta," said Mrs. Monkton, endeavouring to THE TWO SCHOOLS. 39 speak with composure, " take your seat by my side, and listen to me, while I gratify myself with an indul- gence that I never yet have enjoyed that of making a friend and confidant of my child." Augusta rose from her kneeling position, and as she seated herself on the rock, her mother threw her arm tenderly round her neck, and then said, " You al- ready know, my child, that another little girl was given me at the same time that you were born, and so ex- actly did you resemble each other that it was impossi- ble for any one but those who were in the habit of ex- amining you with the greatest minuteness, to tell the difference between you. Still there was a difference, and to me a very sensible one, though I never could toll exactly in what it lay. ' A something, I know not what, made me always prefer nursing you,, and as it was necessary that I should have an assistant to help me in the business of nursing, I gradually fell into the habit of bestowing upon you the nutriment which I had myself to give, and leaving my little Aline almost entirely to the care of her nurse. It is true I was proud of you both, as beautiful twins, but your sister partook but of a very small portion of my ten- derness ; and while my whole time was occupied in nursing and fondling you, I was frequently days to- gether without bestowing a caress upon her. Yes, Augusta ! though I had her constantly before my view, and took care to see her properly attended to, yet was I a barbarous and unnatural mother, for I gave my child no place in my heart. Nay m'ore as her nurse was a very strong and healthy woman, and the nou- rishment she had to give being in consequence, I sup- pose, more nutritive, your sister grew more rapidly ; 40 THE TWO SCHOOLS. and the first distinction that could be remarked be- tween you, arose from her becoming' a larger and more robust child than yourself while I oh, how can I speak the words felt actual jealousy towards my own child for having thus got the start of her sister. I tried at the time to qualify the feelings by persuading my- self that it was only regret at your not being equally strong and vigorous, but I cannot now conceal the truth that I almost hated my child for it. Oh, how have I since hated myself, for so diabolical a feel- ing '/' " O, do not thus accuse yourself, my dear mam- ma," interrupted Augusta, in a tone of feeling and gen- tle persuasion that no one had ever before heard her assume ; " you, whose breast has ever been the seat of the tenderest and gentlest affections, could never have harboured such a passion." Her mother shook her head mournfully, and then proceeded.' . s > ' " Your sister learned to walk first, and could also lisp out her first syllables before you were able to utter any articulate sound, but as she only said ' mam- my ;' while she clasped her little arms round the neck of her nurse, it failed to warm my heart towards her ; and I only longed for the moment when I should hear v^u lisp my own name, and see you run into my arms. You had just done this, and were very near the completion of your first year, when I was called away to attend my mother's death-bed. That I should not attempt to take two children, so young, to the house of sickness and death, is not extraordinary ; neither is it to be wondered at, that the child I took with me should be the one that had always depended upon me for its nourishment ; but my blood runs cold THE TWO SCHOOLS. 41 in my veins when I call to mind the indifference I felt at leaving the little Aline behind. But an avenging Heaven had my punishment in store. I witnessed the last moments of my beloved mother, and saw her re- mains deposited in the tomb, and then hastened home. It was the 1st of May your birth-day on which we returned home. For some time before we arrived at the western gate, your father had begun to talk of seeing nurse standing there to receive us with the little Aline in her arms. When we reached the gate, how- ever, no nurse was visible ; nor had she appeared even when the carriage had reached the front door. I know not what it was that seized me, but a death-like cold- ness crept over my frame, and when I attempted to alight from the carriage I sunk into your father's arms motionless, but not insensible. Oh ! how many, many times have I since been tempted to wish that sensi- bility had then forsaken me, never more to return. How many hours of remorse and agony should I then have been spared. But I did not deserve to be so mercifully treated." " Oh ! do not talk s"o, my dear mother," cried Au- gusta, her fine eyes streaming with tears, as they rest- ed on her mother's face with a mingled feeling of pity and tenderness ; " do not accuse yourself thus ; indeed, it is only the working of a heated imagination. It is impossible you could ever have done any thing de- serving of punishment !" " The moment that I found the nurse was not ready to produce her charge, the horror of my guilt came over me, and I felt that I had been the murderer of my child. Your father, though he had no guilt to re- D 2 42 THE TWO SCHOOLS. proach himself with, for his heart had ever flowed with equal tenderness to both, immediately took the alarm, and inquired eagerly for the nurse and child, but no one could give any account of either. The woman had been seen in the morning, walking to the village with your sister, and afterwards down the lawn towards the park ; but she had never been seen since. Search was made in every direction, and at length some slight traces of little foot-prints were dis- covered, just there before us, close to the water's edge ; and a scrap of one of her little frocks was found at- tached to one of those bushes, that very twig there before us, that overhangs the lake, as if it had made an attempt to restrain the little sufferer in her passage ; but the material by which it held, being too weak to oppose the current, it had given way, and the little victim had been hurried to destruction." " And what," asked Augusta, eagerly, "became of the woman herself? she surely had not shared the same fate !" " She never was heard of more. Though every means were used to obtain information of her, by means of advertisements, and every other method that could be thought of; all were alike ineffectual. Your father published handbills all round the country, promising not only pardon for any neglect of which she might have been guilty, but even a sum of money, if she would only come forward and let him know the cir- cumstances of his child's fate ; but all to no purpose ; no information could ever be obtained, and all that I know is, that I left the fate of my helpless infant in the bands of others, and am answerable for the conse- THE TWO SCHOOLS. 43 quences. This is the deep and corroding sorrow that has been undermining my very existence for the last fourteen years, and which will, before long, bring me to the grave." *' Oh, no !" cried Augusta, with energy, " that shall not be. The daughter that yet remains to you will make it the business of her life to heal the wounds of your bleeding spirit, my beloved mother. I will go where you go, and will watch over and comfort you ; and the novelty of new scenes, and the still greater novelty of your child's attentions, will raise your drooping spirit, and teach you again to be happy." " They will not ' minister to a mind diseased,' " returned Mrs. Monkton, mournfully ; " though they may relieve me from the further pang of finding, that, in addition to having been the means of destroying ihe life of one child, I have, by my apathy and shameful indulgence, undermined the moral dignity of the other ; an error of which I have only very lately become sen- sible ; but for which my contrition was so great, that T had resolved to make the expiation by parting from you," my beloved child, though convinced that in leav- ing you, I should bid adieu to the small remains of happiness that has hitherto been my portion." " We will not part, my mamma. I will cross the ocean with you, and will travel through the wilds of America with you. Wherever you go, I will go; and I will, for the first time in my life, be to you as a daughter." At this moment a servant appeared, who said, that Mr. Monkton had become alarmed at the long 44 THE TWO SCHOOLS. disappearance of the ladies ; and had sent in various directions to seek for them ; and Mrs. Monkton, making a severe effort to compose her spirits, and drive the marks of agitation from her countenance, hastened, with what might be called her newly discovered daughter, to rejoin the company. As they approached him, Mr. Monkton looked anxiously in the counte- nance of each, expecting to find in their expression, that Augusta had, as usual, overcome her mother's resolution, and obtained the gratification of her own wishes ; but he neither read in the subdued and soft- ened expression of the daughter any of the usual triumphant signs of victory, nor in the calm and com- paratively cheerful countenance of the mother, the self- upbraidings which usually accompanied her supine compliance with her daughter's wishes ; and nothing could exceed his delight and astonishment, when, in the course of the day, he learned from his wife the result of her conversation with Augusta. The remainder of the day passed over much more agreeably than its commencement had done. With Augusta, every thing wore a new aspect. For the first time in her life, she had made a sacrifice to the feelings of others, from amiable and affectionate mo- tives ; and the new and delightful sensation of self- approbation gave a glow to every object around her. She had never before known the pleasure of receiving her father's praises, with a consciousness of having deserved them ; nor till then had she ever felt the delight of seeing her mother's eyes resting with fond admiration on her face, for she had never before felt conscious of deserving the tenderness which they THE TWO SCHOOLS. 45 expressed. From being pleased with herself, she was disposed to be more kind and attentive to others, and she mingled with her gnests, not with that forced con- descension of a proud mind, but with that benevolent wish to please which no art can substitute ; and at length saw her guests depart, all highly delighted with their visit, and loud in their praises of the beauty, accomplishments, and graceful manners of the heiress of Monkton Park. 46 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER VI. THE alterations in his arrangements, consequent on the change in his daughter's determination, were soon made by Mr. Monkton ; and he, his lady and daughter, attended by Mrs. Monkton's maid Dawson, and his own favourite valet Stephen, embarked at Liverpool, in the packet of that month, for Philadelphia. Their pas- sage, though long, was pleasant, and they reached the Delaware Bay in the beginning of July, all much improved in health by their voyage across the Atlantic ; though, at the same time, very anxious to escape the confinement of the vessel. As they found, on reach- ing the capes, in consequence of the wind being directly opposed to them, that it would probably be a day or two before the ship could get up to Philadel- phia, Mr. Monkton determined to leave the servants in the vessel, in charge of the baggage, and to proceed themselves to the city in one of the steamboats. To one accustomed to range at large, as Augusta had ever been, any change from the narrow bounds within which she had been so long confined was acceptable ; and she jumped into the steamboat with the alacrity of a bird let loose from a cage. Her life had hitherto been spent within the precincts of a small country town, and her means of observation had, of course, been very limited ; so that, though possessed of as much information, derived from books and the conver- sation of her parents, as is in general possessed by THE TWO SCHOOLS. 47 girls of her age, she yet saw wonders on every hand in the new world she was entering; and as she had never been in the habit of restraining her impulses, to wonder, and to express her surprise, were with her one and the same thing. " Why, mamma," said she, after she had made a survey of the cabins and various accommodations of the vessel, " I had no idea the Americans were so far advanced in civilization. What handsome furniture they have, and how very comfortable and commodious this boat is ! And look at all the men belonging to her ; what beautifully white linen they have, and how neat and clean they all are. And do look at that black man, how smart he is ! I had no idea that the slaves were so well off." ' % - " That man is not a slave, ray young lady," said an elderly gentleman, with whom Mr. Monkton had already got into conversation ; " he is a free black, and in the habit of receiving wages that would be wealth to one-half of your English population. When you see our slaves, however, you will find that they have no less the appearance of comfort and good living." " Then I am sure," returned Augusta, " I do not know why there is so much work made about them in England. It is a pity that those who lament their condition so much, do not come over here and see them." " Liberty," said the gentleman, " is a blessing so dear to us all, that perhaps the mere circumstance of being deprived of it makes them fit objects for com- miseration ; but it would be well, as you say, if those who advocate the abolition of slavery, would take care 48 THE TWO SCHOOLS. and examine coolly how far our slaves are yet pre pared for the liberty which is so loudly called for, before they put it into their hands." Here Augusta interrupted the conversation by burst- ing out a laughing, as she exclaimed, " O, look, look, mamma, at those three strange women that have just seated themselves opposite. Did you ever see such dresses in your life ?" / "Have you no such women in England?" asked the stranger, to whom we shall give the name of Ellmore. " O, none," replied Augusta, "nor anything like them." " That is a very natural answer for a young, inex- perienced traveller like yourself," answered Mr. Ell- more, with a benevolent smile ; " but I suspect your father and mother will tell you that Sisters of Charity are far from being unknown in England." " I have heard of such a class of females in England as well as in various other parts of Europe," said Mr. Monkton, " but I never happened to meet with any of them before." " Sisters of Charity !" repeated Mrs. Monkton. "O, those are the religious enthusiasts that we heard de- scribed a short time before we left home, who imagine that religion consists in depriving themselves of every comfort, and making life a scene of toil and misery." " Look at those faces, my dear madam," said the stranger, " which are just appearing beneath those close veils, and* tell me if they exhibit the countenances of those whose lives are spent in pain and mortifica- tion." Mrs. Monkton did as she was desired, and her eye THE TWO SCHOOLS. 49 was immediately fixed upon the blooming and beauti ful face of a young woman, evidently not above two and twenty, whose countenance, though placid, seem- ed to beam with cheerfulness, intelligence, and con- tentment. " That is indeed a lovely face," she exclaimed, in a tone of extreme surprise ; " and that older one, to the right, with her fine dark eyes, and almost laughing face, seems any thing but a child of misery. Pray, how is it ? Surely we must have been misinformed respecting the order." " You have been misinformed, so far as this," replied Mr. Ellmore, " instead of considering religion to consist in mere acts of self-mortification, they prove their piety, and obedience to their Maker, by following the example which their Lord and Master set them when on earth ; in ' going about, doing good.' Wherever ignorance can be instructed, pain relieved, or vice reclaimed, these holy women will always be found ready to attend, at whatever inconvenience to themselves, and even at the imminent risk of life itself." " You are yourself a Catholic, I presume, sir," said Mr. Monkton, with a sort of distrustful smile. " No, my dear sir, if you look at my plain coat, you will know that, on the contrary, I hardly agree with the Catholics in a single article of faith, except those leading ones in which all denominations are united. But it is not necessary to be a Catholic, to admire and revere these pious and self-devoted women. Nor can we help respecting that religious faith, however mis- taken we may consider some of its views, which can induce young, delicate, and interesting females to E 50 THE TWO SCHOOLS. leave the homes in which they were nursed in the lap of luxury, to wander amongst strangers ; to frequent the abodes of disease and death; and devote their whole lives to the mitigation of human misery, and the propagation of religion and piety." "That last object, I presume, is the motive which incites them," said Mr. Monkton. " Sectarian zeal, and an extreme anxiety to propagate their own bigoted views of religion, could alone lead to such self-denial and endurance." " When I see such acts of charity as these holy women practise," rejoined his companion, " I do not trouble myself to investigate very minutely the motives of those who perform them ; but content myself, that where so much is given without any visible return, the motive must be good, even though the judgment may be mistaken. What but the purest motives could lead these delicate females, during the raging of the cholera in our various cities, to seek out the sufferers, and administer to their wants, when even hired assist- ants refused to attend. I was informed by one of our first physicians in Philadelphia, that while visiting the Almshouse, during the prevalence of the cholera, he found it impossible to get nurses for the patients, or any one to administer the remedies that he prescribed. He instanced one case in particular, of a woman, who was beginning to recover from the disease. He visited her about ten o'clock one forenoon, and left her, with the promise that he would, when he went down stairs, order a little toast and water, which she had particularly desired to have, to be taken to her. He gave the order, and returned at six in the evening, and found her lying with two dead bodies, of patients who had THE TWO SCHOOLS. 5 expired in the interval, still in the room, without a thing having been done to them, and she still waiting for the toast and water, without having been visited by a single creature from the time of his leaving her. In consequence of repeated instances of neglect such as this, he proposed to the board of managers, to invite some Sisters of Charity to come, and take the care of the institution. The proposal was agreed to, and the request despatched to Emmetsburgh, and in as short a time as it was possible for an answer to be returned, either two or three of these pious women arrived. When they went to the Almshouse, they were shown into a very neat room, which was intended to be appropriated to their use ; but they immediately said, ' This is not the place for us. We want to be taken to the sufferers whom we came to assist. Show us to the chambers of the sick.' And there they stationed themselves, and with unwearied zeal, and undeviating tenderness, they devoted themselves to the pious work, and so faithfully were the duties performed, and so superior was the management of the house to any thing that had before been experienced, that it was the wish of the corporation to retain them, even after the disease had disappeared. This, however, was deem- ed by the superiors of their society an unnecessary exertion of charity, as the institution was fully able to hire assistance, and they were not likely to be able to do any more good in that situation than those could do who were paid for their labours." " But were they not paid for what they did ?" asked Augusta. " No, my dear young lady ; their only reward was an approving conscience. Their society admits of no 52 THE TWO SCHOOLS. pecuniary remuneration. The corporation offered them money, but it was refused. A piece of plate was then proposed, with an inscription expressive of the gratitude of the city ; but that was as steadily declined ; and the only arrangement that could be made was, that our corporation should present to the Orphan Asylum the money that had been intended for them." " O, how such noble women must be admired and loved in your city," said Augusta, with enthusiasm. " They are, indeed, wherever they are known ; but unfortunately there are too many who have the same limited view of their characters that you all had, when we first began to speak of them." " I am sure," said Mrs. Monkton, " we are under great obligations to you, sir, for the information you have given us. For my part, I shall always, in future, feel when I am near any of these pious sisters, that I am on hallowed ground." " O, I shall even love their wide sleeves, and little bonnets and veils ; and their huge shawls, though they do look so melting, on such a day as this. Nay, 1 shall, in future, even love the Catholic religion itself, for the sake of the Sisters of Charity," said Augusta ; and as she spoke her fine hazel eyes lighted up with such a glow of feeling, that her new acquaintance looked at her, and thought he had never before seen so beautiful a creature. From this time, Augusta scarcely ever took her eyes off the interesting and pious sisters, whose quiet and unobtrusive manners every moment increased her respect. When dinner was announced, she begged her papa to procure them seats near these holy women, and she soon found herself placed at the dinner table, THE TWO SCHOOLS. 53 directly opposite to them. This contiguity of situa- tion soon furnished Mr. and Mrs. Monkton with an opportunity of entering into conversation with them, by commencing with some of the various little civili- ties which the etiquette of the dinner-table affords. They found their manners those of women who had been accustomed to polite society ; and noticed, that though simple and retiring, they evinced no repug- nance to conversing with the strangers ; but, on the contrary, seemed happy in having an opportunity of exercising towards them some of the courtesies of life. The harmony of the dinner-table, however, was soon interrupted, by an alarm which took place in the boat, in consequence of some of the machinery having given way, and in an instant screams and exclamations re- echoed from all quarters. The sisters, alone, remained composed and tranquil ; and, as Augusta clung scream- ing and terrified to one arm of her father, while her mother clasped the other, in quieter though not less painful alarm, she happened to cast her eyes on their pious companions, and observing that they were wholly absorbed in offering uj) their silent and unos- tentatious prayers to heaven, she, in an instant, reco- vered her self-possession, and, speaking in a calm voice, said, " Let us sit down quietly, dear mamma, and wait, under the protection of these holy spirits, the fate that awaits us." The same influence which had thus operated upon the daughter, immediately communicated itself to the mother; and they were both instantly seated close beside the kneeling sisters, as if anxious to be within reach of the atmosphere on which their prayers were ascending to heaven. Mr. Monkton, though unin- O4 THE TWO SCHOOLS. fluenced by enthusiasm, was too happy at seeing his wife and daughter restored to comparative composure, to do or say any thing that was likely to break the spell, and they all sat waiting, in silent suspense, the decision of their fate. It was long before the sailors could get any command over the vessel, for the wind, which from the first had been contrary, now began to be very boisterous, and great alarm was enter- tained of their being driven out to sea in the helpless state in which they then were, when, in an instant, the boat became stationary, and it was soon found that she had struck upon a sand bank. As the storm every moment became more and more violent, and torrents of rain, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, began to pour down, everybody appeared perfectly satisfied at having to remain where they were, at least till a more favourable change should take place in the weather ; and Augusta and her mother, with an arm clasped round each other's waists, sat silent and composed, partaking in spirit, though not in actual performance, in the devotional exercise of their pious neighbours. The Monktons were like thousands that we meet with in the world, good and estimable people, who would have been exceedingly shocked at having a charge of irreligion made against them, yet who had been so little in the habit of making the exercises of devotion any part of the business of their lives, that an act of prayer, except such as is passed through in the ordi- nary routine of the church service, appeared to them as extraordinary a sight as any they were likely to meet with in the new world. Had Augusta seen these women kneeling down, and offering up their souls to their Maker, while no other impression rested on her THE TWO SCHOOLS. mind concerning them, except the inclination to laugh, which the peculiarity of their dress at first excited, the probability is, that their acts of piety would only have been viewed as ridiculous ; but so deeply had her heart been touched by the account she had heard of their extraordinary benevolence and self-denial, that a feel- ing, of which she had never before been, conscious a conviction that religion was a business of the heart for the first time in her life entered her mind, and she looked with admiration, mingled with envy, at those who had learned to make it the guide and guardian of their lives. At length the sisters rose from the kneel- ing posture in which they had so long remained, and asking, as if it was the first time that the subject had entered their minds, what was the situation of the boat; and being assured it was, for the present, at least, out of danger, they seated themselves cheerfully, but without any extravagant demonstrations of pleasure, on the seats at which they had just knelt, and were very soon drawn by the Monktons into a conversation which served to amuse the whole party during the remainder of the day, and the chief part of the night; till sleep began gradually to steal over their senses, and one head after another sunk on the table before them, or reclined back against the side of the boat, (for the ladies' cabin had long before been filled to overflowing,) and stillness reigned throughout the party, till the beams of day again enlivened the scene around them. 56 THE TWO SCHOOLS. V, CHAPTER VII. As sleep relaxed its hold of the party, and the bright beams of the sun greeted their opening eyes, the sub- ject of how they should escape from the disabled boat began to be generally discussed. It was not long, however, before a steamboat was seen approaching ; and the master, immediately on seeing their situation, drew up sufficiently near to enable all who wished it to transfer themselves, through the medium of a small boat, from one vessel to another ; and very few failed to take advantage of it. They found that the boat they had got into, was one employed to bring fruit and vegetables from Jersey to Wilmington ; but as Mr. Monkton was assured that a conveyance might be obtained from that town to Philadelphia, almost any hour, he was not sorry to have so early an opportunity of once more touching terra firma. To Augusta, the thought of setting her foot on dry land was still more delightful ; but when the boat wound up the Christina creek, and she saw the beautifully rising hills all around her, ornamented with trees and enlivened with villas, she could scarcely control her impatience to be once more at liberty to wander amongst them free from restraint. On the arrival of the boat at the pier, she jumped, almost without waiting till the vessel had be- come stationary, on to the land, and stood watching the others follow her with an expression of exultation, as if to say, " I have got a few moments of happiness the start THE TWO SCHOOLS. 67 of you." Her father and mother soon followed, but Augusta would not move from the vicinity of the boat lill she had seen the pious sisters landed. At all times gentle and unobtrusive, they remained quietly behind till the crowding was over, and then they advanced ; but just as the youngest of the three set her foot upon the pier, Augusta observed her steps falter, and an ashy paleness come over her face. Anxious to save her from falling, the ardent girl sprang forward, but her strength being altogether inadequate to what she had undertaken, her effort only served to involve herself in the accident, and they fell together. They were, of course, raised almost as quickly as they had fallen, and the temporary alarm which their fall had occasioned, especially to Mr. and Mrs. Monkton, was soon re- lieved, by their being found to be uninjured. Even the sister herself was restored to consciousness almost before she was raised from the ground ; and carriages being procured by Mr. Monkton, she and her com- panions were conveyed, by his orders, to the orphan asylum ; while himself and family, and their new acquaintance, Mr. Ellmore, drove to a hotel. " The alarm and confusion in which we have all been for the last twenty-four hours, has prevented my recollecting, till this moment, that you have landed on our shores on the greatest holiday that we have throughout the year," said the old gentleman, when they were seated in the carriage ; " this is the 4th of July, the great anniversary of our independence, and there are few in the country so poor as not to take pleasure to themselves on this day." " I hope they will not be too much occupied with their pleasure to give us our breakfasts," said Mr. 58- THE TWO SCHOOLS. Monkton, " for I now begin to feel that we have had very spare doings of late." " You will get breakfast, no doubt ; but neither your attendance nor your fare may perhaps be quite so good as you would find it on any other day. The people of the hotel will, I am sure, do their best, as far as they themselves are concerned; but domestics in general, who are never at any time in much subor- dination in this country, are on this day almost entirely intractable." The carriage had by this time driven up to the door of the hotel, and in a very few minutes, Mrs. Monkton and Augusta, who were much more disposed for sleeping 'than eating, were comfortably stretched on good beds, where they made up for the fatigues of the preceding night by a sound and quiet sleep. The day was far advanced before they were again roused to action, when the firing of squibs and the rattling of drums recalled to their recollection where they were and what was the day. In a minute, Augusta was up and had commenced the operation of dressing, deter- mined to prevail upon her father to go with her to inspect the festivities of the day ; but when about to put on her frock, she found that in her fall, at the time that she had attempted to assist the Sister of Charity, she had soiled her frock on the ground, which was still very wet from the rain that had fallen on the preceding night ; but as it was a black silk one, she knew that a wet sponge would soon remedy the evil, and she went up to the head of the bed in search of a bell-rope, that she might ring for a chamber- maid to perform the office for her. *' What are you searching for, my dear ?" asked her THE TWO SCHOOL*. 59 mother, raising her head from the pillow, and following her daughter with her eyes, as she wandered round and round the room. " I am looking for a bell-pull," answered Augusta ; ' surely they cannot be such barbarians in this country as to live without bells in their houses ;" and again she searched about the room, but to as little purpose as before. " What shall I do ?" she continued ; " how am 1 to make the wretches know that I want them ?" " Your papa will be up to look after us before long, I have no doubt," said Mrs. Monkton ; " and he will go and find a chambermaid for you." " And must I sit with my hands before me waiting, first, till papa comes, and then till a chambermaid chooses to make her appearance ?" " What else can you do, my dear?" asked her mother. " I will put on my frock as it is, and go in search of one myself !" " You had better wait, my dear Augusta," said Mrs. Monkton, in a gently remonstrating tone ; but Augusta was too self-willed to follow her mother's advice, and she therefore hurried on her frock and left the room. " Tell a chambermaid to come to me directly," said she, in a very unceremonious tone of voice, to the first person she saw, that looked like a part of the family. The person she accosted was a young girl, a few years older than herself, but she only looked at Augusta with an expression of wonder, and then proceeded to de- scend the stairs. " Do you not belong to the house ?" asked Augusta, following her a few steps down. 60 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " Yes !" was the laconic reply. " Then why do you not answer, and say that you will do as I desire ? I tell you, I want you to send a chambermaid to me immediately." The girl again raised her eyes to Augusta's face, with an expression of quite as much contempt as was expressed by Au- j gusta herself, and then hastened down stairs. This j cold contemptuous disregard to her orders was so ' new to the heiress of Monkton Park, that it deprived her entirely of the little self-command of which she was ever mistress ; and she flew down stairs after the object of her displeasure, regardless of the state of her dress, and of every thing except her determination to exact obedience ; but before she reached the entry, the girl she pursued had disappeared, and Augusta stood considering which of the various doors before her she should open to look for her. " Open that ere door, straight afore you," said a far- mer-looking man, who stood in the entry as if waiting for something, and who seemed to understand Au- gusta's perplexity. Augusta looked at him as he spoke, but without its once entering her head that he addressed herself, she turned and opened a door on her left, but closed it again instantly, on finding it to lead to a room where a number of gentlemen were dining. " I say, young gal, that there door facing you is the one that leads to the kitchen, where I reckon you want to be." Still having no idea that the man could be addressing her in that familiar tone of voice, she looked round to see where the person was to whom he spoke, hop- ing that it might prove to be some one who would answer her purpose. " What do you stare about that way for, gal?" continued the farmer; "I reckon you THE TWO SCHOOLS. 61 want to see some of the people of the house, and I tell you that's the way to go to find them." " Are you speaking to me ?" asked Augusta, in a tone of extreme surprise, as the idea for the first time entered her head that this familiar address was made to herself. " Certainly I am, who else could I be speaking to, seeing that there is nobody but yourself for me to speak to." " I am not accustomed to be spoken to in such a style, and therefore did not imagine that it was I whom you addressed." " And pray how may you have been used to be spoken to ? I guess you speak English in your country." " I have always been spoken to as Miss Monkton, of Monkton Park ; but as you do not seem to under- stand how that is, I must beg that I may have no more of your conversation." A loud laugh of mingled contempt and ridicule, which was here set up, excited Augusta's indignation to such a degree that her face became perfectly scarlet, and she appeared almost burstingcwith rage, when her father and Mr. Ellmore entered the front door. ." Augusta, my dear, Wnat is the matter ?" exclaim- ed Mr. Monkton, who immediately saw the state of excitement that his daughter was in. " This man has been treating me in the most insult- ing manner," replied Augusta, as plainly as her agita- tion would permit her to speak. Mr. Monkton turned to the farmer with a look of fury, but could not help feeling convinced, from the man's quiet and composed expression of countenance, that there must be some mistake about the supposed insult. F 62 THE TWO SCHOOLS. ** How is this, sir," said he, " have you dared to insult this young lady, my daughter ?" " What, is this gal your daughter ? then I would advise you to learn her a little more sense than to fancy that people insult her, when they are only meaning to do her a civil turn." " Papa," interrupted Augusta, " he spoke to me as if he were my equal, and then laughed at me for being offended." " To be sure I did ! why shouldn't I ? why shouldn't I think myself your equal. I guess I'm as good as you, and it may be better. But that I don't pretend to say ; and as to rudeness, I seen you was at a loss which door to open, and I told you to open that, and if that be rudeness in your country, why it's politeness in ours, and there's the difference." " The mistake has arisen from the young lady's not being accustomed to the manners of this country," interposed Mr. Ellmore. " When you have lived a little longer amongst us, my young friend, you will find that the difference between us and the people of your own country lies chiefly in manner ; and that though we do not always show our respect in the way that you have been accustomed to, we really mean the same. You will know us better by-and-by, and like us better too, I hope." " And I hope," returned Augusta, haughtily, " that my stay in the country will be too short for me to cease to be a stranger in it." " But what is the reason of my finding you here, Augusta," asked her father, desirous of turning the conversation \ " and especially with your dress in such THE TWO SCHOOLS. 63 a state ?" he added, looking at the mud on his daugh- ter's frock. " Because, papa, I wanted a chambermaid, and the people in this country are such barbarians as not to have bells in their rooms !" " You are not the first traveller, my young lady, who has pronounced general censures upon our coun- try on the authority of individual instances ; it would be well if those who have committed the same error, had the same degree of youth and inexperience to plead as their excuse." " Return to your chamber, my dear," said Mr. Monkton, who was anxious to put a stop to the con- versation before his daughter committed any further violence on the feelings of those from whom she had, in fact, received very kind attention ; " and I will send a servant to you immediately." Augusta did as she was desired, and it was not long before a chambermaid tapped at the door, when Au- gusta gave her the frock with instructions about clean- ing it. The girl took it with a sullen and ungracious look, and returned Avith it in a very few minutes. " I told you to sponge it well, and then iron it over," said Augusta, as the girl held the frock out to her. " And so I did, miss," returned the chambermaid, sullenly. " Then you may just take it back, and do it over again !" " Indeed, miss, I can't make it any better, so it's no use taking it ?" " I order you to take it immediately, and make it so that I can wear it," said Augusta, in a haughty and commanding tone. 64 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " You may give your orders to those who are obliged to obey them," said the girl, throwing the frock upon the bed, and hastening to the door ; " but that's not me, and especially on this day !" " My good girl," interposed Mrs. Monkton, " my daughter did not mean to offend your feelings, by what she said ; but she is a stranger in the country, and of course unaccustomed to the manners of it." " I always thought civility was expected in every country," muttered the girl. " And so it is, and ought to be ; and I hope, my good girl, you will show yours by taking the frock down and trying to clean it better." " , " I have very little time to spare," answered the maid, opening the door as she spoke, " for I am going out with a large party ; and besides, I have very little mind to do any thing for people that do not speak to me in a respectful manner." "Then you will, perhaps, doit for me," remonstrat- ed Mrs. Monkton ; " you will oblige me, I am sure !" " Well ! I will try if I can make it any better ; but I have not much time to spare for it." The girl then took the dress down again, and before long brought it back, perfectly clean and neatly ironed. - " It is very nice indeed," said Mrs. Monkton, as she took the frock out of her hand ; " I am much obliged to you." " I declare, mamma, I do not know what you are thinking of ; to beg favours of servants, and make your acknowledgments for their doing their duty, as if they were your equals ; it is the strangest thing I ever heard of!" THE TWO SCHOOLS. 65 " An old friend of mine, Augusta, used to say, ' It was always a good thing to practise civility, for it costs nothing, and often gains a great deal.' " " I hope I shall not have to remain long in this hate- ful country," sighed Augusta, as she commenced dressing. The rest of the day was spent in viewing the town, and in some pleasant rides about the neighbourhood, especially along the banks of the Brandywine ; when Augusta was obliged to acknowledge that, whatever she might think of the people, as far as she had seen them, the face of nature was grand and beautiful. p2 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER VIII. A WARM bright sun roused Augusta very early the following morning, and she was not long of prevailing upon her father and mother to rise and go with her to take a walk while it was cool enough to allow them to have pleasure in the exercise. Though in many re- spects spoiled, Augusta's taste with regard to the beauties of natural scenery was altogether unsophisti- cated, and she therefore immediately led the way to- wards the ascending ground, that they might once more admire the view which it commanded, of the long reach of river, and the windings of the creek. In going however across one of the back streets, her eye caught a glance of the black dresses of some Sisters of Charity. " O !" she exclaimed, " there are some Sisters of Cha- rity ; do let us hasten on, papa, and overtake them, and see if they are our interesting friends." The wish, as usual, was no sooner expressed, than it was complied with ; but before they could succeed in getting up to them, the Sisters had turned into a small neat church, whither Augusta had little difficulty in persuading her father and mother to follow them. They found a small, but devout assembly, waiting the commencement of mass, and being very politely conducted to a pew, they sat watching, with considerable interest, the proceed- ings of the congregation. The scene to Augusta was an entirely new one, as she had never before been in a Catholic place of worship ; nor was it much less so to THE TWO SCHOOLS. 67 Mr. and Mrs. Monkton, who had but seldom before witnessed any thing of the kind, and never, when their minds were prepared, as they now were, to look with favourable eyes upon what they saw. The unobtru- sive piety of the Sisters, testified at a moment when the actual existence of danger was calculated to prove the sincerity of their professions, together with the account that they had received from their steamboat companion of the active benevolence of these admira- ble women, had impressed them with sentiments of respect for this generally despised class of Christians, that led them to view even the ceremonies of their mode of worship, which had hitherto appeared to them only deserving of ridicule, with something almost bor- dering upon awe. The clergyman who officiated was a remarkably handsome man, and his dignified but benevolent countenance, illumined by an expression of deep devotion, together with the effect of the intona- tions of his rich and musical voice, all tended to excite the feelings of the strangers, in a manner that had never before been experienced by them. The effect on Mrs. Monkton's mind was particularly powerful, and when in addition to the other objects of interest, Au- gusta directed her attention to the beautiful and grace- ful form of a young girl in the next pew to them, as she knelt in pious devotion, while her whole soul appeared absorbed in the acts she was performing, and the thrilling conviction that the humble being before her, though evidently from her style of dress be- longing to the humble walks of life, was possessed of a treasure far exceeding in value all the wealth to which her own child was heiress ; the big tears rolled down her cheeks, and almost instinctively she found her- 68 THE TWO SCHOOLS. self sinking on her knees, and offering up her prayers to the great Father of all, in behalf of the object of her maternal solicitude. " Did you ever see so much grace and elegance in a form in your life, mamma," whispered Augusta, " as there is in that before us ? Only look at those beauti- ful hands, and those rich tresses. How I long to see her, face. I wish she would turn round ; but her mind seems entirely absorbed. And how neatly simple her dress is. Is she not an interesting creature?" Augusta had been too earnest in her expressions of admiration to notice her mother's frequent hints to be silent, till at length a rather more audible " hush" re- called her to a recollection of where she was, and put an end, for the present, to any further remarks. At the conclusion of the mass, Augusta intimated to her father and mother that she wished to remain in the pew till the interesting object before them should rise from her kneeling posture, as she was exceedingly anxious to get a sight of her face ; but her father ob- serving, that by remaining, they would keep an old lady who was at the head of the pew a prisoner ; he proposed that they should go into the churchyard, and occupy themselves in looking at the gravestones, till the object of their curiosity should come out. While thus employed, Mr. X , the clergyman who had performed mass, advanced towards them, and accosting Mr. Monkton with great politeness and cordiality, informed him that he had heard of him and his family from the Sisters, who had been in the boat with them the preceding day, and expressed a wish to conduce in any way in his power to their pleasure during their stay in Wilmington. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 69 Mr. Monkton received his politeness with his usual frankness and gentleman-like cordiality ; and an ani- mated conversation ensued, which was only interrupted by Augusta's exclaiming, " O, look ! look, mamma ; there is that sweet girl kneeling at a grave. What can she be doing?" " You, indeed, use a correct epithet, when you say siveet girl," said the clergyman ; " for that is one of the loveliest beings that I ever had the happiness of being acquainted with." "But why is she kneeling there, on that damp ground ?" again asked Augusta. "That is her father's grave," replied Mr. X , " and she is offering up her prayers for the repose of his soul." Notwithstanding the strong interest that the graceful young creature had excited in Augusta's mind, she could not repress a smile, almost amounting to a sneer, on hearing these words ; and she said, in a tone corresponding with the expression of her counte- nance, "And is it possible she can imagine that any prayers of hers can influence the judgments of the Almighty ?" "If you recollect, we often find in the Scriptures, that the churches are frequently called upon to pray for the suffering, dying, or dead members ; which would certainly not be done, unless there was efficacy in those prayers." " But suppose the prayers of the saints to prevail, that is no reason that the prayers of a young girl like that could have any influence." " Do you think, my young lady, that if I wished to obtain any favour of your parents, I could use a more 70 THE TWO SCHOOLS. effectual mode of accomplishing my object than by engaging you to intercede for me ?" Augusta smiled, and her eyes acknowledged her consciousness, that she would be a powerful mediator. " Why then should we not believe that the tenderest and kindest of all parents should be induced to lend a gracious ear to the petitions of his favourite children ? Our faith teaches us" to believe this, and on the strength of this conviction this girl's father, who died of the cholera, at a short distance from this place, last sum- mer, left it with me as his last request to his daughter, that she would offer up her prayers every day, for twelve months, for the repose of his soul. This, I dare venture to say, she has faithfully performed ; but not satisfied with that only, she has been working most laboriously ever since her father's death, for the sake of saving money enough to enable her to make a sort of pilgrimage from Baltimore, which is her place of residence, and have the gratification of kneeling at his grave, and offering up her prayers on the spot which contains his remains. And here, on some part or other of every day, whatever may be the state of the weather, this pious daughter may be seen kneeling at that grave, and watering it with her tears." " How beautiful !" cried Mrs. Monkton, her own eyes swimming with tears as she spoke ; " this is the poetry of religion." " It is religion itself, my dear madam," replied the clergyman; " for religion consists of all that is grand, sublime, and beautiful." " Has she a mother ?" asked Augusta, speaking of the pious girl as if the conversation had never been diverted from her. THE TWO SCHOOLS, 71 " She has a mother ; but unfortunately one of such a character as to call all her principles of religious sub- mission and patience into constant exercise. Her father was a worthy and pious man, and a most affec- tionate father ; and while he lived, poor Mary had many comforts to which she is now a stranger. " O, how I should like to supply his place," ex- claimed Augusta ; " and O, mamma, she is gone," continued the ardent girl, as she turned her eyes towards the spot where she expected the interesting Mary still knelt, and found, that while they had been listening to the clergyman, she had finished her pray- ers and left the churchyard. " She is gone, and I have not been able to get a sight of her face after all, and I wished so much to see it." " You would have seen lineaments worthy of the beautiful spirit within," said the clergyman, with animation ; " and, indeed, you may still have the plea- sure of becoming acquainted with them, for it will give me much gratification to take you to see our institu- tion for orphan children, under the management of the Sisters of Charity. Mary M'Donnel, the young crea- ture about whom you have become so much interested, was educated by one of those Sisters that is residing here at present, and who became so much attached to her, that, though she has for two years been almost constantly separated from her, she has kept up a con- stant correspondence with her; and knowing that it was so much poor Mary's wish to visit Wilmington, sent her an invitation to pay her a visit. This served to facilitate the completion of the poor girl's pious wish to visit the grave of her father, whose loss she has 72 THE TWO SCHOOLS. mourned with the deepest and most heartfelt sor- row." " We shall be much gratified by going with you to pay so interesting a visit," said Mrs. Monkton. " When can we go ?" asked Augusta. " I hope you can go with us soon, sir," added she ; looking, as she spoke, at Mr. X , with an expression of ardour and benevolence that made him fix his eyes upon her with a look of great interest, as he said, " As soon as you please after nine o'clock. I have a few duties to perform before that time, but will call upon you after, at any hour you may choose to ap- point." " At ten, then, sir, we shall be in waiting for you," said Mr. Monkton ; and this arrangement being made, they took leave of Mr. X for the present, and returned to the hotel. Naturally ardent and impatient, and but little in the habit at any time of restraining her feelings, Augusta, as soon as breakfast was over, seated herself at the window to watch for the pious clergyman, who came punctually at the time appointed. But on arriving at the asylum, a great disappointment awaited her; for they were told that Mary, on her return from mass, had found a messenger from her mother, waiting for her, who brought her an authoritative mandate from her parent, to return home by the very first boat that should leave Wilmington after she received her mes- sage ; and that Mary was too much in the habit of impli- cit obedience, to wait, even to take leave of her spiritual friend, the clergyman, but had departed within an hour of her having received her mother's message. THE TWO SCHOOLS. ' 73 " O, how sorry I am that she is gone," exclaimed Augusta ; " I never saw any one in my life that I wished so much to be acquainted with ; and now all chance of it is gone." " Not at all, my dear," replied Mr. Monkton ; " the father of my wards lived at Baltimore, so that it is highly probable that my duties will soon take me there. But even if that were not the case, we would go on purpose ; and some of our friends here will, I doubt not, furnish us with an introduction to the interesting Mary." " I must beg leave to have that pleasure," said one of the Sisters. " No one, I believe, has more interest with Mary than myself; and I am sure, though she has a great repugnance to meeting with strangers, any one whom I may introduce to her will be received as a friend." "Are you the lady that educated her?" asked Augusta. " I am," said the sister ; " and shall always consider it a subject of thankfulness that I was permitted to be instrumental in forming such a pattern of innocence, piety, and virtue." "What are hei means of subsistence?" inquired Mrs. Monkton ; " the slenderness of her form and the extreme delicacy of her hands, do not seem as if she had ever been exposed to severe labour." " During her father's life, though not possessed of affluence, she was supplied with a41 that her moderate wants required. Her father was an honest, industrious labourer, and had her mother been equally disposed to perform her duty, Mary might long ago have been in a very different situation from her present one, for he G 7 1 THE TWO SCHOOLS. made it his constant endeavour to give his daughter a good education ; but all his efforts were unfortunately frustrated by the mother, and poor Mary's only re- source was to take advantage of the school belonging to the Orphan Asylum." " And what better could be desired for her than to be placed under your instruction ?" said Augusta, fixing her eyes on the Sister's face, with an expression of respect and admiration. " To one of common talents," replied the Sister, with a graceful bow, " it might have been sufficient; but Mary's were deserving of higher advantages. Such, however, as we were able to afford her, she improved so much that it was not long before, she excited the attention of some of the ladies who were in the habit of visiting our institution, and one in par- ticular became so exceedingly interested in her, as to be induced to undertake to instruct her in some of the branches of education which were beyond the limits of our school. By this means, Mary has become a very excellent French scholar, and draws so beauti- fully, and designs with so much taste, that she now supports herself by working for the fancy stores. But all this," continued the Sister, with enthusiasm, " is nothing, in comparison to the amiable and unassuming simplicity of mind which this sweet girl has main- tained, amidst all the admiration that has been lavished on her for her undeviating integrity, her humble and submissive obedience to a parent, whose conduct is far from entitling her to the respect of those around her ; and above all, for her heartfelt and unostentatious piety. I hope you will excuse me for detaining you so long on this subject, but it is one oil which my feel- THE TWO SCHOOLS. 75 ings are so much interested, that I am apt to forget myself when I enter upon it." "You could not oblige us more than by dwelling upon it," said Mrs. Monkton ; " and it will give us great pleasure to be the bearers of an introduction to this interesting young creature." " When shall we go to Baltimore to see her, papa ?" asked Augusta. " Can we not go immediately ?" "NoTniy dear, my first object must be to go and meet my young wards, who, I expect, are already in Philadelphia, waiting my arrival. But as soon as I have got them under my care, I shall be ready to go where you please, and shall be as happy to visit Bal- timore, and make the acquaintance of the interesting Mary, as you can be." After examining the institution, and admiring its usefulness, for the further promotion of which Mr. Monkton left a very liberal donation, they took leave of the Sisters, especially their steamboat acquaintances, with many assurances of good will, and wishes to meet again, and were conducted by Mr. X back to their hotel. As the packet in which they came from Eng- land had been seen sailing up the river, Mr. Monkton proposed to proceed in the afternoon's boat to Phila- delphia ; which was readily agreed to by his wife and daughter, and they took leave of Wilmington with feelings of interest, which almost erased from Augusta's mind the mortifications that had attended her first acquaintance with it. THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER IX. WE must now beg that our readers will turn back with us to a period nearly two years previous to that of which we have hitherto been treating, ami accom- pany us into a small room, designated a parlour, in a house of a very humble appearance, situated in one of the small back streets in Baltimore. Here, seated at a small table, busily employed in copying a head of a Madonna that was before her, sat a beautiful girl, about thirteen years of age. Her own face and form might have been taken as models for the figure that she was endeavouring to delineate, so perfectly were they formed, and so peculiarly were they calculated to present to the mind of the beholder the ideas of sub- limity, devotion, and resignation. Her dress, though simple, was perfectly neat, and there was an unstudied elegance in her whole appearance, that made it difficult to remember, while gazing on her, that she had, from her situation in life, no claim to that distinguished place in society which nature seemed to have designed her to adorn and dignify. Beside her sat a woman, who, as far as the shape of her features went, might be said to be good-looking, but whose every trace of beauty was destroyed by the expression which those features conveyed to the minds of those who looked upon her ; for envy, malignity, and cruelty seemed to have marked her for their own. Her actual age was not yet forty ; but the violent passions and malignant THE TWO SCHOOLS. 77 feelings that rankled in her mind, had given a severe and hardened expression to her features, and an ap- pearance of age much beyond her term of life. " Can I do any thing for you before I go, mother?" asked her companion, whom, we presume, our readers have conjectured to be the interesting Mary, to whom they have already been introduced. " Is there any thing that you wish me to do before I go ?" and as she spoke, she raised her eyes from the drawing paper, on which they had been long and earnestly fixed ; hook- ing, at the same time, behind her ears, the rich auburn curls that had hung curtaining her face as she bent over her drawing. " Before you go ! And where are you going to, pray?" " To Mrs. Linley's. You know I was to be there by ten o'clock, and it is almost that now. There ! it is beginning to strike. I did not think it was quite so late. But still, if you want me to do any thing for you before I go, I would rather do it ; and I am sure Mrs. Linley will readily excuse my being a little after the time, when I have so good a reason for it." " O, no! Go away! go away! I suppose your father and you must have your own way in this, as you have in every thing else ; but for my part, I can see no use in such things as are only fit for ladies, being learnt by a poor girl that has to work for her bread." " But suppose, dear mother, the things that I am learning should enable me to earn my bread in a more respectable way than I could without them, would it not be a pity for me not to take advantage of Mrs. Lin- ley's kindness ?" " Yes ; and learn, at the same time, to think your- G 2 78 THE TWO SCHOOLS. self so far above your poor parents that you only do spise them." " Dear mother, have I ever shown any such dispo sitions ?" asked the poor girl, in a tone of voice which proved how much her feelings were hurt at the unjust imputation. " Not your father ! No ! I should not have said that you despise him. It is only me you despise. I am the one that has to bear all your contempt." " O, indeed, mother, you ought not to say so. You must know how anxiously I try to please you ; and how happy it would make me if you would only allow me to be kind to you." " Yes ; yes ; I know well enough that you try to be kind ; and that your priest tells you that you must be dutiful and obedient to me ; but I know too how hard a task it is to obey him." " It is a hard task, dear mother, only when you re- pulse and drive me away. You know sometimes you will not even let me corne near you." " Because I know that you hate me." "Hate you! hate my mother! O, you cannot possibly think me so wicked. I am sure you cannot," continued poor Mary, looking earnestly in her mother's face as she spoke, as if anxious to read there a refuta- tion of the shocking charge. No relenting expression, however, appeared ; but, with the bitterness of one whose only desire seemed to be to give pain, she replied, " And why should you not? Am not I poor, igno- rant, and vulgar ; and is it possible, that you, who are getting to be an accomplished lady, should not be ashamed of a parent that is so far beneath her ?' THE TWO SCHOOLS. 79 " Mother, my father can neither read nor write ; nor are his manners polished by any thing, except the natural kindness and benevolence of his heart; and yet I am sure you must acknowledge that I am proud of calling him father." " Yes, yes, you are fond enough of him, because he indulges you, and makes a perfect fool of you. But I am despised and treated with contempt, just because I try to keep you in your right station, and prevent your aiming at what you can never reach." " All I aim at, my dear mother, is to learn to provide for myself, and to help my father and you to live without hard labour, when you get too old for it." " And I wonder how you would be so likely to do that, as by learning a trade, or by going out to ser- vice." " Mrs. Linley says she is sure I shall very soon be able both to provide for myself and to help you, by drawing and painting for the fancy stores ; and I am sure that will be a much pleasanter way of gaining my livelihood, than any trade that I could learn." " Yes, and I fancy George Linley flatters you, and tells you it is fitter for you, because it is more like being a lady." " George never flatters me. He only encourages me to make the best use of my time, while his mother is able and willing to teach me." " And it is more agreeable to follow his advice, than your poor ignorant mother's?" " It is not his advice only, dear mother, but my father's also. You know how anxious he is that I should take advantage of Mrs. Linley's kindness." " 0, yes, he is always ready to give you your own 80 THE TWO SCHOOLS. way. He and the Linleys are doing all thay can to spoil you, and make a useless fine lady of you, instead of a hard-working girl, that has to earn her bread." " No, no, dear mother, you shall find that they do not spoil me, but only teach me to know my duty, and delight to perform it. But I must go, as you do not seem to have any thing for me to do." " Go, why you surely would not think of going out in this pouring rain !" " Nay, mother, take care lest it should prove to be you who are going to make a fine lady of me. You surely would not wish me to be afraid of a little rain." " Afraid, or not afraid, you shall not go out such a day as this." " O, indeed I must, dear mother," said the gentle girl, in a tone of great distress ; " for I cannot finish the piece that I am doing, without some directions from Mrs. Linley." " I say you shall not go ;, and if you do, the sin of disobedience will be upon your head." " My father's . last charge before he went to his work was, for me to take care not to be too late in going to Mrs. Linley's ; and therefore, I should disobey him if I complied with your wishes ; do not therefore, dear mother, think of detaining me." "I say you shall not go. But I know well enough how it will be ; I shall be despised as usual, and your father obeyed." " You will not be despised, dear mother ; you never were, despised by me," said the poor girl, the tears starting into her eyes as she spoke ; " but when my parents give me contrary orders, and I must disobey THE TWO SCHOOLS. 81 one of them, what resource have I but to follow the orders of the one I think is right?" " O, yes, that is all very fine and very pretty. It sounds mighty well, no doubt ; but perhaps it may not sound quite so well, when you go to confession, to have to say that you disobeyed your mother." " You know, mother, this is not the first time I have been in this difficulty, and when I spoke about it to the archbishop, and told him how I had acted, he said I had done quite right ; and therefore, though it is very painful to me to go contrary to your orders, I feel that I am only performing my duty when I do it." So saying, the gentle but conscientious girl, who had by this time equipped herself, left the house to proceed to that of her benevolent instructress. Before she had gone many paces, she heard the word 'Mary' repeated in a gentle voice, and raising her eyes, which were still swimming with tears, she saw George Linley by her side. " O, George, why are you here ?" said she. "You know I begged you not to come and meet me again, for it always makes my mother angry when she hears of your coming." " I could not help cdming this morning, indeed, Mary, for I knew you would have both your drawing- board and an umbrella to carry," and as he spoke, he attempted to take the drawing-board out of her hand. " You are very kind," said Mary, resisting his endeavour, " but indeed I would rather carry it my- . self." " You surely would not deprive me of the pleasure of helping you. You must let me carry the board for you. Why should I not do so? My father and 82 THE TWO SCHOOLS. mother both knew that I intended to come and meet you, and they made no objection to my doing so ; and surely if they are willing for me to gratify myself in this way, nobody else has any right to complain." " Yes, George, there is one who will complain; and though she is not perhaps always quite reasonable in her complaints, it is still my duty to give her as little cause for them as possible." " But why does she complain ? What has she to complain of? Surely she cannot be displeased at seeing you -loved and respected by all who know you." " She' is afraid that my receiving so much attention from my superiors will make me vain, and too proud to fulfil the duties of my humble station." " But when she sees that it has not any effect of that kind, but that, on the contrary, you are only made more humble, more obedient, more industrious, by the kindness of your friends, and that" " O, stop !" interrupted the modest girl ; " for indeed I am afraid for myself, when you use such flattering terms ; and I assure you, my mother will be so angry when she hears that you have come to meet me, that I must beg at least that you will leave me now." " But why should she know, Mary ? It is not necessary that you should tell her." " She always asks me, when I go home, if I have seen you." "Butvypu do not need to tell her that I came on purpose to meet you." " Do you . imagine I would prevaricate ?" asked Mary, turning her large expressive eye full upon him, with a look of gentle reproach. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 83- " No ; I am sure you would not ; but though you told the truth, it is not necessary, perhaps, to tell the whole truth." "If I said any thing to mislead her judgment, I should consider that I committed as great a sin as if I had told a direct falsehood," answered Mary, gravely. "Dear Mary, I see I was wrong ; forgive me, I en- treat you, for having made the suggestion. I am not half so good as you are, Mary ; but it shall be my con- stant endeavour to be more like you. Say that you forgive me," he continued earnestly; as on arriving at his father's door they were about to part ; " I shall be very unhappy if you do not say you forgive me." " It is not my forgiveness that you ought to seek," replied Mary, with a gentle smile, that said his frank confession of his fault had already propitiated her offended feelings; "but the pardon of a much more awful Judge." " I will seek that also," replied George, as he waved an adieu, tind proceeded to join his class at college, while hi& gentle companion was shown into the room where his mother awaited her. Mrs. Linley, on whose frame the progress of dis- ease had made great ravages, was reclining on a sofa ; her cheeks were pale, and her eyes proved, by their languid expression, the effects of the fever that had been consuming her through the previous night. Yet her countenance was calm and even cheerful, and though she was evidently conscious that she was about to withdraw, at the early age of six-and-thirty, from a world that she had adorned, both by her beauty and her virtues ; she looked with placid benignity on the contemplated change, and seemed only anxious to per- 84 THE TWO SCHOOLS. form all her duties to the utmost extent of her power, Avhile yet a sojourner on earth, though she already partook too much of the angelic nature, to feel any regret at changing them for others of a more sublime and lasting description. As Mary entered the room, her patroness held out her hand to her, and said, with a benevolent smile, " You are a good, punctual girl, Mary. It is a plea- sure to assist any one who is so attentive and anxious to improve." " I should be very inexcusable," replied Mary, as she gave her hand with that native courteousness of manner which is the result of benevolence and a wish to please, *' were I to show any deficiency of atten- tion, when you are so kind as to take the trouble of teaching me. But, my dear Mrs. Linley," continued the affectionate girl, struck, as she looked at the ema- ciated form*of the invalid, and marked the extreme languor of her whole expression, " you : do not seem strong enough this morning to bear any exertion ; do, pray, let me only sit beside you and watch you, and help you to what you want, instead of taking a lesson." " No, my child; the exertion of -teaching you is so trifling, that it will not do me any harm ; and we have so little time on our hands, Mary, that we must not lose a moment we can help." Mary raised her eyes to the face of her patroness, with a look that seemed to ask, and yet to be afraid to hear, to what she alluded. " It can have been no secret to you for long, my dear, kind-hearted girl," said Mrs. Linley, " that my stay amongst you must be very short, and various symp- toms warn me that it is now rapidly drawing to a close. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 85 Nay, do not let it distress you, my dear child," con- tinued the invalid, as the large tears began to roll rapidly down her pupil's cheeks ; " you, I am sure, are too fully impressed with the consolations which religion affords, not to be convinced that the change to me will be a happy one." " 0, yes ; I do, indeed, know it," said Mary, as plainly as her agitation would permit her to speak ; " and it is not for you, my dear Mrs, Linley, that I weep ; it is for those who are to endure the agony of parting with such a friend ; and to lose the sight of so much goodness." " The parting will be but a short one to the longest life amongst you, my dear Mary ; and I die with the delightful hope, that all those in whom I am particu- larly interested are sincere, and will continue to be faithful followers of that religion which has been the guide of my life, and is now the support of my dying moments. My little Louisa is the only one for whom I have any great anxiety ; and her, Mary, I commend particularly to your care, and hope you will do all in your power to inspire her with religious feelings. Our peculiar opinions on the subject of religion differ ; but I give you leave even to make a Catholic of her, Mary, provided you only make her a good and pious girl at the same time." " O, Mrs. Linley, how can you think of talking to a poor girl like me, of superintending the education of your daughter ?" " I am far from meaning to flatter you, Mary, at such a time as the present especially ; but I will say that I never knew any one whom I would so much de sire that my child should resemble ; and had my life H 86 THE TWO SCHOOLS. been spared, it would have been ray care to put her in the way of copying from such a model as much as possible. But things are about to be changed, and I fear there will be nothing for my poor Louisa, but to be sent to a boarding-school." " Let her be sent to Emmetsburg, then, dear Mrs. Linley ; for there she will be under the care of that holy woman to whom I owe so much ; and who made me what I was, when you so kindly began to take notice of me." Here the entrance of Mrs. Linley's medical attendant put a stop to the conversation ; and before Mary was again called into the room, the time usually allotted to her lesson was expired, and she began to prepare for her return home. " Do not go yet, Mary," said the invalid ; " for though the doctor objects to my exerting myself to teach you this morning, it is always a pleasure to me to- have you with me, and besides I promised George to keep you till he returned from college, that he might assist you in your return." This, however, was what Mary wished particularly to avoid, for though it was always gratifying to her to receive his kind attentions, she knew it was of all others the thing that most ex- cited her mother's displeasure, and she was at all times willing to give up her own inclinations for the sake of keeping her unhappy parent's temper in a state of com- parative composure. She therefore pleaded a necessity for her return ; but her temper was too open, her mind too free from every species of disguise, to allow her to do this without the motive being immediately disco- vered by her kind and discerning friend, who said, taking her hand affectionately as she spoke, " I see the necessity, Mary, which urges you, and only ad- , THE TWO SCHOOLS. 8T mire you the more, my child, for feeling it ; let me, however, take this opportunity of assuring you, lest a better should never be afforded me, that however others may object to the intimacy that has taken place be- tween George arid yourself, his father and I do not disapprove of it. George, though possessed of the most amiable dispositions that a parent can desire, is of an impetuous and self-willed temper, and it has been high- ly pleasing to Mr. Linley and myself to see the soften- ing influence which your gentle and enduring spirit has already had over him. Your example has led him to make efforts to overcome his prevailing faults, that nothing else could do ; and has made him much more alive to his religious duties than he ever was before. Be assured therefore, my dear girl, that as nothing is so dear to us as the moral and religious improvements of our children, it is highly gratifying to us to see them possessed of such a friend as yourself ; as the eldest of my children, Georges' character and manners are of the utmost importance, and I hope Louisa will natu- rally fall into the same habits and principles that she sees adopted by her brother. But I see I distress you by thus detaining you," continued Mrs. Linley, as she noticed, at the sound of a footstep near the room door that Mary turned her head with a look of anxious in- quiry to see who was about to enter, and seemed evi- dently relieved by finding that it was only the nurse who was in attendance on the invalid ; " I will de- tain you no longer ; kiss me, Mary, and farewell till we meet again." Mary, with streaming eyes, and an aching yet palpitating heart, stooped down, and em- bracing her benefactress with affectionate fervour, left the room-; thankful to have made her escape before George's return. THE TWO SCHOOLS, CHAPTER X. AFTER a similar struggle and contest with her un happy mother, as that of the last and each preceding day, when going on the same errand, Mary was just setting out the next morning on her usual visit to Mrs. Linley, when her father met her at the door with an expression of countenance which immediately excited his daughter's fears. "Father! dear father! what is the matter?" ex- claimed Mary, in a tone of great alarm, " has any thing happened ?" " Yes, child," replied the father, " there has, indeed, something happened ; Mrs. Linley is dead." Mary uttered a shriek of agony, and seating herself on the first seat she came to, covered her face with her hands ; but scarcely had she done so, when she took them away again, and fixed her eyes, with horror and astonishment, on her mother's face, on hearing her utter, in a voice scarcely audible, the words " Thank God !" " I'll tell you what, wife," said the husband, with a look of stern displeasure, " I have borne with your faults as patiently, I believe, as any husband could do ; but I will never submit to have my ears insulted with such language as that. I will never stand by and witness your commission of a crime of such black ingratitude, as it is to rejoice at the death of your child's friend and benefactress." THE TWO SCHOOLS. 89 " O, surely if Mary and you are as good Catholics as you pretend to be," said the woman, in a sneering and contemptuous tone, " you ought yourselves to rejoice that she is gone to heaven." " As far as she is concerned we may and do rejoice at her happy change ; but is it possible that Mary can do otherwise than grieve at the loss of such a friend as Mrs. Linley has been to her 1 or can I be otherwise than troubled, to think that my child has lost the best friend she had in this world ?" " It is a strange thing, Aleck, that you should talk in that way, when the girl has both a father and a mother living." " Why, as to that, I am afraid there is but little account to be made of us. As to myself, though I love her as much as a father can love a child, and am as proud of her too, yet I am a poor ignorant man, and can do little for her further than just supplying her with bare meat and clothing." - " Do not say so, my darling father," cried Mary, throwing her arms round her father's neck, and sobbing on his bosom ; " you have ever been one of the best and tenderest of parents. You have encouraged me, by your advice, to seek the paths of virtue ; and led me to them by your example. You have always been affectionate, always indulgent ; and I will make it the study of my life to repay your kindness." " Yes ! yes ! go on nattering one another. You are always ready enough at doing that ; but as to me, I am no more looked upon by you than if I was a dog." " And what is the reason of that, Sally?" returned the husband, as he stood with his arm clasped round the waist of his weeping daughter, whose head still H 2 90 THE TWO SCHOOLS. reclined on his shoulder, " but only because you will not let anybody be kind to you. I am sure nobody can strive harder than this poor girl has done, all her life, to soften your heart towards her, but it has appeared to me that the harder she tried to gain your affection, the more your heart was always set against her. And now, when she has come to such a loss, instead of trying to comfort her, you even rejoice at her misfor- tune. But Mary," he continued, clasping his daughter with increased tenderness to his bosom, " you have a father who will do all he can to make you happy ; and above all, you have a Father and Friend in heaven who will never forsake you. Trust in him, my poor girl, and he will support you under every trial." So saying, he kissed her affectionately, and returned to his work, which he had only left for the purpose of bringing her the sad tidings ; and left the weeping girl to mourn over her loss in deep but uncomplaining sorrow. In the midst of her grief, however, one sweet, consoling idea was yet allowed to visit her mind ; the last words that she had heard her sainted friend utter, were those of the most unbounded affection, esteem, and confidence towards herself; she had intrusted to her a sacred charge, and though she might be able to do but little towards fulfilling it, the circumstance of having such an object in view, as that of endeavouring to perform a duty imposed on her by such a friend, would be a comfort and consolation in the midst of her sorrows. A long and melancholy train of mourners attended the remains of Mrs. Linley to their final place of rest ; where the solemn service for the dead was performed amidst the sighs and tears of those whom her love had THE TWO SCHOOLS. 91 blessed, or her benevolence had assisted ; and her afflict- ed husband, and her weeping children had that only comfort, which can visit the heart at such a period, of seeing that her they mourned was lamented as a general loss by all who had known her. Poor George, whose feelings, were always strong, and who had ever been peculiarly attached to his mother, stood pale and almost motionless ; no tears bedewed his eyes, nor did any working of the muscles betray the inward anguish of his soul ; he might even to a careless observer have been thought insensible to the calamity that had befallen him, had not the frequent swelling of his bosom discovered his severe and continual struggles. In this state he remained during the whole of the funeral service, and even when he saw the coffin of her he so fondly loved committed to the family vault, his countenance remained unchanged; but at that moment, the sound of deep and frequent sobs, accom- panied by a groan which bespoke more than common anguish, struck his ear ; and turning his head in the direction whence they proceeded, his eye rested on the weeping Mary, who was only kept from sinking to the earth by the encircling arms of her father ; and for the first time the friendly tears sprung to his eyes, and he felt as though an angel had appeared to him, to tell "him that he was not yet deprived of every earthly comfort. Many long and dreary days passed over poor Mary's head, after the death of her patroness, before she had the melancholy comfort of seeing any of the Linley family; but though a great deprivation to her to be thus suddenly cut off from all intercourse with those she so much loved and respected, and from whom she 92 THE TWO SCHOOLS. had derived so much advantage, in some respects it was the means of her enjoying comparative ease ; for since the death of Mrs. Linley, and the apparent estrangement of the family, Mary had found that her mother had treated her with less unkindness than usual, and seemed to be in a much less restless and disturbed state of mind. This, however, was not des- tined to last long ; for in the third week after the death of her mother, the little Louisa appeared, bringing a note from her father to Mary, requesting her to permit the child to spend an hour or two with her every day, for the purpose of proceeding with her lessons, till he had determined what other arrangement to make for her. As her father happened to be beside her when this note was received, Mary immediately made him acquainted with its contents ; and expressing his grati- fication at finding that his daughter had an opportunity of repaying some portion, however small, of her obli- gations to the mother, by her attentions to the child, he desired Mary immediately to sit down and answer Mr. Linley's note, in the handsomest manner she could. Considering the treatment which Mary had ever been in the habit of receiving from her mother, and the little pains that this unhappy parent had ever taken to make herself respectable in the eyes of her child, perhaps the generality of daughters would have deemed themselves excusable had they contented them- selves with the sanction of one parent, without paying the other the compliment of consulting her at all on the subject ; but it was not Mary's way to seek any mere palliatives for her conscience. If she ever hesi- tated, it was only when she had a doubt which was her line of duty ; that point ascertained, the course, THE TWO SCHOOLS. 93 however painful to herself, was pursued with undevi- ating firmness. That her mother had aright to expect to be made acquainted with Mr. Linley's proposal, was a subject of which Mary had no question, and she therefore put the note into her hand with a look of as much respect as though she had ever acted the part of aji affectionate and amiable parent. But if any thing could possibly have made the conscientious girl repent the performance of her duty, it would have been her mother's behaviour on learning the wishes of Mr. Lin- ley. In an instant, her body seemed absolutely to swell with rage, and her eyes to flash fire, and totally regardless of the presence of the child, she exclaimed, " What! am I still to be haunted by her. I was in hopes, that now she is in her grave, I might have some peace ; but I find there is no hope of peace for me as long as one of them is above ground. O, that they were all where the mother now lies !" "Woman, are you mad!" exclaimed the husband, in a tone of extreme astonishment, while poor Mary stood aghast and trembling at so unprovoked and un- authorized a burst of violence. " Mad !" repeated the furious woman ; " yes ; it is enough to make anybody mad, to be haunted by beings that one hates and loathes as one does the very devil himself. But take notice, if any one of that family is to be allowed to come daily to this house, you must yourself answer for the consequences." " And would you deprive your child of a chance of advancement in life, just because you have taken an unreasonable dislike to those who wish to befriend her ? Only think of the advantage it would be to Mary to be known to have been intrusted, even for a few 94 THE TWO SCHOOLS. weeks, with the education of Mr. Linley's daughter. She might" " Talk no more to me of any such advantage," in- terrupted the woman ; " I say none of that family shall come daily to remind me of the tortures of hell, and the punishments in store for the wicked." As her mother spoke, Mary turned her eyes on the beautiful and blooming face of the child . that stood before her, and thought that there could scarcely be a more perfect picture of celestial purity and angel loveliness, than her infant face displayed. The child, however, alarmed and terrified at the furious manner of the irritated woman, crept up to Mary, and taking hold of her hand, whispered softly, " May I go home, Mary ? I am afraid to stay here. I will tell papa that I do not wish to come here, and will ask him if you may not come to our house instead." Mary pressed her hand, and tried to allay her fears, but in vain ; for at the same moment her mother no- ticing the evident alarm of the child, exclaimed, ' Yes, I tell you that face, fair and blooming as it is, speaks to me only of future torture and misery, and 1 loathe the sight of it ;" and as she spoke she looked at the child with a savage grin, that so terrified her, that even the sound of Mary's soothing and encouraging voice could not detain her, and disengaging her hand from Mary's, she ran out of the house as if in actual fear of her life. At Mary's request, her father followed her, and saw her safe home, while his poor daughter sat employing herself, in painful and ineffectual conjec- tures about the cause of the bitter hatred that her mo- ther had always evinced towards the Linley family. It is true, that she had at all times invariably opposed THE TWO SCHOOLS. 95 every thing that had any tendency to raise her daugh- ter above what might be called her standing in life ; and, unlike other parents, had always evinced mortifi- cation, instead of pleasure, when Mary's beauty and extreme sweetness of appearance happened to excite the attention of any one of superior rank. But on no occasion had such bitter and angry feelings been ex- cited as by the kindness of the Linleys, and that more especially from the period when Mrs. Linley had her- self called upon her to express the high admiration that she felt for her daughter, and the wish she had to assist her, and raise her above the disadvantages of fortune under whiqji she laboured. From that moment poor Mary's life, which *had never been a happy one, became a perpetual scene of insult, mortification, and distress. Continual opposition to what the conscien- tious girl believed to be her duty, and was conse- quently determined to adhere to, had rendered her life, for the last two years, a constant and painful struggle ; so that highly as she valued the advantages which she derived from Mrs. Linley's instructions and conversa- tion, she was sometimes half disposed to think she had to pay too dear for them, in having to submit to all the mortifications that her cruel mother imposed upon her; and it is probable, that had her resolution not been supported by the encouragements of her father, and the advice of the benevolent archbishop, it would actually have given way. At no time, however, had she felt the trial greater than on the present occasion. She now found herself called upon to return a portion of the unwearied attention that she had so long received from Mrs. Linley, without being able to perform what would not only be a duty, but the highest gratification 98 THE TWO SCHOOLS. she could experience ; and which would do more thaa any thing else to relieve the painful void that she had felt since the death of her patroness. Louisa had spoken of asking her father to have her to come to their house ; but an instinctive feeling of delicacy and modesty made Mary revolt from this plan. George Linley, who was at least three years older than her- self, had, from the first moment of their acquaintance, been studiously attentive and affectionate to her ; and though she was still so young that she could not but believe that his kindness only rose from a feeling of benevolence towards his mother's protegee, yet still she could not bear the idea of puttfng herself in his way, now that his father's house was without any ostensible mistress. All, therefore, that appeared to be in her power was to answer Mr. Linley's note, and inform him as delicately as she could of her mother's unaccountable objection to his plan ; and propose, as the only alternative that she had to offer, to take a walk every day, when the weather would permit, with the little Louisa, and to use her utmost endeavours, during the course of it, to strengthen the impressions of religion and virtue which her angel mother had implanted in her young 1 mind. To write this note, and consult her father and her pastoral friend, the arch- bishop, upon its propriety, and to receive their unhesi- tating approbation, served to soothe and comfort her agitated spirits ; and when a second note came from Mr. Linley, expressive of his respect and approbation, and his promise that her little friend should always be ready to attend her, at any time that she should ap- point, she felt the sweet and soothing influence which always attends the course of virtue, arising from a self- THE TWO SCHOOLS. (*7 approving mind. The period of their first walk was looked anxiously for by both Mary and her little friend, and the walk itself was pursued with equal pleasure and advantage by both ; nor will we pretend to say, that Mary's pleasure was diminished by finding that George Linley was at the door awaiting their return ; nor yet by his accompanying her to within a short distance of her home. It was the first time they had met since his mother's death, and their con- versation, which dwelt entirely upon that beloved and lamented being, was sweet and soothing to the feelings of both. It was a melancholy satisfaction to Mary to hear, and a comfort to the mourning son to relate, every minute particular of her last moments, and especially the resignation and composure which attended her to the last. " And among the last words she spoke," continued George, "was to mention your name, Mary, and to send you her blessing." " O, how anxiously shall I endeavour to prove that I deserve her tender care," said the affectionate girl, her bosom swelling with gratitude as she spoke. "We all know how well you deserve it, Mary," returned George, in a tone of deep feeling, " and have only to hope, that now we have lost the example of our angel mother, we shall still have an opportunity of copying the resemblance of her that still remains with us." They had now reached the corner of the street in which Mary resided, and anxious to save her the re- proaches that he knew would be poured out upon her, should her mother see them together, he bade her a good morning, and returned home. I THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER XL THE walk of the following day was prosecuted by Mary and her young companion, with the same plea sure as that of the foregoing had been, but it was not with equal satisfaction that Mary found George again waiting at the door, evidently watching for their return. She felt that his being there could no longer be attri- buted to accident, and the native delicacy of her mind revolted from every thing that had the slightest ap- pearance of being clandestine. She therefore remon- strated earnestly against his walking any part of the way home with her, and urged her wish to be allowed to go alone, with so evident an expression of sincerity, that George, though most unwilling to be deprived of the pleasure of spending a few minutes with her, could not withhold his compliance. To those who are surrounded by kind friends and agreeable companions, this may appear but a trifling sacrifice to propriety ; but to poor Mary, who had no companions but those who were of a class so far inferior to her own pure, intelligent, and elevated mind ; nor a single friend, except her father, whose daily labours left her but little time to enjoy his society, and the be- nevolent Sisters, whose avocations were scarcely less unintermitting, the self-denial that she thus exercised was no mean offering at the shrine of virtue. She had kuown George Linley from the time of her being only ten years old, and as his behaviour to her had been THE TWO SCHOOLS. 99 uniformly kind and affectionate, an unreserved confi- dence and cordiality had always existed between them. She had been the repository of his every thought, and as far as she could call for his sympathy without expos- ing the faults of others, she had always been in the habit of pouring all her little troubles into his willing ear: and now that she no longer had his mother's consoling friendship to rest upon, how doubly valuable and soothing to her feelings must his kindness be ; but yet propriety forbade her indulging herself in it, when only to be procured by clandestine meetings, and she returned home, consoled and comforted for the loss of the highest enjoyment she could have experienced, by the consciousness of having done right. It is well, however, that the amiable girl depended for her reward on her own approving mind, for had she looked for it from any external source, sad disappointment would alone have followed ; for on entering the house, she saw in an instant, by the expression of her mother's countenance, what awaited her, while that unhappy parent exclaimed, " So, you were found out, were you 1 and were forced to part sooner than you had intended ?" "What do you mean, mother?" asked Mary, in unfeigned astonishment. " Mean ! why I mean that you and George Linley would no doubt have had a very agreeable walk to- gether, if it had not happened that you got a glance of James Smith, standing looking at you, when you had the art to send your young gentleman away, and are come home as simple and innocent looking as if you had never thought of deceiving anybody." " I did not see James Smith," replied Mary, with a 100 THE TAVO SCHOOLS. look of more contempt than it was common for her to express towards any one ; " but if I had, I am sure ii would never have given me any concern to think what remarks he was likely to make." " It ill becomes you to speak with such scorn of one who has always shown himself a real friend. He knows very well that George Linley, though lie seeks your company at present, will very soon, when he gets to be more of a man, and to understand better the difference between you, turn his back upon you with as much scorn as you at present look upon himself ; and as he is a real friend, and has your welfare at heart, he is anxious to save you from such disgrace. It was this that made him come to tell me of your walks with Louisa being only an excuse for meeting with her brother; and certainly, in doing so, he has proved himself a kind and thoughtful friend." " Friend !" repeated Mary, in a tone of undisguised disgust and abhorrence. " Yes, friend, for he is a real friend ; and it is my command that you treat him as one, and receive his kindness with the gratitude that it deserves." The conversation was here interrupted, but poor Mary had heard enough to add a new and heavy weight to her anxieties. Her mother had now openly espoused the cause of this Smith, a young man whose manners had always been peculiarly unpleasant and repugnant to her. He was the book-keeper for a line of stages which set out from a large, but far from respectable tavern in the city, and his manners were such as might be expected from one who was in the habit of asso- ciating with such company as he met there. Coarse, forward, vulgar, and impertinent, he had always ap- THE TWO SCHOOLS. 101 peared disposed to treat Mary with a sort of patronizing familiarity, from which her delicate and sensitive mind revolted with peculiar disgust, and he, imagining that the evident dislike which she evinced to himself arose from the attention that she received from George Linley, was determined to put a stop to an intimacy, which, by sug- gesting comparisons, could only prove injurious to him. It required but little penetration to discover that the mother would be willing to second all his endeavours for this object, and they very soon entered into a regular league and compact to support each other's designs, of which poor Mary was the destined victim. For this purpose, Smith assumed the character of a sort of spy on Mary's actions, and as the time of her walking with Louisa happened to be that when he was best able to leave his office, Mary scarcely ever failed to observe him lurking about, and keeping a watch on her proceedings. This, however, except that it was dis- agreeable to her to think that he should imagine he had any thing to do with her, was a matter of slight im- portance to the amiable girl, who was unconscious of an action, nay, almost of a thought, that she wished to conceal ; and though Smith flattered himself that the fear of his observation was the cause of George and she no longer meeting, as they had at first done, Mary felt the sweet reward of inward purity, in the reflection that it arose from her own sense of right alone. Time passed on for some weeks with little variation. Mary, though she had continued her walks with Louisa, except when prevented by the weather, without inter- ruption, had never seen George but on very casual and accidental occasions, and for a long time had ex- perienced few pleasures to counterbalance the conti- 102 THE TWO SCHOOLS. nual mortifications to which she was exposed from her mother and her new confederate. It was true hei father was kind and tender as he had ever been, but she had very little of his society, for he was out at work all the day, and at night, when he returned from his laborious occupation, Mary felt that it would be cruel to disturb the very few hours of rest that he could call his own by speaking of her troubles, though his tender and never-failing sympathy could not but be most soothing to her feelings. An occasional visit therefore to the pious Sisters, whose advice was al- ways at her command, and a conversation at least once a month with the benevolent archbishop, whose rank had never raised him above even the temporal interests of those who looked up to him, were all the enjoyments within the power of the gentle girl ; yet was she serene and even cheerful when not under the immediate pres- sure of persecution. She had continued her drawing with indefatigable diligence since Mrs. Linley's death ; and though she had frequently felt the want of her friend's advice and assistance, so great was her natural taste for the art, that she had made great and rapid im- provement ; and being conscious, notwithstanding the modesty with which she judged of every thing con- cerning herself, of having attained a considerable de- gree of excellence, she commenced a piece with the intention when it was finished of offering it for sale ; and the idea that she might by that means attain some degree of independence, and relieve her father from some of the burden of maintaining the family, was a delightful and cheering stimulus to her endeavours. " O ! how happy it would make me," thought she, as she one morning seated herself at her work, "if I could THE TWO SCHOOLS. 103 get into the way of providing for myself, and no longer be a burden on my dear kind father. He would then be able to take an occasional holiday, or if he chanced to be sick, would be able to stay at home to nurse himself till he was well again ; for we should then have some other dependence than his daily labour." As these cheering thoughts passed her mind, her pencil moved with additional celerity, while she poured forth, from a rich and harmonious voice, occasional snatches of her favourite airs. At length her music was stopped, and her hand arrested by the sound of a footstep in the entry, and as her mother was out, and was likely, she knew, to be absent for some time, she was sure it must be the step of a visiter, and she raised her eyes as the door opened, almost trembling with the dread of seeing Smith enter ; but though instead ot his, the manly, generous, and affectionate countenance of George Linley met her view, her agitation and fear, though of a different nature, were scarcely less distress- ing. " O George, why are you here?" she exclaimed in great agitation ; " you know you promised that " " Do not blame me, dear Mary," replied George, in a tenderly remonstrating tone, " till you hear what I have to say. My visit this morning is on business, and J entreat you to allow me to speak to you on it." Mary laid down her pencil, and expressed by her looks that she was ready to hear him ; and he con- tinued : " My father is going on business to Powles Hook, and he is in want of an active intelligent man, on whose fidelity he can depend, to assist him ; and I have thought that if I could prevail upon him to take your father, it 104 THE TWO SCHOOLS. would be the means of his becoming acquainted with his many excellent qualities ; and I arn sure when he is once fully aware of them, it will be a great gratifi- cation to him to put your father forward in a manner more worthy of him than his present situation is. I did not like, however, to say any thing upon the subject till I had consulted you." " You surely could not doubt that I should be de- lighted with any thing that was likely to make my dear father better known and estimated ; but you know, George, that though possessed of sterling integrity, and of unwearied activity and industry, he is not capable of performing the duties of a clerk, even in the very simplest form in which they can be required." " That I am aware of," replied George, anxious to remove the feeling of mortification which displayed itself by the heightened tinge of Mary's cheek as she spoke of her father's deficiencies ; " but I know also his sterling integrity and incorruptible honesty, and these qualities, together with his native shrewdness and observation, are so important in the business in which my father would have to employ him, that, I am per- suaded, they will compensate for every other deficiency. I have long wished our fathers to be better acquainted with each other, as I was sure it could not fail to be a mutual advantage." " O, how happy I shall be to see my beloved father placed in a situation more worthy of him," cried Mary, with animation ; "and how much you will add to the many obligations that I already owe to your family, by thus serving him." " There is only one difficulty," said George, " and that, Mary, is, that he will have to be from home at THE TWO SCHOOLS. 105 least three or four months, and during that time you will be left without a protector." " I cannot be entirely without a protector," returned Mary, the deepening tinge again rising to her cheek, " while I have my mother with me." " Forgive me, dear Mary, for venturing upon the painful subject; but you must know, that I am aware of the many painful trials you are likely to be exposed to, when your father is not here to take your part ; and it is on this account that I wished to consult you be- fore I mentioned the subject to my father ; for I did not know how far you would dare to be left without him." " O, do not take me into consideration," cried Mary, with energy ; " for what is it that I would not endure for the benefit of my dear, dear father ? He has always been ready to make any sacrifice, however painful to himself, to serve me ; and can I be otherwise than happy at having an opportunity of returning his kind- ness ?" " Then I will go about the business immediately, and I have very little doubt of success. But before I go, Mary," added George, going forward and taking her affectionately by the hand, " will you allow me to make one request?" " What is it you would ask ?" said the gentle girl looking inquiringly into his face. " While your father is from home, I know it will be necessary, to save you from persecution, that I should avoid seeing you ; but promise me, dearest Mary, that you will never let any one persuade you to think ill of me, and that you will continue to think of me, not only as the son of your lost friend, but as one to whom your 106 THE TWO SCHOOLS. welfare and happiness must always be inexpressibly dear." "Can you imagine," said Mary, her fine eyes swimming in tears as she spoke, " that I can ever fail to think with gratitude and affection of one who has ever been so unvarying in his kindness to me ?" " No, I will not think it," replied George. " Fare- well, then, dear Mary, till we meet again, which I hope will be under happier circumstances." So say- ing, he shook her affectionately by the hand, and immediately left the house. OD her father's return from his work in the evening, he mentioned Mr. Linley's having sent for him, and made proposals for his accompanying him, which were so highly advantageous, that he was almost afraid, as he said, to flatter himself with the hope that the thing would be agreed upon ; " but if it is, Mary, girl," con- tinued he, " things will be very different with you soon from what they have been." " Yes ; I suppose you will make a lady of her, and keep me to be her waiting-woman," said his wife, gruffly ; for to her bosom no kindling ray of pleasure was brought by any promised advantage to her child ; indeed, on the contrary, even her own interest seemed to lose its value in her eyes, if Mary was also to derive benefit from it. " I cannot imagine what should make you talk in thai way, wife," remonstrated the husband; "for I think you have always found things go on in a very different way. I am sure no woman in the United States has a more affectionate and attentive child than you have ; and instead of expecting you to wait on her, THE TWO SCHOOLS. 107 you cannot say but that she is always ready to wait on you, and save you trouble whenever you will let her. But you know very well, that you many a time refuse her services, and then grumble at having so much to do." " Because I would rather do a thing myself than be served by those who I know despise me." " My dear mother," said Mary, in a gentle voice, while the tears glistened in her eyes, " how happy I should be if I could convince you, that even if natural affection did not save me from the sin of despising a parent, religion would." " Well, come," interrupted the father, who saw from his wife's countenance that she was preparing some cutting reply to her daughter's gentle remonstrance, " let us have no more of this. I am going round to Mr. Linley's to hear what he has determined upon, and I expect to have a comfortable evening when I come back. Indeed, if it so be that I have to go away, you will have enough on your hands to get ray things ready, for I shall have to be off in the course of a couple of days." Mary's heart beat anxiously during her father's absence at Mr. Linley's ; nor were its throbbings abated, though the feelings which suggested them were of a different nature, when he returned, and declared that the arrangements had all been made in the kindest and most liberal manner ; and that Mr. Linley had ap- peared fully disposed to act generously towards him, and added, that he had been induced, in several instances, to extend his liberality by the interference of his son. Sweet to her was the thought of that son's unwearying kindness, which was made doubly delightful 108 THE TWO SCHOOLS. to her by the delicate and judicious manner in which it was testified. Cheered by its influence, and by the consideration, that though her father was about to leave her, he would be with the father of George, and that through Mr. Linley's means she would have an oppor- tunity of receiving constant accounts of his welfare, though her father himself was unable to communicate them ; she busied herself in the necessary preparations for his departure, with a cheerfulness that surprised even herself, when she reflected that she was making arrangements for parting with the only being in the world on whom nature and affection united in giving her a claim ; and when, at length, the time arrived for his leaving them, though she found it impossible to bid him adieu with tearless eyes, she wept more from ten- derness than from grief, as her fond parent folded her to his bosom, and said, "Be of good heart, my darling girl; we shall soon meet again, under happier cir- cumstances. I will not say, be kind to your mother, Mary, or faithful to your religious duties, because that would be as much as to say, that you have sometimes neglected the one or failed in the other. I will only beg of you always to keep in mind, that though I may not be near you, your Father that is in heaven will always be with to watch over and protect you." Then kissing her over and over again, and taking an affec- tionate leave of his wife, who, however, evinced no reciprocation of tenderness, he departed. THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER XII. THOUGH the sweetness of Mary's disposition had led her in hope that she might, by the extreme watchful- ness which she was resolved to exercise over herself, be able to keep he 1 * mother in tolerably good humour (luring her father's absence, she had not in her most sanguine moments anticipated the task to be so easy as she found it. A complete change had taken place in her manner towards her daughter, and the astonished girl heard with delight the words, " Mary, dear," " Mary, my darling," for the first time in her life, flowing from the lips of a mother. " O, how delightful," she exclaimed, inwardly, " are those endearing expressions ! Who knows but that my prayers at length have been heard, and that my anxious endeavours are to be rewarded by the love of my other parent ? No girl in America has a kinder father than I have, and if I am blessed with an affec- tionate mother also, who will be so happy as I ?" But Mary was not permitted to remain long in this pleasing delusion ; for she soon saw, with inexpressible pain, that her mother's kindness was a mere artifice, for the purpose of inveigling her into treating Smith with more cordiality. But though ever alive to kind- ness, and deeply grateful for it, Mary had too much discrimination, and too strong a sense of right and wrong, to be drawn aside from the path of duty or propriety, even by the allurements of affection. From K 1 J THE TWO SCHOOLS. the moment that her father left home, she found thai Smith's visits at the house had become hoth more frequent and more familiar than they had ever before been ; and though it did not at first occur to her that her mother .had any thing to do with this, and the increased kindness of that parent succeeded for a short time in lulling her suspicions, they were not long per- mitted to sleep ; for as soon as her mother found that, though Mary received her expressions and tokens of tenderness with pleasure and gratitude, her manners continued to be as repulsive and cold as ever to the young man whose cause she had undertaken to espouse ; the mask was thrown aside, and the work of perse- cution again commenced ; and thus was added the pain of disappointment to the other causes of distress with which the poor girl had already to contend. The first gleam of comfort that broke in upon her, to enliven the painful days and anxious nights that she had now to spend, was a message from George, conveyed to her through the means of the little Louisa, whom she had of late but seldom seen, in consequence of her having been sent on a visit to a friend, during the absence of her father. George had before sent her word of their arrival at Powles Hook, and of the health of her father ; but the last letter, which was written on the third week after their departure, contained so Avarm a testi- mony in favour of his activity, sobriety, fidelity, and cheerful good nature, that George, knowing well the pleasure that it would communicate to Mary's bosom, copied it from his father's letter, and sent it to her by his little messenger. It was, indeed, delightful to her to find that her dear parent, wiiom she at once loved and respected, had at length met with an employer THE TWO SCHOOLS. 1)1 capable of estimating the many valuable traits of his character, and who had the power as well as the will to serve him. When she read the extract of Mr. Lin- ley's letter to her mother, however, she saw, with pain, that this unhappy woman heard at least with indifference, if not with dissatisfaction, this tribute to her husband's worth, and that muttering something about there being no doubt that the father and daughter would soon be great people, and she left to get on as she could, she turned away from the sight of her daughter's glowing and beautiful countenance, with as much horror as we may imagine the demon of dark- ness would recoil from the sight of that which is holy and divine. But though Mary found not the sympathy in her mother that her heart required, there were others by whom it was never withheld from her; and the pious Sisters and venerable archbishop both shared in her pleasure, when in the fulness of her. heart she hastened to communicate it to them. " Your father," said the benevolent prelate, " has ever acted the part of a devout and pious Christian, anxious to fulfil the various duties which devolved upon him, with cheerfulness and fidelity; and I re- joice to think he is likely to meet his reward even in this life ; but should that not, after all, be the case, remember, my child, that it is not for this he has laboured. He has made it his object, through life, to gain the approbation of almighty God, and we know he will not leave him unrewarded." After sharing her happiness with her friends, Mary's next object was to give expression to it in a letter to her father himself; and though it was some alloy to think that a third person must intervene, to be the 112 THE TWO SCHOOLS. interpreter of her expressions of affection, she recol lected, at the same time, that the pious Mr. X , of whom she had often heard, would most probably be the person called upon, by her father, to read her letter to him, and she, therefore, allowed her feelings to flow without restraint, from the consideration that what she said would still only meet the eye of a kind and indulgent father. After expressing her grati- fication at hearing of his health, and the comfortable circumstances in which he was placed, she spoke with all the glowing energy of her nature of her delight at finding his many excellencies so justly valued by his employer. " And now," she continued, " that my beloved father's many valuable and estimable qualities are known to one who is capable of appreciating them, I am sure I shall no longer have the pain of seeing his noble mind bowed down by the incessant labour to which he has ever, hitherto, been condemned. You know, my dear father, in the plans of happiness which we have so often amused ourselves with pictur- ing, the possession of wealth was never considered an essential. The power of providing for our necessities with sufficient ease to leave us time to attend more fully to the duties of our holy religion, to cultivate our minds, and to enjoy more of each other's society, has ever been our highest ambition ; and surely it is not unreasonable to expect, that one so industrious, so active, and so faithful as you have ever been, will now, that he has got into the employment of so good a master, be able to accomplish this. And only think how we shall enjoy ourselves when you have your evenings at your own disposal, and we can spend them together ! You are to be my pupil then, you know, THE TWO SCHOOLS. 113 and I am to teach you to read and write. O, how delightful it will be when you can write to me, and tell me all your own kind thoughts in your own words ; and read mine, and have them as closely locked up in your bosom as though I had just whis- pered them into your ear ! These will be happy times, my dear father, and the thought of their approach shall cheer the long, long, tedious hours till your return. Continue, my beloved father, to think of me with your usual tenderness, and believe that your Mary's fondest wish is to testify her affection and gratitude, and return your unceasing tenderness by pouring sweetness into every draught which you have to take of the cup of life." Not one complaint, not one expression that was likely to excite a pang, or give birth to anxiety, escaped her. She spoke of her mother, of course ; but dwelt rather upon her own feelings towards that parent, than on the return which she received, and said all that truth would permit, to make her father believe that she was comfortable and happy. And so, indeed, she en- deavoured to persuade herself that she was ; for her disposition, naturally happy and contented, had been schooled into bearing and forbearing ; and as she had never been much accustomed to indulgence, for her father had had too little time to spend at home to have an opportunity of bestowing much upon her, she, of course, did not experience any great deprivation. It is true, the coldness of her mother's general manner, and the frequent bitterness and severity of it, could never fail to be painful ; yet they were things of too frequent recurrence to excite any very strong emotions, and were calculated rather to check happiness than to pro- K2 114 THE TWO SCHOOLS. duce misery. Her endeavours, however, to induce her daughter to admit Smith as an intimate friend and companion, were not so passive in their effects; and Mary saw, with extreme distress, that she must either comply with her mother's wishes, or expose herself to the united insults of both parties. The coarseness and vulgarity of the young man's manners had always been peculiarly disgusting to Mary's feelings; and when, in addition to this, she became convinced, as she very soon was, that his moral character was still more exceptionable than his manners, she resolved, with all the quiet determination of moral rectitude, that nothing should induce her to receive his advances to- wards familiarity, with any thing but the contempt that they deserved. Things were in this state, whe'n one warm afternoon in July, about a month after her father had left home, ehe had just seated herself at an open window, after having been engaged with her drawing till the ap- proaching twilight would no longer allow her to perse- vere in her employment, when Smith entered, and very unceremoniously seated himself on the window seal beside her. " Well, Mary," said he, in a tone of pert familiarity, " how have you been spending your time to-day ? What have you been busy with ?" " When I understand your right to question me, I will answer your inquiries," replied Mary, haughtily ; and rising as she spoke, she went to the opposite side of the room. "Hey-d=iy! What's the matter now? You get prouder and prouder every day, I think. Mrs. M'Don- nell, where does your daughter get these manners ? I am sure it is not from you.'* THE TWO SCHOOLS. 115 ' You say very right, Mr. Smith ; sure enough, it is not from me. So far from it, I believe it is only because she knows that I have a respect for you, and would wish you to be treated with politeness, that she behaves so rudely. To gain Mary's good will, you should not come recommended by her mother. An honest, respectable gentleman, introduced by me, would have a worse chance of being received with kindness by Mary, than the greatest blackguard that was brought to the house by her father." " O, mother," said Mary, casting on her mother, as she spoke, a look of reproach that no reflections upon herself could have called forth, "how can you be so unjust to my father, as to insinuate, for a moment, that he ever condescended to associate with such charac- ters ? You know how very scrupulous he has ever been about the company he either kept himself, or allowed me to keep." " Yes, yes ; we know very well that he always made a great talk about the choosing of his company," returned the mother, " and for that reason you think, I suppose, that it becomes you to give yourself what airs you please ?" " It is all very natural," rejoined Smith, with a look of great condescension ; " we all know that it is no uncommon thing for beauties to give themselves airs. Nor is it very uncommon for them to meet sometimes with things to humble them. And so, perhaps, may be the case with our young beauty here. I should not wonder if we were to see the day, and that before very long, when she will be as anxious to win a smile from James Smith, as he is now to get one from her." " Never !" said Mary, firmly. 116 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " Ah ! so you think at present," returned the young man, with a most provoking air of self-importance. " You think so now, no doubt ; but you have had very little experience in life, to show you what sudden turns things sometimes take ; and how we are some- times led to cling to those, as our best friends, whom we had only a short time before despised and insulted. But I promise you, my pretty Mary" and as he said this, he went towards her, and took her hand, which Mary resisted with an expression of contempt, mingled with disgust. "Well, well!" he continued, as if in answer to this motion, " in spite of all this, when the time comes that your proud spirit gets humbled, and you show a becoming meekness ; I promise you, I say, that you will not find James Smith the man to keep ill in his mind. So you see, Mary," he continued, " I am not quite so bad as you take me for; let us be friends, therefore, and you may depend upon it, I shall always have a pleasure in being kind to you." And as he spoke he again made an attempt at taking her hand ; but the indignant girl, as if she thought there would be contamination in the touch, almost sprang to the other side of the room, while she exclaimed, " Never ; never will I be friends with you. I would sooner die than receive kindness from one whose con- duct I despise." " O, well ; we must just leave you alone till you come to yourself then," said the young man, and turning on his heel, with a look in which malignity and mortifi- cation were mingled, he said, " Mrs. M'Donnell, have you heard to-day's accounts of the cholera ?" Mary raised her eyes with an inquiring look, while her mother answered, " No." THE TWO SCHOOLS. 117 * Ninety-five deaths in Philadelphia yesterday," he continued ; " and it is spreading very fast in all direc- tions." " Have there been any cases in Wilmington ?" asked Mary, whose anxiety overcame her repugnance to addressing the person from whom she was anxious to obtain the information. " No," replied the young man, in a tone of great indifference ; " but there have been several at Powles Hook." Mary started, and turned pale ; while Smith, without appearing to notice her agitation, continued, " and accounts are come to-day, of a gentleman of great respectability having died there, after only six hours' illness." " O, is his name mentioned?" asked Mary, in almost breathless alarm. " Yes," replied the young man, in a tone of great indifference, " it is Linley." Mary uttered a shriek of agony, and fell senseless on the floor ; but not before she had heard her mother exclaim, " Thank God ! thank God ! All is coming right at last." When she recovered her consciousness, after the swoon into which she had fallen, she found that some one was chafing her temples with vinegar, and occa- sionally holding it for her to smell ; but the recollection of the calamity which had deprived her for a time of sensibility, made her but little disposed to raise her eyes, till the recollection of to whom it was probable she owed these tender offices, induced her to look up ; when finding that it was Smith who was performing them, while her mother stood bv, with an ill assumed 118 THE TWO SCHOOLS. look of concern, she started up with a degree of strengtn of which she had a minute before conceived herself incapable, and rushing up stairs, threw herself upon her bed, where a bursting flood of tears came gratefully to her aid. The sound of Smith's voice in conversation with her mother rested long and painfully upon her ear, but she was too much absorbed by the recollection of the misfortune that had befallen them ; by the depriva- tion to the little Louisa of her only remaining parent ; and perhaps most of all, by her sympathy for George in this new calamity, to give him much of her attention ; so that after he had left the house, and her mother came up stairs and told her that Mr. Smith had left his kind respects for her, the words, though they reached her ear, made so little impression on her mind, that her countenance failed to express its usual disapproba- tion of even a message from such a quarter. This her unhappy mother construed into what appeared to her a very natural feeling, and supposing that Mary had already become sensible of the necessity of retaining the friends they had, to supply the place of those they had lost, or might chance to lose, said, " We ought to be very thankful, Mary, that the Almighty has raised us up such a friend as this young man at such a time as this, for who knows how much \ve may stand in need of him ? You see that your father has now lost the friend that both he and you calculated so much upon; so that we may be very thankful that Providence has thrown another in his way, and one too, that if your father's life be spared " " My father's life !' interrupted Mary, starting up in her bed with a sudden emotion of agony, as the THE TWO SCHOOLS. \ 10 idea of his danger, which had hitherto been absorbed in the distressing recollection of Mr. Linley s death, occurred to her. " O, yes, you may indeed say if his ife be spared, for is he not in the midst of disease and death? My father! my dear father!" she exclaimed, as she rose from her bed, and paced the room in an agony of distress, " perhaps at this moment you are writhing in the agonies of death, or perhaps your pure spirit has already left its earthly habitation, and will no longer bless and strengthen me with its influence ; and your child, who would willingly have given her own life to save yours, will have been your mur- derer." " But I cannot tell why you need to set his death down as certain," said her mother, in a tone of great composure ; " sure, we know very well that some people recover, and why may not he ?" " Do you know, then, that he has been attacked with the disease ?" asked Mary, while a livid paleness over- spread her countenance. " Mr. Smith says that the letter which came to George Linley, informing him of his father's death, mentioned that Alexander M'Donald had likewise been seized." Mary clasped her hands together, and, sinking on her knees, at the foot of the bed from which she had just risen, she raised her full and deeply expressive eye, which beamed with every feeling of piety, resig- nation, and affection, and poured forth her soul in prayer for a life so infinitely dear to her. " I cannot see any reason for your taking on in this way," said the unfeeling wife, as soon as she saw that Mary had ceased to be actually in prayer, for even her 120 THE TWO SCHOOLS. obdurate spirit had felt awed while her daughter was in the very act of communing with her Maker ; " I don't know why you should be determined to set it down that he will die. We are told that it is chiefly the drunken and dissipated that it goes hard with, and in that case, your father will not -be in danger." " That did not save Mr. Linley," replied Mary ; " and therefore we have little reason to hope it will be a more effectual protection to him." " But perhaps your father's constitution may be a better one," returned the mother ; " and at all events, you know, Mary, it is our duty to hope for the best, and submit to the worst when it does come ; so I will go to bed myself, and would advise you to do the same, and hope for better news to-morrow." Mary, with a shudder that she could not repress, at her mother's cold and insensible behaviour, rose from her kneeling posture, and begging her parent to follow her own inclination to retire, seated herself, with her arms clasped across her bosom, on a chair by the win- dow ; while her mother, who found it convenient to take it for granted that her daughter would follow her example, immediately withdrew, and was soon, as Mary heard through the thin partition that divided them, wrapped in a sound sleep. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 121 CHAPTER XIII. THE long hours of darkness were spent by Mary in alternate prayers for her father's life, and in supplica- tions for patience and resignation to the divine will, if it was decreed that she was to be deprived of almost the only friend she had on earth. For George too she also fervently prayed, that he might be supported and comforted under this second heavy stroke ; and for the little Louisa, whose unprotected innocence she wept over with all a sister's tenderness. What might be these young people's future destiny, she was totally at a loss to conjecture ; but as they had no relatives in Baltimore, or any very near ones in America, she thought it probable that their walks in life, and her own, would in future be thrown very far apart. The barrier which fortune had hitherto placed between them, it the distinction that exists between rich and poor, had been overcome, by the peculiarly liberal and benevo- lent feelings of both Mr. and Mrs. Linley. They however were now both removed, and their children lor even George was too young to be left to his own government) were now to be guided by other opinions and acted upon by other influences. What the result might be to their future characters was uncertain ; as far as Louisa, at least, was concerned, the change might be great and important ; but George she flattered herself was too old, and his principles too well established, for him ever under any circumstances to be otherwise than L 1ZZ THE TWO SCHOOLS. honourable, generous, conscientious, and intelligent, His mother had, in the last conversation she had with her, spoken in the handsomest manner of the effect which her example had produced on the mind of her son, both in softening down the asperities of his tem- per, and in cultivating feelings of devotion and piety The idea had been nourished ever since as the most delightful that had ever entered her mind ; for to think that she had been instrumental in forwarding the pro- gress of the son, in his advancement in religion and virtue, gave her the sweet consciousness of having made some return for the almost unexampled kindness which she had received from the parents. ' The proba- bility was that they would now be removed far apart from each other, and as a natural consequence, that she would soon lose that warm place in his affections that she had long been conscious of holding ; but that she would always be remembered by him with warm friend- ship she was well assured, and she breathed a heartfelt m-ayer that he might soon meet with one who would ml up the void that she felt would be made in his affections, and that the influence might ever be exerted for the promotion of his welfare and happi- ness. For herself, when she thought of the calamity which in all probability awaited her, she could see nothing but a dark and gloomy future. The natu- ral refinement of her feelings, together with the culti- vation that her mind had received from education, and from associating with people of a superior order, had made her, she was well aware, but little fitted for the path of life that she seemed destined to fill. While under her father's protection, his anxious care to pre- serve her from every thing that was rude or gross, and THE TWO SCHOOLS. 123 to keep her from forming acquaintances that were likely either to insult her self-respect or to wound her delicacy, had kept her, notwithstanding every other trial, in a state of comparative happiness. But should that tender and watchful guardian be removed, how great were the trials to which she was likely to be exposed. The circumstance of being obliged, as she well knew she would be, to make immediate exertion for her own support, she considered as but a minor evil, for this she had always looked upon as a duty which she would long since have begun to practise, had not her father himself, who evidently had a pleasure in thinking she depended on him alone, always discouraged it. Habits of activity and industry were congenial to her nature, and hard work had therefore never been esteemed by Mary as one of those ills of life which fortune had assign- ed her. But when she thought of the society amongst which she was likely to be thrown, when no longer protected by her father's watchful care, her heart sick- ened, and she shrunk from the contemplation of ills which she feared would require more resolution and fortitude than she possessed, to enable her to bear. "But why should I doubt myself?" she would say again, rallying her courage ; " of what avail is the edu- cation I have received, and of what value are the sen timents of piety that have with such tender care been infused into my mind, if they forsake me in the time of need ? Have I not been taught in whom I should place my trust ; and do I not know that he will listen to my prayers and give me strength in the hour of need ? Yes ! my father, my dear, dear father, if the spirits of the just are permitted to look down upon those they loved on earth, you shall find that your 124 THE TWO SCHOOLS. child does not disgrace your instructions, but that she walks through life with such a spirit, as you, even when refined from all earthly dross, will delight to look down upon. And surely it is a selfish wish that would bind you down to this lower world, merely to support and comfort me. How can I, when I think of the pain and labour which must ever have been your por- tion here, dare to regret your removal to a happier state of existence ? O, no ! I will teach myself to stfbmit to the decrees of Him, who is ever kind and merciful, and should it be his will that we no more meet on earth, my soul shall be supported by the hope of that reunion, when we are told there will be no more parting." In reflections such as these, did Mary wear away the dreary hours of darkness, and though the morning light brought with it no alleviation to her anxiety, it found her in a frame of mind to meet whatever might befall her with firm patience and unmurmuring resignation. From the moment she heard of her father's being attacked by the dreadful disease, she had scarcely entertained the slightest hope of his recovery, and all her efforts had been exerted to prepare herself for the fatal blow. When a letter therefore was put into her hand, the direction of which she recognised as the writing of Mr. X of Wilmington, she was able to open it, and read its contents, with no other interruption than was occa- sioned by the flood of tears which flowed from her eyes. The letter was as follows : "Wilmington, August 16th, 1832. " Ml DEAR TOUJfO FHIEXD, " It is a subject of extreme regret to me, that the first time I have occasion to address one who has -.. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 125 already excited so warmly my respect and admiration, should be on an occasion so painful as the present. Being called, a few days ago, by the duties of my my office, to Powles Hook, where the cholera had already laid hold of many victims, your father, whose ardent piety and excellent moral character had before introduced him to my notice, put a letter into my hand, with a request that I would read it to him. I need hardly say, that it was your beautiful letter, or that he listened to it with all the pride of a father and the exul- tation of a Christian. I mention this circumstance with the hope it will mitigate the pain that I am obliged to give you, to think that your last communication to your beloved parent served to soothe and comfort him in the midst of severe bodily suffering. This was on the Tuesday, and it was then agreed between us, that before my return to Wilmington, on the Thursday, I should write from his dictation an answer to your letter. Before that day arrived, however, I was too much engaged with attending upon Mr. Linley, to be able to fulfil my promise ; and, indeed, your father himself, who never, for a moment, left the bedside of his patron, was too much occupied to think of any thing else. We stood together by the bed of this good man till he breathed his last ; and your father, not content with having given him his faithful services as long as life remained, undertook to perform all the necessary offices for the dead, nor intended to leave his remains till they were placed under the care of his own family. Just, however, as they were about to be conveyed to the steamboat, for the purpose of being taken home, your dear father himself was seized with the same direful disease, and I was very soon called upon to L2 126 THE TWO SCHOOLS. perform not only the offices of benevolence, but to administer the rites of our holy religion to him. I am happy to say, that he had every attention, both of a religious and medical kind, that could be desired ; and though all, alas ! proved ineffectual in saving his life, it is a great consolation to his surviving friends, to think that all was done that mortal man could do, to render his last moments easy and happy. It is a peculiar character of this disease, that though the previous stages are marked by extreme suffering, the last mo- ments of its victims are invariably composed and tran- quil ; but in no instances have I seen the impress of Almighty God marked in such legible characters on the human countenance, as on the features of Mr. Linley and your father. Mr. Linley was about six hours ill ; your father eleven ; and though, from the first, he seemed to believe his death inevitable, not a regret or a murmur ever escaped his lips. He spoke fre- quently and tenderly of you ; said he should have been very happy had it pleased God to allow him to remain with you till you were placed under the care of some other protector, or at least till you had a few more years' experience over your head ; but that he had every confidence in your piety and virtue, and in the pro- tecting care of Almighty Providence. He desired me to assure you, that his last prayers were breathed for you, and that his last request was, that you would say a prayer for the repose of his soul every day for the next twelve months ; ' and if,' said he, ' the prayers of the good are heard, as I believe they are, how can I fail to be benefited by hers ? Tell her, too,' he added, ' not to grieve immoderately for my loss. Life has never been to me a very inviting scene ; indeed, she THE TWO SCHOOLS. 127 has herself been almost the only sweet that has min- gled in my cup. She has always been like a heavenly spirit watching over me, and I hope she will still pray for me, and bless me.' Let me then hope, my dear young friend, that you will comply with the wishes of your dear departed parent, and not allow yourself to sorrow as one that has no hope, but call our blessed religion to your aid, and bow with submission to what he who knows what is for the best, has seen fit to decree. " As there is no Catholic burial ground in this place, I had your father's remains, according to his own request, conveyed in the same boat in which I came myself to Wilmington ; and he was interred this morn- ing, in the burial ground attached to the church, I myself performing the service over his remains. " I hope to be in Baltimore in the course of a few months, and shall make a point of calling upon you, and forming a personal acquaintance with one who has given so early a promise of being an honour to the church of which she is a member, by her faithful obedience to the Master she has chosen. Believe me to be your faithful and sympathizing friend, "J. X." This letter, especially as Mary's mind, was already prepared for the intelligence which it contained, served rather to soothe than to excite her feelings ; and she read it over, first to herself, and then to her mother, and felt only more and more comforted by the perusal. Still, however, nature would have its course, and for many days the tears flowed almost unceasingly over the memory of her dear lost parent ; and one idea took possession of her mind, for the accomplishment of rZo THE TWO SCHOOLS. which she determined to labour incessantly, and that was, to go to Wilmington, and pour forth her prayers over the grave of the father she had so fondly loved, and now so deeply mourned. There is nothing, per- haps, that tends so effectually to turn the current of our grief, as the wish to accomplish some object con- nected with the being we mourn ; and so great was its influence over Mary's mind, that her mother, who, as she expressed herself, had expected nothing but tears and bewailing and praying for months to come, with extreme surprise, on the second week after the arrival of Mr. X 's letter, saw Mary take out her drawing materials, and seat herself with great earnestness down to her work. "Well, to be sure," exclaimed the unfeeling woman, " I should never have thought this. I should have expected, even if I had died, that you would have be- stowed two weeks' sorrow upon me ; but when that is ail that your father gets, I suppose three hours will be as much as I need to look for." " Grief is not always shown by the tears we shed," said Mary, with a deep sigh. " No ; but sorrow and dry eyes do not go very often together. But I fancy you find some comfort from the thought,- that you will be rather more your own mistress, now that your father is gone." " How can I be that, when his greatest delight always was to gratify my every wish ?" asked Mary, her eyes filling with tears at the recollection of the unvarying tenderness of the parent she had lost. " Yes, but you had a character to support then, that you may not now perhaps give yourself quite so much trouble about. May be you may not care much THE TWD SCHOOLS. 129 whether 1 think you quite the faultless creature that you used to try to appear before him." " As to being faultless, that was always very far from my power ; but the necessity of trying to be so can never vary, for that is a religious duty." " O, there are many ways of getting over such duties, when we depend upon our own judgment only. Conscience is a convenient thing, and can easily be bribed to take whatever side we like." " I have never found it so," said Mary, quietly. " But it is possible you may find it so, when temptation comes in the way," returned the mother, colouring with shame and mortification, at the gentle rebuke of her daughter. " I suppose if George Linley happened to come in the way, you would not be very ready to listen to what your conscience was inclined to say to you. Nor would you, I reckon, shed many tears for your father's death at the time." " George never in his life tried to make me shut my ears to the voice of conscience, and as my dear father was always proud of the kindness that I received from the Linley family, I do not know why I should mourn his loss less on their account." " Ay, very fine ! then I suppose you will make that an excuse for following your own inclinations without condescending to consult my wishes. I of course am only your mother, and do not deserve to be taken into consideration !" " My dear mother," said Mary, raising her fine eyes to her mother's face, with an expression of almost heavenly sweetness, " my father and you often differed very widely on many points of my conduct ; and as it was therefore impossible that I could obey both, my 130 THE TWO SCHOOLS. only resource was, to act according to the wishes of the one that I believed to be in the right. I now, however, have only one parent to obey, and it shall be the study of my life to comply with her wishes in all things that are not inconsistent with religion and virtue." " Will you promise me, then," cried the mother eagerly; "will you swear that you will have nothing more to do with that family that I hate as I do the grave ?" " I promise you," replied Mary, with a deep sigh, which she tried in vain to repress, " that I will not keep up any intercourse with them, nor will ever, should they happen to come in my way, have any more conversation with them than bare civility re- quires." " I will put you to the trial," said the unfeeling woman, taking, as she spoke, a sealed letter out of her 'bag, and laying it down on the table before her daugh- ter ; " this came from George Linley yesterday. I give it you, but at the same time I command you not to read it. Now we will see how far your duty and obedience will carry you." Mary looked at the well known characters, and then put her hands before her eyes, as if unwilling to ex- pose herself to the pain of gazing upon them. The struggle was a severe one. This letter was from one that had ever shown her the most affectionate tender- ness. In writing it, he had no doubt sought sympathy for his own griefs, as well as having proffered it in the kindest manner for hers. Besides, she had noticed even in the short glimpse that she had taken of the letter, that it had a post mark on it, which she at THE TWO SCHOOLS. 131 least knew was not the Baltimore stamp. It was evi- dent therefore that he was not in the city, but whither he was gone, or what distance now divided them, she could not conjecture ; and though she asked herself repeatedly, of what consequence it was, if they were no longer to have any intercourse, how far they were separated, yet there is too much pleasure in the idea of being near those we love, for her to feel this to be a matter of indifference. But even this small gratifica- tion was denied her ; she could no longer enjoy his friendship, nor was even the gratification of occasion- ally catching a glimpse of his person, any longer in her power. Her mind ranged for an instant round the circle of her acquaintance, and, with the exception of the Sisters of Charity, and her pastoral guides, who, though always kind, could not be considered in the light of associates, she had not a single friend but himself, to whom she could look for kindness and sympathy. The sacrifice, however, was to be made, duty re- quired it ; and with respect to obeying such a demand, when no doubts obscured the path, Mary had never been accustomed to hesitate. After dropping a few tears, therefore, over the friend whom she was thus called upon to resign, she held out the letter to her mother, but without permitting herself to cast another glance upon it, and said, " Take it ; I will not read it. I will never " but here her voice refused all further utter- ance, and covering her face with her hands, and resting her elbows on the table before her, she gave vent to a violent flood of tears. Her mother hastened into the kitchen, for the purpose, Mary doubted not, of burning the letter that she would have sacrificed any thing but 132 THE TWO SCHOOLS. duty for the sake of reading, and the subject was no more mentioned. If any one has arrived at such an elevation above the usual feelings of humanity, as to think this but a small trial, let them recollect the very early age of this humble follower of her Divine Master, as well as the few, the very few earthly comforts that had ever been within her reach ; as well as the entire deprivation of them that was now likely to be her portion, and we trust they will give our heroine no small credit for her pious sacrifice. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 133 CHAPTER XIV. IT is happy for those who are called upon to make a sacrifice to the cause of virtue, that the very act itself, however painful it may be, carries with it that delightful reward which always accompanies the per- formance of our duty ; and that this pleasure increases in proportion to the magnitude of the effort which had been required for its accomplishment ; and doubly happy was it for poor Mary that such comfort was now granted to support and strengthen her sinking spirits, for little else was now within her power. But a few months before, she had been under the protection of kind and influential friends ; but these, together with her ever kind father, were now taken from her, and even the sympathy of one who was bound to her by mutual sufferings as well as affection, she was for- bidden to indulge in. She now, therefore, stood alone in the world, or what was worse, she would, her heart told her, have to contend, unassisted, against unkind- ness, poverty, and persecution. The trial was a severe one, but she was resolved to brace herself for the con- flict with a firm and determined spirit ; and amidst the various ills that surrounded her, to avoid that worst of evils, a self-upbraiding conscience. She had promised her mother, in compliance with the obedience which her religion enjoined, to withhold from all intercourse with the only beings in whom her affections were strongly interested, and though the dislike that her M 134 TKK TWO SCHOOLS. unhappy parent had evinced to Mr. and Mrs. Linley and had now transmitted, in its full rigour, to their children, was to her wholly inexplicable ; the sacrifice had been required, the promise had been given, and she was determined it should be faithfully observed. One only object of interest, therefore, now remained to break the dreary void which lay before her, and that was the favourite idea of visiting her father's grave, and mingling her tears and prayers over the spot that was hallowed by his beloved remains. This, however, she was well aware would be a difficult task to perform, as she had little doubt that the utmost of her efforts would be required to assist in the necessary support of her mother and herself. Her father, when in Baltimore, had acted as porter at one of the princi- pal hotels in the city, in which situation he had an opportunity of making more money than a common labourer generally does, and his frugality and economy had always turned his earnings to the best account. Still, however, though she knew he had saved some trifling sum, she was sure it could only be a very small one ; as his ambition, on her account, had led him into very considerable expenses in her education, and had likewise induced him to live in a better house, and to enable her to enjoy many little refinements that might not be considered altogether suited to his circum- stances. When, after his death, however, she ven- tured to suggest to her mother the propriety of dimi- nishing their expenses, she was not a little surprised to find the proposal treated with scorn, and that every suggestion respecting economy was only answered by her parent with a request that such matters might be left to her. This behaviour, so far from relieving her, THE TWO SCHOOLS. 135 only added to her anxiety, for as her mother had never been in the habit of showing herself to be indifferent about pecuniary matters, she could not suppose her present unconcern arose from carelessness ; and, there- fore, was led to suspect that she had resources of which she herself was ignorant. About the nature of these resources she could not but feel exceedingly anxious, but in vain she strove to discover from whence they sprung. Her mother had never been in the habit of treating her with the frankness and confidence that such a daughter had a right to expect, and discovered little disposition now to break through her usual reserve ; but answered any accidental remark, that Mary ventured to make, by simply saying, that though not rich, they were far from having been left so desti- tute as Mary seemed to imagine. As she found it impossible, therefore, to gain any further information, the gentle girl determined to sub- mit patiently to circumstances that she found she could not control, though she secretly resolved not to make any further use of her mother's means than was barely requisite for the supply of her necessities, till better in- formed of the source whence they were derived. When purchasing mourning, though her mother would gladly have provided her with a very handsome bombasin dress, and every other article in unison, Mary steadily refused to wear any thing better than a very common bombazette one, with every other thing on an equality ; unless she could be perfectly satisfied that circum- stances authorized such a deviation from the rigid eco- nomy to which she had limited herself ; but no inclina- tion to remove her difficulties was evinced, while her mother merely said, that, " if Mary, young as she 1.76 THE TWO SCHOOLS. was, chose to go upon the plan of self-denial, it was no reason why she should practise it also ; especially, as she did not pretend to act up to all the rigours of the Catholic doctrine ; and that she would therefore provide herself with such a suit of mourning as would prove the respect she had for the memory of him for whom she wore it." Mary sighed over the self-delusion of her unhappy parent, and renewed her resolutions to prove her respect and affection for her beloved father by her anxious endeavours to become all that he could have wished her to be. One circumstance, and one alone, seemed to present itself to relieve her present unhappy situation. She found that since the day that Smith had brought the tidings of Mr. Linley's death, the frequency of his visits had ceased, and that during the very few times that he had been at the house, he had honoured her with but a small portion of his atten- tion. Flattering herself therefore that her ready com- pliance with her mother's wishes with regard to George Linley had produced such an effect upon her mind as to induce her to relent in her cruel determina- tion of forcing Smith's attentions upon her, she began to feel some faint hope kindle in her bosom, of being able to make a friend of her surviving parent. Another circumstance which helped to relieve the dreary gloom that had enveloped her mind from the moment she heard of her father's death was, the ready compliance that her mother had given to her going to Wilmington, to visit her father's grave. She had not only consented to her going, but had even offered to supply her with the means of doing so immediately ; but the same mo- tive which had induced Mary to refuse all superfluous expense with regard to her mourning, operating in her THE TWO SCHOOLS. 137 mind with equal force in the present instance ; her visit was deferred for a couple of months, by which time she had no doubt she would be possessed of funds, derived from her own personal exertions, suffi- cient to meet all the necessary expenses of her little trip, and the cessation which must of course take place in her employments during her absence from home. By that time too the beautiful month of October would be set in, a period so favourable for every undertaking ; ?nd Mary, who did not remember ever to have been five miles out of Baltimore in her life, had that which is so necessary to the happiness of every youthful mind, a time to look forward to, a something to contemplate, the accomplishment of which was to be a source of com- parative happiness. Before October had commenced, however, Mary found that fresh disappointments were awaiting her ; for her mother's health began gradually to decline, and before the month was far advanced, it was in such a state that Mary found it impossible to leave her. " I must try to get some steady attentive woman to be with me while you are away," said the mother one day, as her duteous daughter performed some little act of attention towards her. " You do not imagine, dear mother, that I would leave you while you stand in any such need of help ?" said Mary, in a tone of unaffected surprise. " Why should you not?" asked the invalid. " There are plenty of good nurses to be hired ; and I would rather have some one with me that has had more experience in sickness than you." " You can have such a one, if you choose," an- swered Mary; " for there is no doubt you can easily K9 1 TWO SCHOOLS, to propose sending for a clergyman ; but the mind seemed to have preceded the body in its progress to decay ; and Mary could noj but reflect with horror on the wretched situation of those who pjt off their pre- parations for death till they were actually in his presence, since the bed of sickness, even where the mind is permitted to retain undisturbed possession of its mansion, must ever afford very insufficient means of making up for an ill-spent life. Hour after hour passed away, -while Mary and her companions, whose number had increased as the morning advanced, by the addition of several other neighbours, sat watching every moment, with the ex- pectation of seeing the spirit take its flight; and the weeping daughter, forgetting that, in the- expiring parent, she beheld the bitterest enemy she had ever known, considered her only in her character as her mother, and as the wife of her beloved father, and hung sobbing over her pillow, in the most heartfelt grief. Though the forenoon was now far advanced, her friends tried in vain to induce her to leave the side of the invalid for a moment, to take the slightest nourish- ment. She dreaded lest a momentary consciousness should return, and she not be by to take advantage of it ; and she resolved, whatever it might cost herself, not to let such an opportunity be lost, of making a proposal that she deemed so essential. At length, as if Heaven had looked with mercy on her virtuous endeavours, the sufferer opened her eyes, with an expression of consciousness, and fixing them upon her weeping daughter, she cried, " Where am I? \m I still on earth, or am I already gone to my final THE TWO SCHOOLS. 147 noom ? Is this really the being that I have persecuted through life so bitterly ? or is it her angel spirit plead- ing for me at the footstool of eternal grace ?" " My dear, dear mother," said Mary, as plainly as her agitation would permit, " it is your child, your own Mary, who is watching over you, and ready to do every thing to comfort and console you." " O, do not talk of comfort and consolation to a wretch like me. Bring me a priest, that I may try to wipe off some of the black guilt that weighs upon my soul. But I deserve all that is in store for me. There is no hope of mercy for me.V And as she spoke, the wretched woman groaned in the deepest agony of soul. " Do not despair, dearest mother," cried Mary, in a tender and encouraging voice ; " we all know the for- giving mercy of the Judge on whom we have to depend. Prostrate yourself before him in prayer, dear mother, and I will bring a clergyman to help you to make your peace with your Maker." So saying, Mary hastened out of the room, while the groans and lamentations of the dying culprit rung in her ear, even when she had .reached the room below. But what was her delight when, on opening the front door, she found the excellent Mr. X standing on the step, just on the point of knocking for entrance. The circumstances of the case were soon explained, and but a very few minutes elapsed before Mary had the unspeakable satisfaction of knowing he was shut up with her mother for the purpose of re- ceiving her confession. When his religious duties were all performed, Mr. X came down stairs, and 148 THE TWO SCHOOLS. looking with tenderness and compassion at the weep- ing Mary, " Keep up your spirits, my dear child," said he ; " the world has hitherto been very unkind to you ; but though you have been placed in a severe, it has not been an unimproving school, and I trust you will reap the blessed fruits of the piety and virtue that you have practised in so exemplary a manner. The ways of Providence are indeed inscrutable ; but believe me, my child, the longer you live the more you will be con- vinced that they all tend to the punishment of vice, and the reward and encouragement of religion and goodness." Soothed and comforted by this kindness, Mary returned to watch and weep by the bedside of her dying parent, who had been so much exhausted by the efforts she had made while Mr. X was with her, and by the agony of soul that she had endured, that she had relapsed into the same state of stupor from which she had so recently recovered. Little change took place in her situation the whole of that day and the ensuing night ; during the whole of which time, Mary never for a moment left- her bedside, but watched her with the tenderest care, remembering only that it was a parent who lay stretched in sickness before her, and not that in this parent she ever found a cruel and vindictive foe. We will not pretend to say that it never occurred to her mind that her mother's lips were about to be sealed in death, without their having released her from the promise that had been extorted from her, to give up one who was so deservedly dear to her heart ; but the thought, however frequently it returned, was as quickly banished from THE TWO SCHOOLS. 149 her mind, and every feeling of selfishness was absorbed in her overwhelming anxiety to see her mother so far restored, as to allow her a little further chance of making her peace with her offended God. Again and again did she kneel down by the side of her insensible parent, and pour forth, with all the pious fervour of her ardent soul, her prayers for forgiveness and mercy for the dying penitent, that lay wholly incapable of offering up a supplication for herself. At length the various applications used for her recovery seemed to have some effect, and the invalid began to discover signs of consciousness. These favourable symptoms, however, were accompanied by so agonizing a state of mind at the conviction that she was on the very point of death, though so ill prepared to meet her great Judge, that Mary's pitying heart could scarcely withhold from regretting the consciousness for which she had, but a few hours before, so earnestly prayed. Mr. X was unremitting in his attentions, whenever the state of the sufferer would permit his services to be of any avail ; and to Mary his kindness never failed to be a support and consolation. One circum- stance, in spite of the agitation and anxiety of Mary's mind, had excited her attention, and gained a con- siderable share of her approbation and gratitude ; which was, that from the time of her mother's having been so violently seized, Smith had absented himself from the house, saying, that he was unwilling to add any thjng to the trouble of the family at such a time ; and had even locked his room-door before he went, to show how much he was determined that there should be no increase of labour on his account. N2 150 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " Perhaps," thought the amiable girl, who was always anxious to think the best of every one, " I have done him injustice, and his heart is better than I imagined it to be ;" but at the same moment the recol- lection of his cold-hearted cruelty, at the time of Mr. Linley's death, recurred to her recollection, and brought a shudder of disgust over her whole frame. On the third day after her mother's alarming attack, as Mary sat watching her symptoms, almost doubtful whether the functions of life had not entirely given way, the invalid opened her almost beamless eyes, and fixing them upon the face of her tender nurse, she said, in a voice scarcely audible, " Mary, can you ever forgive me all the injuries I have done you ?" " Do not ask me such a question, dear mother," said the weeping girl, stooping down, as she spoke, and pressing her lips affectionately on the cold forehead of the invalid ; " for, believe me, I have not a feeling towards you but that of sympathy and the most dutiful affection." " You owe me no duty. I have been a monster to you the whole of your life. But, O, say that you will not stand as my accuser at the footstool of the almighty Judge ?" " My dear mother, do not talk so, I entreat you ; for, be assured, my most ardent prayers will ever be poured forth to obtain forgiveness and mercy for your every transgression. Only let me beg of you, dearest mother, to lay your own heart ," but here Mary paused ; for the sufferer had closed her eyes, and lay so nearly motionless, that Mary watched for some time with great earnestness, before she could actually THE TWO SCHOOLS. 151 ascertain that the breath had not already left the body. After lying a considerable time in this state, the un- happy woman again opened her eyes. " I once made you promise," continued she, in the same faint voice, " that you would never have any farther intercourse with a Linley. It was barbarous in me to require such a promise ; but I know you have kept it faithfully. I release you from it." Mary almost insensibly sunk upon her knees, and sobbed out her gratitude ; but her mother again spoke, and she listened with breathless attention. " Open the top drawer of that bureau, and you will see a letter, not the one I once tantalized you with the sight of, for that I buint at the time ; but one that came before George left the city, or rather one of the many that he sent, all of which I destroyed. Indeed, this was only kept for the sake of having one to torment you with, by showing you the handwriting. Many others have come, but they were always burnt as soon as read. I read them, not so much to know what they contained, as for the sake of making myself sure that you had never written to him ; but though I found you faithful, it made no impression on my heart. But read it," continued she, as Mary held out the letter to her ; " read it now, at least ; you ought to have done so long ago." Mary unfolded the letter, and read the following : "Baltimore, August 24th, 1831 "Mr DBAR MART, " We have always been united by the tenderest sym pathy, and now a similarity of misfortune seems (if A ' .. " .'. 152 THE TWO SCHOOLS. that is possible) to bind us more closely than ever to each other. A similarity of misfortune, did I say ? Yes ! close, indeed, is the resemblance. We both had fathers whom we loved and honoured ; they left us together ; and at the same place, on the same day, they died of the same disease. But oh ! Mary, when I recollect, that I am the cause of your having lost your beloved parent, I scarcely know how to bear the idea. If I had not urged my father to take him as his assist- ant, you might still have been under his kind protec- tion. But who could calculate upon the result? I hoped, by what I did, to increase your happiness, by raising your father's standing in life; but though it has turned out so contrary to my hopes and wishes, I know I shall never be thought of by you as the cause of your misfortune. No, Mary, you have known me too long, and are too well acquainted with my tender affection for you, to think of me in any other light than as the kindest, the most devoted of your friends. When may I come to'see you ? When will you let me pour rny regrets, my sympathy, my own sorrows, into your ear ? Remember, dearest Mary, that both my parents, and your own dear father, all knew and approved of our affection for each other. You know how often my mother rejoiced in the happy influence that you had over my temper and manners ; and surely it would be cruel to deprive me of such an example, now that I am left without another guide. Our dear little Louisa, too, how great are her claims upon you ? But why do I speak to you in this manner ? If you have it in your power to follow your own inclinations, I know that not only duty, but affection, will lead you to every thing that is kind ; but if, for the present, you are THE TWO SCHOOLS. 153 restrained by other duties from acting as your feelings would dictate, I am only, "by such solicitations, adding to sorrows that I would do any thing in the world to relieve. Believe me, then, dear, dear Mary, though I may be deprived of the pleasure of either seeing or hearing from you ; nay, though our poor little Louisa herself may no longer receive marks of your kindness, my confidence in you will still be the same. My prayers for you shall rise every morning and night, and I will endeavour to comfort myself with the belief, that one so lovely, so pure, so holy, cannot fail to be the especial care of heaven. Ever, my dear Mary, your affectionate and sympathizing, though sorrowing friend, " GEORGE LINLEY." It- need scarcely be said, that Mary read this letter over and over again, before she raised her eyes from the paper. For the moment, every other feeling was absorbed in the affection and gratitude which it called forth ; and when she recollected, that she was now absolved from the painful restraint which had so long been imposed upon her, and that she was at liberty to act with the kindness her heart dictated, her pure breast swelled with thankfulness for the comfort that was thus awarded her in this hour of affliction. " And shall I be again allowed to receive his affectionate attentions ?" thought she. " May I receive his letters, and even answer them ; and thus overcome the distance that divides us ? And the dear Louisa, may I write to her too ? May I talk to her of her angel mother ? of her noble and generous father ? and thus keep up a love of all that is beautiful and excellent in her infant ^, THE TWO SCHOOLS. mi ad ?. How delightful is it to think that I shall be able to fulfil the expectations of my kind patroness, and perform the duties to those she has left behind, which are due as a return for her generous kindness to myself. O, George ! how kindly have you confided in my gratitude and affection ; and how happy I am to think that it will yet be in my power to prove that I deserved all your confidence. You have, indeed, ever been most kind to me ; and though the immediate cause of my greatest misfortune, I can never think of the share you had in it but with feelings of the liveliest gratitude." In this manner did Mary, for some time, give vent to her long-suppressed emotions, losing, for the time, even the recollection of her mother's dying state, in the delightful thought that she was again at liberty to enjoy a reciprocation of kindness with one who had been so long and so deservedly dear to her. At length, starting up from the chair by her mother's bedside, on which she had sunk, to read her letter, she bent over the bed, intending to thank her mother for the plea- sure she had given her, when, to her surprise and gra- tification, she found she had sunk into a calm and natural sleep. Delighted at the happy change, the affectionate girl re-seated herself, afraid almost to breathe, lest she should wake her ; and fixing her eyes on the dear and well-known characters of the letter that was still in her hand, she sat indulging every pleasing presage from the' effect of this kind effort of nature to restore the unhappy sufferer, as well as from the salutary 'tendency which this near approach of death was likely to have on her future character. To THE TWO SCHOOLS. 155 ihe consequences of such a change in her mother's conduct, on her own immediate situation, Mary was far from being insensible ; yet even these were only secondary considerations in her mind, to the moment- ous one of the repentance and reformation of her pa rent ; and for this she prayed with all the fervency of soul that the spirits of the good may be supposed to feel, when pleading at the throne of grace for the weak and erring natures that they have left behind 156 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER XVI. So deep and so profound was the sleep in which the invalid was wrapt, that Mary had retained her motion- less position several hours before her mother agair opened her eyes. When she did so, however, she show ed at once that this natural medieine had produced the happiest effect ; and the physician on his next visit did not hesitate to give very flattering hopes of her ultimate recovery. These hopes, together with the kind and soothing attentions of Mr. X as long as he remained in the city, tended greatly to promote the recovery they anticipated, by composing the mind of the sufferer ; so that in the course of a few days, Mary had the satis- faction of hearing her mother pronounced out of dan- ger. Her pleasure, however, at this unexpected resto- ration was not long of experiencing an alloy ; for though almost determined to blind herself to the fact, the poor girl could not help perceiving, that as her mother's strength returned she gradually relapsed into her for- mer cold and repulsive manner towards herself,- and that she gave utterance to doubts and suspicions of her kindness, that the poor girl had hoped her unwearied tenderness and attention during her mother's illness would alone have been sufficient to silence. Another source of extreme uneasiness was that Smith's return to the house was spoken of as a thing of course, as soon as the invalid's health was sufficiently restored to enable her to resume her usual attentions to his comfort. It TIJE TWO SCHOOLS. 157 is true that in his occasional calls to inquire after her mother's health, as well as in his visits to her, as soon as she was well enough to see him, Mary had found his behaviour to herself much less offensive than it had formerly been ; yet a something, she scarcely knew what, made him inexpressively repulsive to her, and she could not help feeling a sensation of danger when- ever she was near him. She ventured once or twice to remonstrate with her mother about again receiving him as an inmate, but all her objections were treated with contempt, and she was told she was a fool, and did not know what a change it would make with them if they were to quarrel with him. This excited a sort of undefined suspicion that he had a larger share of the expenses of the family than was consistent with his character as a mere boarder, and so painful was the idea, that she at once made up her mind, as soon as her mother's health would permit her, to leave her to go out to service, rather than remain a dependant on his bounty. Besides her fear, however, of failing in her duty to her mother, by leaving her before her health was sufficiently confirmed, Mary had another motive for deferring the execution of her intention, even after Smith had again taken possession of his room under her mother's roof, Mr. X , on taking leave of her, had given her strict injunctions, not to take any important step whatever, without first consulting him, and as he had said he should be again in Baltimore in the course of a very few weeks, she resolved to wait his arrival before she made her mother acqnainted with her intention. Another subject of anxiety weighed upon poor Mary's mind. No letter had for several months beci received from George Linley ; and though the O 158 THE TWO SCHOOLS. suspicion of his unkindness never for a moment enter- ed her mind, she could not help feeling uneasy at the idea of not hearing either of him or Louisa. Her mother had told her that all the letters that had come from him, except that which had been given to her, had been destroyed ; and had also assured her, with what truth Mary could not pretend to judge, that she had no recollection of the address which George had given for the direction of any letter that she might be disposed to send. It was true she did not feel disposed to write to him, even had she been in possession of his address, except in answer to a letter just received ; but she felt that it was her duty, as much as it would certainly be a pleasure, to write to Louisa. This how- ever was out of her power at present, and day after day was passed in the most painful suspense, while she waited with almost equal anxiety for a letter from George and for the return of Mr. X to the city. Things were in this state, when one Saturday even- ing as Mary sat at the open window, trying to catch the evening breeze, and thinking of her father, the an- niversary of whose death was just at hand, her mother, who was now pretty nearly restored to her usual strength, came into the room, and said,: ' " Mary, I want you to" go to early mass to-morrow, for I suppose it is vain to think of putting you oft going to mass at all." " Quite so," returned Mary, " if it be not absolutely impossible for me to go. But why do you wish me to go to early mass, mother ? you have often said you do not like me to go in the morning, as it disturbs you." " But I mean to be astir early myself to-morrow TOE TWO SCHOOLS. 159 rooming, for 1 have promised Mr. Smith that you and I will both go with him up the rail-rpad, and spe'nd the day at Ellicot's Mills." " I would rather not go," said Mary, gently ; " I shall prefer staying at home." "But I would rather you did go," returned her mother, angrily; "I shall not allow you to stay at home. I will not have the house kept open for you." " The house does not need to be kept open," said Mary, preserving the same gentleness of tone, " for I can go and spend the day at the Asylum. The Sis- ters have upbraided me several times for coming so seldom to sea them." " You shall go no such way, I tell you ; I insist upon your going with me. What! when Mr. Smith, who is so closely confined all the year to his office, happens by 'chance to have a holiday to-morrow, and is so kind as to make use of it te give us a treat, you must be so ungrateful, forsooth, as to refuse it !" "It would be no treat to me, dear mother ; and therefore you must excuse me, when I say, I really cannot go." " Do you see that ?" said the mother, holding out a letter as she spoke. . \ Mary in an instant recognised the handwriting, and sprang forward to seize it. " No," cried the unfeeling woman, drawing back her hand ; " this letter, which came while you were at market this morning, shall not be read by you till you return to your duty, and consent to go with me to-morrow." Mary sunk upon a seat, and covered her face with her hands, while her whole frame shook with agitation. 100 THE TWO SCHOOLS, ' " What do you say ?" asked the vindictive woman after a pause of some minutes. " Which way do you intend to do ?" "I will go with you, alone, to Ellicot's Mills," answered Mary, "but I cannot, I will not go with Mr. Smith." " Then this letter will never be read by you," re- turned her mother, while her whole face seemed to swell with rage; "and what is more, remember that if you keep up any intercourse with the writer, or with any of the Linley family, you will draw down my curse upon your head." " Dear mother," remonstrated Mary, raising her fine eyes, from which the tears were flowing in streams ; " remember the agonizing regrets you felt when you were lying, as you believed, on the bed of death. O, think, dear mother, of the anguish you then felt, and consider, I entreat you, that though the hour of death is put off for a short time* it is sure to come at last." "All that was owing to the weak state my nerves were then in, which brought on all the foolish super- stitions that your father filled my mind with when I was young; but as my health returned, my mind recovered its strength, and I can now laugh once more at all the tricks of priestcraft. You, however, have faith in the whole scheme and therefore, I warn you to take care how you treat your parent with con- tempt." At this instant the door opened, and Smith entered " What is the matter?" he exclaimed ; " what has happened, Mrs. M'Donald, to put you into such an agitation ?" THE TWO SCHOOLS. 16 An explanation was immediately given, when the young man, with a readiness that made Mary almost feel obliged to him, said, " Well, as it happens, it is no great matter, for I find that I could not have gone to-morrow ; and by the time I can go, perhaps Mary may discover that I deserve better treatment from her." " May I not have my letter now, mother ?" asked Mary, timidly. " As soon as you learn to be obedient, and to treat your best friends as they deserve," answered the other ; and Mary, despairing of softening her, and unwilling to expose her emotions to Smith's observa- tion, retired to her chamber, to weep over her hard fate, and to pray for patience and resignation under it. But though religion is calculated to teach submis- sion, it was never intended that it should render the heart callous or insensible to the claims of friendship and affection ; and Mary, whose heart was moulded in all the tenderness so peculiar to the female mind, felt that though she could refrain from murmuring, or from giving vent to expressions of impatience, it was not in her power to restrain her tears, which flowed with little intermission through the whole of the night ; and she rose in the morning, languid and dejected, and almost trembling at the idea of again encountering a scene like that of the previous evening. To her sur- prise, however, she found her mother's looks and manner much more gentle and kind than they had been for some time back, and what was more gratifying, Smith had already left the house. Fortunately, too, it was Sunday, and of course, a great portion of her time was spent in the peculiar duties of the day ; and, as * , o 2 162 THE TWO SCHOOLS. her mother, on her part, seemed to have some impor- tant business of her own to attend to up-stairs, she was allowed at least the melancholy consolation of indulging her own sad feelings undisturbed by the observation of others. It requires but little experience in life to know that heavy calamities are often contended against with less difficulty than minor evils. In times of great distress, the mind finds itself called upon to make a strong effort, and the very necessity of keeping up the exer- tion tends to allay the anguish against which it is struggling. But on less important occasions, it is agitated, without being roused, and a sort of supine and corroding anxiety preys upon it, and unfits it for every exertion. And thus it was with poor Mary, when on the Monday she endeavoured to engage herself with her usual occupations. The idea of the letter that she had so long watched for, with such anxiety, being actually in her mother's possession, while she had only been tantalized with a sight of the superscription, dwelt upon her mind, and her thoughts were continually occupied with fruitless and unavailing conjectures respecting its probable contents. The day dragged on in a state of listless inaction, very uncommon to her usual habits, till at length, as the afternoon advanced, finding herself too restless and uncomfortable to apply any longer to her work, she determined upon a visit to the Orphan Asylum, to seek, in the conversation of the benevolent Sisters, that antidote to the jarring cares of the world, which can alone be found in their ele- vated views of human life, and exalted principles of religion. On arriving at the Asylum, she was told THE TWO SCHOOLS. 163 that the Sister, whose conversation she ever found most grateful to her, was in the room in which the orphan's work is exhibited for sale, where she was engaged in arranging the various articles. Thither Mary hastened to join her, and found, in partaking of her occupation, and in the enjoyment of her conversa- tion, a relief that she had long sought for in vain. After they had thus been engaged for some time, the Sister left the room, requesting Mary, as she did so, to go on with her employment till her return. But scarcely had she left the room, when the door again opened. Mary looked almost involuntarily to see who entered, and observing a tall, fashionable looking youth, and a little girl, both in deep mourning, come forward into the room, she turned her head suddenly away, and began to busy herself, with great earnest- ness, amongst the various articles for sale. In vain, however, she endeavoured to avoid observation ; for the young man rushing forward, in an ecstasy of delight, exclaimed, " Mary ! my dear Mary ! is it indeed you ?" while the little Louisa, for her, our readers have no doubt concluded it to be, stretched out her arms that she might clasp them round her neck. Mary stooped ddwn and kissed the child over and over again, while George continued, " How fortu- nate this meeting is ! We have not been in Baltimore two hours, and came here as the most likely place to hear of you. But, dearest Mary," he continued, taking her hand, and looking in her face with an expression of half reproachful tenderness, " you have not even by a single look yet said, ' I am glad to see you.' " " You cannot suppose me so insensible, Mr. George, 164 THE TWO SCHOOLS. as not to be glad to see^an old friend after so long an absence," returned Mary, withdrawing her trembling hand from his, as she spoke ; and striving in vain to speak in a composed tone. " Mr. George ! Is that the way you now accost me ?" asked the youth, in a, voice of surprise and mor- tification. " Is that the way you receive me, Mary ?" " You know," said the trembling girl, whose whole frame shook so violently that she could scarely stand, " we are now no longer children ; and it is proper that I should bear in mind the distinction there is between "us." " There is no distinction," cried George, with energy; "you are my equal in every essential point, and as such I shall ever consider you. 0, no ! I am wrong, very wrong ! My equal did I say ? No, dear- est Mary, you are my superior, far, far my superior. Do not, therefore, cast me from you ? Call me George, as you used to do ; and treat me as the same affection- ate friend and companion that I have ever been." " O, no !" cried Mary, striving in vain to suppress her emotion, and bursting into a violent flood of tears the moment she attempted to speak; " that can never be. We can never be to each other what we once were." " And why not?" asked George, eagerly. " Who shall prevent it ?" " O, do not ask," sobbed Mary ; " do not tempt me to talk to you ; for I am afraid, even now, I am com- mitting a sin. I must go," she continued, endeavour- ing to withdraw her hand, which he had again taken, and held as if determined to keep her till she had answered his question. " Let me go, Mr. George, THK TWO SCHOOLS. 165 for you know not what misery you may bring upon me by detaining me !" " I will not use any force to detain you," said the generous minded youth, letting go her hand ; " but, Mary, if you have a spark of tenderness for me re- maining, do not treat me with this coldness of manner. Do not call me Mr. George, for that sounds like the knell of our long-tried affection. Surely, Mary, though you may be forbidden to show me kindness, you do not wish me to believe it is erased from your bosom !" " I wish you to judge of my friendship by your own," said Mary ; and as she spoke, she raised her fine eyes to his face, with a look that at once removed his doubts and soothed his agitations. " I am satisfied," replied he, his own face lighting up with animation as his eyes me't hers ; " and I will distress you no longer with solicitations, but will endeavour, to wait as patiently as possible for the time when you will be able to act as your feelings dictate. I have never, during all the long twelve months that we have been parted, for a moment enter- tained a doubt of your kindness, though all the many lettefs that I have written to you still remain unan- swered ; nor should I have had the momentary doubt I have just experienced, but for that cold and freezing word, Mr. Let me not hear that again, Mary, and I will endeavour to be content." Mary, without making any further reply, was going towards the door, with the intention of leaving the house, when Louisa ran to her, and taking hold of her frock, detained her. "Will you not stay a minute, Mary?" said she, 166 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " and let George tell you how good a girl I have been ; and how I -have tried to do every thing that you used to tell meto do. Please wait," Continued the child, in a pleading tone, " and ask George if I have not been good ?" Mary stooped and kissed the child, and pressed her to her breast in the tenderest manner; but. afraid, that in doing even this, she^was incurring the sin of dis- obedience, she immediately hastened out of the house, without even waiting to take leave of the Sisters, and pursued her way home, in a state of the most distress- ing agitation. On entering the house, she found her mother, with Mr. Smith and three other men, all strangers to her, one of whom was particularly intro- duced to her, as an English gentleman who had been . but a short time in this country. The supper things "were on the table, and the whole party appeared to be in very high spirits; but Mary experienced a, some- thing, so nearly bordering on disgust, at her mother's levity of manner, that she was afraid to analyze the feeling ; and was proceeding to her own room when she was stopped by Smith, who coming up to her, and holding out a letter, said, in an under voice, " Your mother and I, Mary,, have almost had a quarrel to-day about this letter. I found she refused to give it to you, because you would not comply with ner wishes ; but I have prevailed upon her to give it up to me, for I have no notion of your being punished, just because you don't happen to like me quite as well as I would wish you to like me. Liking and disliking are things that people haven't always in their power : and, therefore, it would be cruel for you to be punished for it. I have likewise prevailed upon her to let you THE TWO SCHOOLS. 167 enjoy the kindness of the friend that this letter comes from, when he returns to the city ; and so I hope, Mary, we will see you more cheerful in future than you have lately been ; and I shall be very glad if you can learn, in time, to look upon me as your sincere friend and well-wisher. But if you cannot do that thing, I will never consent to have yon punished for it." " I am sureV said Mary, who was struck with remorse at the idea of having been so unjust in the opinion she had entertained of this young man, " I should be very ungrateful if I did not now feel very thankful to you for your kindness." " Well, come then, Mary," said her mother ; "now that Mr. Smith has got his mind eased, just put your bonnet off, and come and pour out tea for us; "our friends here are in a hurry, for this gentleman is just going on ship-board to sail for his own country ; and we have only prevailed upon him to stay to supper, on the promise of letting him have it very soon." Mary took off her bonnet as she was desired ; and putting the letter, thatfSmith had given her, into her bosom, she sat down to the tea table, with a degree of cordiality towards that young man which she had never before experienced. The conversation, during supper, was chiefly maintained by Smith and the Englishman, and ran, principally, upon the difference in the habits of the people of the two countries, espe- cially with regard to eating. " You certainly do live gloriously in this country, with your chickens, and geese, and turkeys, and what not," said the Englishman ; .' yet still there is one thing that I have always found a want of, and that is, of our good English hot suppers." H8 THP TWO SCHOOLS. "But then,'' returned Smith, "I understand *ou do not sit down to such a tea-table as we always have sot before us. I believe a piece of bread and butter, and a cup of tea, is all that you would get at this time of day ; instead of the display that you have here of dried beef, and sausages, and soused fish, and cheese, and all the good things that you now see before you." " Very true," returned the stranger ; " nor is it very common for us to see hot beef-steaks, and barbecued chickens, and such like things on our breakfast table. Meat once a day is as much as the most of us look for, except tnem that can afford to treat themselves with a hot snack at supper time, just to ' Relish a cup of good ale ;' and I must say that it seems to me that it makes an evening go off more cheerful when a few friends meet round the supper table, and eat their bite and drink a glass or two of good ale, than when they sit after their cup of tea, and talk till conversation begins to flag, and then drop off to bed, one after another, without even saying good night." " That is all as people are used," rejoined Smith ; " we Americans are not fond of circulating the glass ; but think it better for each man to take the little he wants in his own private apartment ; which is not so likely to lead to excess." " That is a subject that might admit of a question,' replied the other, as the party, having finished their meal, rose from table, and sought the cooler atmospheic of the open windows. " But be that as it may, I like your country vastly, and am only sorry to think that I THE TWO SCHOOLS. 169 am leaving it without ever having witnessed one of your customs that I have often heard of ; which is your way of marrying in your own houses." " Is it possible you have never seen a marriage in this country?" exclaimed Smith. " What ! never seen an American marriage ?" re iterated the lady of the house. " Never !" replied the stranger. " I have spent all my time since I came here in travelling about, and have never stayed so long in a place as to get sufficiently acquainted with the people to be invited on such an occasion." " Well now I think it is a real pity that you should go away, without seeing one of our marriages, for in my opinion it is a proper fine sight." " So I have heard," said the Englishman. " Well, after all," said Mrs. M'Donald, " I do not see why we could not give him a pretty good idea of the thing. Suppose Mary was to go out of the room, and you Mr. Smith were to go for her, and bring her in leaning on your arm, and one of you gentlemen was to act as minister, and have a book in your hand, and we were all to rise up as they came into the room, and stand and listen to the pretended ceremony." " To be sure that might be done easily enough ; and it might serve to give some faint notion of the thing." " The worst of it would be," continued the mistress of the house, " that I who, as the mother, should of course cry all the time, would be more inclined to laugh at the idea of a child like Mary being the bride. But, however, I'll try to look as like crying as I can. Go, Mary ! go out of the room for a while, and then Mr. Smith will come for you," P 170 THE TWO SCHOOLS. Mary, who was so amazed at the proposal, that sho ^otild scarcely believed she had understood her mother when she made it, sat still without speaking. " Why don't you go, child ?" asked she, on finding that her daughter did not move. " You surely are not in earnest, mother," said the astonished girl ; " you cannot possibly imagine I would do such a thing ?" " Why not, I wonder ; what harm would there be in it. It is not a Catholic marriage that we are going to imitate, it is only a Protestant one." " I should be very sorry to make a mockery of any- body's religion," said Mary, calmly, " even if that were my only objection to the scheme." " And what other objection can you possibly have ? you know it is only meant for a joke." " One would imagine," said Smith in a pert tone, " you were afraid I wanted to make you my wife in reality!" " It is not worth my while to inquire what are your views ; I only know, I should be very sorry to be an actor in such a scene." " I'll tell you what, my young lady," said the mother, who now began to swell with rage, " you are beginning to be a little too independent, even for this country, where children become men and women almost before they can speak plain." " I have often heard of the independence of the American children," rejoined the Englishman, " but I have never seen so fine a specimen before." " It is past all bearing," exclaimed the furious wo- man. " But I would have you to know, young lady, that you either do as I bid you, or leave this house directly." THE TWO SCHOOLS. 171 " To-morrow morning I will go, mother," answered Mary, steadily, " if you still wish me to do so ; but to- night it is so late that I am sure you would not wish me to leave this house without having another to go to." " Go this instant," cried her mother ; " I will not harbour you under my roof another night, after being treated with such contempt by you." " Dear mother, you misunderstand me ; indeed you do," remonstrated Mary, in a gentle but firm tone. " I will obey you in every thing which my conscience does not tell me is sinful ; but I dare not commit a wicked action, even for my mother's sake." " And your tender conscience is to be the judge of my actions !" . . " It must, at least, be the judge of my own." "And you pretend to say, that I wish you to com- mit a sin ?" " No, mother ; I only say, that what you wish me to do would be sinful." " Then, I beg vou will leave the company of all such sinful people. March out of the house, this in- stant, unless you are disposed to act with the obedience that I have a right to expect." Mary took up her bonnet, which lay on a table near ner, and put it on ; but as she did so, she again turned to her mother, and said, in a gentle tone of remon- strance, "It is so late that I really am afraid to go out to-night. Only let me stay till to-morrow morning, dear mother, and I will obey you the moment you require it." " Go out of my house, this minute," cried the fu- 172 THE TWO SCHOOLS. rious woman, and opening the door as she spoke, she gave Mary, who stood near it, a push, and forcing her down the steps, immediately closed the door after her. " Now I am, indeed, destitute," cried the weeping girl, clasping her hands together as she spoke ; but, at the same moment, the idea that Smith might, perhaps, come after her; nay, even that the whole might be a mere trick, for the purpose of throwing her into his power, entering her mind, she rushed forward, with the intention of hastening to cast herself upon the pro- tection of the good archbishopr, as it was now too late to gain admittance to the Sisters ; but before she had taken half a dozen steps, two men rushed forward, and one of them putting his head rudely under her bonnet, for the purpose of looking in her face, which a neigh- bouring lamp enabled him to see very distinctly, he exclaimed, in a tone of exultation, " Yes ; this is the girl, as large as life. That I am ready to take my oath of, before any magistrate in the city." " Well ; if you are quite sure of your mark, here's for her then," said his companion ; " so come, my girl, you must go along with me ;" and, as he spoke, he put his hand on her shoulder. Mary, shrinking like a timid hare from his touch, almost sunk to the ground with fright, and uttering a faint shriek, as she felt her progress arrested by the man's heavy hand upon her shoulder, cried out in a tone of the most touching distress, " O, will nobody protect me ? Have I not one friend left?" " You shall not be without a friend, if you deserve one," said the man, who seemed to feel the influence THE TWO SCHOOLS. 173 qt her pathetic appeal ; " but if you are what you are suspected to be, you cannot expect much compassion to be shown you." " Take her before a magistrate," said the man who had first spoken, " and let her be examined at once. I am ready to take my oath this moment that she is the girl we were in search of." ""Come along, then," returned his companion, whom Mary now found to be a constable ; " but keep up your heart, my good girl ; you are too young in sin yet to be a hardened transgressor, and I'll take care that you have nothing but good usage." Unable to conceive of what she was suspected, and shocked beyond expression at being in so disgraceful a situation, Mary had just presence of mind enough to determine, that she had better submit without resist- ance, to be led where her cause could be examined, relying upon the omnipotence of truth for that protec- tion, of which she seemed, at present, so entirely deprived. Painful, however, as her situation then was, she could not help feeling thankful for even such guardianship as she was then under, when she saw Smith walk past her, looking very earnestly at both her and her companions ; but without at- tempting to speak. On arriving at the magistrate's, they were told he was not in ; but the constable, whose heart was touched with the pure and inno- cent looks of the beautiful being before him, whom he could now, by the aid of the light in the magis- trate's entry, see more distinctly than he had yet done, declared he could not have the heart to drag a sweet young creature like her about the town ; and, there- fore, begged leave for her to stay in the office till the p2 174 THE TWO SCHOOLS. return of the magistrate, of whom he would himself go in search. Permission being granted, Mary was ac- cordingly ushered into the apartment, the blinds being let down, and a lamp lighted. Her accuser, declaring that he also would go to seek for the magistrate, left a boy to stand sentinel at the outside of the house during the constable's absence, to see that the culprit did not make her escape out of one of the windows, which the humane constable insisted should be left open, on ac- count of the extreme closeness of the evening. Know- ing that she was a prisoner, under suspicion of some crime against the laws of the country, Mary, as she heard the lock of the door turned upon her, could not but think with astonishment of the composure of her own mind. A sweet and soothing consciousness of purity and virtue pervaded her mind ; and if she had ever entertained a doubt of the supreme excellence of religion, it would at that moment have been for ever dissipated, by the heartfelt conviction she felt, that she was under the protection of One who was ever a father to the orphan, and a shield to the helpless. As she thus sat musing on the extraordinary situation in which she found herself placed, it may well be imagined that her thoughts frequently turned to the grief and indig- nation that George Linley would feel, were he aware of it ; and remembering his letter, which she had not yet had an opportunity of reading, she took it out of her bosom, and amused the lonely and anxious hours of waiting by reading the following affectionate effu- sion : "Geneseo, August 7th, 1832. " I could not pretend to say how many letters I have written to you, my dearest Mary, since I last saw THE TWO SCHOOLS. 175 you ; and though I have not had the slightest intima- tion of your having received one of them, I sit down with as much interest to write again, as though each letter had been regularly answered; for, in the first place, it is a pleasure to me to address you, even in imagina- tion ; and, in the second, by writing frequently, I increase the probability of at least one of my letters falling into your hands ; and if one of them should be received, the pleasure that I know you would feel would make ample amends for a much more painful exertion. But I am not only uncertain whether you may ever see my letters, but am almost sure they will be read by others. That consideration, however, gives me but little concern, for I have not a feeling for you, my dear Mary, that I wish to conceal. I am willing for all the world to know that I love and ad- mire you more than any other creature in it ; and though your admiration for me can bear no proportion to that which I feel for you, I know that your affection for me is sincere and heartfelt. You love me, because you know I love you ; you love me for my father and mother's sake ; and, above all, you love me for that which must always have great effect upon a benevolent mind, because you know that- you have done me good ; because my moral standing has been elevated by your bright example, and because I have learnt to love reli- gion and virtue in a tenfold degree, by seeing them exemplified in you. " I told you in my last letter that our guardian was come over from England, for the purpose of taking us back with him, and that the only uneasiness I had at the idea of going arose from leaving you so long. Not that I have any fear of either time or distance 176 THE TWO SCHOOLS. having power to estrange us from each other, for 1 know myself, and I am sure, Mary, I know you also : but I tremble lest you should be exposed to hardships during my absence, from which it might perhaps be in my power to protect you, were I on the spot ; and yet it is but little that I, at my age, can do. Indeed, I do not know but my influence may, for the present, be more happily directed for your protection, at a distance, than if I were nearer. I shall write to the archbishop, and to Mr. X -, of Wilmington, who I know is much interested in your welfare, to commend you to their care, and shall tell them frankly, that the moment I am my own master, it is my determination to return to my native country, and testify my affection and admiration in the most unequivocal manner. In the mean time, dearest Mary, be of good heart ; I do not ask you to be patient, for that you always are ; I will not ask you to trust in the goodness of God, for in him I know is all your trust ; but I entreat ydu to indulge the same unvarying confidence in my affection that I ever feel in yours ; and believe me, the day will come, when we shall meet under happier auspices. " I expect Mr. Monkton, our guardian, here daily. He is accompanied by his wife and daughter, and they wish Louisa and me to go with them to Niagara, which, of course, they must visit before their return to England. I understand Miss Monkton is exceedingly beautiful, and as she is known likewise to be a great heiress, she is consequently very much admired. I tell you this, Mary, because I know yon are a stranger to both envy and jealousy. As far as her beauty goes, no such feeling can exist with you, and as to her for- tune, your mind is too well regulated, not to estimate THE TWO SCHOOLS. 177 its value properly. If she is a pleasant, amiable girl, I shall be glad of her as a companion, as I understand she is much about your age ; but if not, though it will signify very little to me on my own account, I shall regret exceedingly having our little Louisa exposed to her influence. However, it was the will of my father, and must be submitted to. The dear little girl desires me to tell you that she tries to be good, as you told her to be, and that she loves you dearly. Farewell, my dear, dear Mary. It will most probably be long before we meet again, for Mr. Monkton talks of pro- ceeding to Canada, and sailing from Quebec ; but be assured, that years and years of absence will make no change in the affection of " GEORGE LINLEY." 178 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER XVII. IT is so long since we lost sight of our first acquaint ances, the Monktons, that it is now time for us to turn back, and take some note of their proceedings. We left them, it ma) be remembered, just embarking in the steamboat for Philadelphia. -It was no small gratification to them, on their arrival in that city, to find that their new friend, Mr. Ellmore, was ready on the wharf, waiting for them, for the purpose of con- ducting them to one of the best and most fashionable boarding-houses. To Mrs. Monkton, who had been accustomed, when travelling-, to all the retired comforts of an English inn, and whose delicate spirits shrunk from the idea of mixing amongst a large company of strangers, the custom in this country of resorting to public boarding-hous'es was not at all agreeable. To Augusta, however, to whom life in general wag new ; and to her father, who was fond of examining mankind, wherever found, it was highly amusing ; especially, as their friend, Mr. Ellmore, had preceded them with so flattering an account of their wealth and importance, as secured them the best attentions of all around them. Their time was therefore immediately engaged with various little parties, formed for the purpose of show- ing the city and its environs to the strangers ; and, as Augusta was both a beauty and an heiress, her excla- mations of " What ! is that one of your finest public buildings? Dear! what little, insignificant looking THE TWO SCHOOLS. 179 places your churches are !" or, " Who would ever think of exhibiting such a garden as this is, as any thing extraordinary?" were only laughed at, as amus- ing, even by those who were not insensible, at other times, how essential an ingredient politeness is in composing the character of a lady. Amongst the visiters in the house in whicli the Monktons had sta- tioned themselves, was a widow lady of the name of Grants, with her son, a young man, about nineteen or twenty, who had spent the two preceding winters in Philadelphia, under the pretence of studying medicine, but who seemed to imagine that thick black whiskers, long mustachoes, and a profusion of bright, curly black hair, would make ample amends for any internal deficiencies in his head-piece ; and her daughter, a girl about Augusta's age, who had already gone through a winter's campaign of routs, balls, and assemblies, and was^now loudly calling for a journey, to repair, as her mother said, her prostrate strength. This family immediately attached themselves to the Monktons with peculiar assiduity. Mrs. Grants visited Mrs. Monkton in her own room, and made herself agreeable by talking of England, and inquiring about English scenes and English manners ; while the son and daughter interested and amused Augusta by talk- ing to her of that gay world to which she was as yet a stranger ; but which, they artfully hinted, she was so well calculated to adorn ; so that, before they had been two weeks under the same roof, she had ranked them amongst her very intimate and particular friends. As the brother and sister lounged on a sofa one morning, with Augusta seated between them, the young man said, " Your father mentioned, at breakfast 180 TJIE TWO SCHOOLS. this morning', your intention of visiting Niagara this summer. You will, of course, take all the most im- portant public places in your way ; and, as we intend to make a tour of them likewise, I hope we may be companions most of the summer." 44 O, how charming that will be !" cried Miss Grants, who already professed herself Augusta's very ardent friend. " How delighted I shall be to have you with me all the time ! I declare, it is the only thing I could enjoy after being so worn out with the winter's dissi- pation." " What ! have you entered so much into gayety so early ?" asked Augusta. " You are very young to talk of dissipation."" " Why, have you never gone into company yet ? asked the young lady, in reply to Augusta's remark " No," answered Augusta. " A ball that I gave just before I left home, on my birth-day, is the only ball, except two or three dancing-school ones, that I ever was at in my life." > " La, how strange !" cried her companion ; " you are only four months younger than I am, and I was at ninety-three balls and parties during the winter ; and should have been at several more if I had not been too sick sometimes to go. What a shame it is, that they should keep young girls shut up so long in the nursery, as they do in England." " It is very good management of the mothers to do so," returned her brother, " since, if the daughters made their appearance, they .themselves would have very little chance of ever being looked at again." " O, that is very cunning of them, certainly," said Miss Grants; "for I suppose the very oldest and THE TWO SCHOOLS. 181 ugliest finds it hard enough to bear to be eclipsed by a ' younger self.' " " But does not the same difficulty exist with mothers in this country ?" asked Augusta ; but as she spoke, she happened to raise her eyes to the mirror, which was placed opposite to the sofa on which they sat, and could not help being struck with the pallid and hag- gard countenance of her companion, contrasted with her own blooming and animated one, which told her at once how short the reign of beauty must be to daughters thus early exposed to dissipation. " Perhaps it might, if they could help themselves," replied Miss Grants ; " but the young people here are not kept children half their lives, as they are in Eng- land. You know this is a free country, and the chil- dren, of course, are free as well as their parents." " But," returned Augusta, " I suppose they have not always money at their own command ; and how could they manage to follow their own inclinations, if their parents refused to supply them with the means ?" " Get married, and leave them," answered her com- panion, with great promptitude, while her brother set up a loud laugh at his sister's ready answer. " Yes," said he, " as she must be an ugly wretch, indeed, who has not the power of getting married almost as soon as she has a mind to, the parents are glad to keep their children in good humour at home, to prevent their running away as soon as their leading strings are taken off." This was a mode of asserting her independence that Augusta had never yet thought of. She had pouted and grumbled, and scolded and teased, but she had never thought of gaining an end, or revenging herself Q 182 THE TWO "SCHOOLS. for an occasional disappointment, by an elopement ; and though she had not now any definite notion of making use of the expedient, she, nevertheless, thought it would not be amiss to let her father and mother know that she was aware of her own independence. Ac- cordingly, the first time she happened to be alone with them, she repeated the preceding conversation with great animation, watching, at the same time, the effect which it produced on her father's countenance. His expression, however, remained unchanged, and she had persuaded herself, that though he might be aware of it as a resource for an American daughter, he considered it as one which few English ones would think of avail- ing themselves of; when, after having left the room for a short time, he returned, and told her mother and herself that he had made arrangements for proceeding to New York early the following morning. Au- gusta was thunderstruck. Such an alternative had never entered her mind, and she eagerly applied to her mother to oppose her father's hasty determination. Mrs. Monkton, however, saw her husband's motives too plainly to offer any objection to his determination, "especially," she said, "as a letter had arrived that morning, from the gentleman in Baltimore, who acted as Mr. Linley's executor, and to whom Mr. Monkton had written from Wilmington, informing him, that his two wards had been taken by a distant relative of theirs, who had happened to be in Baltimore at the time of their father's death, to Geneseo, where they had resided with him ever since, and where they now waited the commands of their guardian." Mortified and disappointed beyond measure, at thus being obliged to leave her new friends, without being THE TWO SCHOOLS. 183 able even to bid them good-by, for the. Grants were gone that day to visit a friend in the country, and would not return until late the next day, Augusta had no other resource than to leave a written adieu for Miss Grants, expressing her great regret at the sudden and unexpected interruption to their acquaintance, and her hope that circumstances would soon throw them again in each other's way. She told her, as well as their undecided plans would permit, the route they were likely to take, hoping, at the same time, that theirs might happen to be in a similar direction, and assuring her, should they again happen to fall in each others' way, that she would meet 4ier, notwithstanding the shortness of their acquaintance, with all the warmth of an old friejid. This note Dawson was charged to give into the care of some one in the house, who was sure to be punctual in delivering it; and Augusta comforted her- self with thinking, that though her father was hurry- ing her away from Philadelphia sooner than she felt disposed to go, he could not prevent these most agree- able friends from following, as she knew it was their intention to do ; and the probabilities were greatly in favour of their again meeting. Augusta was delighted with the gayety and bustle of New York, and would gladly have remained there ; but she soon found that it was in vain to endeavour to prevail upon her father to lengthen his stay above two or three days, as he declared himself anxious to hurry forward to J6in his young wards. A visit to Saratoga, however, en passant, was a matter of course ; but the ceremony and dissipation of this place, were so little in unison with Mrs, Monkton's depressed spirits and 184 THE TWO SCHOOLS. retired habits, that Augusta soon found their sojourn there would be but of short duration. Yet as this was the place where she had the most hope of again meet- ing the Grants, she determined not to leave it soon if she could possibly avoid it; and accordingly, she offered violent opposition to every suggestion that was made in favour of a departure. "It is very strange, papa," said she, in reply to some remark of the kind that her father had made, " that you should be in such a hurry to leave this place, when you have said all along that you had great hopes of the waters being serviceable to mamma's health ; and now, before she has had time to give them a fair trial, you begin to talk of leaving it." " One reason for my wishing to go, Augusta," said her father, " is, that I find the customs of this place so contrary to your mother's tastes and habits, that I fear she will get more harm from being obliged to act in conformity with this artificial state of society, which is so constantly in opposition to her feelings, than she is likely to get good from any qualities that the waters may possess." " It is very strange that mamma cannot find her pleasure in seeing her daughter enjoy herself, as other mothers do," said Augusta, poutingly. " If I saw the habits of the place such as you were likely to derive advantage from, Augusta," said her mother, " I believe, you know that few mothers would be more disposed to sacrifice their own feelings than I should be. But when, on the contrary, I see you surrounded with nothing but frivolity and folly, before you are old enough to appreciate such qualities as they deserve, I own I see little to induce me to do THE TWO SCHOOLS. 185 violence to both my feelings and judgment by remain- ing here " .=;. j. *^. " It is not at all extraordinary that you, who have shut yourself up almost with the seclusion of a nun, and indulged in low spirits till you had almost per- suaded yourself it was sinful to smile, should feel a little out of your element amongst the gayety of this place. But yet, considering that I am not quite so old as you, or quite so much opposed to enjoyment, I should think you might be a little more inclined to let me have a portion of the pleasure natural to my age." *? Augusta," said her father, " this is a very extra- ordinary manner for any daughter to talk, but espe- cially for one whose happiness has been her mother's only care. Does it never enter your head, that if you have a right to expect indulgence and tenderness from your mother, that affection and gratitude is equally due from you in return ?" " I have never seen any very great cause that I have for gratitude," returned Augusta, pertly. " Mam- ma's mind always appears much more taken up with regrets for that which she has not, than with pleasure from that which she has." This was touching a string that never failed to vibrate with a thrilling pang; and Mrs. Monkton, while the tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheek, only said, " Augusta, when you have recovered from your ill humour, you will be sorry for having said this." " I am sorry already, dear mamma," cried the im- petuous girl, clasping her,,arms round her mother's neck, as she spoke ; " I know it was both unfeeling 186 THE TWO SCHOOLS. and ungrateful of me to talk so ; but I cannot help, sometimes, feeling both vexed and mortified, to find that my efforts to make you more cheerful and happy are so unsuccessful. For, indeed, dear mamma, I do wish very much to see you enjoy yourself." " And like all spoiled children," said her father, " become impatient when you cannot get every thing as you wish." " We ought, however, my dear," returned Mrs Monkton, addressing her husband, " to make some allowance for Augusta, for it is certainly very trying to her to have me so continually disposed to withdraw from every species of amusement, as I am. We can- not expect her to sympathize with me on all occa- sions ; or recollect, unless when it is forcibly brought to her memory, the cankering worm that is continually gnawing at my heart." " A child's affection ought not to require any promp- ter," replied the husband." " Nor shall mine in future, papa," said Augusta. " Now that I find mamma is really injured by the gayety of this place, I will not ask to stay any longer ; but am ready to set off whenever you think fit." " I am glad to find you are so well prepared to fall in with my arrangements," replied Mr. Monkton, coldly; "for I intend to leave this place to-morrow morning." This was a reply that did not exactly suit Augusta's temper. She had made an effort to conquer that spirit of selfishness which had become almost her sole principle of action ; and imagining her merit in the exertion to be deserving of praise, she felt no small THE TWO SCHOOLS. 187 degree of mortification at finding it thus received merely as a matter of course. But Augusta did not know all the workings of her father's mind ; nor if she had, do we pretend to say. that she would have philosophized upon it, or have acknowledged the justice of the change that had taken place in his manner towards herself within the last few months. Indeed, we will not our- selves pretend to say, that he might not frequently have taken a more judicious way of correcting the evil of which he had thus late become aware ; but as it was always painful to him to oppose even the slightest of her wishes, the effort that it required, when called upon to do so, on any important occasion, often led him to make that opposition in a less conciliatory man- ner than accorded with the consistency of character which can alone obtain respect and cheerful obedience. She had, however, declared her willingness to comply with her father's arrangement, and, therefore, she with- held from any further remark on the occasion ; but she was gloomy and fretful during the rest of the day, and rose in the morning but little disposed to enliven the journey which they were about to commence with cheerfulness and good humour. But if this was the case when she first rose, how much was the feeling increased, when, on going down to the piazza, to wait the summons to breakfast, she found, to her great sur- prise, young Grants there, waiting, as he said, to catch the first glimpse of her ! " Juliana," he con- tinued, " is just gone up-stairs to find out your room ; for we were both of us tired of waiting for your coming down. But what is this ? You seem to be equipped for travelling. You surely are not going to make another sudden flight." - 188 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " Indeed we are > Papa announced his sovereign pleasure yesterday afternoon, and we, you know, have nothing to do but to obey." "Are such arbitrary control and implicit obedience common things in England ?" asked the young man. " Pretty much so, I believe," replied Augusta, with an expression of great mortification on her counte- nance. . " Then I wish we had all such dear, kind parents, who like to have mere automata for children, here for a while." " And what would you do to them ?" " Teach them to know how far their power extends," said the young man, in an under voice, for at that instant he saw Mr. and Mrs. Monkton approaching them; and the next moment they were joined by his mother and sister, when expressions of pleasure at meeting, and of regrets at having so soon to part again, with remarks on the roads and weather, filled up the time till summoned to breakfast, when the Grants, on account of their recent arrival, had to go down to a distant part of the table, and the party was for the pre- sent separated. The moment the meal was over, how- ever, Juliana flew to Augusta, and drawing her arm within her own, led her again to the piazza, where they paraded back and forward, accompanied by young Grants, till the carriage drove to the door, and Augusta was summoned to it. "If I can prevail upon mamma to leave here so soon, we shall most likely join you at Schenectady," said Miss Grants, as she embraced Augusta with every expression of the most extravagant fondness. " And at all events, I believe I shall avail myself of THE TWO SCHOOLS. 189 the opportunity of visiting the great wonder of the North under such happy auspices, and be with you before you have advanced far on your journey," added her brother. This was much more pleasing information to Au- gusta than to either her father or mother ; so that though she was now restored to vivacity and good humour, her father was gloomy and her mother thoughtful ; and the ride to Schenectady was completed without a dozen sentences having been spoken by any of the party. At this place, Augusta would gladly have prolonged their stay till the arrival of her friends ; but her father and mother both seemed determined to prosecute their journey to Geneseo without delay, and Augusta found, that though she grumbled and flounced, and certainly made herself as disagreeable as she could desire, it was all of no avail ; for she was drawn along as fast as four horses could drag a lightly laden vehicle ; for Mr. Monkton, who had the satisfac- tion, at every stage, of grumbling at the want of the comfortable English post-chaises, preferred hiring what is called an exclusive extra, solely for his own use, to encountering the indiscriminate mixture of company to be met with in the public stages. The first agreeable circumstance with which they met oc- curred at Utica, where, on stopping at the door of the principal hotel, the first person they saw was their friend, Mr. Ellmore. As he was a favourite with all, the rencontre was agreeable to the whole party, but more especially so to Augusta, who flattered herself that the pleasure of his company would induce her father to remain some time at Utica, and so allow the Grants more time to overtake them. ' ' '' 190 THE TWO SCHOOLS. But every hope in which she indulged seemed to be alike destined to meet with disappointment, for they had not been an hour atUtica, before she was informed by her mother, that Mr. Ellmore had spoken in such terms of admiration of the exquisite and romantic beau- ty of the Trenton Falls, which were only a few miles from Utica, that they had been induced to deviate from their direct route for the sake of visiting them. This was a severe trial to Augusta's patience, for she imme- diately saw the probability, while they were at these falls, of the Grants arriving at Utica, and not finding them there, of their pursuing their journey with the idea of overtaking them. Again she scolded, called her father an arbitrary tyrant, and declared she would not be made a slave to his caprices ; but again she had to submit and go whithersoever he directed. To do so, however, either willingly or pleasantly , was what he had no power to enforce upon her, and the right of being out of humour, and of grumbling and making herself dis- agreeable, she was at least determined to maintain ; even though she saw that her father was angry, and her mother grieved and distressed, at her wayward and unaccommodating behaviour. On arriving at the falls they found the beauty of the scenery so far be- yond the expectation which even Mr. Ellmore's ani- mated description had raised, and the quiet retirement of the place so peculiarly agreeable to Mrs. Monkton's worn-out spirits, that it was immediately determined they should remain there at least several days ; and such was the power of the exquisite scenery by which they were surrounded, that even Augusta's froward temper was softened into joy, and she wandered from fall to fall, climbing the rocks or skirting the precipices THE TWO SCHOOLS. 101 with fearless enthusiasm, pronouncing each cascade as she viewed it, and marked the peculiar characteristica by which it was distinguished from the others, to be the most beautiful of the whole. To Mrs. Monkton, whose mind was tremblingly alive to every thing that was calculated to touch the heart or elevate the feelings, this sublime display of the beautiful and grand in nature was peculiarly in- teresting, and she would at one time contemplate the foaming torrent dashing from rock to rock with irre sistible violence, till her feelings were roused to a de- gree of admiration and astonishment, almost amounting to agony ; and at another turn to the smooth transpa- rent sheet, as it glided without a ripple over its rocky ledge, till her high wrought fancy was softened into peace, and the gently trickling tears would come to the relief of her. overcharged heart. Mr. Monkton, himself a great admirer of the beauties of nature, found great charms in this romantic spot, from various causes. He was'much gratified to find, that his wife had found a place so peculiarly fitted to her taste, where she could rest herself, and recover her exhaust- ed spirits, after the continual change of scene, and bustle of company, to which she had been so long exposed ; but perhaps he was still better pleased to think that by this deviation from the common track, they were likely to elude the pursuit of the Grants, and probably escape them altogether. For this pur- pose he had given his servants strict charges to avoid as much as possible making his name and route known at the various hotels at which they had stopped, and had himself practised a degree of reserve on the same occasions, very unusual with him ; and altogether in 192 THE TWO SCHOOLS. opposition to his natural disposition ; by this means he flattered himself that they had passed on but little noticed, and altogether unknown, and that the Grants, should they follow them, which he had little doubt of their doing, would hear nothing of them to prevent their persevering in the pursuit, till they arrived at the end of the journey, and therefore if they met at all it would not be till they were travelling in opposite directions. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 193 CHAPTER XVIII. WE have said in the preceding chapter that Mr Monkton flattered himself that by avoiding all means of exciting attention, he and his family might pursue their course without any particular notice being taken ot them ; but had his stay in the country been only a very little longer, he would have discovered, that we have no travelling incognito here ; but that much more ob- scure individuals than his appearance, and mode of travelling, bespoke him, must lay their accounts for having every particular respecting them made fully known to each individual they encounter on their route. It is said that Franklin, wKen on a journey, made a point at every stopping place to which he came, to announce immediately on his arrival, his name, occupation, whence he had come, and whither he was going, for the sake of saving all further trouble of answering the many questions which were sure to be put to him. In the present day, however, things are managed with less trouble still to "the traveller, since either by intuition, or by some other invisible means, all this important information is acquired with- out its being directly apparent from whence the knowledge is derived. This being the case, it is not surprising that the Grants no sooner reached Utica, than they were made acquainted with the present resi- dence of those of whom they were in pursuit ; and as they were happily as little impeded by delicacy as by R 194 THE TWO SCHOOLS, want of information," they lost no time in following them thither. " " Upon my word, this is too bad !" cried Mr. Monkton, as he looked out of the window on hearing a carriage drive to the door of the hotel ; " these peo- ple haunt us like a disease." " O, how delightful !" exclaimed Augusta, who had followed her father to the window ; and, at the same instant, she flew down-stairs to welcome the new comers ; and for the next hour or two, she had neither eyes nor ears for any thing, but her dear Juliana, and her charming brother. At length, their interesting conference was interrupted by a summons for Augusta to hasten to her mother's room ; and, though half dis- posed to refuse, she at last determined to go, just to see what her mamma wanted, but promised her friends to return immediately, and accompany them down to the Falls. On entering the room, Augusta found her father pacing the floor in evident agitation, while her mother sat, following him with her eyes, in each turn he made, with an expression of anxious and painful solicitude. " Come in, Augusta," said Mr. Monkton, as his daughter made her appearance at the door of the chamber. " Come in, and shut the door, for I have something to say to you." Augusta did as she was desired, and, believing she already knew what she was about to hear, she armed her mind with all due resolution for the approaching contest. " The carriage," said Mr. Monkton, in a tone of considerable agitation, " that conveyed your new friends here, brought letters to me, of such import as to THE TWO SCHOOLS. 195 oblige me immediately to retrace the route we have just come, and to hasten with as little loss of time as possible to Philadelphia, or perhaps to Baltimore. You must, therefore, assist Dawson to prepare for our departure, which must be at a very early hour to-mor- row morning." Augusta, who had expected to receive an attack upon her sudden and extravagant fondness for the Grants, and perhaps even to be forbidden to associate with them, had prepared herself, as she conceived, with an appropriate reply ; but she was altogether thrown off her guard by this unexpected arrangement, and stood for a few moments silent, and at a loss what to say, while her countenance bespoke the tempest that was gathering within. " It is unnecessary for you to trouble yourself with any objections, Augusta," said her father, in a more composed voice than he had before spoken in, " for nothing you can say will make any change in my arrangements. Indeed, the more violent your objec- tions to them appear to be, the more I shall rejoice in the necessity that has obliged me to adopt them." " It is very extraordinary," cried Augusta, when she at length recovered presence of mind sufficient to speak, " that after pretending to be in such haste to join your wards, and so repeatedly urging the neces- sity of proceeding to Niagara with as little delay as possible, as the advance of the season would soon make it dangerous to travel amongst the lakes, you all at once, nobody knows why, find it necessary to go straight back again. I hope, mamma, you will not consent to go," added the indignant girl, with some faint hope, that what appeared to her so altogether 196 THE TWO SCHOOLS. unreasonable, would have power to rouse even her mother's gentle disposition to rebellion. " You know, my dear Augusta, that my opinion of your father's judgment is so great, that when he says he considers a thing to be right, I never have any in- clination to question his decision ; and as to my confi- dence in his affection and kindness, it is so unbounded, that nothing could induce me for a moment to question his arrangements being all designed for our ultimate comfort and happiness; and, therefore, though I am as sorry to leave this fascinating spot as you can possibly be, I am ready at any moment to do so, even though I am as little acquainted with the busi- ness that calls him to Philadelphia, or Baltimore, as you are." " But why cannot papa leave us here, while he returns to transact this wonderfully important business by himself ?" argued Augusta; " I am sure it would be much better, than to oblige us to drag over the same uninteresting road so often." " That I will not do, you may be assured, Augusta, and therefore it is unnecessary to trouble yourself any farther on that point." " Nor would I consent to it, even if you could be persuaded to it," added Mrs. Monkton. " Wherever you go, I will go, and thither, of course, Augusta will go likewise." " I would advise you then, Augusta," said her father, " since you find that it is not in your power to alter the nature of things, to summon your natural good sense to your aid, and submit quietly to what you cannot avoid. Go therefore, my child, and give Dawson the necessary orders, and assist her as much as you can, THE TWO SCHOOLS. 197 ibr it ought to be your study to spare your mamma as much fatigue as possible." Augusta immediately left her mother's room, and hastened to her own, but not for the purpose of staying there to assist Dawson with the packing. On the contrary, she simply told the maid of their intended departure on the following morning, and desired her to prepare for it, and then putting on her bonnet, and throwing a scarf over her shoulders, she hastened to join Miss Grants and her brother, who were waiting for her in the parlour. Augusta's countenance was too expressive a one not immediately to discover to the observation of her companions, that something had occurred to ruffle and agitate her ; nor was it long before their inquiries had drawn from her a full account of the conversation that had taken place in her mother's room. The exclamations of " Caprice !" " Tyranny !" " Persecution !" and the like, burst from both brother and sister, repeatedly, as she spoke ; so that before she had ceased speaking, they had worked her up into a full belief that her father had no object in view but that of tormenting her, nor any business in this projected journey but that of taking her away from friends, to whom he happened to have taken a capricious dislike." When they had descended to the rocks, over which the romantic stream forces its way in so many wild and beautiful forms, Grants proposed, that instead of exploring the scenery any farther, for the present, that they should sit down upon one of the ledges, which formed seats as convenient as if they had been made for the purpose, declaring that he felt so com- R2 188 THE TWO SCHOOLS. pletely unhinged by the intelligence that he had just received, that paradise itself would be only purgatory to him at present. Delighted to find so much sympathy for her irritated feelings, Augusta simply proposed that they should turn the point of a shelving rock, at a short distance, which would bring them in sight of a smooth, beautiful fall of water, and then sit down. This was done ; but before they had sat many minutes, Miss Grants, declaring that she could not rest without ascending a little higher and taking a peep at what was to be seen from the height from which the water descended, ran off, promising to return in a few minutes ; and leaving her brother to wonder how Juliana could take any inte- rest, even in these wildest of nature's scenes, at a moment when they were about to be deprived of one of the most finished of her works. " Whenever I see you, Miss Monkton," said the young man, assuming a look and tone of tender- ness, that he had never before ventured upon, " I am only sensible of one subject of regret to mingle alloy with the happiness of being with you ; and that arises from your not being a native of this country." " What, are you so exceedingly bigoted to your own country, as that comes to ?" asked Augusta, with surprise. " Not at all," replied the young man. " It is not that you would have been more beautiful or more interesting in my eyes, for being American ; but that you would have been brought up with different ideas of independence than you have at present, for the young people here certainly much sooner acquire THE TWO SCHOOLS. 199 resolution to act for themselves, than they do in Eng- land." " That I conceive," said Augusta, with great sim- plicity, " can only be the case when they happen to have fortunes which make them really independent. What good, for instance, could I do by asserting my independence, and refusing to accompany papa and mamma back to Philadelphia ? I have no money, that I could command, if papa chose to withhold it from me. Besides, after all, what could a young girl, such as I am, do in a strange country without a protector ?' " Nothing, certainly. But, dear Augusta, there are other protectors besides fathers, that young ladies sometimes find;" and as he spoke, he took the hand of his companion, who felt confused and almost fright ened, though she scarcely knew why. " Have you never seen such a protector that you could intrust with the care of your happiness," continued the young man, striving, as he spoke, to meet Augusta's eye, which she studiously averted from him. " I have never thought on. the subject," returned the agitated girl ; " I am too young to think of such things." " Why too young, if you could increase your happi- ness by it ? Surely, youth does not exclude the idea of enjoyment. Ask yourself, lovely and beloved Augusta, why you should not place yourself under the care of a protector, who would make it the study of his life to promote your happiness, and leave your father and mother to prosecute their wanderings as they think fit ; and then, when they are weary of travelling, they can return to you again, and find the same affec- tionate daughter that you ever were." 200 THE TWO SCHOOLS. " O, no ! that could never be. Nothing in the world would induce papa to consent to my leaving him." " But what could he do, if some other in the mean time had acquired a higher claim, and refused to let you go ?" " O, that is impossible ! It could never be. Pray let me go !" she continued ; " I must not stay here It is not proper that I should listen to such language ;" and as she spoke, she made an effort to rise ; but the young man, putting his arm round her waist, held her down with gentle force. "Do not be alarmed," he said, tenderly; "I have no wish to persuade you to any thing contrary to your feelings and inclinations ; but only think what there is that is so very terrible in my suggestion. Your parents cannot expect to keep you always with them ; they must have laid their accounts some time ago, for being called upon, before long, to resign you to the care of another ; and who that other shall be, they surely, arbitrary as they seem to be, would not think of deciding for you. All, therefore, that you have to determine, dear Augusta, is, whether you can prevail upon yourself to make me happy. You know, you cannot but know, my devotion to you. My for- tune is ample, and my connexions amongst the very first in the country ; so that the only difficulty that you have to encounter, is the trifling one, of a few hours' displeasure from your father, on account of your having ventured to take a step without his permission ; which, considering the tyranny he has lately exercised over you, he cannot but acknowledge to be a very natural one. Speak then, beloved Augusta," con- tinued the lover, pressing her hand tenderly, as he THE TWO SCHOOLS. 201 spoke, "and say that you will make me happy by giving me a superior claim, even to that of your father himself." " O, that cannot be," answered Augusta, in extreme agitation ; for though her rebellious spirit was fasci- nated with the independence which the proposed plan would testify, her better judgment revolted against it as undutiful and ungrateful. "How can it be? It is impossible. We are to leave here very early to-morrow morning." " And where is the difficulty ?" inquired the young man. " You say you are to leave here early to-morrow morning ; but why may you not leave to-night, and let your father and mother follow after in the morning?" Augusta looked at him with a surprised and inquir- ing expression, and he continued, " It can be managed without the slightest difficulty. I will take a horse and ride over to Utica, and be back with a carriage about nine o'clock. By that time you can have retired to your own room, under the plea of having to rise early. Juliana shall muffle herself in a long cloak and calash, and come and tap at your room door, and invite you, if your maid should happen to be in the room, to come out awhile and enjoy the moon, light. You, of course, will wrap yourself up also, and at the front door I shall be stationed, ready to re- ceive you, wrapped in a long cloak that I always carry with me when travelling, and a cap so drawn over my face, that it would not be easy for even your father, if he should happen to be near, to recognise me. "We will hasten immediately to the carriage, which I will leave at a short distance from the house, and in which mamma shall be already placed, to receive you ; so 202 THE TWO SCHOOLS. that you will not be a moment out of matronly protec- tion. Away then we will dash" lo Utica, where a cler- gyman shall be in waiting, to perform the ceremony ; so that, when your father comes after us, he will find that you have blessed me by making me .the guardian of your future life. Can any thing be easier than this plan, or more likely to secure our future happiness ? Only say, then, dearest Augusta, that you will consent, and all will be smooth and easy." "But my poor mamma," said Augusta; " how it would distress her." .*' Not at all, believe me. There never was a mo- ther yet, who had not a great deal more pleasure than pain from the marriage of a daughter, provided the choice that her daughter had made was not a degrading one ; and in this instance, I trust, such an objection will not exist. All, therefore, that we shall have to encounter will be a few blustcrings from your father ; which your mother's tears and our concessions will soon soften, and all will be smooth and happy ; and I trust, before a week is over, my Augusta will acknow- ledge, that she has only just begun to know what happiness is. Let me, then, dear Augusta, have your consent at once," urged the young man, with increased earnestness, as he perceived Augusta's objections to become gradually more and more faint. Say but that you agree to the plan I have proposed, and I am off in an instant." " You must let me have some time to think about it, 5> replied the hesitating, half-yielding girl. " It is so sudden. I must have a little more time for reflec- tion." " A little time, and all will be destroyed. Con- THE TWO SCHOOLS. 203 sider," continued he, taking out his watch, "it is now three o'clock, and I must be at Utica, and back here with a carriage by nine. There is not, therefore, a moment to lose. Let me, then, have the sweet con- senting ' yes,' that I see trembles on your tongue, and you will make me the happiest of men." After a few more scruples and objections, the con- senting ' yes' was given, and the moment it was obtained, the impatient lover flew to recall his sister, who had strayed to a considerable distance ; and while he did so, Augusta paced back and forward, almost afraid to allow herself to think for a moment on what she had done. While thus walking, she happened to go beyond the projection of the rock, behind which they had seated themselves, when she was a good deal startled at seeing her father walking along at some distance from her. His course was, however, from instead of towards her ; and as he appeared to be proceeding in a leisurely manner towards the house, she concluded, that he had come, as he was accus- tomed to do, to take a stroll among the rocks, but had turned again, perhaps on account of the heat, before he had reached the place where they were. Tremb- ling at the idea of the narrow escape they had had, Augusta waited impatiently for the return of her lover and his sister ; and the moment they arrived, almost without allowing Juliana time to kiss, and call her " dear sister," she urged their return to the house ; and the moment they arrived there, she flew to her cham- ber, and locked herself in. 204 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER XIX. IN the stillness of her own apartment, Augusta's better feelings were frequently on the point of carrying her to her father and mother, and frankly acknowledg- ing the folly of which she had been guilty ; but pride as often recurred to counteract the virtuous impulse, and hold her back. And after all, she remonstrated inwardly, but as if in reply to some objections that had been made : " What have I done, but what hundreds of girls have done before me ? It is true, that I am young, but many have been married younger than even I am. Mrs. Daley and Mrs. Cornwall both told me that they were only fourteen when they were married ; and I am a good deal more than fifteen. And as to marrying without papa and mamma's consent, they surely cannot wonder very much at it, considering that they have made a point of refusing almost every thing I have asked of them for a long time ; and it is cer- tainly better to do it without their leave than against it. It is true, I do not love Mr. Grants ; indeed 1 never thought I cared any thing for him, till I found that papa was so anxious to keep me out of his way ; but then, after all, how very few people there are who marry for love. To let the judgment make the selec- tion, and the love to come after, I have often heard was the way to secure happiness ; and I am sure it is impossible that the judgment should not approve of such a man as Mr. Grants. I know he is young and THE TWO SCHOOLS. 205 good looking; he says he is rich, and of a good family ; and his sister says he is very amiable. The only objection that papa can reasonably make, is, that I did not ask his consent, and at that he will no doubt storm for a while very furiously ; but it will wear off in time, and we shall, no doubt, be better friends after- wards ; for he will have no right then to order me about with so much authority, and that is the only thing in which we ever disagree. If he would not oblige me to object to his arbitrary commands, we should be as good friends as possible." With these and a variety of other equally substantial arguments, Augusta endeavoured to quiet her rebellious conscience during the interval of waiting for the return of her lover, whom she had seen from her window mount his horse and ride off. It had been agreed, in their walk from the Falls, that Juliana should not come near her during her brother's absence, or any thing be done that could have the appearance of their feeling any particu- lar interest in Augusta's proceedings, so that time passed ; the warning bell for supper rang, and even the second bell gave its summons to the supper table, without the train of Augusta's thoughts having been interrupted by a single visit even from her mother or Dawson. At length Dawson knocked at the door, and said she had brought her some supper up, as her papa was not in at present, and her mamma did not wish to go down-stairs without him. "* " Has mamma never inquired for me ?" asked she, as she opened the door, and Dawson placed the tray on a table beside her. " No, ma'am," answered the girl ; " your mamma only said, she supposed you had been so discomposed 206 THE TWO SCHOOL?. with what had occurred in the afternoon, that you would prefer being alone, and therefore she would not disturb you ; and desired me not to do so either." " She is very kind," said Augusta, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke, at the thought of the pain she was about to inflict upon this tenderest and most indul- gent of parents ; but, at the same moment, remembering Mr. Grants' assurance, that every mother had more pleasure than pain from the marriage of a daughter, she checked the rising gush of tenderness, and per- suaded herself that the pain would be temporary, but the pleasure would be lasting as life. At present, her parents and herself were three beings who stood almost alone in the world, for her mother's low spirits had induced her to estrange herself so much from society, that she scarcely had a single intimate friend left, and as to their relatives, they were all so distantly con- nected with them, that they could scarcely be ranked as nearer .than mere acquaintances. But when she had formed other relationships, the various members of the family of which she had become a part would imme- diately appear to her mother as all belonging to her own ; and she would thus have a more extended circle of companions, without the pain of having to mix amongst strangers to find them. How much sophistry will the heart call to its aid when determined to recon- cile itself to what the judgment condemns ; and how clamorously will it seek to silence the pleadings of con- science when a favourite object is to be accomplished. Augusta knew that her judgment condemned, but her pride was offended, and called loudly for revenge ; her conscience told her she was doing wrong, but a false notion of honour, from the consideration of having THE TWO SCHOOLS. 207 passed her word to Mr. Grants, checked every better impulse, and she persevered in her determination, though sickening every moment at the thought of what she was doing. " Tell mamma that I shall not see her again to-night," said she to Dawson, when she came to take away the supper tray, that had stood without Augusta's having touched a particle of its con- tents. " I feel uncomfortable, and do not wish to see papa again till I am in better humour." The time now drew near when she might expect Juliana's sum- mons. She laid her cloak and calash close at hand, and sat down at the window to listen for the sounds of a distant carriage. Frequently they seemed to meet her ear ; but she found, after listening awhile, that it was the fall of the water from some of the cascades that had deceived her into the idea that her lover was approaching. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the few visiters that were in the house had almost all wandered down the hill, to admire the play of the moonbeams on the romantic stream that had drawn them to the place, and all seemed hushed in quietness and repose. At length, a sound that Augusta was certain was that of a carriage, reached her ear. She looked at her watch, which the light of the moon enabled her to see. It was not quite half past eight o'clock. Her heart began to palpitate excessively. How alert he had been, and how much affection did such alertness discover. Ought she not to show her sense of his kindness, by performing her part of the engagement with compo- sure, at least, if she could not do it with cheerfulness. That certainly was the very least she could do, and for this purpose she struggled, with a degree of reso- 208 THE TWO SCHOOLS. lution worthy of a better cause, to quiet the beatings of her heart, which made such a noise that she almost imagined it might be heard by others. At length, a gentle tap came to the door ; it was the signal agreed upon, and therefore, without losing a moment of time, she threw her cloak over her shoulders, and putting on her calash, she opened the door. " Juliana are you sure your brother is come ?" she was going to say, but before she had pronounced more than the name, a finger raised in token of silence, and a softly whispered hush, stopped her, and she followed, without making another attempt at speaking. Scarcely had she reached beyond the portals of the front door, when a gentleman came forward, from the shade in which he had been standing, and taking her hand, and giving it an affectionate and encouraging pressure, he drew it under his arm, while his other arm was taken by her companion, and they hasten- ed almost in a run, but still maintaining profound silence, to a considerable distance from the house, where, under the shade of a large, spreading tree, stood a carriage, with the steps down, and the door open, into which Augusta was immediately handed. She had just presence of mind sufficient to look, before she got quite in, if Mrs. Grants was really there ; but she was not kept a moment in suspense, for the hand that was held out to help her in, and the arm that en- circled her waist, the moment she was seated, told her at once, that her lover had, in all things, made good his engagement. The moment her two companions had taken their seats on the opposite side of the carriage, the steps were put up, and the door closed with the greatest caution, and, as the road is pretty good, they THE TWO SCHOOLS 209 passed over the ground with great rapidity ; but, as the whole party maintained a profound silence, Augusta might have become rather uneasy, had not a frequent tender pressure of her hand convinced her that some circumstance unknown to her rendered this silence necessary. Thus situated, though they travelled with considerable speed, the time appeared long to Au- gusta, who did not find her own thoughts the most agreeable companions ; but at length, the carriage stopped at the door of a large hotel. The gentleman, the moment the door was opened, jumped out, and assisted or rather lifted her out of the carriage, and hurried her up-stairs, into a room that was ready lighted. " You may uncover your face now, for you are safe amongst your friends," said a voice that made Augusta scream in an agony of terror, for it was the voice of her father. 210 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER XX. explanation is necessary to account for the events we have related in the preceding chapter. With his suspicions so much awakened, with respect to the object of the Grants, it is not to be supposed that Mr. Monkton would leave his daughter long with them, without looking after her. The moment, therefore, that he learned from Dawson that she had merely stayed to give her a few general directions, and had then hastened to the Falls, with Miss Grants and her brother, he followed them, with the intention of joining them in their walk, but had neither overr taken them, nor been observed to be following, when they turned the point of rock that we have before mentioned. On. reaching that point himself, he was struck with the sound of Grants' voice, speaking in a tone of earnestness that startled him. He conse- quently paused, and, screened from observation by the projection of the rock, he had an opportunity of hearing the whole conversation. The moment, how- ever, that Augusta had gi\*n her consent, he hastened away, determined to have the advantage of at least half an hour's earlier start, to anticipate the plans of the young man. For this purpose, he proceeded to Utica with speed equal to that of any lover, and engaged all the carriages he could hear of in the place at a very extravagant rate, to be ready when he should require them, so that Grants was sure to be THE TWO SCHOOLS. 211 detained a considerable time seeking for one. He then returned, and placed Mrs. Monkton in the car- riage, in which he had come to the Falls, and sent Dawspn to act the part of Juliana, while he stationed himself at the door to perform that of the lover. As he had made Mrs. Monkton acquainted with his plan before he went to Utica, .all was in readi- ness, when he came back, for their departure ; while his valet was left to settle with the master of the hotel, and follow with the baggage. It was by mutual agree- ment, that Mrs. Monkton had left Augusta entirely to herself during his absence, as her husband was fearful that if much in the presence o, her daughter, the ten- derness of the mother might interfere with his plans, and by an anxiety to save Augusta a temporary morti- cation, she might deprive him altogether of the chance of rescuing his daughter from the danger that was impending over her. All went on, however, as fortunately as possible ; and even Augusta herself, as soon as the painful sense of shame and humiliation was softened down, by find- ing that her parents viewed her conduct more as that of a self-willed child, that had been made the dupe of designing people, than as one who had intentionally acted ,an unprincipled and undutiful part, soon reco- vered.her composure. As she was naturally a girl of good judgment and discriminating mind, it was no diffi- cult thing to convince her, by pointing out to her con- sideration the very short acquaintance that had existed between the two families, and the very indelicate man- ner in which the Grants had forced themselves into their society ; and above all, the very dishonourable conduct of the young man, in taking advantage of her 212 THE TWO SCHOOLS. extreme youth and inexperience, to prevail upon her to take the clandestine and disobedient step she had meditated ; that her fortune had been .the sole object of his pursuit ; and under such a conviction, she could only feel thankfulness for her happy escape, and grati- tude to her father for the judicious manner in which he had accomplished her rescue. When the mind is distorted, every thing, of course, is seen through a false medium ; and Augusta, consequently, while under the influence of the Grants' artful insinuations, saw only tyranny and oppression in all her father's arrange- ments ; but her "mind once opened to the truth, she was immediately released from the baneful illusion, and was perfectly satisfied to accompany her parents wherever they thought fit to go. As soon as she had gained sufficient composure to write, she addressed a note to Juliana ; informing her of her sincere repentance for the errors into which she had been leoV, and her wish that all further com- munication between them should cease ; as well as her determination never in future to take any important step without the knowledge and concurrence of both her parents. This letter her father took care to de- spatch to her quondam friend, an" And pray, what is the charge ?" asked the sweetest voice that had ever struck upon Augusta's ear. " Of circulating forged notes," returned the boy. '" If I could but get any one to take a letter for me to a friend," said the same sweet voice, which Augusta THE TWO SCHOOLS. 221 listened to, and felt her own violent passions softened down by its influence. " I will take it," returned the boy. " There is some- body here to keep watch now ; so I will take it, if you will give me it, and tell me where it is to go." " As the lamp is gone out, and I cannot see to write, a message will do. Be so good, therefore, as to go to the archbishop, and tell him that Mary M'Donald begs him to send some one to her assistance." "Mary M'Donald!" exclaimed Augusta, starting up, and clasping her hands together in an ecstasy of delight. " Am I beside Mary M'Donald ? O, then I am safe ! for I am wider the protection of virtue." " That is very flattering language, to be used to a poor unprotected girl," said the modest Mary, whose cheeks, could they have been seen, would have been found to be tinged with the deep blush of modesty. " I cannot imagine how you can be induced to pay me so high a compliment." " Because," answered Augusta, with all her natural enthusiasm, "I have heard of you from Mr. X ; because I have listened to the good Sisters while they talked of you ; because I have watched you in church, when your whole soul was bent in reverence before your Maker ; and because I have seen you kneeling in humble piety at your father's grave." " My father ! my beloved father !" cried Mary, her heart swelling with tenderness at the mention of his name ; " had you been alive, I should not now have been unprotected." " "We have come to Baltimore to give you another protector," said Augusta, in a tone of the most winning kindness. " Dear Mary, my father will be your father, T2 222 THE TWO SCHOOLS. and my mother will be your mother. You shall be my sister, and I have only to beg that you will try to love me as dearly as I already love you." " But do you know how poor, forlorn, and friend less I am?" asked Mary. " O, yes, I know all ; but that is of no importance. My father's name makes no impression here, but all who are acquainted with Mr. Monkton, of Monkton Park, know that he has abundance of wealth for both his daughters." " Mr. Monkton !" cried Mary ; " are you then the daughter of George Linley's guardian ?" " You know George Linley, then ?" " O, yes," replied Mary, whose whole face glowed as she spoke; "he was my playmate when a child, and has been one of my kindest friends ever since." " We shall all be brothers and sisters together, then," said Augusta. " So cheer up, dear Mary," she continued, as she threw her arm round the polished neck of the interesting being, whom she would now, as a candle had been by that time brought into the room, see and admire. Mary returned her caress in a frank though less familiar manner, while Augusta continued : " It is true we are both at present under very curious circumstances, but it arises from some mistake, that will be explained as soon as our friends come to us, and then we shall have nothing to do but rejoice and be happy." At this instant, the door was burst open, and the constable, who stood near it, almost knocked over, while George Linley rushed panting into the room. " Mary, my own dear Mary, we have just this moment received your message, and here is Mr. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 223 X , and even the archbishop himself, coming to your aid. Nay, I believe you would have had all the Sisters, and the whole -train of orphans into the bargain, to testify in your favour, if it had not been too late for them ta come out." As he spoke, a carriage stopt at the door, and the venerable archbishop, and Mr. X : entered. The moment Mary saw the reverend prelate, she sunk on her knees before him, to receive his blessing. In consequnce of the extreme heat of the. weather, and the closeness of the room in which she had been shut up, she had taken off her bonnet, and thrown aside the little handkerchief that had been tied round her heck, that was thus left without a covering to conceal its fine form and snowy whiteness, while her rich tresses, which would scarcely submit to be con- fined by a comb, partly hid her face, as her head bent forward over her clasped hands, to receive the arch- bishop's benediction. Augusta, notwithstanding the peculiarities of her own situation, could not but gaze and admire, and think she had never in her life before seen any thing half so beautiful. *' I will take the responsibility upon myself," said the prelate to the constable, " while I remove this young creature to a more fitting situation." The constable bowed, and declared himself fully satisfied ; and the archbishop, taking Mary's hand, said, " Come, my child, come with me, and I will convey you to a safe asylum for the night." < At this instant, a hurried step was heard in the entry, and Mr. Monkton immediately came into th? room. " Papa, my dear papa, you have come at last," 224 THE TWO SCHOOLS. cried Augusta, throwing herself into his arms, as she spoke. " O, Augusta," said the fond father, as he embraced his daughter, " what an alarm you have given us. But what is this ?" he exclaimed, as he turned his eyes upon Mary, who stood looking at the father 'arid daughter, and thinking that just so she used to be embraced by a tender parent. " O^ I know it all ; I understand, sir, at onee," he continued, turning to Mr. X , " the secret you had to unfold. My heart tells me this is my daughter. O, Augusta, go and embrace your sister, and let me clasp my two children in my arms at once." Augusta scarcely knowing what she did, and cer- tainly not understanding her father's full meaning, rushed into Mary's already opened arms, while Mr. Monkton clasped them both in his, and poured his blessing on their heads. " Mary," said Mr. X- , whose agitation, in spite of his habitual self-control, would scarcely allow him to speak, " I was the first to announce to you your father's death, but I hope I shall now make ample amends for the pain I then gave you, by informing you that he you then mourned was not your real parent. This is your father, and this is your sister, and you have a tender and affectionate mother, to whom you will soon be introduced." Totally overpowered by this unexpected intelligence, the agitated girl sunk at her father's feet, and clasped his knees. She was immediately raised, and again folded in his arms, but it was not till a soft whisper of congratulation came to her ear, from George, who had stood a silent, but highly interested spectator, that the THE TWO SCHOOLS. 225 friendly tears began to flow, and relieve her over- charged heart. " Do not attempt to repress your feelings, dearest Mary," said he, in atone of the tenderest affection, as he stood bending over her. Mr. Monk ton; whose agitation had hitherto been too great, to allow him even to notice that there was a young man in the room, turned round, with a look of surprise, as George's words struck his ear, and said, with, an inquiring look, "-Have you any particular interest in this young lady, sir?" . ft Yes, sir," said George, in a frank and manly tone ; " I have the interest of the most ardent affection, which has existed vithout change, since we were both mere children ; an affection which my parents both approved of, and which I hope my guardian, Mr. Monkton, will not refuse to sanction.'' " You are George Linley, then," exclaimed the guar- dian, shaking his young ward cordially by the hand. " This is, indeed, a happy meeting ! How many sweet ties this lovely girl has contrived to twine around her. But Augusta, my dear, we are acting an unkind part to your dear mother, to keep her so long in igno- rance, both of your safety and of her new treasure." He then, at the request of the archbishop, who be- came responsible for Augusta also, handed his two daughters into the carriage which had conveyed the prelate and. Mr. X to the magistrate's ; while George Linley went to bring another, in which he and the two clergymen promised to follow him to Barnham's, as soon as possible. On arriving at the hotel, Augusta led her new found sister to her own room; while Mr. Monkton hastened to prepare his 226 THE TWO SCHOOLS. wife for the flood of happiness which was about to descend upon her, and which, in its first effects, he well knew would be quite as bad to bear as the bitterest sorrow could be. He had barely time, how ever, to excite her suspicions that her long lamented child was still in existence, and might yet, perhaps, be found, when the archbishop and his companions ar- rived ; and in a few minutes, Mr. X commenced the narration that he had received from Mrs. M'Do- nald, with express permission, at the time, from her to communicate it to the family that she had so much injured. As our readers, however, would probably wish to have the relation more circumstantially detailed than he at that time thought it necessary to give it, we shall take the liberty of using our own words ; especially, as it will enable us at the same time to detail some other circumstances, that may appear to .equire elucidation. THE TWO SCHOOLS. 227 CIJAPTER XXI. SARAH M'DONALD was married very young, and had been the mother of a little girl only a few weeks, when Mrs. Monkton's twins were born. On inqui- ries being made for a nurse to assist the young mother in the rearing of her treasures, the young, healthy Mrs. M'Donald, whose child was only a few weeks older than the twins, was considered so very desirable a person, that the most tempting terms were offered to induce her to give up the care of her own child to another, and take the charge of one of the little co- heiresses. Her husband had for some time had a great desire to emigrate to America, and was only deterred from doing so by the difficulty of raising money sufficient either for removing his wife and child to a foreign country, or leaving 'them provided for till he was able to send for them to follow him. Mr. Monkton's liberal offer, however, removed all diffi- culties ; and it was very soon settled that he should immediately embark for America ; that his child should be placed under the care of a sister of its mo- ther's ; and that his wife should become the nurse of one of the little Monktons, till it should no longer require the sustenance she had to give ; at which time, Mr. Monkton engaged to have them both carefully conveyed to him in whatever part of America he might be settled. We have heard how her little charge improved under her care, and how much its independ- 228 THE TWO SCHOOLS. ence of its mother's attention tended to estrange the affection of that parent, who was then, herself, little more than a child ; and having always been an exceed- ingly indulged one, was subject to the caprices so easily acquired in such a school. Misfortune, how- ever, that stern, rugged nurse, soon restored her to the native meekness and humility of her disposition, and made her the affectionate, gentle, and enduring being that she ever after proved herself. We know that the dangerous illness of her mother, having obliged Mrs. Monkton to be absent from home for several weeks, she left her little Aline under the care of her nurse, who despatched daily accounts to her of the child's health ; and as, contrary to what might be expected from a woman in her situation, her letters were always long and circumstantial, they had the effect of keeping the mind of both parents per- fectly easy with regard to their infant. This woman, who was a native of London, and had been educated in the school of the famous Joseph Lancaster, had acquired just enough of the rudiments of learning to be to her " a dangerous thing," for she had learned to write a hand like copper-plate, and to spell with tole- rable propriety ; but had failed, when doing so, to acquire either a sense of religion or any correct moral principles. With such a state of mind, therefore, it is not surprising that she was open to temptation, when she received a letter from her sister, who had a few months before removed to Manchester, and taken her foster child with her, informing her that a lady and gentleman, in the neighbourhood of that town, of im- mense fortune, having just lost their only child, were anxious to adopting hers. They were on the point THE TWO SCHOOLS. 229 of leaving the kingdom for several years, and stipulated that the child should be given up to them entirely, the parents resigning all claim to it, and engaging not to use any means for keeping up a knowledge of it ; on which condition a thousand pounds should be paid at the time that the child was delivered up to them. To this proposal the sister added, that if she was disposed to agree to it, she Avould, herself, aid her in deceiving her husband, by writing him an account of his child's death, provided that she would divide the bounty with her. The agreement was soon concluded between the two sisters, and Mrs. M'Donald already began to imagine herself in possession of the money, which she arranged to have remitted to her, year after year, after she had joined her .husband ; in a hundred pounds each time as an annuity from Mr. Monkton, in return for her faith- ful care of his daughter. She waited, therefore, only for the return of Mr. and Mrs. Monkton, to give up her little charge, which was now old enough to do without her, when a letter arrived from her sister, an- nouncing the death of her child. This was a disap- pointment to which the abandoned mother was but little disposed to submit. The demon of avarice had taken possession of her heart, and after revolving in her mind various expedients for supplying the loss, the diabolical one of stealing her foster child seized upon her imagination. She had another sister still in the village in the neighbourhood of Monkton Park, and she, being no more conscientious than her relatives, was easily persuaded for a small consideration to aid her in her plans. These were that she should carry her little nursling to her sister's in the morning ; and U 230 THE TWO SCHOOLS. leaving it there, return herself with a stuffed baby in her arms dressed in the clothes of her foster child. As she was known to possess the entire confidence of her master and mistress, the other servants of the house took but little notice of her proceedings ; though it was remembered, when inquiries were made, that she had been seen going down the lawn towards the lake. On going to the. lake she had fastened a scrap of the frock on a twig that overhung the water, and after making some foot-prints on the soft ground with one of the little shoes, fastened a stone to -the pretended child that she had brought with her, which -caused it to flow rapidly down the current into that chasm out of which nothing was ever known to rise. She then hastened with all possible speed through a pri- vate gate of the enclosure to the north, kno',vn to very few of the family, but which she had before con- trived to have unfastened ; and proceeded to a private part of the public road, where her sister was engaged to meet her with the little helpless being dressed in clothes suited to its new situation. Here she awaited the coming of a stage; and this arriving in a very few minutes, she took a seat in it, and was many miles on her way to Manchester, before the unfortunate father and mother -returned home to inquire after their child. As the child both received its nourishment from her and fondled in her bosom, and called her mammy, there was nothing about her appearance in any respect to excite suspicion, or any paiticular notice except her youthfulness as a mother and the ex- treme beauty of the infant. On her arrival in Man- chester, however, a severe disappointment awaited her, for she found that the lady and gentleman who had THE TWO SCHOOLS. 231 wished to adopt her-child, had felt its death as a second bereavement, and despairing of having their affections again engaged, had set off immediately for the conti- nent to seek in new scenes an alleviation of their wounded feelings. Here then was this unhappy wo- man caught in her own snares. She now found her- self burdened with the child of another, which she had not only to support, but was at the same time in continual danger of being detected in a crime for which the law would exact a severe penalty. Her only chance therefore was to make her escape with as little loss of time as possible to America, and impose her foster child upon her husband as his own. As Mr. Monkton had made a settlement with her immediately before he left home, and had not only paid her all he owed her,, but had made her a handsome present be- sides, as a token of his gratitude for her indefatigable attention to his child, she had no difficulties with re- spect to money. She hastened therefore to Liverpool, and taking a passage in a vessel that was ready to sail, she was in the course of a few weeks reunited to her husband, who received the little Aline as his own Mary, and exulted with all the pride of a fond father, first in her beauty, and afterward in all the various esti- mable qualities which gradually unfolded as she advanc- ed in age. Though perfectly illiterate, this truly respect- able man had an acute and discriminating mind, and a nobleness of heart that would have done honour to the most polished acquirements. In fervent piety too, and a deep sense of religion which on all occasions proved the rule of his actions, he set an example that could not fail to have a powerful effect upon the sensitive heart of his imagined child ; and at once secured her 232 THE TWO SCHOOLS. warmest affection and her highest admiration and es- teem. Very different was it with 'his unhappy wife : the consciousness of guilt, and a constant fear of detec- tion, cast a gloom over her mind, which, young as she was, made her a prey to corroding anxiety and gloomy terrors. The little innocent victim that had been made a prey to her vile passions became an object of hatred to her, as being a constant memorial of her own crimes ; and though the amiable girl made ceaseless endeavours to engage her tenderness and propitiate her affections, they were all in vain ; for knowing her- self to have been so bitter an enemy, she could not be convinced that she was not hated as she knew she de- served. 'Cold reserve or fretful petulance, therefore, were the only returns that Mary (for SQ we will still call her) could gain in exchange for ^he most affec- tionate tenderness and the most submissive obedience ; but when, in her tenth year, she happened to attract the attention of Mrs. Linley, and that lady called upon her supposed mother to offer her services in forwarding the education of her daughter, and assist- ing in the cultivation of talents which nature seemed to have bestowed in so extraordinary a degree, every dia- bolical passion seemed from that moment to take pos- session of her heart. ..TV , On finding that the mother of her favourite Mary was English, Mrs. Linley benevolently sought to gra- tify her, by conversing with her about her native country, which, she told her, she and Mr. Linley had visited immediately after their marriage, and mentioned particularly a visit which they had paid, when there, to a friend of her husband's, a Mr. Monkton, of Monk- ton Park. The name struck daggers to the guilty THE TWO SCHOOLS. 233 woman's soul ; and fancying herself perpetually in danger from Mary's intercourse with the Linley family, it was her constant aim to keep her from them ; and the ill success of her endeavours was the cause of all the persecution and cruelty with which poor Mary had to contend. The death of Mr. and Mrs. Linley, and also of her husband, flattered her with the hope of being able to release herself from all this dangerous train of connexions, and by putting Mary wholly in her power, enable her to force her into a marriage with Smith, and so shut her out from every probability of ever being discovered by her real parents. She had, besides, another motive for wishing to unite her with Smith. She had herself entered into a league with that young man, and two or three others of simi- lar character, for the forging of bank notes ; in which she performed the most essential part, the writing of signatures. We have already mentioned her skill in the art of penmanship, in which she was such an adept, that she could imitate whatever hand she pleased with the greatest accuracy ; and was, on that account, a very important auxiliary. As the combina- tions of the guilty, however, can have no tie but self- interest to bind them, Mrs. M'Donald was anxious to strengthen her hold of Smith, through Mary's means ; and had, therefore, almost immediately after her hus- band's death, entered into an engagement with that young man that Mary should be his wife. She had never actually entered into the business of forging before the death of her husband, because, though the subject had frequently been discussed between them, she had been deterred from involving herself in it from the difficulty of turning it, in any material degree, to u 2 234 THE TWO SCHOOLS. her own advantage. Money would be of little use to her if unable to spend it ; and that she could not do unknown to him, or without his inquiring into tho source from whence it was derived. When his death took place, however, she felt herself uncontrolled mis- tress of her own actions, as well as of Mary, whose submissive obedience left her without a doubt, that, when clothed with the authority of an only parent, she should be able to do with her whatever she pleased. We are already acquainted with the various means that she took to work upon the gentle and conscientious girl ; and also with the steady but respectful firmness with which they were resisted. For a short time, the prospect of immediate death brought terror and remorse to her guilty mind ; and while standing, as she be- lieved, on the very brink of the grave, she sought to propitiate a highly offended Judge by a partial confes- sion of her guilt. She imagined, that she would be making an atonement for her crimes by restoring Mary to her natural protectors ; but persuaded herself that she had no right to disclose crimes with which others were connected as her accomplices. This partial con- fession, therefore, was made to Mr. X , who, on hearing the name of Monkton mentioned, immediately recollected it to be that of the interesting family that he had seen a few weeks before at Wilmington, and was further confirmed in the belief that they were the relatives of the gentle Mary, by recollecting a strong likeness, which had been noticed by both the sisters and himself, between Miss Monkton and their young friend. This, however, was merely conjecture, and as, should he be mistaken, a considerable time must elapse before her real parents could be made acquainted THE TWO SCHOOLS. 235 with her existence, he thought it better that Mary should be kept in ignorance of the subject, for the pre- sent especially, as any exposure of it might induce the woman to make her escape before sufficient evidence of the facts she had detailed had been obtained ; and he, therefore, contented himself with simply charging Mary not to take any important step without first con- sulting him ; and then proceeded to despatch letters, by various ways, to Mr. Monkton, 'stating, that if he had ever lost a child, of whose fate h^ yet remained igno- rant, he would, by returning immediately to Wilming- ton, and applying to him, hear tidings of her. One of these letters was received by Mr. Monkton, when at the Trenton Falls, and was the cause of his sudden determination to turn back and retrace his route. But afraid of the effect of the agitation and suspense on Mrs. Monkton's delicate frame, he determined not to give her the slightest intimation of the nature of the business that called him back, though this silence gave his arrangements the air of caprice and unreasonable- ness which proved so offensive to Augusta. The confessions and humiliations which the near prospect of death had extorted, lasted very little longer than Mr. X 's stay in Baltimore, and returning health and renewed intercourse with the licentious Smith, soon brought the abandoned woman back to all her former habits, and, with them, to an increased degree of hatred for the innocent being whom she had so cruelly injured. More determined than ever, there- fore, to make her the victim of her snares, she was resolved, by whatever means, to have her united to Smith, before she was claimed by her parents, and thus to destroy the good arising from the act of retribution ,; - J 236 THE TWO SCHOOLS. which, in her temporary fit of remorse, she had been induced to perform. As persuasion was found to be entirely unavailing, in overcoming Mary's firm but quiet resolution, the stratagem of a mock marriage, which they, at the same time, knew would stand good in law, and would enable the unprincipled young man to claim her afterwards as 'his wife, was determined upon ; and as this was to be preceded by a show of disinterestedness and kindness on Smith's part, with respect to George Linley's letter, little doubt was en- tertained of its success. Should it, however, fail, they were then to have recourse to her being driven out of the house, when Smith, under pretence of protecting her, was to inveigle her into his power. But a short time previous to these events, Augusta had gone to purchase her silk dresses, which she paid for with some of the notes that had been brought to her by the chambermaid of the hotel. Now this chambermaid, as may already have been suspected, was in league with Smith, and his gang of forgers, and had offered her services to get the hundred dollar note changed, thinking it an excellent opportunity of dis- posing of some of their bad money. Very soon after Augusta and Dawson had left the store, the notes had been discovered to be forged, and one of the shopmen immediately declared that he knew the purchaser to be the daughter of a woman who had excited considerable curiosity of late, from the manner in which she lived, without any apparent means of subsistence, except what her daughter could make by painting articles for the fancy stores, which she was suspected of practising more as a cloak, than as a real effort to gain a liveli- hood. As the woman was only the widow of a com- THE TWQ SCHOOLS. 237 mon porter, it was well known that her resources must be very small, and yet she was found, since her husband's death, to have dressed in a much more expensive manner, and to have lived in a much more costly style, than she did when he was living; all which tended greatly to confirm the suspicions that were excited by the circumstance of the daughter having paid away so many forged notes. It was therefore agreed that the young man, who declared he had been induced by the extreme beauty of the girl to find out where she lived, should take a constable with him, and wait about the door till he had an opportunity of arresting her. This we know he was soon enabled to do, by her being driven out of the house by the monster who had arrogated to herself the name of mother. In the mean time, while he and the constable were waiting for the appearance of their destined victim, Augusta had returned to the store to procure the additional quantity of silk that was re- quired, and the master of the store congratulated him- self upon the unlooked-for opportunity of securing the culprit, and immediately took the necessary means for that purpose. When Dawson returned from taking the pattern dress to the dress-makers, she found that Mrs. Monk- ton had lain down to rest, and she, herself, therefore, immediately set about arranging Augusta's clothes in her bedroom, without taking it .into consideration, that she had never seen her young lady return from the store to which she had gone for the silk ; or, if she thought about it at all, she only did so, to conclude that Augusta had since, as she was in the habit of doing, gone to walk with her father, and take a view 238 THE TWO SCHOOLS. of the city. Mr. Monkton, however, almost the moment he saw his family safe in Barnham's, had hastened in search of Mr. X , and his wards ; for he had written to George Linley, from Utica, desiring that he and his sister, would meet him in Baltimore, a? it was uncertain how long he might be detained in that city, and he was anxious to have them as soon as possible under his own care ; and as he had been detained in Philadelphia several days, he had little doubt of their being already there. Had he been acquainted with the strong attraction which there was in Baltimore to draw George to it, his certainty of finding them there would have been still greater; for the moment the young man had received his guardian's directions, he set about obeying them with the most unhesitating alacrity, and arrived about an hour before, the Monktons themselves reached Balti- more. Mr. Monkton did not succeed in finding either Mr. X , or his wards, and therefore, leaving his card, he returned to Barnham's, to wait for their calling on him. But here an alarm awaited him, that he had little anticipated, for his returning without Augusta immediately caused inquiries to be madt. after her ; and finding that she had never been see& since Dawson had left her at the dress-maker's, the most distressing alarm took possession of the minds of the terrified parents. That she was, even at that mo ment perhaps, in the power of Grants, occurred to both, at the same instant ; and Mr. Monkton flew about the house, inquiring of every one he saw if they knew any thing of his daughter, without considering that she was a total stranger to almost all the inmates. The boy, however, who had taken Mary's message to the arch- THE TWO SCHOOLS. 239 bishop, and who on his return, had found, from the con- versation that he heard, that Augusta was the daughter of a man of consequence, with the acuteness and sagacity so common to children in this country, had concluded that the father was likely to be found at Barnham's, and thither he immediately repaired, and soon allayed their fears, though he at the same time increased their astonishment. Mr. X , who had been engaged with a sick call at the time that Mr. Monkton waited upon him, had just returned to the archbishop's, whose guest he was, when George Linley called upon the reverend prelate, to consult him about the best means of overcoming Mrs. M'Donald's cruel determination to estrange him from her daughter ; but he not yet had time to enter upon the business, when the boy, who was the bearer of Mary's message, was shown into the room, for he had refused to deliver it to any one but the archbishop himself. It may well be supposed that when George heard of Mary's be.ing in difficulties, ha lost no time in flying to her aid, and outstripped both the clergymen, though they were little disposed to tarry by the road. And thus it was that the general rencontre took place. 240 THE TWO SCHOOLS. CHAPTER XXII. MRS. MONKTON had listened with extreme emotion to the account, which Mr. X gave her, of the manner in which her child had been torn from her, and the way in which she had since been brought up ; but when he came to explain to her that the interesting girl, which she had seen at Wilmington, was her daughter, she clasped her hands together, and in a transport of delight, exclaimed, " And was that beautiful, that angelic being my child ! O, how anxiously have I been preparing my mind for finding her coarse, vulgar, and perhaps vicious. But this is happiness, indeed, to think that she has been the special care of a protecting Provi- dence, which has shielded her alike from the contami- nations of poverty and the corruptions of wealth. But take me to her," she added, with vehemence, and turning, with an appealing look, to her husband, " Let me not lose any more time in folding her to the heart which yearned towards her, even with a mother's love, from the first moment that I saw her." "You shall see her, my dear, as soon as you are able to bear the excitement," said Mr. Monkton. " Compose yourself for the present, I entreat you ; for the certainty that she lives, and is so well worthy of your love, is as much as you now have strength to bear." " 0, no !" cried the agitated mother ; " let me see THE TWO SCHOOLS. 241 her ! Let me have her near me, that I may begin at once to make some reparation for the injuries I have done her. And let Augusta be called, that I may make her a sharer in the happiness that seems too great for my bursting heart." At that moment the room door opened, and on seeing her daughter enter, Mrs. Monkton rose and almost sprang forward to meet her. "Augusta, my dear, my beloved Augusta!" she cried ; " come and rejoice with me, that the child I have so long mourned as lost is still , but how is this ?" she added, putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder, and holding her at such a distance as to enable her to view her fully. " What does this mean ? Alike ; yet different ! O, yes ! I see it now. This is my Aline, my dear, my long lost Aline ;" and as she spoke, she sunk upon her daughter's neck; and would thence have fallen to the floor, in a fainting fit, for her weight was too great for the agitated girl to support j had not Mr. Monkton, who anticipated the result, been ready to receive her into his arms and carry her to a sofa. The alarm of her having fainted soon brought Augusta to her side to weep over her, and regret her cruel experiment ; for the fact was, that anxious to satisfy herself of the extent of the resemblance that existed between her and her new-found sister, she had requested Dawson to dress them exactly alike ; espe- cially their heads, as the maid had declared, that in the dressing of their hair the chief distinction between them existed ; and had prevailed upon her sister to go alone into the room, as soon as her father rang the bell, which had before been agreed upon between X 242 THE TWO SCHOOLS. them, as a signal that her mother was prepared to receive her lost child. As Dawson finished her work, she declared again and again that she could scarcely believe she had not two- Miss Augusta's beside her ; and the mother went forward without a doubt that she was meeting the child whose lineaments had so long been familiar to her ; nor discovered her mistake, till a very close view rendered visible those traits of countenance which the particular character of each impressed upon them ; the expression of digni- fied command in the one, and that of sensibility and retiring modesty in the other. Aline (for so we must henceforth call her) knelt by the sofa, and watched anxiously for her mother to open her eyes ; when she did so, she took her hand, and with that sweetness of tone for which her voice was so peculiarly remarkable, said, " My dear mamma, look upon your child, and say you will love her!" " Yes, my poor, long lost Aline," cried Mrs. Monk- ton, throwing herself on the neck of her daughter, " you may well ask if I can love you. Had I not failed in the affection of a parent, you would never have been lost to me. O, my poor child ! how could you ever bear the miseries that my unnatural conduct has exposed you to ?" >~ J| " I believe," replied Aline, with a modest smile, " I may pray with Abdolonymus, that I may be able to bear my good fortune as well as I bore my adver- ity." " Yes," said the archbishop, " to the propriety of that wish, I believe no one is so well able to testify as I am ; for no one has had such an opportunity of knowing THE TWO SCHOOLS. 243 the pious submission and humble patience with which it has been borne." Mr. Monkton raised his daughter from her mother's side, and putting his arms tenderly round her waist, imprinted a kiss on her cheek. " Augusta, iny love," he added, drawing his other child to him, and enfold- ing her in his other arm, " you have not only gained a sister, but a bright example by which you may im prove yeurself ; and most happy shall I be to find you willing te copy." " What ! even though her model be a firm Catho- lic ?" said Mr. X , with a smile. " Yes," answered the father, returning the signifi- cant smile of the clergyman ; " even though I find her a firm Catholic. I will not pretend to say, that I would not rather have found her an Episcopalian ; but conduct such as hers has been cannot but speak highly for the profession of faith which she has adopted ; and I must acknowledge, that the piety of the Holy Sisters, as well as that of some other characters which I have met with in this country, (and as he spoke he bowed to the two reverend gentlemen before him), has had a very powerful effect in removing my prejudices against the Catholic religion." " When I saw this sweet girl in the church, at Wil- mington, engaged with so much ardour in the duties of devotion," said Mrs. Monkton, " I would have given the world to feel as she did." " And I," said Augusta, "as I saw her kneeling at the grave of her supposed father, could not but be con- scious, that I had never before known what religion was. I saw that fortune had made a great distinction 244 THE TWO SCHOOLS. between us, and yet I felt that she possessed a treasure compared to which any thing that I was ever likely to call mine, was completely valueless. You must not be angry, therefore, papa, if I try to make the resem- blance between your two daughters still more perfect, by endeavouring to become a Catholic also." " Let the faith you adopt be received in sincerity and truth ; and let its fruits be such conduct as we all so much admire in your sister, and it shall have my blessing, whatever it may be." At this instant, George Linley, who had left the room a short time before, now returned, leading in his little sister, who, the moment she saw Aline, flew to her, and clasped her arms round her neck. " Mary ! dear Mary ! George says you are not afraid now to let me speak to you." " But you know, Louisa," said her brother, smiling with delight, as he looked at the two beings he most loved on earth, as they stood caressing each other, " you must remember that I told you to call her Aline now, not Mary." " O, well ; I shall learn by-and-by. But I wish you were Mary still," she added, as she again threw her arms round the neck of her young friend. *' It does not sound like you to say Aline." " You will soon become accustomed to it, my dar- ling," replied Aline, tenderly ; " and especially when you find that Aline Monkton has a kind mamma, who will, I am sure, love you, and be a kind mamma to you also." " O, yes ! Then I am sure I shall like Aline much better than Mary ; for I was always afraid of your THE TWO SCHOOLS. 245 mother, when you were Mary M'Donald, for she used to look so crossly at you, and always seemed as if she could almost kill me, just because I loved you." " The wretch !" exclaimed Mr. Monkton, grinding his teeth together, with an expression of strong emo- tion, as the child's remark recalled to his mind the cruelty that the unfeeling woman had exercised to- wards his daughter; and withdrawing his arm from the waist of Augusta, who had still stood enfolded in his embrace, he began to pace the floor with hasty strides. Aline immediately left Louisa, and going up to her father, laid her hand upon his arm. The act arrested his steps, and he looked at her, as if to inquire what she had to say. "My dear papa," said the lovely girl, raising her fine expressive eyes to his face, with a look that went to the heart of all around ; " I have never yet asked a favour of you. May I hope that you will grant this first, that I am going to beg ?" " Certainly, my love, if it is possible for me to do so." " Then let me beg, that for the sake of him who acted the part of the tenderest parent to me, and whom I shall ever love and reverence as a father, you will do all in your power to shield his unhappy wife from punishment. Give her the means, I entreat you, of evading the law, by making her escape from the country before her crimes are made known." Her father hesitated a moment, but at length ex- claimed, " It shall be done, my Aline. I will forego the revenge that I promised myself, and thus learn my first lesson in the school in which you have beeii educated." x* 246 THE TWO SCHOOLS. "O, stop, papa," said Augusta, in a playful tone of voice, for she began to be afraid of the effect of the continued excitement on her mother's delicate frame, "you must not go so fast, or I am afraid you will learn to be a Catholic before I do." " Do you suppose it is necessary to be a Catholic, my dear young lady, to know that our Divine Master has told us to forgive our enemies, and to pray for those who injure us ?" asked Mr. X . " I know that we are told to do so, in the Scriptures," replied Augusta, ingenuously; "but I did not imagine that we were expected to practise any thing so unnatural." " There, my dear Augusta," said Mrs. Monkton, " is the great defect, I apprehend, of the school in which you have been educated. It is not that you have not been taught to call yourself a Catholic, but that you have simply been trained to go to church, and on that account to imagine yourself religious, without ever thinking of making the precepts of reli- gion your rule of conduct." " Well, at all events, mamma," returned Augusta, " I am determined now to set about learning as fast as possible; and Aline here is to be my teacher," she added, as she kissed her sister's glowing cheek. "And with such an instructor, who could fail to learn ?" exclaimed George, whose eyes were fixed upon Aline with a look of mingled exultation and fondness. "But after all, Mr. George Linley," said the play- ful girl, " for I suppose I may venture to acknowledge that I know who you are, though I have never had the honour of an introduction ; I do not understand that THE TWO SCHOOLS. 24? you, though you have been so many years under my sister's tutelage, have made any very great progress in your education." " When I have had the pleasure of your acquaint- ance a little longer," answered George, laughing, " I believe you will find out that she has taught me good deal." " Yes, she taught you to draw heads very prettily ; did she not, George ?" asked Louisa, with great sim- plicity. " And she will now teach you a great many things, my darling," said the blushing Aline, stooping down, and kissing the child, by way of hiding her own con- fusion. " 0, yes, I know you will, for George says you are going to England too, and will be always with us." " Yes, my little Louisa, my third daughter," said Mr. Monkton, " we shall all be together, and it must be our study to make amends to our sweet Aline, by the happiness of her future life, for the persecutions she has had to endure at its commencement. We will all go to her school, and make her happy by showing how much we improve there." " It is, my dear sir," said the reverend prelate, whose benevolent countenance beamed with pious- exultation, " a school of strict discipline and rigid exactions ; but happy are they who submit to learn at it ; for they will then find that their ways are way* of pleasantness, and all their paths are peace.' " THE END. A 000027664 2