..a/ ' 
 
 m ■■#
 
 
 IYOES. 
 
 BY 
 
 E. M. SEWELL. 
 
 "Thus speaketh love: 'Thou in the glance beloved 
 Seek to behold not earth, but Heaven : and thus 
 Thy better strength shall prow therein more strong, 
 Thy star become no light to lead astray.' " 
 
 From the German of Ruckert, S. D. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 1, 3, and 5 BOND STBEET. 
 
 1881.
 
 S 3 4 
 
 ^-i <0 A./ 
 
 i v o n s . 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The library at Ivors, the country seat of Sir Henry Clare, 
 was a large, low, luxuriously furnished apartment, by no 
 means devoted exclusively to study, but offering amusement 
 to the morning idler and interest to the lover of art, as well 
 as occupation to the more thoughtful student of science or 
 philosophy. Tables there were in profusion, of every shape 
 and size : the ponderous, square, business-table, with its 
 massive inkstand, large writing portfolio, and profuse supply 
 of paper, pens, and envelopes ; the long sofa-table, with the 
 newest novels and reviews, tempting the reader to ensconce 
 himself in the easy chair at the corner, close to the window, 
 and forget his own cares in the joys and sorrows of fiction ; 
 the small work-table, which, like the tent of the wandering 
 Arab, was carried from place to place, and never known to 
 retain the same position for more than an hour at a time ; 
 the print-table, piled with valuable books, which every one 
 wished to look at, but which no one did, because they were 
 too weighty to be moved ; above all, Lady Augusta Clare's 
 table, oval-shaped, heavy, handsomely carved, very old- 
 fashioned, standing in the deep recess opposite to the fire- 
 place, its crimson covering nearly hidden by the collection 
 of papers, cards, letters, sketch-books, club-books, foreign 
 
 85C995
 
 4 IVORS. 
 
 books, pamphlets, albums, and patterns of work, which clus- 
 tered round a magnificent vase of Bohemian glass filled with 
 rare flowers. 
 
 " A very habitable room," was the common expression 
 used in describing the library at Ivors. Though low, it was 
 bright and sunny. A large modern window at one end 
 fronted the south and opened upon a flower-garden, brilliant 
 in summer with the gorgeous colouring which nothing but 
 nature can give ; Lady Augusta's window also, though dark- 
 ened by heavier mullions, admitted the full rays of the 
 morning sun, and gave lovely glimpses of rich foliage and 
 pleasant country lying beyond the circle of the park. If 
 beguiled by the love of reverie, one might have sat for hours 
 on the cushioned window-seat, forming romances out of the 
 vistas of deep glades, and the occasional openings amongst 
 the trees into the working: world bevond ; — its cottages, and 
 spires, and the smoke of a distant town. But reverie was 
 not the habit of mind most cherished by Lady Augusta 
 Clare. Now, as she sat writing, with her face 'turned from 
 the window, it would have seemed, from the expression of 
 her countenance, its eager, restless look, that she could have 
 no leisure even for quiet admiration, much less for reverie. 
 Lady Augu?ta's appearance was very striking. Her counte- 
 nance was handsome ; the forehead high, and open ; the eye 
 dark, quick, and glittering ; the mouth perhaps rather large, 
 but showing beautifully even teeth : her figure was tall, her 
 attitude graceful, her dress perfect in its tasteful simplicity. 
 Why was it that the eye rested upon her with only a doubt- 
 ful pleasure 1 ? 
 
 She finished her letter, pushed it aside, and, rising 
 slowly, advanced into the centre of the room. 
 
 " Shall you be ready for your drive, Admiral "? It is 
 nearly three o'clock." 
 
 The question was addressed to an old, grey-haired man,
 
 IVOK8. O 
 
 with a bluff, honest, rather stern face, who was leaning for 
 ward in a heavy arm-chair, his hand resting upon the head 
 of a little girl about ten years of age, whilst she sat reading 
 a book of fairy tales in an uneasy position on one corner of 
 the stool which supported the Admiral's gouty foot. 
 
 " Helen, Mademoiselle will be waiting for you ; you had 
 better go to her," continued Lady Augusta ; and Helen rose 
 instantly. 
 
 " Eeached the best part of the story, eh % " asked the 
 Admiral, gruffly. 
 
 " Not the best, quite. If I might only go on ! * The 
 child held the book still open. 
 
 " What book is it ? " Lady Augusta took it from her. 
 
 Xonsense, I dare say," said the Admiral ; " little folks 
 read nothing else in these days." 
 
 " It will do no harm," replied Lady Augusta ; " one 
 must give the imagination some food, and books are safer 
 than people." 
 
 " So they say." 
 
 His manner was doubtful enough to be irritating to Lady 
 Augusta's self-confidence: she answered sharply, ".They 
 must be, unless one can choose society, which is impossible 
 in a country reighbourhood." 
 
 " Umph." 
 
 " That means you don't agree ; but, my dear Admiral, 
 begging your pardon, you can't possibly know as much as I 
 do of the matter. Live with us for six months, and then 
 judge if you will." 
 
 " I don't want to judge ; I always bow to your Lady- 
 ship's better opinion : " but the old man's tone was too sar- 
 castic for Lady Augusta to accept the compliment. 
 
 She went on eagerly : " You will soon sec that our 
 neighbours are quite comonplace, with no intellect, — mere 
 ordinary wordly people, — many of them really not admissible
 
 IVOKS. 
 
 to one's house, — and so set up, — with such absurd pretension ! 
 Sir Henry tried it when we first came, but we really found 
 that it was no use ; and now," — and she glanced at Helen, 
 — " with the child old enough to make her own observations, 
 it really is a paramount duty to be careful." 
 
 • The "child's" quick-speaking, hazel eyes, were fixed 
 upon Lady Augusta. Not a word, look, or gesture was lost 
 upon her. 
 
 " Very likely," continued the Admiral ; but what " very 
 likely " meant was not quite clear. 
 
 Lady Augusta stood like an orator bent upon arguing, 
 and all the more eloquently because the opposition was felt 
 rather than expressed. " Of course, my dear Admiral, we 
 have all but one object in view, right principle ; the question 
 is how is it to be attained 1 " 
 
 " Aye, yes ! " nodded the Admiral, — whilst Lady Augusta 
 continued impatiently, — 
 
 " I am sure I have studied the question thoroughly, read, 
 and thought, and talked with every one likely fo give me 
 the least help ; and I find that all whose opinion I really 
 value agree with myself." 
 
 The Admiral's lip curled, — but it might have been only 
 from the amusement of watching Helen's intent look, as she 
 stood by the table, her finger resting on the page which a few 
 moments before she had been so anxious to finish. 
 
 " Evil, evil, — one so dreads evd ! " Lady Augusta's voice 
 sank into a minor key. 
 
 " It is time for Helen to go for her walk, isn't it ? " asked 
 the Admiral. 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; go child ! " but Helen did not move. 
 
 '• We quite agree, my dear Admiral, I know, in funda- 
 mentals ; I only wish I could make you see with my eyes : 
 but men, begging your pardon, are so blind; they don't 
 perceive the things which a woman's instinct feels in a mo-
 
 , IYOES. 7 
 
 ment. Sir Henry would persuade me if he could to let 
 Helen mix more freely with her cousins and their friends at 
 Wingfield ; but he does not at all think what difficulties we 
 should get into in consequence. Mrs. Graham we all allow 
 is an admirable person, and her acquaintance are no doubt 
 very good in their way, but they are not the stamp of people 
 for Helen to associate with. I wish to bring her up simply, 
 with all the pure freshness of nature, uncontaminated by 
 intercourse with the world." 
 
 A fresh-coloured, good-humoured face appeared in the 
 door-way, and a voice, pitched in a high, harsh key, was 
 heard: "Aliens ! mon enfant, viens! Ah! que tu es pares- 
 seuse." 
 
 " Mamma, may we go into the village?" asked Helen, 
 without even turning to look at her French governess. 
 
 " No, my love, no. Mademoiselle," — the governess ad- 
 vanced timidly, as if stepping upon sacred ground, — " I wish 
 you to keep within the limits of the park. If Miss Clare 
 should desire at any time to go into the village, I will take 
 her there myself." 
 
 Helen sprang forward, and put up her face caressingly to 
 be kissed. " I don't want to see the tiresome village people ; 
 only perhaps Susan may be coming here, and I might meet 
 her." 
 
 Lady Augusta looked annoyed, and gave no kiss. "You 
 are so impetuous, Helen ; you have no self-control. I shall 
 not take you any where unless you can command yourself." 
 I [elen drew back to the side of her governess, and whispered, 
 " Dear Mademoiselle, don't let us be out long." Made- 
 moiselle smiled, and shook her head. " Two hours, you 
 know, we must be." 
 
 Helen pouted, and muttered that it was going to rain; 
 she thought it did rain ; she wished it would rain every day ; 
 she hated the park.
 
 8 IVORS. 
 
 " You can study botany there, child," said the Admiral. 
 He spoke to Helen, but he looked at Lady Augusta. 
 
 "Helen will study to be a good child, and not give 
 trouble," replied Lady Augusta quickly; and as she rang 
 the bell to order the carriage, Helen and the governess 
 
 retired. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Lady Augusta Clare was a woman of systems. She had 
 been brought up upon no plan herself; her mind therefore 
 was unshackled by early prejudice, and at liberty to form its 
 theories at will. She possessed a fair amount of quickness 
 of intellect, with a more than average amount of physical 
 and mental energy. These are not the materials for happi- 
 ness in the gay and frivolous world ; and, as Lady Augusta 
 Mordaunt, her life had been a disappointed one. An only 
 daughter, young, handsome, and rich, she was courted and 
 flattered by society, yet it failed to satisfy her ; and by the 
 time she was thirty she had formed systems for its recon- 
 struction, discussed with metaphysicians, and drawn forth 
 in long and wordy manuscript essays, which, if they did not 
 tend to convert her fi lends to her opinions, at least con- 
 vinced herself that she was too superior to run any risk of 
 being converted by them. In a fit of disgust, the mania of 
 usefulness attacked her. She became the patroness of innu- 
 merable benevolent institutions ; but all were found to be 
 based upon some fundamental error. Lady Augusta set her- 
 self to reform them, and found no one willing to co-operate 
 * it li her. If the world would not be charitable in her way, 
 she could not be charitable in the world's way; and she fled
 
 , IVOR?. V 
 
 to science as a refuge. But here there was an embarras tie 
 richesses, — not one system, but many. Lady Augusta's mind 
 was in perpetual agitation ; one theory after another was 
 adopted, idolised, proved, and found defective, and thrown 
 aside. The old weariness was returning, when, happiness 
 unlooked for ! at the age of forty a new interest presented 
 itself, — the grand interest — the grand problem of the nine- 
 teenth century, — education, and in a form most attractive to 
 a person who had for years been seeking in vain for an ob- 
 ject on which to expend all the superabundant energy of her 
 character. 
 
 Sir Henry Clare, a widower, offered himslf, his income 
 of ten thousand a year, his seat in the country, his house in 
 town, all for Lady Augusta's acceptance, with only the 
 drawback of the care of two children, a boy of twelve, gen- 
 erally at school, and so not likely to be in the way, and a 
 little girl of seven, who was, of course, to be educated at 
 home. Sir Henry himself might have been refused, though 
 he was an honest-hearted, upright, English gentleman. 
 Lady Augusta had declined many more advantageous offers, 
 for her theories in early life had been anti-matrimonial, and 
 Sir Henry was not likely to prove a very sympathetic com- 
 panion ; but the little girl — just the age for education, the 
 mind just opening, the feelings fresh, the taste untutored — 
 it was an opportunity for usefulness which might never again 
 occur ; it seemed actually wrong to refuse ; the poor child 
 might fall into such bad hands ; having no mother, her situ- 
 ation would be so forlorn. Lady Augusta, without much 
 difficulty, thought herself into the belief that the fact of 
 the offer being made was the suggestion of a paramount 
 duty, and, after due delay, and consideration of responsibili- 
 ties, and self-pitying sighs, consented to become the mistress 
 of Ivors Park and tin' stepmother of little Helen. That she
 
 10 IVORS. 
 
 was also the wife of Sir Henry Clare was rather the accident 
 of such circumstances than the cause. 
 
 Lady Augusta Mordaunt had been a cold, hard, harsh- 
 mannered, yet not altogether worldly woman. Lady Au- 
 gusta Clare was as cold, but more gentle, — less worldly in 
 appearance, more worldly in reality. She had found her 
 object in life and so far she was satisfied ; but her marriage 
 had begun in sell-deceit, and in self-deceit it continued. 
 She had professed to marry Sir Henry Clare because she 
 could love, honour, and obey him. She married him in fact 
 because she wanted occupation, and independence, and the 
 excitement of a new mode of life. That one great falsehood 
 tainted her whole character. Whatever she misdit have been 
 before, she was at least sincere — her mania had been for the 
 time real ; now she was acting a part — good, indeed, in the 
 ey.s of the world, often involving self-sacrifice, and always 
 dei i lauding thought and exertion, but not the less surely 
 tending to the degradation of the moral tone. 
 
 Lady Augusta had entered upon her married life with 
 the determination to be an exemplary stepmother, yet far 
 'ess because she felt the duties of her position than because 
 it would be an honour to triumph over its difficulties. It 
 was an opportunity for testing her theories, and she rejoiced 
 in it, and, to a certain extent, not without cause. At the 
 time of her marriage, little Helen was a wild, wilful, un- 
 tamed child of the woods, utterly untaught in all the pro- 
 prieties of life, very ignorant of what most children of her 
 age know perfectly, yet having acquired information upon 
 other subjects which were likely to be worse than useless. 
 In three years' time Lady Augusta had subdued her into 
 good manners and docility, brought out her natural talents, 
 cultivated them to the admiration and surprise of her 
 friends, taught her to be a pleasant companion to her father, 
 in fact made her, as she was often reminded by flattering
 
 IYOKS. 1 1 
 
 acquaintances, " quite another creature." Surely here was 
 cause for triumph, and Lady Augusta did triumph, "with that 
 quiet self-applause which so comfortahly expands itself under 
 the veil of humility. " Certainly, dear little Helen was 
 much altered," she would often say ; " her efforts had hecn 
 wonderfully hlessed, hut there was a great deal still to be 
 done, she felt herself sadly unequal to the arduous task : " 
 and then dear little Helen was called up, and caressed and 
 sighed over, and sent hack again to her hook, whilst Lady 
 Augusta discussed in her hearing the system upon which 
 she had determined to educate her. 
 
 Simplicity, ignorance of evil, a mind which should suffice 
 for its own amusement and occupation, refinement of taste, 
 religious principle — all these were in the category of Lady 
 Augusta Clare's educational intentions. And as her aim for 
 herself was high, so was she eloquent in condemnation of the 
 systems pursued by her friends, and lynx-eyed in the discovery 
 of their failures. Searely one child of her acquaintance hut 
 had in its turn been mourned over, as " a poor little thing, 
 of whom so much miirht have been made but for the sad edu- 
 cation!" Of course when people find fault with their 
 neighbours it is to be supposed that they can do, and are 
 doing, better themselves. The world is always for a time 
 led by assumption ; and Lady Augusta, by dint of constant 
 lamentations over the short comings of her friends and judi- 
 cious hints of Helen's rapid improvement, had obtained a 
 wonderful reputation for her own plan. In what it consisted 
 no one indeed exactly knew, for Helen was rarely seen be- 
 yond the limits of the park ; and all communication between 
 the French governess and any families in the neighbourhood 
 was strictly forbidden. Lady Augusta's great fear was said 
 to be lest her little girl should form undesirable acquaint- 
 ances ; a vague fear, commented upon in the adjoining town 
 of Wingfiehl, and declared to be only another form of pride.
 
 12 IVORS. 
 
 But the friends admitted to intimacy at Ivors agreed with 
 Lady Augusta that such exclusiveness was only necessary. 
 With her system, her dread of evil, her determination to 
 bring Helen up simply, without pretension or absurdity, it 
 would not be possible to throw her amongst ordinary people ; 
 t bey would infallibly ruin her: and the little coterie from 
 tlie gay London world gathered around their oracle, listening 
 and applauding, whilst, from the height of her supreme self- 
 complacency, Lady Augusta discoursed upon the errors of the 
 common herd, and thanked God that Helei would never be 
 like them. 
 
 In one respect Lady Augusta was right. Helen certainly 
 never could be a common person. Her growth was as likely 
 to be rapid in evil as in good ; but grow she must, with the 
 hot-bed luxuriance of a tropical plant. 
 
 Her mother had been the grand-daughter of a Spanish 
 nobleman ; and the proud, excitable, Spanish spirit was as 
 clearly to be traced in Helen's disposition as in the flash of 
 her dark eyes and the outline of her otherwise fair English 
 face. Probably no temper but one so determined as that of 
 Lady Augusta would have been able to cope with it, and the 
 struggle had at first been sore even for her. Fierce in her 
 wilfulness, Helen had tried every childish means of intimi- 
 dation whenever her will was thwarted ; and in the nursery 
 and with her governess she was constantly victorious ; but 
 with her stepmother it was but beating her head against the 
 impassive rock. Lady Augusta seldom answered her in her 
 tits of fury, never attempted to reprove, still less to coax or 
 pet ; but her cold eye had the effect of a glance of a keeper 
 upon a madman. Helen was quelled for the moment, and 
 dreaded to encounter it again, and soon learnt in Lady Au- 
 gusta's presence to subdue even the most stormy burst of 
 passion. 
 
 Beyond this there was only one thing which Lady An-
 
 , IVORS. 13 
 
 gusta could discover which required correction. Learning- 
 was no difficulty ; accomplishments seemed an instinct 
 beauty and grace were Helen's inheritance by birth : but 
 it was difficult at first to keep her from rebelling against the 
 restraints imposed upon her as regarded society. Lady Au- 
 gusta, however, set to work vigorously. Nurse, governess, ser- 
 vants, all were changed. Playfellows were forbidden ; walks 
 were limited to the precincts of the park [ the contaminating 
 influence of the world was the subject constantly discussed 
 in Helen's presence ; and criticisms were passed upon the 
 manners and habits of various individuals, which it was sup- 
 posed would tend to form Helen's taste and counteract the 
 mischief of early associations and natural temperament 
 For Helen was not by nature supercilious. Proud, indeed 
 she was ; but it was pride which regarded herself rather thai 
 others, the pride which could not brook reproof, which would 
 not own itself in the wrong. Apart from this feeling she 
 was generous, compassionate, unselfish, enthusiastic in the 
 depth and warmth of her feelings. If her affections were 
 •lied, she could be made gentle and docile in her most 
 wi'ful moods. And in her infancy she had loved every one. 
 Ib-r father, her nurse, her governess, the housekeeper, the 
 poor who begged for alms, the children who played in the 
 village, whatever came within the reach of her interest, even 
 though but for a passing moment, called forth some kindly 
 feeling. No marvel that she had been petted and fondled, 
 and when left, at three years of age, to the care of servants, 
 often taken into strange company and taught habits unsuited 
 to her age and position in life. The little rosy mouth which 
 formed itself so naturally into a kiss, the bright eyes, with 
 their loving, quick, sparkling glance, which responded so 
 gladly to the least notice, the broken words which tried to 
 express the feelings of the heart, as the tiny fingers were 
 grasped by ■-"iiii> rough hand, wen- as winning to the pool
 
 li IVORS. 
 
 as to the rich, to the uneducated as to the cultivated. Until 
 her father's second marriage Helen Clare had heen the pet 
 of the neighbourhood, and had suffered as pets must suffer. 
 
 Three years had been passed under constant and strict sur- 
 veillance, and the mischief was supposed to be counteracted. 
 Helen's eyes were opened to the necessity of exclusiveness, 
 and she could talk now as fluently in the school-room as 
 Lady Augusta in +he drawing-room, of the demerits of 
 " everybody," — the expression including tLe country visitors 
 whom she occasionally saw in the drawing-room, or in walks 
 or drives. Once admitted to stay at Ivors, and the fortunate 
 individual, however dull or disagreeable, became " somebody," 
 to be defended and upheld as forming part of the Clare 
 world. 
 
 Lady Augusta was satisfied. The childish warmth of 
 feeling which had once expended itself upon the outer world 
 was gradually becoming concentrated within the range of the 
 park palings ; and she flattered herself that she had refined 
 her little girl's taste and taught her to be happy at home, 
 because she had led her to look with contempt upon every- 
 thing abroad. 
 
 All this may seem very worldly, yet Lady Augusta 
 Clare's reputation was decidedly religious. Even in her 
 gayer younger days she had never been a thoughtless person. 
 When she followed science it wa's always with a professed 
 leaning towards its highes objects ; and latterly she had 
 taken a more prominent part in religious matters, studied 
 controversial books, entered warmly into the questions of the 
 day, filled her book-shelves with manuals of devotion, orna- 
 mented her walls with prints from Kaphael and Fra An- 
 gelico. And Helen was of course taught upon Avhat were 
 said to be the strictest and purest principles. Her little bed- 
 room was the counterpart of Lady Augusta's. It had 
 pictures, and books most admirably arranged, and hymns
 
 , IVORS. 15 
 
 framed and glazed, hanging against the wall, and a splen- 
 didly bound Bible always lying upon the dressing-table by 
 the side of little Bohemian glass vases, and a gorgeous, 
 dressing-case, made up of rose- wood, and silver, and velvet. 
 Helen delighted in her little room, and was never happy till 
 she had shown her pictures to every new visitor ; and had an 
 opinion always ready as to her favourite books, and was 
 willing to repeat her hymns to any one who would listen to 
 and praise her. As Lady Augusta observed, " it was quite 
 delightful to see such marked religious tastes so early de- 
 veloped ! " 
 
 And what part was taken by Sir Henry Clare in all these 
 educational schemes ! Immersed in politics, the conservative 
 member for the county for the last ten years, he thought very 
 little about them. He had married, as he believed, for his 
 children's advantage ; he had given them a stepmother, said 
 by all the world to be perfectly qualified to guide them ; and 
 he thought that he had done his duty. His boy at Eton, his 
 little girl trained by such a superior person as Lady Augusta, 
 there seemed nothing to desire, at least for the present ; and 
 Six Henry looked forward to seeing his son a sensible man, 
 and his daughter a good and accomplished woman, as con- 
 fidently as the iron-founder who casts his metal into the 
 furnace expects to receive it again impressed with the stamp 
 prepared for it. 
 
 Sir Henry Clare's expectations were reasonable. The 
 minds of our children are formed according to the mould 
 which we ourselves prepare for them. But the iron-founder 
 knows his object, and chooses his mould with a careful view 
 to its attainment: we, in our ignorance, think that we are 
 working with the right mould, because we talk, and reprove, 
 and lecture ; and at the very moment we are casting the 
 wrong one, by the habits of our daily life, and the unseen 
 motives of our actions;.
 
 10 IVORS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Shall you object to drive into Wingfield, my dear Ad- 
 miral? " asked Lady Augusta, when, afttr a careful ad- 
 justment of pillows, the gouty foot had been placed in a 
 comfortable position, in the easy, open carriage, and the 
 Admiral's man had taken his seat upon the box. 
 
 Admiral Clare was Sir Henry's uncle, a man of seventy, 
 rich, benevolent, eccentric ; likely to be a very useful relation 
 — so Lady Augusta thought, — if he were properly humoured. 
 He had just returned from a long residence abroad, and had 
 been only a week at Ivors. His peculiarities, therefore, were 
 as yet for the most part in the " unknown land," which forms 
 so large a portion of our moral territory even in our own 
 eyes ; and Lady Augusta was constantly setting forth on 
 little voyages of discovery in the hope of finding them, and 
 as constantly missing when she expected to meet them, and 
 stumbling upon when she was not prepared for them. She 
 had tried for three days to make out to her own satisfaction 
 whether the Admiral had any fancy about his daily drive, 
 whether he preferred one direction to another, — whether he 
 liked the town and a little shopping, or the turnpike road, or 
 the smooth turf of the downs. He was provokingly willing to 
 go wherever she wished, — he would not give her the opportu- 
 nity of nattering him ; and Lady Augusta, having received the 
 usual short answer to her question, " wherever you will, it is all 
 the same to me," gave her direction to the footman, and threw 
 herself back in the carriage, looking as cross as she ever 
 allowed herself to look. Temper was a failing especially 
 guarded against, — it was so lowering. 
 
 After a few seconds she recovered herself. ,; I was half
 
 IVOJBS. 17 
 
 afraid you would find the dust unpleasant, Admiral ; but you 
 are very enduring." 
 
 •• Xot much dust to-day, except in your Ladyship's eyes. 
 There was rain enough for a deluge last night." 
 
 o o o 
 
 " Ah ! I forgot ; but we have had such a continuance of 
 dry weather. It will take a long time really to soften the 
 ground. And don't you find the heat extremely oppres- 
 sive ? " 
 
 "Nothing to Italy. Did you say you were going to drive 
 to Wingfield 1 " 
 
 " I thought of it, if you have no other visit ; but any 
 direction will be the same to me ; we can stop directly.'' 
 Lady Augusta stretched out her hand to pull the check- 
 string ; the Admiral prevented her. 
 
 " My dear lady, one road is just as good as another to a 
 gouty old fellow like me. If you are going to Wingfield, I 
 propose to leave my card on Mrs. Charles Graham, as she 
 came to see me the day before yesterday." 
 
 Cloud the second, — a thunder cloud on Lady Augusta's 
 brow ; but she turned away her face that it might not be 
 seen, and answered : " Mrs. Graham now ; the poor elder 
 brother died last year." 
 
 • So she told me ; then she has something for her children 
 at last." 
 
 " A little, — three or l'uur hundred a year only, — a mere 
 pittance. I suspect she settled here, thinking that Sk Henrv 
 would do something for her." 
 
 "Of course; she is his sister-in-law." 
 
 " Yes ! of course ; but still — Sir Henry has great claims 
 upon him. He can't be expected to provide for them all." 
 
 " Does the good woman expect that he will ? " 
 
 Lady Augusta laughed graciously, and turned her head 
 again to the Admiral. "You have used just the right term 
 for her, my dear sir; she is emphatically a good woman."
 
 18 IVORS. 
 
 " And .she can't be any tiling better ; but is she fool 
 enough to depend on any one but herself? " 
 
 " I can't exactly say : Frances Graham was always im- 
 mensely reserved ; and since my marriage there has seemed, 
 strange to say, a barrier between us ; but she is very good, 
 extremely good ; I don't know a better person, and so like 
 her dear sister ! my little Helen's mother ; " — and Lady 
 Augusta adopted the mournful key, and breathed out the last 
 words as a whisper to the winds. 
 
 " Does Helen see much of her aunt ? " inquired the 
 Admiral. 
 
 " Well ! not much, — not so much as I should wish. The 
 fact is, my dear Admiral, between ourselves," — the Admiral 
 drew back as Lady Augusta's face approximated to his, — 
 " between ourselves, Helen is a very serious charge, and I am 
 obliged to be most careful. I could not speak out openly to- 
 day with the child in the room," — the Admiral bit his lip 
 and leaned forward upon his stick, — " but you would be quite 
 surprised to hear all that goes on in this neighbourhood." 
 
 " Most likely," muttered the Admiral, " it's the case in 
 most neighbourhoods." 
 
 " Yes, as you say, it is so in most neighbourhoods ; I sup- 
 pose this is not worse than others ; but in Helen's peculiar 
 position, I feel that I have such a sacred charge. Perhaps, 
 if she were my own child, I might feel the responsibility less : 
 and Mrs. Graham and I do not, I must candidly own, quite 
 meet in our views of education. She has three girls, very 
 amiable ; the eldest half a year older than Helen. They 
 see each other sometimes, the relationship makes it a matter 
 of necessity ; but I can't help being anxious about it. Mrs. 
 (iraham allows them a good deal more freedom than I can 
 think right." 
 
 " She was kept strictly enough herself," observed the 
 Admiral.
 
 IVORS. 19 
 
 " Was she ? " the tone was one of supreme indifference. 
 I know nothing about her early days. We never became 
 acquainted till I met her at Ivors some sis years ago. Cer- 
 tainly she brings up her children on the contrary system." 
 
 " A common case," said the Admiral. 
 
 " I suppose so ; probably you are right ; but you can 
 understand, that style of education does not suit my ideas 
 for Helen. It may be all very well for children like the 
 Grahams, who can never expect to mix in superior society ; 
 but it would be quite unfitting for Helen in her position." 
 
 " What is her position ? " asked the Admiral, bluntly. 
 
 Lady Augusta looked at him doubtfully, and paused. 
 
 The question was repeated. 
 
 " Her position ? my dear sir, you are laughing at me. I 
 won't attempt to explain it ; but you can't possibly put her 
 on a par with the Grahams." 
 
 " Cousins," said the Admiral. 
 
 " Oh, yes, cousins. But relationship is not every thing." 
 
 " Nor any thing, if relations are poor." 
 
 Lady Augusta saw in an instant that she was moving in 
 a wrong direction, and changed her course. 
 
 "My dear Admiral, you quite mistake me, if you think 
 that the question of poverty has any thing to do with the 
 matter. I should always feel, and so would Sir Henry, that 
 poor, dear Mrs. Graham was to be treated with every con- 
 sideration ; but if you once knew the tone of the house, you 
 would feel directly that great intimacy would not do. The 
 'iniliam children are by no means particular in their acquaint- 
 ance. I could not at all answer for the friendships Helen 
 might form, if she were to go there. Susan Graham, I 
 know, is allowed to go about a good deal in Wingfield, 
 amongst people whom, of course, we could never visit. I 
 assure you it would not do."
 
 20 IVORS. 
 
 " People you can't visit," muttered the Admiral. " Very 
 wrong that ! I shall talk to Frances Graham ahout it." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear sir, pray — I entreat you — not for the 
 world. She would never forgive me." Lady Augusta seized 
 the Admiral's hand in her alarm. 
 
 He drew it away. " Your ladyship will excuse me. 
 Frances Graham was my ward ; if she is bringing up her 
 children wrongly, it is my duty to warn her. People you 
 could never visit ! " he repeated again in an under tone. 
 
 " You are so exact, Admiral," and Lady Augusta laughed 
 rather nervously. There is no physical or moral impossibil- 
 ity. They may be very good pieople, but unrefined, homely, 
 not at all what Helen is accustomed to. And she is sweetly 
 simple and natural ; I would not for the world have her spoilt." 
 
 " Neither would I," said the Admiral ; and he sank back 
 in the carriage, laid his stick across his knees, and did not 
 speak again. 
 
 They were just entering Wingfield. It was market-day, 
 and there was an unusual bustle in the High Street ; but 
 Lady Augusta looked straight before her, and only once 
 bent forward to bow to Mr. Conyers, the surgeon, whom she 
 could not with courtesy avoid. In a few minutes they had 
 reached the further end of the town, and the carriage drew 
 up before an iron gate, which opened upon a gravel sweep, in 
 front of Mrs. Graham's house, Wingfield Court, built of red 
 brick, with stone facings, and standing in a garden of 
 moderate extent. The great house it was of the country 
 town, though, in Lady Augusta's eyes, scarcely more than a 
 cottage. 
 
 " A comfortable place enough," said the Admiral. 
 
 " Very fair." Lady Augusta felt so extremely cross, it 
 was next to impossible not to show it. 
 
 •• And kept in capital order," said the Admiral, casting 
 around his quick quarter-deck glance.
 
 v IVOKS. 21 
 
 " Tolerable." 
 
 " A splendid fuchsia, that ! I don't think you have any 
 at Ivors to equal it." 
 
 Lady Augusta saw that he vras bent upon teasing her, 
 and it roused her into seeming good-humour. She -would 
 not be thwarted in that way at least, and to the Admiral's 
 surprise, she entered fully into the merits of the fuchsia, and 
 was at the climax of exuberant praise, when the tidy parlour- 
 maid opened the front door of Wingfield Court, and gave the 
 information, — welcome certainly to Lady Augusta. — that 
 Mrs. Graham was not at home. 
 
 The Admiral drew out his card, — a small card inscribed 
 with large Roman letters, — and wrote something on the back. 
 
 " Is your mistress out generally at this hour 1 " he asked. 
 
 '■ Most days, sir ; she goes out from three to four now 
 it's hot, and walks with the children afterwards." 
 
 " Too much exercise for this weather," said the Admiral. 
 " Tell her I said so." 
 
 " It's to the school, I believe my mistress is gone, sir," 
 said the maid, who looked inclined to be communicative. 
 
 " Oh ! to the school. Too hot for that too ! tell her she 
 will catch a fever." 
 
 The maid smiled, and Lady Augusta asked patronisingly, 
 yet rather sarcastically, if Miss Susan was at the school too. 
 
 " Miss Susan went across the paddock just now, to Mrs. 
 Lowrie's, I believe, my lady." 
 
 " And the little ones — where are they 1 " 
 
 " Nurse was going to take them to see old Miss Harvey, 
 I believe, my lady. Master ( 'harlie is fretful, cutting a tooth, 
 and she thought it would please him to talk to the parrot." 
 
 "Oh! drive on." Lady Augusta appealed eagerly to 
 the Admiral. "Just what I said, my dear Admiral; you 
 will understand perfectly now. I could not possibly let 
 Helen be mixed up with such people. That old Miss liar-
 
 22 ivoks. 
 
 vey, I fancy, is a rich farmer's daughter, and the nurse evi- 
 dently takes the children there without scruple. A most 
 unaccountable system ! " 
 
 The gravel sweep was rather rough, and the wheels of 
 the carriage made a considerable noise. Perhaps the Admi- 
 ral did not hear. He was bending forward, but suddenly 
 seized the check-string. " I beg pardon, but may I be 
 
 allowed " and before Lady Augusta could speak, the 
 
 carriage was stopped. 
 
 " Tbat's a Graham, I am sure." He beckoned to a little 
 girl about Helen's height and size, who was just entering 
 the sweep. 
 
 " Such a little figure ! " muttered Lady Augusta ; but 
 the exclamation was too low for the Admiral to hear. 
 
 The child certainly was not quite prepared for fashionable 
 society. Her cotton dress was tumbled, and betokened the 
 last days of the week ; and the close linen bonnet made to 
 screen her from the sun nearly hid her features. She stood 
 timidly at a distance, even after the Admiral's sign was 
 given ; and only ventured to draw near when Lady Augusta 
 condescendingly put out her hand, and said, " How d'ye do, 
 Susan ? " 
 
 A slight quaintness, at least for the manner of the present 
 day, might have been remarked in the quiet " Very well, 
 thank you, ma'am," which came in reply ; and Susan Gra- 
 ham's cheeks w r ere crimson with shyness and excitement, as 
 she added, " If you please, how is Helen t " 
 
 " Helen is very well, my dear. She would have sent her 
 love if she had known I was coming here." 
 
 A pause. The coachman looked round to know if he 
 should drive on. Lady Augusta was upon the point of giving 
 the order, but she did not venture. 
 
 The Admiral's eye was fixed upon the gentle blushing 
 little face, only partially seen at the extremity of the deep
 
 , ivoes. 23 
 
 cottage bonnet. Lady Augusta could not read his counte- 
 nance ; but she bad sufficient tact not to interrupt bis train 
 of thought, wbatever it might be. 
 
 " Poor old man ! His mind was recalling a common 
 tale, — a memory of early love, — so long gone by that its 
 truth and beauty were faded to all eyes except his own. But 
 it was quite fresh to him ; and little Susan Graham was the 
 picture of the child wbom, sixty years before, he had known 
 and loved with a boyish fancy, — whom it had been the hope 
 of his manhood that he should one day call his wife, and who, 
 . even when she became the bride of another, was reverenced 
 with a feeling which made him look upon her happiness as 
 his comfort, and her children, at least in their early days, as, 
 in a great measure, his charge. 
 
 Lady Augusta was wise not to interrupt him. It was 
 but a short reverie ; and he roused himself from it, and, ad- 
 dressing her as if conscious of some unlooked-for considera- 
 tion, said almost gently, yet with a curious abruptness, " She 
 is her grandmother's image ; don't they say so % " 
 
 " I don't know ; I never heard anything about her grand- 
 mother." 
 
 The Admiral turned away. " So you have been out by 
 yourself, little woman ? " 
 
 " Only a short way, sir : just across the paddock and 
 down the lane." 
 
 " To see Mrs. Lowrie, eh ? " 
 
 The child regarded him in astonishment. 
 
 " I know more than you would guess, you see," said the 
 Admiral, nodding at her good-naturedly. " And what 
 business had you at Mrs. Lowcrie's % " 
 
 " I read to her when I can," said Susan ; " her eyes are 
 bad." 
 
 " And now you are going to look after the parrot at old 
 Miss Harvey's?" 
 2
 
 24: IVOBS. 
 
 Susan laughed. " I should like it, sir, hut I mustn't." 
 
 " Mustn't ? Why not ? " 
 
 " Mamma told me to do my lessons for to-morrow ; so I 
 must go in." 
 
 " And we are keeping you," exclaimed Lady Augusta. 
 " My dear Admiral, don't you see the child wants to go ? " 
 
 " Not she ; she likes to stay here and talk to me. Now 
 little one, stand on the step, and I shall hear you better." 
 
 Susan glanced at Lady Augusta, and hesitated. 
 
 " If you wish to converse with her," said Lady Augusta 
 coldly, " you had better take her with you some way in the 
 carriage. The horses don't like waiting." 
 
 " A capital thought ! jump up, child." 
 
 But Susan stood still. 
 
 " Jump up," repeated the Admiral sharply 
 
 " Please, sir, mamma said I was to do my lessons." 
 
 " Nonsense — nonsense ! Who cares for the lessons ? " 
 
 Susan looked for support to Lady Augusta, but found that 
 she was too deeply absorbed in disentangling the fringe of 
 her parasol to notice what was going on. The colour rushed 
 to the child's cheeks : — " I would rather go in, — I promised." 
 
 " Promised, little goose ! — What did you do that for % " 
 
 " I was obliged, because last time I went to Miss Harvey's 
 without leave," was the honest but timid answer. 
 
 " Oh, not quite immaculate ! " said the Admiral, in an 
 under tone. 
 
 " Please, sir, may I go % " asked Susan, more boldly. 
 
 The Admiral laughed. " Aye, with leave ; for you would 
 be sure to do so in another minute without it. Next time I 
 ask you to go for a drive, promise me there shan't be any 
 promises in the way." 
 
 " I can't," said Susan, and an arch snide brightened her 
 face : " mamma's promises come first."
 
 ., ivoks. 25 
 
 " A good rule for a child's life : Don't yon think so ? " 
 inquired the Admiral, appealing to Lady Augusta. 
 
 " Excellent. Drive on, Cave. Good bye, Susan ; tell 
 your mamma we were very sorry not to find her at home." 
 And Lady Augusta sat proudly upright in the carriage, 
 whilst the Admiral tried to watch the little girl, as with a 
 quick step, delighted at being at last released, she ran into 
 the house. 
 
 An hour afterwards Mrs. Graham put her hand fondly on 
 Susan's shoulder, and startled her, as she was repeating 
 Gray's Elegy to herself, with her two arms leaning on the 
 table, and her forehead resting upon her hands. " Hard at 
 work, my darling ? " 
 
 " I am not ready, dear mamma. Lady Augusta called 
 and an old gentleman, and they kept me." 
 
 " Oh ! Lady Augusta ! I saw her carriage drive by the 
 school." But Mrs. Graham did not say that she was sorry to 
 nave missed her. 
 
 " The old gentleman wanted me to go for a drive, but I 
 couldn't," continued Susan. " He was a very odd old gen- 
 tleman. He asked if I wasn't like my grandmamma, and 
 Lady Augusta said she didn't know anything about her ; 
 was that true 1 " 
 
 " Of course, if Lady Augusta said so." Mrs. Graham 
 answered rather mechanically ; and Susan looked at her for 
 an instant, and then went on with her lesson. 
 
 Mrs. Graham spoke again. " The old gentleman was a 
 very old friend, Susan ; a friend of your grandmamma when 
 she was a child. He liked to think you were like her." 
 
 " It must have been a great, great many years ago," said 
 Susan, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes, a great many. Before any one (bought either of 
 you or me." 
 
 A very perplexing idea that fact of non-existence was to
 
 26 ivoks. 
 
 Susan, and it made her silent for some seconds, whilst her 
 mother opened a writing desk, and sat down to enter some 
 memoranda in her school hook. 
 
 Susan interrupted her after a time : " Mamma, Helen's 
 grandmamma was my grandmamma too. Does the old gen- 
 tleman think that we are hoth like her ? " 
 
 " Scarcely, I should think ; Helen's hair and eyes are so 
 dark." 
 
 " Then is he fond of her ? " 
 
 " I can't say. I have never been able yet to talk to him 
 about her." 
 
 " I shan't like him if he isn't, mamma," and Susan 
 turned slowly round, and spoke in a tone so solemn, that 
 Mrs. Graham could scarcely refrain from a smile. " I love 
 Helen ; and I have promised to love her all my life." 
 
 " Promised, dear child % That is a very serious matter." 
 
 " I did promise though one day, mamma ; and Helen 
 promised too. We thought there was no harm, because we 
 were cousins." 
 
 " But cousins may change, Susan : they do very often." 
 
 " But Helen and I can't," persisted Susan, " because we 
 have promised." 
 
 " Time will show," said Mrs. Graham, going on with her 
 writing as though she wished the conversation to be dropped. 
 But there was a considerable amount of perseverance in 
 Susan's disposition, and she continued : " we made our pro- 
 mise last week, when I went over to Ivors, and we played in 
 the summer-house by the lake. We said it quite properly, 
 and we meant it, mamma ; Helen always means what she 
 says." 
 
 " I know she does ; she inherits truth." 
 
 Susan did not quite understand. 
 
 " Her father is a very sincere person, and so was her 
 dear mother," added Mrs. Graham in explanation.
 
 ivors. 27 
 
 " I like to play with Helen better than any one else," 
 pursued Susan, " though she does get into a passion some- 
 times. She makes up so soon. Grace Berry said one day 
 that she thought Helen was selfish ; hut she is never selfish 
 with me." 
 
 " Perhaps you don't contradict her," said Mrs. Graham, 
 
 smiling. 
 
 Susan evidently thought it a disagreeable but true sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 " Helen doesn't like Grace," she said ; " so I dare say 
 that is why Grace doesn't like her. Helen likes very few 
 persons, very few indeed ; and she thinks some of the people 
 we know very odd." 
 
 " She knows little enough about them, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Graham, quickly. 
 
 " But she was very sorry for Mrs. Lowrie's bad eyes, 
 when I told her about them," replied Susan, " and she said 
 she should like to take turns with me to go and read to her ; 
 and I told Mrs. Lowrie, and she called her a dear, kind, 
 little thing. I suppose Lady Augusta wouldn't let Helen go." 
 
 " It is too far," was Mrs. Graham's evasive answer. 
 
 " And Helen liked to hear about Kate Hope's lame 
 foot," continued Susan, " and wanted to give me all the 
 money she had for her. It was only a shilling, because she 
 had bought such a beautiful workbox for mademoiselle on her 
 birthday, so I did not like to take it. She never laughs at 
 poor people,- — only such people as Mrs. Mather, and the Miss 
 Gaunts, when they wear those funny blue bonnets." 
 
 "My little Susan must learn not to laugh at blue bonnets 
 or green," said Mrs. Graham, gently. " People often show 
 tlie worst part of themselves in their dress. The Miss 
 (Jaunts have been kinder to Kate Hope than any other per- 
 sons in Wingfield." 
 
 "Have they? and is Kate better!"
 
 28 Ivors. 
 
 " Not much. Miss Mary Gaunt is going to pav fiw < 
 wheel chair to take her out every day for a fortnight." 
 
 "Mrs. Lowrie said this afternoon that she would lenu 
 Kate some hooks," continued Susan. 
 
 "And Mrs. Mather has sent her a cushion and a foot- 
 stool. People in Wingfield are very kind, Susan, though 
 they do wear funny hlue honnets." 
 
 " Helen would not laugh at them if she knew them," 
 was Susan's reply, spoken almost to herself, and seeing her 
 mother leave the room, she returned to her lesson. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 No one could be surprised that Lady Augusta Clare did not 
 like Mrs. Graham. It was a necessity of Lady Augusta's 
 nature to patronise and reform, and Mrs. Graham was 
 strangely invulnerable to patronage, and deaf to suggestions. 
 When first established at Wingfield Court, Lady Augusta, 
 in consideration of the attention due to Helen's aunt, had 
 adopted the protecting line ; offered the services of one of 
 the under gardeners at Ivors to put the place in order, recom- 
 mended a housemaid, and talked to her housekeeper about a 
 nursery-maid. She had even taken such an interest in Mrs. 
 Graham's household, as to suggest that a page would do as 
 well as a parlour maid, and might save the expense of a boy 
 to clean boots and shoes, besides being taught in time to 
 work in the garden. Nothing indeed was too trifling *o 
 engage her attention, and Mrs. Graham was deluged with 
 Parisian patterns of children's dresses, recipes for whooping 
 cough and measles, to say nothing of works on education, 
 catalogues of story books, cards of prayers, and illuminated 
 picture-books, all not only desirable, but, according to Lady
 
 ivoes. 29 
 
 Augusta's assertion, absolutely necessary for good educa- 
 tion. 
 
 But Mrs. Graham quietly stepped aside from the shelter 
 of Lady Augusta's wing, and went on her way with the par- 
 lour maid instead of the page, the cotton dresses made by a 
 lame girl in Wingfield, the hooks which she had found useful 
 from experience, and, above all, with no theory of education 
 but that taught her by the discipline which she had for years 
 exercised over her own heart. " Educate yourself, and you 
 will learn how to educate others," was the advice given her 
 by a friend soon after her marriage, and she had followed it 
 implicitly. „ Lady Augusta could understand neither the 
 plan nor its results. Her own heart was a mystery into 
 which she had never searched. The world had been her 
 training school, and according to the maxims of the world 
 she ruled her outward conduct ; careful only to choose that 
 form of worldliness which bore the highest reputation. Mrs. 
 Graham constantly appeared to her inconsistent. Professing 
 to be strict, she allowed her children a freedom which Lady 
 Augusta would have thought certain to be Helen's ruin. 
 Unquestionably religious, she seldom talked of religion. A 
 most refined lady, accustomed in her early days to move in 
 the same society as Lady Augusta herself, she could live 
 contentedly in a country neighbourhood and on a small in- 
 come, and join in mixed country sociel y, without apparently 
 seeing or feeling the want of polish, or even the vulgarity 
 and pretension, which she was unavoidably obliged occasion- 
 ally to encounter. Where Lady Augusta would have been 
 jarred and irritated, Mrs. Graham was either blind or indif- 
 ferent. Lady Augusta was provoked ; and not only because 
 Mrs. Graham declined to travel along her road, but because, 
 from some unaccountable cause, the objects at which both 
 professed to aim seemed to be reached by her without dilli- 
 c.ulty ; whilst Lady Augusta, notwithstanding her success in
 
 30 IVOKS. 
 
 some points, was in a perpetual turmoil of effort and dis- 
 appointment with regard to others. 
 
 Susan Graham was to be trusted at all times. Helen 
 was obedient in Lady Augusta's presence, but, if report said 
 truly, most perversely wliful in her absence. Susan's be- 
 haviour in church was so simply reverent that no one ever 
 thought of watching her ; Helen's wandering eyes were a 
 perpetual interruption. Susan, if spoken to, could be agree- 
 able without being in the least forward ; but notice made 
 Helen proudly shy and self-conscious. Susan was kind and 
 considerate ; Helen thoughtlessly tyrannical, and as selfish as 
 the instinct of a naturally noble nature could permit. A 
 good deal of this difference was, no doubt, to be laid to the 
 account of diversity of character. Lady Augusta would not 
 have cared if Susan had shown marked faults which might 
 be compared with Helen's ; but it was exceedingly trying to 
 hear the child constantly held up as a pattern, and to be 
 told that Mrs. Graham's system was so admirable, whilst in 
 Lady Augusta's opinion she had no system at all. 
 
 It was the same with their lessons. Helen was exces- 
 sively clever ; Susan's abilities were only moderate : but 
 every governess who had any knowledge of the children de- 
 clared that Susan was at least a year before her cousin in 
 acquirements. Helen herself acquiesced in all this with per- 
 fect good humour. Rivalry was foreign to her nature ; and 
 Susan was so timid and unobtrusive, that there was in fact 
 little opportunity for any feeling of the kind. But it was 
 intensely galling to Lady Augusta. Her jealousy of Mrs. 
 Graham became at one period so marked as to be apparent 
 even to Sir Henry. For the first time since their marriage 
 he ventured to remonstrate. Mrs. Graham was his sister-in- 
 law, associated with the truest happiness he had ever known. 
 Neglect of her seemed an insult to the memory of his 
 wife. He descanted forcibly upon her claims to every cour-
 
 IVOKS. 31 
 
 tesy and attention ; and Lady Augusta with that curious 
 worldly tact which is such a fruitful source of self-deceit, 
 yielded the point graciously, — acknowledged that she had 
 thought the little Grahams not quite suitable companions for 
 Helen, and therefore had discouraged the intimacy ; hut of 
 course, if Sir Henry desired it, she could not hut obey his 
 wishes. And Sir Henry went away, congratulating himself 
 upon having given Helen the most judicious and considerate 
 of stepmothers ; whilst Lady Augusta, with equal satisfaction, 
 triumphed in the self-control she had exercised, and resolved 
 still to follow her own way, only more guardedly. 
 
 The jealousy slept, but it was not dead. It was called 
 forth again upon the arrival of Admiral Clare. Lady Au- 
 gusta knew little or nothing of the history of the old man's 
 life ; if she had known, she would have given him no sym- 
 pathy. Feelings which dated from sixty years back would 
 have had no life in her eyes. They could be but mummies, 
 strange and repulsive. But he had not been at Ivors a day 
 without showing his interest in Mrs. Graham ; and Lady 
 Augusta was compelled to listen to commendations lav- 
 ishly bestowed by Sir Henry and eagerly received by the 
 Admiral, and even at times to join in them herself, though 
 in that tone of faint praise the meaning of which was dis- 
 covered when she little imagined or desired it. For Lady 
 Ausnista would have been unwilling to thwart the Admiral 
 in any fancy, even for a person whom she disliked. It was 
 her object to attach him to Ivors ; yet not, as some might 
 have conjectured, for the sake of the comfortable fortune which 
 he might leave to any person he chose. Lady Augusta cared 
 very little for money : she had never known the want of it ; 
 but she did care a great deal for the carrying out of her pet 
 schemes ; and one which she had greatly at heart might be 
 in a considerable degree aided or retarded by the Admiral's 
 intervention. Her plans for Helen were riot limited to the
 
 32 ivoes. 
 
 present. She was far-seeing, and looked forward not only 
 to the little girl's introduction into the world, but to that 
 which was the unacknowledged but ultimate object of such 
 introduction, — her marriage. Already in her own mind it 
 was planned ; and, to do Lady Augusta justice, not unwise- 
 ly, so far as any such plans ever can be wise. Helen's first 
 cousin's cousin, Claude Egerton, was as yet only a boy, just 
 leaving Eton ; but he was clever, handsome, bore a remark- 
 ably high character, and was heir to a large property adjoin- 
 ing one of Sir Henry's estates. And Lady Augusta, having 
 determined in her own mind that it was much better for 
 Helen's happiness to choose for her than to give her the op- 
 portunity of choosing for herself, and considering the con- 
 nection extremely eligible, was already scheming to ask 
 Claude Egerton to Ivors, and give him an interest in Helen's 
 home. But he had lost his father, and the Admiral was his 
 guardian, and, as guardians often are, was inclined to be 
 perverse. Lady Augusta talked of the pleasure she would 
 have in inviting Claude to Ivors, and making him acquaint- 
 ed with Maurice Clare ; but the Admiral declared that the 
 boy would do much better to go abroad. She discoursed 
 upon the necessity of keeping up relationships, and the Ad- 
 miral seemed to be blind to the fact that any connection 
 existed between the families. He would not see any sense 
 in Lady Augusta's opinion that it was good for neighbour- 
 ing properties to fall into the same hands, and did not at all 
 enter into the wish that Claude would marry young ; but 
 rather expressed a hope that he would look about him, and 
 not throw himself away : in fact he was inclined, as Lady 
 Augusta could not help perceiving, to contradict her for the 
 mere sake of contradiction. An incipient fit of the gout 
 might in a degree account for this. The Admiral was but 
 human ; and what temper can be expected to stand a twinge 
 of gout ! Lady Augusta was wonderfully enduring in the
 
 ivoks. 33 
 
 hope of better days ; and when she found that the mention 
 of Claude Egerton's name excited opposition, she very wisely 
 dropped it. But not the less earnestly did she work for her 
 purpose by humouring the Admiral's will ; and with such 
 success that, before three weeks had passed after the call 
 made at Wingfield, her point was gained. Claude Egerton 
 was invited to Ivors for a fortnight ; and the price paid for 
 the boon was an invitation given to little Susan Graham for 
 a day. 
 
 Far-scheming worldly people must have great patience 
 and great faith in themselves. Very much wiser are they in 
 their generation than " the children of light." Few are to 
 be found to toil for a distant Heaven as Lady Augusta Clare 
 toiled for earth. Eight years at least were to pass before 
 she could hope to see even the beginning of the end at which 
 she aimed, — eight years, in which Helen and Claude might 
 both be taken ill and die, or the boy's character might 
 change, or his interest might fail to be excited, or, if ex- 
 cited, might fail to survive the various and absorbing pur- 
 suits of manhood. Yet her determination never wavered. 
 The very existence of an obstacle was but an additional 
 motive for pursuing her object. There was a large amount 
 of enterprise, and what in a man would have been the spirit 
 of speculation, in Lady Augusta's disposition ; and all the 
 chances of failure were only so many more incentives to per- 
 severance. And so Claude Egerton came to Ivors, and was 
 petted, and told that he was to look upon Lady Augusta as 
 a mother, and Sir Henry as a father ; and Maurice was to be 
 his brother, and Helen his sister*; whilst his will was hu- 
 moured and his opinions were deferred to, and everything 
 was done to spoil him, and render him unworthy of the des- 
 tiny which Lady Augusta had thought fit to assign him. 
 
 " A fortunate fellow," said the world, as it looked on ■ 
 and Claude Egerton was fortunate, but not for the reasons
 
 34: IVORS. 
 
 which the world would have assigned. He was fortunate 
 because, in the ordering of Providence, the temptations of 
 wealth, and talent, and high position in the world, had been 
 balanced by early and great sorrow. 
 
 He was an orphan at fifteen. His father was drowned 
 whilst boating on the river which flowed through his own 
 "rounds ; his mother died three months afterwards of a bro- 
 ken heart. The first grief alone would have crushed the boy 
 to the dust for a season ; the second sobered him for life. 
 His parents had been no ordinary people. Eeligious, simple, 
 and consistent, they had given him an example which, young 
 as he was, he had thoroughly appreciated. The world with- 
 out them was one great blank ; and though companions 
 envied him his freedom, and dependants flattered him for his 
 wealth, and even his superiors paid all outward respect to his 
 lalents, Claude's heart still ached with that hollow, dreary 
 aching which nothing but affection can satisfy. 
 
 Ivors Avas very soothing to him in such a state of feeling. 
 He was too young and too simple-minded to see through 
 Lady Augusta's pretence. He believed her cordiality to be 
 sincere ; and when once she began to understand him, — and 
 that was when he had been one day only in the house, — she 
 took pains to win his heart by sympathy with his tastes and 
 even his foibles. Fastidiousness and exclusiveness were 
 Claude's characteristics, as they were hers ; though with him 
 they were beginning to be acknowledged as faults, with her 
 they were cherished as virtues. He did not, indeed, feel 
 that he could be fond of her, and sometimes wondered why 
 a few hearty words from' Sir Henry should seem so much 
 more valuable than the unceasing attentions of Lady Au- 
 gusta ; but she was very kind, and he was grateful, and the 
 awkward reserve which had marked him on his first arrival 
 wore off before his departure, and when Lady Augusta hoped 
 they should soon see him again, and Sir Henry bade him
 
 , IVORS. 35 
 
 remember that he was engaged to eat his Christmas dinner 
 with them, Claude responded to the invitation with a readi- 
 ness which satisfied Lady Augusta that the first scene of the 
 first act of her drama had been successfully performed. 
 " We will all write to you, Claude," were Lady Augusta's 
 parting words ; " and Helen shall tell you how the kitten 
 and the puppy agree." Claude did not particularly wish to 
 hear from Helen, who was to him only a pretty little for- 
 ward child of ten years of age, very apt to be rude and con- 
 ceiled when out of her mamma's sight ; but he liked anything 
 which kept up the connection with Ivors, — was duly grate- 
 ful, and promised to write in return ; and Lady Augusta 
 kept Helen by her side in the hall, that she might see the 
 last of " dear Claude ," though the child was in agony to run 
 away to her doll, and made her escape just as Maurice, who 
 was to ride with his friend into Wingfield, came rushing 
 down the stairs, nearly throwing his little sister down in his 
 eagerness ; and mounting his pony, called out to Claude that 
 they should be desperately late, and rode off with him. 
 
 " A charming boy, Claude ! " said Lady Augusta, as she 
 went back to the library, to give an account of the departure 
 to the Admiral. 
 
 "Your Ladyship is pleased to flatter him." was the 
 reply; and Lady Augusta drew back, feeling that she had 
 touched upon a peculiarity. 
 
 UlAPTEll'V. 
 
 Eight years ! a long time to pass, a short time, perhaps, to 
 describe. Yet many events happened in the eight years 
 winch dated from Claude Egerton's first visit to Ivors, — 
 events interesting and important, and certainly not without
 
 30 IVORS. 
 
 their result upon the characters and fortunes of the individ- 
 uals who were at that time associated in intimacy, hut which 
 would sound wearisome if chronicled. It would he vain, for 
 instance, to tell how Helen was tutored, lectured, and made 
 to speak French like a Parisian, and chatter German to a 
 German maid, and discourse upon Italy in the pure "lingua 
 Toscana in hocca Eomana," which seemed in its sweetness as 
 though it must have heen her native tongue. Useless would 
 it he to give a catalogue of the hooks which she read with 
 Lady Augusta, or the course of mathematics and logic, which 
 she followed with the tutor who instructed Maurice in the 
 holidays ; and though it was very pleasant to hear her light 
 ringers rush over the piano or touch the harp, and enraptur- 
 ing to listen to the thrilling notes of her rich, liquid voice, it 
 would he hut an uninteresting task to enumerate the professors 
 who instructed her in the yearly visits to London, or the musi- 
 cal ladies who occasionally spent a few months at Ivors for 
 the purpose of giving Miss Clare lessons. 
 
 So also with Claude Egerton's intimacy at Ivors. If 
 Lady Augusta was satisfied with the result, there can he no 
 need to inquire into the means hy which it was attained. 
 ( Jlaude's visits were very like each other. The progress of 
 his acquaintance was quite natural. It was only by degrees 
 that it came to he considered a matter of course that he 
 should always spend Christmas at Ivors. There was no re- 
 straint put upon his inclinations, and latterly he had heen 
 there very little, having spent more than a year and a half 
 on a continental tour. Even the lynx-eyed old Admiral, 
 who had, after two years' uncertainty, bought a small estate 
 between Ivors and "VVingfield, could see no reason to find 
 fault. Everything was managed by Lady Augusta with 
 apparent simplicity, and Helen herself was so entirely free 
 from any consciousness of the web which was weaving for
 
 IVORS. 
 
 37 
 
 her future destinies, that it would have seemed wrong to sug- 
 gest a suspicion of plan or meaning in all that went on. 
 
 "Whether the Admiral might have been more clearsighted 
 if differently circumstanced, may perhaps he doubted. But 
 his interests were now wholly given to Mrs. Graham ; and 
 Lady Augusta, finding that the preoccupation of his thoughts 
 prevented him from interfering with her own schemes, was 
 less inclined to quarrel with the conduct which might at times 
 have been construed into neglect. He had grown very infirm 
 in the course of eight years, and seldom now moved from his 
 own fireside at Heath Lodge, though Lady Augusta gave him 
 stated invitations at stated times, and visited him regularly 
 once a month, and made Helen ride over much oftener. She 
 cared nothing for him ; indeed, if obliged to confess the truth, 
 she would probably have owned that she disliked him, and un- 
 doubtedly she was quite conscious that he disliked her ; but 
 dislike had no influence upon Lady Augusta's actions. Hers 
 was the worldly charity which can " bear all things " for its 
 own object ; and whilst the fact of the Admiral's residence 
 at Heath Lodge brought Claude Egerton more frequently 
 into the neighbourhood of Ivors, she was quite willing to 
 make the little sacrifices of cordiality which were required to 
 keep upon good terms with the gouty, irritable, but kind- 
 hearted old man. 
 
 Eight years had worked great changes also in Mrs. Gra- 
 ham's family. Susan Graham was now nineteen, and Isabella 
 was seventeen, and Anna was growing so tall as quite to look 
 down upon her eldest sister, and Charlie bad long since cut 
 all his teeth, and ceased to take much interest in old Miss 
 Earvey's parrot, and instead, was a schoolboy, proud ot 
 standing high in the opinion of the head master of the 
 Wingfield Grammar School, though as much devoted to 
 cricket as to Latin verses. 
 
 Mrs. Graham had many anxieties, but they had not yet
 
 38 ivoes. 
 
 made her look old. Wrinkles had marked but lightly her 
 sweet, bright, clever face ; upon the "whole, perhaps it was 
 more sunshiny than when she first came to Wingfield. Sor- 
 row for her husband's loss was then too recent to be shaken 
 off. Now, the first poignant grief was softened ; though he 
 was always present to her in thought ; she could feel that she 
 was travelling towards rather than away from him, and care 
 for the children had drawn her out of herself, and restored 
 the naturally cheerful tone of her mind. The Admiral often 
 said that she was much the youngest of the party, and cer- 
 tainly she was more like Susan's elder sister than her mother. 
 Activity and energy, both of body and mind, she possessed 
 in an uncommon degree, and so far she was like Lady Au- 
 gusta ; but there was no love of power in Mrs. Graham. It 
 was a gentle, fresh, inspiriting influence which she exercised. 
 Lady Augusta cared only to show what she could do herself ; 
 Mrs. Graham thought only of what she could induce others 
 to do. Her daughters were very unlike her ; they resembled 
 their father more than their mother ; and Colonel Graham 
 had been a reserved man, with a tendency to morbidness, 
 which was painfully inherited by Isabella ; whilst Anna had 
 exhibited from infancy a proud, wayward temper, requiring 
 the utmost tact to subdue. Mrs. Graham Had serious diffi- 
 culties t3 encounter, and much experience to gain in the 
 labour of education ; and she made many blunders, and re- 
 ceived a good deal of good and bad advice from her friends 
 in consequence ; but in spite of it all, in some unaccountable 
 way, — unaccountable at least to Lady Augusta, — the blunders 
 worked well in the end. No house was more cheerful than 
 Wingfield Court, — no home was more domestic, — no children 
 could be more affectionate or dutiful than Mrs. Graham's. 
 The problem was not easily solved by the world, still less by 
 Mrs. Graham herself. She was so conscious of her own de- 
 ficiencies, it seemed wonderful that her children should turn
 
 Ivors. 39 
 
 out so well. She felt it to be a special mercy, the answer — 
 as she humbly trusted — to many imperfect but very earnest 
 prayers ; and so she put aside every thought of herself, and 
 -worked on as before, gladly and hopefully, with the watchful 
 inward eye keeping guard over the pure spring of the inward 
 life, and the fountain of love and thankfulness welling forth 
 from it unceasingly, to be the source of vigour and earnest- 
 ness to all around her. 
 
 Self-education ! there lay the secret. Doubtless God 
 does hear and answer prayer, a mother's prayer especially ; 
 but He has for the most part Avilled to work by means, and we 
 have no right-to expect miracles to be interposed in our favour. 
 
 If we do what we teach, our children will do the same ; 
 and they will do what we do, in spite of our teaching ; and 
 no system, be it ever so wise, will work for good without 
 good practice ; and no system, be it ever so erroneous, will 
 work entirely for evil with it. 
 
 It is no new maxim. The proverb that example is better 
 than precept, is older than any one now living. Perhaps we 
 might put it more strongly, and say that precept is nothing 
 without practice, strictly and literally. So when Ave sigh 
 over the low, worldly, selfish tone of mind which, in spite of 
 careful training, we perhaps discover in our children, we may 
 learn to search into our own hearts for the cause. 
 
 The morning occupations were finished. Anna was put- 
 ting away her books, Isabella closing the piano, Susan seated 
 at a little writing-table, just beginning a note. 
 
 " Look at Susan," said Anna, laughing ; " beginning to 
 write now : why, it wants only a quarter of an hour to 
 dinner ! " 
 
 " Just enough time," replied Susan : " we shall be going 
 out directly after dinner." 
 
 " Nut directly after dinner, I hope," said Isabella, rathei 
 languidly. " I hate going out so soon."
 
 40 IVOKS. 
 
 " We must set off rather soon if we mean to go to the 
 Lodge," continued Anna; "the days are beginning to 
 close in." 
 
 " And the Admiral keeps us so long, always," said Isa- 
 bella ; " his stories with mamma are never ending." 
 
 " Poor dear old Admiral ! " exclaimed Susan, looking up. 
 " You must remember to take him Charlie's last letter. I 
 promised it to him the last time I saw him." 
 
 " Don't you mean to go yourself, Susan % " inquired Isa- 
 bella, in a tone of disappointment. 
 
 " I shall, if I don't ride ; but Helen said she would come 
 over if she could." 
 
 " We shall never have you, now Helen is come back," 
 observed Isabella, sighing : " that is the only reason why I 
 dislike her being here." 
 
 " Perhaps the pony I ride will be out," said Susan, good- 
 huniouredly ; " and then I can't go. You know Helen only 
 comes over on speculation." 
 
 " She ought to be here by half-past two, if she comes at 
 all, and she won't manage that," said Anna. 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Susan. 
 
 " Only because Anna has settled that she won't," ex- 
 claimed Isabella. " Anna's love of punctuality and Helen's 
 dislike to it never suit, you know." 
 
 " Helen is improved, lately," observed Susan. 
 
 " So like you, dear Susan ! " exclaimed Isabella : " you 
 never will hear a word against Helen." 
 
 " I only like truth," replied Susan ; " and Helen is cer- 
 tainly improved." 
 
 " I can't say that I see it," said Anna. 
 
 " Or that we have had much opportunity of seeing it," 
 observed Isabella, laughing ; " she has not been here since 
 April." 
 
 Susan laughed too. "Well! we will give up the punc-
 
 , IVORS. 41 
 
 tuality, if you insist. She was very troublesome last year, 
 I remember." 
 
 " She ought to have learnt better by this time," said 
 Anna. " How Lady Augusta scolds when she is late ! " 
 
 " Just the way to make her worse," observed Isabella. 
 " Helen always goes precisely the reverse way to what Lady 
 Augusta wishes." 
 
 " Dear Isabella ! please — I can't bear to hear you saj 
 such things," exclaimed Susan. " People will think, by and 
 by, that you mean them." 
 
 ''Isabella does mean them," said Anna, "and you would 
 mean them too, Susan, if you would acknowledge what is at 
 the bottom of your heart. But you know we are both very 
 fond of Helen," she added, playfully, "only not quite so 
 blind as you are." 
 
 " I always understand Susan's blindness," said Isabella ; 
 " I should be blind too, if any one was as fond of me as 
 Helen is of Susan." 
 
 " A great many people are just as fond of you, Bella 
 dear, if you would but believe it." 
 
 Isabella sighed. " I don't envy you, Susan ; I know 
 you quite deserve it ; but I should like to be as taking as 
 you are." 
 
 " I don't think Susan is taking," exclaimed Anna, 
 bluntly. 
 
 Susan laughed heartily. " Thank you, Anna ; I never 
 was conceited enough yet to believe that I was. If I were 
 beautiful, and graceful, and clever " 
 
 " Like Helen," said Anna, archly. 
 
 " Well, like Helen," — I may just as well say it ; though 
 you will be aure to quiz me. She really is taking ; and if 
 any one ever has a fancy for me, I know it is merely by way 
 of contrast." 
 
 "I don't profess to comprehend that very deep sentence,"
 
 42 ivors. 
 
 said Anna, with mock gravity, as she looiced at the clock. 
 "Five minutes, Susan, if you wish to finish your letter." 
 
 " I can't finish it now," said Susan, thoughtfully. " Isa- 
 bella, I am sure you must know what I mean. "When per- 
 sons are tired of taking people " 
 
 " Then they take to untaking ones," exclaimed Anna. 
 larjghinar. 
 
 "Yes, for a kind of rest." 
 
 " I should not care why I was taken to," said Isabella, 
 earnestly, " if I could only make friends like Susan." 
 
 "I don't think the number of one's friends signifies," 
 said Susan. 
 
 " I didn't mean friends, but a friend." 
 
 " One dear friend, with whom you might retire from the 
 world and keep poultry," said Anna. 
 
 " That was always my notion of a friend when I was five 
 years old ; I don't think I should dislike it now ; I am very 
 fond of Dorkings." 
 
 " I can't talk to you, Anna ; I can to Susan," said Isa- 
 bella. 
 
 " You had better talk to mamma," exclaimed Anna, as 
 her mother entered the room. " Dear mamma, Isabella has 
 set her heart upon retiring from the cares of life, and keep- 
 ing Dorkings : you won't object? " 
 
 " Not if she likes it, certainly. But Susan, my love, you 
 and I must not give up life's cares just yet ; — there is an 
 invitation from Lady Augusta to a dinner party." 
 
 "Oh, mamma! and is there any message from Helen 
 about the riding ? " 
 
 " Much more important that than the invitation," whis- 
 pered Anna, as her sister took the note. 
 
 Susan's countenance when she laid it down again was 
 expressive. It betokened annoyance, which even a very 
 calm, self-controlled character could not instantly check.
 
 , ivoks. 43 
 
 " Faithless ? " asked Anna, in a provoking tone. But 
 when Susan did not smile, she went up to her, and kissed 
 her, and whispered, " I can't hear her if she vexes you." 
 
 " It is not Helen ; it is Lady Augusta," said Susan. 
 " Mamma, why does she write in this way?" 
 
 "Because it suits her, my love, I suppose," said Mrs. 
 Graham, in a tone of indifference. 
 
 Susan took up the note again, and Anna peeped over her 
 shoulder and read it aloud : — 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Graham, 
 
 " The Admiral and Mr. Egerton dine with us to- 
 morrow, and I am sure it will give them pleasure to meet 
 you and your eldest daughter. May we hope to see you at 
 half-past six ? I regret that we cannot offer beds, as our 
 house is full. Sir Henry unites with me in kind compli- 
 ments. 
 
 " Believe me very truly yours, 
 
 " Augusta Clare." 
 
 " Helen begs me to add that she is sorry it will not be 
 in her power to ride with your daughter this afternoon." 
 
 ' Anna caught the note from her sister's hand, and tossed 
 it on the table. " Kind compliments indeed ! Mamma, what 
 does she mean ? " 
 
 " That she wants us to dine with her, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Graham, quietly. 
 
 " Our aunt, Lady Augusta ! as some people will persist 
 in calling her," said Isabella, looking very much amused. 
 
 "Aunt! I would rather have a kitchen-maid for my 
 aunt!" exclaimed Anna. " Dear mamma ! " and she drew 
 near her mother and put her arm round her, " I don't mean 
 to be naughty, but you must let me speak out." 
 
 "You will do it whether I let you or not, I am afraid,
 
 44 Ivors. 
 
 child, " said Mrs. Graham, lightly. "But, Anna dear, seri- 
 ously, 1 don't like that oft-hand way of talking. After all, 
 there is nothing so very dreadful in the note." 
 
 " Only that she might have written it if we were perfect 
 strangers,"said Isabella. 
 
 "Scarcely: she would not give strangers quite such a 
 short invitation." 
 
 " Mamma can he as hitter as we are when she likes it," 
 said Anna, archly. 
 
 " It is too much of a trifle to be bitter about," observed 
 Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " It is just like Lady Augusta," said Isabella. 
 
 " And not at all like Helen," remarked Susan, taking up 
 the note again. " Mamma, must we go ? " 
 
 " Of course, my love : we have no excuse for declining." 
 
 " But it is so rude," exclaimed Anna. " One can't ac- 
 cept rudeness." 
 
 " I never do accept it, Anna : I never suppose it can be 
 intended." 
 
 " Dear mamma ! we shall never be as good as you are," 
 said Susan. 
 
 " I am afraid there is more worldly wisdom than good- 
 ness in the principle, Susan. But I have found it save me a 
 great deal of annoyance in life. If people are inclined to be 
 disagreeable, nothing baffles them so much as not to have it 
 acknowledged. As for Lady Augusta, it really is not worth 
 while to take any notice ; she is so changeable : if she is 
 rude to-day, she will be civil to-morrow." 
 
 " That is what tries me in her," said Susan. " If she 
 would be always rude I shouldn't care. But just before they 
 went to London, she was as amiable as possible : she all but 
 kissed me when she said good-bye." 
 
 "What an escape!" exclaimd Anna. "But really, 
 mamma, why should you go to-morrow % "
 
 , ivoiis. 45 
 
 " Because, as I said before, I don't exactly see how we can 
 say no ; and the Admiral would be disappointed." 
 
 " It is a trying thing to him to dine at Ivors," said Isa- 
 bella. 
 
 " Mr. Egerton used to say that he never could induce 
 him to accept an invitation if he had two days given him to 
 think about it." 
 
 " Mr. Egerton will be with him now to support him," 
 said Susan. " I didn't know he was returned from abroad." 
 
 " He came back the day before yesterday,' said Mrs. 
 Graham. " It will be one pleasure to-morrow to meet him." 
 
 " Yes," observed Susan, heartily. " I dare say we shall 
 see him at the Lodge this afternoon." 
 
 " He will be out shooting," observed Mr. Graham. " Be- 
 sides, Susan, one can't all at once rush into travels, which is 
 what vou would like." 
 
 " I can with him," said Susan. " He is the most getting- 
 -on-able-with person, as Helen would call him, that I ever 
 knew, — at least he was. I suppose his travels have not 
 altered him." 
 
 " Of course he gets on with Helen," said Isabella. " She 
 has known him all her life. He frightens me." 
 
 Susan was for a moment thoughtful. " I suppose he 
 would be called frightening ; but, mamma, is any one really 
 frightening who lets you feel in conversation that you are 
 treading on firm ground ; that he has no quicksands in his 
 mind?" 
 
 Mrs. Graham smiled. " I can't answer metaphysical 
 questions all in a hurry, dear child. Besides, I must write 
 my answer now ; and then — to dinner."
 
 4G 
 
 IVORS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Claude, my boy, what do you intend to do with yourself 
 now ? " asked the Admiral, as Claude Egerton stood by the 
 fire, waiting, in compliance with one of the old man's fan- 
 cies, to pour out the glass of port wine with which he always 
 concluded the luncheon, which it was his whim to eat alone 
 in his own study. The answer came very slowly. Claude 
 Egerton was always rather slow in speech, and the question 
 was a serious one. 
 
 " I have thought of Parliament, sir, if the present mem- 
 ber for Ramsay should resign, as they say he will. I am not 
 sure, however, that I am fitted for it." 
 
 "Pshaw! That old mock modesty! Throw it away, 
 my boy, as soon as you can ; it will do you more harm than 
 good. Why on earth are you not as well fitted for Parlia- 
 ment as half the boobies Avho enter it ? " 
 
 " Precisely, my dear sir ; " and Claude smiled with a sin- 
 gularly arch smile, which lit up his clever, grave, but stern 
 face so as entirely to change its expression. " It is because 
 I feel they are boobies, that I don't want to add one to the 
 number." 
 
 " Well enough ! if you hadn't, as all the world knows, 
 talent enough to be prime minister. I don't understand 
 shirking responsibility ; it's not what I should have expected 
 from you." 
 
 " Let me cut the wing of that fowl for you, sir," and 
 Claude tried to take the knife out of the Admiral's unsteady 
 hand. But it was held firmly. 
 
 " No, no, I am not going to be balked in that fashion. 
 Speak out plainly like a man." 
 
 " It is difficult to be plain to others, sir, when one is not 
 yet plain to oneself."
 
 ivors. 47 
 
 " High time you should be. Five-and-twenty ! and not 
 know your own mind. For shame ! " 
 
 " I say for shame myself very often ; but I have a ques 
 tion as to the direction and ordering of circumstances." 
 
 " Mere folly ! A wise man makes his own circumstan 
 ces. Besides, don't tell me that you don't know your own 
 mind. There's not a man in England who has a better 
 judgment or a stronger will of his own than my friend 
 Claude Egerton." 
 
 Claude showed no elation at the compliment. He poured 
 out the Admiral's wine, and then sat himself down by his 
 side, and said gravely, " I can talk to you, sir, as I could 
 not talk to every one. Parliament or no Parliament is not 
 the question with me. I only want to see where God has 
 placed my duties." 
 
 " "Well, yes ; we understand each other ; " and the Admi- 
 ral put his large, bony hand affectionately upon Claude's, 
 and then drew it back as though ashamed of the weakness. 
 
 " There was a maxim vou taught me vourself, sir, when 
 I was a boy," said Claude, " Those serve their country best, 
 who serve their God best." 
 
 " Very likely, very likely. What has that to do with 
 Parliament ? " 
 
 Claude laughed. " A good deal as regards myself. If 
 I spend my money in contested elections, and my time in 
 making bad laws, my people will be left to take care of 
 themselves." 
 
 " Elections needn't always be contested, and laws needn't 
 always be bad," replied the Admiral; "and if they are, no 
 thanks to you for keeping out of Parliament, and not trying 
 to make them better. No, no, Claude; depend upon it, a 
 man- never blunders by taking ;i huge grasp of duties, when 
 Providence pats the outward means of performing them in 
 his power. If you were a beggar, I wouldn't say, go into
 
 48 ivors. 
 
 Parliament; and if you were an idiot, I wouldn't say it 
 either ; but being, as you are, a young fellow with a fine for- 
 tune and fine talents, I say, make the most of them." 
 
 " And my people ? " 
 
 " Your people % Avhy, they won't be one whit worse off, 
 for not having you always at their elbows to consult. Hot 
 bed ! hot bed ! It's the growing evil of the day. Landlords, 
 and schoolmasters, and parents, — we must all have others 
 hanging upon us, living upon us. We have no notion of 
 teaching people to stand on their own legs." 
 
 " Not quite the general opinon, that," observed Claude. 
 " The complaint one most often hears is of neglect." 
 
 " Past neglect if you will ; and present too amongst a 
 certain set. But there's an astonishing mania abroad for 
 doing good, and wonderfully little wisdom in setting about 
 it," 
 
 " I dare say you are right, sir. I quite feel the wonder- 
 fully little wisdom I have myself." 
 
 " Of course you do ; what sensible man doesn't ? So 
 much the more reason why you shouldn't wish to have a 
 train of people following your blunders." 
 
 " Still I must be answerable for the tenants on my own 
 property." 
 
 " A mother is answerable for her children. It does not 
 follow that she is the less answerable for her husband, and 
 her friends, and her acquaintances." 
 
 " It is very difficult to classify duties," observed Claude. 
 
 " Not at all difficult to common sense," exclaimed the 
 Admiral. " If Providence had willed that we should be 
 only fathers, or only masters, or only landlords, or onlv 
 members of Parliament, the world would have been so ar- 
 ranged that a man who had one task would never have been 
 called upon to attend to another. But things being as they 
 arc, and life having many claims, why, we must needs attend
 
 IVOKS. 40 
 
 to them all as best we can. And remember, Claude, one 
 duty helps another. The man who undertakes the most, 
 will in the long xun do the best, so long as he does it for God." 
 
 Claude pondered. 
 
 " You don't own it," continued the Admiral ; " you will 
 by-and-by." 
 
 " I should be glad to see it," said Claude. 
 
 " Try — that's all I say ; try. Come duties, come will. 
 Loads of things to be done in the world ; loads of power to 
 do them with ; that is God's appointment. It's a large heart 
 that's wanted, my boy." 
 
 " And so J go to Parliament," said Claude, doubtfully. 
 
 " And so you go to Parliament," repeated the Admiral. 
 
 " And as a preliminary step, dine with Sir Henry Clare, 
 and discuss politics," continued Claude. 
 
 "Pshaw! Sir Henry Clare ! Your opinion now is worth 
 twenty of his." 
 
 "That may not be saying much," replied Claude, smil- 
 ing. " Not but that he is a very good-hearted, worthy man ; 
 only one would not quite like him for a leader." 
 
 •' Better he than Lady Augusta. Whatever you do, my 
 good fellow, don't follow her." 
 
 " I can't forget old times," said Claude. 
 
 " The hollowest-hearted woman in Christendom ! " ex- 
 claimed the Admiral; "and the girl is built upon the same 
 plan." 
 
 " Helen ! It is actually two years since I have seen her. 
 She is come out now, I suppose." 
 
 " Come out — presented — grand as a duchess. Rushed 
 through London, — live balls a night ! Down again into the 
 country, — brown holland and sweet simplicity ! Faugh! " 
 
 Claude laughed, but not as though he paid much atten- 
 tion to what was said. He repeated again to himself, "Ana 
 so I go to Parliament."
 
 50 IVORS. 
 
 The Admiral understood liim. " What, man ? Doubt- 
 ful ? " 
 
 " I must think. You know I always required that." 
 
 " Wilful, as usual. Never would be guided." 
 
 " Yes, guided ; not governed. I must govern myself." 
 
 " Be quick about it then." 
 
 " I give myself two days. By that time I will decide." 
 
 "And lose your chance by delay," was the Admiral's 
 impatient rejoinder. " Who knows that Bamsay is not va- 
 cant at this moment ? " 
 
 Claude only answered by a smile of good-humoured de- 
 termination, which in boyhood might possibly have betokened 
 obstinacy. 
 
 The Admiral required some soothing after this conversa- 
 tion. He loved Claude Egerton as his own child, — he ad- 
 mired and respected him ; but he could never quite make up 
 his mind that he was not to govern him. The man-of-war 
 authority to which he had so long been accustomed, was a 
 habit of mind which showed itself to every one ; most espe- 
 cially to persons over whom he had once exercised it. And 
 Claude often deceived him unintentionally. That quiet, con- 
 siderate, deferential manner of his, seemed so very like ac- 
 quiescence. The Admiral had often talked with him for 
 hours, laying down the law, and arguing under the fullest 
 belief that he was gaining the day, and at the end found that 
 he had arrived no further than what to him was the very un- 
 satisfactory conclusion, " I will think." 
 
 They might perhaps have quarrelled, had not the Admiral 
 generally found that Claude ultimately reached the same point 
 with himself, and acknowledged frankly and courteously, that 
 his opinion had assisted him in gaining it. Such a concession 
 was perhaps a greater triumph in the end, than a more hasty 
 victory ; but the delay was unquestionably a trial at the 
 time. The Admiral did not care for influence, but he dearly
 
 ivoes. 5 L 
 
 loved obedience, for he had been accustomed to it all his life. 
 And Claude Egerton was a person of singular independence 
 of character, cautious, and conscientious. It was an actual 
 impossibility to him to yield without conviction, or to be con- 
 vinced without reason and thought from the working of his 
 own mind. This parliamentary question had been brought 
 foward two years before, just previous to his going abroad. 
 The Admiral had urged his wish then with all the vehemence 
 and eloquence he could command, and an amount of praise 
 of Claude's talents, which would have been flattery from any 
 other lips, but which from his was merely the outpouring of 
 a genuine, hearty appreciation that could not be restrained. 
 Claude was not injured by this. At the very outset of life, 
 whilst yet comparatively a boy, he had carefully and dispas- 
 sionately weighed his own powers, his advantages, and the 
 temptations incident to his natural charater. He had high 
 aims, and he was anxious to know how far he might hope to 
 attain them : and the very justice of his self-appreciation 
 kept him from the snare of vanity. Knowing well what he 
 could do, he was not to be deceived as to what he could not 
 do. Eloquent he would never be ; popular he was not likely 
 to be. A public leader he might possibly become under pe- 
 culiar circumstances, but they were such as were not likely 
 to arise. There was no very tempting opening for him in 
 the path of worldly ambition, in spite of all that the Admi- 
 ral might say. But Claude Egerton's aims were not world- 
 ly ; and the knowledge that he might probably labour for a 
 life, and leave a name which should never go do down to 
 posterity, except as one amongst the insignificant thousands 
 who have worked for their fellow-creatures, and received their 
 reward from Cod, had no influence upon his energy. 
 
 Politics had, however, been put aside when first suggest- 
 ed, because Claude felt his own ignorance upon many points 
 which he knew to be essential to a legislator. Now it ap-
 
 52 ivors. 
 
 peared to liim under a different form. He had travelled, and 
 thought, and read ; and although the duties which a seat in 
 Parliament involved were not alluring to his taste, he no 
 longer felt that they were heyond his powers. 
 
 His mind was almost made up when he hegan his con- 
 versation with the Admiral ; — perhaps it might have heen 
 well if he had given the old man an intimation of the fact 
 before leaving him. He would have spared him a half-hour 
 of irritation, and prepared a more cheerful welcome for Mrs. 
 Graham, Susan and Isabella, when they made their appear- 
 ance in the library. The Admiral was not cross with his 
 favourites ; he was only mournful ; and it was in a most dol- 
 orous key that he began, — 
 
 " So you're come at last. I thought I never Avas to see 
 you again. I thought you must all be ill. Susan, you've 
 lost all your good looks." 
 
 " That supposes I had some to lose," replied Susan, 
 laughing ; " so I must be grateful for the compliment." 
 
 "Young people always have good looks to lose. It's only 
 we old folks who can afford to be seen at all times. I don't 
 mean you, Frances," — and he turned hastily to Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. " You are ten years younger than any of your 
 daughters." 
 
 " Tell-tale grey hairs I am afraid are against you, my 
 dear sir," said Mrs. Graham. " Even my children are be- 
 ginning to own that I am silvery. But we are all going to 
 be young and gay to-morrow, I hear, and dine at Ivors." 
 
 " You are going, are you % " His face brightened directly. 
 
 " We had an invitation from Lady Augusta, just now, 
 and we thought of accepting it." 
 
 " Clever old woman ! she knows how to tempt me. I 
 vow, Frances, if I hadn't the hope of meeting some one 
 better worth speaking to than she is, I never would set foo\, 
 in Ivors again."
 
 ,, ivoks. 53 
 
 " There is always Sir Henry," observed Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Well enough, if one gets him in the humour ; but he is 
 not half the man he was : she cows him. And now the girl 
 is out, as they call it " 
 
 Susan interrupted him. " Helen ? please not ! Helen 
 is charming." 
 
 The Admiral turned round sharply ; but he could not 
 speak sharply. The little face once seen beneath the shade 
 of the close cottage bonnet might have altered in many 
 ways ; but its expression was the same now as it had been 
 eight years before. 
 
 " My child, don't trust her," he said earnestly. " Don't 
 trust anything that has been educated by Lady Augusta 
 Clare." 
 
 " That would be the only reason for distrusting her," said 
 Mrs. Graham. " There is nothing insincere in Helen her 
 self: she comes of a different stock." 
 
 " Grafted on a crab," said the Admiral. 
 
 "•And so likely to turn out all the better according to 
 the analogy," replied Mrs. Graham. 
 
 The Admiral looked annoyed. " It's the thing you are 
 always tiresome about, Frances, — you and Claude Egerton. 
 By-the-by, where is the boy 1 ? It's a shame he doesn't come 
 in to see you." 
 
 " He was walking by the avenue to the stables as we 
 came up," said Isabella. " I think he saw us." 
 
 " I think he didn't, Miss Isabella ; he knows his duty to 
 old friends too well. Susan, my dear, may I ask you to ring 
 that bell \ — ring it hard, twice." 
 
 Susan rang as desired. The servant entered. 
 
 "Barnes, where's Mr. Egerton?" 
 
 "He went down by the farm, sir; — lie was looking at 
 the new road." 
 
 "Tell him to come in, — 1 want him." Then seeing a
 
 54 IVOKS. 
 
 smile pass over Mrs. Graham's face, the Admiral added, 
 '• Tell him Mrs. Graham is here, and the young ladies." As 
 the last words were spoken, his eye rested on Susan. 
 
 Notwithstanding his first querulous assertion, Susan had 
 certainly not lost her good looks, or, if she had parted with 
 some, there were enough remaining to make a very pleasant 
 face. 
 
 It was the expression more than the features i>r the com- 
 plexion, however, which was agreeahle ; for Susan Graham 
 had hy no means a claim to be called beautiful, or even 
 pretty. She had bright intelligent eyes ; but the outline of 
 her face was rather square, and her mouth, though well 
 formed, was too large for symmetry. She was deficient in 
 animation also, except, which was rarely the case, when ex- 
 cited by some subject of peculiar interest. Generally the 
 world, as the saying is, went quietly with her. Common 
 acquaintances called her amiable ; more intimate friends said 
 she was superior : only her mother knew her as she really 
 was. Yet she could scarely have passed unnoticed as she sat 
 that day by the Admiral's easy chair, resting her hand upon 
 the arm, and looking upon the ground thoughtfully. Good- 
 ness was in her face, repose in her figure and attitude, with 
 that utter absence of pretence and self-consciousness which is 
 the characteristic of a really refined mind 
 
 The Admiral must have seen much in her to engage his 
 interest ; for he gazed at her intently for some moments, and 
 then patted her hand ; and when, a little startled, she looked 
 at him with a smile of innocent good humour, he averted his 
 face and dashed his fingers across his eyes, as he exclaimed, 
 " That fellow Claude ! why, on earth, doesn't he come ? " 
 
 " Coming, sir," said a laughing voice ; and Claude Eger- 
 ton entered through the window. 
 
 He went up to Mrs. Graham directly, full of gratitude 
 for having been summoned. He had not seen them from the 
 avenue, and would have been really sorry to miss them.
 
 IVORS. 
 
 55 
 
 "Didn't I say so, Miss Isabella?" inquired the Admiral, 
 in triumph. 
 
 Claude spoke hastily : " "Was there any doubt upon the 
 subject, sir ? I hoped I had credit for better taste." 
 
 " We are morning visitors," observed Mrs. Graham ; " we 
 know what we have to expect." 
 
 " But I don't like to look upon you as morning visitors. 
 You were not that when I went away." 
 
 "You have been gone two years," said Mrs. Graham; 
 "and you Jiave been travelling. Who could answer for the 
 change that might make? You might have returned with a 
 fez and a long beard for aught we knew." 
 
 "And you think two years so long that one must be 
 changed, do you?" inquired Claude, rather reproachfully. 
 
 " It's not much short of an inch in a man's nose to such 
 a young fellow as you," exclaimed the Admiral. Why, in 
 two years, at vour acre, Claude, a man in mv days might have 
 had changes of friends for every month in the year, fought 
 duels by the dozen, broken his heart tAventy times, and had 
 it mended again as often. Two years was a lifetime then, 
 by the deeds a fellow put into them. But you young ones 
 are so slow ; when you reach what you want, you can't sum- 
 mon ener<rv to stretch out your hand to take it. What do 
 you say, Susan, my dear?" 
 
 Susan started and blushed. She had not quite been lis- 
 tening, and she said so. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts, then. They must have 
 been worth that at least." 
 
 Claude regarded her with amusement, and, perhaps, a 
 little pity. He thought she would be shy. 
 
 But Susan was quiet only, not shy. She never thought 
 about herself, or about any one else, in a way to make her 
 shy ; and she said at once, "I was thinking of Helen." 
 
 "You might have been thinking of something better, 
 then," muttered the Admiral.
 
 5G ivoes. 
 
 Cut Claude caught up the words, and repeated, " Helen % 
 Miss Clare do you mean % " 
 
 "Yes, she is my only Helen. The only one I know." 
 
 " I have not seen her yet," said Claude, carelessly ; " I 
 suppose she is a good deal altered. She was rather pretty 
 when I went away." 
 
 "Pretty! she is lovely," and Susan's eyes sparkled with 
 eagerness ; " every one says she is." 
 
 " I never care for professed beauty," said Claude. 
 
 " Helen is no professed heauty," observed Susan, coldly, 
 and rather proudly. " She professes nothing." 
 
 " Take care, Claude," exclaimed the Admiral : " you are 
 on unsafe ground." 
 
 Claude made a mock bow of apology. " I beg pardon, I 
 ought to have known that young ladies' friendships are sacred." 
 
 Susan was silent, but the crimson colour flushed to her 
 temples. 
 
 Claude addressed himself to Mrs. Graham. He inquired 
 after old friends, spoke of his own travels, discussed a new 
 book, all with considerable eagerness ; but from time to time 
 he glanced at Susan, who still remained silent, even when 
 Isabella ventured to join in the conversation. 
 
 It might have appeared like temper in any one else ; but 
 no one could suspect Susan Graham of ill humour. 
 
 Claude gave up trying to understand what seemed to- him 
 a mood ; but his kind-heartedness made him reproach him- 
 self for having unintentionally caused it. 
 
 The conversation lasted long ; and then the Admiral said 
 he would go out, and by the help of a stick, and Claude 
 Egerton's arm, he went quite round the shrubbery, and in 
 sight of a new plantation ; and talking to Mrs. Graham, and 
 laying down the law every now and then to Claude, he man- 
 aged to forget his querulousness, and even to hear Lady Au- 
 gusta's name mentioned with placidity.
 
 Ivors. 57 
 
 " Since one must go, it's best to go when one may find 
 persons fit to talk to," he said, as Mrs. Graham stood, wish- 
 ing him good bye, and reminding him that they might hope 
 to meet at Ivors the following day. "Not but what I be- 
 lieve she asks you, Frances, because you are the only crea- 
 ture within twenty miles who would bear being bored with 
 a gouty old man." 
 
 " We won't inquire into the cause, so long as it gives us 
 pleasure," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 The" Admiral smiled, but doubtfully. "You are no bet- 
 ter than the rest of the world, Frances. Where is the plea- 
 sure of seeing me ? Better look at me there," and he pointed 
 to a large portrait of himself, taken when he was about 
 eight-and-twenty. " I was worth something then." 
 
 " To those who knew you then, dear sir ; we would rather 
 have you now." 
 
 '• Yes," said Susan, heartily. 
 
 The word escaped so simply, yet so abruptly, that every 
 one laughed, except Susan herself. 
 
 "You will know where to look for a compliment, sir," 
 observed Claude, addressing the Admiral. 
 
 " It is true," said Susan, quickly. 
 
 " Of course it is, if she says it," exclaimed the Admiral, 
 drawing Susan towards him, and patting her on the shoulder. 
 " She is true to the back-bone." Then making her look 
 towards him, he kissed her heartily on both cheeks, adding, 
 "God bless you, child, and thank you; yon will never be 
 the worse for an old man's gratitude." 
 
 Susan smiled. Some people might have thought she did 
 not care, for she was the first to walk out of the room. No 
 one noticed her as she stood at the hall door, trying to keep 
 down some rising feeling which would struggle to have vent. 
 
 Claude Egerton walked with them through the shrub- 
 bery, lie talked almost entirely to Mrs. Graham; but before
 
 5S IVORS. 
 
 (Ley parted, he said to Susan, " I annoyed you just now, Miss 
 Graham ; you thought me sarcastic. I did not intend to be 
 so ; I am very sorry." 
 
 It was a thoroughly humble tone, so humble that it 
 struck Susan with a sense of the ludicrous. She laughed 
 heartily. " Really, I had almost forgotten ; only I don't like 
 being accused of a young lady's friendship. But pray don't 
 distress yourself, Mr. Egerton ; it does not in the least sig- 
 nify. And Helen and I, you know, are young ladies. It 
 does not in the least signify," she repeated; and Claude 
 shook hands, and they parted. 
 
 Perhaps he would have been better pleased if it had sig- 
 nified. Even the best of us do not like to have our words 
 put aside as of no consequence. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Lady Augusta was in the drawing luuin. It wanted about 
 u quarter of an hour to dinner. The few guests staying in 
 I lie house were gone to dress. Lady Augusta herself had 
 been ready some time. The Admiral was always early, and 
 would have considered it an affront if she had not been there 
 to receive him. Lady Augusta was a different person in the 
 different rooms of her house ; a great many of us are. She 
 was busy and important, devoted to education, morals, and 
 politics, in her library, stately and artistic in her drawing- 
 loom. She had a quick eye for order and beauty of every 
 kind, knew exactly where each chair and table should be 
 placed, and could tell the precise position in which her lovely 
 little Italian statuettes ought to stand, so as to group well 
 with the flower vases and Dresden china. Though the room 
 looked perfect to other eyes, it was never so to her own ; and
 
 IV0E8. 
 
 59 
 
 even now she walked round, changing various ornaments, 
 and bringing out ottomans and easy chairs, so as to arrange 
 her guests easily <ind without formality, and save them from 
 the restraint of a circle. 
 
 All this was not love of display. Lady Augusta was 
 above the vulgar pretension of a large house and handsome 
 furniture, as she was above that of rank. She was born to 
 the possession of both ; and being natural to her, they were 
 enjoyed for themselves, not in the way of comparison with 
 others. Yet they were enjoyed, and so as to render her mor- 
 bidly fastidious as to anything which offended her taste or 
 her exclusiveness. Gaudy colouring, absence of symmetry 
 and arrangement in furniture, jarred upon her in the same 
 wav as a vulgar accent or a showy dress. She had no desire 
 to be told that her house was magnificent, and cared little 
 whether the ornaments she placed in it cost five pounds or 
 fifty ; but she did unquestionably pique herself upon her good 
 taste, and delighted in the admiration of the few whose opin- 
 ion she valued, as much as persons whose pretension she 
 wo'dd have despised delighted in that of the many. 
 
 Lady Augusta put the finishing touch to her work, by 
 placing a very exquisite carving of the Holy Family, so as to 
 appear grouped by accident with a marble cross and some 
 rare flowers, and after casting around a glance of satisfac- 
 tion, took up a book. Drawing-room books were of course 
 different from library books; but they were all of the same 
 cast : not novels — Lady Augusta professed to have no taste 
 for novels — but volumes of the standard poets — works on 
 painting, "Southey's Colloquies," and "Bacon's Essays," 
 lives of celebrated people — George Herbert, and Nicholas 
 Ferrar ; all handsome books, well got up, and lying about as 
 if they were the natural growth of the house. Lady Au- 
 gusta devoted herself to Nicholas Ferrar now — why, perhaps, 
 could scarcely be told, unless it might have been to contrast
 
 CO IVOKS. 
 
 the troublesome self-denial of Little Giclding -with the com 
 fortable goodness of Ivors. 
 
 The ante-room door opened, and Lady Augusta laid 
 down her hook, rose, and advanced a few steps. 
 
 A rush into the room, and a sudden retreat ! and Lady 
 Augusta exclaimed, "Helen, is that you?" 
 
 A pause ; the question was repeated. 
 
 " Y'es, only myself ; no one else, mamma;" and Helen 
 retreated still further into the background. 
 
 " What is the matter, child? What are you looking for? 
 come here ! " Helen could keep in retirement no longer, 
 and she came forward in her riding habit, her cap oft", flushed 
 and hurried, yet, as Susan Graham had said, lovely. Xot 
 only in features, but in expression, in grace, in animation 
 and refinement lay Helen Clare's claim to beauty. Other 
 faces might by possibility be more strictly and classically 
 perfect ; but where else were to be found the brilliant com- 
 plexion, the full, lustrous eye, with its wonderful quickness, 
 and softness, and depth, the mouth half proud, half good- 
 humoured, or the varied changes which followed each other 
 like April rain ind sunshine, never allowing one to feel se- 
 cure of the present charm, yet making it doubtful whether 
 each successive expression were not more captivating than 
 the last ? 
 
 If Lady Augusta flattered herself that education had any 
 thing to do with Helen's personal appearance, she had in- 
 deed reason to be satisfied. 
 
 But she was very dissatisfied now, and with reason. She 
 said nothing, but pointed to the timepiece. 
 
 " Yes, mamma, I see. Ten minutes will be quite suffi- 
 cient." Helen lost something of her charm when she spoke, 
 though her voice was musical in its sweetness. If there 
 were not temper in the background, there was at least an 
 indifference, an umvillingness to own herself wrong, which 
 was very like it.
 
 ivoits. 61 
 
 " My dear, ten minutes will not be sufficient. I informed 
 you that I wished you to be in the drawing-room when the 
 Admiral arrived." 
 
 " Dear old Admiral ! he won't care ; Annette won't be a 
 minute in dressing me ; and I really could not help it : I 
 went so much farther than I intended." 
 
 " There is a ring at the bell," observed Lady Augusta. 
 
 " He will be an hour taking off his coat," said Helen, 
 still lingering. 
 
 Lady Augusta sat clown, severe and dignified. Helen 
 was going away. "You can't go, Helen, now 7 ; you will 
 meet the Admiral in the hall, and Mr. Egerton." 
 
 " ! Claude ; then it does not at all signify. He will 
 quite understand. We always used to be late when we went 
 out riding together." 
 
 " So negligent ! so untidy ! " said Lady Augusta, her eye 
 taking in at one glance all the defects of Helen's dress. 
 
 Helen blushed, arranged her collar, and smoothed her 
 hair with her hand. " I am very untidy, I am afraid ; I 
 don' v . like that ; perhaps he won't see me." And she drew 
 back behind the folding door, and, just as Claude Egerton 
 entered from ths ante-room into the drawing-room, glided 
 past and found herself face to face with the Admiral. 
 
 If it had been Susan, he would have laughed; being 
 Helen, he only said in a very grumpy tone, "Late for din- 
 ner, I suppose, young lady." 
 
 Helen did not see Claude Egerton turn from Lady Au- 
 gusta to look at her; but she felt that he did, and the con- 
 sciousness of the rumpled collar and the disordered hair was 
 very confusing, notwithstanding her professions that with 
 him it did not signify. Yet she recovered herself, and with 
 very graceful self-possession, apologised heartily, owned that 
 she had been careless about the time, begged the Admiral to 
 excuse her, and hoped not to detain the dinner, and then
 
 G2 ivors. 
 
 with simple case of manner shook hands with Claude, and 
 told him she was very glad to see him at Ivors again, and 
 left the room. 
 
 " Hollow-hearted as Lady Augusta," came to Claude's 
 recollection. He would not even own to himself that she 
 was beautiful. 
 
 The room soon became full. Sir John Hume, one of the 
 members for the county and his wife, and tw T o daughters, 
 were all staying in the house, together with Captain Mor- 
 daunt, one of Lady Augusta's many cousins, and old Lord 
 Warnford, whom the Admiral had been especially invited to 
 meet, but who appeared to have nothing particular to say to 
 him. The Admiral's good-humour was not increased by the 
 non-arrival of Mrs. Graham. Lady Augusta devoted herself 
 to telling him the history of a great political meeting which 
 Sir Henry had that day attended in Wingfield, and which 
 had detained him so long that he had only returned about 
 half an hour before dinner ; but her eloquence was lost upon 
 the old man, who looked round every time the door opened, 
 much to Lady Augusta's annoyance, and was continually 
 murmuring to himself, " She's not used to be late." 
 
 " Helen are you speaking of, my dear Admiral ? " said 
 Lady Augusta, catching his words. "I am afraid she is 
 rather unpunctual. Claude will remember " — she addressed 
 Mr. Egerton so directly that he could not but give her his 
 full attention: — "We were speaking of Helen's unpunctual- 
 ity. You must remember it, I am afraid, from unhappy ex- 
 perience. Poor child ! she was talking to me just now of the 
 pleasant rides you used to have together." 
 
 Claude was politely interested in the subject ; but he did 
 not retain any particular remembrance of his rides with 
 Helen, and could only say that he believed she was a very 
 bold rider. 
 
 " ! sadly, desperately bold ! It quite shakes my nerves
 
 I FOES. 63 
 
 when I know she is going out. But there are so few one can 
 trust her with ; and a servant is really no protection. Mau- 
 rice is to be here the day after to-morrow ; and then no 
 doubt they will ride constantly." 
 
 " Come at last ! " The Admiral half rose from his seat. 
 " I beg your ladyship's pardon ; but I thought Frances Gra- 
 ham meant to play me a trick." 
 
 " She is late," said Lady Augusta, glancing at the clock ; 
 and with a stateliness which did more than justice to her 
 height, she .walked down the room to meet Mrs. Graham and 
 Susan. 
 
 Mrs. Graham saw no occasion for an apology. She was, 
 strictly speaking, in time ; and she never unnecessarily gave 
 Lady Augusta the opportunity of forgiving her. Neither 
 was she in the least chilled or awed by the ceremonious po- 
 liteness which insisted upon placing her on the sofa, at the 
 farthest possible distance from every one else, and left Susan 
 in the chair next to Lord Warnford, to make herself as 
 agreeable as a young girl of nineteen possibly could to a 
 deaf octogenarian. A few answers were made to the icy 
 observations of her hostess ; and then, by some means most 
 provoking to Lady Augusta, Mrs. Graham contrived to enter 
 into conversation with Sir Henry, and interest Sir John Hume, 
 and even excited a laugh from very dull Lady Hume ; and the 
 room which had before been filled with solemn murmurs, and 
 shadowy smiles, caught the circling wave of ease and cheer- 
 fulness, till Susan took courage to make her voice heard, 
 and, giving up Lord Warnford as hopeless, inquired of 
 Claude Egerton, who was standing near her, whether he 
 had yet seen Helen. 
 
 "For a moment; she came in late from riding. I had 
 scarcely time to speak to her." 
 
 His tone of indifference was provoking to Susan, who 
 had rather looked forward to the admiration which she felt
 
 G-t IVORS. 
 
 certain Helen would excite. She thought Claude perverse, 
 and was disinclined to pursue the conversation. She was 
 forced to do so, however; for, in his innocence of the offence 
 he had given, he went on talking, not about Helen, but about 
 the Admiral's godson, her brother Charles, and this being a 
 most engrossing subject, it was impossible to avoid throwing 
 herself into it. 
 
 Impatience at the delay of dinner was by this time mani- 
 festing itself. The Admiral tapped the table Avith his 
 fingers, Sir Henry looked at Lady Augusta, and asked if it 
 were worth while to wait for Helen. 
 
 " Certainly not," was the decided answer ; and the bell 
 was rung. Sir Henry was evidently annoyed ; and Lady 
 Augusta looked more than congealed in her frigid severity. 
 
 " Here she is ! " exclaimed Susan, bursting into the mid- 
 dle of a sentence begun by Mr. Egerton, and then .begging 
 him to excuse her. 
 
 Claude turned slowly round, as, timidly, and with a blush 
 crimsoning her cheek, Helen entered from the ante-room, 
 dressed according to what the Admiral would have called 
 sweet simplicity, in white muslin, and with no ornament 
 except a pearl spray in her hair. 
 
 Claude glanced at her, continued his remark to Susan, 
 blundered, apologised, and looked again, — and at last fairly 
 broke off the conversation to watch Helen, who had by this 
 time made her way to Mrs. Graham, and was talking to her. 
 
 " I must go to her," said Susan ; and she rose and crossed 
 the room. 
 
 And Claude stood silent till dinner was announced, and 
 then, as a matter of course, offered his arm to Susan. 
 
 It was a very pleasant dinner to Susan. Mr. Egerton 
 made himself even more agreeable than she had anticipated; 
 and she could forgive him his first tone of indifference when 
 she saw how often his eye wandered to the lower end of the
 
 IYORS. 65 
 
 table, where Helen, out of the reach of Lady Augusta's sur- 
 veillance, and feeling quite at ease with her father, was talk- 
 ing merrily to Captain Mordaunt. 
 
 She felt sure that he was converted, though he might be 
 too proud to own it. It would indeed have been a marvel- 
 lous stoicism which could resist the attraction of Helen's face 
 when animated by conversation. Such winning variety and 
 intelligence were to be seen in every look and gesture, tem- 
 pered by an innate, simple dignity, that put aside all notion 
 of wishing-to attract attention ! It was a dangerous vicinity 
 for the young guardsman ; and Claude Egerton smiled to 
 himself as he saw the evident admiration which Helen was 
 exciting, whilst the conversation on her part was carried on 
 as easily as if she had been talking to her brother. 
 
 "Hollow-hearted!" thought Claude, "what a pity!" 
 and he addressed himself to Susan with renewed pleasure 
 from the supposed contrast. 
 
 The ladies sat but a short time after dinner ; yet Lady 
 Augusta had cast many uneasy glances at the lower end of 
 the table before she ventured to make the move. It was con- 
 trary to her tactics that Helen should be so far removed from 
 her, and so much at ease with her neighbour ; and she did 
 not thorou<rhlv like the low and rather confidential tone 
 which was springing up between Claude and Susan. - It was 
 an absurdity to suppose there could be anything in it ; Susan 
 was so very commonplace, and Claude was fastidious to a 
 fault ; but then men were so foolish ! And Lady Augusta, 
 with habitual caution, broke up the party and went to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 The wearisome hour after dinner, the attempts at conver- 
 s.ifioti, happily diverted by the entrance of coffee, the stitt 
 circle which will form itself, in spite of all efforts, the cere- 
 monious politeness of old ladies, and the spasmodic al tempts 
 at mirth of young ones, no one need describe. They are
 
 GO IVOKS. 
 
 parts of the unhappy experience of all diners-out. Lady 
 Augusta was proverbially solemn on these occasions, and 
 even Mrs. Graham's ease failed to infect the ladies as it had 
 the gentlemen. Every one seemed afraid of the sound of 
 her own voice, whilst discoursing upon the uninteresting 
 affairs of the world in general, or murmuring trite observa- 
 tions over books of engravings. The gossiping trifles of the 
 neighbourhood were scarcely mentioned. They awoke no 
 interest at Ivors. Except Mrs. Graham and Susan, no one 
 cared for any person out of the Clare set ; and the mention 
 of other individuals was received with a careless " Oh ! we 
 don't know them," which effectually put an end to the sub- 
 ject. Alone with Helen, Susan would have been quite hap- 
 py ; but in the drawing-room, with Lady Augusta's eye upon 
 her, Helen was a very different person from what she was in 
 the dining-room. Cold, indifferent, almost supercilious, she 
 sat apart, languidly turning over a book of prints for the 
 benefit of Miss Hume, with an air which plainly said, " I do 
 it because I cannot help myself; " whilst Miss Hume, being 
 shy and very much afraid of the surprisingly beautiful and 
 accomplished Miss Clare, who had been brought up on such 
 a superior system, was naturally enough awed into dulness, 
 and could remember no words in her native tongue, but 
 "yes, very pretty," until Helen, in despair, relinquished the 
 prin':s, and gave herself up to reverie. 
 
 The entrance of the gentlemen had no effect upon her ; 
 her spirits were gone, and she saw no reason for exerting 
 herself against her inclination. 
 
 Captain Mordaunt, full of the pleasant consciousness of 
 having made an agreeable impression, came up to her, but 
 received only the answer which actual civility demanded, 
 and retired, disconcerted. Lady Augusta called her atten- 
 tion to something which Sir John Hume was saying, and 
 II"! en bent forward, and listened for a moment, and then
 
 IVOES. 
 
 67 
 
 sank back languidly in her chair. Lord Warnford paid her 
 some old-fashioned bantering compliment, and she laughed 
 very good-humouredly, but could not possibly exert herself 
 to give back a repartee to a deaf old man of eighty ; and, at 
 length, to the astonishment of all but Susan, she addressed 
 herself suddenly to her father, and insisted upon his giving 
 an account of the political meeting at Wingfield, and the 
 prospects of the next election. 
 
 " Very like her ! " was Susan's amused comment ; but 
 Susan had. known Helen from infancy, and did her justice. 
 Other people did not, especially when Claude Egerton, 
 tempted by the politics in which he was just tben so inter- 
 ested, joined in the conversation, and Helen was herself 
 again, — brilliant, excited, full of cmick observation, and 
 amusing remarks. 
 
 Lady Hume frowned as she sat in the corner by the fire, 
 and thought it sad that so vouns: a srirl should be such a 
 flirt ; and the Admiral muttered to himself, " Aye ! plenty 
 to say, when it's worth her while ; but he's too sharp to be 
 caught ; " whilst Mrs. Graham, with kindly tact, left the 
 Admiral's side at the risk of offending, and took part in the 
 conversation, because she did not like Helen, though uncon- 
 sciously, to make herself an object of notice. 
 
 " Susan, child, what have you been doing with your- 
 self? " asked the Admiral gruffly, seizing upon Susan, when 
 ne found himself left alone, and making her sit down beside 
 him. 
 
 "Looking at etchings, part of the time, sir; and talking 
 to Miss Hume about some new work which she is going to 
 show me how to do. That won't interest you much, I am 
 afraid. Drinking coffee, too, and searching for some music 
 for Miss Mary Hume to play." 
 
 " Doing the honours of the house," said the Admiral ; 
 "why does not your friend there exert herself?"
 
 IV0K3. 
 
 Susan laughed. " She is doing all she can, sir." 
 " All she likes, you mean. I hate girls who have noth- 
 ing to say, except when they like. Beauty indeed ! I would 
 not give a fig for good looks without good manners." 
 
 The Admiral was always rather careless in his speech ; 
 not hearing very well himself, he fancied that others partook 
 his infirmity. 
 
 His last observation was made so loudly that it attracted 
 the attention of several persons, amongst others of Claude 
 Egerton, whose conversation had just been interrupted by an 
 order from Lady Augusta that Helen should sing. 
 
 "Whose manners are you finding fault with, my dear 
 sir?" he inquired laughingly, as he drew near. "We are 
 all wishing to know." 
 
 Susan looked up at him warningly. " It is not a very 
 new remark," she observed. " It need not apply to any one 
 in particular." 
 
 " I don't always understand what people mean by good 
 manners," said a voice behind Susan. 
 
 Helen was searching amongst the books on the table for 
 a piece of manuscript music. 
 
 Claude addressed himself to her directly. — " Good man- 
 ners, I suppose, are the manners of a good heart." 
 
 " That can't be. I have known the worst people with 
 the best manners." 
 
 " Try them under all circumstances : — a lady is a lady to 
 her milliner and her maid ; a gentleman is a gentleman to 
 his groom." 
 
 Helen considered a moment. " Possibly ; you were 
 always fond of definitions;" and she walked away. 
 
 " I don't call that good manners," muttered the Admi- 
 ral ; — " breaking into a conversation, and then running oil*." 
 " Only that Helen's manners must be good," said Susan. 
 She spoke in a very low tone, so that only Claude could hear. 
 He stood thoughtful.
 
 IV0K8 09 
 
 " Every one who knows her, agrees with me," she said 
 earnestly, and expecting his assent. 
 
 " I must take time to judge," was the reply ; and he fol- 
 lowed Helen to the piano. 
 
 Lady Augusta had watched them. A very slight change 
 passed over her face : no one could have understood that it 
 was triumph. But she sat herself down by the Admiral, and 
 began discoursing upon Claude Egerton's talents, and tl>e 
 delight it was to her to find that he had at last made up Ids 
 mind, if possible, to enter Parliament. 
 
 Claude placed himself at some distance from the piano. 
 He was passionately fond of music of a peculiar kind. He 
 cared little for what is called good singing, and this was all 
 he expected from Helen. It was curiosity more than any 
 other feeling which made him follow her. 
 
 The song began ; — it was German ; — fashionable, there- 
 fore, Claude thought, — and the first notes were faint. He 
 took up a book of prints, and Susan observed him, and fan- 
 cied he was not attending. The voice strengthened ; its 
 notes came forth full, rich, surpassingly sweet, — with such 
 depth of feeling, — such simple intensity of expression,— they 
 needed no words. It was not language, — it was the voice 
 of the soul, — which spoke. 
 
 Claude remained with the book in his hand, cold — absent 
 apparently, — ori.y his eye never moved form the spot on 
 which it had first been fixed. When Helen had finished, he 
 went up to her and said, " Thank you ; I like that very 
 much." 
 
 "Do you? I am glad, — I like it too." But Helen's eye 
 bad lost its sparkle, and she sat for some seconds silent, for- 
 eettiriff, it seemed, where she was, and then moved from the 
 piano. 
 
 " Susan, my love, we have not heard you," said Lady 
 Augusta in her blandest manner; cutting short a request
 
 7 IYOBS. 
 
 which was upon Sir Henry's lips, that Miss Hume would 
 favour them with another piece. 
 
 - It is not fair to ask Susan after Helen," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. ' ; She does very little more than sing to amuse me." 
 
 " Oh ! hut those simple songs, after all, are so charming ! 
 and Susan's voice is sweetly touching." 
 
 Poor Susan ! If one thing more than another could have 
 chilled her feelings, it would have been to he told that her 
 voice was sweetly touching. Laughing at Helen as she 
 passed her, and telling her that she would not compete with 
 her in the mournful line, she sat down and sang a Jacobite 
 song, which delighted old Lord Warnford and excited Sir 
 Henry to applause, hut made Claude Egerton walk away to 
 the other end of the room that he might he spared the ne- 
 cessity of a compliment. He had an antipathy to Scotch 
 music, as some people have an antipathy to cheese. 
 
 Lady Augusta's good-humour increased. Her praise of 
 Susan was unbounded ; Mrs. Graham was amused ; and the 
 Admiral observed, testilv, that she was a very good cnrl, and 
 had a good strong voice. He didn't see there was anything 
 wonderful in it. 
 
 The evening was now drawing to a close. Mrs. Gra- 
 ham's carriage had been announced, and she was only wait- 
 ing for the conclusion of Miss Hume's brilliant piece to de- 
 
 . Helen and Susan were sitting together for the first 
 time that eveningr. 
 
 •• Oh, society! " said Helen, and she sighed. 
 mntry society, you mean," replied Susan. 
 
 •• All society ! all — evervthins- \ " 
 
 •• You are tired ; a night's rest will put it all right." 
 
 "Will it? — I don't know." Helen put her hand over 
 her brow. 
 
 •u have a headache, I fear," said Claude, perceiving 
 the action, and coming up to her. His manner was full of 
 inte:
 
 1V0US. 71 
 
 " Thank you, no, — not headache." 
 
 "Only heartache," said Susan, lightly, "hecause the 
 world is not as agreeahle as it should he." 
 
 " Have you begun to find that ? " asked Claude. 
 
 " Every one has, I suppose." 
 
 "Not every one," ohserved Susan: "the world is very 
 agreeahle to me." 
 
 " You are one of the very few persons I have heard say 
 so," replied Claude with a smile. 
 
 "I can't like what I don't understand," said Helen; "I 
 never can make out what the use of the world is." 
 
 Susan smiled. " Perhaps the world would have an equal 
 dilfieulty in discovering our use," she said; "hut there is 
 mamma wishing Lady Augusta good ni ght. Dear Helen ! I 
 hope the world will he agreeahle to you to-morrow." She 
 shook hands affectionately with Helen, cordially with Mr. 
 Egerton, and went to her mother. 
 
 " So good ! " said I lelen, looking after her. 
 
 " Yes ! I should think so." Claude's manner was ab- 
 stracted. 
 
 " I should like to ask you a question, Miss Clare." 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Egerton." 
 
 The nanus Bounded so formal, that they hoth laughed. 
 
 Lady Augusta came up, and Susan with her, searching 
 for a glove. 
 
 "Quite like the old times," was Lady Augusta's ohser- 
 vation. 
 
 " Not quite, whilst we Miss Clare and Mr. Egerton each 
 other," said ( llaude. 
 
 "Oh! absurd! Such old friends 1 cousins!" replied 
 Lady Augusta. 
 
 Claude was going to speak, hut hesitated. Helen assist- 
 ed bun. 
 
 "I am quite willing it should he 'Helen,'" she said; 
 
 " it is much more natural." 
 4
 
 72 ivobs. 
 
 Claude bowed, and said " Thank you," rather coldly. 
 
 " And I am sure Claude is more natural," observed Lady 
 Augusta. " Even you, Susan dear, must remember what a 
 playmate Claude, as you used to call him, was when you 
 were children." 
 
 " ' Mr. Egerton ' is more natural now," said Susan, qui- 
 etly ; and Claude started, as though just awakening to the 
 fact of her presence, and offering his arm, went with her to 
 the carriage. 
 
 CHAPTER VILE 
 
 Claude Egerton went home to dream neither of Helen nor 
 of Susan, but of the duties of a member of Parliament, and 
 the disagreeables connected with a contested election. If 
 his project was to be carried out, his stay at the Lodge would 
 probably be but short. The seat for the town of Eamsay 
 might be vacant at any moment, the present member having 
 openly announced his intention of retiring on account of ill 
 health, and it would be necessary to make arrangements for 
 canvassing immediately. It was very unpleasant to him, 
 extremely contrary to his taste, and all the old objections 
 presented themselves again. But he was not as some men 
 are, so fully alive to the difficulties of the path on either 
 side, that they stand still in the middle and take neither. 
 One of the many lessons taught him by the Admiral, had 
 been that of making a choice in all things. Men sin, not 
 because they choose, but because they don't choose, was the 
 old man's frequent axiom ; and Claude's experience had fully 
 taught him its truth. The actions which, in looking back 
 upon his life, he saw the most reason to deplore, were those 
 in which, instead of manfully facing the conflicting claims 
 of duty and inclination, he had suffered himself to pause in
 
 itoes. 73 
 
 indecision, thinking lie was standing still, whilst in fact the 
 current of evil, so much stronger always than that of good, 
 was bearing hirn on to the point from whence there was no 
 retreat. 
 
 The present question was not one which involved what 
 the world would call right or wrong ; but in Claude Eger- 
 ton's eyes, public duty was to be regarded in the same light 
 as private, to be decided according to the same rules, and 
 carried out according to the same principles. 
 
 He thought over the subject again, as a Christian only 
 can think ; trusting neither to the honesty of his own in- 
 tentions, nor the flattering opinions of his friends, but seek- 
 ing that his judgment should be guided by God; and in the 
 morning when he met the Admiral at breakfast, his resolu- 
 tion was finally made known. He would walk over that 
 morning, he said, to Ivors, consult Sir Henry as to the de- 
 tails of his proceedings, and, if necessary, go down imme- 
 diately to Eamsay, and, with the assistance of his friends, 
 begin his course of operations. 
 
 Poor Lady Augusta would have been considerably disap- 
 • pointed, if she had known how little either Helen or herself 
 had to do with Mr. Egerton's early morning visit. It hap- 
 pened to be a thoroughly wet day, the rain coming down 
 with that quiet decision, which makes the expectation of blue 
 sky as hopeless as the attempt to combat the strong determi- 
 nation of a very soft-spoken and gentle-mannered woman. 
 The arrival of a gentleman in a mackintosh before luncheon, 
 betokened some urgent purpose or inclination, and Lady Au- 
 gusta, hearing Claude's voice in the hall, went out to meet him. 
 
 "To walk over on such a wet day! How very good of 
 you, my dear Claude! You must be wet through. Do let 
 them take away that dripping coat ; and won't you have a 
 little wine, — wine and water, — brandy? — don't be ashamed 
 You will certainly take cold."
 
 71 IVOKS. 
 
 Claude disburdened himself leisurely of his mackintosh, 
 and handed it to the sen-ant, assuring Lady Augusta at the 
 same time that she need not be in the least uneasy ; he was 
 quite dry, the walk was nothing. He had come hoping to 
 find Sir Henry at home. 
 
 Lady Augusta's countenance fell a little ; but Sir Henry 
 was doubtless a mere excuse. " He is at home, I think, I 
 am not sure ; we will inquire. But you will come into the 
 drawing-room, the ladies will be quite glad to be enlivened 
 
 by a visitor." 
 
 The last thing Claude would have desired, except, — yes, 
 he had a little wish to see whether Helen were as lovely in 
 her morning as in her evening dress. As for Lady Hume 
 and her daughters, he considered them, just then, — though 
 it was a most uncourteous opinion, — very much in the way. 
 
 He followed Lady Augusta because he could not help 
 himself, thinking painfully, as he walked by her side, how 
 little her kindness could deceive him now as to her real 
 character. 
 
 Helen was not in the drawing-room ; she had been there 
 a few minutes before, but was gone. Claude was as disap-' 
 pointed as he could be in regard to anything about which he 
 cared so little as seeing or not seeing her, but Lady Augusta 
 was restless. She began by introducing Claude with a kind 
 of badinage upon his early visit, b'lt still her eyes wandered 
 round and round the room, first to one door, then the other. 
 It was the consciousness of her secret wishes which made her 
 hesitate to ask what had become of Helen. Miss Hume was 
 drawing, copying some flowers from nature, very well. 
 Claude's straightforward, gentleman-like manner, put every 
 one at ease with him ; and when he admired them, she was 
 pleased, and feeling thankful for encouragement which she 
 rarely received, showed him some others which she had been 
 trying the previous day. He did not think her so much in
 
 ivoes. 75 
 
 the way then ; anything that was unpretending, and was 
 inclined to open to him, awoke an interest. But Lady Au- 
 gusta had not the least intention of allowing him to be in- 
 terested in any one but Helen, though it might be only for a 
 moment, and with poor, plain, dull Miss Hume. She inge- 
 niously diverted the conversation from the portfolio to the 
 conservatory, keeping flowers still on the taj>is ; and Claude 
 was called upon to give his opinion upon a rare Australian 
 plant which the gardener had just succeeded in raising from 
 seed. This drew him from Miss Hume, and was an excuse 
 for going through the ante-room and the library, into the 
 conservatory, where probably Helen might be found, it being 
 her usual refuge from visitors. 
 
 They lingered in the library. Claude's attention Avas at- 
 tracted by a bust upon a little table. It was like Helen, but 
 not verv like. He asked whether it was intended for her. 
 
 tf 
 
 " Dear child ! yes, but it is a failure. A bust of her 
 must be, it wants life, and she has so much." 
 
 "Not very much this morning, mamma," said Helen's 
 voice, issuing from Lady Augusta's recess. " I am so com- 
 fortable and so lazy here." 
 
 " Silly child ! how tiresome of you to run away. Here 
 is Mr. Egerton come to see you ! " 
 
 " And very sorry to disturb you," said Claude, coming in 
 front of the recess. 
 
 Helen was seated on the cushioned window scat, cushions 
 behind her, a footstool at her feet, a book in her lap, the very 
 image of indolent enjoyment. She moved a little as Claude 
 came up to her, but expressed scarcely civil pleasure at the 
 sight of hiin. 
 
 Claude failed to remark her manner, he was looking at 
 her countenance and dress, as he might have looked at a pic- 
 ture. They quite satisfied his taste, and were even so pleas- 
 ant to him, that when Lady Augusta sat down for an instant,
 
 70 IVORS. 
 
 lie sat down also ; contented to delay his conversation with 
 Sir Henry, for the gratification of having an object before 
 his eyes so gracefully pretty as Helen in her morning dress. 
 
 " I must scold you, child," said Lady Augusta, in her 
 playful, fondling tone ; a tone which, from some unacknow- 
 ledged cause, made the blood creep in Claude Egerton's 
 veins. " You are really too naughty ; the sound of a bell 
 seems to scare you." 
 
 " It was not the sound of the bell," replied Helen ; " it 
 was the Hume prosing : I could bear it no longer." 
 
 " So dreadfully fastidious ! What shall we do with her, 
 Claude ? She likes no one." 
 
 " Because there is no one to like," continued Helen, " at 
 least here. Who could like Miss Hume? " 
 
 "Who could dislike her?" asked Claude, quietly. 
 
 " Well ! exactly. One never likes people whom one 
 couldn't dislike, — vegetables, without flavours." 
 
 " That is the reason, I suppose, why it is necessary to 
 use so much salt in discussing them," said Claude, in the 
 same unimpressive tone, which gave no clue as to whether he 
 were speaking in jest or earnest. 
 
 Lady Augusta was not certain that the conversation was 
 taking a safe course. Helen could be so very severe, and 
 she was doubtful if Claude liked severity in a woman. She 
 interposed : " My love, you really must learn to be more 
 charitable; yon are spoilt. London society has done the 
 mischief, Claude. One can really collect such first rate peo- 
 ple about one there ; clever, scientific, really good people. I 
 confess myself that the country is very stupid after it." 
 
 "I don't find it more stupid than London," said Helen ; 
 " of all things I hate fashionable parties." 
 
 " Agreed, cordially," exclaimed Claude. 
 
 Lady Augusta thought the subject more hopeful, and pur- 
 sued it. " At any rate, my dear, you can't compare London
 
 ivoks. 77 
 
 to country society. London may be foolish, but it certainly 
 is not dull." 
 
 " Not dull, when one takes the trouble to laugh at it," 
 said Helen ; " but I don't know whether that is a good thing 
 to do," and she sighed. 
 
 " I must leave Claude to fathom the mystery of that 
 sigh," observed Lady Augusta ; " and go and talk to Sir 
 Henry about something he asked me to remind him of. Wait 
 for me one moment here, Claude, and I will tell him you wish 
 to see himj' 
 
 Claude felt he must be patient. He rose, and stood, 
 leaning against the wall, waiting for Helen to speak, whilst, 
 with her face towards the window, she was watching the 
 dripping of the rain upon the gravel. When, after a few 
 seconds, she again turned it towards him, he was painfully 
 struck with a change in its expression. He would have called 
 it haggard, if the word could have been applied to anything 
 so young and fresh. Mentally haggard it was, certainly. 
 " Such a dreary, dreary day," she murmured, as she closed her 
 bonk. 
 
 " Yes, but I think it will clear by and by." 
 
 "Do you?" and she smiled sarcastically. "You are 
 more hopeful than I am." 
 
 " There is a peep of blue sky in the north-east." 
 
 " The wrong quarter ; these rains always go on. Oh ! 
 Lady Hume ! " 
 
 "It must be trying,' said Claude, in a tone of com- 
 passion. 
 
 Helen noticed it. " I don't want pity," she said. " I> is 
 not Lady Hume, nor any one, really." 
 
 " The dull book, perhaps," continued Claude. 
 
 " Tbe book is a novel." He looked grave. 
 
 " You disapprove of novels '. " 
 
 "Only under certain circumstances."
 
 78 ivoes. 
 
 " Then not under mine. T couldn't exist without fiction. 
 
 " Keality is so dull, I suppose," said Caude. 
 
 " Yes, but it ought not to be so, ought it % " 
 
 She spoke frankly and earnestly, and Claude answered 
 in the same way. " Perhaps it never is, except through our 
 own fault." 
 
 " It is pleasant to Susan," said Helen, with an air of 
 thought, " she said so last night. But then she has so many 
 to love her." 
 
 " I was going to ask," — Claude hesitated, — " Perhaps you 
 remember I was going to ask a question last night ? " 
 
 " "Were you ? " said Helen, indifferently. " I forget." 
 
 " I have just remembered it," continued Claude. " You 
 said last night that you could not make out the use of the 
 world. I wished at the time you would explain yourself." 
 
 " Oh, impossible ! Explain my own words ! You may 
 as well ask me to explain my own mind. But the world is 
 a puzzle." 
 
 " A great one, unless one has found the clue to it." 
 
 " Which means that you have found it. You are wiser 
 than I am," said Helen. 
 
 A momentary silence followed, then she added, suddenly, 
 " Why are you going into Parliament? " 
 
 "For a great many reasons, which it would take a deal 
 of time to explain," he replied. 
 
 Helen was piqned, and answered with petulance, " I have 
 no wish to pry into mysteries." 
 
 " There is no mystery," he said, coldly ; " only a ques- 
 tion of comparative duties, which would be very uninterest- 
 ing to you." 
 
 " I don't see why they should be. 1 like to hear people 
 talk of duties. It is so amusing to watch the difference be- 
 tween their theory and their practice." 
 
 " I should be sorry to feel that you could watch the dif-
 
 ivors. 79 
 
 ference in me," replied Claude, " so you must forgive me if I 
 decline giving you the opportunity." 
 
 His manner was so entirely unlike anything to which 
 Helen had been accustomed, that she felt very much inclined 
 to be angry. 
 
 But the good-humoured, kindly expression of Claude's 
 face softened her in spite of herself. " I see you despise me 
 too much to talk to me," she said, laughing. " You were 
 always a philosopher." 
 
 " I despise myself rather. I dread inconsistency ; and I 
 know. you would be the first to mark it." 
 
 " I don't thank you for the compliment. I only like 
 truth." 
 
 " We are agreed on that point at least," replied Claude, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "That and disliking fashionable society," said Helen. 
 " Two points only." 
 
 " But truth is the foundation of all," continued Claude ; 
 " so there is hope for us." 
 
 " Xo," said Helen, gravely ; " you will never agree with 
 me. There is nothing to agree with ; only in thinking that 
 it is a dreary day." She turned her head again towards the 
 window. 
 
 Lady Augusta camv. back before another word was spo- 
 ken, and Claude Egerton was a few moments afterwards clos- 
 eted with Sir Henry, and engrossed in politics. 
 
 Claude forgot Helen, bu'. Helen did not quite so soon 
 forget Claude. The very fact of his coldness made her re- 
 member him. Her last recollections of him, derived from 
 the days when she felt that she was a child, were of ;i 
 good-tempered, kind companion, who would laugh and talk 
 with her, go for long walks, and ride races in the park ; and 
 she expected to find him now an easy, agreeable man of the 
 world, who would help to keep up her spirits on a wet day,
 
 80 IYOKS. 
 
 and with whom she might carry on as much repartee as suited 
 her. But Claude, to own the truth, could not he called very 
 agreeable. People listened to him, because what he had to 
 say was generally worth listening to ; but he had very little 
 small-talk, and, unless he was interested in a subject, was 
 much more in the habit of being silent than of conversing. 
 His indifference, too, was perplexing to Helen. She had 
 been accustomed lately to such an amount of homage for her 
 beauty, that she expected it quite as a matter of course, and 
 felt surprised at not receiving it, as she might have done if 
 the labourers on her father's property had neglected to take 
 off their hats to her. It was simply surprise, not conceit or 
 mortified vanity. Helen never realised to herself why she 
 was so courted. Admiration came to her as if it had been 
 her birthright. She only felt that it was strange to meet 
 with some one who was evidently not in the least devoted to 
 her, and quite as willing to leave her as to be with her. It 
 made Claude interesting rather than otherwise, and she sat 
 for nearly an hour in the library window, thinking how odd 
 " some people " were, — some people meaning Claude ; wan- 
 dering what made them so ; wondering what objects and in- 
 terests such persons could have ; with a good many other 
 thoughts of the same kind, ending in her going to the draw- 
 ing-room, and finding Captain Mordaunt there, quizzing 
 what he called the Egerton solemnity, joining in the laugh 
 till her spirits were so raised that Lady Hume, from her sofa 
 corner, again shook her head, and lamented that Helen 
 should be such a flirt ; and at last retiring to her own room, 
 disgusted with herself, and unable even to find interest in 
 her novel, because she had a secret misgiving that Claude 
 would think it an unprofitable expenditure of time. 
 
 Poor Helen ! that was by no means an unusual state of 
 mind on a wet day. If it had not been caused by Claude, it 
 A-ould have been probably by some one or something else.
 
 IVORS. 81 
 
 She had many resources, but very few interests, for she had 
 none with whom to share them. She was indifferent to Lady 
 Augusta's friends, and had never been allowed to make any 
 of her own. As for the families living near Ivors, they might 
 as well have been been in Australia for anything that she 
 thought or cared about them. She knew no one except as a 
 distant acquaintance. And even her cousins at Wingneld 
 were scarcely more to her in the way of companionship. 
 They were too busy at home to be often spared, even if they 
 had been often invited to Ivors, which they certainly were not 
 
 Lady Augusta's dread of evil and its contamination had 
 unquestionably worked for good in one way. Helen's mind 
 was as pure and simple at nineteen as at nine. But whether 
 that were due only to the system which had isolated her 
 from communion with her fellow-creatures, might have been 
 doubted by those who looked at Susan Graham ; open-heart- 
 ed, open-handed, visiting the poor, giving a kindly thought 
 to the rich, free to come or go, to form little plans for amuse- 
 ment or occupation with her sisters and her friends, which 
 called forth independent energy, already preparing for any 
 future duties which years and the events of life might bring 
 upon her, yet as pure, as simple as Helen ; with this only 
 difference, that whereas Helen had scarcely ever heard of 
 many common forms of evil and their consequences, Susan 
 had been told so much and no more as would open her heart 
 to sympathy, and give her the discretion required to deal 
 with them wisely, whenever, in the course of circumstances, 
 they might be brought more immediately before her. 
 
 '• Helen will be forced to see so much that is disagree- 
 able if she is allowed to go into cottages," was Lady Au- 
 gusta's excuse for not permitting her daughter to do what in 
 fact she never did herself. And so Helen knew nothing of 
 the labourers and their wives and children; but she stayed 
 at home, and read very pretty religious stories about the
 
 S2 IVORS. 
 
 poor, and now and then, when there was nothing else very 
 particular to do, made a child's frock ; and on the occasion 
 of any general subscription, put down her name for a large 
 sum, paid by her father, because it was not to be expected 
 that she should give so much out of her allowance. She had 
 no idea that she was in any way neglecting her duties. She 
 was unaware that anything more was required of her. But 
 her mind preyed upon itself. It had a constant craving 
 which could never be satisfied. Full of talent, poetry, en- 
 thusiasm, by nature tender-hearted and sympathetic, yet 
 Helen lived only for herself. She read, worked, drew, 
 talked, — but self was the one object, and it was insufficient 
 to satisfy her. Lady Augusta complained, and said that 
 Helen was indolent : most true, but she had been made so. 
 Pursuits which would have been interesting when carried on 
 with others with a view to some useful or pleasant end, lost 
 their charm when followed for no definite purpose, and were 
 thrown aside. So also she was changeable. Everything 
 which gave her a new impulse was adopted, merely because 
 it was excitement, and excitement was life, and Helen's life 
 was dead. True, candid, open as the day, by the disposition 
 which God had bestowed upon her, yet her existence was an 
 unreality — a perpetual discordance between principle and 
 practice — which she had learnt to laugh at, because it was 
 exhibited before her in the persons whom the lessons of her 
 childhood had taught her should be regarded with respect. 
 Helen Clare was a problem to herself and to others. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 •'-Mamma, Mr. Egerton is returned for Ramsay ; aren't you 
 glad 1 " Anna Graham came into the little study, where 
 Mrs. Graham and Susan were writing, and Isabella reading.
 
 ivoes. 83 
 
 " Returned, are you sure ? " Susan's pen was laid down, 
 and she addressed her sister with an eagerness which made 
 Anna laugh. 
 
 " One would think you were going to be returned your- 
 self, Susan. Yes, I am sure, quite ; I heard it from Lady 
 Augusta and Helen. They were at Grant's, shopping, and 
 I went in as I came from Mrs. Lowrie's to buy some French 
 cotton for Mrs. Berry. You don't mind my going in, dear 
 , mamma, do you? " 
 
 " Not at all, my love ; I don't imagine you will come to 
 any mischief by buying French cotton. But tell us what 
 Lady Augusta said." 
 
 " Oh ! she was in high spirits, and so gracious ! She 
 talked of coming here to call and tell you all about it. 
 Helen says Mr. Egerton made a grand speech ; and he came 
 in with an immense majority. ' Quite a political triumph ! ' 
 Lady Augusta called it. Helen's eyes sparkled, and she 
 talked so fast ! I never saw people in such a state." 
 
 " Or who made others in such a state," said Mrs. Graham, 
 laughing. " I shall object to your buying French cotton for 
 the future, Anna, if the consequences are so alarming." 
 
 " It Avill be pleasant to see Helen excited," said Susan ; 
 " she has been always depressed lately." 
 
 " I don't see why she should be," observed Isabella in a 
 melancholy tone. " I am sure she has enough to make her 
 happy." 
 
 Mrs. Graham replied to this remark by a slight sigh, ob- 
 served only by Susan. 
 
 " She never is happy — not what I call Happy,'" observed 
 Anna. "I wouldn't live the life that she does if you would 
 give me fifty thousand instead of ten thousand a year. Dear 
 mamma ! I am so thankful that we are not too grand to be 
 useful ; " and Anna threw her arms round her mother's neck 
 and kissed her.
 
 84 IVORS. 
 
 " It is not grandeur, Anna, which prevents persons from 
 being useful," said Mrs. Graham : " you will learn that by 
 and by. Some of the grandest people— as you would call 
 them — that I have ever known, have been the most useful." 
 
 " Not when they thought about their grandeur, though," 
 
 said Anna. 
 
 " Helen never thinks of her grandeur," observed Susan. 
 
 " She only feels it," said Mrs. Graham. " Education has 
 done that. Helen is naturally exceedingly unassuming, but 
 she has been kept aloof from every one till she looks down 
 upon them, and takes no interest in them, simply because 
 she knows nothing about them." 
 
 " Lady Augusta never intended to make her proud," said 
 Isabella. " I have heard her preach quite a sermon about 
 humility." 
 
 " So have I," said Mrs. Graham ; and a smile passed over 
 her face, which she checked almost immediately. 
 
 " What is the use of preaching humility and practising 
 pride?" murmured Susan in an under tone, whilst she went 
 on with her writing. 
 
 " I don't think we are the better for discussing Lady 
 Augusta," said Mrs. Graham. — " Anna, love, I wanted you, 
 if you have time to-day, to do something for me." 
 
 " Dear mamma ! yes — anything ;" and Anna leaned over 
 ber mother fondly, and added, " I always have time for you." 
 
 " I want you to make up the account of the subscription 
 for Kate Hope, and copy it out. Let me see ; — I think there 
 must be sis copies at least. — I dare say Isabella will help." 
 
 Isabella said, " Yes," but not with great alacrity. 
 
 " And Susan must give me some books from the lending 
 library for Mrs. Lowrie's servants," said Anna. " I prom- 
 ised her she should have them." 
 
 " The books want covering," observed Susan, " and I 
 have not had time to do them."
 
 ivoks. 85 
 
 " Isabella shall cover them," said Anna, " and I will man- 
 age Kate Hope's account ; I can do it quite well." 
 
 Susan turned to her mother. " Mamma, I don't know 
 what you will say, but I have promised Mrs. Lowrie that her 
 girl, Harriet Pearce, should come and read Avith our little 
 maid on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mrs! Lowrie says that it 
 would be such a comfort to her to feel that she had some one 
 besides herself to teach Harriet. Should you object ? I 
 said I would talk to you about it." 
 
 "Not at. all, my love, if you like it. It is not much 
 more trouble to teach two than one." 
 
 " Mrs. Berry has been talking to us again about an elder 
 class from the Sunday-school girls," said Anna ; "but I told 
 her I was afraid we could scarcely begin it this winter." 
 
 " I don't think we can, possibly," said Susan, who took 
 in all that was said, whilst her pen moved tolerably fast. 
 
 " The days are so short," continued Anna ; " and after 
 we have had our schoolroom work in the morning, there 
 really is not daylight enough for anything, except just see- 
 ing one or two people, and going for a rushing walk on the 
 Ivors road." 
 
 " Unless we were to dine later," observed Mrs. Graham. 
 " Dinner takes up such a great deal of time in the middle 
 of the clay." 
 
 " I can't bear altering the dinner-hour," said Isabella ; 
 " it is so unnatural." 
 
 " If we dined at half-past five, we might have the class 
 for an hour before," said Susan. 
 
 " No ; that was what Mrs. Berry said," observed Anna. 
 " I should like to manage it, if one could. Mr. Berry is so 
 anxious about it ; he says that it would be keeping a hold 
 upon them, to make them feel they had ladies looking after 
 them. And, mamma, do you know, he has had such good 
 accounts of Jessie Dawson, — the girl with the burnt face,
 
 86 ivors. 
 
 you remember, — whom I taught to knit last spring. Her 
 face is quite well, and she has a place as kitchen-maid with 
 Mrs. Berry's aunt ; and she sends her particular duty to me. 
 Isn't that grand ?" And Anna drew herself up playfully, 
 whilst her cheek flushed with pleasure at the consciousness 
 of having done something to deserve gratitude. 
 
 " I don't think elder classes or younger ones will flour- 
 ish much, if we spend so much time in talking about them," 
 said Mrs. Graham. " What a chatterer you are, Anna." 
 
 " Only I must tell you, dear mamma, you know we can't 
 set to work without you. Oh dear ! what a great deal there 
 is to do in the world ! I will just go and take off my 
 things, and then come and make up Kate Hope's account. 
 I suppose we shan't go out this afternoon, it is coming on 
 to rain." 
 
 " I want you to come to my room one minute, Anna," 
 said Susan, " and to bring me your scrap-bag. Mamma 
 wants some linen for the almshouses, and I want some for 
 Mrs. Lowrie, and if we are not going out, we must send it." 
 
 " Make haste, then. Lady Augusta will be here in a 
 minute. Why are people so tiresome as to call when one is 
 busy ? " And Anna hurried out of the room, followed by 
 Susan. 
 
 Isabella sai with her book before her, apparently read- 
 ing. "My love, all this talking must disturb you," said 
 Mrs. Graham. "Why don't you go into the dining-room'? 
 there is a fire there." 
 
 "I would rather stay here, thank you, dear mamma," 
 replied Isabella, scarcely raising her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Graham watched her, and saw a tear drop upon the 
 page. She went up to her and kissed her. " Unhappy, my 
 child ? " she said tenderly, yet not anxiously. 
 
 "N©, dear mamma, it is nothing; it is really nothing." 
 Isablla brushed her hand across her eyes.
 
 ivoks. 87 
 
 " Only the old malady," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 Isabella half smiled. " It really is nothing ; please don't 
 ask me ; I know I ought to be happy." 
 
 " Yes, indeed you ought ; you have everything to make 
 you so." 
 
 " Except people's love," said Isabella, bitterly. 
 
 " My dear child, that is wrong. You have love ; as much 
 as any human being has the least right to wish for ; my love, 
 your sisters', your brother's ; the love of friends too." 
 
 " Yes, secondary love," said Isabella. " Dear mamma ! " 
 — and she clung to her mother, conscious of the seeming in- 
 gratitude of her words — " I know you love me, but I don't 
 deserve it." 
 
 " We none of us deserve any love," replied Mrs. Graham. 
 
 But I am not like Susan and Anna. I am disagreeable ; 
 I make you unhappy." 
 
 ki Xever, except by being unhappy yourself," said Mrs. 
 Graham. 
 
 " And I never shall be like them," continued Isabella. 
 " I shall never have any one to love me best." 
 
 " I suppose they would be puzzled to find out any one 
 who loves them best," said Mrs. Graham. " Certainly it 
 would not be their mother." 
 
 " Dearest mamma, you are so good, so very kind ; but I 
 don't think you can understand, — I don't think any one 
 can." 
 
 "I think I can," said Mrs. Graham, as she fondly 
 smoothed her child's glossy hair ; adding, " Once upn a time, 
 Isabella, I had the same fancies." 
 
 " You, mamma 1 Impossible. You must always have 
 been loved." 
 
 "Yes, as you are: but the love was thrown away upon 
 me. Your dear aunt, Helen's mother, was a more attractive 
 person than I was ; she was beautiful, as Helen is, and very
 
 88 ivors. 
 
 clever, and she was the elder, and so was brought more for- 
 ward ; and at length I became, not exactly envious, — I was 
 too fond of her to be that, — but discontented. I was out of 
 health, too, that had something to do with it. I used to get 
 into low spirits for no reason, and very often I made this an 
 excuse to myself for being really ill-humoured." 
 
 Just at this instant Susan looked in at the door, but went 
 away again directly. Isabella started up, afraid of being 
 remarked. When the door was closed, she said eagerly, 
 " And who helped you, mamma ? " 
 
 " A curious person, — an old nurse," said Mrs. Graham. 
 " She found me one evening crying in my own room, and 
 asked me what was the matter. I said, as you do, that I 
 didn't know ; that I was very unhappy, and nobody loved 
 me ; and a good deal more of the same kind, more, indeed, 
 than you would say, because I had been allowed to have my 
 own way as a child, and had but little notion of self-control. 
 She let me go on for a long time, and listened quietly, and 
 at last — I think I see her now — she shook her head, and 
 said, " Ah ! Miss Frances, self comes first, and self is never 
 satisfied." 
 
 "I don't know what she meant," said Isabella, a little 
 moodily. 
 
 " Exactly my own words ; though I doubt if they were 
 quite sincere. She did not immediately explain them, but 
 went on questioning me, in her strict, short way, as to what 
 I had been doing all the day ; what I had read, and where 
 I had walked, and what work I had done ; and at every an- 
 swer she said, ' Well, and whom did that please 1 ' And in 
 almost every case I was obliged to answer, myself. Nurse 
 took my hand, and said solemnly, ' Poor child ! myself is a 
 hard tyrant.' " 
 
 Iabella looked up, as if about to speak, but hesitated. 
 
 " I know what you would say," replied Mrs. Graham.
 
 IVORS. S!) 
 
 " You think it does not apply to you ; and, in a certain Way, 
 that is true. For me, I had been ill and depressed ; aud 
 fancying that I had a right to amuse myself and distract my 
 thoughts if I could, I had literally lived only for myself. I 
 had read for my own pleasure, worked to gratify my own 
 fancy, talked or been silent, walked or stayed at home, en- 
 tirely to please myself. I gave no pleasure to others, and 
 as a natural result they gave no pleasure to me, and I fan- 
 cied they didn't care for me." 
 
 " But, mamma, I do work for others," said Isabella. 
 
 "Because you are obliged: there is very little voluntary 
 effort." 
 
 " I do the things ; I can't help their being unpleasant to 
 me," was the reply. 
 
 " Yes, dear child ; excuse me, you can help it. If your 
 thoughts were right, your feelings would be right. Just tell 
 me, do you ever give yourself the trouble of planning what 
 you can do to please or help others % " 
 
 " There is no occasion ; I am generally told what I am 
 to do," said Isabella. 
 
 " Then I have very much failed in the object of my 
 life," observed Mrs. Graham, sadly. " My one chief desire 
 has been to educate you so that you might have independent 
 springs of action, and wck without being told." 
 
 " But the work does the same good to others, whether 
 you plan it or I do," said Isabella. 
 
 " Possibly ; though upon that point I have a doubt. But 
 as regards yourself, nothing interests us which is not attend- 
 ed by some voluntary effort. If you give yourself the 
 trouble to plan what you can do for others, your work will 
 become interesting; otherwise it is simply mechanical. 
 What is defective in you, my child, is less selfishness in ac- 
 tum than in feeling. The first step towards right feeling is 
 made in the management of the thoughts."
 
 90 IVOK8. 
 
 "But all the work in the world will not procure me 
 love," persisted Isabella. 
 
 " Not the work, hut the unselfishness, the kind-hearted, 
 benevolent feeling which is always thinking of other 6 ! and 
 forgetting itself will. I will tell you again about myself. 
 That speech of nurse's had a great effect upon me : it made 
 me look into my heart, and discover what a great fault I had 
 been indulging. I set to work resolutelv against it, and I 
 hope in the right way, for I was really influenced by reli- 
 gious principle. I tried first for one day, making it my decided 
 object to do everything which I could think of that would 
 give pleasure to others ; not merely leaving undone selfish 
 actions, but doing thoughtful and considerate ones. My 
 mind beame interested, and I had no leisure to dwell upon 
 the fancy that no one loved me. The next morning I made 
 a resolution for two days, then for a week, and at last for a 
 month. I grew much happier, and could not help seeing 
 that every one was kinder than before, and more glad to be 
 with me and talk to me : and at the end of six months I was 
 actually startled to find how much love was bestowed upon 
 me. Since then the burden of my life has been, not that 
 I have so little love, but so much which I can never de- 
 serve." 
 
 "But lest, mamma," said Isabella ; "to be loved best!" 
 
 " Dear child, we must talk of that another time Here 
 is Lady Augusta's carriage ; only when we give our own 
 best love where alone it is due, we shall never complain that 
 it is not returned." 
 
 A thundering knock and ring made Isabella start from 
 her seat, and rush away through a door which opened into 
 the dining-room, just as Lady Augusta Clare and Miss 
 Clare were announced in the study.
 
 IVORS. 91 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Lady Augusta's glance around the small apartment was most 
 patronising. She was evidently in the best possible humour. 
 
 " You really look so extremely comfortable here, my dear 
 Mrs. Graham ; so usefully employed. Quite a charming lit- 
 tle room, isn't it, Helen ? " 
 
 " The room looks as it always does," said Helen, blunt- 
 ly ; but the next moment she added, " Aunt Fanny's rooms 
 always do look more comfortable than any others." 
 
 "I don't know why, I am sure, my dear," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. " I never particularly piqued myself upon the art of 
 arranging furniture. But you are come with good news, I 
 hear," she continued, addressing Lady Augusta. 
 
 "Yes, dear Claude is returned member for Eamsay. 
 Such a delight to us ! and I thought I must be the first to 
 come and give you the happy intelligence. The excitement 
 has been so great ! too great for dear Helen ; she looks quite 
 pale." 
 
 " Because I sat up late last night, reading, mamma," said 
 Helen ; " not because I am so tremendously rejoiced about 
 Claude. Only as an old friend, you know, Aunt Fanny, one 
 is glad. And then it has been something to talk about, and 
 Ivors has been so very dull ; I declare I think I should like 
 to live in a country town." Her eye glanced tow-ards the 
 side window of the little study, from which a view could be 
 had of one of the smaller streets of Wingfield. 
 
 " You would have pattens to listen to on a wet day, and 
 muflin-boys' cries," said Mrs. Graham. "I don't know 
 whether you would think them very enlivening." 
 
 "I should like them for change: anything for that. 
 Aunt Fanny, where is Susan % "
 
 92 ivoes. 
 
 " In the house, somewhere, my love. I will ring, and 
 let her know you are here." 
 
 " Thank you ; but please don't ring. Let me go and 
 rind her ; " and Helen hurried out of the room, pleased as a 
 child to be free to find her way over the old-fashioned house, 
 and to have the chance of a conversation with Susan with- 
 out observation. 
 
 " She is such a strange child," said Lady Augusta, when 
 Helen left the room. " All that indifference is merely put 
 on. But she will not show her feelings to any one, except 
 me. Between ourselves, my dear Mrs. Graham, she has 
 caused me some anxiety lately ; of course I would not have 
 an observation made for the world, but her spirits have 
 drooped, without cause apparently, or at least any that the 
 world would see. For myself, I am only too observant ; but 
 we must trust it will all be right by and by ; in fact I feel 
 convinced it will." 
 
 "Helen, being an only daughter, may probably want 
 companionship," was Mrs. Graham's matter-of-fact reply to 
 this mysterious speech. 
 
 Lady Augusta grew rather stiff. " I think not. Helen 
 has enough resources to be sufficient for herself. It has been 
 my great aim in her education ; and she has no fancy for 
 society ; she dislikes it indeed. I had real difficulty in mak- 
 ing her go out in London. In fact, dear child ! she has my 
 taste. She much prefers scientific and literary pursuits to 
 fashionable amusements." 
 
 " She is very simple," replied Mrs. Graham, cautiously. 
 
 " Sweetly simple ;" and Lady Augusta's severity relaxed. 
 " As dear Claude was remarking to me only the day before 
 he left us, to go down to Bamsay, she is full of impulse, but 
 it is all natural. You know Claude spent a fortnight with 
 us, just before the election came on. They saw a good deal 
 of each other then. Boor fellow! it was a great change
 
 ivoes. 93 
 
 from Ivors and Helen, to the coarseness and bustle of tho 
 election." 
 
 A light broke upon Mrs. Graham's mind. She knew 
 that after the first electioneering plans were settled, Claude 
 Egerton had been invited to stay at Ivors, and, as Lady 
 Augusta said, had spent a fortnight there. But she troubled 
 herself very little at any time with Lady Augusta's visitors, 
 and had looked upon Claude's stay as a matter of course, 
 since Sir Henry's advice was likely to be useful to him. 
 Xow, she couhl not but feel that some deeper interest was 
 concerned ; and Lady Augusta, it was clear, wished her to 
 understand the case, though she did not choose to explain 
 herself more clearly. Mrs. Graham was not, however, to be 
 tempted to inquire more particularly into the meaning of 
 what had been said, and contented herself with remarking 
 that Mr. Egerton was likely to be a very hard-working mem- 
 ber of Parliament, but she scarcely imagined he would be an 
 eloquent one. 
 
 " I don't know. I should say he doesn't know his own 
 powers. I have heard him speak remarkably well, when ex- 
 cited. He requires a stimulus, an object. Helen differed 
 from him one night, and he was quite brilliant, and exceed- 
 ingly clever in nis argument. I believe he entirely convert- 
 ed her ; not, perhaps, that we can consider such a fact aston- 
 isning:"' and Lady Augusta concluded her sentence with a 
 smile of great meaning. 
 
 Provoking Mrs. Graham still would observe nothing, and 
 Lady Augusta continued : " But I must not forget one of my 
 chief objects in calling this afternoon, independent of the 
 pleasure of seeing you. Sir Henry talks of having some fes- 
 tivities in honour of the new member, and to celebrate the 
 Conservative triumph, and he insists upon having you, and 
 the dear girls in the house. 1 told him I thought it would 
 be impossible to persuade you, occupied as you are ; and now
 
 94 ivors. 
 
 that Christmas is so near at hand, and your boy coming 
 home from school, I was afraid it would be full of difficul- 
 ties ; but he insisted upon my coming, and of course I was 
 only too glad ; I trust you will think of it." 
 
 Mrs. Graham was very much obliged, and would think 
 of it. She inquired as to the details of times and seasons, 
 but found that everything was unsettled. Mr. Egerton 
 might be kept at Eamsay ; he might be obliged to go to 
 town ; he might have business at his own place, Helmsley ; 
 everything must depend on his movements. Possibly any 
 entertainments might be deferred till after Christmas. Lady 
 Augusta was in a complete maze of uncertainty, took out 
 her watch, discovered that it was extremely late, and was 
 impatient to return home. But she was delighted to have 
 seen dear Mrs. Graham, and hoped soon to have the oppor- 
 tunity of showing the very descriptive letter which Mr. 
 Egerton had written, giving an account of the polling days, 
 and the speeches, — a letter, she added, which Helen had 
 made him promise to write when he went away, and which 
 really was quite a treat. And then the bell was rung for 
 Helen. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Helen was not very well versed in the intricacies of Wing- 
 field Court, but she had found her way without much difficulty 
 through one long passage, and down three steps, and through 
 another short passage, to Susan's room, an irregular-shaped, 
 plainly-furnished little apartment, looking out, like the side 
 window of the study, upon the street. Susan was engaged 
 with the scrap-bag ; hoards of rags and pieces of linen were 
 turned out of it upon the bed. 
 
 " My dear Susan, what are you about 1 " was Helen's ex-
 
 ITOKS. 95 
 
 clamation, as she stumbled into the room over a box contain- 
 ing worn-out sheets, which Susan had just drawn forth from 
 a closet. 
 
 " Preparing to keep a rag shop, you would suppose," re- 
 plied Susan, throwing aside her scraps, and coming forward 
 with a cordial smile on her face, which made Helen, as she 
 kissed her, declare that it was like sunshine to look at her. 
 " I am collecting linen and rags for my old blind friend Mrs. 
 Lowrie. She makes lint for the infirmary, and we always 
 try to keep her supplied." 
 
 Helen laughed heartily. " You are the most absurd peo- 
 ple, my dear Susan. One would think you had a concern 
 with all the business of all the dwellers on the face of the 
 globe. We shall hear of your making skins for the Calmuck 
 Tartars next." 
 
 " Well ! " said Susan, " if the Calmuck Tartars settled 
 next door, I suppose we should do our utmost to assist 
 them." 
 
 " dear ! " and Helen jumped upon the corner of the 
 bed, and made a comfortable support to her back with a 
 bundle of old sheets ; " this is a very odd world we live in. 
 Susan, aren't you out of your wits with joy because Claude 
 Egerton is member for Kamsay 1 " 
 
 " I don't know ; " and Susan put on a look of considera- 
 tion : " I believe I am very glad." 
 
 " Very glad ! That isn't half, nor a quarter enougn. 
 You are to be in the seventh heaven of felicity. We all 
 are." 
 
 " I heard you were," said Susan, a little satirically. 
 
 "From whom? Oh! I know ; that little tell-tale Anna. 
 She entrapped me into a grand description of Claude's 
 speech, and then ran away and laughed at me." 
 
 "But you are glad really, Helen?" said Susan, a little 
 perplexed at her cousin's manner. 
 5
 
 06 IVORS. 
 
 " Oh ! of course. I always am what I ought to be." 
 
 " I wish I could say as much of myself," said Susan 
 smiling ; " but I don't understand you now, Helen, any more 
 than I ever do." 
 
 " I don't see how you should," replied Helen. " I don't 
 understand myself. The fact is, Susan, I believe I am 
 frightfully perverse. When I am. told I am to be glad, I 
 am not glad at all ; I am frozen up into an icicle. I shall 
 thaw again though presently." 
 
 " You ought to be glad for Sir Henry's sake," said Su- 
 san. " It is a great deal his work, and there are the politics 
 to be considered." 
 
 " Oh yes ! the great Conservative triumph ! What do I 
 care for Conservative triumphs 1 But I do care for Claude 
 himself, — I like Claude very much : don't you % " 
 
 A faint, very faint tinge of deepening colour spread 
 itself over Susan's cheek ; but she answered without hesita- 
 tion, " Yes, I do certainly like him." 
 
 " Yes, I do certainly like him," repeated Helen, mimick- 
 in°- her cousin's rather slow tones. "Save me from ever 
 being praised by you, Susan ! Why, you ought to like him 
 extremely. He likes you." 
 
 " Does he ? " Susan was seized with a sudden recollec- 
 tion of the claims of her scrap-bag, and busied herself with 
 rolling up strips of linen. Perhaps she might have cared to 
 know how much Claude Egerton liked her, but Helen was 
 not communicative. 
 
 " I like him," continued Helen, following, as was her 
 wont, the topic most agreeable to her own mind, "because 
 he makes one think : that is more than most people do. I 
 quarrel with him very often ; we were always quarrelling 
 when he was last at Ivors. I dare say it was my own fault. 
 Susan, dear, I wish I was as good as you are."
 
 ivoes; 97 
 
 " When you are wishing, wish for something better than 
 that." 
 
 " Xo ; I should be quite contented. It would give me 
 just the pleasant, comfortable opinion of myself that I want. 
 Let me have some of those strips, like a good child. I can't 
 bear to see you making a martyr of yourself over them." 
 
 " You won't know what to do with them," said Susan. 
 " I venture to say you never rolled up a strip of linen in 
 your life." 
 
 " It is time I should learn then. Claude says there is a 
 good deal to be learnt in the world. I believe he thinks that 
 it would be a good thing if I were to set about learning." 
 
 " I should agree with him," said Susan, archly. 
 
 ' : Don't preach. I am not in the humour to-day. I only 
 like being preached to on wet days. The words drop then 
 like the rain on the ground ; it all suits. I think, Susan, 
 Claude means to fall in love with Miss Hume." 
 
 " Very likely," said Susan, without raising her eyes from 
 her work. 
 
 " Very likely ! Susan, you are enough to provoke a 
 saint. Prosy, plain, particular, pertinacious, provoking Miss 
 Hume ! It would be a crying sin. I declare, when I saw 
 him bring her in flowers to copy, and offer to cut her pencils, 
 I used to run away, it made me so angry. And very wrong 
 it was of him, too ! Lady Hume took it all in, and consid- 
 ers it a settled thing. I wouldn't answer for it, that she is 
 not at this very moment ordering the trousseau." 
 
 " So absurd you are, Helen ! why shouldn't a gentleman 
 bring flowers for a lady to copy, and cut her pencils for her, 
 likes it 7" 
 
 " Oh ! but it was all done in that particular way, — 
 Claude Egerton's way. I wish you could see and hear him 
 as 1 do. That quiet tone, deferential, considerate, — moving 
 rose-leaves out of your way, lest you should stumble over
 
 D8 ivoes. 
 
 them. Not out of my way, though. He is always at dag- 
 gers drawn with me." 
 
 " No wonder, if you talk in the wild way to him that 
 you do to me," replied Susan. 
 
 " You don't think I would venture ? No, I assure you, 
 I am the very pattern of propriety with him ; except, — every 
 now and then, I like to startle him. We argued for an hour, 
 one night. Mamma thought he had converted me ; not at 
 all — I was of his opinion at the beginning, only I chose to 
 contradict him." 
 
 " He will soon he up to that," said Susan ; " he is quick 
 enough." 
 
 " Will he ? I don't care. It is all in the way of amuse- 
 ment ;" and Helen sighed. " What do you do for amuse- 
 ment, Susan ? " 
 
 " I have so little time for it," replied Susan, " I don't 
 quite know. There is always something when I want it." 
 
 " And time seems to me so long. That is one of the 
 points Claude and I can never agree upon. He says there is 
 so much to do in the world, and I say I never can find it 
 out. Would he approve of rolling up strips of linen, do you 
 think?" 
 
 " You can try ; take home some." 
 
 " I would : you may laugh, Susan ; hut if it was to do 
 you any good, I would." 
 
 " Thank you, I am sure you would. But what if it was 
 to do some one else good "? " 
 
 " CJa depend ! Perhaps I shouldn't like the person. I 
 can't work for any one I don't like." 
 
 " My strips are for old Mrs. Lowrie," said Susan. 
 
 " Or the Queen of the Sandwich Islands ! " exclaimed 
 Helen. " What do I know about old Mrs. Lowrie? " 
 
 Susan shook her head. " Ivors spoils you, Helen. I tell 
 you so often."
 
 ivors. 9 9 
 
 "And Claude says the same," replied Helen, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Most likely then it is true." 
 
 " Most likely. You are hoth excellent people. I have 
 the greatest possible respect for you." 
 
 " Only you -won't listen to us." 
 
 " I don't, on principle. The world would be so dull if 
 every one was good." The drawing-room bell rang, and 
 Helen started up. "A summons forme! Susan, we have 
 not said anything interesting. I meant to say a good leal. 
 "When will you come to Ivors ? " 
 
 " When I am asked, and when mamma will spare me." 
 
 " Claude will be back soon. There are to be great fes- 
 tivities, poor people's dinners, school tea-drinkings. I would 
 rather have you all to myself." 
 
 " So would I ; — for some reasons," was added in a lower 
 tone. 
 
 " I should be a changed person, if I could stay a month 
 in the house with you, Susan," continued Helen. 
 
 " Then I hope you never will. I shouldn't like you to be 
 changed, except in some things." 
 
 " Exceptions more numerous than the rule. You would 
 do more for me than Claude. He looks down upon me." 
 
 " Oh, no. Impossible ! " 
 
 " He does. He ifi right, too. Susan, do you know I am 
 sure I shall never marry. I should die of a good man, and 
 I could never be happy with a bad one." 
 
 " Apropos to Mr. Egcrton ? " asked Susan, laughing. 
 
 Helen laughed too. "Not quite; only one day some- 
 thing somebody said put it into my head." Helen jumped 
 down from the bed, unrolling several of Susan's strips of 
 linen, and ran down stairs.
 
 100 IVORS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Lady Augusta went home satisfied ; having managed a dif- 
 ficult piece of domestic diplomacy. She had given Sir Hen- 
 ry's family invitation, so as to ease her conscience, yet at the 
 same time leave an opening for limiting it if it should he 
 found desirahle. But she had done more than this. Mrs. 
 Graham might feign not to understand her meaning ; hut 
 Lady Augusta felt that she had dropped a seed which could 
 not fail to take root. Without committing herself to any 
 assertions, she had given the idea that there was at least a 
 mutual feeling of more than liking hetwen Claude and 
 Helen, and this would, she well knew, he quite sufficient 
 to engage all Mrs. Graham's interest for Helen, and prevent 
 the possihility of any rivalry springing up with Susan. For 
 Lady Augusta thought of everything, was on her guard 
 against everything, which might interfere with her favourite 
 project. Scheming herself, she gave others credit for heing 
 scheming likewise. The possibility that Claude might he 
 attracted by Susan, had never left her mind since the day 
 when they sat together at dinner, and she had remarked their 
 confidential tone. What more desirahle for Susan ! What 
 more likely to he the aim of a person in Mrs. Graham's cir- 
 cumstances % Well-horn, well-educated — hut poor, and hav- 
 ing very little opportunity for bringing her daughters into 
 notice, and settling them, as it is called, advantageously in 
 life. Lady Augusta did not, as many less politic tacticians 
 might have done, seek to destroy any rising interest in 
 Claude's mind by observations detracting from Susan's mer- 
 its. " If you wish to make people fall in love, talk about 
 them to each other ; praise or dispraise, it is all the same," 
 was her maxim : and acting upon this, she never mentioned 
 Susan's name to Claude, even to find fault with her. But
 
 IVOES. 101 
 
 she determined upon a course likely to be more efficacious, — 
 that of so preparing and preoccupying the minds of Mrs. 
 Graham and Susan, that they might as by instinct keep 
 themselves in the background, and leave Claude and Helen 
 together. 
 
 For Lady Augusta laughed at Mrs. Graham, patronised, 
 and pretended to look down upon her, but she implicitly 
 trusted her. No worldly prospect would, she knew, for a 
 , moment tempt her to place the advantage jf her own child 
 in competition with the happiness of another. Once give 
 her the idea that there was any feeling of regard between 
 Claude and Helen, and if it had been the dearest wish of 
 Mrs. Graham's heart which was to be sacrificed to further 
 their interests, it would be given without the hesitation of 
 a moment. So also as regarded Susan : let her consider the 
 engagement as likely, and any fear of rivalry would at once 
 be at an end. Claude would be an object of indifference, 
 and the indifference would show itself in her manner and 
 conversation. And then ; — Lady Augusta knew Claude 
 Egerton well, — slow to believe himself liked ; proud, so that 
 he would never trust himself to the risk of rejection ; need- 
 ing, as reserved people generally do, the fascination of ease 
 and animation to unlock the portals of his own affections, 
 Susan would be nothing to him. Lady Augusta's self-con- 
 gratulations when she readied Ivors, and retired to her own 
 room to meditate upon her morning's work, were by no 
 means few. 
 
 And how little Claude Egerton knew or thought of all 
 these manoeuvres ! He was, so he would certainly have said 
 himself, aot at all in love, and not in the least intending to 
 be so. He had spent a fortnight wilh Helen; but what was 
 the acquaintance of a fortnight when the qonsequen.ee was to 
 he a question of years 1 Perhaps he rather piqued himself 
 upon his prudence and stoicism, and knowing that a quick
 
 102 IVORS. 
 
 appreciation of beauty, both in nature and art, was likely to 
 be a snare to him, was peculiarly on his guard against it. 
 A beautiful person came before him to a certain extent at a 
 disadvantage ; he suspected vanity, and dreaded frivolity ; 
 and there might have been a little self-satisfaction (for 
 Claude was but human) in the feeling which had induced 
 him to leave Helen, with her beauty and talents, to gather 
 flowers and cut pencils for plain, uninteresting Miss Hume. 
 The last suspicion which would have crossed his mind was 
 that of having a shade of feeling for Helen beyond that of 
 friendship because he had known her from a child. 
 
 Alas for Claude ! he was in the meshes of the spider's 
 web, and in all the greater danger because he felt himself 
 secure. 
 
 The election was over ; the honourable member for Eam- 
 say duly chaired. Dinners had been eaten, healths drunk, 
 speeches made, the free and independent voters were left to 
 talk over the events of the war, and the ancient borough- 
 town returned to its pristine state of dulness. Mr. Egerton 
 remained for more than a month at his own place — Helms- 
 ley, — superintending and arranging, forming plans for his 
 tenants, looking over his farms ; till within a week of Christ- 
 mas. Then l.e departed, for Christmas was to be spent at 
 Ivors. 
 
 There was a good deal of pleasure in the prospect. 
 Helmsley, indted, was a much finer place than Ivors, but 
 there was no companionship in the magnificent painted walls 
 and broad staircases — the suites of splendid rooms, — the 
 rare pictures, — the gorgeous but old-fashioned furniture. He 
 might fill his house with his gentlemen-friends ; but Claude 
 Egerton could not live only with men. They had no power 
 to draw him out of himself. They could only touch the sur- 
 face of his heart ; and underneath there lay a deep, deep 
 well of passionate feeling, which had never yet been fully
 
 ITOKS. 
 
 103 
 
 sounded, but which at times, -when stirred by the power of 
 music or of poetry, he had striven to fathom, and started 
 back alarmed at the capacity of happiness or of misery which 
 it revealed to him. Man's society and man's affection would 
 never reach the sources of that well ; and Claude, even when 
 he mingled with men, and shared their pursuits, and threw 
 himself with all the ardour of his character into the work 
 which he shared in common with them, never found his hap- 
 piness amongst them. Early recollections of domestic life 
 haunted him.* He longed for the ties of home, such as in his 
 childish memories they appeared to him ; and, whilst dread- 
 ing to risk their real loss by a rash step, he yet found com- 
 fort in anything which gave him the semblance of the life 
 for which he yearned. So, although still distrusting Lady 
 Augusta, he was happy at Ivors, because she was to him 
 kind and soothing ; and caring, as he supposed, nothing for 
 Helen, he felt pleasure in her society, because she was grace- 
 ful and winning in manners, pleasant in conversation, and 
 feminine in taste. She assisted to fill up the space which 
 was one day to be occupied by the perfection of his ideal. 
 For Claude had his ideal, as most persons have. The recol- 
 lection of his mother was its basis ; but it was built up after 
 his own fancy, — not quite a compound of superhuman vir- 
 tues a^d faultless beauty, but something very nearly ap- 
 proaching to it, — something which, if it must have failings, 
 would at least not have those likely to clash with his own 
 peculiarities, and which certainly should not have been 
 formed under the training of any person whom the Admiral 
 could designate as hollow-hearted; 
 
 Strange it is how weak we all are in the point on which 
 we think, and perhaps truly, that we are strong! One of 
 the great objects of Claude Egerton's self-discipline was to 
 keep himself free from prejudice ; and yet that one observa- 
 tion made by his guardian had lingered by him, and intlu-
 
 I I ivor.-. 
 
 enced his judgment, and distorted his perception until, per- 
 haps he was the very last person competent to give a fair 
 opinion of Helen's character. 
 
 Yet she interested him ; — he allowed that to himself, — 
 and felt all the more secure because he could so do. She 
 was continually unfolding some new phase of mind, and thus 
 stimulating his curiosity. He could not make her out. She 
 was paradoxical, — uncertain. There seemed really, at times. 
 a great deal of good in her, but then it was so little to be 
 depended on. He thought much about her, in that calm, 
 speculative way in which he had accustomed himself to think 
 of most women, even whilst the preparations for his election- 
 business were engrossing his time : and now, when it was 
 all over, and he was preparing for rest and recreation, he 
 thought still more. But the meditations were considered 
 perfectly safe. Claude Egertcn was not conceited about 
 most things, but he undoubtedly had too good an opinion of 
 himself to imagine that he could be attracted merely by 
 beauty and an undisciplined mind. 
 
 And in that state of feeling he set off for Ivors, on a 
 bleak, snowy morning in December ; having a journey of 
 some fifty miles before him, partly to be made by railway, 
 partly by one of those remnants of bygone days, a stage- 
 y and comfortable enough it was to wrap him- 
 self in his plaid, and place himself in the corner of the rail- 
 way carriage, his lips hermetically sealed against conversa- 
 tion, and ruminate upon the occurrences of the last few 
 weeks ; and if this alone had been his mode of locomotion, 
 the fifty miles might have been a hundred, and he would 
 have little cared. But the railway transit ended most un- 
 fortunately soon, and then came a lonsr delay in the old- 
 fashioned inn of an old-fashioned town ; the room into which 
 he was shown dulled with smoke, the fire decaying, — nothing 
 to be heard but the roll of an occasional cart, crashing: its
 
 ITOES. 105 
 
 way over the half-melted, dirty ice in the road ; nothing to 
 be seen but the straggling rays of the December sun, mak- 
 ing only more visible the streaks in the window pane, and 
 the dust on the faded crimson drugget which covered the 
 floor. 
 
 The coach would not start for an hour and a half. 
 Claude ordered a mutton chop and some sherry, — wandered 
 out into the town, lionised a grand old church, and mourned 
 and moralised over the church-warden glories of high pews 
 and heavy galleries ; returned to the inn and ate his mut- 
 ton chop, and drank as much of the sour sherry as he thought 
 sufficient to satisfy the landlady's feelings; paid his bill, 
 looked again despairingly out of the window, and thought 
 the hour and a half the longest he had ever known ; medita- 
 ted upon a fly, and gave up the notion when the snow came 
 down ; and at length, precisely as the clock struck three, had 
 the satisfaction of seeing the lumbering vehicle round, 
 though with diflicultv, the angle of entrance intc t*ne inn 
 yard, and draw up in front of the Black Eagle. The inside 
 was empty ; that was no slight consolation under the cir- 
 cumstances. Claude took his seat, devoutly hoping that no 
 other traveller, equally venturous with himself, would be 
 found ready to trust to the comforts of a three-horse coach, 
 when the snow was already in many places some inches 
 deep, and might probably be many more before night closed 
 in. On rolled the wheels along the broad high road, with a 
 slow, proud pace, such as became a vehicle whose ancestry 
 dated from the far-famed fly coach which first started for 
 London in the reign of Queen Anne, occupying three days 
 on the road, and requiring its passengers to take their places 
 over night, that they might be ready to set oft' at daybreak. 
 Claude gazed drearily out of the window upon the broad 
 white fields, the speckled hedges, and the trees standing out 
 clearly pencilled against the leaden sky, and felt as though
 
 106 . IVOKS. 
 
 ho were in a new and unreal world, — a world in which he 
 could he a spectator only, never an actor ; and his mind, 
 usually so active, sunk into torpor; whilst, instead of carry- 
 ing his thoughts on to the busy future, upon which he had now 
 pledged himself to enter, he suffered it to rest in the mere 
 perception of the ceaseless fall of the thick snow-flakes, giv- 
 ing him the pleasant sensation of life without effort, and 
 movement without obstacle. 
 
 Many miles were traversed in this way : lonely cottages 
 seemed to glide by ; still, silent villages, marked by grey 
 church towers ; long Tanges of downs ; here and there a 
 gentleman's house in a park. Claude grew more awake : 
 they were approaching Wing-field, and he looked out for 
 Mrs. Graham's house ; but he could only guess where it 
 would be, for it was too dark to see distinctly. It was 
 pleasant to him to have any object of local interest, and 
 Mrs. Graham was a person peculiarly attractive to him ; much 
 more so than her children ; she had so much more anima- 
 tion. He was leaning rather forward, gazing from the 
 window, when a sudden stop in the progress of the coach 
 threw him back upon his seat. It was not a coach acci- 
 dent, the horses were standing perfectly still ; but the coach- 
 man was calling in loud tones to some one in the road : 
 "Here's a business; tell us what's the matter %" and the 
 guard called also, and a man's leg protruded itself over the 
 window, as the individual to whom it belonged bent him- 
 self over the rail of the coach to look at some dark object in 
 the road. Claude pushed open the door, and asked for in- 
 formation, but could obtain no reply except a low moan. He 
 jumped out, and the guard at the same moment let himself 
 down from the top. " She's got a knock, sir, I'm afraid ; a 
 good job it aint no worse." A young girl was lying on the 
 ground ; Claude tried to raise her up ; she moved, but 
 seemed in pain. "'Twas a near job we hadn't run over
 
 IVORS. 
 
 107 
 
 her," said the guard ; " she was right in the way. Get lip, 
 my good creature ; 'tis hut a hruise after all ; " and he 
 stretched out his hand to assist her, whilst Claude knelt on 
 the ground and put his arm round the girl to support her. 
 In endeavouring to avoid the coach, her foot had slipped, 
 and her head falling against a stone, she was partially 
 stunned. The coachman, impatient at delay, comforted 
 himself by declaring his conviction that " she would soon do 
 perfectly well ; if there were no hones broke she'd come 
 quite to hefself in another second or two; if the gentlemen 
 liked it they might try to get her inside, and take her on to 
 Wingfield : " and Claude and the guard raised the girl in 
 their arms, and placed her in the coach. Claude took off his 
 plaid and made a pillow for her head ; and when he found 
 that the motion of the coach gave her pain, made her rest 
 her foot on the opposite seat. He had a woman's gentleness 
 of manner towards anything suffering and in distress ; and 
 the girl, soothed by his consideration, recovered herself after 
 a time sufficiently to talk to him. " Her name was Hope," 
 she said, " Kate Hope. She had just come from staying with 
 an aunt ; she was lame, and had been lame a long time ; 
 that was the cause of her fall. She had been brought by a 
 cart to within a mile and a half of Wingfield, and had set 
 off to walk the rest of the distance. She was going that 
 night to Mrs. Graham's ; she was to stay there for a 
 week, because it was Christmas. Mrs. Graham and the 
 young ladies had always been her friends;" and she went 
 on to describe their unceasing little acts of kindness, carried 
 on for years, in a simple way, full of gratitude, but as if she 
 had never been made to feel the burden of obligation. 
 
 Claude liked to hear it ; it was just the sort of kindness 
 which pleased him, — unpretending and untiring. He ques- 
 tioned the girl more closely, and found that her father was 
 one of Sir Henry Clare's tenants, a labourer on his estate.
 
 108 IVORS. 
 
 "Lady Augusta," she said, "had been very good to her 
 mother when she was ill with rheumatic fever, the house- 
 keeper had sent some broth twice a week, and Miss Graham 
 had several times given her half-a-crown from Miss Clare, 
 but she had never spoken either to Lady Augusta or the 
 young lady." There was nothing like complaint in her tone 
 when she said this ; she evidently thought that Lady Au- 
 gusta was moving in a sphere beyond her rank, and could 
 not be expected to notice her. But she turned from her to 
 talk of Mrs. Graham, with an eagerness which proved how 
 near the subject was to her heart. 
 
 " The young woman is to stop at Mrs. Gralam's, isn't she, 
 sir 1 " said the guard, coming to the window, as the coach 
 drew up in front of the iron gates. 
 
 " Yes ; is this Mrs. Graham's 1 Stay, I will get out and 
 help her ;" and Claude made the guard move aside whilst he 
 carefully assisted Kate. It was a matter of difficulty, for 
 her lame leg gave her a good deal of pain. Claude could 
 not allow her to walk up to the house by herself. He called 
 to the coachman, " Take my luggage on to the Lodge at 
 Ivors, and leave it there ; I shall walk ; now lean upon me : " 
 and he made Kate rest upon his arm, hastily paid his fare, and 
 the coach drove off. The poor girl was too bewildered by 
 pain to know exactly how much she had to be thankful for, 
 though she did try to murmur something about "giving 
 trouble," and " very kind." Claude was almost afraid that 
 she would faint before she reached the house ; but by slow 
 and cautious steps he managed at length to bring her to the 
 front door, when he delivered her into the care of the ser- 
 vant, and went himself to give an account of his errand to 
 Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " My mistress and the young ladies are in the study, 
 sir," said the servant, as she led Kate away to the kitchen. 
 Mr. Egerton was no stranger to her ; if he had been, she
 
 IVORS. 109 
 
 would have felt then that Kate had the first claim upon her. 
 Servants invariably take their tone from their masters and 
 mistresses, and Mrs. Graham's Martha had been taught con- 
 sideration for suffering by nine years of service. Claude 
 passed through the little hall, lighted by a small lamp, and 
 turning to the right, knocked at the study door. A cheerful 
 though rather surprised, " Come in," answered him. A more 
 bright and peaceful home party could scarcely have been 
 seeii. The little room, with the blazing fire, the lamp, the 
 crimson furniture, and the well-filled book shelves, was most 
 cheering to the eye, after the white deso'ation of the snowy 
 fields. Isabella was sitting on a low chair near her mother, 
 reading aloud : Anna copying music ; Susan and Mrs. Gra- 
 ham working. A few flowers, a present probably from the 
 Ivors greenhouse, were on the table, looking peculiarly love- 
 ly, as flowers always do by lamplight ; and one of Stosan's 
 drawings, a small copy of a child's head from a foreign 
 print, had been placed near them, to bs admired, no doubt, 
 by her mother and sisters. 
 
 Claude felt, what he had no time to ponder upon, the 
 atmosphere of peace, simplicity, and reality, which always 
 pervaded Mrs. Graham's house. His arrival, however, dis- 
 turbed it. Mrs. Graham welcomed him cordially, but hur- 
 riedly ; she felt there must be something amiss to bring him 
 there. 
 
 His explanation was soon made; and even before it was 
 ended, Susan was leaving the room to look after Kate's 
 comfort. 
 
 " She can be put into the little blue room, Susan," said 
 Mrs. Graham; "not Martha's, it will be cold. Tell them to 
 light a fire there, and you can carry that small easy chair 
 into the kitchen, for her to rest for a few minutes till the 
 room is ready. I will be with her directly. Thank you, 
 Mr. Efferton," as Claude offered to take the chair himself ;
 
 110 ivoits. 
 
 •' Susan will carry it easily, it is very light ; " and Susan, 
 laughingly, insisted upon taking the burden upon herself, 
 and went away. 
 
 " I didn't know whether I could do anything else for 
 you," said Claude; "whether, if it should prove a bad inju- 
 ry, the girl had better be taken to the infirmary ; or, per- 
 haps, I could give some message to a surgeon." 
 
 " Thank you, you are very kind ; I don't think the in- 
 firmary will do. Poor child ! she has come here to spend 
 her Christmas. We couldn't send her away ; we shall man- 
 age very well with her ; we are all rather accustomed to 
 nursing ; the surgeon, too, lives just across the street, so that 
 if we want him we can send for him without difficulty. You 
 have given yourself quite trouble enough already. How do 
 you mean to go on to Ivors % " 
 
 " Walk, I think ; it is little more than a couple of miles." 
 
 " In the snow ? and so cold ! " 
 
 " It is not snowing now ; it w r as not, at least, when I 
 came in, and I have had enough of carriages to-day. I shall 
 be in time for dinner at Ivors. They never sit down till 
 seven." 
 
 " It is past six," said Mrs. Graham ; "if you are going, 
 I must be uncivil enough to say that you had better set off." 
 
 " Yes ; " but Claude lingered still ; probably the warmth 
 of the fire was his attraction. 
 
 Susan came back again. " Mamma, Martha and I have 
 moved Kate into the dining-room, and put her upon the lit- 
 tle sofa till her room was ready. Cook's brother was in the 
 kitchen, and it wasn't quite comfortable for her. We made 
 her take off her boot, and she has one of my slippers on. 
 She seems better now, and Martha is going to get her some 
 tea." 
 
 "A change from the high road and the snow!" said 
 Claude.
 
 IVORS. Ill 
 
 " Poor Kate ! I am so sorry for her ! " continued Susan. 
 " She has been looking forward so to this visit ! But she 
 says she doesn't care for anything now she is here. How 
 vexed Miss Harvey will be about it too, mamma ! She had 
 quite set her heart upon seeing Kate to-morrow." 
 
 " It is unfortunate ; but really, Mr. Egerton, you must go.'' 
 
 " You are going to Ivors, I suppose? " said Susan. 
 
 " Yes, to walk there. Have you any commands ? " 
 
 " Only my love to Helen, and I will come over to see 
 her the firstr day I can, — that is, if the house is not filled 
 with grand visitors : if it is, she must come and see me." 
 
 " She will have to entertain her visitors," said Claude. 
 
 " That is Lady Augusta's business, and Helen always 
 manages to have her time free. She has been so busy with 
 her drawing lately, and done such beautiful things." Susan 
 looked at Claude with a pleased expression of face, as 
 though certain that she had said something very agreeable ; 
 but he did not appear to notice her remark. 
 
 " You will try and see the Admiral to-morrow, I dare 
 say ? " said Mrs. Graham. " He has been looking anxiously 
 fur you." 
 
 "I had thought of going to the Lodge first, but Sir 
 Henry put so many reasons before me, I couldn't very well 
 say no to him." 
 
 " Sir Henry, I am sure, could not possibly do without 
 you," observed Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Nor Lady Augusta, nor any of them," exclaimed Su- 
 san. " Everything has been put off till Mr. Egerton came." 
 
 " Has it 1 They are very good ! " Claude spoke ab- 
 stractedly, and took up his hat. " I shall come and inquire 
 after your invalid to-morrow." 
 
 "Kate won't thank you for calling her an invalid," said 
 Susan. "She thinks nothing of her lameness; and I don't 
 really think the bruise is very much."
 
 112 IVOKS. 
 
 Claude did not insist then upon coming the next day. 
 He turned away from Susan, and wished Mrs. Graham good 
 aighit. 
 
 Just at that instant Martha came into the room, beg- 
 ging to speak to Miss Graham ; and Susan bade Claude a 
 very hurried good-bye, with her head full of other things, 
 and hastened away. Claude departed also. 
 
 " Mamma," said Susan, when she happened to be alone 
 with her mother in the study, about half-an-hour afterwards, 
 " I don't think Mr. Egerton was in snch baste to be at Ivors, 
 as I should have expected." 
 
 •' His mind was pre-occupicd," said Mrs. Graham. 
 " He was thinking what he could do for Kate." 
 
 " Helen wouldn't approve of that cold way he puts on 
 when he speaks of her," said Susan. " Mamma, I hope 
 Lady Augusta is not wrong." 
 
 " She takes care not to be," said Mrs. Graham. " She 
 has never told me anything, — only implied it." 
 
 " But it would be very terrible for Helen, if he is cold," 
 said Susan. " If she cares for him, that is — but I don't 
 know, — I don't understand it." 
 
 " I dare say they will manage their little affairs very 
 well, whether we understand them or not," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. " Probably they don't quite know their own minds 
 yet." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but I think Mamma, do women 
 
 ever care for men who don't care for them ? " Susan looked 
 at her mother very earnestly. 
 
 " Sometimes ; not often, we may hope." 
 
 " It would be so sad, — so lowering, humiliating : " and 
 Susan shuddered. 
 
 " Sad, my child, not humiliating. There is nothing 
 really humiliating but that which is sinful." 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! yes — yes. To feel that one had thrown
 
 IVORS. 113 
 
 away one's affection, — that one had offered it even in 
 thought, and heen rejected ! It would lie on my heart and 
 crush me." Susan clasped her hands together, and her eyes 
 sparkled for a moment with eagerness, and then became dim 
 with proud tears. 
 
 Her mother drew her towards her and kissed her. 
 
 " There is a rest for that burden as there is for all 
 others, my darling ; but God grant you may never need it. 
 Yet remember that the grief which received from man 
 crushes us to earth, when received from God bears us to 
 heaven." 
 
 " Poor Helen ! " murmured Susan, brushing away a tear. 
 
 But Mrs. Graham smiled, and said, " There are many 
 sadder prospects in the world than hers, though Claude 
 Egerton may prefer the certainty of a warm fire within 
 doors to the chance of a snow-storm without." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The Ivors party were assembled in the library : Sir Henry 
 and Lady Augusta, Maurice and Helen. There was no one 
 staying in the house ; invitations had all been left till the 
 arrival of Claude Egerton. 
 
 " A clever pamphlet enough ! " said Sir Henry, throwing 
 down a letter upon the Poor Laws : " why don't you read it, 
 Maurice f " 
 
 " Thank you, sir, I don't know that it would particularly 
 interest me." 
 
 " It ought, though. If you ever mean to go into Parlia- 
 ment; you must get up the question." 
 
 " I shall think about it when the necessity comes, sir, I 
 dare say. In the meantime "
 
 11 4 IVORS. 
 
 " You prefer the police reports in the Times," said Helen, 
 rising slowly from her seat, and looking over her brother's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Well enough, for want of something better. It doesn't 
 much matter what it is when one has been out shooting all 
 day." 
 
 " How many brace did you kill ? " asked Lady Augusta. 
 
 "Only two. Hume and I had wretched sport. By-the- 
 by, sir, Moss tells me there are loads of poachers about ; he 
 wants more help." 
 
 " Not my tenants, I trust," said Sir Henry. 
 
 " I didn't inquire. I think, though, that I heard some 
 one say they belong chiefly to the hamlet at Crayke, where 
 those broken-down cottages are." 
 
 .Lady Augusta joined in the conversation, putting aside 
 what looked like a printed report of some society. " Crayke 
 is really a disgraceful place, from all they say of it. I 
 really think, Sir Henry, you might just as well part with 
 that corner of the property. It is a great deal too near 
 Wingfield to be any good to us." 
 
 " It might be improved, I suppose," said Sir Henry. 
 
 " Small hope of that, sir," replied Maurice, " if the sto- 
 ries Moss tells are true." 
 
 "It wants draining," said Sir Henry, thoughtfully. 
 " The marsh makes the place unhealthy." 
 
 " And it would cost hundreds to drain it properly," said 
 Lady Augusta. " I was looking the other day at some agri- 
 cultural report, I forget what, — I had it here ; " and she be- 
 gan searching amongst some papers on a side table. 
 
 " No occasion to look, my dear," observed Sir Henry, 
 shortly ; " I know as well as you do that draining is an ex- 
 pensive process." 
 
 " And till it is drained, of course nothing can be done 
 with it," said Lady Augusta ; " and you will only get a
 
 IVORS. 115 
 
 wretched set of people to live there, bringing every kind of 
 vice into the neighbourhood. Helen, remember, I won't 
 have you go by that Crayke lane." 
 
 " I never do, mamma ; the people are far too disagree- 
 able." 
 
 " And now I think of it," said Lady Augusta, " I doubt 
 whether some rule ought not to be made about the school. 
 If we give our fete to the children, we can't possibly have 
 the Crayke children with the others." 
 
 "I don't see the necessity of omitting them, my dear," 
 said Sir Henry, " if there is no illness amongst them." 
 
 " Oh ! but there may be ; one never can answer for it. 
 I shall give orders to Mr. Brownrigg to have them kept 
 away. I don't want to disappoint them," she added, seeing 
 Helen's impatient look of disapprobation ; " they shall have 
 their tea and cake at home ; but I really must insist upon it, 
 they don't come to the house." 
 
 " They are a dirty little set, as one would wish to see," 
 said Maurice ; " they quite swarm round one, when one rides 
 through the place.' 
 
 " Of course, most objectionable ! So near Wingfield, too. 
 It really is very sad to see the state of the people in this 
 neighbourhood. I don't believe, myself, anything will be 
 done, till we have sisterhoods to work amongst the poor : 
 there is no other wav of reaching them." 
 
 " Draining," said Sir Henry, quietly. 
 
 " You are laughing at me. Gentlemen always do laugh 
 at these suggestions, of which, begging their pardon, they 
 know nothing. The moral influence of sisterhoods has been 
 proved to be enormous ; and why set them down as Komish ? 
 Look on the continent, — at Germany, — see what is done 
 there. It is simply a prejudice which is at work against 
 them." 
 
 " I never said it was not, my dear," said Sir Henry, tak-
 
 110 IVORS. 
 
 ing out his pocket-book, and making a memorandum, head- 
 ed by the word, " Crayke, and draining." 
 
 " Most interesting, this is," said Lady Augusta, again 
 referring to her report. " Helen, love, you must read it." 
 
 " By and by, mamma. When I have nothing else to 
 do," she added, in an under tone, to Maurice. 
 
 " There is a great deal of good done in Wingfield, in one 
 way and another, I believe," observed Sir Henry. " Berry 
 works indefatigably, so does his wife." 
 
 " iX is a pity they have so neglecte 1 their children," ob- 
 served Lady Augusta, shortly. " Grace Berry is really the 
 most gauche creature ; I felt the other day as if I could not 
 possibly ask her here again. And her brother may be a 
 very good young man : but he is so shy one can get nothing 
 out of him." 
 
 " Grace is a good, honest girl," said Sir Henry. 
 
 " So you would say of your housemaid ; but what can one 
 expect from those Wingfield people ? " 
 
 " Frances Graham gets on wonderfully well with them," 
 said Sir Henry. 
 
 " Chacun a son goxit. The very way they dress is enough 
 to disgust one. Flowers, lace, satins, and the perpetual ' my 
 lady,' and ' your ladyship.' It really is too intolerable. I 
 give Mrs. Graham wonderful credit for enduring it." 
 
 " But they are not all of that stamp," observed Sir Hen- 
 ry. " Mrs. Graham's friends are really superior people. She 
 manages to show civil attentions to the others, but she quite 
 knows how to keep them at a proper distance." 
 
 " My dear Sir Henry," — and Lady Augusta spoke em- 
 phatically, — " I see what you are aiming at, — politics ! 
 those dreadful politics ! But remember, I can't give in. If 
 once we break through our rule, and keep open house, we 
 shall have all the mob of the country to entertain. I have 
 acted upon principle — one sacred principle — all through my
 
 IVOKS. 117 
 
 married life. I have most religiously kept our dear child 
 from whatever might have a lowering effect upon her taste 
 and feelings ; and I cannot, I assure you I cannot, he pre- 
 vailed upon to swerve from that principle now. Just when 
 she is entering life, when her perceptions are most acute, 
 most sensitive, I must surround her with everything that is 
 high and ennohling. Indeed, Sir Henry, you make me very 
 anxious when you propose such things ; " and Lady Augusta 
 drew out her emhroidered handkerchief to wipe away her 
 anxiety, and Sir Henry took refuge from his — in the Poor 
 Laws. 
 
 Helen sat, as she had heen sitting for the last quarter of 
 an hour, leaning her elbow upon the arm of her chair, rest- 
 ing her forehead on her hand, and thinking- — what were her 
 thoughts ? 
 
 " Mr. Egerton, my lady, in the hall. He begs you will 
 not wait dinner for him. He has walked from Wingfield." 
 
 Helen started up, so did Lady Augusta. Sir Henry was 
 in the hall before the servant had time to return to Claude ; 
 Lady Augusta followed. 
 
 "Walked from Wingfield'? my good fellow, what did 
 you do that for % But you are come at last, and good luck 
 to ye, as the Irish say," and Sir Henry shook Claude cor- 
 dially by both hands. 
 
 " We were becoming quite anxious about you, dear 
 Claude," murmured Lady Augusta, laying her soft fingers, 
 with their brilliant rings, upon Claude's rough wintercoat. 
 " You know your way to your room — your own room — unoc- 
 cupied since you left us. Don't hurry, don't distress your- 
 self; we are only ourselves — a family party. But just let 
 Helen and Maurice have the pleasure of slinking hands with 
 you before you go up stairs." 
 
 Maurice was still sitting comfortably by the fire. He 
 was not much in the habit of disturbing himself for any one,
 
 118 IVORS. 
 
 much less for an old friend like Claude Egerton, with whom he 
 felt quite at home. But Helen was already at the drawing- 
 room door, ready to welcome Claude with one of her sweet- 
 est smiles, and a cordial " I am so glad to see you ! " which 
 went to his heart much more than Lady Augusta's anxiety. 
 Yes, it was pleasant to find one house in which every one 
 brightened at his approach. 
 
 " Now we won't keep you," said Lady Augusta. ' ; Din- 
 ner will be ready in ten minutes, and you shall tell us your 
 adventures presently." 
 
 " Political adventures too ! " exclaimed Sir Henry. 
 " Lady Augusta and Helen haven't heard half from me . 
 what you can tell them yourself. Curious discoveries in 
 human nature to be made in a contested election, eh, 
 Claude 1" 
 
 And Claude smiled an assent, but did not promise to re- 
 late his discoveries, perhaps shrinking from the recollection 
 of the scenes of which he had been unavoidably a witness. 
 
 He made his appearance again in a quarter of an hour, 
 as short a time as could have been expected, considering the 
 condition in which he had arrived. 
 
 Dinner was ordered immediately ; a comfortable little 
 dinner in what was called the study, a much more sociable 
 apartment than the large, handsome, but dreary dining-room. 
 
 " This is very home-like," was Claude's observation, as 
 he seated himself next to Helen at the round table. 
 
 " Glad to hear you say so, my dear fellow," observed Sir 
 Henry, giving him his hand. " There is no one I wish to 
 feel more at home at Ivors than yourself." 
 
 And Helen turned to Claude, and added, " We shall not 
 enjoy such comfortable little dinners next week, when all the 
 gaieties commence." 
 
 " But we must hear your adveutures," began Lady Au- 
 gusta.
 
 IVORS. 119 
 
 " Let him eat his soup, my dear ; — and some wine. 
 Dale, give Mr. Egerton the wine. Two miles' walk on a 
 December evening, with snow some inches deep on the 
 ground " 
 
 " Is nothing to boast of, or to think of," said Claude, 
 lightly. " Helen, I have a message for you from your cousin, 
 Miss Graham." 
 
 " Oh ! you stopped at Wingfield," said Lady Augusta. 
 There was a great effort to show that she thought it quite nat- 
 ural that he, should do so, but it failed. Claude perceived a 
 change in her tone, and looked up in surprise. Helen, too, 
 glanced at Lady Augusta, and went on eating her soup in 
 silence. 
 
 " Yes, I stopped at Wingfield," continued Claude, " to 
 give Mrs. Graham the charge of a poor girl who had been 
 knocked down, or rather who had fallen in trying to escape 
 being knocked down by the coach." 
 
 Lady Augusta was relieved. " Oh ! very kind of you ! 
 extremely considerate ! but that, my dear Claude, you always 
 were." 
 
 " I don't know that," replied Claude, bluntly. " Mrs. 
 Graham is the considerate person — and her daughter, Su- 
 san ; — I must call her Susan to you," he added, laughing, 
 and addressing Helen. " Don't tell her I take such a lib- 
 erty ; I am decidedly Mr. Egerton to her, as she once told 
 me." 
 
 " Susan is very proper," said Lady Augusta, the words 
 seeming to make their way with difficulty through her half- 
 closed lips. 
 
 " Susan is wonderfully good," said Helen. " The way in 
 which she adopts all the old women and dirty children in 
 Wingfield is a perfect example. I declare sometimes, when 
 I am with her, I begin to think that every one who is not 
 collecting nigs or teaching the alphabet, is leading a useless 
 life."
 
 120 irons. 
 
 " There arc different occupations according to different 
 positions in life," said Lady Augusta, oracularly. " Susan 
 ( j raham's circle is not that which would suit you, Helen." 
 
 " Not at all, mamma ; I never dreamt for one moment 
 that it would. She has been reading sermons every day for 
 the last ten years to a blind old lady, who is growing, be- 
 sides, so deaf, that I wonder Susan hasn't cracked her voice 
 long before this, in attempting to make her hear." 
 
 " It is the fashion," observed Maurice ; " all young ladies 
 take to that kind of thing now. They run after sermons 
 and services as they do after the opera." 
 
 " That scarcely applies to Miss Graham," said Claude. 
 
 " Not in the least," observed Sir Henry. " Susan Gra- 
 ham hasn't a particle of cant about her. A nice, good- 
 humoured girl, who dresses well, talks well " 
 
 "Nay, my dear Sir Henry, excuse me, that is just what 
 Susan Graham does not do ; she is very estimable, but deci- 
 dedly dull. Claude, may I trouble you to cut up that chick- 
 en ? " and Lady Augusta became suddenly interested in the 
 appetites of the party, and particularly anxious that Helen 
 should make up for some deficiency in that respect, which 
 she professed to have remarked lately. But the conversa- 
 tion would come round again to the unwelcome topic, or to 
 something approaching it, in spite of Lady Augusta's efforts. 
 Sir Henry, slow of comprehension in matters of feeling, and 
 very trying to his wife in consequence, insisted upon know- 
 ing the particulars of Kate Hope's accident, and what had 
 been done for her. " He knew the Hopes," he said ; " they 
 were Crayke people. He had never heard anything about a 
 lame daughter; he supposed the housekeeper could tell 
 everything about her, she had lists of the poor people." 
 
 " You know her," said Claude, addressing Helen ; " she 
 told me you had often sent her half-a-crown by your cousin." 
 
 " Possibly ! I don't remember. Does she want any more 
 now?" asked Helen, with interest. 

 
 IVORS. 121 
 
 Claude smiled. " I dare say she does, but I am not 
 quite the person to say. You could hear from your cousin 
 easily. The girl is going to stay there." 
 
 " Stay at Mrs. Graham's ? A trirl from Cravke 1 " in- 
 quired Lady Augusta, in a tone of alarm. 
 
 "To spend her Christmas, I believe," said Claude. 
 
 " A most singular fancy," observed Lady Augusta. " I 
 don't know any one more peculiar than Mrs. Graham." 
 
 " Is the Crayke young lady to take up her abode in the 
 drawing-room, and do worsted-work ? " inquired Helen. 
 
 " Not quite, I imagine ; but I really asked no questions. 
 It seemed to me that there was a good deal of kind thought 
 bestowed upon her." 
 
 " And a good deal of unwise action," continued Lady 
 Augusta, solemnly. " Unquestionably, Mrs. Graham risks a 
 great deal by the way she brings up her girls. What did you 
 tell me, Helen, the other day, of the curious parties she has 
 in the winter ? " 
 
 " Children's parties," said Helen, " with games, and a 
 Christmas-tree, and that sort of thing ; to which she asks 
 the very oddest people ; persons one never heard of, — abo- 
 rigines, Hottentots. Susan owned to me that it was a con- 
 siderable tax ; but aunt Fanny has such an idea of duties to 
 society, and what she calls opening the door for kindness." 
 
 " And vou don't asrree with her ? " said Claude. 
 
 " I don't know. I don't disagree ; that is, I never 
 thought about it ; only one always fancies that society is a 
 question of taste. And, really, I don't see why one is to 
 put oneself out of the way for vulgar people." 
 
 "Principle, not taste, my dear Helen," observed Lady 
 Augusta. "Vulgarity arises from some defect in the mind. 
 That is my objection to it. You must agree with me, 
 Claude ? " 
 
 "I suppose I must," said Claude, thoughtfully ; "only, —
 
 122 ivoks. 
 
 I don't know whether I do the world injustice, — hut it 
 strikes me sometimes, that with two-thirds of the people 
 whom one meets, it is merely a question of the disease, exter- 
 nal or internal." 
 
 " I think that too," said Helen, gently. 
 
 " Do you % " Claude looked pleased. " I am glad we are 
 beginning with agreement." 
 
 " I am in a good humour to-day," replied Helen. " Be- 
 sides, as a rule, I can't bear my fellow-creatures ; so it is a 
 comfort to find fault with them." 
 
 Claude laughed, looking at the same time as if he 
 thought he ought to be grave, and Helen, to try him a little 
 more, began a ludicrous account of some absurd people of 
 pretension, whom she had met with in a railway carriage. 
 
 When she was not personal, he could enjoy her descrip- 
 tions as much as any one. His spirits rose, partly from the 
 mere fact of being amused, partly also from the home feel- 
 ing, to which he was peculiarly susceptible after his loneli- 
 ness. There was something also in Helen's ease which put 
 him at ease ; he repeated anecdotes of his own experience, 
 in pretension and vulgarity ; and, being led on by Sir Hen- 
 ry, was persuaded at last to give some of his best election 
 stories, which Helen enjoyed from their novelty. The din- 
 ner was altogether a very merry one. Claude liked the un- 
 usual phase of himself, which contact with Helen exhibited. 
 I It was a pleasant feeling, which he never had in the society 
 of men. He sat by her the greater part of the evening, 
 made her sing some of his favourite songs, promised to teach 
 her chess, by way of occupation, if they were snowed up ; 
 and being made entirely one of the family, agreed to meet 
 at a council the next morning, to decide the programme of 
 proceedings for the Christmas festivities. 
 
 "But approve of her ? Certainly he did not. Trust her ? 
 How could he ? with the Admiral's warning: rin"-in°; in his
 
 ivohs. 123 
 
 ear. Marry her? The thought did not even cross his mind. 
 He went to sleep that night, thinking of his ideal of a 
 woman, and — dreamed of Helen. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The snow continued for some days, and very heavily ; the 
 roads were .pronounced impassable. Claude, however, made 
 one great effort, and walked over to the Lodge, where he 
 found the Admiral gouty, and, as a consequence, cross ; 
 angry with him for having gone to Ivors first, which was a 
 plan he had before quite acquiesced in ; angry with Mrs. 
 Graham because she did not come to see him, though he had 
 himself sent her a message to beg she would not venture in 
 the snow ; angry more than all with himself for being angry. 
 
 " There, you must forgive me, my boy," he said, giving 
 his hand to Claude, after the grumbling spirit had a little 
 exhausted itself. "You'll have the twinge yourself, some 
 day, then you'll understand." 
 
 " I think I can understand now, sir, without it ; at any 
 rate, I shall try, that I may not require such a sharp lesson 
 to teach me. My father had the gout, you know." 
 
 •■All! yes, poor fellow! I remember. But it is apt to 
 over one generation, so there's a hope for you. Oh 
 dear! move the stool; a little nearer; gently, now, gently. 
 Where's that fellow Barnes gone?" 
 
 '• He left us to talk, sir, I suppose." 
 
 " Fool ! — I beg your pardon, Claude. Ring the bell, and 
 tell him I want him." 
 
 Barnes was only in the next room, and returned imme- 
 diately. "Barnes, give me my letters ; not those, what are 
 you thinking of? Oh dear! don't mind me, Claude. There,
 
 121 n r ORS. 
 
 give me the letters, — now go," and Barnes retired in perfect 
 good humour. 
 
 " A man's a saint, Claude, that keeps his temper with 
 the gout. Just open the letters ; there's one I want to show 
 you. It's about Frances Graham's business. You know I 
 am trustee for her and the children. You'll tell it by the 
 hand ; a capital, clear, round hand ; it's little Susan's 
 copying." 
 
 Claude found the letter, read it, and discussed it ; a note 
 from Susan was read also, giving her mother's opinion upon 
 the point in question, which had something to do with the 
 sale of some property. 
 
 " Frances Graham hasn't been to see me for a week," 
 observed the Admiral, " else there wouldn't have been the 
 need for writing ; but she knows how to make her girl use- 
 ful. A lawyer couldn't have written a better letter than that." 
 
 "Not so good, probably," observed Claude. "He cer- 
 tainly would have used more words." 
 
 " Short, and to the purpose. It's the way with all the 
 child does," observed the Admiral, looking Claude full in the 
 face. " Deeds, not words. It's a motto yon like, Claude, 
 eh?" 
 
 Claude gave an assent, not hearty enough to please the 
 Admiral, who changed the subject suddenly and became po- 
 litical, and Claude was soon deep in the history of his elec- 
 tion ; the Admiral c 'oss-questioning him in a tone which 
 might have suited a barrister who feels his strong point about 
 to be undermined. But even politics, though generally an 
 engrosing topic, did not long please. A ring at the bell, 
 which proved, however, only to be a message, brought the 
 Admiral back again to more personal matters. He thought it 
 might be Mrs. Graham, and would not be satisfied by hear- 
 ing from Claude that the roads were in such a state, it would 
 be out of the question for a lady to attempt the walk.
 
 ivors. 125 
 
 " Not walk ? why not 1 She'll go about enough in 
 "Wingfield, I'll answer for it. If she couldn't come, the girls 
 might. I thought better of Susan ; but they are all alike. 
 I suppose your fine ladies at Ivors don't put their noses out 
 of doors?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; Helen and I walked for some 
 time on the colonnade this morning." 
 
 The old man half turned himself round in his chair, and 
 a frown contracted his forehead. "Helen and you! How 
 long has that been, I should like to know 1 " His eye was 
 almost fierce in its expression. 
 
 Claude felt his colour rise, very absurdly, as he was 
 aware, but that consciousness did not tend to decrease his 
 uncomfortable feeling. He answered lightly: "We have 
 always called each other by our Christian names, sir. You 
 know we are cousins ; at least, so Lady Augusta will have 
 it. It is easier to say Helen than Miss Clare. You are 
 not alarmed for me, are you 1 " and he laughed rather awk- 
 wardly. 
 
 " Did you ever see a spider spread a net for a fly ? " 
 asked the Admiral, sharply. 
 
 Claude looked annoyed. " My dear sir, you must for- 
 give me ; I really can't talk such nonsense seriously. Helen 
 Clare is pretty and amusing enough, but not at all the kind 
 of person I should choose for my wife, which I suppose is 
 what you mean, even if I were thinking about marrying, 
 which I really am n ">t." 
 
 " Well ! — so far, well ! " said the Admiral, his face relax- 
 ing ; " but that old woman at Ivors would be a match for a 
 hundred such youngsters as you, my boy. Cousins, indeed! 
 haven't I seen hundreds tied together for life, like or not 
 like, merely because they began by being cousins? Trust 
 me, Claude, keep yourself out of the snare. The girl's well 
 looking enough, though, for myself, I'd rather have one
 
 126 ivors. 
 
 glance of my little Susan's honest eye, than twenty thousand 
 of such fly-away looks as hers ; hut she's not made for you. 
 A fashionable, flimsy creature, that would slip through your 
 fingers, and leave you without a grain of comfort ! Be on 
 your guard, I say." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, for the warning. When I begin to 
 think of Helen Clare for a wife, I will remember it." 
 
 "Trust Lady Augusta for giving you time for that. 
 Why, my good fellow, if she has set her heart upon it, she'll 
 have you in for it, license, ring, cake, and favours, all ready, 
 and you fastened up before you can turn round and ask 
 whether your hand is your own." 
 
 " You do me too much honour, sir, by imagining that 
 Lady Augusta has any such designs. When she has all 
 London to choose from, she will scarcely take the trouble to 
 plan so much to entrap a humble individual like myself." 
 
 " Humble ! with twelve thousand a year ; you are too 
 great a fool, Claude ! " 
 
 " There are men with twenty thousand and a title to be 
 had for the seeking," said Claude, laughing. 
 
 " Maybe ! But you don't know the woman as I do. 
 She's a schemer on principle. That's a worse kind of 
 schemer than any other. She'll have you, Claude, not mere- 
 ly because you have twelve thousand a-year, but because she 
 sets you down as a man to stand high in the eyes of the 
 world. Lady Augusta Clare care for money or rank ! Oh, 
 no ! " and the Admiral burst into an irritable laugh. " Tal- 
 ent, — reputation — goodness, — goodness," he repeated the 
 word, ironically ; " those are the prizes. If they all ride 
 together in a coach-and-six, well and good ! and if they 
 don't, ten chances to one that they never reach my lady's 
 door ; but the coach-and-six are not to be put to weigh in 
 the balance, oh, no ! " 
 
 Claude laughed again, and this time more freely. "If
 
 ivoes. 127 
 
 I am taken in, sir, as you would call it, it will certainly 
 not be for want of warning ; but I think, if you saw Helen 
 and myself together, you would agree with me that no two 
 people could be more safe." 
 
 " Safe ! my good fellow ; there's no one safe. Just look 
 round the world, and see where's the clever man that has 
 got a sensible wife — not one in a hundred. The more wis- 
 dom a man has in his head, the more folly he is likely to 
 have in his heart." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; but I don't pique myself upon my 
 wisdom, so I feel that the observation doesn't apply to me ; 
 and for Helen, you would scarcely call a man a fool for mar- 
 rying her." 
 
 " I would, though. What does a man want in a wife ? 
 Not a whirligig thing, that changes with every change of the 
 wind, and knows no medium between crying and laughing ; 
 but a steady, good-humoured, rational companion, ready with 
 a smile at any moment, able to help him through his difficul- 
 ties, putting number one always in the background. Xo 
 pupil of Lady Augusta Clare ever did that, Claude." 
 
 " I see no reason why she shouldn't be taught to do it," 
 replied Claude. " Besides, I really think you do Helen in- 
 justice, sir. She certainly is not selfish." 
 
 "What do you call selfishness, then? Look at Susan 
 Graham, working for others from morning till night; tak- 
 ing all the trouble from her mother in housekeeping ; look- 
 ing after the poor and the schools ; writing a capital hand, 
 yes, a capital hand," and the Admiral took up Susan's letter 
 again : " she's a girl worth something. But for the other ! 
 a fine lady, with her flounces and furbelows, why, she's fit for 
 nothing but to work shepherdesses in that worsted-work they 
 are always at." 
 
 Claude looked grave. The Admiral added, pettishly, 
 "Why don't you speak, man ? What are you thinking of 1 ?"
 
 128 ivors. 
 
 " Nothing that would please you, I am afraid, sir." 
 "Have it out — have it out. What's the mischief? Is 
 the girl Mrs. Egerton already % " and the Admiral made a 
 sudden move which obliged him almost to scream with pain. 
 Claude arranged the gouty cushions, and answered slow- 
 ly as he did so : " Helen would not thank you for the sug- 
 gestion, sir. She has no wish to be Mrs. Egerton ; but if 
 she were my wife, or the wife of any man whom she loved, 
 she has powers of self-devotion which would make her give 
 up everything for her husband's happiness." 
 
 "Self-devotion! Fiddlesticks! How is a woman to 
 learn self-devotion after marriage, when she has done noth- 
 ing but learn self-love before it 1 " 
 
 " We differ a little there, my dear sir. I grant you that 
 Lady Augusta's training would have taught selfishness, if 
 any training could ; but Helen is wonderfully unspoilt, and 
 has a very noble nature." 
 
 "Well ! so have other people ; so has my little Susan," 
 said the Admiral. 
 
 " Miss Graham does seem a very amiable person," was 
 Claude's cold reply. 
 
 It was too much for the Admiral's patience. He threw 
 himself back in his chair, muttering to himself, " He's gone, 
 — the boy's gone. Amiable, indeed ! amiable ! I had rather 
 hear him say, she's a vixen." 
 
 Claude, sorry to have annoyed him, took up the defen- 
 sive tone. " My dear sir, you really misunderstand me. Of 
 course, I don't mean to institute any comparison between 
 Helen and Miss Graham, or Miss Anybody." 
 
 " Anybody ! my good fellow ; hold your tongue, if you 
 don't mean to drive me frantic." 
 
 And Claude was for a moment silent, and then continued 
 again. " I assure you, my dear sir, I have the greatest re- 
 spect for Miss Graham ; if it Avere only as being Mrs. Gra-
 
 ivors. 129 
 
 ham's daughter. You know Mrs. Graham is one of my oldest 
 and best friends ; I could not but feel great respect." 
 
 " Ring the bell, Claude." The Admiral's lips were firmly 
 shut, and he only opened them again to order Barnes to 
 bring luncheon. 
 
 Claude, innocent and ignorant of his offence, tried in 
 vain to brinsr him back to s:ood humour. He ate his luncheon 
 in silence, refused even to let Claude pour out his glass of 
 wine, and was, in face, thoroughly put out. 
 
 Claude, knew him sufficiently well to understand how to 
 manage him. He took no notice, but went on for some time 
 talking upon indifferent subjects ; and, when he found he 
 could obtain no reply, had recourse to a book. When the 
 Admiral prepared for his afternoon's nap, Claude prepared 
 for his departure. 
 
 " I shall come and see you again, sir, the very first day 
 I can, and brin^ vou the sketch Sir Henrv and I have drawn 
 out upon the Poor-Law Question : I should like to have your 
 opinion of it." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Claude looked about for his gloves, and went towards the 
 door. The Admiral thought he was going. 
 
 " Claude, I say, Claude ! " The voice was weak and 
 graft", but unquestionably relenting. Claude turned back 
 directlv. 
 
 " Do you want anything, dear sir ? your pillows moved .' " 
 
 The Admiral caught his hand. His eyes, dim with age, 
 were still more shadowed with tears. " I'm a fool, Claude, 
 — forgive me : but the child is like my own ; so are you. 
 There, go, and God bless you! and don't be taken in by 
 Lady Augusta." 
 
 Poor old man ! He had marred his own object by those 
 last words. They sent Claude away — again thinking upon 
 Helen, and precisely in the way most likely to interest him
 
 130 IVORS. 
 
 in her. All noble dispositions are inclined to take part -with 
 the accused ; and Claude was singularly generous, — anxious 
 to support the injured, willing to confess himself in the 
 wrong. The Admiral had infused into his mind a suspicion 
 of Helen's sincerity, before he could be said to know her ; 
 and for a while it had worked to her prejudice. It might 
 have continued there still, but for this interview, in which 
 prejudice had been so clearly shown that he was at once put 
 upon his guard. In defending her, he had brought out his 
 own secret opinions, and had said things which he had never 
 yet allowed to himself. He had called her wonderfully un- 
 spoilt, — capable of self-devotion : never till that day had he 
 realised the fact ; but it was a truth, and he dwelt upon it 
 pleasantly, with a feeling of rest. Ivors was more charm- 
 ing to him than it had been before ; the thought of Helen 
 was a greater attraction. He went over, in his own mind, 
 all that the Admiral had said of her and of Susan, with the 
 secret feeling that the prejudice which worked so strongly 
 against the one might be equally misleading in favour of the 
 other, — allowing Helen's faults, but excusing them, — allow- 
 ing Susan's virtues, but distrusting them. Meddling with 
 such matters is, indeed, playing with edged tools. Claude 
 Egerton had advanced many degrees nearer what the Admi- 
 ral would have thought the edge of the precipice, by the 
 time he reached Ivors. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Christmas Day fell upon a Tuesday. Public lestivities were 
 to begin on the Wednesday following, in the form of a grand 
 3chool fete, with a Christmas-tree and magic Ian thorn, to be 
 given in the hall at Ivors to the children of the Ivors school,
 
 IVORS. 131 
 
 — not a National school, but one especially under Lady Au- 
 guta Clare's superintendence. The school treat was Lady 
 Augusta's pet plan for giving, as she said, a tone of right 
 feeling to the whole. It would show that the rich could 
 sympathise with the poor, and treat them with consideration. 
 She felt it was setting a good example in the neighbour- 
 hood ; and this they were, of course, bound to consider. 
 Her eloquence showed itself not only in speaking, but in 
 writing. She dispatched three sheets of note paper by way of 
 invitation to, her cousin, Lady Louisa Stuart, and sent simi- 
 lar, though shorter, documents to her aunt, Mrs. Grey, and 
 her intimate friend, Miss Manners, in all which, she took 
 care to insist upon the principle on which such entertain- 
 ments were to be conducted ;-■ — the sacrifice made by the rich, 
 — the gratitude necessarily felt by the poor. Very well writ- 
 ten notes they were, — the sentences well rounded, the words 
 well chosen, — the only objection to them being that, like 
 most of Lady Augusta's productions, they were so full of 
 many meanings as to end in having none. 
 
 "Mamma takes the school children under her care," said 
 Helen to Claude, as they stood talking together by the fire, 
 after a long breakfast on the Saturday before Christmas Day. 
 " I propose that we take the grown-up children under ours. 
 Do you know whom we are to have ? " 
 
 " Humes, Mordaunts, Grahams," he stopped. 
 
 " Grahams, not to be put in with the rest of the world," 
 said Helen, " I like my cousins a great deal too well for that." 
 
 He began again, " Humes Mordaunts." 
 
 Helen interrupted him, " Please, be merciful; they are 
 the only names I have heard for the last six months, and L 
 am heartily weary of them." 
 
 " The only names I have heard either," replied Claude, 
 "unless I go back to the Dobsons, Smiths, and Drowns, of 
 Ramsay."
 
 132 ivoks. 
 
 " Then you have not seen mamma's list. I may as well 
 show it you, if we are to take counsel about it." Helen pro- 
 duced a paper from her pocket-book. " Now, then, for ma- 
 terials. Lady Louisa Stuart, a hundredth cousin, elderly, 
 blue, six feet high ; writes in magazines, quotes Shakespeare 
 till one is inclined to wish he never had lived, and will do 
 very well for Lady Macbeth, if we get up a tableau." 
 
 " Mrs. Grey ! a good, dear old lady of seventy, who likes 
 everybody, and thinks mamma an oracle. Miss Manners, 
 my abomination ! Don't tell mamma that ; she is a very 
 dear friend. A mixture of science and Germanism, drowned 
 in ologies, and devoted to Kant. A woman who talks desira- 
 bly of Being and Existence, and makes you heartily wish 
 you could forget her own. Mr. Drayson ! a good man I be- 
 lieve, at least, I never heard any harm of him except that 
 everybody rims after him. I don't see what business he has 
 to leave his parish just now ; but he knows best. He won't 
 do for a charade or a tableau, so we may put him aside." 
 
 " I don't see anything very hopeful for charades, if these 
 are all we are to have," said Claude. 
 
 "You are so impatient. There is one of Maurice's 
 friends, a Mr. Pearson, a barrister ; and mamma's cousin, 
 Captain Movdaunt, more stocked with good nature than with 
 brains, but who will do very well for a door-post ; and there 
 will be Miss Humf, and Mary, and my three cousins ; and, 
 oh! I forgot, Jane Aubrey, Lord Steyne's daughter, and per- 
 haps Lord Steyne himself. Jane is a very good-natured girl, 
 very clever, — pretty too. I have seen her make an admirable 
 Rebecca." 
 
 " And they all come on Wednesday to the school treat, 
 do they ? " inquired Claude. 
 
 " Nearly all, I believe. You know when we do a good 
 deed, it is as well to let the world know it," said Helen, 
 looking at him archly.
 
 ivoks. 133 
 
 " You are sarcastic," replied Claude. 
 
 " Am I ? I only say what I think. Mr. Berry and Aunt 
 Fanny give a school treat in Wingfield every year, but the 
 world are not asked to it, and so they get no praise for it." 
 
 " It is the clergyman's duty," said Claude, in a dry tone. 
 
 " Some one else can be sarcastic besides me," observed 
 Helen. " After all, it is a comfortable thing to be in a po- 
 sition in which one has no duties, or next to none ; a very 
 little goes such a great way then." 
 
 A sisrh fullowed the remark, and Helen sat down in the 
 arm-chair by the fire, and began to study a newspaper. 
 
 " If you would learn to say what you really mean, you 
 would help both yourself and others, Helen," observed 
 Claude, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Words are nothing. What does it signify whether they 
 have a meaning or not ? " 
 
 " Words form our characters as much as actions do," said 
 Claude. • 
 
 " Characters for words, you mean." 
 
 " Xo ; begging your pardon. I always say what I 
 mean." 
 
 " I shall turn you over to discuss Being with Miss Man- 
 ners," said Helen, pettishly; "I don't understand meta- 
 physics." 
 
 Claude smiled faintly " I shan't thank you for that, by 
 your own account. But we won't talk metaphysics if you 
 dislike it." 
 
 " I don't dislike it ; at least, not more than I dislike 
 everything and everybody." 
 
 Claude was silent. 
 
 Helen pretended to read, but she looked up after a few 
 nioment8, and said simply, and in a tone of earnestness, 
 "Have I offended you?" 
 
 He started, and his eye flashed eagerly ; then became
 
 1 34 ivors. 
 
 again cold and severe, as he answered, " I have no right to 
 be offended with you, and there is nothing to be offended at." 
 
 " But vexed, — have I vexed you ? I should he very 
 sorry." 
 
 The tone, so musically gentle, and the bright, candid 
 glance of Helen's eye, would have touched a far colder tem- 
 perament than Claude's. But he kept a strict guard over 
 himself, and answered with apparent indifference : " You vex 
 me for yourself, for nothing else." 
 
 " I have said something naughty," said Helen, folding 
 her hands like a penitent child. " Please forgive ; I don't 
 know at all what it was." 
 
 Claude laughed, and answered, " I ought by this time to 
 be accustomed to hear that you dislike everybody. I have 
 been told so often enough." 
 
 " Fa^on cle parler" said Helen. " I would not on any 
 account commit murder." 
 
 " But," — Jie paused, and turned away ; " it is no good ; I 
 only bore you." 
 
 " If you were but a clergyman, you might preach," said 
 Helen, provokingly. 
 
 " Yes, and not being one, I must hold my tongue." 
 
 " Now I think of it, I should like to be a clergymai , of 
 all things," exclaimed Helen. " I should so delight to be 
 able to get up in a pulpit, and tell everybody what I thought 
 of them. Naughty again, isn't it ? " she added, with an- 
 other of those winning glances, for which Claude, in spite 
 of himself, watched as for the flash of the summer lightning. 
 
 " I doubt which would be the most annoyed when your 
 sermon was ended," he said, " yourself or your hearers." 
 
 " Myself annoyed, because I spoke the truth % " 
 
 " It would not be the truth, any more than it is true to 
 Bay that you dislike everybody." 
 
 " I am the best judge of my own words ; and at any
 
 ivoks. 135 
 
 rate, I don't ask for an opinion upon them," said Helen, 
 petulantly. 
 
 Claude smiled. " This is too silly in us, Helen ; we 
 always contrive to end in this way. I don't know why." 
 
 " But I do," replied Helen. " Because you are always 
 cavilling at my words, — preaching to me." 
 
 " Well ! I am, I am ; I confess it. I am very tiresome, 
 very troublesome. I am not so, at least I hope not, to any 
 one else. But Helen, you do yourself injustice, — and I 
 ought not to .care, — but I do." 
 
 His face became crimson, then pale, and muttering some- 
 thing about letters to write, without another word he left the 
 room. 
 
 Claude paced the colonnade in a tumult of agitation, 
 angry with himself, ashamed, frightened. What had he 
 said, done, felt ? Hid Helen understand ? Would she put 
 any interpretation on his words ? was there really any inter- 
 pretation to be put? He did not know why he had spoken 
 in that wav, — he had no intention of doin^r so a moment 
 before. Yet he was the last man in England, — so at least 
 he considered himself, — to be led away by a hasty feeling. 
 What he had said was, however, really nothing. He had 
 declared himself vexed that Helen should do herself injus- 
 tice; p°rfectly true, and very natural. Why that strange, 
 confusing consciousness of indiscretion should have crossed 
 him, he could not tell, but it was there, he was unable to 
 escape from it. He tried to forget it, but it would not go. 
 I lare ! yes, he did care for Helen ; her growth in goodness, 
 her consistency, and rightmindedness, as he might and ought 
 to care for any one who had been the friend and playmate 
 of his boyhood, but she was nothing to him. He had his 
 dream, his ideal to rest upon ; and Helen, wayward, petu- 
 lant, proud, severe with others, indulgent to herself, was as 
 far removed from the gentle, humble, .self-denying, sympa-
 
 136 ivoes. 
 
 thising being of his imagination, as if she had been the crea- 
 ture of another world. Yet he thought of her ; her face 
 haunted him ; her voice rang in his ears ; she was before him 
 wherever he turned, with her graceful movements, her be- 
 witching smile. The very moment after he had said she was 
 nothing to him, he was dwelling upon every word she had 
 uttered, thinking what she meant, what she felt ; conjectur- 
 ing Avhat there might be beneath the thick veil of self-delu- 
 sion and inconsistency ; longing to reach her true mind, to 
 direct and guide her, to lead her to high and noble objects. 
 Thought travelled on ; he grew calmer, his pace slackened. 
 He pictured Helen not as she was, but as she might be ; 
 lovely, winning, candid, generous, affectionate still ; but self- 
 controlled, earnestly religious, her life given to her fellow- 
 creatures, her heart to God. It was a hope of Heaven rather 
 than of earth which followed ; it made his heart beat rapid- 
 ly, his blood rush wildly through his veins. 
 
 For the first time Helen Clare's reality, and Claude 
 Egerton's ideal, had in imagination met and become one. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The weather changed suddenly on Christmas Eve ; a tha 1 
 came, with a bright sun, the snow melted rapidly, and tht 
 roads were even more impassable than before, for those who 
 disliked mud. But the Admiral was happy. The gout was 
 gradually leaving him ; and Mrs. Graham, less afraid of a 
 dirty road than of a bitter wind, which might have been in- 
 jurious to Isabella, whose constitution was delicate, had 
 offered to pass Christmas Day with him. They were to be 
 at the Lodge the evening before, all but Charlie, who had 
 been carried off, much against his sister's will, to spend a
 
 ITORS. 137 
 
 little time with a schoolfellow, and was not expected at, 
 Winsffield for some da vs. 
 
 The old man dwelt upon the thought of having so many 
 about him with a child's pleasure ; settled himself with the 
 housekeeper which rooms were to he occupied, and gave par- 
 ticular directions, even to the minutiae of lighting fires. 
 Loneliness, though he had been accustomed to it for years, 
 had in no way rendered him misanthropical, and there were 
 associations clinging to Mrs. Graham and her children, which 
 at times put ibrth young fresh shoots of life and feeling, as 
 the green leaves spring unexpectedly from the fallen trunk, 
 about to be caried away as dead. 
 
 Yet there was a lurking uneasiness in his mind upon one 
 point. He would not face it or acknowledge it; but Barnes 
 observed that afternoon, that whenever the Admiral men- 
 tioned Mr. Egerton's name, it was with an expression of 
 complaint, as if some passing annoyance had for the time 
 come between them. Claude had been over to the Lodge 
 again, but he had arrived at an unfortunate moment, when 
 the Admiral was suffering a good deal, and could not talk to 
 him ; nothing, therefore, had been said on either side to 
 brighten any uncomfortable remembrances of the last con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Stir the fire, and make a blaze, Barnes," said the Ad- 
 miral, as the clock struck a quarter to four. " They must 
 be here in a minute ; and tell Mrs. Easton to go and look at 
 the bedroom fires again. Is the cart come back from Wing- 
 field yet, with Mrs. Graham's boxes ? " 
 
 " It is expected every minute, sir. Mrs. Graham said it 
 was to call for them at three, and she and the young ladies 
 would walk." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know. Go down the avenue, and look if 
 they are coming." 
 
 Ikirnes went, and returned with no tidings, and was sent
 
 13S IVORS. 
 
 again, and came Lack to report that the ladies were coming 
 up to the house, and a gentleman with them ; he thought it 
 was Mr. Egerton. 
 
 The Admiral ruhbed his hands together, slowly-; it was 
 a trick he had when anything pleased him. " Stir the fire 
 affaia. Barnes ; draw the arm-chair out. I hear them, don't 
 I % Why do they ring the bell % " He sat up in his chair, 
 knocking his stick against the floor : Barnes left the room. 
 " Don't shut the door ; what do you do that for 1 Leave it, 
 I say." If his foot had been one degree less swollen, he 
 Avould certainly have risen, and walked across the room. 
 
 The party lingered for a minute in the hall, laughing 
 and talking, taking off goloshes and cloaks ; the Admiral's 
 voice was heard, " Come in, Frances. Why don't you come % 
 what are you waiting for % Egerton, are you there ? Come 
 in, man. What, my little Susan ! " and as Susan, being the 
 first ready, hastened to answer the call, he caught her in his 
 arms, kissed her on both cheeks, turned her to the light, that 
 he might look at her, and then, making her bend down to 
 him, stroked her face as he would that of an infant, and 
 said, tremulously, " There, kiss me again, child ; you make 
 a fool of me." 
 
 He held her hand in his, even when Mrs. Graham came 
 in, looking at the same time for Claude, who was still in the 
 hall, speaking to Barnes. 
 
 " Thank you, Frances, my dear, for coming to cheer an 
 old man. And Isabella and Anna, too ; let me look at you, 
 my pretty ones." But he did not look at them, or at least 
 only for a moment ; his eyes again being directed to the 
 door. 
 
 " Mr. Egerton came with us," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Mr. Egerton ! Pshaw ! Claude to you ! why not ? " 
 
 " Well : Claude, if you will, my dear sir, and if he will. 
 I like it much better ; only one must pay proper respect to
 
 ivoes. J 39 
 
 members of Parliament. He walked into Wingfield, to ask 
 some questions about Kate Hope, tbe lame girl I wrote you 
 word about ; you remember, I dare say." 
 
 " Lame girls ! not a bit. What has Claude Egerton to 
 do with lame girls % Susan, darling, just rub my foot, 
 gently, very gently." 
 
 Susan took off her bonnet, laid it on the floor, and knelt 
 down beside him. 
 
 " And so you walked, did you ! Barnes says the roads 
 are in a great mess. But — here he is ; " Claude came into 
 the room, and. the Admiral broke off abruptly. 
 
 Claude seemed a little doubtful of his reception, and 
 with reason. The Admiral held out his hand, and shook it 
 cordially, but his tone was grumbling. " I thought you 
 were snowed in .at Ivors or locked up ; it's all much the 
 same. I suppose you have done nothing but sit. over the tire? 
 ami tell stories to your fine-lady friends. You couldn't re- 
 member an old man." 
 
 Claude made an apology, but only laughed a little con- 
 sciously. Mrs. Graham came to his assistance. 
 
 " Mr. Egerton had a bad cold, he told me the day before 
 yesterday, and to-day you see, my dear sir, he has taken the 
 first opportunity possible to come to you." 
 
 " Thank you," said Claude ; " you make more excuses for 
 me than I should make for myself. I always trust to my 
 friends' knowledge of me, to put me right at last. I don't 
 think I am given to change." 
 
 The Admiral was brought round by having, as he imag- 
 ined, given pain, and said, heartily, "Some folks might stay 
 away for ever, and I wouldn't ask twice for them ; but Claude 
 Egerton isn't of that number. Susan, my love, aint you 
 tired?" 
 
 Claude brought a. chair for Susan to sit down, but she de- 
 clined it. " I suppose I could not take your duty from you,"
 
 140 
 
 IVORS. 
 
 he said, and he stretched out his hand, and laughingly com- 
 pared it with hers. "I should scarcely have so light a 
 touch." 
 
 " It's a woman's business," said Susan ; " I couldn't give 
 it up." 
 
 The Admiral caught her hand, and looked at it. * A 
 useful little hand, eh, Frances 1 " and he appealed to Mrs. 
 Graham : " What do you say ? " 
 
 " We have tried to make it so ; I don't know how we 
 have succeeded," was the reply. 
 
 "Very badly," said Susan. "Isabella and Anna can 
 both make cakes, and mine are all so heavy, they are not 
 eatable." 
 
 "I didn't know that making. cakes was a nineteenth cen- 
 tury accomplishment," observed Claude. " I fancied that it 
 w;is a great-grandmother practice." 
 
 " I like great-grandmother practices," said Susan. 
 
 " In theory," remarked Mrs. Graham. " You wouldn't 
 like them if you had to carry them out thoroughly." 
 
 Claude spoke eagerly. " No, indeed ; give me a woman 
 of the present day, if she is fit for anything." 
 " If," muttered the Admiral to himself. 
 
 Claude continued : " It is not fair to judge of any age 
 by its exceptions ; one must take classes as a whole, and as 
 they are represented in books of the day. Look at the Spec- 
 tator, for instance, a very fair specimen of the habits and 
 tone of mind of the period. One would scarcely wish to 
 see English ladies now, what English ladies were when the 
 Spectator was the popular book of the day." 
 
 " Fine ladies for your taste, then ! " said the Admiral, 
 testily: "singing, dancing, and flirting, and reading nov- 
 els ; that is not our way, is it, my little Susan 1 " 
 
 Susan smiled, was going to reply, but hesitated. 
 
 " Please speak," said Claude ; " say what you were going 
 to say."
 
 IYOKS. 141 
 
 " I was going to say that I understood you," replied 
 Susan, slightly blushing, " hut perhaps I don't." 
 
 " I think you do, I have no doubt of it ; Mrs. Graham 
 I am sure does." 
 
 Susan was silent, and rubbed a little more diligently. 
 Mrs. Graham answered : " We all understand. Queen 
 Anne's virtues are not really inconsistent with Queen Victo- 
 ria's ; and Queen Victoria's are much the more graceful of the 
 two." 
 
 " And I like graceful virtues," said Claude. 
 " Of course, all young men do," muttered the Admiral. 
 " And virtues not full-blown, but -opening, ripening," 
 said Claude ; " giving one the pleasure of interest and 
 hope." 
 
 Mrs. Graham checked a smile which was upon her lips, 
 and, said rather gravely : " Yes, when one is tolerably sure 
 that they will eventually come to perfection." 
 
 " One may be sure where there is truth, don't you think 
 so mamma ? " said Susan. 
 
 Claude interrupted the reply : " Truth, candour, warmth 
 of feeling — all must come right then." 
 " Pshaw ! " escaped from the Admiral. 
 Susan spoke again, a little as though it were an effort. 
 " One can bear with so much where there is truth, it makes 
 up fur so many faults." 
 
 " Yes," Claude paused ; and the next moment added 
 hurriedly : " and where there have been temptations and 
 difficulties, one can't be surprised at faults." 
 
 "I don't know what you are talking about," interrupted 
 the Admiral gruffly; "and you don't know yourself. You 
 had better all go up stairs, Frances, and take off your 
 bonnets." 
 
 Susan stood up ; her sisters and Mrs. Graham followed 
 the suggestion, but the Admiral detained her, he wanted his 
 pillow smoothed.
 
 1 42 ivors. 
 
 Claude was silent and thoughtful. Presently he said, 
 abruptly, " Helen wants to talk to you ; you will be at Ivors 
 church to-morrow." 
 
 " I hope so — we intend to be. "We shall meet after the 
 service." 
 
 " She is interested in Kate Hope's case, and would like 
 to do something for her." 
 
 " Would she ? how kind ! but it is like her, she is always 
 generous." 
 
 She has more money than she knows what to do with," 
 said the Admiral. 
 
 " A reason with -many people for doing nothing," replied 
 Claude. 
 
 " Helen would do a great deal if she were put in the 
 way of it," observed Susan, eagerly ; " but no one helps her. 
 She always makes me think of a hidden gem." 
 
 " A diamond uncut," said Claude, in a low voice. 
 
 " Eequiring a monstrous deal of cutting," remarked the 
 Admiral, quickly. 
 
 Susan leant over his chair and kissed him, and whispered 
 that he was hard upon Helen. 
 
 He looked at her fondly, sadly : " Not so hard upon her, 
 child, as you are upon yourself: now run away.*' 
 
 Claude followed her into the hall. " May I say one word 
 to you ; I would have said it to Mrs. Graham if she had 
 given me the opportunity." 
 
 Susan stopped to listen at the foot of the stairs. Her 
 manner and attitude, so simply kind, unaffected, lady-like, 
 though without any pretension to actual grace, struck him 
 forcibly. His cold, rather stiff tone changed ; he spoke to 
 her as a friend : " I am sure you will forgive me, — under- 
 stand me, — you will not think I am taking a liberty ; but if 
 you can — the poor girl is an object of interest to Helen, and 
 I think it would please her ; it might be good : " — he cor-
 
 IV0E8. 143 
 
 rected himself, and concluded nastily, " any means by which 
 she could be put in the way of being useful she would like 
 I said I would mention it." 
 
 Susan had an impulse ; she was not in the habit of yield- 
 ing to impulses, but she did to this one. She held out her 
 hand to Claude, and said, "Yes; indeed you may depend 
 upon it : Helen is so noble she can never live for herself." 
 The blood rushed to her cheeks in a moment, as with the con- 
 sciousness that she had betrayed her knowledge of his feel- 
 ings ; and, withdrawing her hand with difficulty from 
 Claude's cordial grasp, she hurried up stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Tins evening was a happy one for the Admiral, notwith- 
 standing his incipient distrust of Claude Egerton's matrimo- 
 nial intentions. His mind had retained through life much 
 of a child's easy forgetfulness of annoyance ; and when he 
 found himself tolerably free from pain, with Mrs. Graham to 
 talk to him, Susan sitting by his gouty stool reading, and 
 Isabella and Anna at work at a side-table, just as if they 
 were at home, he forgot everything but the comfort of having 
 loving faces around him. 
 
 "You had best come and live with me entirely, Frances, 
 as I have told you many times : plenty of room here, and 
 you'd have it all your own way." Mrs. Graham smiled. 
 '■Ali! you may smile ; I know what you think ! One mind 
 to-day, another to-morrow ; — but that's not my fashion, ex- 
 eepl (and he laughed) when the twinges conic, and then you 
 WOllld hear with them." 
 
 "I might hear with thembetter than you would with us, 
 niv dear sir; — you have lived too long alone." 
 7
 
 lii IY01W- 
 
 " Bachelor ways, you mean ; — I should be all the better 
 for being worked out of them." 
 
 " Not at seventy-eight. You would grow tired of us." 
 
 " And we should grow tired of you, you may as well 
 add," said the Admiral. 
 
 Mrs. Graham hesitated for an instant, and looked round 
 at her children. 
 
 " Tour mother and I want some quiet words together," 
 said the Admiral. " There's a fire burning to waste in the 
 next room ; take your work in there, girls. No offence, Su- 
 san," and he stretched out his hand to her ; " you shall come 
 back before long. Isabella, you don't mind being treated 
 like a child % " Isabella came up to his chair : — " You look 
 better and brighter than you used to do, my pretty one ; — 
 go and dance the polka, if you like it, in there." 
 
 Isabella laughed. "We are too busy for the polka. 
 Mamma, we needn't hurry about going to bed if we have not 
 finished our work % " 
 
 " Not a bit ; stay up all night, if you like it. Liberty 
 Hall here ! " said the Admiral. " Not a word, Frances ; I 
 am master in my own house." 
 
 "Exactly what I wish you always to remain, my dear 
 sir," said Mrs. Graham, as her children left the room ; and, 
 laying her hand kindly upon his, she added, " and what you 
 scarcely could be if we lived with you." 
 
 " And why not ? What's to hinder me from going my 
 way, and you from going yours ? " 
 
 " Because our interests would be different." 
 
 " I don't see that." 
 
 " Our objects, perhaps, I ought to say," replied Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. " I am bound to consult what I think to be my chil- 
 dren's good." 
 
 "Well, and they would learn no harm here," said the 
 Admiral.
 
 ivors. 145 
 
 " Xo harin ; but would it be for their highest good ? We 
 should differ sometimes about that." 
 
 "And I should give in," said the Admiral: "I have 
 given in all my life. You may laugh, but I have." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I know you have given in continually in 
 great matters, but in little ones I don't think you know how 
 you would be fretted." 
 
 " Well, then, you must give in sometimes," said the Ad- 
 miral. 
 
 " Ah ! Jhere would be the difficulty. I am afraid I 
 couldn't promise." 
 
 " What ! not with all your boast of fine principles. 
 Where's the use of them % " 
 
 "I try not to boast," replied Mrs. Graham, quietly. 
 " What I fear is, that my principles would teach me not to 
 give in, and that in consequence we should not be happy. 
 The children require so much careful training still." 
 
 " Children ! Fine young women, you mean ! It's a 
 shame to keep them in leading-strings." 
 
 " Exactly so ; but then I must try and place them where 
 they can best learn to run alone." 
 
 " Well ! and there's room enough here." 
 
 " Too much. A great deal of space, and not sufficient 
 to occupy it. I mean," added Mrs. Graham, seeing the Ad- 
 miral's impatient expression of countenance, " that to bring 
 them here would be removing them from all their little du- 
 ties and interests in Wingfield, and placing them in a posi- 
 tion of luxury to which they have never been accustomed, 
 and which could not be theirs for life." 
 
 " I don't see why it shouldn't be, why I am to think so 
 much of my nephews and cousins," muttered the Admiral. 
 
 " My dear sir, you know we have discussed tbat point 
 before, when we were not influenced by private wishes. We 
 both feel that Cod, by our natural relationships, marks oul
 
 116 IVOKS. 
 
 the cliannels in which our wealth, if we have it, is ordinarily 
 to flow. You could not give, and I could not receive consis- 
 tently with our notions of justice. We have gone on hap- 
 pily for several years with this understanding, why should it 
 be altered nowl " 
 
 " But you might live here for the present," repeated the 
 Admiral, turning from the subject Avhich he disliked, to that 
 which pleased him. Mrs. Graham only smiled. She did 
 not dare remind him again, that the next day his wishes 
 might change ; but, dwelling upon her own feelings, she said, 
 " I think, if you understood my three girls thoroughly, you 
 would see how much better suited to them their present life 
 is, than that which they would lead here. They want occu- 
 pation, all of them, Isabella especially; she is so morbid, 
 naturally ; her mind preys upon itself if it has not enough 
 to interest it in others." 
 
 " She would be dull here," said the Admiral, a little 
 moodily. 
 
 "Xot dull, exactly," replied Mrs. Graham; "but the 
 easy, luxurious life would foster all her weaknesses. She is 
 very excitable, enthusiastically fond of music and poetry, 
 and can't exist in inaction. With a mind of that descrip- 
 tion it is not enough for safety, at least so I think, to live 
 out of the gay world and avoid novels and poetry. Imagi- 
 nation will supply all these, and do quite as much mischief. 
 What is wanted is healthy occupation, kind sympathies, 
 something which shall draw it out of itself in thought for 
 others. Ease and leisure would do Isabella more harm than 
 foolish books." 
 
 " And so you are all to sacrifice yourselves to Isabella ? " 
 said the Admiral. 
 
 " I could say something of the same kind as regards the 
 others," replied Mrs. Graham. " Anna has a superabundant 
 amount of energy, which would make her perfectly miser-
 
 IVOKS. 147 
 
 able if it had not some vent. And she is not old enough to 
 find this for herself, wherever she may he ; and Susan " 
 
 " Ave ! mv little Susan ! what fault do you find with 
 her ? " 
 
 "Xone," said Mrs. Graham, emphatically; "of all my 
 children, she is the most fitted for any position ; about whom 
 I have the least anxiety." 
 
 " Any position," murmured the Admiral. He moved 
 himself round slowly, looked Mrs. Graham fully in the face, 
 and added j " Claude Egerton is a fool." 
 
 Mrs. Graham became suddenly pale, but she answered 
 calmly, " God's Providence is in these things. We had bet- 
 ter not speak of them. No doubt Mr. Egerton will choose 
 for his own happiness." 
 
 " Folly ! Frances, you make me angry. Do you mean to 
 say that, if Claude throws himself away upon yonder gay, 
 singiag, flirting mrl at Ivors, he will have half the chance 
 of happiness that he would have if he took to our little 
 Susan >. " 
 
 " Helen does not flirt, dear sir," said Mrs. Graham, earn- 
 estly ; " and Susan is — may be — too like Claude to make 
 him happy." 
 
 " Too like ! what on earth do men require in a wife but 
 something like themselves?" 
 
 " They require what they want, not what they have," said 
 Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Humph! was the Admiral's only reply. 
 
 Mrs. Graham continued, "You will forgive me, I am 
 sine, for asking that this subject may be a sealed one be- 
 tween us. I have the greatest dread of allowing my mind 
 to form any wishes in such matters: I could never trust my- 
 self in action if I did. Of course I don't mean that I would 
 interfere to prevent my children from marrying, but I would 
 wish to leave such an event simply and entirely in the hands
 
 14S IVORS. 
 
 of God. Especially when, as in the present case, I see rea- 
 son to believe that He has ordered a certain course of circum- 
 stances, I should desire to acquiesce in it, and, as far as I 
 might be permitted, to further it." 
 
 " I don't see the thing as you do. That old step-mother 
 rets the snare, and he falls into it." 
 
 Mrs. Graham could scarcely restrain a smile, but she an- 
 swered gravely, "I am afraid we look at instruments till we 
 forget the Hand that guides them. It is no matter to me how 
 the feeling may have been brought about, if only it exists." 
 " But does he care for her 1 What does he see in her 
 beyond her prettty face % " inquired the Admiral. 
 
 " A great deal, I dare say, which I can see too," replied 
 Mrs. Graham. " Helen is to me my sister's child, not Lady 
 Augusta's step-daughter." 
 
 " Ah : well, yes ! " muttered the Admiral, more compla- 
 cently. " But I can't forget ; — she's been trained, taught. 
 The old woman has been at her ever since she was seven 
 years old." 
 
 " And has done marvellously little to ruin her," said Mrs. 
 Graham. " Helen's faults are external. Lady Augusta has 
 never destroyed the truth of her character." 
 
 " And you wouldn't try to set Claude Egerton right % " 
 asked the Admiral, in a tone which showed that he was 
 ashamed of his own proposition. " You wouldn't bring him 
 and Susan together, and open his eyes before it is too late % " 
 Mrs. Graham started. " Not for the world ! It might 
 be fatal to the happiness of both, even if it were not cruel 
 to Helen." 
 
 " And if Susan loses her heart without our troubling our- 
 selves ? " said the Admiral : " such things have been." 
 
 " And may be," replied Mrs. Graham, thoughtfully and 
 sadly ; " but I have the greatest confidence in Susan. She 
 is quite aware that Mr. Egerton admires Helen ; even if the
 
 iyoes. 149 
 
 feeling goes no farther, that alone would be a sufficient safe- 
 guard." 
 
 t; You women have such trust in yourselves," was the 
 Admiral's reply, as he rang the bell for tea ; and a pang, 
 shot through Mrs. Graham's heart, which she did not pause 
 to analyse. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The Christmas service at Ivors church was over. Sir Henry, 
 Lady Augusta, and Maurice waited in the church porch for 
 the carriage. Claude and Helen walked towards the gate 
 leading into the high road. They were silent. Claude 
 looked back occasionally at the church, but Helen's eyes were 
 bent upon the ground. 
 
 " We will come this way," said Claude, as a party of 
 strangers, talking loudly, followed closely upon them. He 
 turned into a little side-path, carefully kept, and marked at 
 intervals by fuschsias and laurels. It led them by a large 
 stone tomb enclosed by high railings. 
 
 Helen paused before it, and Claude saw that he had 
 brought her to her mother's grave. 
 
 He read the inscription to himself, with the text, " God 
 be merciful to me, a sinner." 
 
 " It was her own choice," said Helen. " She was very 
 li arable." 
 
 " And true, and earnest," continued Claude : " I felt it 
 when I saw her, though it was once only when I was a boy." 
 
 "She was like Aunt Fanny," said Helen. " Papa says 1 
 might have been like her too if she had lived ; but that 
 could not have been." 
 
 " Claude regarded her earnestly. " Is it so impossible?"
 
 150 IVORS. 
 
 " I am wilful," said Helen, " and changeable, and— oh ! 
 more than you know or can think ; " and she stooped down 
 to gather an ivy leaf, and turned away her head to hide the 
 tears which gathered in her eyes. 
 
 " And humble," said Claude, gently, " if you think of 
 yourself so." 
 
 Helen raised herself, and looked at him fixedly. " No, 
 not humble. I speak evil of myself, but I could not bear 
 that others should speak evil of me. I don't know why I 
 should say this," she added ; " some think that it is bad to 
 talk of oneself, even of one's faults." 
 
 " To some persons, perhaps, — those who do not care for 
 or feel with you," said Claude, his voice slightly trembling ; 
 " but, Helen, that would not be with me." 
 
 " It may be better that it should be," she replied. " You 
 would soon be weary of my confessions." 
 
 " Scarcely, if I could be any comfort or help to you." 
 
 Helen smiled. There might have been a little disdain in 
 the expression, and Claude, in a moment, was chilled ; and 
 added, coldly " Of course, I have no wish to intrude upon 
 your confidence." 
 
 Helen answered him frankly: — "I annnoyed you by 
 smiling ; you are very apt to take offence. I was not think- 
 ing of you, but of myself, and the hopelessness of making 
 you or any one understand a maze of inconsistencies." 
 
 " And therefore you will never give any one the opportu- 
 nity of trying to understand them," said Claude. 
 
 " It is not a case for experiment," said Helen. " If we 
 give our confidence, and are not understood, there is a bar- 
 rier raised for ever. No, Claude, if we are to be friends, we 
 had better be contented to remain as we are, enigmas to 
 each other." 
 
 " Am I an enigma to you ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, in many ways : what you live for, what you care
 
 ITOKS. 151 
 
 for, why you should throw so much energy into everything 
 you do, — into all this parliamentary business, for instance. 
 Some people understand it, I see. Aunt Fanny does ; so 
 does Susan : their minds are like yours." 
 
 " Their principles, perhaps, rather," said Claude. " In 
 some things we must all he alike, Helen. We have the 
 same feelings, passions, affections. There must, therefore, 
 he the groundwork of mutual understanding between us 
 
 all, especially . We have known each other so many 
 
 years." 
 
 " Not known," said Helen. " We don't know each other 
 now." She spoke rather sadly, and moved on, seemingly 
 anxious to he with the rest of the party. Claude followed 
 her. They drew near to Lady Augusta. Mrs. Graham and 
 Susan had joined her ; Isabella and Anna were already gone. 
 Claude quickened his step, and came up to Helen as they 
 approached the porch. " I am going to the Lodge," he said : 
 " would it be impossible for you to go too ? " 
 
 Helen hesitated. " I am not sure : I should like it." 
 
 Claude caught at the Avords, " like it." " Should you 
 really? There could be no reason against it. And I might 
 explain, — if it were possible, that is, — and if you would care 
 to hear. I would rather not be an enigma to you." 
 
 Helen was silent. 
 
 " May I propose it? l)o you think Lady Augusta would 
 object ? " he added, anxiously. 
 
 Helen's answer was still indistinct. Hurrying forward, 
 she left him, and began talking quickly, and rather nervous- 
 ly, to her Aunt and Susan. 
 
 Claude lingered. His heart beat so rapidly that he was 
 almost faint. Yet why should it? He had risen that morn- 
 ing calm, collected, strong in purpose, renouncing, as he be- 
 lieved, all thought of Helen as she might be, — looking upon 
 her only as she was. lie had compared her with his own
 
 152 ivoes. 
 
 ideal, and with Susan Graham's excellencies, and pronounced 
 her wanting. He had said to himself that the Admiral was 
 riffht and she was unsuited to him, — that she could not 
 make him happy, — that she would disappoint him, — that it 
 was vain to think of educating a woman after marriage, — ■ 
 that the petty distractions and frettings of domestic life 
 must mar the work. He had reasoned like a sage ; and then 
 he had gone down to breakfast, — listened to Helen's sweet, 
 cordial tones of Christmas greeting, — watched her, as with 
 her animation, grace, and beauty, she made herself the life 
 and ornament of the breakfast party, — walked in the colon- 
 nade, and thought of her, — accompanied her to church, and 
 knelt by her, — and the reason of the sage was gone. 
 
 A weak man might have dreaded his weakness. Claude 
 Egerton, strong in his strength, placed himself without fear 
 in the post of danger. He came up to Helen and Susan 
 just as they were told the carriage was ready, and whilst 
 Susan was beginning to talk to Helen about Kate Hope. 
 Helen said nothing about going to the Lodge ; she might have 
 forgotten it or changed her mind. She only seemed desirous 
 that her cousin should be at Ivors very early the next day, 
 in order that they might have some time together before the 
 arrival of the visitors, who were to be present at the school 
 feast. All her interest seemed concentrated in this; she 
 scarcely noticed Claude, and answered him abruptly w T hen he 
 addressed her. Claude was better then ; more the master 
 of himself, but he was still bent upon having Helen with 
 him. He recollected that he was anxious for her good, and 
 had wished her to talk to Mrs. Graham and Susan about 
 Kate Hope, in order to give her some feeling of usefulness. 
 He was not aware that any other motive influenced him ; 
 but when Lady Augusta summoned Helen to the carriage, 
 he interposed his own wish. " It seemed a pity," he said, 
 " to interrupt Helen and Miss Graham when they were so
 
 ivoes. 153 
 
 busy with their conversation. If Lady Augusta did not ob- 
 ject, he was going himself to the Lodge for luncheon, and if 
 Helen liked to go too, he could easily fscort her back, the 
 distance was not great." Lady Augusta was only too will- 
 ing, as long as " dear Helen " did not tire herself, that was 
 the only thing to be considered ; and Claude turned to 
 Helen, considering her assent a matter of course. — and 
 Helen declined. 
 
 Claude went to the Lodge ; but even Mrs. Graham's 
 charity could scarcely allow that he was agreeable. Cer- 
 tainly not as he should have been on Christmas Day. 
 
 Helen had acted from instinct. She had no time for rea- 
 son, and at the moment no particular cause for feeling. It 
 was only when she reached home, and thought over the little 
 incidents of the morning, that she could at all understand 
 why she had so suddenly changed her mind. And even then 
 it was not clear to her. She shrank from putting an inter- 
 pretation upon Claude's manner which it might not properly 
 bear. It seemed undignified, unwomanly, to suspect feel- 
 ings which might have no existence ; she turned away from 
 the thought; it disturbed her. She liked Claude very 
 much ; it pleased her to talk with him, he was a person who 
 she felt might do her good, give her interest, even gain her 
 confidence, but this was all. She laid aside her bonnet and 
 cloak, and with them determined to lay aside these new, un- 
 comfortable suspicions ; but the resolution was more easily 
 made than kept. Claude came back from the Lodge, grave 
 and out of- spirits ; and Helen found herself wondering what 
 was the cause. She tried to speak to him in her usual tone, 
 but his answers were short ; he would not carry 4 on any con- 
 versation. At last even Sir Henry remarked his manner, 
 and then he said he had a headache, and went to his room. 
 Helen thought him cross and disagreeable, and was disap- 
 pointed in him. She had fancied him above fits of ill-
 
 154 ivoes. 
 
 humour ; and if he was ill, it was weak and unmanly to give 
 way. lie appeared at dinner time, better, and more like 
 himself; but still he*talked entirely to Sir Henry upon poli- 
 tics, and Lady Augusta could with difficulty make him give 
 his opinion upon the few questions which arose as to the next 
 day's procedings. 
 
 Altogether it was a dull, uncomfortable Christmas Day, 
 and entirely owing to Claude. Helen went to bed really 
 angry with him. In the morning she had been particularly 
 happy, because particularly full of good resolutions. The 
 service at church had soothed her, and the short conversation 
 with Claude had touched, and softened, and given her hope 
 of sympathy. That all should have vanished so suddenly 
 Avithout cause, was provoking and perplexing. Life was as 
 unsatisfactory as ever to her before she laid her head on her 
 pillow that night, for if a gleam of sunshine came, it seemed 
 destined to be immediately darkened with a cloud. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Dear Susan, this really is most delightful," was Helen's 
 exclamation, the next morning when, about eleven o'clock, 
 Susan made her appearance, in what was especially called 
 Miss Clare's room. " I was so afraid when I heard the bell, 
 that it was that dreadful woman, Miss Manners." 
 
 " I passed her on the road, I suspect," replied Susan, " in 
 a By ; her man on the box, and her maid inside ; and such 
 an array of luggage ! Does she always arrive so early, and 
 with such appurtenances % She must be a trying individual 
 to live with." 
 
 " Rise at five, coffee at seven, breakfast at ten, luncheon 
 at two. dinner at six, tea at eight, supper at eleven. I have
 
 ivoes. 155 
 
 heard her run through the hours fifty times. She looks upon 
 her mode of life, as I suppose a monk of La Trappe does 
 upon his silence. It covers all sins. The one thing she 
 can't pardon is sleep." 
 
 " May it never be my fate to live with her," said Susan, 
 " though I could envy her. We were late last night, and I 
 feel now, in consequence, as if I had been at a ball." 
 
 " Late ! were you 1 " said Helen, " and merry, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Yes, very. The Admiral was in such high spirits at 
 having us with him." 
 
 " Just the reverse of us. We were in the depths of dul- 
 ness ; Claude Egerton worst of all. What did you do to 
 him, Susan, at the Lodge ? " 
 
 " He was very dull with us," said Susan, " and I 
 thought" — she paused. 
 
 " "Well ! what did you think I I long to have an excuse 
 for him." 
 
 " I thought," and Susan seemed a little confused, and 
 afraid of her own words, " that perhaps he would have been 
 better pleased if you had been there to walk back with him." 
 
 Helen laughed consciously. " He asked me. I thought 
 I would ; but — I don't know why — I changed my mind when 
 i came to the point." 
 
 " He won't like that," said Susan, rather gravely. 
 
 "Which won't much signify to me," replied Helen. 
 
 Susan looked up quickly. " Do you mean you would 
 really not care to vex him % " 
 
 '■('are ! why should I?" 
 
 "He is so good," said Susan. "I should be very sorry 
 to worry him." 
 
 " Precisely the reason why I enjoy it. Don't put on 
 that demure look, Susan, dear. It is only, you know, for 
 the pleasure of bringing out his goodness. Bui what makes 
 you so bent upon upholding him ? "
 
 156 ivors. 
 
 "It is merely because I respect him very much," re- 
 plied Susan. 
 
 " And so do I sometimes respect him, till I am out of 
 breath with respect ; but it is not a very pleasant feeling." 
 
 "Don't you think so?" said Susan, quietly. 
 
 " No, any more than it is pleasant to raise one's head till 
 it aches, for the gratification of looking at a painted ceiling : 
 one loses all sense of pleasure in the painfulness of the posi- 
 tion. Give me something that I may laugh at, and with ; 
 tease with one moment and make friends with the next. 
 That will never be Claude Egerton." 
 
 " Never ! " said Susan, emphatically. " But, Helen, if 
 you were not always true, I should think now that you were 
 untrue." 
 
 "Should you — why?" and Helen slightly coloured. 
 
 " Because it is not the way you used to talk. You have 
 agreed with me so often in liking people who are superior." 
 
 "Perhaps I have in other cases." 
 
 "Perhaps you agree in this, only you won't acknow- 
 ledge it ! " 
 
 " I don't know." Helen's manner changed, and she 
 became more serious. " I might have said differently yes- 
 terday, but I can't bear moods ; and if he is so respectable, 
 why does he have them % " 
 
 "If you yourself caused them," replied Susan, "you 
 ought not to complain of them." There was some hesitation 
 in the tone in which this Avas said, and Susan's eyes for one 
 moment rested anxiously on her cousin, and then were bent 
 again upon the ground. 
 
 " He has no right to have moods because of anything 
 which I do," answered Helen, with some dignity ; " we are 
 friends only." 
 
 Susan started, — Lady Augusta's name escaped her lips, 
 and then she was silent.
 
 ivoes. 157 
 
 Helen regarded her in surprise. " What do you mean 
 by all this, Susan ? " she exclaimed. " There is some mys- 
 tery." 
 
 " Xone, nothing, — dear Helen, we may all have heen 
 mistaken." 
 
 Helen drew herself up. " You are, indeed, if you think 
 that Claude is anything to me, or that I am anything to 
 him. I don't understand interference with my private 
 feelings." 
 
 " Then your private feelings should not be spoken of so 
 loudly, my love ! " said a voice behind her. And Helen and 
 Susan turned and saw Lady Augusta. 
 
 Helen's cheek flushed angrily. " My own room ! I did 
 
 not expect " She paused, not daring to trust herself. 
 
 Susan, though unconscious of any offence, was the picture of 
 guilt. 
 
 " A room ceases to be private, Helen," said Lady Au- 
 gusta, with quiet sarcasm, " when the door is left open, and 
 conversation is carried on in a tone which may be heard by 
 the whole house. Susan, you will excuse my requesting you 
 to leave us ; and," she thought for an instant, — " I must beg 
 that none of Helen's imprudent and undignified remarks may 
 be repeated." 
 
 Helen's face expressed the wild passion of her childhood. 
 She caught her cousin's hand, as Susan Avas leaving the 
 room, and exclaimed: "Tell her, Susan, tell her; — what 
 have I said? Imprulent, undignified! I spoke but the 
 truth, and I will say it again before fifty thousand wit- 
 nesses." 
 
 " That will not be required, my love ; even one may be 
 too many. Susan, I must again beg you to leave us." 
 
 And Helen tossed her cousin's hand away, exclaiming : 
 " Yes, go ; I am equal to my own cause ! " and with a sud 
 den check upon herself, sat down opposite to Lady Augusta;
 
 15S IVORS. 
 
 her hands folded together, her figure upright and still,— only 
 betraying her feelings by the sudden paleness of her face and 
 the deep crimson spot which burned upon it. 
 
 Lady Augusta carefully closed the door, returned again 
 to the fire, and stirred it with the most provoking slowness ; 
 then, standing before it, said in the same unruffled manner : 
 " This excitement, Helen, does not suit you ; it belongs to 
 your childhood. I desire only to give you a warning." 
 
 " I will take care to guard against interruption another 
 time," replied Helen. 
 
 "You are angry, my love, unjustly. I wish there was 
 no one in the house who had more reason for anger. But 
 
 Claude, alas ! " 
 
 " Mamma ! " Helen rose from her seat, and came oppo- 
 site to Lady Augusta, and spoke in a tone harsh with agita- 
 tion : " I don't wish to hear his name." 
 
 " Yet he may wish to hear yours, Helen ; and he would 
 have great cause for complaint, if he were to know the tone 
 in which you think fit to speak of him." 
 
 " I am free," exclaimed Helen ; " my opinion and my 
 
 feelings are my own. Claude has never given me cause " 
 
 she stopped, remembered his manner on the preceding day, 
 and was silent. 
 
 " Conscience ! I see it," continued Lady Augusta ; 
 " Claude has given you cause, at least, to treat him with the 
 respect due to a man who looks upon you with more than 
 common interest." 
 
 " I can't weigh the difference between common and un 
 common interest," replied Helen ; " but it frets me, it would 
 fret any one, to have feelings imagined which don't exist." 
 
 li Not on your side, probably," said Lady Augusta, 
 quietly. 
 
 "• Nor on Claude's! " exclaimed Helen; yet the denial 
 was accompanied by a glance which seemed as if it would
 
 ivoks. 159 
 
 penetrate into the secret recesses of Lady Augusta's know- 
 ledge. 
 
 But no glance had ever yet mastered the intricacies of 
 the chambers of that heart ; and Lady Augusta, with perfect 
 placidity, answered: "You must not inquire as to Claude's 
 feelings from me. Those who know the most are seldom the 
 most at liberty to speak ; but I would warn you, Helen, that 
 a careless word may, when we little think it, wound the ten- 
 derest point. If you do not care for Claude, at least do not 
 be unkind to- him." 
 
 Helen's £yes filled with tears of self-reproach. "Un- 
 kind ! Mamma, you know I would not pain even an insect. 
 But it is not true — it is impossible. He cannot like " — she 
 stopped — "yes, he does like me, but," — a burning blush 
 crimsoned her face, — " he cannot love me." 
 
 Lady Augusta kissed her, — it was her only reply, — and 
 left the room. 
 
 Two o'clock came ; the Ivors household was in a state of 
 unwonted agitation. There was to be an early dinner, — a 
 sacrifice on the altar of duty. Lady Louisa Stuart and Mrs. 
 Grey had just arrived, and were gone up stairs to take off 
 their bonnets. Miss Manners and Maurice's friend, Mr. 
 Pearson, had made their appearance more than an hour be- 
 fore ; Miss Manners having seized upon the gentleman, with 
 whom she had a slight acquaintance, as he was walking from 
 Wingfield, and forced him to share her fly, in order that 
 she might learn the latest Oxford intelligence. 
 
 Claude wandered from room to room in the midst of the 
 bustle, very much as if he had no concern in it, though Lady 
 Augusta put him prominently forward, introducing him to 
 her guests as the real cause of the festivities. She seized 
 upon him before dinner, and when she was going up stairs 
 with Lady Louisa Stuart, — "Louisa, my dear, Mr. EgertOn, 
 our new member; our own member, I should say; Claude,
 
 160 IVORS. 
 
 Lady Louisa Stuart. I am quite glad to have the opportu- 
 nity of introducing two such good conservatives to each 
 other." 
 
 " Every new member on the side of established principle 
 is a great gain in these troubled days," began Lady Louisa, 
 speaking with a full round voice, which seemed to encase her 
 words and give them double force. " What is it the Arch- 
 bishop of York says % — 
 
 " "We are all diseased, 
 And with our surfeiting and wanton hours 
 Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
 And we must bleed for it." 
 
 Claude looked a surprised ignorance both of surfeiting 
 and fever. Lady Augusta laughed. " You forget, my dear 
 Louisa, that the only archbishop likely to be reckoned 
 amongst Mr. Egerton's acquaintances is a worthy gentleman 
 of the nineteenth century. But Claude will understand 
 soon. It is very pleasant, very fresh and inspiriting, to live 
 in those wonderful Shakesperian days, as if they were real. 
 I quite long to see that little Essay on ' Much Ado about 
 Nothing,' which you promised to send me the other day. 
 What ! mustn't I speak about it 1 " for Lady Louisa's face 
 expressed a proper amount of bashfulness on the subject of 
 her own compositions. " You needn't mind Claude ; he is 
 quite one of ourselves — quite. By-the-by, Claude, do me 
 the favour just to look into the library, and see if Helen is 
 there, and tell her I want to speak to her in my dressing- 
 room." 
 
 Claude obeyed, listening, whilst he crossed the hall, to 
 the rolling tones of Lady Louisa's voice, as she walked 
 slowly up the stairs, discoursing in sentences which, if they 
 were not Shakesperian, were formed after the same model. 
 
 Jle found Helen in the library, Miss Manners with her.
 
 IVORS. 161 
 
 He knew it must be Miss Manners, from her sharp features, 
 restless eye, and the easy tone which none but a very dear 
 friend of Lady Augusta would have ventured to adopt with 
 Helen. She was at home with Claude directlv, no introduc- 
 tion was required : " Mr. Egerton, of course ; I knew it 
 must be — a singular consciousness that is, which touches the 
 inward perception so instantaneously." 
 
 Claude bowed, and gave his message ; Miss Manners lis- 
 tened with the air of one who considered that it equally con- 
 cerned herself, and delivered her opinion upon it. " You 
 must go, my dear, your good mamma needs you. Don't let 
 her fatigue herself. The working of the mind on these oc- 
 casions is exhausting. I recommend a little care for your- 
 self too, and a glass of sal volatile, or camphor julep : you 
 are wofully pale." 
 
 Helen was very pale when Miss Manners addressed her, 
 but Claude's eye, as it turned upon her, brought the colour 
 back again to her cheeks. 
 
 " Don't mind me, my dear," continued Miss Manners, " I 
 shall find my way to my own room. I can send my maid to 
 inquire if there is any difficulty, and I sha'n't trouble about 
 dress. Early dinners don't need dress." 
 
 Helen's eye involuntarily turned to Claude. Perhaps, 
 looking at Miss Manners' black cloth jacket and crumpled 
 frills, she thought that early dinners did sometimes need 
 dress. 
 
 " Go, in j dear, go," continued Miss Manners ; and as 
 Helen still seemed inclined to delay, she went herself to the 
 door, and opened it. " I don't want you to go, Mr. Egerton." 
 
 Helen murmured to herself, "Odious woman!" but she 
 had been accustomed to obey Miss Manners by a kind of 
 instinct, and she went. Claude, being less habitually obe- 
 dient, took no notice of the suggestion of the lady's wish to 
 cultivate his acquaintance, but followed Helen into the hall.
 
 1G2 ivoes. 
 
 " She is odious ! " exclaimed Helen, as the door closed 
 behind them ; and she stood still, leaning against the balus- 
 trade of the staircase. 
 
 " She is absurd ! " said Claude. " One must look upon 
 her in that light." 
 
 " Yes, if one can." But Helen seemed wanting in 
 strength and spirits for the effort. 
 
 " You are tired," said Claude, anxiously, " and ill ? " 
 
 " No, no, there is nothing the matter." Helen tried to 
 pass him, to go up stairs. 
 
 He placed himself in her way. " I have not seen you 
 before, this morning, Helen ; at least, scarcely with the op- 
 portunity of speaking to you." 
 
 " I have been engaged," said Helen, pausing evidently 
 against her will. 
 
 "And you would not let me help you in anything"?" 
 continued Claude. " I deserved that for yesterday." 
 
 " I don't understand," said Helen. " We had no quar- 
 rel yesterday." 
 
 Claude looked annoyed, and answered shortly, " I 
 thought I might have displeased you by my dulness. I 
 was dull." 
 
 " Yes," said Helen, " you were, certainly ; but you seem 
 better to-day." 
 
 The matter-of-fact speech threw Claude back ; and, in a 
 reproachful tone, he said : "I know that I have no right to 
 expect sympathy with dulness from you, whatever may be 
 the cause." 
 
 " I must go to mamma," was Helen's hasty reply, and 
 passing him on the other side, she ran up stairs. 
 
 " Deep in the mysteries of thought, Mr. Egerton ? " said 
 Miss Manners, in her sharp voice, as she came out of the 
 library, and found Claude standing in the hall, with folded 
 arms and a fixed eye. " I fancied I heard Helen talking 
 with vuu still."
 
 ivors. 103 
 
 " Miss Clare is gone to Lady Augusta," replied Claude. 
 
 " A charming creature, full of sympathies "which need 
 only a hand to touch and excite them ! " said Miss Manners, 
 meaningly. 
 
 " Very likely ; I am afraid I am in your way," and 
 Claude moved aside, and Miss Manners, with a manly and 
 determined tread, ascended the broad staircase. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Happily for Claude, the employment of the next hour pre- 
 vented his being closely observed by any one but Lady Au- 
 gusta. The early dinner was little more than a rather cere- 
 monious luncheon ; people helped themselves and their 
 neighbours, and laughed and talked without any solemn 
 pauses ; and no one being particularly called upon to be 
 agreeable, every one was so, Claude and Helen excepted. 
 Helen was at the further end of the table, far removed from 
 Claude, who was seated between Mrs. Grey and Susan, nei- 
 ther of whom required much conversation. It was by a lit- 
 tle manoeuvre that Helen had placed herself in this position. 
 Claude remarked it, but no one else. In the same way, when 
 dinner was over, she managed to escape him, and devote her- 
 self to Mrs. Grey; very kindly and thoughtfully, it might 
 have seemed, since Mrs. Grey was an old lady requiring such 
 respect, but the motive was sufficiently clear to Claude's jeal- 
 ous eye. She understood and avoided him ; a galling thought 
 it was. He tried to turn away from the consciousness of the 
 furl, and when the party dispersed after dinner, and Lady 
 Augusta summoned him, as one of her particular favourites, 
 ' i assist in preparing the magic lanthorn for the school-chil- 
 dren, he threw himself into the work with an energy, the
 
 1G4 ivors. 
 
 only motive of which was the desire of distracting his mind. 
 Even then he did not know the extent of his own feelings ; 
 he had no definite wishes nor intentions. It was the fascina- 
 tion of a spell which drew him forward. But he no longer 
 thought about Helen, he only felt. His eye followed her 
 wherever she moved ; he heard the soft tones of her voice 
 amidst the loudest murmurs of conversation ; he knew wdien 
 she was in the room, even though he were not looking at 
 her ; he was* conscious of her return, whatever at the mo- 
 ment might be engaging his attention. He was miserable in 
 her absence, restless in her presence ; and yet with an exte- 
 rior so cold, hard, almost repulsive! Even kind-hearted 
 Mrs. Grey whispered to Lady Louisa Stuart, as she watched 
 him, "Augusta says he is a first-rate man, my dear; but, 
 somehow, I think first-rate men are apt to be disagreeable." 
 
 And in this state of mind, Claude found himself in a 
 distant corner of the servants' hall, by the side of Susan 
 Graham, whilst the school-children were seated at two long 
 tables, — piles of cake, and cups of tea and coffee before 
 them ; and Miss Manners, as head manager and waiter, 
 rushing from one to the other, telling one to be grateful, and 
 another not to eat too fast, lamenting, in an under-tone to 
 Lady Augusta, that the animal nature should be so much 
 more rapidly developed than the spiritual ; yet very good- 
 naturedly, at the same time, handing the cups to be refilled 
 and the empty dishes to be replenished. Lady Augusta was 
 to be seen at the head of the room, looking proudly benevo- 
 lent ; Helen, by Mrs. Grey's arm-chair, tired, and mentally 
 worn. Claude's eye had been resting on her for some time ; 
 he was not conscious of Susan's presence, till he heard her 
 say, "What a pleasant face Mrs. Grey has, for an old 
 lady ! " 
 
 "Yes;" and Claude just looked round, but said no 
 more.
 
 woks. 165 
 
 " It is like Lady Augusta's, and yet not like," continued 
 Susan ; " like, with a different expression, and there is so 
 muck in that. Helen says " 
 
 Claude's face was directed towards her in an instant. 
 Susan continued : 
 
 " Helen says that it is merely kindness which makes it 
 so pleasant ; but to me there is something higher in it than 
 mere benevolence." 
 
 Mrs. Grey, just at that moment, rose to leave the room. 
 Leaning on -Helen's arm, she drew near the spot where 
 Claude and Susan were. She stopped, and spoke tc Helen. 
 "This is your cousin, Miss Graham, my love, isn't it? I 
 must make acquaintance with her." She gave her hand to 
 Susan. " We have a very pleasant sight here, my dear ; so 
 many happy little faces, and all owing to you, Mr. Egerton. 
 We must be grateful to you, as well as to dear Lady Au- 
 gusta. I wanted to congratulate you before on your success, 
 but you have been too busy to give me the opportunity." 
 
 Claude bowed, and was very much obliged, and offered 
 his arm to Mrs. Grey. 
 
 " Thank you, but I have a good support, you see ; " and 
 a kindly smile passed over the old lady's face. " I have 
 been very selfish, my dear," she added, addressing Susan, 
 "in taking Helen away, but I will send her back to you 
 again directly. 
 
 Helen's face showed some annoyance, and she said deci- 
 dedly, " I am not going to return," and Claude, — his face 
 of an ashy paleness, — moved aside whilst Mrs. Grey and 
 Helen passed on. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, did you speak?" asked Claude, ad- 
 dressing Susan suddenly. 
 
 Susan had not spoken ; she was looking grave and 
 anxious, but she tried to make some common remark about 
 the children, and how they appeared to enjoy themselves.
 
 160 IVORS. 
 
 " Yes ; they are of an age when enjoyment is possible." 
 Claude's accent was bitter. 
 
 " I hope there is no age when it is quite impossible," 
 said Susan. 
 
 " Tbe world must be taken lightly, then," he answered. 
 
 " Or reasonably, I suppose," said Susan. 
 
 " As I imagine it is by you," he replied, with a faint 
 attempt at a smile. " I can fancy Mrs. Graham's teaching 
 to have been quite upon that principle." 
 
 "Mamma has no particular principle, that I know of,' 
 replied Susan, quietly, " but that of acting always upon the 
 highest." 
 
 He seemed struck by her tone, and answered, with great 
 interest, " Mrs. Graham is right. There is nothing but that, 
 both for reason and consistency. She is fortunate in having 
 been able to carry it out." 
 
 " In herself," said Susan. " It is a case in which it is 
 easier to practise oneself, than to teach others." 
 
 "Yet I would willingly have been her pupil," said 
 Claude, earnestly ; " she would have taught me much — if 
 not all that she knows herself." 
 
 " Experience teaches, I suppose," said Susan, " and " — 
 she hesitated — " disappointment." 
 
 He repeated the word, disappointment, to himself, and 
 added, " It ought to teach, but it never does till hope is 
 dead." 
 
 " Disappointment does not come until that happens, does 
 it ? " said Susan. 
 
 " No," and his voice sank ; " it is only suspense till then, 
 heart-sickening, wearying. The plunge of the dagger must 
 be a far less evil than the sight of it drawn over one's head." 
 
 " Yet one would not accept the plunge," said Susan. 
 
 "Would you not? I would," was the stern reply. 
 
 Susan was silent for an instant ; then she said timidly,
 
 ivoks. 167 
 
 "I suppose that is the difference between man and 
 woman's nature." 
 
 "I don't understand woman's nature," he replied, shortly. 
 
 " Perhaps I don't understand a man's," replied Susan ; 
 " one can but speak from one's own feelings. It seems easier 
 to live on with hope, however faint, than to bear the crush' 
 of disappointment." 
 
 " I would not bear it only," he replied, " I would rise 
 above it ; I would cast it from me. Let me but know the 
 worst, — know it soon, — soon," he repeated, in a lower voice. 
 
 " And then you would forget ! " said Susan. 
 
 He made no reply, but turned from her abruptly. 
 
 Susan watched him for a few seconds, and soon after- 
 wards, unperceived by any one, glided out of the room in 
 search of Helen. 
 
 She found her in her bedroom, lying on a little sofa 
 drawn near the fire, looking pale, and complaining of head- 
 ache. Her manner was not encouraging to conversation ; 
 Susan made several attempts at it, but failed, and was at 
 length obliged to leave her, with the promise of making an 
 excuse to Lady Augusta for her absence. 
 
 Helen did not appear again. Claude exhibited the magic 
 lanthorn to the school children, and exerted himself for the 
 general entertainment. Mrs. Grey changed her opinion be- 
 fore the evening was over, and thought that Mr. Egerton 
 was a very superior person, oiily a little stiff just at first ; 
 and Lady Louisa Stuart, after a discussion upon Shake- 
 speare's female characters, pronounced him a most agreeable 
 man. Only Susan understood him. And it seemed that he 
 was aware of it, for every now and then, in the intervals of 
 
 linn, he came up to her to inquire for Helen, and Hu- 
 ll to say a few words, which, though they only referred 
 to common topics, implied a consciousness thai she would 
 
 read the thoughts which suggested (hem. Susan longed to 
 8
 
 168 iyors. 
 
 tell him more plainly that she could feel for him, to give 
 him hope and comfort ; hut Claude Egerton could only he 
 approached when he had himself made the first advances. 
 And for hope, — Susan was too perplexed to offer it, even if 
 the opportunity had heen afforded her. Helen was more 
 *than ever a prohlem. 
 
 Helen was just preparing to go to hed ; it was nearly 
 eleven o'clock. She had listened to the parting "good 
 nights " on the staircase, and the loud closing of doors along 
 the gallery, and her hand was on the hell to ring for her 
 maid, when a gentle tap was heard at the door. Lady Au- 
 gusta entered. Helen's face expressed annoyance. 
 
 " I am disturhing you, my love," said Lady Augusta, 
 " hut I could not rest without coming to see you. "What is 
 the matter *? What is the cause of this headache." 
 
 " Noise and hustle, I suppose, mamma," said Helen, 
 shortly. " Such numhers of people ahout are enough to give 
 any one a headache." 
 
 " Any one who is not strong," said Lady Augusta. 
 
 " I am strong," replied Helen ; " there is nothing the 
 matter, really." 
 
 " Xay, then, my love ; if it he so, I have cause for com- 
 plaint. You have used very little exertion to-day for any 
 person's entertainment." 
 
 " Numhers entertain each other," said Helen. 
 
 " I differ from you, my dear. There must be leaders in 
 amusement as well as in business. But for Claude Egerton 
 and Miss Manners, I really don't know what we should have 
 done. And it was hard upon Claude, too, poor fellow ! But 
 he is so unselfish." 
 
 ' ; Mamma," said Helen, suddenly, and sitting upright she 
 fixed her eyes steadily on Lady Augusta's face, " you talk 
 of Claude as if you knew his feelings. Do you know 
 them ? "
 
 ivoks. 1G9 
 
 Lady Augusta hesitated. " My love, as I said to you 
 this morning', that is a question you ought not to ask. I 
 only heg of you not to treat him with that marked disre- 
 gard, which even to an utter stranger would be painful, and 
 which must excite — which has indeed excited — observation. 
 My aunt remarked your manner, so did your father, and 
 Lady Louisa." 
 
 " My manner may be right notwithstanding," said Helen. 
 
 " Kudeness can never be right," observed Lady Augusta. 
 
 " But trHth must be," said Helen. 
 
 " Lady . Augusta answered angrily, " You mistake, 
 Helen. You can know nothing of your own mind : young 
 girls never do, until they are certain of the feeling they have 
 inspired. Claude and you are very excellent friends, and 
 have been so from childhood." 
 
 "Yes, excellent friends," said Helen, with marked em- 
 phasis. 
 
 " Then remain so, my love." 
 
 " It is all I wish," said Helen. 
 
 " And all he wishes for the present," said Lady Au- 
 gusta. " Claude is the last person to force his deeper feel- 
 ings upon any one, even if he have them ; a point which I 
 don't pretend to decide." 
 
 " Mamma ! mamma ! " and Helen leaned her head upon 
 her hands, and her tone was agitated : " you worry me. 
 You don't intend it ; but if you would only let me go my 
 own way." 
 
 " And make yourself and Claude miserable," said Lady 
 Augusta. 
 
 " If it be as you say, he must be miserable, at least for a 
 time," said Helen. 
 
 " My love, you are talking of what you don't understand. 
 Leave things to take their natural course, and all will go 
 light ; but don't pretend dislike."
 
 170 IVORS. 
 
 " I wish only to show indifference," said Helen. 
 
 " And why, my love ? If Claude cares for you, he will 
 tell you so in spite of your indifference ; if he does not, it is 
 unnecessary to make such a show of it. I could have 
 
 wished " Lady Augusta sighed ; " hut it is not well to 
 
 indulge hope. Your dear father too ! " 
 
 " Papa is too good and kind ever to desire anything hut 
 my happiness," said Helen. 
 
 " True, my love, most true ! " Lady Augusta spoke 
 eagerly ; " hut you must allow us hoth to form our opinion of 
 that which is the most likely to promote it. Claude Egerton 
 has no rival in your father's estimation. He is in every way 
 superior : his talents, — his fortune, — his position " 
 
 " Mamma ! please " — Helen seized Lady Augusta's hand ; 
 " I can't hear to hear it talked of so. He has never said 
 anything to me ; he does not care for me." 
 
 " Possibly not," said Lady Augusta, coldly. 
 
 " He is not in a mood to care for any one now," added 
 Helen ; " his heart is in his politics." 
 
 " It may be ; or it may be open to other attractions ; 
 your cousin Susan, for instance. She would make him an 
 excellent wife." 
 
 A momentary cloud passed over Helen's face. She said 
 in a low voice, " Susan is worthy of him ; I am not." 
 
 " He woidd improve any woman," said Lady Augusta. 
 "With his high tone, his conscientiousness, his talents, he 
 would elevate her mind, support her, give her interest in 
 life." 
 
 Helen was silent. 
 
 " And Susan might suit him in some respects," continued 
 Lady Augusta. "She would be very domestic, she would 
 attend to his household, and listen to him, and be very obe- 
 dient. For higher things — the poetry of life, perhaps 
 
 but he would learn to do without these."
 
 IVOKS. 171 
 
 "He would not be happy -without them," said Helen, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Then he would accustom himself to live in unhappi- 
 ness," replied Lady Augusta, bitterly; "other men have 
 done so before him, when those who might have been all to 
 them have refused to be so." 
 
 " I could not bear that for him," said Helen, and her 
 voice trembled. 
 
 "It is the lot of many men," replied Lady Adgusta. 
 
 Helen shuddered. " I won't think of it," she exclaimed ; 
 " it is unwomanly : he has never said anything." 
 
 " Exactly what I desire, my love : that you should not 
 think of it, — that you should let everything take its course. 
 If disappointment must come, it will be soon enough both for 
 him and for ourselves." Lady Augusta's tone was really 
 sad. Helen was touched by it. 
 
 " Mamma," she said, " I know, I believe you only wish 
 for my happiness." 
 
 " I wish only that you should not throw away happi- 
 ness," replied Lady Augusta, with dignity. "But, as you 
 say, we will think no more of it. To-morrow I shall expect 
 to see you acting your natural self again. Any other con- 
 duct will but expose you to observation, and may, indeed, 
 excite the very suspicions which, it seems, you most dread." 
 
 Lady Augusta left the room, and, as the door closed, 
 Helen leaned back again on the sofa, and gave way to a 
 burst of excited and irritated feelings. 
 
 Susan, Claude Egerton's wife ! The probability had 
 never crossed her mind before. It came now with a sharp, 
 sharp pang of jealousy. She did not care for him herself, at 
 least she thought so. The suspicion of his love was burden- 
 some. She fancied that if it were offered, she would refuse 
 it, but she could not give it to another. Oh, so mean that 
 Was! so lowering! Helen's generous nature revolted from
 
 172 iyors. 
 
 such a consciousness. She tried to think of the matter 
 coldly and reasonably, and again she repeated to herself 
 what she had so often before said, that Lady Augusta might 
 be deceived, and Claude's feeling for herself be only imagi- 
 nary. But it would not do. His words and manner, inter- 
 preted by Lady Augusta's hints, had betrayed him. She 
 felt that if his love were given to Susan, it would only be 
 because she had rejected it. How earnestly she wished 
 that the idea had never been suggested to her ! They were 
 so easy, and happy, and unrestrained until then. She had 
 begun to look upon him as a friend who might really be of 
 service to her : she would have gone to him in any difficulty, 
 and rested upon his advice. And why might she not do so 
 still? If Susan were his wife, it might be. There came 
 the jealous pang. Helen could not bear it ; and at last she 
 ventured to dwell upon the possibility for herself. Good, no- 
 ble, true, generous, clever as Claude was, might it not be 
 casting away her happiness ? And then her father's wishes, 
 Lady Augusta's disappointments, — those were points to be 
 considered. Truth, — the innate, inborn truth of her charac- 
 ter, whispered that something beyond this mere acquiescence 
 would be wanting both for Claude and for herself: and the 
 old harassing doubt returned, and Helen's temples throbbed 
 with pain, as she strove to stem the current of her thoughts, 
 one moment longing to stifle them, and the next to pour them 
 forth into any ear which would listen with sympathy ; until at 
 length, .utterly worn out with contending feelings, she threw 
 herself upon her bed, after a short and formal prayer, un- 
 thinking of the Heavenly Love ready to soothe and comfort 
 her, if she had but turned to seek it.
 
 ivoes. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The mirth of childhood could scarcely have been more 
 mirthful in appearance than that of the breakfast party at 
 Ivors. Helen was there, brilliant and beautiful, bearing no 
 trace of headache or thought ; and Claude was there also, 
 self-controlled, agreeable, considerate ; and Susan sat oppo- 
 site to them, quiet and reflecting ; and Lady Augusta was 
 particularly gracious, under the influence of Lady Louisa 
 Stuart's talkativeness, which took the burden of general en- 
 tertainment from her, and enabled her to devote herself to 
 science and Miss Manners ; whilst Maurice, and Mr. Pear- 
 son, Sir Henry, and Mrs. Grey, all bore their parts in keep- 
 ing up the flow of conversation. It would have been impos- 
 sible for any stranger entering the room to guess the spirit 
 in which each then present had entered upon the day, still 
 less to form any opinion upon the under-currents of thought 
 passing through the various minds. Claude Egerton was too 
 fastidious to endure for an instant the knowledge that his 
 secret feelings were scrutinised by the general eye, although 
 there had been something soothing to him in the half-per- 
 ception of Susan's sympathy, neither could he bring himself 
 to trust them to the light without a certainty of their being 
 welcomed and cherished. He had suffered himself to put 
 forth feelers, as it were, which might assist him in discover- 
 ing the nature of Helen's regard for him ; and the first 
 symptoms of repulse had sent him back into himself in 
 moody wretchedness. But that was not a state of mind 
 which could long continue. Manly, self-disciplined, and 
 energetic, the experience of one day's weakness was suili- 
 cient to brace his resolution. An hour had been spent that 
 morning in preparing himself for the conflict, and Claude 
 appeared at the breakfast table, aide to talk politically with
 
 174 IVORS. 
 
 Sir Henry, scientifically with Miss Manners, — to discuss 
 London notorieties with Lady Louisa, and criticise Oxford 
 dons with Mr. Pearson, — above all, able to enter into the 
 plans for the evening's amusement with Helen, and discourse 
 o-enerally with the company at large upon the comparative 
 merits of charades and tableaux vivants. 
 
 It was a conquest over self, but not greater in compari- 
 son than Helen's. Claude had disciplined himself from 
 childhood ; Helen had no idea of anything but external re- 
 straint. Yet she too could, in compliance with Lady Au- 
 gusta's suggestions, and the dictates of her own pride, throw 
 off the uncomfortable chilling manner which had on the pre- 
 vious day excited such general remark, and meet Claude 
 with an open, cheerful face, in no way encouraging to his 
 hopes, yet, at the same time, not distressing to him from its 
 uncourteousness. 
 
 Helen did for pride what she would have thought it hard 
 to be called upon to do for duty. Perhaps Claude did the 
 same. At any rate, both were self-confident, determined, 
 the one to hide his weakness, the other to act as if she did 
 not per^sive it. 
 
 They adjourned to Helen's morning-room by common 
 consent — Claude, Helen, Susan, Lady Louisa Stuart, Mau- 
 rice, and Mr. Pearson. Lady Augusta begged to be admit- 
 ted to the conference, but was informed that she must sub- 
 mit to be one of the ignorant and admiring audience ; and 
 too pleased to see Claude and Helen engaged in any way 
 which would be likely to cause a mutual interest, she de- 
 parted to spend the morning Avith Miss Manners. 
 
 " Charades or tableaux ? which is it to be ? " exclaimed 
 Maurice, leaning back on Helen's sofa, and feeling prospec- 
 tively tired at the unusual efforts he was to make. 
 
 " Charades," said Lady Louisa ; " they give so much 
 more scope for intellect."
 
 ivors. 175 
 
 " Of a very dull kind, generally," muttered Maurice. 
 
 " Not common charades," continued Lady Louisa, " but 
 scenic, effective ones. Hundreds can be made from Shake- 
 speare." 
 
 " We must learn our speeches, then," said Mr. Pearson, 
 whose voice betrayed decided alarm. 
 
 " "What does it signify ? " exclaimed Lady Louisa. " It 
 can never be said of an Oxford man, that he is one of those 
 
 " - Hard-handed men that work in Athens here, 
 Which never laboured in their minds till now, 
 And now have toiled their unbreathed memories 
 "With this same play.' " 
 
 Maurice laughed. " You are in for it, my good fellow, — 
 Hamlet, — Richard the Third, — Mark Antony: count your 
 lines, and take the shortest that you may." 
 
 " No matter for our blunders," continued Lady Louisa : 
 " we will have a Chorus, who shall entreat our friends that 
 
 they 
 
 " ' Still be kind, 
 And eke out our performance with their mind.' " 
 
 " I beg to be Chorus," exclaimed Claude. " I feel my- 
 self equal to nothing but making apologies." 
 
 " Which you are not much in the habit of doing, if I 
 may venture upon the remark," said Helen, in a tone of 
 ease, observed by Susan only to be an effort. 
 
 Claude turned round quickly. "Apologies are useless 
 when the fault has not been observed. The last I made to 
 you, if I remember rightly, were certainly thrown away ; 
 but it is not likely to be so in the present instance. I have 
 no talent for acting of any kind, much less for Shake- 
 speare." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Egerton ! Mr. Egerton ! you deceive yourself," 
 exclaimed Lady Louisa. "The feeling for Shakespeare is
 
 1 76 ivoks. 
 
 innate ; it is part of the English character ; the very words 
 are inspiration, and put a new soul into all men not utterly 
 of the common herd." 
 
 " Very likely," said Claude ; " but acting is a good deal 
 a question of bodies also ; and my body is stubborn ; it does 
 not understand obeying any but that poor old soul to which 
 it has been accustomed from its infancy." 
 
 " The prompter's soul is the only one for me," said Mr. 
 Pearson. 
 
 Lady Louisa looked annoyed. " If you will talk so ab- 
 surdly," she said, " there is nothing to be done." 
 
 " We must needs convince your Ladyship out of your 
 own oracle," said Claude. 
 
 " • A play there is, my Lord, some ten words long ; 
 Which is as brief as I have known a play ; 
 But by ten words, my Lord, it is too long ; 
 Which makes it tedious : for in all the play 
 There is not one word apt, one player fitted.'' 
 
 " Unapt words I own we cannot plead, but unfitting 
 players we certainly may." 
 
 Lady Lousia, though soothed by hearing Shakspeare 
 quoted, nevertheless appeared but little inclined to yield the 
 point. 
 
 Helen tried the via media. " Tableaux from Shakspeare 
 would be charming," she said ; " Hermione, for instance." 
 
 " But who is to be Hermione % " asked Lady Louisa, 
 quickly. 
 
 "Jane Aubrey will do perfectly," said Helen ; " she will 
 be here soon : she is like a wax figure in complexion ; and I 
 can answer for her being still." 
 
 " Very great praise ! " said Lady Louisa, satirically. 
 Considerable genius is doubtless required to hold your tongue 
 and stand still."
 
 iyoes. 177 
 
 Helen's pouting lip betrayed rising temper, and Susan 
 ventured to interpose. 
 
 " It is scarcely a question of exhibiting genius, is it," 
 she asked, " so much as of giving pleasure ? and perhaps it 
 may be better to attempt little and succeed, than to attempt 
 a great deal and fail." 
 
 " No great works would ever have been begun with that 
 principle," said Lady Louisa. 
 
 "But many useful works would have failed if it had 
 been disregarded," said Claude. 
 
 He spoke eagerly, and Helen's eyes were raised to his as 
 if she would fain have asked a question. He noticed it, and 
 drawing near her, said, "You understand, I hope. Great 
 attempts for great objects. This is not a great object." 
 
 "No," said Helen, shortly; "but I like a high aim in 
 evervthin<?." 
 
 He looked pained by her manner, and Helen perceived 
 it. Carrying out her morning resolution, she added, kindly, 
 " We can discuss that at our leisure, though ; there is no 
 time now." 
 
 " Thank you, yes, I should like it," and Claude's face 
 brightened, but he withdrew himself from the discussion, and 
 took up a book. 
 
 Helen approached Susan. " This will never do," she 
 said, in an under tone ; " we shall spend the whole morning 
 in useless talk. Shakspeare won't answer, it can't : we 
 should all break down and be absurd. I will manage it." 
 She turned and spoke aloud. " Jane Aubrey, upon considera- 
 tion, is rather short for Hermione ; I suppose we could scarcely 
 ask Lady Louisa to take the part, — to be a mere statue." 
 
 " An old wizen face ! " muttered Maurice to Claude, as 
 they stood apart ; " Helen is mad." 
 
 " It is but a woman understanding a woman," said Claude. 
 He drew nearer to the little circle round the fire.
 
 ITS IVORS. 
 
 Lady Louisa was haughty, doubtful, yet relenting. She 
 owned that she had tried the part of Herrnione before ; hut 
 then the whole play had been acted, and on a special occa- 
 sion — a n amateur performance for the support of a charita- 
 ble society. She had been very much entreated, and had 
 been obliged to yield against her will. This, of course, 
 would be very different ; a stone, a painted marble figure 
 would do as well. 
 
 " Not quite for the story," said Susan, " which requires 
 life, as we shall have more than one scene." 
 
 " Dead life ! " said Maurice aside to Mr. Pearson ; " I 
 suppose that is why they choose her. It's a monstrous nui- 
 sance when elderly ladies forget the date of their baptismal 
 register. Propose her for Lady Macbeth, and I will say 
 something to you." 
 
 But this was not now possible. Lady Louisa's imagina- 
 tion had seized upon the idea of Herrnione ; and Helen, only 
 too glad to sacrifice one point, that she might gain others, 
 was proceeding to discuss dress, attitude, arrangement of 
 light, «fec. 
 
 Claude went up to Susan. " Could we not form a little 
 programme by ourselves "? " he said. "If we have tableaux, 
 there should be several, and there is no time to lose. Her- 
 mione's dress will not be decided for the next hour." 
 
 Susan looked at Mr. Pearson and Maurice. 
 
 " We shall do better by ourselves," said Claude. " Could 
 you not come with me for a few minutes into the ante- 
 room % " Susan hesitated, but moved a little away to the 
 lower end of the apartment. " I have several in my remem- 
 brance," continued Claude : " some from Walter Scott, and 
 from pictures ; one especially, the presentation of the crown 
 to Lady Jane Grey. Did you ever see it ? " 
 
 " No, I have never seen a tableau of any kind. I have 
 never been at a play, I know nothing about it."
 
 ivoes. 179 
 
 " Then you will enjoy it thoroughly, if you ever do see 
 it," said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, if it is perfect. I dread acting, it must he im- 
 perfect." 
 
 " Not with some people," said Claude, and his eye in- 
 stinctively wandered to Helen. "Where there is that quick, 
 passionate, impulsive temperament, it ceases to be acting, 
 and becomes reality." 
 
 " Then it would be so with Helen," observed Susan, and 
 following Claude's glance, she also turned to look with ad- 
 miration upon the graceful attitude, and the animated face 
 with which her cousin was carrying on her conversation with 
 Lady Louisa. " I should like to see her act," she added. 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed Claude, eagerly ; " you would not 
 bear it. I could not: it would be agony to me." He 
 checked himself in an instant, as Susan's gentle, yet keen 
 gaze met his ; and coldly came the concluding words of the 
 sentence, " It would be too real, and an exhibition of that 
 kind is not fitted for a lady." 
 
 " A tableau is an exhibition also," said Susan. 
 
 " Yes, but }f a different kind. It requires self-control. 
 There is not the excitement of acting. You will see at 
 once that it is different. Not but that it requires care too ; 
 all these things do. Will you take part in Lady .Jane Grey ? " 
 
 " I would rather not. I will help by making myself 
 useful ; but I don't tl ink I should like to take any promi- 
 nent part." 
 
 " Then we must have Lady Louisa," said Claude, in a 
 tune of disappointment. 
 
 " Or Miss Aubrey. She will be here, Helen says, in 
 time." 
 
 " Yes, but she would not do ; at least, I would rather 
 have you for the Duchess of Suffolk. Miss Aubrey is so 
 showy."
 
 180 IVOKS. 
 
 "She understands it, I don't," said Susan. "Helen 
 would make a charming Jane Grey." 
 
 " Yes," and Claude sighed. 
 
 " She has the expression which is required," said Susan. 
 " I have seen her often stand as I can imagine Lady Jane to 
 have stood, debating between what seemed positive good and 
 doubtful evil." 
 
 " There lay the secret of the temptation, I suppose," said 
 Claude, thoughtfully ; " Poor Lady Jane ! it was a fearful 
 punishment." 
 
 " Yes, for an error only, not for a sin," observed Susan. 
 
 "Fearful because we see and realize it," continued 
 Claude. " Yet I often think how terrible a history would 
 be revealed if we could learn the secrets of the punishments 
 we don't see. But," — and he started, — "this moralising 
 won't help us. I don't know why I always do moralise with 
 you, Miss Graham." 
 
 " It is my fault," said Susan, simply. " I get into a 
 grave way of looking at things, and then it comes out natu- 
 rally. But I don't like it in other people. Helen's spirits 
 always delight me." 
 
 " There is a great deal in feeling the tone of mind of 
 the person you are conversing with," said Claude ; " one 
 puts out a sober thought so cautiously with some people." 
 
 " And it is withdrawn so soon when it is not welcomed," 
 said Susan. 
 
 Claude smi\ed. " I should have thought you meant that 
 satirically," he said, " if it were in your nature to be satiri- 
 cal. That habit of withdrawing my thoughts is one which 
 I am often accused of. It is instinct only ; I do it before I 
 am aware : but, oh ! the rest of finding that one can venture 
 to say everything freely." 
 
 " Yes," said Susan ; " that one can trust to be under- 
 stood."
 
 IVORS. 181 
 
 Claude looked at her earnestly, and replied in a grave, 
 rather low tone, " Is it presumption to say, that I fancy I 
 should never be afraid of speaking freely to you ? " 
 
 A sudden but faint tinge spread" itself over Susan's face, 
 succeeded by paleness ; yet the transient sign of emotion was 
 gone, as she followed the direction of Claude's eye, and saw 
 it rest upon Helen. She made no direct reply, but merely 
 said, " I will break up the council ; we have no time to 
 lose ; " and going at once to Helen, she begged her, if the 
 arrangements for Plermione were settled, to join Mr. Egerton 
 and herself in sketching out another tableau. 
 
 " Alas, poor Helena ! " whispered Lady Louisa to Maurice, 
 as Susan, followed by Helen, went back to the spot where 
 Claude was standing. 
 
 " ' For ere Demetrius looked on Hermia's eyne, 
 He hailed down oaths that he was only mine.' " 
 
 Maurice stared, not comprehending ; and thinking that 
 he had been asked where the quotation was to be found, re- 
 peated it aloud. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " exclaimed Lady Louisa, forgetting that 
 11 hush ! " is the most audible sound in the English language. 
 It was too late to say "hush!" for one person. Lady 
 Louisa saw the expression of Helen's face, and knew that 
 she, at least, had both heard and understood. 
 
 It was a very busy afternoon. Mrs. Graham arrived, 
 with Isabella and Anna, Lord Steyne and Miss Aubrey, Sir 
 John and Lady Hume, and their daughters, and a party of 
 friends with them. But the mysteries of the Green Koom 
 went on without interruption. Lady Augusta only inter- 
 fered to insist that no stranger, except Miss Aubrey, should 
 be admitted to them. Maurice, Claude, and Mr. Pearson 
 must, she said, divide the gentlemen's characters amongst 
 them. Susan still declined taking any prominent part,
 
 182 IVOKS. 
 
 though she consented, if necessary, to make one of a group 
 in the background. Her head and hands were, however, 
 ready for every one's need. Lady Louisa would fain have 
 engrossed her entirely, finding the difficulties of Hermione's 
 dress likely to increase rather than diminish ; hut Susan had 
 a great deal of quiet determination, and a large amount of 
 common sense ; and even in preparing a tableau vivant, she 
 found them useful. Lady Louisa was assisted as much as 
 was necessary, but Susan would never be a slave to any per- 
 son's whims, and escaped from her again and again, to con- 
 sult with Claude and Helen about other scenes, or assist 
 Maurice and Mr. Pearson in preparing the room, which was 
 to be used in the evening. Miss Aubrey, a pretty, fashion- 
 able girl, accustomed to universal homage, was too grand to 
 show much interest in the homely details. She sat apart 
 and put forth her opinion, and, confident of her own powers, 
 was willing to undertake whatever might be assigned her ; 
 Lady Louisa gave directions, but the labour was left to oth- 
 ers, and when Susan and Lady Louisa were at work in one 
 room, Helen and Claude were most frequently engaged in 
 another. Whether Helen had any thoughts beyond those of 
 the evening's entertainment, it would have been difficult to 
 say. She was quieter, less impulsive than was her wont, 
 and seemed unwilling to enter upon any topics of conversa- 
 tion, except those connected with the business of the mo- 
 ment. That had been her manner ever since Maurice's un- 
 fortunately loud quotation ; but she was not short or ungra- 
 cious to Claude, only a little stiff and silent, if Susan hap- 
 pened to come into the room, and enter into conversation 
 with him. Something seemed lying at the bottom of her 
 heart, which she would not allow to rise to the surface, but 
 which was an oppression. If it were jealousy, she had little 
 cause for it. Claude's morning resolution of indifference 
 was severely put to the test by the experience of the after-
 
 ivors. 183 
 
 noon. Helen had never appeared to greater advantage. 
 Her freedom from vanity and the littleness of a -woman's 
 character was clear. There "was no attempt at rivalry nor 
 wish for admiration. She consented to be Lady Jane Grey 
 in one tableau with as much simplicity as to be a female 
 attendant in another. There was evidently not the slightest 
 thought of exhibition, and perhaps scarcely enough interest, 
 to enable her to do her part thoroughly. Lady Louisa was 
 the head manager ; Miss Aubrey the queen, whose fiat was 
 law ; Susan the useful, cheerful assistant ; but Helen was — 
 to herself at least — nobody, and as such more attractive in 
 Claude's eyes than if he had seen her electrifying an audi- 
 ence by the most perfect display of genius. 
 
 Yet he could not understand it. It was unlike Helen, — 
 unlike what he should have expected from her. The check 
 which he might have placed upon himself, if he had felt 
 himself likely to be carried away by admiration only, was 
 not felt to be necessary in this new phase of her character. 
 His thoughts dwelt upon her, — his eyes followed her still, 
 but more reverently — with a less eager anxiety for an an- 
 swering smile or a bright word ; and therefore he would have 
 said, if called upon to enter upon the task of self-examina- 
 tion, with a calmer and a safer feeling. How little we know 
 of others, how much less of ourselves ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Si san went to her mother's room, when the party dispersed 
 to prepare for dinner. Anna and Isabella, already dressed, 
 were there, the latter taking her sister's usual duty of lady's 
 maid. Susan looked tired and not in very good spirits, but 
 said that she had been enjoying herself.
 
 18-i IVOKS. 
 
 " Rather more than we have," said Anna. " I thought 
 the afternoon would never come to an end. That intolerable 
 Miss Manners ! she has been trying her German metaphysics 
 upon me, though I told her I knew nothing about them, and 
 could only read Schiller with the help of a dictionary." 
 
 " One feels so solitary in these great houses, with strange 
 new people," said Isabella. " It is so long before one can fit 
 in. Indeed, I never do." 
 
 " Isabella is always afraid of not speaking, or looking, 
 or moving rightly," said Anna. " I tell her it is great non- 
 sense, that no one notices her." 
 
 " Which is not much comfort," said Isabella. " That not 
 being noticed is just the thing which makes one solitary, 
 isn't it, mamma % " 
 
 " In a measure it is, my love. I had the feeling often 
 when I was a girl, and comforted myself at last by resolving 
 to look for everything in its right place." 
 
 " Not to expect sympathy and affection from Miss Man- 
 ners," said Anna. 
 
 " No ; nor companionship from persons one has never 
 seen before. It is a lesson one learns by slow degrees in the 
 same way as one learns to fit oneself to people, by talking 
 to them about things they understand. There is a good deal 
 of amusement, though very little real satisfaction to be 
 gained from meetings of this kind." 
 
 " But one may scarcely seek for amusement only in any- 
 thing," observed Isabella. "It would make one forget right 
 things." 
 
 " Not if one tries to be thankful for it," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. " People must meet together, or they become misan- 
 thropical, and if they do meet, they must have some light 
 occupation, which may suit all. Besides, there is one rule 
 for society which I always fancy is an antidote to its temp- 
 tations, that of looking out for opportunities of doing littb
 
 ITOKS. 185 
 
 kindnesses. It acts as a continued reminder, and puts self 
 and self-consciousness in 'the background ; and then one be- 
 comes easy, and there is no more trouble as to what people 
 will say or think of one." 
 
 " That is Susan's way," said Isabella ; " nothing ever 
 puts her out." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," replied Susan. " I could 
 tell you tales of to-day's trials which would make you feel 
 that we have all been put out, — all, except Helen. " Oh ! 
 mamma, you* don't know what she is." 
 
 Susan's tone had an accent of sadness in it, which Anna 
 remarked, and laughed ; but Susan was still grave. She 
 stood by her mother, without speaking ; watching whilst 
 Isabella arranged her lace scarf. 
 
 " You will be late, Susan," said Anna ; " let me come 
 and help you ; that fine Mademoiselle Annette of Helen's 
 will never be with you in time." 
 
 " I never trust to Annette," said Susan ; " the house- 
 maid does just as well ; but, mamma, is it so late ? I can 
 dress very quickly." 
 
 "You want a little talk with me," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Yes, if I could have it. I am sure there will be time." 
 
 " Dress first, and talk afterwards ; that will be the safe 
 thing. So run away now." 
 
 " But, dear mamma " 
 
 " Kun away, my child, and I will come to you. Won't 
 that do ? Isabella, love, find my gloves and the brooch." 
 
 Susan and Anna departed, and Isabella, alone with her 
 mother, and always in good spirits when she was useful, con- 
 fessed that, after all, she liked staying at Ivors ; she liked 
 staying anywhere with mamma; an observation confirmed 
 by a kiss, and an assertion that the Admiral was quite right, 
 and neither Helen, nor Miss Aubrey, nor any of them could 
 he half as nice-looking.
 
 ISO IVORS. 
 
 Mrs. Graham went to Susan's room as she had prom- 
 ised, sent Anna away, seated herself hy the fire, in the arm- 
 chair, and said, " Now, Susan dear, for the little talk ; it 
 must be a very short one." 
 
 Susan left the final adjustment of the rose in her hair, 
 and, turning to her mother, said, "Short, must it he? If we 
 were only not going down to dinner ! Mamma, I don't 
 know what I want to say." 
 
 "Say something, lore. You only require a beginning." 
 
 " Well, then ! Mamma, does it ever do, — is it — I am so 
 puzzled " and she drew near, and knelt by Mrs. Gra- 
 ham's chair. 
 
 " Go on, dear child ! I shall understand." 
 
 " Is it wrong to try and make people comprehend each 
 other ? or is it better not to worry abont it, and let them go 
 their own way 1 " 
 
 " Mr. Egerton and Helen ? " asked Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " How quick you are in guessing ! I can't make it out. 
 I don't know whether they care for each other. Mamma, I 
 don't want Mr. Egerton to be unhappy." Susan's voice 
 shook a very little. " The other day I thought he didn't 
 feel enough for Helen ; now, I am afraid, she doesn't feel 
 enough for him." 
 
 " She must have time," said Mrs. Graham. " Xo inter- 
 ference will be good, if that is what you mean." 
 
 "Not interference on. my part; oh, no! of course not. 
 But I long — if women could only speak out sometimes — 
 wouldn't it be a comfort ? I do so long to tell him that I 
 am sorry for him." 
 
 " He mightn't thank you for that, my love." 
 
 " He would," said Susan, earnestly ; " he likes sympa- 
 thy : he told me " — and she blushed a little — " that he could 
 talk quite freely to me." 
 
 Mrs. Graham's countenance changed. She said quietly,
 
 iyors. 187 
 
 ' ; You must have become very confidential for him to have 
 said that." 
 
 " Not exactly ; only on the verge. If we had gone on a 
 little further — and if we had been alone — we might have 
 been ; — except that Mr. Egerton would never tell what he 
 feels to any one." 
 
 " And you suspect he thinks a good deal about Helen, 
 then, do you'?" inquired Mrs. Graham. 
 
 "Yes, a great deal, and I am afraid more than she 
 thinks about him. Yet she respects him, and people praise 
 him, and Lady Augusta — Mamma, I told you what hap- 
 pened yesterday morning, — I saw directly what she wished ; 
 and I see what every one else thinks and wishes. Miss 
 Manners and Lady Louisa Stuart seem to take things for 
 granted in a strange kind of way, and I know that Helen 
 sees it ; her manner to Mr. Egerton becomes so very odd 
 every now and then. It is as if she were being driven on, 
 and only half liked it. Oh, mamma, can't you see her, and 
 talk to her 1 " 
 
 " Impossible. How can I interfere to prevent what every 
 one knows Lady Augusta has set her heart upon for years'? " 
 said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Prevent. Did I say anything about preventing'? " asked 
 Susan, hurriedly, whilst the colour faded from her cheek. 
 
 " You implied it, my love." 
 Mamma ! I didn't mean it." Susan's eyes filled with 
 .ears, and she grasped the arm of her mother's chair. " I 
 want them to be happy. Dear mamma, you are quite sure 
 I do ; " and she looked fixedly in ber mother's face. 
 
 " <,Hiite, quite sure." Mrs. Graham's voice was a little 
 wanting in firmness, but she went on calmly. "1 under- 
 stand you thoroughly, my child. If you were certain that 
 Helen would love Mr. Egerton as he deserves to be loved, 
 you would be satisfied."
 
 1S8 IVORS. 
 
 Susan did not say yes. She leaned her head against her 
 mother's shoulder, and murmured: "I would cut off my 
 right hand to make them happy ; " and Mrs. Graham re- 
 plied : " Leave them to God, my child, and pray for them ; 
 that puts all things right." 
 
 At that moment the second dinner hell rang. 
 
 Helen also had a few minutes' conversation with Lady 
 Augusta about the same time, hut it was not sought on 
 her part. Lady Augusta came to her whilst she was dress- 
 ing, sent Annette away, and insisted upon fastening Helen's 
 dress herself. Helen disliked this exceedingly. She was 
 fanciful about her toilette, — not vain, — but she chose to have 
 everything done according to her own peculiar fashion ; and 
 if it had been a case of serious necessity, could scarcely have 
 been prevailed upon to allow any one but Annette to wait 
 upon her. Lady Augusta's offer, therefore, was received 
 coldly, if only for that reason ; but Helen had besides an 
 instinctive shrinking at all times from private conversations 
 with her step-mother. In public they suited fairly well ; 
 Lady Augusta's knowledge of the world and acquired tact 
 enabled her generally to do and say the right things at the 
 right time, and in the right way ; but the moment restraint 
 was over, she was like the repelling pole of the magnet to 
 Helen. Truth was at the root of one character, falsehood at 
 the root of the other. Thoughtlessness, irritability, incon- 
 sistencies, even serious defects, might be built upon truth ; 
 suavity of manner, kind actions, strict propriety, even the 
 appearance of religion, might be built upon falsehood ; but 
 they were not the less innately and intrinsically abhorrent 
 to each other, and Helen felt it to her heart's core. 
 
 The conversation now was little more than a repetition 
 of that which had passed on the preceding evening, except 
 that Lady Augusta expressed herself well satisfied with 
 Helen's conduct during the day Hints were again made of
 
 Ivors. 189 
 
 Claude's supposed preference for Susan, which Lady Louisa 
 Stuart was said to have remarked ; and upon this ground, 
 Helen was urged to feel quite at her ease, although Lady 
 Augusta professed herself to have secret reasons for differing 
 from Lady Louisa. 
 
 Helen was, in fact, completely mystified ; but Lady Au- 
 gusta's object was gained. The state of Claude's feelings 
 was made a topic of paramount interest. Helen's attention 
 was fully directed to him ; her thoughts were not suffered to 
 wander into- other channels ; and the quickening sting of 
 incipient jealousy was added to keep up the latent spark, 
 which it was hoped would soon be developed into a flame. 
 
 As Lady Augusta could have prophesied, when she was 
 gone, Helen thought and thought, — went over the same 
 ground as on the night before, — questioned her own heart, 
 dwelt upon Claude's goodness, hated Lady Louisa Stuart for 
 her suggestions, quarrelled with herself for caring for them ; 
 and, at length, ringing for Annette, finished dressing very 
 hastily, and went down stairs in an uneasy frame of mind, 
 well suited to represent the shadow of coming sorrow — upon 
 the face of Jane Grey. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI II. 
 
 DiNMui was ended, and coffee taken into the library; the 
 drawing-room and ante-room having been given up for the 
 actors in the tableaux. Interest and excitement were in- 
 creasing, especially behind the scenes, where Lady Louisa 
 Stuart, ir. an agony of arrangement, was ordering and sug- 
 gesting, moving lights, criticising attitudes, insisting upon 
 her own plan for the programme of proceedings, and quoting 
 Shakspeare to the confusion of her hearers, and the destruc-
 
 100 IVOKS. 
 
 tion of prosaic sense. Hermione was to be the last scene, 
 Lady Louisa thought, though she did not say, that it was 
 best to create the greatest sensation at the end. Helen 
 would make a very good Perdita ; Miss Aubrey condescend- 
 ed to take the part of Paulina. The gentlemen characters 
 were easily distributed amongst Maurice, Claude, and Mr. 
 Pearson. Lady Louisa dwelt so long upon the plans for this 
 scene, that the two which were immediately to precede it 
 had but a short rehearsal. Queen Elizabeth and Amy Rob- 
 sart, in Kenilworth, and Rebecca and Rowena, in Ivanhoe, 
 were, however, more easily represented ; since both Lady 
 Louisa and Miss Aubrey had seen and enacted the charac- 
 ters several times. Lady Louisa, indeed, was so fully con- 
 vinced of her own capabilities, that it was with difficulty 
 she was persuaded to relinquish the character of Rebecca to 
 Helen. The colour of the hair she allowed was against her, 
 but age did not seem to enter into her consideration, except 
 from the often repeated remark, that in a tableau nothing 
 signified but the lights, the dress, and the attitudes ; faces 
 weio nothing. 
 
 The only remaining scene of importance was the presen- 
 tation of the crown to Lady Jane Grey. Lady Louisa had 
 never taken part in it ; she did not know how to arrange it, 
 and the chief management was left to Claude. But then he 
 was to be one of the actors, and could not judge of his own 
 appearance; that was a great difficulty, and much consulta- 
 tion and many changes took place in consequence. Miss 
 Aubrey was to represent the Duchess of Suffolk ; Helen, 
 Lady Jane ; Maurice and Claude, the two noblemen kneel- 
 ing before her with the crown. If Lady Louisa would have 
 acted as critic and director, and placed them all in their 
 right positions, the matter would soon have been settled ; but 
 annoyed that Miss Aubrey should represent the duchess in- 
 stead of herself, Lady Louisa chose to withdraw at the verv
 
 IVOES. 191 
 
 moment when she was most wanted, and excusing herself by 
 saying that she was nearly worn out, and that it was Mr. 
 Egerton's scene, she retired to the drawing-room and coffee. 
 
 " The consequence of having to deal with ladies who 
 wish to be thought young," exclaimed Maurice. ''Her 
 ladyship would have been quite competent to give a judg- 
 ment upon all points, if Ave had offered her the part of Jane 
 Grey." 
 
 " She is very welcome to it," said Helen, languidly, and 
 she sat down," and gazed despairingly upon the untidy room, 
 and the scattered lights which must so speedily be put into 
 order for exhibition. 
 
 Susan began to clear away all unnecessary articles, and 
 Mr. Pearson assisted her. 
 
 " Susan, you must be the spectator," said Maurice. " You 
 will be able to tell if it is all right." 
 
 " I will be anything that I am wished to be," replied Su- 
 san ; " but I know nothing about it. Why not make Mr. 
 Pearson take Mr. Egerton's character for a minute ; and then 
 he can go into the next room himself and judge? " 
 
 " A stiff collar and tail coat ! " exclaimed Mr. Pearson, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 Maurice clapped him on the shoulder. "My good fel- 
 low ! console yourself. If you were wrapped in a sack no 
 one would notice you." 
 
 " I am not so certain of that," said Helen ; " the sack 
 would be awkward in the presence of Lady Jane Grey, and 
 1 don't know that the tail coat will be much better; as a 
 general rule, though, there is certainly nothing more anni- 
 hilating to personal vanity than a tableau. One's individual 
 eelf is so entirely lost in the character one represents." 
 
 " It may be so with some persons," observed Claude to 
 Susan, in a low tone ; " it is nut so with all." 
 
 " One must be free from vanity, I should think, at other 

 
 192 IYOHS. 
 
 times," said Susan, "if one wishes to be free from it in act- 
 ing 1 ; "but Helen was never vain." 
 
 Claude made no reply. He stood for a few seconds 
 silent ; looking at Helen, then again addressing Susan, he 
 said suddenly : " Will you come % we will criticise the pic- 
 ture together." 
 
 They went into the drawing-room. The curtain was low- 
 ered ; only the flickering of the fire gave light in the room. 
 
 Susan longed to speak, but dared not. It was as though 
 she had penetrated into Claude's heart, and could feel what 
 he was feeling. She heard him sigh, and thought she would 
 make a remark, but the words would not come, and she only 
 stirred the fire and made a blaze, which was precisely the 
 very thing she ought not to have done. 
 
 " Now, then ! " was heard from behind the scenes, and 
 the curtain drew up. 
 
 Mr. Pearson had declined exhibiting himself in his tail 
 coat, and Maurice alone knelt with the crown before Helen ; 
 Miss Aubrey as the Duchess was in the background. Claude 
 had been standing close to Susan ; he made two hasty steps 
 forward, and paused. Susan saw him put his hand over his 
 eyes. 
 
 The actors waited for the criticism. 
 
 " Beautiful ! " said Susan, timidly ; but her admiration 
 met with no response. 
 
 The figures slightly breathed, and the curtain felL 
 Claude started. 
 
 "Will it do?" asked Susan. 
 
 He was gone. She was left to answer her own question. 
 
 Mr. Pearson joined her ; then followed a few criticising 
 remarks — short consultations, — and a final arrangement of 
 proceedings. Inquiries were made for Claude, and some 
 abuse was lavished upon him by Maurice for his disappear- 
 ance, but there was no time to be lost. In about twentv
 
 ivoks. 193 
 
 minutes more the spectators were to assemble, and a fresh 
 rehearsal of the scene was out of the question. 
 
 Miss Aubrey, Maurice and Mr. Pearson, adjourned for a 
 few minutes to another room for coffee. Helen and Susan 
 remained behind. Chairs had been removed from the apart- 
 ment, and Helen seated herself on a low stool leaning 
 against the wall. She drew a long breath and said, " It is 
 horrible ; it is being Lady Jane. Susan, how should one 
 have acted ? " 
 
 "As she "did," replied Susan. "So young it could not 
 have been otherwise." 
 
 " Yet the responsibility was her own," said Helen. 
 
 " Not all ; not the largest share : that belonged to her 
 advisers." 
 
 " That might excuse, but it did not save her from pun- 
 ishment," observed Helen. 
 
 " Sh 3 was misled," said Susan ; " they used false, subtle 
 arguments." 
 
 "But if they thought them true," continued Helen, 
 " where lay the guilt then ? " She leaned her head upon 
 her hand. " It is very perplexing." 
 
 " Happily, it is not likely to be our trial," said Susan, 
 lightly. 
 
 " No'; " but Helen seemed wrapped in thought. Presently 
 she said : " She must have thought they knew better than 
 herself what was right. Those who look on often do." 
 
 " Yes," said Susan, " very often." 
 
 " But then they were interested," continued Helen, mus- 
 ingly. " Oh, Susan ! where shall one find in life a disinter- 
 ested adviser? " 
 
 " In one's own heart, if it is kept pure," said Susan. 
 Helen heaved a deep sigh. It was echoed by some one at 
 her side. She turned, and saw Claude. The light fell on 
 his face: it looked stern and worn. She asked him if he
 
 l'U IVORS. 
 
 was ill, and lie answered quickly, " No ; " but immediately 
 afterwards sat down in silence. 
 
 Restraint seemed stealing over them. Susan tried to 
 break through it, and said they had been moralising again 
 about Lady Jane Grey. 
 
 lie smiled gravely, and answered, in a tone of indiffer- 
 ence, that hers was a history open to much discussion. For 
 himself, he looked only at her youth, and could see no fault. 
 
 " But that of obedience," said Susan. " The crown could 
 have been no temptation." 
 
 " No," replied Claude. " She was too saintly for am- 
 bition." 
 
 " Or for any earthly temptation," said Susan, " un- 
 less " she stopped. 
 
 " Unless what ? " asked Helen. 
 
 "Unless it might have been love," replied Susan, qui- 
 etly, " and that she already possessed. Shall I bring you 
 some coffee, Helen? I am going to fetch some for myself;" 
 and she rose and left the room. 
 
 Helen stood up as if about to follow, but she was stopped 
 by Claude. 
 
 " Helen ! " he said, and his voice was low and tremulous, 
 " is Miss Graham right 1 " 
 
 " I don't know : I don't understand." Helen spoke in a 
 frightened tone. 
 
 "Would the temptation have been greater if it had been, 
 not the crown of a kingdom, but that of love which was 
 proffered for Jane Grey's acceptance." 
 
 Helen heard the beating of her own heart, but she an- 
 swered calmly, " If it had been real love, the love which we 
 know her husband felt for her, and which she returned, I 
 suppose it woidd have been a much greater temptation." 
 
 " But if it had been offered by one whom, till then, she 
 had little thought of," continued Claude, " if it had been a
 
 ivoks. 195 
 
 love almost without hope, — though intense, so that all the 
 energy and power of life hung upon it, — would it have heen 
 at once rejected'? " 
 
 " It might have been her duty to reject it," replied Helen, 
 whilst her voice shook ; " no affection can be accepted which 
 is not reciprocated." 
 
 Claude would have taken her hand, but she withdrew it. 
 " Helen ! Helen ! " he exclaimed, " listen to me but for one 
 moment. You know what I would say, — you must have 
 seen and understood. Only tell me that I need not de- 
 spair." 
 
 " This is not the time," replied Helen, hurriedly. " I 
 can't talk to you now. Indeed, Claude, you must leave me." 
 
 The hesitation of her voice gave him confidence. " Yes, 
 I know," he said, " but I could not wait ; it was agony. I 
 ask only for hope." 
 
 "You would be miserable," was the reply. 
 
 " Miserable only in being parted from you. Helen, dear- 
 est, save me from that anguish, and life can have no other 
 trial." 
 
 " Claude, it is ignorance, blindness ; you seek your own 
 wretchedness," replied Helen. " I cannot give you what 
 you require. Far greater love than mine would be needed 
 to satisfy you." 
 
 " But there is love," he exclaimed. " Repeat it, Helen ; 
 in pity, say It once more." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 " Not love like mine," he continued ; " that cannot be ; 
 earth has none so true, so fervent. Yet let it be but the 
 genu of that love which you can give, and I will guard and 
 cherish it with unutterable thankfulness." 
 
 " You deceive yourself, Claude," said Helen, and her 
 voice sounded changed and harsli. "1 am unworthy of you. 
 Nay, let me speak," as he would fain have interrupted her.
 
 19G Ivors. 
 
 " If I could give you the love you ask for, it would not make 
 you happy. Your wife should be earnest, unchangeable. 
 For me, God knows I am weak and feeble as the winds. I 
 cannot trust myself, — even now I cannot. I feel only that 
 I would tell you the truth." 
 
 " Let it be a million times the truth," he exclaimed, pas- 
 sionately, " can it change love % — and Helen, am not I also 
 weak % " 
 
 " Not as I am, — not as I am. You know nothing of 
 me." 
 
 " God knows us all," he replied, solemnly ; " we will 
 trust ourselves to Him, to make us both more worthy of each 
 other. Yes ? It is, yes % " 
 
 " Claude ! Helen ! Susan ! what can you be doing % 
 don't you hear? they are coming." Maurice entered the 
 room in a state of the greatest excitement ; Lady Louisa, 
 Miss Aubrey, and Mr. Pearson followed. Susan also glided 
 in unperceived ; and, in the hurry of the moment, no one 
 remarked that she had not been there before. She gave one 
 glance at Helen, and went up to her chair, and, standing 
 before it, said, * We shall be ready directly. Helen, come 
 with me ; your dress is wrong. Maurice, please clear the 
 room. Mr. Egerton, will you be kind enough to look at the 
 lights 1 " Claude moved away mechanically. 
 
 Voices were heard in the drawing-room ; the party stum 
 bling in in the dark, and trying to find seats by the fire- 
 light. Then came complaints of delay ; why did not the 
 curtain draw up % Lady Louisa, behind the scenes, was in 
 a tremor of nervous impatience ; everything she was sure 
 was wrong ; no one had done anything since she went away ; 
 but it was always the case, unless she took care of every 
 detail herself. And where was Helen ? and what was Mr. 
 Egerton doing ? He was placing the lights quite wrong. 
 She sent Maurice and Mr. Pearson to take the office from
 
 ivoks. 197 
 
 him ; but he would not be interfered with ; he seemed bent 
 upon occupation. 
 
 " We are tired of waiting," called out Sir Henry, from 
 behind the curtain. 
 
 Lady Louisa rushed into the apartment used as a dress- 
 ing-room. She found Helen lying on a sofa ; Susan by her 
 side, with a glass of water in her hand. 
 
 " What ! faint 1 how unfortunate ! what shall we do ? 
 I shall be obliged to be Lady Jane myself." 
 
 Helen safe up, looking very ghastly. " Thank you ; but 
 I am not faint ; not at all ; only tired. I am ready." She 
 rose from the sofa. 
 
 Susan offered her arm, for Helen's steps tottered. 
 
 " She is faint," said Lady Louisa ; " you had better wait, 
 Helen. We can change dresses directly." 
 
 " They would not fit," said Susan. 
 
 And Helen exclaimed, " Impossible ! " and withdrawing 
 her arm from Susan walked on alone. 
 
 The impatience of the spectators, in the meantime, was 
 becoming more evident. Sir Henry threatened to come him- 
 self behind the scenes ; he was sure they wanted help. Lady 
 Augusta, with greater tact, endeavoured to divert general 
 attention by conversation ; Mrs. Graham assisted her ; and 
 for a few minutes they succeeded in lulling expectation, and 
 making people forget that they were sitting in a dark room 
 with nothing to do. 
 
 Then the murmurs rose again. " It really was too bad 
 to have brought them in so soon ! It would be better to 
 go back." But no — a tinkling bell rang, and the curtain 
 rose. 
 
 They were there, vivid as in life, yet still, fixed, nreath- 
 less, as though the spell of magic, at one touch, had convert- 
 ed them into stone : the two noblemen, with their gorgeous 
 crimson doublets, .stilt' collars, and silken hose, kneeling and
 
 198 ivors. 
 
 supporting between them the royal crown of England ; and 
 the mother, anxious, grave, standing behind the chair, from 
 which her child had just risen, and looking on them with an 
 eye which would fain pierce their hearts, and read the fidelity 
 or the faithlessness inscribed on them ; and the fair young 
 wife, so young, that she seemed even yet 
 
 " Standing with reluctant feet, 
 Where the brook and river meet, — ■ 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet ; " 
 
 and gazing — what was there in that gaze — so marvellous in 
 its intensity — so absorbing in its breathless thoughtfulness ? 
 
 Claude knew — Claude, as he knelt before her in his im- 
 passioned agony of suspense. 
 
 The curtain fell, and Helen, exhausted, sank into the 
 chair. Claude rose hastily to support her ; and as her hand 
 was clasped in his, there was a silent pressure, which needed 
 no words to tell that her choice was made. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " Frances, my dear, is there mischief in that note ? " The 
 Admiral asked the question of Mrs. Graham, who had just 
 received a note from Ivors. She had returned to the Lodge, 
 bringing Susan with her, as well as Isabella and Anna. 
 " They are n't wishing you to go back again to their follies, 
 are they "? " he added querulously. 
 
 " There would be no room foi us," replied Mrs. Graham. 
 " The house is filled with new visitors." 
 
 " Gay London people, of course," said the Admiral. 
 " And I suppose they have more pranks going on, — dancing 
 and acting, and such mummeries."
 
 ivors. 199 
 
 " There is to be a dance, I believe, before long - ," replied 
 Mrs. Graham ; but they will have nothing so pretty as the 
 tableaux of the evening before last. I can't help wishing, 
 my dear sir, that you had been there." 
 
 " Eight things in their right places," said the Admiral. 
 " It's a great thing to learn in this world. The only 
 tableau I shall ever be fit to take part in, will be one where 
 it will be no trouble to hold one's breath, for there will be 
 none to hold." 
 
 Mrs. Graham glanced again at the note. 
 
 " There's mischief in it," said the Admiral, his quick 
 eye following Mrs. Graham's. "Out with it, if I am to 
 hear it." 
 
 " It may not be mischief," replied Mrs. Graham. " In- 
 deed, I don't see why one should think it likely." 
 
 " He has done it," said the Admiral, sternly. 
 
 Mrs. Graham put the note into his hand. It was from 
 Lady Augusta. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Graham, 
 
 " Knowing how fully you participate in our dear 
 Helen's joys and sorrows, I cannot delay acquainting you 
 with the eventful circumstance which has taken place : — 
 Claude has confessed his love, and it is accepted. " 
 
 The Admiral tossed the note to the further end of the 
 room. 
 
 "Confessed his love ! — confessed his folly ! — his intoler- 
 able, egregious folly ! Oh, Frances ! Frances ! " The 
 poor old man rested his head upon his hand, and groaned in 
 the bitterness of his disappointment. Mrs. Graham sat 
 down beside him, but she did not speak to him. He went, 
 on murmuring to himself, — "He deceived me! he told me 
 there was no fear! And I warned him! He has thrown
 
 200 ivoks. 
 
 himself away ! She'll ruin him! She will spend all his 
 money ! A gay whirligig ! Oh, Frances ! Frances ! " Tears 
 rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 Mrs. Graham ventured to hope better things, hut he 
 would not hear her ; and still continued, " Susan would have 
 made him a good wife. He was hurried on. It was the old 
 woman's doing. She has caught him. She hates Susan. 
 The child is worth twenty such girls as hers ; and Claude, 
 such an idiot, not to see it ! " 
 
 He would not read to the end of the note until Mrs. Gra- 
 ham remarked that, from what Lady Augusta said, the re- 
 sult must have been as unlooked for by her as by any one. 
 Then, with a kind of surly curiosity, the Admiral went on 
 mumbling over the words, and commenting upon them : — 
 
 " The affair has been a surprise to us all. (Surprise ! 
 when she's been planning it for years. What falsehoods 
 women will tell !) I find that the denouement (pshaw ! why 
 doesn't she write English 1) took place on the night of the 
 tableaux ; but Helen said nothing to her father or to me till 
 yesterday, after you and the dear girls had left us. She 
 was, of course, quite certain of our consent (of course, when 
 it was given beforehand). It would be impossible, indeed, 
 to find any one more worthy of our darling child than 
 Claude, whom we have known and valued for so many years. 
 His moral worth and intrinsic excellence will assure to our 
 sweet Helen that support and guidance which her gentle 
 feminine nature so much requires. As my friend Miss Man- 
 ners says (Miss Manners ! what, is she there still % No won- 
 der poor Claude was taken in with two of them), her inward 
 being will be nurtured by communion w T ith his high-souled 
 spirituality, and will develope itself more perfectly, and with 
 a deeper and fuller appreciation of life than could possibly 
 have been the case if she had been tempted to bestow her
 
 IVOKS. 201 
 
 affections upon a less elevated object. Assured of your con- 
 gratulating sympathy, 
 
 " I remain always, 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 
 " Augusta Clare." 
 
 The Admiral read the last sentences twice, slowly, and 
 pausing upon the words, " Inward being nurtured by high- 
 souled spirituality." " Beyond me, that ! What does it 
 mean, Frances ? Stop, here's a postscript that may explain." 
 
 " Of course this communication is only between your- 
 selves, the dear Admiral, and your children ; Helen so dreads 
 vulgar gossip. I am overwhelmed with business, having to 
 collect votes for the Orphans' Home, the Deaf and Dumb 
 Asylum, the Governesses' Benevolent Institution, and the 
 Befuge for Destitute Servants. I send catalogues and 
 names, and shall feel most grateful for any assistance which 
 you and the dear girls can give me. Miss Manners is my 
 indefatigable assistant. Helen, dear child ! too happy to 
 think of any of these terrestrial objects." 
 
 " Then she's not a bit like her stepmother," exclaimed 
 the Admiral. " Why, the woman's drowned — over head and 
 ears drowned in the world ! Let me remember : — ' inward 
 being nurtured by high-souled spirituality ; ' — meaning — 
 yes, don't attempt to explain, Frances ; I understand, — 
 Ilelmsley and fifteen thousand a year in the background ; in 
 the foreground, Orphan Homes — Deaf and Dumb Asylums — 
 Institutions and Refuges, — all very prominent! — chimneys 
 of Ilelmsley only seen over the roofs ! Faugh ! And Claude 
 Egerton lias sold himself for this ! " 
 
 The Admiral sank back in his chair, and beat time on 
 the floor with his slick. He started up again in a few mo- 
 ments. "What docs Susan say to it all? "
 
 202 ivoks. 
 
 " It will be no matter of surprise to ner at least," replied 
 
 Mrs. Graham. "She saw " "their mutual affection" 
 
 were the -words which would naturally have followed, hut 
 some uncomfortable recollections rose up and stopped them. 
 
 " Well ! saw what 1 " inquired the Admiral, sharply. 
 
 " She saw how much Claude admired Helen." 
 
 " Let him. What has admiration to do with marriage ? 
 If a man is to marry every woman he admires, he may have 
 as many wives as a Turk. I should have thought better of 
 Claude Egerton ; I am disappointed in him ; I should have 
 thought better of him." 
 
 " Only, my dear sir, now that the deed is done." 
 
 "But it's not done, — I tell you, Frances, it's not done ; 
 — it can't and shan't be. I'll talk to the boy; I'm his 
 guardian. He has no right to act without consulting me. 
 He has been taken in." 
 
 Mrs. Graham only smiled. 
 
 " Don't look so, Frances ; I can't bear it." The Admi- 
 ral was working himself up into a passion, but another glance 
 ut Mrs. Graham checked him. "Yes, I know what you 
 would say : it's very wrong ; one has no right to vex when 
 things are out of one's power. But it's not done : ' many a 
 slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.' She is not his wife yet, eh, 
 Frances ? " 
 
 " Indeed, dear sir, I can't hope that any thing will hap- 
 pen to prevent her being so. I would not wish for a better 
 fate for Helen than to have a husband like Claude." 
 
 " Aye, for her ! well, indeed ! But for him % " 
 
 " Suppose we don't think about it any more just now," 
 said Mrs. Graham. It only frets us both." 
 
 " Oh ! and it does fret you, then % " The Admiral's tone 
 was mollified ; and he looked at Mrs. Graham with some- 
 thing of his usual keen but good-humoured expression. 
 
 " It frets me a little, — just a very little. I want to see 
 ihem togeUier, and judge for myself how far they suit."
 
 IVORS. 203 
 
 The Admiral's manner changed. "You are an angel, 
 Frances, which is more than I am. I don't believe you ever 
 thought of yourself in your life. If Claude Egerton is hap- 
 py, it will be more, ten thousand times, than he deserves." 
 
 Mrs. Graham's countenance showed grave and anxious 
 thought ; and, seeing that the first burst of the Admiral's 
 vexation was for the moment allayed, she left him to seek for 
 Susan. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Susan was in the drawing-room with her sisters. They were 
 busy, as they would have been at home ; but the bachelor's 
 state apartment, cold and neat, was very different from the 
 bright little working-room at "Wingtield Court. That, per- 
 haps gave a feeling of discomfort to the party ; for there was 
 unquestionably an absence of the cheerful interest in what 
 they were doing, which made all home-pursuits agreeable. 
 Isabella was on the verge of a mood, and striving against it 
 so visibly that others had the sensation of striving also. 
 One mind out o^ sorts affects others, as it were, by magnetic 
 influence. It is impossible to be insensible to it. Isabella, 
 with all her love for her mother and sisters, caused them 
 more uncomfortablo hours than she Mould have been at all 
 willing to acknowledge. Because the moods were not no- 
 ticed, she supposed they were not felt. 
 
 .Mrs. Graham, unfortunately for her own comfort, was as 
 quickly alive to changes in the moral atmosphere as some 
 invalids are to those in the physical. She could see by the 
 very way in which Isabella held, but did not use, (he pencil, 
 with which she had been drawing from a small marble bust 
 of Shakspeare, that something was wrong. 
 
 "Mamma, we have been wanting you very much," said
 
 204 ivoks. 
 
 Anna, as her mother entered the room. " We think we are 
 rather dull after Ivors." 
 
 " I don't think so." said Isabella ; " I like this a great 
 deal better than Ivors." 
 
 " Because yon never like anything," said Anna, a little 
 pettishly. " Mamma, will Lady Augusta ask us to the dance 
 they are going to give 1 " 
 
 " Most likely, my love ; but I am afraid you are growing 
 dissipated." 
 
 " Dear mamma, no ! If we were at home I should not 
 care ; but here, you know, it is what Charlie calls slow." 
 
 " Charlie comes, we hope, the day after to-morrow," said 
 Mrs. Graham, " and then we must be at home. But Anna, 
 love, I must have you learn to bear dulness." 
 
 " I can't, dear mamma ; I never could. It gives me a 
 creeping sensation down to the tips of my fingers ; and at 
 last I feel as if I must get up and walk to get rid of it. I 
 began just now, and Isabella didn't like it. I didn't mean 
 to worry you, Bella dear ; " and Anna started up and gave 
 her sister a kiss, and then laughed heartily. " I beg your 
 pardon, and I am so sorry ! but do look, mamma, — an exem- 
 plification of an inch in a man's nose ! " She pointed to an 
 unfortunate stroke, which by shaking the table in her walk, 
 she had caused poor Isabella to make. 
 
 " Very provoking ! " said Mrs. Graham, soothingly, to 
 Isabella, who immediately began to rub the line, murmur- 
 ing, at the same time, that the drawing was spoilt. 
 
 Anna looked really vexed now, and said again that she 
 was very sorry, and Isabella made an effort to assure ber 
 that it did not signify ; but, although she could overcome the 
 temporary annoyance, it was less easy to change the tone of 
 feeling which had caused it to be so much felt ; and Isabella 
 continued her drawing in silence. 
 
 All this time Susan had been engaged in writing, — noth-
 
 ivors. 205 
 
 ing, apparently, very interesting : she seemed to be copying 
 accounts. She looked up and smiled, when her mother 
 asked her what she was so intent upon. Perhaps it Avas the 
 quick instinct of affection which made Mrs. Graham think 
 that the smile had lost something of its brightness ; for the 
 answer was very cheerful. 
 
 "I am finishing all the little etds of business which I 
 never have time to finish at home, dear mamma ; and I want 
 to work hard to-day, because then I shall be ready for 
 Charlie on Monday." 
 
 l 'I thought you might come to my room for a few min- 
 utes," said Mrs. Graham. " I want you there." 
 
 Susan rose instantly. " Anna, I think, if you would be 
 kind enough, you might finish what I am doing; if you 
 have nothing else to do, that is ; and Bella, when I come 
 back, shall we go on with the reading ? " Anna's response 
 was hearty, and before Susan had left the room, she was 
 busy at work. 
 
 Isabella replied, " Yes, if you like it," and continued to 
 draw, as if the reading was a matter of indifference. 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Mrs. Graham, with a sigh, as she 
 closed the door behind them. " How long has this mood 
 been coming en ? " 
 
 " Only this morning,' replied Susan. " She was as 
 blight as possible yesterday. I really don't know what 
 caused it. It was all nonsense about Anna and the drawing. 
 She was only annoyed for the moment. It is something in 
 her own mind, I am sure." 
 
 " Dissatisfaction with herself, I dare say," replied Mrs. 
 Graham. "A great many of us make others suffer when 
 our consciences are uncomfortable. But, Susan, dear, you 
 must work at her ; you can do more than I do. You are with 
 her more constantly, and Bhfc shows herself more as she really 
 is when only you and Anna are present."
 
 206 ivoks. 
 
 " She wants to be humoured so sadly," replied Susan ; 
 " and that is one of the things that perplexes me ; whether 
 it is right I mean. About the reading ; it really is inconve- 
 nient to me ; but I knew it was the only thing which could 
 put her right, and so I proposed it." 
 
 " She requires to be treated as an invalid," replied Mrs. 
 Graham, — " and she is so, I am sure. There is a great deal 
 that is physical in this morbidness ; and for other remedies 
 I see none, outward at least, but occupation. She will be 
 better again when she goes home." 
 
 " And I don't think it is good to notice the moods," con- 
 tinued Susan. 
 
 " It is very bad. Be as cheerful as you can, and take it 
 for granted that she is cheerful too : only put her in the way 
 of employing herself, and don't cross her unnecessarily. All 
 that soothing and petting helps matters for a time, but it 
 increases the evil in the end. It seems a hard thing to say, 
 but vanity and selfishness are often at the bottom of these 
 uncomfortable feelings." 
 
 " I wish very much sometimes that she was married," 
 said Susan. 
 
 " She is rather young for that wish," replied Mrs. Gra- 
 ham ; " and marriage might increase the evil tenfold. If 
 her husband did not devote himself to her, she would think 
 his affection was going from her, and make herself mis- 
 erable." 
 
 " She would be very exacting," observed Susan. 
 
 " Yes ; and there are few men who can bear that." 
 
 " But she would have more duties," continued Susan. 
 
 " In a certain way she has enough now, if she would 
 only see them. But I have not much hope of permanent 
 improvement from these external causes. There may be 
 more excitement and energy for a time, but life must grow 
 vapid again, as years go on ; and then the old evil will re-
 
 iyoes. 207 
 
 turn. The spring must be in one's own heart, if it is ever 
 to be kept in motion. Beligion, as a principle of love, and 
 not merely of duty, is, I am convinced, the only remedy ; 
 and for that we must pray and wait." 
 
 They had reached Mrs. Graham's room. Susan appeared 
 thoughtful and uneasy. Her sister's moods were, perhaps, 
 more trying to her than to any one else in the family. She 
 saw more of them than her mother, and had not the buoy- 
 ancy of temperament which enabled Anna to throw off the 
 oppression caused by them. 
 
 Mrs. Graham regarded her with anxiety. "You are 
 tired, my child ; and these worries are too much for you." 
 
 " Oh ! no, indeed, dear mamma." Susan's face was 
 cheerful in an instant. " I only feel for you. It must be so 
 disappointing after working so hard for us all for years." 
 
 " When my children were given me," said Mrs. Graham, 
 "I made up my mind that they could never be perfect; so 
 there is no disappointment. I try to take their imperfec- 
 tions as God has thought fit to send them. The disappoint- 
 ment is much more with myself, for not having done better 
 with their education. Yet, there again I try to rest con- 
 tented, and to feel that, as I wished to do right, God will, in 
 some way or other, work good out of my mistakes. It is a 
 great secret of cheerfulness, Susan, to remember that one is 
 living, not in Paradise, but in a fallen world." 
 
 " Yes," said Susan ; " I feel that I am always longing to 
 be perfect myself, and to have every one about me perfect. 
 And, mamma, it does seem as if there were some persons 
 very nearly so." 
 
 " I hope I Ifli 'ii will agree with you," said Mrs. Graham, 
 speaking in a light tone, yet at the same time keeping her 
 eyes anxiously iixed upon Susan's face. " It is as you 
 thought, Susan; I have had a note from Lady August;;, 
 and "
 
 208 ivoks. 
 
 " He is accepted," exclaimed Susan. She paused for a 
 minute ; her colour went and came with startling rapidity, 
 and there was a nervous movement of her hand ; but she 
 continued, speaking gaily, though hurriedly, " It was the 
 night of the tableaux, I am sure. I saw the change in 
 Helen's manner, — only I could not ask ; and all that even- 
 ing he would not leave her. Lady Louisa remarked it to 
 me. And Helen would not go back to the drawing-room 
 when everything was over : she went to bed. And yester- 
 day morning I scarcely saw her ; she avoided me. I felt 
 certain there was something on her mind. Mamma, mamma, 
 she must be happy." Susan sat down, her elbow rested on 
 the arm of the chair, and with one hand she tried to hide 
 her face. 
 
 Mrs. Graham took the other hand, and smoothed it fond- 
 ly. " You must not be anxious, my child. It is good for 
 her — and" — she paused — "for him." 
 
 Susan gasped for breath, and looked at her mother doubt- 
 fully. " Mamma, are you sure." 
 
 " Sure that Helen has the elements of a great and noble 
 character," began Mrs. Graham. 
 
 Susan interrupted her. " Yes, yes, — noble — generous ; 
 but — it is so quick — it is like a dream." 
 
 " Yet you saw it coming," continued Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " I thought I did, but at last " Susan did not finish 
 
 the sentence ; she trembled violently. 
 
 Mrs. Graham gave her some water, kissed her, and said, 
 " You are over-tired, my love ; you had better lie down." 
 
 "I think I had." Susan smiled, and then trembled 
 again, so that she could not hold the glass. 
 
 " You shall rest here on the sofa," said Mrs. Graham ; 
 and she placed the cushions comfortably ; "I am going 
 away." 
 
 " Must you go? dear mamma ! " Susan held her moth-
 
 ivoks. 209 
 
 er's band. " Kiss me again ; don T t go. Mamma, do you 
 love me % " 
 
 It was the touching tone of a heart searching after a 
 sorrow not understood ; and Susan leaned her head on her 
 mother's shoulder, and found relief in tears. 
 
 Some feelings are subdued by being brought to the light 
 and grappled with ; others need rather to be crushed in the 
 bud, so as never to be realised even by those who are their 
 victims. 
 
 Tbat little scene was as if it had never taken place, both 
 with Susan and her mother. Susan appeared again in the 
 drawing-room, after an hour's rest, read with Isabella as she 
 had proposed, and walked in the afternoon into Wingfield, 
 to see Kate Hope, and beg her to prolong her stay, since 
 Mrs. Graham had been absent so much longer than she had 
 at first intended. Susan was so equable and gentle at all 
 times, that no one considered it strange that she said but 
 little ; and any appearance of depression was attributed to 
 the fact of her baving been over-tired at Ivors, and in con- 
 sequence not feeling well. 
 
 Yet two things might bave been remarkable to any per- 
 son acquainted with tbe circumstances which had occurred ; 
 one, tbat Mrs. Graham in no way petted Susan, or showed 
 any difference in manner between her and her sisters ; the 
 otber, tbat the fact of Helen's engagement was known to 
 Isabella and Anna, as well as to the Admiral, and yet tbat 
 it formed no topic of conversation beyond a few passing 
 remarks. 
 
 With the Admiral Mrs. Graham was as explicit as she 
 could be, without touching upon Susan's private feelings. 
 She told him at once that it would be most painful to her if 
 the least suggestion of his disappointed hopes were made lo 
 Susan ; and it was as a personal favour that she entreated 
 him not even to name the subject for the present, lest in his
 
 210 IVORS. 
 
 irritation he might be induced to betray the secret wishes 
 •which now he must himself see ought quickly to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The Admiral agreed as a child would have done, con- 
 scious of his own weakness, and simply trusting the counsel- 
 lor whom conscience told him would be wiser and better than 
 himself: but he chafed and fretted under the restraint, ate 
 no dinner, complained of symptoms of gout, and went to 
 bed early, without asking for Isabella and Anna and only 
 seeing Susan for a minute, when he held her hand in both 
 his, and blessed her, and sent her away with a hasty ges- 
 ture, as though he could not bear to look at her. 
 
 With her children Mrs. Graham needed only one argu- 
 ment. It was her wish. She did not say why or wherefore. 
 Mr. Egerton and Helen were engaged to be married, but the 
 fact was not generally known ; and it was her request that 
 the matter should not be talked of, even amongst themselves, 
 for the present. The habit of early obedience made all such 
 commands easy. A few observations were made to Susan, 
 and received with the seemingly quiet interest which was 
 natural ; and then Isabella and Anna remembered that it 
 was mamma's wish they should not talk about it, and so 
 they Avere silent. 
 
 Poor Susan ! she knew as little the amount of suffering 
 from which her mother's loving tact had shielded her, as she 
 did the precipice of desolation and agony upon which she 
 had been standing. She fancied herself envious, blamed and 
 watched herself, checked every doubtful thought of Helen. 
 tried to take pleasure in contemplating her happiness, and in 
 the struggle against self, found, if not rest, at least that 
 blessing of a conscience at peace, which enabled her to 
 kneel before God, and trust the unknown and unfathomed 
 grief to Him, certain that He could understand and heal it.
 
 IVORS. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Ivors was looking brilliantly cheerful under the influence of 
 a south-east wind, and a clear sunshiny sky ; but it was Jan- 
 uary still, treacherous, though fair. The breeze was sharp, 
 as it was met at the angle of the colonnade ; and Helen 
 wrapped her cloak closely around her, as she paced up and 
 down with Claude, peeping in at the drawing-room windows 
 when they passed in front of them, and thinking, though she 
 did not quite like to say it, that the fire seemed very com- 
 fortable. 
 
 " You are not cold, dearest ? " said Claude, regarding her 
 anxiously, after one of these pauses. He took off the plaid 
 which he wore, and would have put it round her. 
 
 " Oh ! no, thank you ; please not, dear Claude." Helen 
 made a slight gesture of impatience. " I should be smoth- 
 ered under it." 
 
 " We will go in, if you like it," he continued ; but the 
 tone betrayed that he would not like it himself. 
 
 " We can take one or two more turns," said Helen, ad- 
 justing her cloak again, and shivering a little. 
 
 Claude looked distressed. " You are cold, I am quite 
 sure, and I have brought you out against your will." 
 
 " No, indeed," and Helen smiled affectionately ; " you 
 know I always like to do what pleases you." 
 
 " But not what pleases yourself," said Claude, a little re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 " The wind is rather sharp, you must own," said Helen, 
 in a playful tone. 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but, Helen, I feel no sharp wind when you 
 are with me." 
 
 She was silent, and he went on. "I could walk to the 
 world's end, and be conscious of no fatigue ; I could labour
 
 212 ivors. 
 
 for years, and never know a moment's weariness ; I could 
 suffer agony, and scarcely think of it, for you." • 
 
 " Yes, I know it. Oil ! Claude, I am unworthy of such 
 love." Helen's voice was sad in its self-reproach. He in- 
 terrupted her eagerly. 
 
 " Helen, if you love me, you will never speak in that 
 way. I can't hear it." 
 
 " But it is true, Claude," said Helen, gravely ; " and you 
 will one day find it so." 
 
 " Let it be," he replied, hurriedly ; ' I will wait till the 
 day comes. But surely, Helen, love is a blessing of which 
 we are all unworthy." 
 
 " Some less so than others," replied Helen. " You have 
 lived a life of usefulness aDd activity, and have, as it were, 
 purchased love." 
 
 " Not yet ! " he exclaimed ; " it is my dream still to be re- 
 alised. Oh ! Helen, I have so often pondered upon what life 
 might and ought to be, and shrunk back as I thought I was to 
 encounter it alone ; and now, at the very outset, God has 
 granted me the one boon which I scarcely dared to ask, — a 
 heart to share the burden with my own, — a precious love, to 
 make all labour light." 
 
 " Only it will disappoint you," said Helen, quickly. 
 
 He spoke impatiently : " Helen, dearest, it pains me so ; 
 why wdl you always return to that one point ? " 
 
 " Because it is always present to me," she replied ; " but 
 I would not wish to pain you." 
 
 " Trust yourself," he replied ; " it is all I ask. And, 
 Helen, we shall soon have no leisure for such misgivings ; 
 there will be too much to do and to think of, to afford time 
 fur doubt. One feels that when placing oneself in thought 
 at the end of life, and looking back so as to see how best to 
 fill up its outline." 
 
 " That is not my way, I am afraid," said Helen, a little
 
 ivors. 213 
 
 petulantly. " I take the day as it comes, and don't trouble 
 myself with the future. But then I am so young," she 
 added, more gravely. 
 
 " Yes, you are yuung," he replied, tenderly ; " and you 
 have been called upon only to obey. But, Helen, dearest, I 
 was never young, at least within my own remembrance ; and 
 I have had none to lean upon ; I have shaped my own course 
 — that makes it so responsible." 
 
 " You have shaped it well hitherto," she replied. 
 
 " What snys the wise man % " said Claude, wdth a smile. 
 " ' Judge no man's work until the end.' And it is cnly by 
 considering the end, that I would desire mine to begin. 
 What one shall wish to have done when one comes to die, 
 that is the question." 
 
 Helen slightly shuddered. 
 
 " Am I too grave, dearest ? Perhaps I ought not to talk 
 so. But it is difficult to be unlike oneself." His accent 
 showed a little disappointment. 
 
 Helen looked vexed, and said, " I would rather always 
 hear you say what comes most naturally to you." 
 
 " Even though it may not be pleasant to yourself," he re- 
 plied. " I shall be better satisfied, Helen, when you can be- 
 come more selfish." 
 
 " But I do like it, — I do wish to hear. Oh ! Claude, 
 you don't understand," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, indeed I do," and his manner was in an 
 instant full of self-reproach. " Helen, darling, forgive me. 
 It is a relief so great to talk of feelings and purposes which 
 have been pent up for years, because there was no heart to 
 
 ive them." 
 
 "A man might be better able to share them than a 
 woman," said Helen. 
 
 " Never, never. Women have enthusiasm, and earnest- 
 ness of purpose, even more than men ; and that is what I
 
 21-1 IVORS. 
 
 have longed for. With such help, I have felt that I could 
 work for ever." 
 
 " And kill yourself in the act of working," replied Helen, 
 playfully, " as every one says you will." 
 
 " I hope not. I don't want to be irrational. But life is 
 very short, taken at its utmost term ; and there are such in- 
 finite needs, — such horrible, pressing evils ! They make one 
 at times breathless with their urgency. And oh ! Helen, 
 what it will be to stand on the brink of eternity, and think 
 that life has been wasted, that even one year had been passed 
 selfishly ! " 
 
 Helen trembled, as she answered, "Not one year, but 
 many of my life have been selfish." 
 
 " You accuse yourself, dearest, when others would see only 
 the natural consequence of education and circumstances. But 
 we will begin together now" — and he pressed her hand 
 fondly ; " we will seek God's blessing upon our purpose, and 
 then set ourselves to do his work constantly, and enduring- 
 ly ; and thinking only " — his voice sank as he added, " It is 
 too great happiness to realise even for a moment, that one 
 may at last hear the words, ' Well done, good and faithful 
 servant ! ' " 
 
 Helen's eyes were filled with tears, but she was silent. 
 
 " The utmost ! " murmured Claude, speaking to himself. 
 
 " Your utm )st is greater than that of others," said 
 Helen. 
 
 " Not greater than the utmost of the Bible," he replied ; 
 " and how much less than the utmost of the love bestowed 
 upon us ! " 
 
 Helen heaved a deep sigh. Claude thought she was un- 
 happy, and that he had made her so. His tone and manner 
 changed : he was anxious and caressing. Helen, instead of 
 responding, became only very quiet, and the few words which 
 she spoke were almost cold. Claude seemed determined not
 
 ivors. 215 
 
 to notice it. He went on, still pouring forth the fulness of 
 his heart ; and Helen evidently, after a time, made an effort 
 to overcome the feeling, whatever it might he, which was 
 oppressing her. She answered more cheerfully, and once or 
 twice used some warmer expressions, which were eagerly re- 
 ceived hy Claude, and dwelt upon ; and at length, by de- 
 grees, the cloud passed away, and the conversation became 
 lighter, and Helen's manner more unrestrained. Yet when 
 Claude asked if she would not like to go in, she agreed with 
 a readiness cnly partially concealed by the excuse that she 
 had been walking for nearly an hour. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Claude and Helen had been engaged about three weeks : 
 months of intimate knowledge might and ought to have 
 been condensed into the period ; but they were strangers. 
 
 Yet Helen had not intentionally misled Claude. Towards 
 the close of that same eventful evening on which he had first 
 declared his affection, they had held a long conversation to- 
 gether, in which Helen believed that she had fully and trulj 
 explained the nature of her own regard. Claude was satis- 
 fied, — even more than that, — he was intensely happy. That 
 she could return his affectior in any degree, was almost be- 
 yond his hopes. He had assured her so, many times. And 
 she was happy herself; honoured by his love, grateful for it; 
 building upon it as upon something which was, as by a mira- 
 cle, to change the whole current of her mind, and make her 
 good without effort of her own ; above all, supported by the 
 knowledge of the full satisfaction of her Either and Lady 
 Augusta; and the assurance, which she was certain would 
 meet her on all sides, that she had done well and wisely. 
 10
 
 216 ivoks. 
 
 There had been no change since this in outward circum- 
 stances. Claude was as good and noble as ever ; her parents 
 were even louder in his praises than before ; her own heart 
 owned that he was worthy of all the affection which it was in 
 the power of woman to bestow ; but the momentary excite- 
 ment was over, — and Helen was the creature of excitement, 
 and, as such, she deceived others, and fatally deceived 
 
 herself. 
 
 True, she had held a long conversation with Claude, and 
 confessed to him, as she believed, the extent of her regard ; 
 but it was a confession made in a tumult of feeling, when 
 the events of the evening had quickened her pulse, and the 
 rush of excited and gratified vanity, mingled with the jeal- 
 ousy excited by Lady Augusta, had disturbed both her con- 
 science and her reason. Unconsciously she had been urged 
 on — unconsciously stimulated to a state of feeling in itself 
 unnatural to her ; and in that state she had, obeying the 
 truthfulness of her nature, spoken indeed of coldness and 
 unworthiness, and fears that Claude's happiness would be 
 sacrificed, but with an accent and manner which belied her 
 words. 
 
 How could Claude be otherwise than satisfied? And 
 how could Helen believe that she had deceived him 1 But 
 the reaction came, and that speedily. Claude's affection was 
 as deep as it was intense. Change was repugnant to his 
 nature. As he loved one day, so he loved the next, and the 
 next, at all hours, under all circumstances ; and so of course 
 he showed his love. But he did not understand. Helen ; per- 
 haps he understood little of women in general. In the eager- 
 ness of his happiness he allowed himself to express his feel- 
 ings to their full extent ; it was the bursting of the pent-up 
 heart, the indulgence of the yearnings which since childhood 
 had never been satisfied ; and Helen, instead of reciprocat- 
 ing, was overwhelmed by them. As Claude's love became
 
 IVoRS. 217 
 
 warmer, hers was chilled. The very truth of her charactei 
 told against him. She could not bring herself to express 
 what at the moment she did not feel. Often jarred upon by 
 the very tenderness of his manner, which seemed to her 
 almost unnatural, she weighed her own words, and checked 
 nerself when she would otherwise have returned his affection. 
 Claude was pained, and Helen was grieved; and in her sor- 
 row, pity and self-reproach stimulated her feelings, and she 
 was again loving and grateful, and Claude again was happy. 
 As friends, they might have been a mutual comfort and 
 assistance to each other, and regard and respect might, by 
 degrees, have ripened on Helen's side into a warmer and 
 deeper feeling. But she had placed herself in a false posi- 
 tion, and her intercourse with Claude was necessarily re- 
 strained and unreal. Most especially was this the case when 
 ho touched upon those serious subjects which Avere always in 
 his own opinion of paramount importance. Before they were 
 engaged, Helen was interested in them, and believed that, by 
 discussing them, her standard of right was raised, and her 
 judgment improved. She was not aware that no small part 
 of the charm consisted in the excitement of hearing Claude 
 talk ; that similar remarks made by a prosaic old woman 
 would have been listened to with indifference. Of course, 
 therefore, she believed that the same or even greater pleasure 
 and benefit would be derived from Claude's conversation when 
 they were engaged; and if she had really loved him, doubt- 
 less this would have been the case. But the excited feeling 
 which Helen, under the influence of Lady Augusta's goad- 
 Ing suggestions, mistook for love, could not support a change- 
 able mind like hers day after day. It had been very pleas 
 ant to hear Claude discourse upon grave matters when she 
 was at liberty to run away from him when she was tired, or 
 excuse herself if she was not in the humour to listen to him ; 
 but when once he had a claim upon her, hi- favourite topics
 
 218 ivoks. 
 
 became oppressive, and her untamed spirit fluttered like a 
 bird in a cage, longing to escape simply because she felt 
 herself under restraint. 
 
 Claude was perplexed and distressed by her ; but he was 
 in love with an ideal being, not with the real Helen : and 
 whenever the unpleasant truth that his idol was imperfect 
 forced itself upon him, he consoled himself by the same delu- 
 sion which had been the means of originally exciting his 
 affection. Helen might not be quite perfect now, but she 
 would become so by training and care s and he — so he flat- 
 tered himself- — should be the instrument in God's hands of 
 forming her character. With this view he told her of his 
 hopes and projects, his views of life and principles of action ; 
 discoursing to the present Helen as he would to the unreal 
 and future one, and seizing upon every word or tone which 
 showed interest in his feelings as indications of that com- 
 plete oneness of heart which he fully believed was the joy in 
 store for him. 
 
 It was all a dream, yet sufficient for happiness if he were 
 never to wake from it. 
 
 And Lady Augusta — it was her work. "What did she 
 know or care for all this ? 
 
 Nothing. Her point was gained ; Claude and Helen 
 were engaged. She thought herself a very pattern of ma- 
 ternal care. She, who might have manoeuvred and married 
 Helen to the first nobleman in the land, was contented with 
 a commoner, and had chosen Claude for his goodness. She 
 had saved Helen from the seductive snares of fashionable life, 
 and, after educating her in retirement and simplicity, placed 
 her where she would hold the comparatively retired position 
 of the wife of a country gentleman. What mother could 
 have acted with higher principle or greater prudence ? 
 
 " I have done my duty, my love," was her self-compla- 
 cent ejaculation to Miss Manners. "It has been an ardu-
 
 ivoks. 219 
 
 ous task, but I have fulfilled it. My sweet Helen's happi- 
 
 ness is secure." 
 
 Yet " sweet Helen" herself did not seem so fully sensi- 
 ble of this fact as she might have been, particularly when 
 any allusion was made to the necessity of consenting to 
 bring her engagement to its termination, by fixing the time 
 for her marriage. Delays of course there must be. Claude 
 was to take his seat in parliament, and Helmsley was to be 
 refurnished, and the interminable work with the lawyers was 
 to be hurrie'd through. But Claude was quite certain that 
 every thing could be ready by Easter ; and his eager yet 
 methodical mind could not rest without some settled point to 
 dwell upon. But Helen was variable as the winds. In her 
 good moods she would give Claude hope, and promise to 
 comply with whatever he might think best ; but in her wil- 
 ful ones it was impossible to keep her to any plan for ten 
 minutes together ; objections were raised to every thing pro- 
 posed, and the moment a definite time was mentioned, a 
 cloud came over her, and the conversation was dexterously 
 diverted into another channel. 
 
 Helen's wayward disposition was a sufficient explanation of 
 these changes to the world in general, and perhaps to Lady Au- 
 gusta ; but her father was irritated by them. His straightfor- 
 ward, manly character, made it impossible for him to follow 
 the intricacies of such a mind. If Helen was engaged to be 
 married, the sooner, according to his ideas, the marriage 
 look place, the better. He disliked long engagements, he 
 said, and had never known any good come of them. In 
 nine cases out of ten people grew tired of waiting, and at 
 length tired of each other; and this opinion, backed by 
 Lady Augusta's urgent expostulations, now and then had 
 some weight with Helen, at least apparently. But the re- 
 luctance lay deeper than waywardness. It was founded upon 
 truth, — felt, though scarcely understood. Helen did nof
 
 220 ivoks. 
 
 love Claude as a woman ought to love the man whose wife 
 she has promised to he ; and not all the casuistry of philoso- 
 phy could have availed against the honest instinct of her 
 own heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 But this was the under-current at Ivors ; on the surface all 
 was cheerfulness and excitement. Under the influence of 
 the satisfaction caused hy Helen's engagement, Lady Au- 
 gusta's sympathies expanded to the world at large, as well 
 as to her own exclusive coterie. She proposed to give a ball ; 
 Helen, who delighted in dancing, willingly seconded the 
 idea ; Sir Henry thought it might further his political inter- 
 ests ; and Claude, though he did not like it, yet made no 
 open objection. A ball in a country place, and for political 
 purposes, must include every one ; and persons who had 
 never been admitted within the precincts of Ivors, except on 
 the occasion of a yearly morning visit, were surprised by re- 
 ceiving the unexpected honour of a card, requesting the 
 pleasure of their company on Thursday evening, Feb. 17th, 
 at nine o'clock Many, and long, and various, were the dis- 
 cussions consequent upon such an unlooked-for event. Pride 
 whispered, that if Lady Augusta did not choose to show 
 ordinary attentions, she had no right to offer those which 
 were extraordinary. Timidity made it doubtful whether it 
 would be pleasant to be the guest of a person so proverbially 
 haughty and exclusive. Indolence thought that the weather 
 was cold, and that a seat by a warm fireside was better than 
 a long drive on a winter's night. Prudence suggested that it 
 would be a very expensive affair, dress being a matter of so 
 much importance with the fashionable people who would be 
 met at Ivors. But curiosity — the fatal inheritance which
 
 ivoits. 221 
 
 even heathens regarded as the source of all human ills — 
 proved stronger than pride, timidity, indolence, or prudence ; 
 and, with scarcely one exception, Lady Augusta's invitations 
 were accepted " with much pleasure." 
 
 " Not only the world, but his wife ! " exclaimed Maurice, 
 throwing down a number of notes which had just arrived. 
 '• What could be the good of inviting such a herd of sav- 
 ages 1 " 
 
 "Ask Claude," said Lady Augusta, graciously, "it is 
 all for him."' 
 
 Claude had just returned from his walk in the colonnade, 
 and, perhaps, was not in the very best of spirits, or at the 
 icme of good humour. " He was sorry," he said, " to have 
 been the cause of so much trouble ; but he scarcely knew 
 what connection there was between himself and the ball ; — 
 indeed, he was not certain that he should be able to remain 
 for it. He was obliged to be in London on the 19th, and 
 possibly he might be called upon to go earlier." 
 
 " My dear Claude ! impossible ! we can do nothing with- 
 out you ! " exclaimed Lady Augusta, with a countenance 
 full of affectionate horror at the suggestion. " We will put 
 off the party — put it on — do anything, — but we must have 
 you." 
 
 " I am a very useless person at a ball," said Claude. " I 
 only dance because I can't help myself; and I am a miser- 
 ably dull partner." 
 
 " We will ask what Helen says," said Lady Augusta, 
 smiling. 
 
 " I never had the pleasure of dancing with Helen, that I 
 can remember," said Claude, rather coldly. " It was one of 
 the complaints she used to make against me when I was a 
 boy." 
 
 "And she will make it still," observed Lady Louisa 
 Stuart, looking up from the table at which she was writing.
 
 222 itoes. 
 
 " Helen delights in dancing so, that she would fain have you 
 ' go to church in a galliard and come home in a coranto.' " 
 
 " And boast of having the ' back trick ' simply as strong 
 as any man in Illyria," said Claude, laughing. "No, I leave 
 all such marvels to Sir Andrew Aguecheek. The only back 
 trick I can attempt in dancing, is that of backing cut of it." 
 
 " I doubt," continued Lady Louisa, regarding him with 
 an inspecting eye, — " ' I did think, by the excellent consti- 
 tution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a gal- 
 liard.' " 
 
 Claude looked a little impatient. " Possibly of a gal- 
 liard, but certainly not of the polka." 
 
 " Oh ! you don't know your own powers under such an 
 instructress ! Helen, my love ! " and Lady Louisa appealed 
 to Helen, who just then entered the room, — "your services 
 are required as dancing-mistress. Here is Mr. Egerton play- 
 ing the recreant knight, and threatening to go oft' to London 
 the day before the ball, unless you undertake to teach him 
 the pulka." 
 
 " To London before the ball ! " exclaimed Helen. " Have 
 you business there, Claude 1 " 
 
 She did not seem particularly vexed at the idea ; and 
 Claude answered with assumed indifference, that he might 
 have ; he could not say ; but the ball would go on just as 
 well without him. 
 
 " You don't like dancing, I know," said Helen, meaning 
 to make an excuse for him. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! " exclaimed Lady Louisa ; " he does not 
 know his own mind. Augusta, you really must interfere." 
 
 " There is no cause for it, I am sure," replied Lady Au- 
 gusta, in her gentlest manner ; " Claude is too well aware of 
 the value we set upon his presence, to give us such a disap- 
 pointment. Indeed, Claude, you should remember, Helen's 
 pleasure would be completely gone."
 
 ivoks. 223 
 
 Helen was silent. She might not have heard, for she was 
 turning over the pages of a new club book. 
 
 " 1 don't advise Claude to remain, if he can escape it," 
 exclaimed Maurice. " Such a set of aborigines ! "Why, it 
 will be a complete invasion of cuckoos, turning us out of our 
 nest." 
 
 Every one laughed. Maurice had made such a very 
 comfortable nest for himself by means of a c/iaise lonrjue 
 drawn near the fire, that it was clear what had suggested 
 the fear. 
 
 " With Claude away, and you devoted to the care of your 
 own nest," said Helen, " we shall be very happily situated 
 with regard to a master of the ceremonies for the aborigines. 
 Mamma " — and she took up the notes which Maurice had 
 thrown down — " who are all these people 1 " 
 
 " Political acquaintances, a good many of them, my 
 love," replied Lady Augusta : " persons whom your father 
 thinks it right to show some attention to, and whom it is 
 better to ask en masse, They will be less in one's way, and 
 .he one evening will do for them." 
 
 " The realisation of Caligula's wish," said Helen. " Give 
 diem one neck, and kill them. Well, I suppose it is right. 
 I conclude they will know how to entertain each other. 
 1 f appily, we shall have our own party. Maurice, have you 
 written about the band 1 " 
 
 " Xot yet ; I shall to-day. Claude, I thought that you 
 and I, and Helen, might ride over to Dollington this after- 
 noon to inquire about it. There is nothing to be done in that 
 way at Wingfield." 
 
 Claude had been standing apart all this time, with the 
 air of a man anxious to escape, and yet not able to make up 
 his mind to the effort. When Helen was present, it was 
 always a difficulty to leave the room. He started as Maurice 
 addressed him, and answered that he was not quite sure
 
 224 ivoks. 
 
 whether it would he possihle ; he thought there was some 
 other ensrairement for the afternoon. 
 
 o o 
 
 Lady Louisa smiled, satirically. " Don't you see, Mau- 
 rice, ' our graver business frowns at this levity.' The hon- 
 ourable member for Eamsay interest himself in ordering mu- 
 sic for a ball ! impossible ! " 
 
 Claude turned to Helen. " Did we not agree to ride out 
 to Wingfield, and call on your aunt 1 I should like to prove 
 that my engagement is a true one." 
 
 " "Wingfield is on the way to Dollington," said Maurice ; 
 " perhaps — the days are so short, — there will be no going 
 further if Helen and Susan are allowed to gossip together. 
 But I suppose, Claude," — and he looked very malicious, — 
 " you would not leave the young ladies to amuse each other, 
 and go on with me, and return again." Claude glanced at 
 Helen, and received, in reply to his unasked question, the 
 observation, that she had a good many things to say to Su- 
 san ; perhaps it might be as well. 
 
 " And after all," said Lady Louisa, " the idea is not so 
 unsuitable, when the errand is looked upon in its true light. 
 
 " ' Give me some music ; music, moody food 
 Of us that trade in love.' " 
 
 Claude could bear it no longer, and made his exit ; whilst 
 Maurice laughed, and Lady Augusta murmured, " Louisa, 
 you really are too bad." 
 
 Helen alone was grave, and, after a few moments, took 
 the opportunity of stealing unperceived from the drawing 
 room, and seeking Claude where he was most likely to bo 
 found — in the library.
 
 iyoes. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Claude's countenance and attitude showed that he was really 
 vexed, if not unhappy. He did not even hrighten when 
 Helen drew near, till she went up to him, and laid her hand 
 upon his arm ; and then a smile, most touching in its gentle- 
 ness and love, passed over his face, as he said, " Are you 
 'come to make Lady Louisa's peace ? " 
 
 " I am come to make my own," said Helen. " Claude, I 
 am very provoking to you." 
 
 " I expect too much" he replied, " when I feel that I can- 
 not live happily for a single day away from you. I forget 
 how much you have, and have always had, to interest you, 
 independently of me." 
 
 " You know I do wish — yes, I wish heartily — that you 
 should be here for the ball," continued Helen. 
 
 Strange ! that the assurance did not satisfy him ; but it 
 was so. 
 
 " My business is no pretence," he replied, avoiding a 
 direct reply. " I do think it may be necessary : I had let- 
 ters this morning which made me fear that it might be; but 
 I would not say anything about them till I was certain, fear- 
 ing — but I don't thine I need have been under any such ap- 
 prehension." 
 
 "You -think I don't care," said Helen. He sighed ; and 
 Helen continued, in a tone of self-exculpation, "You have 
 always said that you don't like dancing, and you put your face 
 
 nst the hall from the beginning. I don't think mamma 
 and I should have succeeded in it at all, because of your dis- 
 like, if it had not been for papa's fancy of giving an enter- 
 tainment to — " she stopped. 
 
 "The aborigines!" said Claude, a little bitterly ; "you 
 may as well call your fellow-creatures by the Ivors name."
 
 226 ivors. 
 
 " Claude, you are unkind," replied Helen ; " you talk of 
 my being satirical ; but tbere is no one, no one more severe 
 than yourself." 
 
 "Yes, I own it," he exclaimed; " I was wrong. But, 
 Helen, darling, you know it was not against you I spoke. I 
 understand — I know so well how it happens — I feel sure it 
 is not your own taste. But it pains me, I own ; it is so un- 
 like what I long to see, — so unlike — may I quote the Bible 
 to you % — the ' charity which suffereth long, and is kind, and 
 vaunteth not itself, and is not puffed up.' And I feel, too — 
 you must let me say it — that it is so narrow and petty, my 
 mind revolts from it, and then I show it. But I ought not 
 to do it, — I ought to bear with it here ; and by and by, at 
 Helmsley — oh ! Helen, you will learn, if for my sake only, 
 to remember that in God's sight the prince and the peasant 
 are equal." 
 
 " I do remember it now," continued Helen. " There is 
 nothing which jars upon me more than the vulgar assump- 
 tion of rank." 
 
 He repeated the word "vulgar." "Yes, that is it, 
 Helen. All that is vulgar is despised ; but the vulgarity is 
 measured by the standard of Ivors." 
 
 " I have no other standard to measure it by," replied 
 Helen. 
 
 " No, you are right, and I am always doing you injustice 
 by forgetting it. It is education." 
 
 " The world is not accustomed to think quite so meanly 
 of my education as you do," said Helen, with some haugh- 
 tiness. 
 
 " No doubt, it has been a very good education, according 
 to the world's maxims ; and, Helen, dearest, don't think I 
 would be hard or disrespectful. I feel quite sure that Lady 
 Augusta acted on what appeared to her the safest and wisest 
 principles."
 
 iyors. 227 
 
 " Only the results have not heen satisfactory to you," 
 said Helen : " it is a pity that you did not make the discov- 
 ery before doing me the honour to select me as a companion 
 for life." 
 
 " Helen ! " exclaimed Claude, " that is an unfairness 
 •which is unworthy of you." 
 
 He looked intensely pained. Helen's conscience was 
 touched, and she said more gently, " I cannot hut think that 
 your opinions on these points are exaggerated." 
 
 " They may he," he said ; " and yet whenever I think 
 upon them, reasonably and dispassionate ly, they are strength- 
 ened. I will speak generally. I see the same thing, more 
 or less, wherever I go ; and amongst really good people also, 
 — people whom, in other respects, I can thoroughly admire. 
 In almost every family, I see some particular standard set 
 up, by which the whole world is to be measured ; and who- 
 ever does not come up to the standard, is, as it were, under 
 sentence of excommunication. 
 
 " Put if the standard is a good and right one," said 
 Helen, " I don't see where the harm can be." 
 
 " God's standard is the highest," said Claude, " and lie 
 requires us all to come up to it ; but when we fall short, He 
 does not 3ut us off, or look upon us with contempt." 
 
 "I d:>»" mean to be contemptuous," said Helen. 
 
 " Dearest, no ! I am quite sure of it. I am certain it is 
 only habit. Perhaps I should not have noticed it in you, 
 °"b'> — }' ou mu st forgive my sayiDg it, — it is the tone of the 
 house." 
 
 " We are a little exclusive, I believe," said Helen ; "but 
 really it is impossiblo to help it, the people near us are so 
 very vulgar and absurd." 
 
 "Possibly: I don't know anything about them; I am 
 only arguing generally. And you must allow, Helen, irom 
 your own experience, that persons who would be as kind as
 
 228 ivoks. 
 
 possible to the very poor, and would give away money to any 
 extent, cannot resist the temptation of a sharp criticism upon 
 individuals just one degree below them." 
 
 " Very difficult ! I confess," said Helen, lightly ; " and I 
 will make you own it, Claude, if you are here the night of 
 the ball." 
 
 " You may succeed easily enough," said Claude. " I feci 
 the more keenly upon the subject, because fastidiousness is 
 my great temptation, and I have had such a keen battle with 
 myself to subdue it." 
 
 "That is satisfactory," said Helen. "At any rate, we 
 shall have a" fellow-feeling." 
 
 " Yes ; only, Helen, we must meet upon the same ground, 
 and acknowledge that the thing is wrong." 
 
 " Wrong ! Not quite right, perhaps ; a human infirmity." 
 
 "Oh, Helen, so much, much more than that. Please 
 look at it truly." 
 
 "What? fastidiousness?" said Helen. "After all, 
 there is a great deal that is good in it." 
 
 " I don't see it," said Claude. 
 
 " It is founded upon a sense of beauty, refinement, deli- 
 cacy of mind," said Helen. 
 
 " All of which we, of course, possess ourselves," said 
 Claude. 
 
 Helen laughed. " If Ave were in the Palace of Truth, 
 I suppose Ave should be obliged to own it ; so I may as well 
 say yes." 
 
 " And Ave are the exclusive judges of this beauty, and re- 
 finement, and delicacy," continued Claude. 
 
 " Absurd! " exclaimed Helen. " No one says that." 
 
 " But every one acts upon it," said Claude. " If it Avere 
 not so, Ave should give our neighbours credit for being some- 
 times as likely to be right as ourselves, and it might please 
 us noAV and tben to compare opinions."
 
 iyors. 229 
 
 " Fastidiousness, as you call it," said Helen, " is an in- 
 stinct founded upon good sense." 
 
 " Given to us in preference to every one else ! " continued 
 Claude. " No, Helen, depend upon it, it is quite as much a 
 habit as an instinct ; and it may be either good or bad. 
 Hottentots, I believe, think no persons beautiful but those 
 who have black skins ; and that ; s not a peculiarity of Hot- 
 tentots, but of mankind in general. What 'sve live with ex- 
 clusively, we consider perfect ; and if we will shut ourselves 
 up in a narrow circle, and mix with nothing but what suits 
 our preconceived impressions of goodness and refinement, we 
 also, like the Hottentots, shall fall in love wilh our own 
 black skins, and see no beauty in anything else." 
 
 " The comparison is unsound," said Helen. " Hotten- 
 tots are uncivilised, and are no judges of beauty." 
 
 " But we individually are civilised to the very highest 
 degree," said Claude ; " and not only civilised, but perfect ! 
 We cannot possibly make a mistake in judgment upon any 
 question of manners or morals ! " 
 
 " You are satirical, as usual, Claude," said Helen. 
 
 " I don't mean to be, and I try not. But, Helen, as I 
 sail I before, everywhere I see the same leaven working, and 
 even real goodness marred by it ; growing distorted, bend- 
 ing ii. one direction like the trees on the coast, cut up by the 
 prevailing wind. It is not merely a dislike of pretension 
 and forwardness — that I can quite understand. The exclu- 
 siveness which I complain of, judges persons even before they 
 are known, because they don't happen to belong to a partic- 
 ular set, and overlooks real moral superiority because of 
 Borne neglect or ignorance of the conventionalities of fashion." 
 
 " Well, it is a very difficult question, that is all I can 
 say," exclaimed Helen, rather impatiently. "I only know 
 that no argument can prevent my detesting some things and 
 some people. I need not say it, but T shall always feci it."
 
 230 ivors. 
 
 " Your detestation Will be intensified, I have no doubt, if 
 you indulge it," said Claude ; " or it may change. There 
 is a religious exclusiveness very prevalent in these days; 
 perhaps you will prefer that, by and by." 
 
 " Thank you, no ; I leave that to mamma. I should 
 never quarrel with people for the cut of their coats or 'he 
 binding of their prayer-books ; but I must quarrel with them 
 for their vulgarity to the end of my life." 
 
 " And what will you do beyond that ? " asked Claude. 
 
 Helen looked at him in surprise. 
 
 " Shall we be likely to meet those vulgar people in Leav- 
 en % " he continued. 
 
 " I don't understand, Claude ; you are tiresome." 
 
 " I only wanted to know your opinion upon the subject," 
 he replied ; " because it strikes me, that if such persons can 
 have any reasonable hope of being admitted to heaven, there 
 must be something in them worthy of our consideration and 
 regard upon earth." 
 
 Helen was touched by his earnestness, and answered 
 humbly: "Claude, I wish I could think like you." And 
 Claude's countenance brightened into happiness ; and in that 
 simple acknowledgment he read the realisation of all his 
 hopes, — the conviction that Helen Avas perfect in intention, 
 though possibly not always in practice. His eager satisfac- 
 tion showed itself in warm praise ; and Helen, pleased with 
 herself, grew pleased with him, and yielding, as she always 
 did, to impulse, became affectionate and confidential ; and so 
 the threatening cloud fo v the moment passed by.
 
 Ivors. 231 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 It was by a kind of mutual consent that the subject of 
 Claude's journey to London was not again brought forward. 
 Claude was too happy to think about it ; Helen avoided it 
 without examining why. She was in the most agreeable 
 mood that afternoon, declined going :o Dollington with Mau- 
 rice, and was charmed that Claude should accompany her to 
 AVingfield, afid talk with Mrs. Graham about a plan he had 
 formed for sending Kate Hope to Helmsley, to be under his 
 housekeeper, and make herself useful in needlework. The 
 idea had seized her fancy, and she entered into it with much 
 warmth ; indeed, for the time being, this little work of kind- 
 ness had quite taken the place of the ball in her interest. 
 It would surely have been very unkind in any one to remind 
 Claude, that characters are to be judged, not by hours and 
 days, but by months and years. He did really think Helen 
 perfect that afternoon ; and unquestionably in outward form 
 it would have been difficult to find any one more captivat- 
 ing, as she cantered her horse through the park, managing 
 it with ease and grace, and talking with animation of the 
 project by which it was to be hoped that a comfortable home 
 and occupation might be provided for the lame girl at 
 Helmsley. Claude was never so thoroughly happy as when 
 lie could induce Helen to talk of Helmsley as of a place in 
 which all her thoughts were centred. His London life was 
 always to him an episode of existence, Helmsley, with its 
 early associations, and the care of the people he had known 
 from infancy, was the paradise to which he longed to trans- 
 plant the lovely Eve upon whom his heart was fixed. 
 
 And Helen liked talking of the place, but it was not 
 always in the way which suited Claude. She had a good 
 deal of girlish curiosity, into which he was unable to enter.
 
 232 ivoks 
 
 Questions about the number of rooms, the style of the furni- 
 ture, the pictures and ornaments, were wearisome to him ; 
 for he had scarcely ever thought about them, and was often 
 puzzled when called upon to describe them. He might even 
 have been annoyed with her scrutiny upon these points, if it 
 had been less simple. He was occasionally annoyed at Lady 
 Augusta's questions, and once quietly declined answering 
 some impertinent inquiries of Miss Manners ; but Helen was 
 in some respects so like a child, that he was obliged to treat 
 her as such, telling her all she wished to know, yet at the 
 same time endeavouring to make her look upon the place, 
 not merely as a home of beauty and pleasure, but as the cen- 
 tre of her duties. 
 
 Whether Helen chose to regard it in this light or not, 
 depended upon the humour of the moment ; and even on this 
 good day, the mood now and then gave symptoms of coming 
 to an end. They talked of Kate Hope till they reached 
 Wingfield ; and then Claude proposed that they should ride 
 on a few miles further, and call on Mrs. Graham afterwards ; 
 and even this slight interruption gave something of a turn 
 to Helen's quickly changing thoughts. She was amused by 
 some oddly dressed people who were walking down the street, 
 and was just beginning to launch forth in her usual strain of 
 sharp satire, when the expression of Claude's face for the 
 moment checked her. She became silent, and it was not 
 quite so easy afterwards to engage her in the same kind of 
 conversation which had given her pleasure before. Claude 
 was very patient with her in these variable fancies, and by 
 degrees succeeded in bringing round the subject again ; and 
 on they rode, Helen again talking as if her only object in exist- 
 ence was to live such a life as that of Susan Graham, a life 
 spent for others, without thought for herself. 
 
 Toor Claude ! how fascinating it was to him to hear her ! 
 It led him on farther than he had at first intended. It made
 
 ivoes. 233 
 
 him feel so safe, so certain of her sympathy and love, he 
 felt that he might ask anything, and not he refused ; and 
 at last he said, quite abruptly, " Helen, I wonder whether 
 you would understand a feeling of mine, if I were to confess 
 it to you ? " 
 
 " I would try," replied Helen ; " you tell me I can some- 
 times." 
 
 " Very often : in matters of taste always ; but this is not 
 quite taste. You will, perhaps, consider it a fancy. Lady 
 Ausrusta would call it a crotchet." 
 
 'Mamma thinks many things crotchets which I don't," 
 replied Helen. 
 
 " "Well, then ! it is a fancy about this ball ; morbid, per- 
 haps — I can't say ; but it stands in the way of my entering 
 into it." 
 
 "And is the cause of your business in London," said 
 Helen, laughing. 
 
 " Xot exactly ; I really have business. It is only the 
 cause of my being less sorry to be away than I should have 
 been on any other occasion." 
 
 " You don't patronise such things," said Helen ; " we all 
 know that." 
 
 " I don't care about them generally. I never disliked 
 them thoroughly, till now. Helen, can't you understand ? " 
 
 He looked at her very earnestly, but Helen only an- 
 swered lightly, "I suppose you think them undignified." 
 
 "Xot for myself; I have no dignity to lose," he replied. 
 
 " Lmt fur me," exclaimed Helen. " You should have 
 told me this before, Claude." Her tone showed pique and 
 annoyance, and Claude answered quickly, "I could not put 
 a mere fancy of my own against Lady Augusta's evident 
 wish, and yours also. It would have seemed unreasonable 
 folly; and besides, I am not so selfish as to wish to bind you 
 by my own peculiar feelings. Perhaps I might have been
 
 234 ivors. 
 
 better pleased if the ball bad never been thought of, but when 
 it Avas, I was not the person to interpose." 
 
 " Only you would prefer my not taking part in it, I sup- 
 pose," said Helen, quietly, though her colour went and came 
 very fast. 
 
 " No, indeed ! " he exclaimed. " I would only should 
 
 you think me very severe, Helen, if I were to suggest that 
 there are some dances, which I should feel very grateful if 
 you would consent to give up ? I know I am asking a great 
 favour," he added, gently. 
 
 " A very great one," was Helen's short reply. " If I am 
 only to dance quadrilles, which I suppose is what you mean, 
 I may as well sit still the whole evening." 
 
 " It is very provoking," said Claude, " and I thought a 
 great deal before I could make up my mind to say anything, 
 knowing how I should disappoint you ; but I have such a 
 strong feeling about it." 
 
 " And I suppose, then, I am never to dance the polka 
 when I am married," said Helen. 
 
 " It would be my wish," said Claude ; " my taste is 
 always offended by it." 
 
 Helen rode on in silent thought ; — presently she ex- 
 claimed : " I must say you very charitable people are the 
 most uncharitable judges I know. You are doing the very 
 thing, Claude, for which just now you blamed me. You set 
 up a standard of right, and condemn every one who does not 
 abide by it." 
 
 " Nay, dearest, excuse me," replied Claude ; ' ; I set up 
 no standard ; I express merely a personal feeling. With all 
 my objection to a particular style of dancing, I should be 
 shocked with myself, if I were to think harshly of those who 
 join in it, and can see no evil. Possibly, probably indeed, 
 their minds are in a much better state than mine." 
 
 " It is all a matter of custom," said Helen. " Some one 

 
 iyoks. 235 
 
 was talking the other day of a letter in the ' Spectator,' about 
 the enormities of the country dance. Since you take the 
 strict side in these matters, I wonder you don't object to 
 that likewise." 
 
 " Of course it is a question of custom," replied Claude ; 
 " if it were not so, the present style of dancing would be 
 simply unendurable." 
 
 " Then if it is custom, there is no harm in it," said 
 Helen. 
 
 " I ask rQy favour, Helen, for myself, without reference 
 to any other point." His tone showed how much he was 
 hurt by her wilful misapprehension ; and Helen was a little 
 frightened, but too proud to yield the argument. 
 
 " Your nature is exacting," she said. 
 
 " Exacting ! " His accent startled her. " Heaven knows 
 — but no ; I will not boast, only God preserve me from such 
 an evil." 
 
 " You use strong words," said Helen. 
 
 " Because I feel them," he replied. " Exacting natures 
 are jealous natures, and I dread jealousy as the serpent evil 
 which would utterly destroy domestic happiness. I don't 
 say I could never feel it ; but I do know that if I were to do 
 so, I would give myself no rest, either in prayer or in a 
 ceaseless struggle, till I had subdued it. No, where I love, 
 I must have trust — unbounded, implicit. Even now I would 
 have you free as the air, to look, and move, and think, and 
 feel, according to the dictates of your own pure and noble 
 nature. And, once my wife, the tried love of centuries 
 should not produce a fuller, deeper confidence than I would 
 bestow upon you from the moment that I enjoyed the blessed- 
 ness of calling you mine. There is no unworthy feeling, I 
 trust, in my wish, Helen. If there be, 1 pray God to show 
 it to me." 
 
 Helen's countenance changed during this speech ; she
 
 236 ivors. 
 
 was evidently moved by it : yet, even now, the unchecked 
 pride and wilfulness of her character were too strong for 
 her ; and, as they stopped at the gate of Wingfield Court, she 
 said : "I will mention your wish to mamma, and consult her 
 about it." 
 
 Claude caught her bridle, as she was about to pass on. 
 "Stay, Helen, stay!" he exclaimed, in a tone of deeply 
 wounded feeling. " I will have no one consulted. If the 
 favour I ask is not granted from affection, it is not worth my 
 acceptance, I give it up." 
 
 Without allowing her time to answer him, he rode up to 
 the Louse, and rang the bell. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Three weeks at home, with daily occupation and continual 
 sources of interest, had done much for Susan Graham in re- 
 storing the balance of her mind. Her mother's judicious 
 tact had saved her from the useless humiliation of acknow- 
 ledging the incipient feelings, whicb, if they had been re- 
 ciprocated, would doubtless have expanded themselves into 
 that deeply rooted and overpowering affection of which her 
 heart was capable ; and not even to herself did Susan allow 
 that she had ever entertained any regard for Claude Eger- 
 ton beyond that which their early acquaintance justified. 
 
 There was no morbidness in her character. Natural dis- 
 position and careful education had preserved her from such 
 an evil ; and when others, full of romance and excitement, 
 though good and earnest, might have solaced themselves by 
 brooding over the disappointments of life, Susan found her 
 consolation in active exertion. 
 
 And there was full scope for such comfort. So many
 
 ivoks. 237 
 
 hearts clung to her, so many doors were open to her, above 
 all, she had been so trained to show and draw out sympathy, 
 that each day brought with it some claim of duty or kind- 
 ness to withdraw her thoughts from herself, and teach her to 
 tiud happiness in the happiness of her fellow-creatures. 
 
 It was a strangely different life from that which Helen 
 led at Ivors. Occupations, pleasures, companionship — all 
 were unlike. It might have been called a life in the world ; 
 she mixed with it, heard of it, knew something of its evils, 
 something of Us temptations ; yet the brightness of an angel's 
 purity could scarcely have seemed more unsullied than the 
 heart of Susan Graham. 
 
 Is it a delusive imagination that the hand of God is over 
 those who meet with evil in the path of duty, so that, even 
 when seen, handled, and touched, it has no power to injure 
 them ? 
 
 Helen was planning gaieties at Ivors, and Susan also 
 was planning them at Wingfield. Charlie was at home, and 
 it was necessary to make his holidays pleasant. Lady Au- 
 gusta was going to give a grand ball ; Mrs. Graham talked 
 of a large children's party. The topic was under discussion 
 on the day chosen by Claude for his lirst visit with Helen to 
 Wingfield since their engagement. Perhaps Susan might 
 not have borne her part in it so comfortably, if she had 
 known what was hanging over her. The undefined dread of 
 seeing Claude and Helen together was continually haunting 
 her, but hitherto she had never been tried by it. The first 
 week after Christinas had been wet ; during the second, en- 
 gagements of various kinds had interfered, and both Claude 
 and Helen disliked riding through the town, and were not 
 lorry to make excuses for going in another direction. "When 
 the third arrived, it 1 quite necessary to pay the visit, 
 
 yet it was put off from day to day, unl il ( ilaude was ashamed 
 to defer it any longer, and persuaded Helen to go. But Su-
 
 23 S ivoes 
 
 san thought less ahout the probability of such an event on 
 this day than on many former days, because she happened to 
 be particularly engaged with the arrangements for the chil- 
 dren's party. 
 
 " How many are there going to be 1 ? " exclaimed Charlie, 
 bursting into the room, and rushing up to his sister's writing- 
 table. It was a holiday, and they had all been suffering in 
 consequence from his exuberant spirits. 
 
 " More than you will know, Charlie," was Anna's reply, 
 whilst she continued folding up the notes which Susan had 
 been writing ; " so run away, like a good boy." 
 
 " But I must know, and I will, too ; it is my own con- 
 cern. You may as well give me the paper by fair means, 
 Anna, or I shall get it by foul ; " and he caught hold of 
 Anna's arm, as she held the paper out of his reach, and 
 pulled it down, whilst she laughingly strove to keep it from 
 him. 
 
 " Tiresome boy ! and so strong, too ! " she exclaimed. 
 " It is like a gaint's grasp. I wish, Charlie, we could lock 
 you up till the day came." 
 
 " Lock me up ! Dear little chick !" He seized Anna by 
 the throat, and kissed her first on one cheek, and then on 
 the other, till she cried out for mercy. " I should just like 
 you to try. They tried it at school the other day, and 
 thought it a jolly good joke : and I was out of the window, 
 and along the leads of the house, and over some roofs ; and 
 jump — down I came like a cat on my feet, and peeped in at 
 the school-room window, frightening them out of their wits. 
 They thought I was a ghost." 
 
 " You are not likely to frighten me out of my wits, but 
 only out of my patience," replied Anna. " But here is 
 mamma : now you must go ! " 
 
 ( Jharlie jumped upon the table, as Mrs. Graham entered ; 
 crossed Lis arms, and looked provokingly determined.
 
 ivors. 239 
 
 " Mamma, now haven't I a right ? It's my party. Mustn't 
 they tell me who's coming? " 
 
 " That depends upon circumstances. You are in the 
 way now ; so go back to your workshop : when we want you, 
 we will send for you." 
 
 " But you won't have a set of old fogies. I can't hear 
 them. Just let me say who sha'n't come, and you shall say 
 who shall." 
 
 . " A considerable amount of importance you young gen- 
 tlemen claim -for yourselves," said Susan, giving her last note 
 to Anna to direct, — " a veto upon all matters." 
 
 " Of course ! Magister, magistri, magistro ! What is 
 the use of going to school if one doesn't learn the value of 
 the masculine gender ? " exclaimed Charlie. 
 
 " And the power of the feminine," said Mrs. Graham, 
 quietly. " My dear boy, I really do want you to go ; " and 
 in an instant Charlie descended from bis elevated position, 
 and ran off, turning round at the door to declare once more, 
 that he felt it his duty to make a protest against " fogies." 
 
 Anna shut the door behind him, and came back to her 
 mother. "Xow U xt he is gone, there is hope. Dear mam- 
 ma, we wanted you. Susan, and Isabella, and I, have some 
 conscience fidgets." 
 
 "Xot about new invitations, I hope?" said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham ; " we shall have such numbers now, that the room will 
 scarcely hold them." 
 
 " They won't all come," said Susan , " and there are two 
 or three ; — I made a list of them ; — Anna, you had it." 
 Anna found it, carefully put away in her writing-case. " Mr. 
 < Sonyers has a niece coming to him, a girl of sixteen ; I don't 
 think we can leave her out: and the Morrisons have two lit- 
 tle cousins, orphans, so Mrs. Lowriesays; and she thinks 
 they would be charmed with the Christmas tree, though they 
 are too young to dance." 
 11
 
 210 IVORS. 
 
 " It will involve making more presents," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham ; " and you are not nearly ready now." 
 
 " The presents are no trouble," said Anna. " Isabella 
 can make a little needle-book, or some trifle of that kind." 
 
 " Poor Isabella seems the victim on this occasion," said 
 Mrs. Graham ; " she has been working till her fingers ache 
 for the last fortnight." 
 
 " I don't think she cares," said Susan ; " she is very 
 merry about it, and she likes working a great deal better 
 than going out. And then," continued Anna, — " don't be 
 frightened, dear mamma, — but Miss Harvey has a sister with 
 her, and I was describing the tree to them, and they had 
 never heard of such a thing before, — and we thought — would 
 it be very odd to ask them to come and look at it % " 
 
 Mrs. Graham considered a little. " We can't exactly 
 invite them to spend the evening, my love ; it Avould be out 
 of place." 
 
 " But only just to come and see the tree, and-have a lit- 
 tle present," said Anna. " I thought I would make Miss 
 Harvey a case for her knitting-needles ; she wants one, I 
 know." 
 
 " They would only come just for five minutes," said Su- 
 san ; " and you know, mamma, one has a kind of feeling 
 about a thing which takes up so much time and thought as a 
 Christmas tree, that it ought to be made to give as much 
 pleasure as possible." 
 
 " Quite so, dear child. The only thing to be considered, 
 is, whether one does give pleasure by bringing persons to- 
 gether who are not accustomed to meet ; but I don't see any 
 objection now. One of the good things about these chil- 
 dren's parties is, that one may break through strict etiquette. 
 Only, Anna, the invitation had better be made by your- 
 selves. Just say, that if Miss Harvey and her sister would 
 not think it a trouble to come and look at the tree when it 
 is lighted, I shall be very glad to see them here."
 
 ivoks. 24-1 
 
 "And Charlie can go for them, and take them back," 
 said Anna ; " it is just what he will like, he is so fond of 
 .Miss Harvey." 
 
 " Oh ! and, mamma, about Kate Hope ! " continued Su- 
 san ; " she wants to stay for the tree too, only she didn't like 
 to ask." 
 
 " And you know we have a present for her," said Anna ; 
 " the book which we meant to have given her on New Year's 
 Bay. We thought she would like it so much coming off the 
 tree." 
 
 " I hope the servants will see better than they did last 
 time," said Susan ; " people crowded so before them. Don't 
 you think, mamma, it would he a good thing to have them 
 in first?" 
 
 " Perhaps it might. About Kate Hope, it must depend 
 upon the arrangements at Helmsley. Mr. Egerton sent me 
 word he had heard from his housekeeper, and meant to come 
 the first day he could, to talk about the plan." 
 
 " Are they in such a dreadful hurry ? " asked Anna. " I 
 thought Lady Hume said, the other day, that she believed 
 there \\ as no time fixed for the marriage." 
 
 " I suppose it will be soon after Easter," replied Mrs. 
 Graham. 
 
 " The Admiral doesn't wish for such haste," said Anna. 
 
 "Who told you so, my love?" inquired Mrs. Graham. 
 
 Anna blushed. " Mamma, I am afraid I am very 
 naughty, but the Admiral is always quoting 'There's many 
 a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,' — and I can't help under- 
 standing." 
 
 "I hope it will be soon alter Master," said Susan. It 
 was a very peculiar tone — quiet but forced. 
 
 .Mrs. Graham gave .one glance at Susan, but said noth- 
 ing. Anna exclaimed, laughingly : "Most oracular! amine 
 of meaning underneath ! "
 
 242 ivors. 
 
 Susan tried to speak more lightly. " I only mean that 
 lung engagements are — I don't know what or why — but they 
 are bad things, mamma, are n't they 1 " 
 
 " Deep as the mysteries of Delphi ! " continued Anna. 
 
 Mrs. Graham interrupted her. 
 
 " Long engagements, as a general rule, try the strength 
 iif affection beyond what is right. Persons are thrown into 
 new circumstances, and form new ties and interests, and the 
 first freshness of their happiness wears off, and their hearts 
 grow sick with hope deferred ; and then coolness, and mis- 
 understanding, and disappointment, are likely to follow." 
 
 " But not where people love truly," exclaimed Susan ; " a 
 life would not be too long to wait then." 
 
 " There are so many, many shades of love," replied Mrs. 
 Graham. " And in the first exuberance of happiness, when 
 persons are engaged, it is easy to mistake them." 
 
 " I hope Helen won't consent to wait long," said Susan. 
 The tone was, as before, very forced ; but Mrs. Graham would 
 not, and Anna did not, observe it. Her attention was dis- 
 tracted by the clattering of horses' feet ; and Susan's words 
 had scarcely been uttered, when Claude and Helen rode up 
 to the door. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ' ; I have been wishing every day to see you," was Mrs. Gra- 
 ham's greeting, as Helen and Claude entered the room. She 
 extended a hand to each, and her face told much more than 
 her words. Another hand was timidly given also, and a 
 lower and rather trembling voice said: "We thought you 
 would have come before ; " and then Susan drew back behind 
 her sisters, and placed a chair for Helen near the fire, and 
 asked if she was cold.
 
 ivoes. 243 
 
 "A little. The win 1 i< sharp." Helen moved away 
 from the light, and bent over the fire, and put out her hands 
 to warm them. 
 
 Claude was like himself, a little stiff, a little stern, and 
 reserved. He began almost immediately upon the subject 
 of Kate Hope. A letter from his housekeeper had been re- 
 ceived that morning. She would be ready for Kate any day 
 that might be named. 
 
 ♦ " I had thought of sending her immediately,' was Mrs. 
 Graham's reply ; " but Susan tells me she is wish ng to stay 
 till next week, when we talk of having a Christmas tree. 
 Of course, though, she would go if she is wanted before. 
 There must be a good deal to be done at Helmsley ; " and 
 Mrs. Graham smiled. 
 
 "Yes, a good deal." But Claude did not smile, and 
 added : " there is no such very great cause for haste." 
 
 " Perhaps Helen or you would like to see Kate," sajd 
 Mrs. Graham. " Helen, my love, don't you think it would 
 be as well ? " 
 
 Helen had been speaking to Anna, and had not heard. 
 The question was repeated. She started ; " Yes ; no. It is 
 Claude's business." 
 
 " Scarcely," said Claude. " I am no judge of a work- 
 woman's duties." 
 
 " Your housekeeper wil" know all about it, no doubt," 
 said Helen. " It had better be left to her." 
 
 In her pride Helen hoped that she had spoken so as to 
 conceal her temper, but every one in the room remarked it; 
 and Mrs. Graham changed the conversation, and inquired 
 when Mr. Egerton thought of going to London. 
 
 It was Claude's turn then to be embarrassed ; and his re- 
 ply was nearly as short as Helen's. "He did not know, and 
 had not made up his mind." 
 
 Mrs. Graham would havebeen singularly dull if she had
 
 21-i IVORS. 
 
 failed to remark that something was wrong ; her knowledge 
 of Helen suggested the probable cause, — a difference of 
 opinion, in which Helen had shown temper, and given pain. 
 In such cases it was always better to leave her to herself 
 without notice ; and Mrs. Graham went on talking to Claude, 
 without addressing her again for some minutes. Kate 
 Holies business was soon settled. She was to stay till the 
 end of the following week, and then go to Helmsley under 
 the escort of Claude's agent, who was to come to him at 
 Ivors very shortly, and return about that time. Mrs. Gra- 
 ham dared not ask any more questions about plans or Lon- 
 don. Claude's manner was too coldly impenetrable to allow 
 of it. 
 
 There came a pause, — and Claude turned to Susan, a 
 smile on his face, the first which had brightened it since he 
 entered the room. " You have a blind friend, I think, Miss 
 Graham. I remember your telling me about her one day. 
 I thought perhaps you would be interested in an account of 
 the way in which the blind and deaf-and-dumb asylums are 
 managed in America." He drew out a small pamphlet, and 
 gave it to her, 
 
 Susan's thanks were scarcely audible ; but Mrs. Graham 
 took up the subject directly, and talked, for her, very fast, 
 about blind people in general, and Mrs. Lowrie especially, — 
 directing Claude's attention to herself, and allowing of no 
 second pause. Claude seemed quite relieved at finding some 
 one who would talk for him. His eye was very wandering, 
 and he was often absent, and said " yes," and " no," in the 
 wrong place. Helen moved across the room, and his glance 
 followed her. Susan asked her to go up stairs and look at 
 the ornaments prepared for the Christmas tree, and Claude 
 started as if he had been asked to go too. Whatever Helen 
 might be feeling, it was evident that his coldness towards 
 her was not the cause of complaint ; and so far Mrs. Graham 
 was relieved.
 
 ivors. 245 
 
 " Are you in a hurry, Claude ? " said Helen, stiffly, as 
 she rose to leave the room -with Susan. 
 
 He took out his watch. " It is a quarter to four ; Lady 
 Augusta does n't wish you to be out late." 
 
 " I really can't be tied down by mamma's fidgets," ex- 
 claimed Helen. " We were out yesterday till after five, and 
 it did n't signify." 
 
 " Lady Augusta complained to me, and I promised her 
 it should not happen again," replied Claude. 
 
 " Mamma" niade no objection to our going to Dollington," 
 said Helen ; " and if we had gone we should have been 
 much later." 
 
 Claude was provoked in spite of himself. He answered, 
 sharply, " Lady Augusta trusts me, and I can't annoy her. 
 I must ask you not to be long." 
 
 " Come, Susan," said Helen ; and she hurried away with- 
 out any definite reply. 
 
 Claude said no more, but walked to the window. 
 
 Mrs. Graham spoke to Anna : " I wish, my love, you 
 would go and see what Charlie is doing. He wanted some 
 one to go out with him." 
 
 Anna knew everything, as she always did, — that Claude 
 and Helen were out of humour with each other, and that her 
 mamma was, very probably, going to talk to Mr. Egerton 
 about it. But her curiosity and interest in other people's 
 affairs never went farther than her own mind. There was 
 the impulse to go to Isabella and give vent to her suspicions ; 
 but then, again, there was the lady-like caution and self- 
 restraint which had been instilled into her from infancy: so 
 she went to find Charlie, and put her curiosity to sleep. 
 
 .Mrs. Graham felt very nervous. Claude remained look- 
 ing out of the window. Could she venture to interfere, 
 knowing so little of him? But Helen was her niece, her 
 Bister's child, only one degree less dear to her than her own.
 
 246 ivoes. 
 
 At the risk of being misunderstood, she said_ " Helen is a 
 little fond of tormenting." 
 
 " Very," said Claude, shortly ; and he turned round and 
 drew near the fire. 
 
 " She does herself injustice, -when in these moods," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Graham. 
 
 He smiled rather bitterly. 
 
 " One is apt to forget that she is in many ways a child," 
 said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " She does her best to make me remember it," was the 
 reply, whilst a harsh little laugh followed the words ; and 
 Claude carelessly took up a book, and asked if there was a 
 good library in Wingfield. 
 
 Mrs. Graham's boldness increased. " We are very old 
 friends, Mr. Egerton ; and old friends are allowed sometimes 
 to take liberties. I am sure you will be merciful to 
 Helen." 
 
 " More merciful, ten thousand times, than she is to me," 
 he replied, in a tone which was more severe than any 
 words. 
 
 Mrs. Graham went on very quietly : " She wants train- 
 ing only, — the training which, I am sure, you will give. 
 Her faults are all easily seen ; but she will never disappoint 
 you in the depth of her character." 
 
 " We should never have been what we are to each other, 
 if I had not thought so," he replied. 
 
 " Perhaps," continued Mrs. Graham, " I am more able to 
 understand her than even those who have lived with her 
 from childhood. She inherits certain characteristics which 
 make her very dear to me, even when she vexes me." 
 
 Claude held out his hand, and said, " Thank you ; I feel 
 that she is dear to you." 
 
 " And you will promise me to be patient, then % " said 
 Mrs. Graham, with a smile, as she warmly returned the
 
 IVORS. 
 
 247 
 
 nearty pressure of his band ; " and if ever " she 
 
 paused. 
 
 Claude understood her. " If ever we want a friend, we 
 shall both feel that no one can be found more true than 
 yourself." 
 
 Mrs. Graham looked relieved. " That is just what I 
 wanted to say. I am quite aware tbat no third person can 
 expect to do much for those wlo should be, and who must be, 
 as one : but it is sometimes a relief to know tbat one may 
 speak of a trifling annoyance without fear of giving a wrong 
 impression." 
 
 " Helen need never fear the consequences of trifling an- 
 noyances," said Claude, quickly. 
 
 " And she will never give you cause to complain of great 
 ones," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 He was silent, took up his hat, and went towards the 
 dour, saying that he wished to give some order about the 
 horses : came back, and once more grasped Mrs. Graham's 
 nand, and hurried away. 
 
 She saw him standing by the horses, and afterwards 
 walking up and down the gravel sweep ; but he did not re- 
 turn to her again. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Helen followed Susan to her room with the proud step of 
 determined wilfulness, and in that same mood she inspected 
 tli'j various articles which were brought forward, gave her 
 opinion of them, talked lightly, and laughed, though with a 
 hollow mirth, which left the echo of sadness behind. It was 
 very painful to Susan, much more so than any burst of feel- 
 ing could have been ; it jarred upon her, and made her feel
 
 2 18 ivoks. 
 
 angry ; and Helen's affectionate words were received coldly, 
 in spite of her endeavours to the contrary. Helen saw 
 this, and it increased her pride. She lingered much longer 
 than was necessary, inspecting every little trifle, and asking 
 useless questions, whilst appearing not to perceive that Su- 
 san, every now and then, went into the adjoining room to 
 look at the horses, which the gardener was leading up and 
 down the sweep. She was, however, ohliged to notice the 
 fact at last, for Susan came hack, and said, "Mr. Egerton is 
 there, waiting." 
 
 " Is he ? " Helen went on, slowly winding up a little 
 yard measure. 
 
 " He will he impatient," said Susan. 
 
 " Then it will do him good to be taught a lesson to the 
 contrary." 
 
 " Helen ! how like a naughty child ! " exclaimed Susan. 
 
 " Not at all. I have no notion of spoiling people." 
 
 " Though you have been spoilt yourself," remarked 
 Susan. 
 
 " So you are pleased to tell me. But you need have no 
 fears for the future ; Claude will never spoil me." 
 
 " Probably not, if you tease him in the way you are 
 doing now." 
 
 " Tease him ! it is he who teases me. I have no notion 
 of allowing any man to be so domineering." 
 
 " Helen ! Helen ! how unjust ! " exclaimed Susan. " Mr. 
 Egerton is the last person " 
 
 Helen interrupted her. " Perhaps you will allow me to 
 judge from my own experience, Susan. You cannot possibly 
 tell what Mr. Egerton will or will not do ; unless " — and 
 there was a marked asperity in her tone — " he has been 
 pleased to confide his private feelings to you." 
 
 Susan's countenance changed, but she answered in a tone 
 of quiet dignity : " Dear Helen, you must of course know
 
 ivoes. 249 
 
 more of Mr. Egerton than I do ; and I can have no right to 
 make any remark ahout him : but I think you are wrong to 
 thwart him unnecessarily." 
 
 Helen turned away. Susan thought she was angry ; but 
 when she approached and kissed her, tears were streaming 
 down her face. 
 
 Helen sat down, tried to brush them away, and looked 
 up with a smile ; but it would not do ; they came faster than 
 before. " I don't know what is the matter — it is very 
 silly," she said ; pride still urging her to conceal her real 
 feelings. 
 
 " If I could help you, I would, you know," said Susan. 
 
 "You might, but you would think me wrong. We are 
 so different ! Susan, I can't be obedient." 
 
 Susan smiled in spite of herself. " Helen, dear ! all per- 
 sons who know you, know that." 
 
 " And Claude wishes me to be," continued Helen. " He 
 is exacting ; I feel I shall be kept in perpetual restraint, and 
 I can't be, I won't be ; he must learn it now, or, Susan, we 
 shall be miserable ; " and then came a burst of passionate 
 tears. 
 
 A mist seemed to hang upon Susan's eyes, a weight 
 pressed upon her brain ; yet she answered calmly, " Dearest 
 Helen ! it may not be Mr. Egerton's fault ; it may be your 
 own. I suppose all men are exacting when they love. It 
 must be love which makes them so ; and he is so good and 
 kind, so devoted to you. One word would put all right now, 
 but you may vex him too far." 
 
 " Too far ! " Helen started up, her eyes flashing with in- 
 dignation ; " what is a man's affection worth, if he is to be 
 vexed too far ? " 
 
 '• .Men are human," said Susan. 
 
 " Then let him be vexed too far ! " replied Helen, haugh 
 tily ; " better before marriage than after it."
 
 250 ivors. 
 
 Susan seized her cousin's hand; her voice trembled 
 "Helen! dear, dear Helen! Think what you say; what 
 a treasure you are casting from you. Let mamma talk to 
 yon ; she will understand and help you. Let me go for her ! 
 Oh, Helen ! you make me so wretched." 
 
 And Susan spoke truth ; she was wretched, miserable, for 
 Helen ; yet the mist still brooded upon her ; the veil 
 through which she dared not penetrate, hung before her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I Avill speak to no one but you ; none else can help me ; 
 and it is such foil/; you only will understand and bear with 
 me. Susan, you may think me mad, a childish idiot, but — 
 he would bind me down — I can't say it ; it is such noth- 
 ingness." 
 
 " Then why not give in, if it is nothing 1 " said Susan. 
 
 " But it is something ; it is restraint, tyranny, jealousy," 
 exclaimed Helen ; " it is about — Susan, don't despise me ; — 
 he wants me to promise — he has absurd fancies about danc- 
 ing, and he would not let me be free like other girls. But 
 you won't understand, because my aunt was always so par- 
 ticular with you. He w T ould only let me dance quadrilles, 
 and he may be going away himself, and " 
 
 " Helen ! dearest ! " — Susan's face expressed what she 
 could not find words to say. 
 
 " You think me wrong," exclaimed Helen ; " but you 
 can't comprehend." 
 
 " It is such a slight favour ! " said Susan, reproachfully. 
 
 " To you, perhaps ; but I was not born to be a slave." 
 
 " But you were born to love," said Susan. 
 
 " Love has nothing to do with it," exclaimed Helen. " If 
 be loved me, he would let me be free." 
 
 " And lie will let you be free in all essentials," continued 
 Susan, " I am sure of it ; but," — she finished the sentence 
 hurriedly — " I think, if you had considered the matter, you
 
 IYOKS. 251 
 
 would scarcely have waited for him to ask the favour ; you 
 would rather have suggested it." 
 
 Helen Mas struck hy her cousin's tone, and as the 
 colour crimsoned her cheeks, she said, " You think me un- 
 dignified, then ? " 
 
 " I think that kind of dancing is undignified," replied 
 Susan. 
 
 Helen pouted, and was silent. 
 * Susan continued eagerly : " But surely, it is not a ques- 
 tion of my opinion, or of any other person's, Helen. If Mr. 
 Egerton wishes it " 
 
 " You think I ought to give in," said Helen, coldlv. 
 
 " I can't doubt for a moment." 
 
 " But you are not in my place ; you don't know all that 
 has passed." 
 
 "Of course, I judge only for myself; but, Helen," — Su- 
 san's voice grew tremulous in its earnestness, — " it seems to 
 me — I have never been loved as you are — but I think that 
 if I were, it would be my greatest pleasure to yield ; that it 
 would be no yielding, in fact, only the carrying out of my 
 own will, because there could only be one heart." 
 
 Helen was silent for a moment ; then in a low voice she 
 said, " I '. might be so with you." 
 
 A knock at the door interrupted Susan's reply. Mrs. 
 Graham was come to hurry Helen, and, as she entered, Su- 
 san, without saying anything more, went away. 
 
 "You must go, my love,' said Mrs. Graham to Helen; 
 "Mr. Egerton will be tired of waiting, and it won't do to 
 keep him." 
 
 Helen's pride rebelled secretly against the order ; but 
 there was something about Mrs. Graham which always pre- 
 vented her from showing temper before her. 
 
 " He is excessively patient," continued Mrs. Graham ; 
 "he has been walking up and down the sweep for the last 
 quarter of an hour."
 
 252 ivoks. 
 
 " It won't do Lira any harm," said Helen, shortly. 
 
 " But it does yourself harm, dear child. I shall scolu 
 you if you don't learn punctuality, now that you are going 
 to have a house of your own." 
 
 Mrs. Graham's kiss neutralised the quickness of her 
 words ; and Helen, softened, as she always was, by the pecu- 
 liar tenderness of manner which her aunt showed towards 
 her, said, whilst she looked steadily in Mrs. Graham's face, 
 " Aunt Fanny, if I had come to school to you, I should have 
 been a better child." 
 
 '•Never too late to mend, dearest; only remember" — 
 Mrs. Graham's tone became more serious — " it may some day 
 be too late to undo the consequences of not having mended 
 before." 
 
 " I am not Susan," said Helen ; " I must be myself, and 
 people must take me as I am." 
 
 " But you can be your best self, my darling — your truest, 
 noblest self ! " 
 
 " I have no best self. I am wretched and good-for-noth- 
 ing," exclaimed Helen ; and she sat down, and leaned her 
 forehead upon her hands. 
 
 Mrs. Graham put her arm round her fondly, and said, 
 " We all have a beet self, Helen. If we had not, we should 
 be demons instead of human beings. And your best self 
 has great capabilities, and will, through God's help, lead you 
 above all the pettiness and irritation of this weary life, if 
 only you will listen to it, and listen to Claude, who will 
 assist you in strengthening and perfecting it." 
 
 " Yes, he is very good, but he is impatient ; " and Helen 
 started up, and arranged the folds of her riding habit. 
 
 " And somebody likes to make him so," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham, half severely, half playfully. 
 
 ' ; Aunt Fanny, you were born under a favourable con- 
 junction of the planets ; you don't know what it is to have a 
 stoi*my influence always at work upon you."
 
 ivoes. 253 
 
 Mrs. Graham considered an instant ; then she said, 
 " The stormiest natures may at last become the calmest, from 
 the very force exercised to control them. Helen, dearest, 
 you have great power of will ; don't let it he used only to 
 throw away happiness." 
 
 Helen made no reply, hut giving her .uint a parting kiss, 
 hurried down stairs. 
 
 Claude and Helen rode in silence until they had passed 
 the Lodge at Ivors, and were in sight of the house ; then 
 Helen said, *' It was very naughty in me, Claude, to keep 
 you waiting so long." 
 
 Claude replied, " It does n't signify ; we shall he at home 
 in time." And they rode on again. 
 
 Claude assisted Helen to dismount, as usual ; hut he was 
 excessively cold in his manner, and, instead of following her 
 into the house, went to the stables, under pretence of wish- 
 ing to speak to one of the grooms. 
 
 Helen was met by Lady Augusta and Miss Manners. 
 
 " Just returned, my love % That is very right. I was 
 afraid you would be tempted to stay out late." 
 
 " ' The feast of reason and the flow of soul ' are so se- 
 du live," observed Miss Manners. 
 
 " It is very cold," said Helen ; and she ran up the stairs, 
 stumbling on her riding habit, and dropping her whip ; and, 
 hurrying to her own room, bolted the door, and wrote a lit- 
 tle note, which was taken to Claude as he was dressing for 
 dinner. 
 
 "I have been very wrong, and am very unhappy; can 
 you forgive me] I have such cause to be ashamed of my- 
 self ! but of course I will do whatever you wish. — H. C." 
 
 Helen wondered, when she met Claude again, that thr<-*> 
 was still a shade of constraint in his manner. 
 
 But she was not in love. He was.
 
 25-t IVORS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Where was the Admiral all this time? IL with a violent 
 attack of feverish influenza, ending, as all his ailments did, 
 with a fit of the gout. Barnes, who knew more about his 
 master and his master's feelings than he chooe to let the 
 world discover, attributed it openly to a sharp blast, which 
 the Admiral had encountered at a particular angle of the 
 shrubbery ; in private conversation with his intimate friend, 
 the housekeeper, he decided that the disease was mental. 
 " On the nerves, Mrs. Euston, on the nerves, you may depend 
 upon it ; the Admiral takes to his bed for comfort. The 
 wind has set in contrary, and he can't make head against it. 
 You'll see if I'm not right. If I a'n't, why isn't Mr. Eger- 
 ton here as he used to be ? " 
 
 That was a strange fact. Claude, who used to be at the 
 Lodge at least twice a week, and was never denied admit- 
 tance except on some urgent necessity, had called five times 
 within the last three weeks, and each time been informed 
 that the Admiral was keeping his room, and could not see 
 any one. 
 
 The answer was true enough to satisfy the old man's 
 conscience. He was very unwell, and not in a state to bear 
 any interview which might excite or vex him ; but six weeks 
 before, even if he had been unable to see Claude, he would 
 at least have sent him some affectionate message. There 
 was nothing of the kind now, — not even any notice of the 
 letter which Claude had sent, detailing the circumstances of 
 his engagement, confessing that, at first sight, the Admiral 
 might have cause to think him hasty, and frankly owning 
 that the fascination which had at last subdued him was 
 greater than he had been at all prepared for, and entreating, 
 
 it earnestly, that the friend, whose good opinion was so
 
 ivoes. 255 
 
 dear to him, would endeavour to overcome any prejudice lie 
 might entertain, and consider the case as one in which 
 Claude's happiness was most deeply interested. 
 
 It was not in human . nature to bear this silence 
 without being hurt. Claude's feelings were wounded deep- 
 ly. He felt that both Helen and himself wtre treated 
 unjustly. It was scarcely pride. Claude loved his old 
 friend too sincerely to be proud. He was willing to hu- 
 niour him in indifferent matters, and to be treated as a boy 
 even, if it suited the Admiral's whim. So large a debt of 
 gratitude was due on his part, that no ordinary sacrifice 
 would have been considered too great, if it were to give the 
 Admiral pleasure. But Claude could never sacrifice his in- 
 dependence. He had chosen, as he thought, wisely, for his 
 own happiness ; and now Helen's feelings were involved as 
 well as his own. For her sake he considered himself bound 
 to demand courtesy and kindness, if not full approbation. 
 Lady Augusta had already made some uncomfortable re- 
 marks upon the Admiral's behaviour. Miss Manners was 
 quite severe upon him ; and Lady Louisa, who had a most 
 unhappy knack of finding out whatever did not concern her, 
 and then turning her discoveries to a painful use, had more 
 than once given hints as to the probable cause of this extra- 
 ordinary conduct, attributing it to the influence of Mrs. Gra- 
 ham ; which irritated Claude, and made his defence of his 
 friends more prejudicial to their interest than silence. 
 
 It was after having endured some such inuendoes, that he 
 set forth for the Lodge the day after his ride with Helen, de- 
 termined to insist, at all hazards, upon seeing the Admiral, 
 and forcing him to look more favourably upon a state of 
 affairs which at any rate it was too late now to alter. If 
 they could only meet, Claude was certain that all would be • 
 well. The Admiral was never proof against Claude's affec- 
 tionate candour; and in whatever little quarrels they had
 
 256 ivoks. 
 
 hitherto had, Claude was always in the end the conqueroi 
 Perhaps it was the knowledge of this which now made the 
 Admiral so shy of admitting him to his presence. 
 
 " My master is very unwell indeed to-day, sir," was 
 Barnes' reply to the first inquiry made by Claude. 
 
 Unsatisfactory news that was for Claude, and he had not 
 quite the spirits to meet it. He had come because he always 
 tried to keep faith with himself, as well as with other peo- 
 ple ; and having resolved to see the Admiral, he was not 
 going to be a coward, and shrink from his engagement. But 
 there was a certain misgiving and discomfort at the bottom 
 of his heart, into which he did not care to examine. 
 
 Barnes saw the change in his countenance, and, attribut- 
 ing it to anxiety, assured him that there was nothing to 
 make him uneasy ; the Admiral had not slept very well ; 
 there had been a mistake made in his medicine, but Mr. 
 Conyers was going to send him some colchicum ; no doubt 
 he would be much better in a day or two. 
 
 " But I wanted to see him ; I came over on purpose," 
 said Claude. " Is he out of his room 1 " 
 
 " Just talking of coming into the library, sir ; but I have 
 been trying to persuade him not." 
 
 A stili greater difficulty ! for the Admiral was fidgety 
 about seeing any one in his bedroom, as Claude knew by ex- 
 perience. 
 
 " If you could move him into the library, it might give 
 him change ; and he might perhaps allow me to come and 
 help him." 
 
 " Perhaps so, sir ; " but Barnes appeared doubtful. " Do 
 you wish me to tell him you are here % " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." Claude's tone was rather impatient. 
 " Say I have walked over from Ivors on purpose ; and that I 
 may probably be going to London very soon, so that I am 
 particularly anxious to see him."
 
 ivoes. 257 
 
 Barnes departed, and Claude was left in the hall to medi- 
 tate upon the approaching interview. 
 
 The weight upon his spirits increased. Helen's image 
 was before him, lovely and fascinating, and the glow of an 
 overpowering affection kindled his eager longing to justify 
 himself for the choice he had made ; and then a cold doubt 
 seemed to creep into his veins, and stealthily make its way 
 till it glided into his heart, and checked its rapid pulsation, 
 and deadened the thrill of happiness which followed the 
 thought that she was his by her own promise, her own vol- 
 untary consent. The words of her note recurred to him, in- 
 terpreted by the candid, self-accusing tone in which she had 
 afterwards repeated to himself the reproaches of her own 
 conscience. Surely, it was all he could wish. He had never 
 thought her faultless; he knew she was not. From the be- 
 ginning he had looked upon her as — 
 
 " A creature not too bright or good 
 For human nature's daily food." 
 
 He only required that she should consent to be trained ; and 
 she did, in the simplest, humblest way ; no sooner offending, 
 than she acknowledged her offence. Why was he not 
 satisfied ] 
 
 Claude reproached himself; he dwelt upon Helen's 
 charms, — repeating them to himself with a spirit of detail 
 which might in itself have given cause for suspicion that all 
 was not right ; for love, mutual, trusting love, inquires not 
 why it loves : and by the time Barnes returned with a half 
 sulky message from the Admiral, that if Mr. Egerton was 
 going to London so soon, he supposed he had hitter see him, 
 < laude had reached a state as little resembling the enthusi- 
 asm of an all-sufficing reciprocated affectioni, as the pale 
 gleam of a November day resembles the glowing sunshine 
 of July.
 
 258 ivors. 
 
 It was not a fortunate mood for his meeting with the Ad- 
 miral ; and the old man's chilling welcome was as freezing 
 to Claude as his own thoughts. " Well, Claude ! how are 
 you ? You've called a good many times, and I have n't seen 
 you ; hut I have had a hard hout of it, what with cold and 
 gout ; and it's best to keep to oneself at those times." 
 
 " I hoped, sir, you might have made an exception in my 
 favour. I was very anxious to see you." 
 
 Claude had no moral cowardice in his composition, and 
 was determined to enter upon the unwelcome subject at once. 
 
 "Anxious to see me, were you? Perhaps that was more 
 than I was to see you ; " and the Admiral laughed shortly, 
 and added: "You had best learn to speak out, Claude. 
 There has not been much anxiety to see me, I'll warrant." 
 
 " I never say what I don't mean, sir," replied Claude, 
 proudly ; and then checking himself, with the consciousness 
 of the absurdity of taking umbrage at his old friend's pettish 
 words. " I did want to see you very much ; especially as 
 you have not written to me." 
 
 " What ! you thought I was going to send a letter of 
 congratulation ! I leave that to your friends at Ivors." 
 
 " I have no friends, sir, whose congratulations I should 
 value like your own. Not that I expected them on the 
 present occasion. I knew I must vex you. But I hoped 
 that, considering the matter only regards myself, you 
 might have brought yourself to look upon it a little more 
 favourably." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Claude. The matter is not one 
 which only concerns yourself. It's what all men say when 
 they are in love, — and greater nonsense there can't be. 
 Why! marriages! they concern the whole world, present 
 and future. How do you and I know that we are n't suffer- 
 ing now for the follies of our fathers' fathers, back to 
 Noah % "
 
 iyoes. 250 
 
 Claude could not refrain from a smile ; and the Admiral 
 went on : " You may laugh ; let him laugh who wins. Try 
 your bonny lady for a couple of years, and then come and 
 Bee whether you won't be inclined to laugh at the other side 
 of your mouth." Claude half started from his seat ; but the 
 Admiral, maliciously pleased to have touched him, laid his 
 stick across him, and said, " Eh % restive 1 " — and Claude 
 threw himself back in his chair, biting his lip till it gave 
 him pain, as the Admiral mercilessly continued : " Doubtless 
 you've much to say for yourself. What man ever did a fool- 
 ish thing, who had n't ? " 
 
 " I don't grant, sir, that it is a foolish thing," exclaimed 
 Claude. "I am and must be the best judge of my own 
 heart, and I can suffer no person to interfere with me upon 
 such a point." 
 
 " No interference, because you are in love ! Why, man ! 
 there needs a new world to contain the fools who have had 
 that excuse for the sins and miseries they have brought into 
 this one. I never heard of a planet yet that was large 
 enough to hold them." 
 
 " At any rate, the deed is done," said Claude, shortly. 
 
 " Aye, there it is, as it has been from the beginning ! 
 Follow your will first ; and then say, it can't be helped, so 
 make the best of it." 
 
 "Il seems the only way to take the consequences of our 
 actions," replied Claude ; " and I am quite willing to abide 
 by mine." The accent on " quite " was a little faint. 
 
 The Admiral caught up his words: "Well enough to 
 say, Claude ! But, take my word for it, it's an unsafe rule. 
 Bearing the consequences of our misdeeds won't do away 
 with the misdeeds themselves. And it" a man rushes into a 
 foolish marriage with his eyes open, be may he as brave as 
 Hercules in bearing the troubles it brings, but he's not one 
 whit less a countable for the first false step."
 
 260 IVOK6. 
 
 " I have yet to learn that I am about to make a false step, 
 sir," said Claude, proudly. 
 
 The Admiral shrugged his shoulders, and was silent ; and 
 ( 'hiude continued in the same tone : " It has been my wish, 
 sir. always, that when I did marry, my wife should be ap- 
 proved by yon. I have hoped that she might add to your 
 happiness as well as my own, for she would always be taught 
 to love and venerate you ; but Avith this unfortunate preju- 
 dice " 
 
 " Prejudice, man ! why it's knowledge, fact ! Haven't 
 I known the girl from her babyhood % " 
 
 " Very different knowledge that, sir, from the intimate 
 acquaintance of " 
 
 " A fellow who's in love ! " exclaimed the Admiral. " As 
 well send a blind man into a picture gallery, and take his 
 account of its beauties. But go on — go on — say what you 
 can for your fair lady." 
 
 "I say nothing, sir," said Claude very coldly; "you 
 must forgive me for observing, that it is useless to argue 
 against prejudice." 
 
 His manner a little alarmed the Admiral, who, with all 
 his testiness and dictatorial habits, knew, by experience, that 
 it was possible to provoke Claude too far. He softened his 
 tone a little, and said: "My good friend, you are taking up 
 the cudgels when there's no need ; what is the matter to me, 
 do you think ? I am not going to marry the girl." 
 
 " I should almost have imagined that you were, sir, by 
 the thought you bestow 1 upon her," was Claude's reply. 
 
 " Up in the clouds, I see ! Well ! natural enough, per- 
 haps. I was mainly taken with a pretty face myself, when 
 I was a young man ; taken only for a time, though, Claude, 
 — remember that, — just enough to make me take a dance 
 with her, and say civil things ; but when it came to a ques- 
 tion of marriage" — the Admiral's voice changed; — "but
 
 iyoiis. 2(31 
 
 we won't talk of that. It has been my prayer for many a 
 day that you might have a right judgment in the matter ; 
 since it has been God's Will to deny me, His Will he done." 
 The accent of reverent yet hitter disappointment went 
 more to Claude's heart than all the Admiral's hasty re- 
 proaches. He left his chair, drew near the old man, and 
 said gently, and with the deference of a son addressing a 
 father : " My dear, dear sir, if you knew how deeply, how 
 earnestly, I have wished to please you, in this and in all 
 other of the g*reat events of my life ! It has been the one 
 bitter drop in my cup of happiness, that I knew it would 
 give you pain." 
 
 The Admiral's lip quivered. 
 
 " You will scarcely believe me," continued Claude. " I 
 know that all men in love are thought selfish ; and doubtless 
 that is their great temptation. I won't put myself above 
 other men. I have loved, I do love passionately, blindly per- 
 haps. I would put aside all attempts to form a judgment of 
 my conduct, or an excuse for it ; but this I will say for my- 
 self, that the one earnest petition which I have offered since 
 my happiness was secured, has been that it might never ren- 
 der me forgetful of what I owe my friends." 
 
 " Do you think, Claude, I should care if I thought your 
 happiness was secured '?" said the Admiral, reproachfully ; 
 and then correcting himself, he added, "or, perhaps, I Blight 
 care; perhaps I have been an idiot; perhaps I have sat by 
 myself, thinking, — lonely folks will think, — and letting my- 
 i'ancy what I should most like, forgetting that there are 
 few enough years remaining forme to see cither likes or dis- 
 likes. Let it be! I was a weak old man, and God has pun- 
 ished me for building castles for this world, when I should 
 have been looking out for His City in the next. But it 
 would all be nothing, Claude, it would all go, if I could say 
 to myself, my hoy has got a wife who will make his home
 
 262 ivoks. 
 
 happy, and keep him up to his duty to his Maker and his 
 country." 
 
 " And Helen will, sir ; she has spirit, feeling, the most 
 hearty wish to do right, the most entire appreciation of 
 goodness." 
 
 "But has she practice, man? has she practice?" 
 
 " She is so young, she has never had the opportunity ; 
 she is scarcely out of the school-room," replied Claude. 
 
 " And wants a governess still ! " exclaimed the Admiral, 
 shaking his head. " Oh ! Claude, Claude ! " 
 
 " She will be the more easily trained," was the reply. 
 
 "And the more easily spoilt," replied the Admiral; 
 " though it's too late, Claude, yet take the word of one who 
 has seen many more things in his day than you have. 
 There's no greater blunder a man can commit, than that of 
 taking a woman for his wife in the hope of training her. 
 She may be trained, I grant it ; God will train her, as He 
 does all of us, by trouble and sorrow ; but before the work 
 is done, there may be priceless souls, children and servants, 
 injured, possibly even lost for Eternity, because she was per- 
 suaded to take upon herself duties for which she was n't fit." 
 
 " Sensible men and women would never venture to marry 
 according to that argument, sir," said Claude ; " they would 
 never consider themselves fit for such responsibilities." 
 
 "Just as well, perhaps, in nine cases out of ten, if they 
 didn't," replied the Admiral; "but the world must go on. 
 and will go on, its own way, in spite of prudence and coni- 
 moD sense. As to my argument, Claude, it does n't go as far 
 as you make it. People can't try experiments beforehand to 
 see if their wives are fit to manage a house and bring up 
 children ; but I'll tell you what they can do. They can see 
 how the woman they are thinking about is doing the duties 
 which are set before her. That is God's way with us ; if 
 we do one thing well, He sets us upon something higher ; if
 
 ivoes. 203 
 
 we don't, He lets us stand still, and in the end sink lower. 
 A good sister and a good daughter is ready to be a good 
 wife, though she has never tried the duties of one ; hut 
 there's no taking a leap in virtue. A woman won't be a 
 selfish sawney one minute, and a hearty, pains-taking mis- 
 tress of a family the next." 
 
 " You forget the influence of love, sir," said Claude. 
 
 The Admiral smiled a little sarcastically. " I am not 
 likely to do that, Claude, when I am talking to a young man 
 engaged to be" married. Trust to love if you will ; but re- 
 member, there's many a thing besides poverty, which, when 
 it peeps in at the door, sends love flying out of the window. 
 Temper, and indolence, and selfishness, they all work ; and 
 if it's a struggle between them, as it's sure to be if the 
 woman isn't well tutored beforehand, why, they'll get the 
 victory over love." 
 
 Claude was silent for some seconds ; then he said, with 
 evident effort, " I must ask some day, sir, to bring Helen 
 with me here, that you may judge for yourself that I have 
 not quite cause to fear all the evils you prognosticate for 
 me." 
 
 "Bring her, yes, bring her if you will, but don't think 
 I pretend to prognosticate for you. Men are n't all made alike, 
 and perchance you may like what I should n't. And as for 
 the girl, why, I grant you she's a pretty girl, and a lady, 
 and Frances Graham's niece, which is the best I can say for 
 her; and if you were to take her away from the old woman 
 at Ivors, and send her to school to her aunt for the next five 
 yc:i is, I won't say but that at the end of that time she might be 
 good for something ; not, perhaps, good enough for your wife ; 
 — hut that's the old feeling, Claude ; you'll forgive it, my 
 good fellow, you'll forgive it." 
 
 Claude held the Admiral's hand affectionately. "Iain 
 
 very grateful to you, sir — much more than you may think. 
 12
 
 2G4 ivoks. 
 
 It has been a great weight on my heart not to have seen 
 you." 
 
 " And on mine too, perhaps, Claude ; and on my eon- 
 science besides, perchance. It's wrong to build castles ; I 
 ought to have known it ; but there — God bless you, my boy, 
 and give you happiness in your own way, since you wouldn't 
 have it in mine." 
 
 A tear stood in Claude's eye, a tear of sympathy for that 
 bygone phantom of early love which haunted the old man's 
 loneliness, and seemed to cast its spell upon all he thought, 
 or felt, or did. 
 
 He went back to Ivors comforted ; but it was with the 
 thought of the Admiral, not of Helen. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Yet Helen did give Claude comfort on that day, and on 
 many ensuing days. It seemed as if the childish burst of 
 petulant rebellion against his wishes, to which she had given 
 way, had worked for good in humbling and softening her ; 
 or perhaps Mrs. Graham's short warning and Susan's words 
 had touched her more than she dared acknowledge. The 
 good fit lasted surprisingly long, and produced astonishing 
 effects. It made her careful and charitable in expressing her 
 opinions of the " aborigines," and induced her sometimes to 
 check Maurice in the contemptuous tone which he had learned 
 to adopt about all persons found without the charmed circle 
 of Ivors. She consulted Claude, and deferred to his taste. 
 She read his books, and discussed them with him. She 
 looked over his plans of improvement at Helmsley, and made 
 some very good suggestions of her own. There were no 
 clouds, or fits of listlessness ; and she even went so far in
 
 ivoks. 265 
 
 self-denial and self-discipline, as to consent to take a lesson 
 in the elements of geology from Miss Manners, so that she 
 might be able to share one of Claude's favourite subjects of 
 inquiry, if, as had been proposed, they should determine upon 
 going abroad for their wedding tour. 
 
 The preparations for the ball were progressing. Claude 
 said nothing more about his journey to London ; Helen never 
 alluded to her implied promise of consulting his wish about 
 dancing. It seemed as if both were aware that the topics 
 were dangerous, and would bring back uncomfortable recol- 
 lections. This was not quite like the hearty reconciliation 
 after a true lovers' quarrel ; but then they were going on so 
 smoothly, it seemed unnecessary to inquire whether the 
 ground beneath their feet were hollow. 
 
 About a week before the ball a carriage drove up to the 
 door, just as all were lingering at the luncheon table. Helen 
 had been in particularly good spirits, laughing with Lady 
 Louisa over a new novel, and inducing Claude to join with 
 her. Helen's criticisms were generally very apt, and whether 
 Claude always approved them or not, he was seldom inclined 
 to hold out an argument against her. Miss Manners stood 
 by with rather a frowning brow, considering light literature 
 beneath the attention of beings who had the power of un- 
 derstanding science. As Helen sometimes said, her mental 
 feast was always the^cee de resistance. 
 
 "Now, then, Miss Manners," — exclaimed Maurice, slow- 
 ly rising from the table, and standing in front of the fire so 
 as to secure the largest portion to himself, whilst at the same 
 time he raised his eye-glass and looked towards the window, 
 — "here is an opportunity lor congeniality. My cousin Su- 
 san ! the most historical, geological, mineralogical, astro- 
 nomical " 
 
 "And practical," added Claude. 
 
 "Thank you; — as Mr. Egerton observes -and practical
 
 2GG ivoks. 
 
 young lady in England. At least if she is not, she ought 
 to be." 
 
 " Young ladies educated by mammas always are pat- 
 terns," said Lady Louisa. 
 
 " Or warnings," added Maurice. "Not that I say so of 
 Susan ; forbid it, Minerva, Juno, Diana, Vesta, and all the 
 goddesses whose virtues are concentrated in the character of 
 my Aunt Fanny ! " 
 
 Miss Manners laughed ; for her, heartily. Generally 
 speaking, her laugh was rather a sepulchral echo, ringing 
 through a hollow cavern. Yet she corrected him: "You 
 forget, Maurice ; they were the Grecian deities who would 
 have been propitious to a woman of such a cultivated mind 
 as Mrs. Graham, — Athene, Hera, Artemis " 
 
 " Mrs. and the Miss Grahams in the drawing-room, my 
 lady," announced a footman, suddenly bursting in upon Miss 
 Manners' list of Greek goddesses. 
 
 "Lady Augusta is not here," was Helen's quick reply. 
 She stood as though she did not intend to obey the summons 
 herself. 
 
 " You are going, Helen, are n't you ? " asked Claude, 
 with a little surprise in his tone. 
 
 " I don't know. Mamma will be there." 
 
 " But won't your aunt think it unkind ? " 
 
 " And won't Miss Graham want you ? " said Lady Louisa. 
 
 " ' Is all the counsel that we two have shared, ' 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — 0, and is all forgot? '" 
 
 Helen looked impatient. " Susan is not so foolish as tc 
 want me, when she knows I am otherwise engaged." 
 •■ Xot if you are engaged," said Claude. 
 " I thought I was going with you for a ride."
 
 ivors. 267 
 
 " I thought so too ; but there may be time for both." 
 
 " And no disappointment on either side," added Lady 
 Louisa, a little maliciously. "I know Mr. Egerton is a 
 warm admirer of Mrs. Graham, to say nothing of her 
 daughter." 
 
 Helen was not inclined just then to hear that he was a 
 warm admirer of any one. She waited for some seconds, in 
 which interval Maurice and Miss Manners went away, per- 
 haps hoping that Lady Louisa would do the same ; but find- 
 ing this not likely to be the case, she said, " You had better 
 go, Claude, and we can give up the ride." 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Claude. 
 
 " I don't see that ; if you are so anxious to talk to my 
 aunt." 
 
 " I can't go, if you don't," replied Claude. " Every one 
 will be asking for you." 
 
 " Say I am tired, engaged, cold ; " and Helen knelt down 
 before the fire to warm herself. 
 
 " Helen ! how can you be so perverse ? " exclaimed 
 Claude, half amused, and half vexed. " Come, you really 
 must ; " and he touched her arm. 
 
 Lady Louisa laughed. " Practising betimes : 
 
 " ' For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate ; 
 And bring you from a wild-cat to a Kate 
 Conform ible, as other household Kates.' " 
 
 "I am not going," said Helen, in a more determined 
 tone than she had used before: "or, if I do go, I sha'n't 
 ride." 
 
 "You will think better of it presently," said Claude, 
 rather shortly. 
 
 "Not at all likely ; we certainly can't do both." 
 
 "I don't agree with you. You could have seen your 
 aunt, made your excuses, and dressed yourself for your ride,
 
 268 ivoks. 
 
 whilst we have been talking about it." There might have 
 been something a little dictatorial in Claude's tone, and 
 Helen's pouting lip showed that it aggravated her. 
 
 Lady Louisa laughed again. " Acted to the very life ! 
 
 " ' I will be master of what is mine own ; 
 
 She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house ; 
 My household stuff, my field, my barn, 
 My horse, my os, my ass, my auythiug." 
 
 Claude commanded his temper, but it was with the ut- 
 most difficulty. He merely said : " Lady Louisa Stuart so 
 well understands the part of Petruchio, that I shall leave 
 her to bring Kate to reason ; " and he walked to the further 
 end of the room. 
 
 Lady Lousia, however, was a coward, as most trouble- 
 some and meddling persons are, and when she saw that she 
 had roused the lion, she hastened to escape. " It is a very 
 knotty point to settle," she said ; " perhaps I had better 
 leave it. Shall I tell Mrs. Graham you are coming "? " 
 
 No reply was vouchsafed. Lady Louisa departed, and 
 Helen rang the bell. 
 
 " Are you going to order the horses 1 " asked Claude. 
 " We must make up our minds what we intend to do." 
 
 " I thought you had decided," said Helen. She watched 
 for the opening cf the door, but when the servant came, she 
 would not speak. 
 
 "Shall we say half an hour from this time?" asked 
 Claude. Interpreting Helen's silence for assent, he gave his 
 order to saddle the horses and brimr them round in half an 
 hour. 
 
 Helen looked up impatiently. "They need not be 
 brought round ; we will send for them if we want them." 
 The servant left the room. 
 
 Claude's closely compressed lips told a tale of struggling
 
 ivoes. . 209 
 
 anger. Helen bent over the fire. Presently Claude said : 
 " Are you going to the drawing-room ? " 
 
 " Perhaps, presently.*' 
 
 " Shall I give any message to your aunt for you ? " 
 
 " Thank you, no ; I can speak for myself." 
 
 Claude went to the door, but turned round to say, in a 
 tone of marked displeasure, " We really shall be too late for 
 our ride if you delay,"' — an observation received in silence. 
 
 It was a fit of ill-temper which had originated in a mo- 
 mentary feeling of perverseness on Helen's part at having 
 her ride delayed, but was aggravated into a storm by the 
 foolish dread of being governed. It never would have arisen 
 where there was true love. But Helen's undisciplined feel- 
 ings were at the mercy of every chance observation: 
 
 Persons usually have some image of themselves in their 
 own minds, — some picture which they hold Up before the 
 mirror of their hearts, and which they believe is the same 
 seen by the world. In nine cases out of ten it is not that 
 which they actually know of themselves from conscience and 
 self-examination, — it is a flattering likeness, yet sufficiently 
 true to enable them to look at themselves, as it were, apart 
 from themselves — to become, in fact, picturesque. 
 
 Now, the very commonest characters have a certain 
 amount of picturesqueness belonging to them, when their 
 different qualities are drawn rut and put in right juxtaposi- 
 tion, — how much more, then, those which have a really no- 
 ble and chivalrous stamp ! 
 
 II ilen Clare was unquestionably very picturesque, and, 
 without being what could be termed vain, she was aware of 
 it. She had heard of her impetuous temperament, her ex- 
 citability, imagination, warmth of feeling, from infancy. 
 "Such a dear, impulsive, variable child!" Lady Augusta 
 D8ed to call lier, whenever the impulses and variability did 
 not affect her own comfort; and the'worde were echoed by
 
 270 IVOKS. 
 
 admiring friends, until Helen bad grown up with the idea 
 that these characteristics were, if not actual virtues, at least 
 charms, like beauty and elegance. There was no attempt, 
 therefore, to control them. They were to her like the clouds 
 in an English sky, adding brilliancy to the landscape from 
 the force of contrast. And Helen was right, as far as the 
 world was concerned. Persons who did not come in the 
 way of the clouds, and suffer from a deluge of rain in con- 
 sequence, thought them extremely beautiful ; but it was very 
 different when called upon to live in perpetual fear of them. 
 Claude was just beginning to discover this. It was one 
 thing to look upon Helen from a distance, as upon a dissolving 
 view, constantly changing, and another to feel that his en- 
 joyment • depended upon her, and that however great it 
 might be, he coidd not be certain of its lasting for a single 
 hour. 
 
 He went to the drawing-room, more really cross with 
 Helen than he had ever yet been. Mrs. Graham and Isa- 
 bella were engrossed by Lady Augusta ; Susan was talking 
 to Lady Louisa Stuart. Claude joined the latter, not from 
 any liking to Lady Louisa, but to avoid the risk of a ques- 
 tion from Lady Augusta as to what had become of Helen. 
 
 In his state of irritation Susan's conversation was very 
 agreeable to him : he was little in the humour for wit or re- 
 partee ; and Susan's simplicity kept Lady Louisa tolerably 
 well in order. But Claude gave only a half attention even to 
 his own words, until something was said about the ball ; and 
 then Lady Louisa, having a little gossiping pleasure in try- 
 ing to discover whether the feeling of liking between Claude 
 and Susan was really as slight as it appeared, said, " We 
 shall see you here before that, of course, Miss Graham. Your 
 counsel will be wanted on many points, as it was for the 
 tableaux. Mr. Egerton, I am sure you agree with me." 
 
 Claude readily took- up the suggestion and replied, " In-
 
 ivors. 271 
 
 deed, I Lope it will be arranged for you to be here some days 
 before. Helen was saying only the other day that you would 
 be a help to every one." 
 
 " I must wait to be asked," said Susan ; " besides, Lady 
 Augusta will scarcely want help." 
 
 " But Helen may want comfort," said Lady Louisa, " if, 
 as report says, Mr. Egerton intends to betake himself to 
 London." 
 
 " To London ? Are you going away, then ? " asked Su- 
 san, quickly. 
 
 " Possibly ; I can't say." Claude's manner betrayed that 
 it was a disagreeable subject. 
 
 Lady Louisa, however, pursued it. " We must remem- 
 ber that Mr. Egerton is not now open to the temptations 
 which beset less fortunate mortals. Having obtained a 
 planet, he cares not to look upon the less brilliant 
 
 " ' Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven li^ht.' " 
 
 " Helen will be dreadfully vexed," said Susan. 
 
 Claude smiled gravely. 
 
 " You should use your eloquence, and persuade him for 
 your cousin's sake, Miso Graham," said Lady Louisa. 
 
 " That could scarcely be of any use if Helen has failed," 
 
 answered Susan. "But " she paused, and then added, 
 
 simply, " we thought, perhaps, Mr. Egerton, that you could 
 help us, and I am afraid you won't be able to do it, if you 
 
 are going away. 
 
 "Help you? In what way? You know I would help 
 you to the utmost in any way." Claude's tone was eager. 
 
 Lady Louisa leaned back in her chair, and a smile 
 slightly curled her lips. 
 
 "It is a very matter-of-fact way," observed Susan. 
 "Mamma wants Lady Augusta to lend us her magic lan- 
 thorn for our children's party on Wednesday, and we 
 thought you could teach us how to exhibit i1 properly.*
 
 272 ivors. 
 
 Perhaps Claude did think this rather a matter-of-fact way 
 of being useful, for he answered as if he was thinking upon 
 something else : " It is not a difficult thing ; a few minutes 
 will put you in the way of managing it." 
 
 " Magic lanthorns are charming things, and so inno- 
 cent ! " observed Lady Louisa, in a very peculiar tone. 
 Claude's keen eyes w r ere turned to her, but she kept her 
 face towards the door, which opened at that moment, and 
 added, " Much more innocent than balls ; even Helen must 
 own that." 
 
 Helen had just entered, and Lady Louisa meant her to 
 hear ; but she went up to Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " My love, where have you been % " asked Lady Augusta. 
 " I was going to ring for you." 
 
 " I have been in the dining-room," replied Helen, 
 bluntly. " Aunt Fanny, I ought to have come before, but I 
 didn't." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, for the non-excuse ; I dare say 
 you were talking." 
 
 " No, thinking," said Helen, quickly. She looked round 
 for Susan, but could not see her immediately. Claude was 
 standing before her, rather bending forward. He was trying 
 to explain something connected with the magic lanthorn. 
 Lady Louisa had thrown herself into a different position, by 
 which she could watch all that went on. 
 
 Susan broke off the conversation directly her cousin drew 
 near, but Claude chose to continue it. He just waited for the 
 few words of greeting to pass, and then he said to Susan, 
 finishing a sentence which he had begun : " I could call and 
 show you what to do, some evening, if you like." 
 
 Susan hesitated, and remarked that it was cold weather 
 and the nights were dark, and the distance was long. 
 
 " Not more than two miles," replied Claude ; " and I am 
 out in all weathers. If I came to you early, I might be here 
 again by seven, in time for dinner."
 
 ivors. 273 
 
 " Helen will think it very unfair," said Susan ; just then 
 catching a most uncomfortahle expression in her cousin's 
 face. 
 
 Helen was still standing near, pretending to be engrossed 
 in talking to Lady Lousia Stuart. 
 
 Claude addressed her at once. " Helen, I am talking of 
 going over to Wingfield one afternoon this week, in order to 
 show Miss Graham how to exhibit a magic lanthorn. If you 
 could go with me, we might have the room darkened, and 
 try it ; and ride back before it grew late." 
 
 " Magic lanthorns are shown best at night," said Helen, 
 without looking at him. " Mamma objects to my being out 
 after half-past five." 
 
 " Just what I was proposing to avoid," said Claude. 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon, I misunderstood ; but I shall 
 be very little help to you." 
 
 Claude suddenly turned away, and went up to Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. Susan looked pained ; but Lady Louisa only laughed, 
 and m irniured to Helen — 
 
 " ' I 3ee a woman may be made a fool, 
 Ii she had not the spirit to resist' 
 
 You are giving him a lesson in time Helen. I dare say he 
 will profit by it, and form no more engagements without con- 
 sulting you first." 
 
 This speech recalled Helen to herself, or rather it touched 
 her pride. She replied, half speaking to Susan : " It is a 
 matter of convenience ; there is no use in darkening rooms, 
 when, if you wait long enough, they will darken them- 
 selves." 
 
 "But it would be no trouble," said Susan ; "and we 
 should like to have you with Mr. Egerton so very much." 
 
 Helen scarcely seemed to hear. Her attention was at- 
 tracted by an animated discussion which was going on be-
 
 274 ivoks. 
 
 tween Mrs. Graham and Claude, Lady Augusta and Isabella 
 occasionally taking part in it. 
 
 " A very urgent request, apparently," said Lady Louisa, 
 smiling ; " and Mr. Egerton seems well inclined to grant 
 it. What a fortunate person Mrs. Graham is to have such 
 influence ! I should have said, if I had been asked, that 
 Mr. Egerton was not generally very yielding. What testi- 
 mony does your experience give, Helen ? " 
 
 " It is not fair to apply to Helen," said Susan, quickly. 
 " And I doubt very much whether Mr. Egerton is so inclined 
 to say yes ; I know what mamma is asking." She rose and 
 walked across the room, and Lady Augusta just then called 
 Helen also to the conference. Lady Louisa was discom- 
 fited ; she could not gratify her curiosity by following. 
 
 " Claude has been tempted to make an engagement for 
 you, my love," said Lady Augusta to Helen, as she drew 
 near. " It only waits your ratification." 
 
 Helen's face betokened anything but willingness to ratify 
 an engagement at that moment ; and Claude's easy manner 
 changed directly she approached, and he became very stiff, 
 and seemed half inclined to contradict Lady Augusta's words. 
 
 "A great deal has been promised for you, Helen," said 
 Mrs. Graham. " Lady Augusta says that she will trust you 
 to us for our children's party, if you will come ; and Mr. 
 Egerton has offered to be there, and exhibit the magic lan- 
 thorn hi mself, instead of running the risk of our awk- 
 wardness." 
 
 " Thank you ; you are very kind, but I don't know " 
 
 Helen turned to Lady Augusta with mingled surprise and 
 anger. " Mamma, you know I never go out without you." 
 
 " Aunt Fanny may be an exception, I hope," said Mrs. 
 Graham, kindly ; " but I should not think of troubling you 
 with such childishness, if there were not something to offer 
 you to make the evening pleasant."
 
 ivors. 275 
 
 There was a little constraint in the tone, and Helen for 
 a moment felt ashamed of herself. Bnt Claude stood by with 
 that cold, impassive look, -which she was jus], beginning to 
 understand, and she became more irritated, and only replied, 
 shortly, that her services could be of very little use. she was 
 afraid in exhibiting a magic lanthorn. 
 
 " That is naughty and perverse of you, Helen," exclaimed 
 Susan, making an effort to laugh. " You know we only 
 want you to exhibit yourself." 
 
 " An d to be agreeable," said Lady Augusta, emphati- 
 cally. 
 
 " Which she will not be, if we force her against her in- 
 clination," continued Mrs. Graham, kindly ; " so we won't 
 say anything more about it now, but leave it." 
 
 " To Claude's influence," said Lady Augusta. " He has 
 not attempted to exercise it yet, by expressing his wish." 
 
 " Helen can scarcely require that," said Claude. He 
 thought he had spoken gently, but he was not quite success- 
 ful ; and Helen became more ungracious, and turning to her 
 aunt, said, that she could not make urj her mind at once ; 
 she was afraid the fatigue might be more than she could 
 bear, as the party at Wingfield would take place so near the 
 time fixed for the ball. 
 
 Any other person but Mrs. Graham would have been se- 
 riously offended ; but she read the truth too clearly to have 
 any feeling for herself. 
 
 Claude went with her to the carriage, but Helen's name 
 was not mentioned by either. And Helen returned to her 
 room, congratulating herself upon her firmness in asserting 
 the entire freedom of her own will. 
 
 Helen kept to her determination, and by so doing 
 strengthened her ill-humour. Before the day was over, she 
 had brought herself, by the aid of pride and Lady Louisa's 
 innuendoes, to the convici ion, that Claude was purposely bent
 
 276 ivoks. 
 
 upon exercising his power over her, and that it was her duty 
 to show him that she would act independently. A shower 
 of rain put a final stop to the ride, hut she took no advan- 
 tage of the unoccupied afternoon, except to assure Clande 
 that he was quite wrong in forming engagements for her 
 without her consent. She was silent at dinner, and read all 
 the evening. Claude tried to overlook her manner, not com- 
 prehending the cause of offence, and thinking that time and 
 consideration would bring her round again. But when he 
 found no change, he left her to herself. Such a mood could 
 not fail to excite remark ; and even Sir Henry, noticing her 
 short replies, asked whether she was well. 
 
 " Quite well," was the reply ; " nothing is the matter : " 
 hut Helen, as she said these words, thought the contrary, and 
 looked upon herself as a martyr. 
 
 One of the last things she could have believed was, that 
 she could be a prey to petty feelings, little jealousies, mean 
 tempers. Persons who have, what are called, great faults 
 (great being supposed to imply noble), seldom do think so ; 
 the degradation of temper, the baseness of pride, seem never 
 to enter into their calculations. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Helen went to bed early and rose late ; ana when she went 
 down stairs, found every one assembled at breakfast. The 
 letters had just been brought in. Sir Henry tossed several 
 to Claude, exclaiming: "Business befitting your new digni- 
 ty already, Claude. You must keep a secretary if you begin 
 so early." 
 
 Claude took up his letters and looked at the directions.
 
 ivoes. 277 
 
 " The cards of life," said Lady Louisa ; " one always has 
 a hope that one may take up trumps." 
 
 " Or court cards, at least," observed Miss Manners. 
 
 " I don't think the cards signify," remarked Lady Au- 
 gusta ; " or at least only comparatively speaking. The im- 
 portant thing is how they shall he played." 
 
 Claude looked up from his letters, and said : " There are 
 certain rules which, if they could be kept, — at least one 
 should have the satisfaction of knowing that one had not 
 lost the'game by one's own fault." 
 
 " You are not likely to do that, my good fellow," ex- 
 claimed Maurice ; " you seem to me to have rules at hand for 
 all occasions." 
 
 Claude turned to Helen who was sitting next him. 
 
 " There is a rule for this occasion, at least. Here is a 
 letter from my lawyer, saying that I must, without fail, be in 
 town on the sixteenth. I thought it would be so." He held 
 out the letter, and Helen took it mechanically. 
 
 " The sixteenth ! better than the seventeenth," exclaimed 
 Lady Augusta ; " you will be down again for the ball." 
 
 Claude smiled faintlv, and said : " We shall see." And 
 Helen laid the letter on the table without any remark. 
 
 Claude was busied with his letters nearly the whole of 
 breakfast time. Lady Louisa talked a good deal, so did 
 Miss Manners ; but Lady Augusta showed plainly that the 
 world was not going smoothly with her ; less, however, by 
 what she said, than by what she did : the slices of dry toast 
 being taken with an abstracted air, as if eating were a pen- 
 ance, only submitted to as a duty ; and slowly conveyed to 
 her mouth in tiny morsels, with a languid curve of the wrist, 
 which just served to display the whiteness and symmetry of 
 her delicate hand. 
 
 Helen was cross, and did not try to conceal it. She 
 shivered, and sent for a shawl ; but refused to sit near the
 
 278 ivoks. 
 
 fire, and declared that the weather was so miserable, the only 
 thing to he done was to take a long Avalk ; and then she 
 turned to Miss Manners, and asked if she would go with her. 
 
 Perhaps it was no wonder, after this, that Claude found 
 too much occupation in his letters to allow of his mixing in 
 general conversation. 
 
 Breakfast was ended. Claude collected his letters, so 
 did Sir Henry. Lady Augusta addressed her husband : 
 " My dear, are you going to your study % I wish to speak 
 to you." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," Sir Henry answered, a little 
 quickly ; " Claude, I shall want you by and by ; when shall 
 you be at leisure ? " 
 
 " At any hour, sir ; I am going to walk in the colon- 
 nade." Claude glanced at Helen. She must have seen the 
 glance, but she would not reply to it. Sir Henry, Lady Au- 
 gusta, and Maurice went away. 
 
 " Shall we go out at eleven ? " said Miss Manners to 
 Helen, as she prepared to follow them. " It may be better 
 than waiting till the first loveliness of the day has passed. 
 The world becomes sombre in the afternoon, and casts an 
 oppression upon the spirits." 
 
 " I don't see where you can find any loveliness at this 
 season," observed Lady Louisa ; " for me, I feel only ' the 
 icy fang and churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; ' and, 
 if I might venture to judge from Mr. Egerton's face, he 
 agrees with me." 
 
 Claude was lingering by the fire. He answered shortly, 
 that it was certainly bitter weather. 
 
 " And a solitary walk in the colonnade is not likely to 
 make you warm," observed Lady Louisa ; ' ; you would do 
 yourself more good by joining Helen and Miss Manners." 
 
 Claude was very sorry, but he had a particular engage- 
 ment that morning, and he walked out of the room. Helen
 
 ivors. 279 
 
 waited till be was gone, — and then moved slowly towards 
 the door. A screen hid it, so that no one could see when she 
 left the room. 
 
 " A first-rate Petruchio ! " said Lady Louisa to Miss 
 Manners, thinking that Helen was out of hearing. "He 
 won't move one step forward." 
 
 "Yet I would take a bet that his Kate will be too much 
 for him," was the reply. " I have known her from her in- 
 fancy." 
 
 " So have I ; but if ever I saw determination expressed 
 in any man's face, it is in Mr. Egerton's." 
 
 The rustling of a silk dress at the lower end of the 
 apartment was heard ; Lady Louisa and Miss Manners 
 looked at each other, then at the screen ; but no one ap- 
 peared from behind it ; and Helen's light step was just audi- 
 ble, as she glided away, and ran up-stairs to her own room. 
 Five minutes afterwards she had joined Claude in the colon- 
 nade. He was pacing it rapidly, but slackened his steps as 
 she drew near. Helen put her arm witbin his, and they 
 went on for some seconds in silence : then Helen made a 
 commonplace remark, but received only a very cold reply. 
 She tried a second, but its success was no greater : at length 
 she stopped suddenly, and said : " We are not very pleasant 
 companions to each other." 
 
 " Not at all pleasant," was the answer. 
 
 " And I may as well go in, then ? " said Helen. 
 
 "Not on any account, if it gives you satisfaction to be 
 here." 
 
 "Satisfaction!" Helen angrily withdrew her arm: 
 " Claude, is that a word to me ? " 
 
 " It expresses what I mean," be replied. " You give me 
 no reason to think that you bave pleasure in being with me. 
 I conclude, therefore, that you come merely as a Satisfaction 
 to your conscience."
 
 2S0 ivoes. 
 
 " Claude, you are unkind, aggravating ; " and Helen 
 drew herself up angrily. 
 
 " I don't want to be either, Helen ; and I won't retort ; 
 though I might." 
 
 " I thought that love, true love," said Helen, and she laid 
 a stress on the adjective, " was always charitable and for- 
 bearing." 
 
 " I hope it is ; but it must be reciprocal, mutual love : 
 and you must allow me to say, that within the last twenty- 
 four hours 1 have had sufficient reason to doubt whether love 
 with us is reciprocal." 
 
 " The same thought has crossed my own mind," replied 
 Helen, stiffly. 
 
 Claude turned round suddenly and fiercely: "Doubt of 
 my affection crossed your mind ! Helen, what false spirit 
 has suggested the idea *? " 
 
 Helen slightly trembled as she replied : " Dictatorial and 
 exacting love, is not true love. If you wish for a slave, 
 Claude, you have made a wrong choice." 
 
 Claude strode on at a pace which rendered it difficult for 
 her to follow him ; and throwing himself upon a bench at 
 the further end of the colonnade, covered his face with his 
 hands. 
 
 Helen felt frightened. Cold herself, she little knew 
 the tempest of feeling which it was in her power to excite. 
 He looked up after some moments, his complexion of an ashy 
 paleness, and said bitterly : " There is something more in 
 this than I understand." 
 
 "I see no mystery," replied Helen, "except that I don't 
 suit you." 
 
 He spoke impatiently : " Let me be the judge ; when you 
 don't suit me, I will tell you." 
 
 " Yet it may be well to consider in time," said Helen, 
 quietly.
 
 ivors. 281 
 
 " Helen ! you madden me. Consider ! yes, I do con- 
 sider ; and I will ask you to consider also. It is true, I am 
 exacting, not of obedience, but of confidence. As for the 
 trifles which have brought this cloud between us, they are 
 too miserable to need explanation ; and they are not the 
 root of the evil. I am not blind, Helen. A fancied inter- 
 ference with your" will, and the petty sarcasm of a woman 
 like Lady Louisa Stuart, could have no power over you if 
 you trusted me as I deserve to be trusted. You do me 
 wrong, base wrong." 
 
 Helen's dark, expressive eyes, met his for a moment in 
 fear, and then were bent upon the ground. He thought she 
 reproached him for his harshness, and his manner changed 
 into tenderness, mingled, however, with reproach. " For- 
 give me, dearest, forgive me ; I may have been hasty and 
 impatient with you. I am apt to be so ; my manner is at 
 times dictatorial : but can a chance word separate hearts that 
 are truly one ? " 
 
 Helen was silent ; and Claude continued : " You are hard 
 upon yourself, Helen, when you bring before me a phase of 
 character so unlike your own real nature. Even as a child, 
 I respected you for your truth and generosity, and loving 
 trust in others, and so I respect you now from the bottom of 
 my heart. Only let me feel that you love me, and then toll 
 me of my faults if you will. God knows, you will scarcely 
 find more than I am ready to acknowledge." 
 
 " I was wrong," said Helen ; " I ought to submit." 
 
 "No, never, if I am unjust or exacting. But surely you 
 will forget all that ; it can't need explanation, if you will 
 only believe that I vexed you unintentionally." 
 
 Helen evaded a direct reply, for her heart was still 
 proud. In a faltering voice she said: "If at any time I re- 
 ally distrust ymi. you will cease to love me." 
 
 "I don't know ; I won't think of such a possibility."
 
 2S2 ivoks. 
 
 " But change in me might make you change," continued 
 Helen. 
 
 He paused ; then said very gravely : " Only such change 
 as. I could never contemplate, — which would make me fear 
 that you had wilfully and knowingly deceived me." 
 
 " I have not done that," replied Helen, quickly. 
 
 He laid his hand upon hers, and said,*" Sooner would I 
 believe that an angel from heaven could do it, than that you 
 could." 
 
 Helen's heart throbbed convulsively. Almost she could 
 have said : " Yet you are deceived. I do not love you." But 
 Claude looked at her with the glance of deep, pure, un- 
 fathomable confidence and affection, and the confession was 
 stopped. 
 
 Before there had been time for another word, she was 
 summoned to her father's study. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Helen was more afraid of her father than of her step- 
 mother, whenever anything was really amiss, or when con- 
 science at all reproached her. Sir Henry had a frank, 
 straightforward way of looking at all matters, and judging 
 them, from which it was impossible to escape. It took the 
 place of talent in many instances, and caused him to be con- 
 sulted when men of very much greater powers would have 
 been passed by. 
 
 He used no circumlocution either in his mode of address ; 
 and now as soon as Helen entered the room ne began, with- 
 out allowing Lady Augusta, who was present, to interpose a 
 remark. " I want to speak to you, my dear. Your mamma
 
 ivoes. 283 
 
 and I Lave been talking about you. We don't understand 
 what is the matter between you and Claude." 
 
 " There is nothing particular the matter. Claiide and I 
 do very well together," said Helen. 
 
 " Nay, my love," interrupted Lady Augusta. 
 
 " Stop, my dear, stop ! Let her speak for herself. No- 
 body wants you to marry Claude Egerton, or Claude any- 
 body, my child, unless he is likely to make you happy. 
 There is time enough to consider. Better draw back now, 
 than repent by and by." 
 
 " But, my dear Sir Henry, indeed, — Helen, my love, your 
 papa is only anxious, as I am, for your happiness, and we 
 thought we saw the shadow of something not quite com- 
 fortable." 
 
 " No shadow, my dear," said Sir Henry. " They did n't 
 speak a word to each other all yesterday evening, and they 
 have been perfectly silent all this morning. That is reality, 
 not shadow." 
 
 "I was not inclined to talk this morning," replied 
 Helen. 
 
 " Just the thing I complain of. I don't understand peo- 
 ple Avho are in love not talking to each other. Your mamma 
 says it is something about going to your aunt Fanny?" 
 
 Helen felt more ashamed than she could bear to show. 
 It was one thing to Lave a petty feeling lurking in her own 
 mind, or even brought out in the form of complaint to 
 Claude ; but it was terribly humiliating to have her folly put 
 before her in words by her father. She replied : " I don't 
 wish to go to my aunt's. I don't know any of the people 
 who are likely to be there." 
 
 " Then stay at home, my dear. There is no difficulty. 
 Does Claude wish you to go'?" 
 
 "He would like it, I think," said Helen. 
 
 "Ofcour.se he would, my love," observed Lady Augusta.
 
 2Si 
 
 IVORS. 
 
 " His whole heart is set upon being with you. He can't bear 
 the idea of separation even for an hour." 
 
 "He formed the plan himself, though, without consult- 
 ing me," said Helen ; feeling herself forced to give some 
 cause of complaint. 
 
 " But always with the idea of your falling into it," said 
 Lady Augusta, swerving a little from the truth, yet so dex- 
 terously that no one could discover it. 
 
 The plan was, in fact, of her own proposing, though 
 Claude had readily seconded it. 
 
 " Claude ought not to have mentioned it to aunt Fanny 
 without asking me," said Helen. " He put me into a diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 " And is this all ? Helen, I am ashamed of you," burst 
 forth Sir Henry. 
 
 But Lady Augusta placed her hand on his arm ; and he 
 yielded to the implied reproof, and was silent. 
 
 " My love, your father and I cannot help feeling vexed 
 with you in this matter. It is but a trifle ; yet we think 
 you have shown yourself too much bent upon having your 
 own way, and we wish " 
 
 " Stop, my dear, excuse me : " Sir Henry tried to speak 
 gently, but his impatience would show itself. " We don't 
 wish you to do anything, Helen, except pleas* yourself; but 
 you have no right to play with any man's happiness. Claude 
 Egerton has chosen you to be his wife, and a great honour 
 he has done you. ] say it, though you are my daughter. 
 If you must needs put yourself into an ill temper, and be 
 sulky for twenty-four hours, because he wants you to do 
 something you don't fancy, or makes an engagement without 
 consulting you, you are not worthy of him." 
 
 Helen's pride had risen during this speech, and she re- 
 plied in her coldest and haughtiest tone, " I quite agree with 
 you."
 
 IVOKS. 
 
 285 
 
 Lady Augusta became extremely frightened. " My dear 
 Sir Henry, begging your pardon, you are very hard upon 
 her. Your papa does n't mean all he says, my love." 
 
 " Allow me to differ from you, my dear. I always try 
 to use words which exactly express my meaning." 
 
 " Still, pray let me explain myself, Sir Henry. What I 
 would remark to you, Helen, is this. We lament very much 
 that any such difference should arise between Claude and 
 you. We are sure it is only a misunderstanding ; but still 
 it ought -not to be allowed to continue, and we would sug- 
 gest " 
 
 " That you go and beg Claude's pardon," interrupted Sir 
 Henry, " and tell him you have been a very foolish girl, and 
 you hope that he will forgive you." 
 
 "Scarcely to be expected, that," continued Lady Au- 
 gusta. " There are faults on both sides, doubtless." 
 
 " Claude is dictatorial," murmured Helen. 
 
 " I have no doubt he is, my love. My dear Sir Henry, 
 you must let me say that women cannot but understand these 
 things better than men. Helen no doubt is right; and 
 Claude is rather too much bent upon having his own way. 
 But there must be a sacrifice ; women's lives " — and Lady 
 Augusta gave a compassionate sigh to the sorrows of hei sex 
 — " are fur the most part all sacrifice. Still, where there is 
 love, — when two hearts are so tenderly attached, as in this 
 casej — it is a pity, it seems very grievous that a cloud, even 
 though it may be only a passing one, should disturb the 
 beautiful serenity of happiness." 
 
 " I don't understand what you wish me to do, mamma," 
 said Helen, shortly. 
 
 "Go to your aunt's, like a sensible girl, and say no more 
 about it," observed Sir Henry. 
 
 " Tell dear Claude that you lament having vexed him, 
 and that you arc anxious to meet his wishes," said Lady 
 Augusta ,
 
 28G ivors. 
 
 " I am quite willing to go to my aunt's, if it is thought 
 right," replied Helen. 
 
 " Nonsense, child ! " exclaimed Sir Henry. " No one 
 wants to make a martyr of you." 
 
 " I must be a martyr, if I am to go to such a disagree- 
 able party," said Helen. 
 
 Sir Henry looked at her keenly, then turned to Lady 
 Augusta : " Leave her to me, my dear ; I don't understand 
 this." And Lady Augusta, though most unwillingly, and 
 with an appealing glance at Helen, departed. 
 
 Sir Henry watched till the door was closed ; and then 
 beckoning to Helen to draw near, made her sit down at his 
 feet, as she had done when a little child, and said very 
 gravely : " Now let me hear the truth." 
 
 " You have heard it, papa." 
 
 " Not all. Helen, I must and will know whether you 
 have quarrelled with Claude for something or for nothing." 
 
 " For nothing — nothing that can be explained, that is. 
 Papa, it is impossible for you to know what it all means." 
 
 "Not so impossible as you may think, Helen. I have 
 never found any difficulty yet, which could not be solved by 
 truth. Speak truth, and I must understand." 
 
 " Of course ! " exclaimed Helen, haughtily ; " I should 
 never speak anything else ! " 
 
 " Well then ! let me have true answers to my questions. 
 Is Claude in fault in this disagreement % " 
 
 Helen's conscience struggled with her pride ; but the an- 
 swer came : " No." 
 
 " Then you are in fault % " 
 
 "Yes; but " 
 
 "No buts, — we will discuss them afterwards. If you 
 are in fault, are you not bound to confess it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then will you confess it % "
 
 ivoes. 2S7 
 
 " I — we have been talking together ; — I think we under- 
 stand each other better." 
 
 " That won't do, Helen. ' Better ' is no word for people 
 who are engaged to be married." 
 
 " J don't wish to be married," exclaimed Helen passion- 
 ately ; " I have been more unhappy since I was engaged than 
 I ever was before ; " and she started up and stood before her 
 father with a flushed cheek and sparkling, indignant eye. 
 
 Sir Henry regarded her in surprise ; then he said very 
 slowly, "Ho wonder that Claude is vexed if this is the way 
 in which you treat him." 
 
 " It is interference which provokes me ; if I were left to 
 myself, I could do very well," continued Helen in a more 
 gentle tone. " Papa, you had much better leave me to 
 manage my own affairs." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear. But one thing you must remem- 
 ber, that I am responsible for your happiness, and I can't 
 help fearing for it when I see these strange tempers coming 
 between yuu and Claude. If he is in the wrong, it can't be 
 wise to trust you to him ; and if you are, the least I can say 
 is, that you ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 Helen evidently had a great struggle with herself; but 
 her father's determined tone awed her, and she said, cmietly, 
 " I dare say I am pettish sometimes ; but I have never been 
 used to be tyrannised over." 
 
 " And you wish, then, to escape from what you call ty- 
 ranny?" asked Sir Henry, sternly. 
 
 Helen had never quite brought herself to fare this possi- 
 bility ; she evaded a reply, and answered, that she wished 
 Claude to understand she did not like it. 
 
 " And what will you say, then, to a wife's obedience to 
 her husband?" inquired Sir Henry. 
 
 "I suppose I shall learn it when it is necessary," was 
 Helen's cold answer.
 
 2S8 ivoes. 
 
 Sir Henry was perplexed by her manner ; but after a 
 moment's thought, he said, " I am not up to a woman's 
 whims, Helen, but I won't see an honest, kind-hearted fel- 
 low sacrificed to them. If you can face your duty and per- 
 form it, well and good ! I shall see you married to Claude 
 Egerton more willingly than I should to the first Duke in 
 England. But if you don't love him well enough to give up 
 a silly fancy to please him, you had much better say so at 
 once. It will be more the part that I should like my daugh- 
 ter to act, and more befitting the character of a true and 
 sensible woman, than to play the cat and mouse game you 
 have been playing with him lately. I leave the case in your 
 own hands, but I give you a father's advice, which you will 
 do well not to reject. Now, kiss me, and we will be friends 
 again ; but remember, I expect you to make up your mind 
 to one thing or the other, and let me hear no more of such 
 folly." 
 
 It was the first severe reproof which Helen had for years 
 received from her father, and it surprised her so much that 
 she did not know how to reply to it. She kissed him me- 
 chanically, and left the room without venturing upon another 
 word. 
 
 Lady Augusta joined her before she had reached her 
 own apartment. " My love, you are flurried. Your father 
 has misunderstood you ; I was afraid it might be." 
 
 Helen stood willingly to receive Lady Augusta's caress. 
 The idea of being misunderstood was grateful to her proud 
 spirit. Lady Augusta went on ; "I feel I was wrong now, 
 in saying anything to him of my anxiety. Men are so very 
 dull in matters of feeling; they have no tact. I only 
 thought he might help me to discover what the cause of the 
 cloud was, and that, perhaps, he might be able to prevail 
 upon you, even better than I could, to give up your inclina- 
 tion, and go to your aunt's, rather than annoy Claude."
 
 ivoes. 2S9 
 
 u I am going," said Helen, speaking in the tone of a 
 martyr about to be burnt at the stake. 
 
 " Just what I expected, my love. I felt you would. I 
 don't think — but let me come into your room one minute, 
 and talk the matter over." Lady Augusta opened the door 
 of Helen's apartment, and sat down in a confidential atti- 
 tude. " I was going to say, my dear child, that I don't think 
 you, or any one brought up as you have been in such exces- 
 sive retirement, can possibly enter into the extent of affec- 
 tion which a man like Claude must have, before he makes 
 up his mind to marry. A young girl's feelings are naturally 
 cold in comparison ; affection increases as time goes on. 
 "Women often love their husbands much more after they are 
 married, than before. Union of interests, the sense of pro- 
 tection, the experience of constant kindness — all these tilings 
 tend to increase their love ; and very right that it should be 
 so. Your dear father and myself, for instance, are far more 
 to each other now, than when I first consented to become his 
 wife. It is desirable to understand this, or it may cause un- 
 happiness." 
 
 " Claude chooses a strange way of showing his affection," 
 said Helen. 
 
 " Bather, perhaps ; and yet it is not strange ; it is the 
 way of all men. If you had known as much of them as I 
 have, it would not surprise yon. But it will all come right 
 by and by. Just now, poor fellow, he can't bear you out of 
 his sight: you will teach him better, in time; and when lie 
 enters upon his duties as Member, he won't have leisure to 
 be exacting." 
 
 Helen was very perverse ; she did not like that notion. 
 Lady Augusta watched the change in her expressive face, 
 and continued, in a free, rather laughing tone : " One thing, 
 Helen, my love, we must all makeup our minds to: men 
 are selfish, — very often they don'1 know it — hut it is in their
 
 200 ivors. 
 
 nature, and they will be so to the end. Claude, I dare say, 
 was afraid of a dull evening, and. begging your aunt's par- 
 don, it was inconsiderate to take advantage of his kindness 
 as she did. But I saw that lie repented as soon as he had 
 said 'yes;' and then, to make the matter more agreeable, 
 you were brought in. For myself, I was taken by surprise. 
 It, is quite against my principles, as you know, that you 
 should he mixed up with all your aunt's strange friends ; hut 
 1 did so feel for Claude, I could not find it in my heart to 
 refuse ; and then, when 1 looked at you, I found I had done 
 quite wrong. You must forgive me, my love. It is really 
 a difficult part which I have to play. Cut dear Claude's en- 
 grossing love — that was the thing I felt I had to consider 
 first, and that it was which made me so uneasy, and induced 
 me to apply to your father. Very unwisely, I quite own now, 
 — yes, very unwisely;" and Lady Augusta ended her ex- 
 planation with a deeply penitent sigh. 
 
 "It has heen a great fuss about nothing," said Helen. 
 
 "Yes, perhaps so; — however, it will all he right now, 
 and Claude is really behaving most admirably ; trying to re- 
 member his duty to every one. I suppose he lias told you 
 that he is going to the Admiral's this afternoon, for a couple 
 of days." 
 
 "To stay! Going away!" repeated Helen, changing 
 Colour rapidly. 
 
 " Didn'1 you know it, my love'? But no, now I remeni- 
 ber, the note came whilst you were talking to your father. 
 1 never saw a poor fellow more really disappointed, and yet 
 hearing it all so well. As he said to me, to have two days 
 away from yon now, and then that stupid evening at Wing- 
 fieldj and obliged to go to town on the sixteenth, was really 
 too trying^" 
 
 " I am glad he can care about it, at any rate," said 
 Helen.
 
 IVOES. 291 
 
 Lady Augusta laughed. " Xow, really, my dear Helen, 
 I must scold you. You only want to be flattered, and told 
 how miserable poor Claude is. 1 think the best thing I can 
 do is to send you to him to comfort him." 
 
 Helen was silent. She had taken off her bonnet and 
 shawl, and was standing before the glass, arranging her hair. 
 
 " If you tell him he will see you at your aunt's, it will 
 soften the disappointment immensely," continued Lady Au- 
 gusta. " I tried to persuade him that he need not go to the 
 Admiral's." 
 
 " And why must he go ? " inquired Helen. 
 
 ■•AVhy, as he says, there was a positive engagement 
 when he first came to us ; and if the Admiral had not been 
 so ill. he must have paid his visit some time ago. It won't 
 do to offend the old man, he is so crochety." 
 
 " Two days ! " repeated Helen to herself, musingly. It 
 was not quae clear to Lady Augusta whether there was re- 
 lief or regret in the tone. 
 
 •• Which will be cheered by the prospect of the evening 
 at Wingfield," continued Lady Augusta. " Just fancy what 
 it will be to him to be condemned to Susan's prosaics, with- 
 out yud to enliven him." 
 
 Helen moved a few steps towards the door. 
 
 ■■ lie is waiting tc see you in your morning room," con- 
 tinued Lady Augusta "I told him that I would send you 
 to him, that he might break the bad news to vou." 
 
 Helen tho.ight — hesitated — and just then Claude's step 
 was heard in the gallery. 
 
 " A very few words will comfort him," said Lady Augusta. 
 
 And Helen went. Tears were in her eye-;, sincere tears 
 of vexation with herself, and regret for him. She Baid the 
 "few words," which expressed affection, but were called forth 
 by many other feelings; and Claude received them with 
 gratitude and deep tenders
 
 292 ivors. 
 
 She was happy till Claude said, " Oh Helen ! nothing can 
 long trouble me whilst you are true ; " and then a pang shot 
 through her heart, and she went hack to her room repeating 
 to herself : "I don't mean to deceive him. Men naturally 
 show their feelings in these cases more than women do ; and, 
 as mamma says, it will he all right when we are married." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 
 
 " I beg to deliver my testimony that Shakspeare is a true 
 oracle, and that 'the course of true love never does run 
 smooth," exclaimed Lady Louisa Stuart, seating herself at 
 her work-frame, two days after Claude had left Ivors. 
 
 " May I have the benefit of your experience % " asked 
 Miss Manners, laying down a hook of German philosophy. 
 " I have been attentively studying the phases of the disease 
 presented to me during the last few weeks, but have not sat- 
 isfied myself whether it has been progressing, or the con- 
 trary." 
 
 " Oh ! I leave the malady," replied Lady Louisa ; " all I 
 contend for is, that if lo\ e runs smoothly for lovers, it runs 
 just in the contrary way for every one else. Can there be 
 anything more oppressive than the society of a person who 
 thinks it his duty to be so devoted to one individual, that he 
 must never spare a thought for any one else % Ivors has 
 been quite a different place since that melancholy Jacques 
 departed." 
 
 " Fair Helen keeps up her spirits wonderfully," observed 
 Miss Manners. "Xo loss of appetite, no sighs, only a most 
 bright and agreeable flow of spirits, very unusual." 
 
 '• Freedom to follow her own sweet will ! " exclaimed 
 Lady Louisa.
 
 ivoes. 293 
 
 " ' She cannot love, 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 
 She is so self-endeared.' " 
 
 Miss Manners shook her head oracularly. " I give no 
 
 opinion ; only if I were Mr. Egerton " 
 
 " You would not have the tooth-ache," said Lady Louisa, 
 laughing. "Yet remember, — ' Every one can master a grief, 
 but he that has it.' " 
 
 "Nevertheless, Helen seems to have learned .to submit 
 the independent strength of her own mind to the power of 
 his," observed Miss Manners. " The Wingfield question is 
 yielded." 
 
 " Yes ; I never doubted that Petruchio would win the 
 day. But submission goes against the grain." 
 
 " All obedience would, with her," observed Miss Man- 
 ners. 
 
 " I am not so sure of that, if " Lady Louisa 
 
 paused, and put on an air of mystery ; then murmured to 
 herself, — 
 
 " ' The ides of March arc come. 
 Ay, Csesar ; hut not gone.' " 
 
 Miss Manners looked for an explanation, but received 
 none ; and the entrance of Helen, dressed in readiness to set 
 out for "Wingfield, interrupted the conversation. 
 
 " Prepared for the sacrifice, I see," was Lady Louisa's 
 greeting. " You look most properly resigned, Helen." 
 
 " I wonder if the carriage is come round," said Helen, 
 ringing the bell. "Annette told me it was." 
 
 " And we shall see you again at what hour to-morrow, 
 my dear!" inquired Miss Manners. 
 
 "I don't know; it depends upon circumstances*" 
 
 "Not very communicative/' observed Lady Louisa. 
 "But I suppose you reserve yourself for Petruchio's crders."
 
 29J: ivoKS. 
 
 Lady Louisa had insisted upon calling Claude, Petrucliio, ever 
 since she had found a fair occsaion for giving him the name. 
 She fancied it was witty. Helen showed that she was irri- 
 tated more by her manner than her words : she replied cold- 
 ly, that she supposed the carriage would be sent for her after 
 luncheon on the following clay. 
 
 " You will make yourself charming to the aborigines, I 
 have no doubt," continued Lady Louisa. " Imagine their 
 delight ! A creature from a new sphere dropped down 
 amongst them ! They really are too fortunate." 
 
 " I dare say they are very like the rest of the world, and 
 won't think about me," said Helen. 
 
 "But you will think about them, my dear," observed 
 Miss Manners. " I know nothing more interesting than the 
 fresh glimpses of mind and feeling one meets with in a new 
 society." 
 
 " And fresh manners can be studied also," observed Lady 
 Louisa. " Though Petrucliio would scold me for saying so." 
 
 Helen drew on her gloves, and walked out of the room. 
 
 " She does not like it," continued Lady Louisa, laugh- 
 ing. " ' Conscience doth make cowards of us all ; ' but she 
 will feel I have named him rightly before long, or I am very 
 much mistake a." 
 
 " So much the worse," was the reply. " I can never look 
 forward with satisfaction to seeing that noble, independent 
 spirits of hers crushed." 
 
 " You like it, do you ? Well, so do I, at a distance. It 
 is a very effective character." 
 
 " And a very attractive study ! " 
 
 "Yes," was Lady Louisa's doubtful answer. She had a 
 secret misgiving as to Helen's attractions, especially when 
 she had made her angry, 
 
 Helen did not return to the drawing-room to wish her 
 friends " good-bye." She said " good-bye " to no one, but
 
 ivoks. 295 
 
 waited in her own room for the carriage, and, when it was 
 announced, jumped into it, and told the coachman to drive 
 as fast as he could to Wingfield. At the point where a lane 
 led from the Ivors road to the Lodge, she looked out for 
 Claude, with a feeling which ended — when she found that he 
 Mas not watching for her — in something like relief at heing 
 a little longer alone, mingled with pique at the conviction 
 that he did not think it worth while to meet her, though she 
 had written, at his request, to tell him the hour at which she 
 was likely to pass. 
 
 The last two days had heen days of freedom to Helen ; — 
 she could not say of happiness, for they had been dull, rather 
 in the old way. Wingfield, if it was nothing else, was a 
 little excitement ; and she roused herself, and looked about 
 her when she entered the town, wondering whether any of 
 the odd people she saw were likely to be at her aunt's. 
 
 She found Mrs. Graham waiting for her at the door, hav- 
 ing seen the carriage enter the sweep. Helen was ashamed 
 not to be able to say more truly, that she was glad to come, 
 when they were all so glad to see her. She expressed what 
 she could, which was less than she really felt; for, in trying 
 to be true, she now and then overs! lot the mark, especially 
 When she \va- at all out of humour. Isabella and Anna saw 
 this directly, and went back to the study disappointed. Su- 
 san and Mrs. Graham bad an instinct which told them that 
 it was something in Helen herself, rather than in them, 
 which was amiss. Susan took Helen up stairs to a little 
 room next her own ; there was something refreshing, to 
 Helen's eye, in its extreme simplicity, — the freshness ami 
 whiteness, which might hate made it look cold, only there 
 was such a clear, blazing fire to brighten it. Helen sat down 
 in a low easy chair, and said, " How comfortable 1 " and 
 breathed a sigli of inward satisfaction at t he consciousness 
 that. Lady Louisa Slnart and Miss Manners were quite two
 
 29G ivors. 
 
 miles off. Susan unfastened the strings of her bonnet, took 
 off her shawl, and kissed her, and said, " I have been afraid 
 from the beginning that you would not come." 
 
 "Why not? I sent you word I would." 
 
 "Yes ; but it was not quite a hearty consent, and I fan- 
 cied you would retract." 
 
 " How did you find out it was not hearty ? " 
 
 " How could one help doing so with you, who never hide 
 anything ? " 
 
 " Not hide anything? Susan, what injustice ! " 
 
 " You may try to hide, but you don't succeed. Every 
 one likes you all the better for it, dear Helen." 
 
 " But I don't like myself; it is undignified ; and I have 
 hidden a great deal." 
 
 " Yes, no doubt ; every one must. But to hide, is not 
 your nature, as it is that of some people. Perhaps, though, 
 I discover more than others would, because we have known 
 each other so many years." 
 
 " And you were not vexed with me because I did n't 
 want to come this evening? " said Helen. 
 
 Susan could scarcely refrain from a smile at the unre- 
 served acknowledgment implied in the question. She thought 
 for a few seconds, and then said, " I was vexed, but it was 
 not for myself." 
 
 " You thought I ought to have been glad to come to meet 
 Claude." 
 
 "It would have, been natural." 
 
 Helen was silent ; and Susan added, " But you are come 
 now, and it is all right." 
 
 Helen repeated the word right, pondering upon it ; then 
 she said, " Susan, what do you do to keep yourself always in 
 good humour ? " 
 
 " I can't answer, because I am not always in good hu- 
 mour."
 
 * 
 
 ivoks. 297 
 
 " But when people are irritating." 
 
 "There are a good many ways," said Susan, rather 
 gravely. 
 
 " Don't be afraid ; say them out ; I am in a humour for 
 a sermon." 
 
 " Which I don't think I am," replied Susan ; " I have so 
 manv other things to think about." 
 
 " That is untrue, Susan ; sermons are never out of your 
 head." 
 
 " Eeaily, Helen, you profess to know much more about 
 me tban I know of myself." 
 
 "I see it in everything you do. Tell me now how you 
 manage." 
 
 " It depends upon the cause of the irritation," said Susan. 
 " Very often the fault is one's own." 
 
 " That makes the matter worse," replied Helen. 
 
 il In a certain way, but it puts it more in one's own power 
 to deal with it. And, Helen, generally speaking, I don't 
 think one should be irritated, if it were not for the wrong in 
 oneself. One might be sorry, or even seriously displeased, 
 but not irritated." 
 
 " But one can't be seriously displeased with a fly when it 
 buzzes about one's ears," said Helen. 
 
 Susan laughed, and answered, " Yet it would scarcely 
 be wDrth one's while to be out of temper with it." 
 
 " Granted ; but how would you help it ? " 
 
 "I should try to think it was a little annoyance Seat en 
 purpose to teach me patience; and (hen, I think, the irrita- 
 tion would cease." 
 
 "Yes, that might do," — Helen spoke earnestly; " but il 
 would require long practice." 
 
 " Very long, — a lifetime : so I have no right to preach a 
 sermon about it, having only just begun."
 
 298 ivoks. 
 
 " But if the fly "were a lmman fly, and buzzed on pur- 
 pose?" 
 
 " I should run away if I could ; and if not " Susan 
 
 paused. " Perhaps those little trials are meant to teach us 
 to pray at the moment to be able to bear them, and so to 
 make religion part of our daily life." 
 
 Helen spoke again, still more earnestly : — " But if you 
 felt that you ought not to be irritated, and that any other 
 person in your place Avould not be % " 
 
 " Then, Helen, dear, surely one ought to try and find 
 out the cause." 
 
 " Yes, if one dared," said Helen ; her voice sank as she 
 said the words. After a moment's silence she started up : 
 " I have had enough of preaching now ; I am come to help 
 you ; — what can I do % " 
 
 " Come into the dining-room, and dress the Christmas- 
 tree. I forgot, though ; you have dined, I hope." 
 
 " Why, yes ; when I was told that I could have no dinner 
 here, of course I took advantage of luncheon at home. But, 
 Susan, how can you all put yourselves out of your way, as 
 you do, for a children's party ? " 
 
 "We don't," said Susan. "It is our way to be put out 
 of our way, and so it comes quite naturally. You don't 
 think we care for not having a regular dinner, do you % " 
 
 " Not if the cause is ' tanti,' as Maurice says," replied 
 Helen. " But a number of children ! " 
 
 " The most satisfactory cause of all ; one is sure to give 
 ihem pleasure." 
 
 " Yes ; but so you would if you bought them a quantity 
 of buns, or gave them a shilling apiece." 
 
 " 1 don't agree with you there. Children feel heartiness 
 even more than grown-up people. They show it by the in- 
 stinct they have in discovering who are fond of them." 
 
 "And they forget it too," said Helen.
 
 ivoks. 299 
 
 " The details, but not the general impression. All the 
 Wingfield children — I mean those we know — look to mamma 
 as a friend." 
 
 " She does not mean to adopt them all, does she 1 " asked 
 Helen, ironically. 
 
 " Xot quite. But she always says it is impossible to tell 
 the influence for good those early impressions of kindness 
 
 may have. And besides, for oneself too " 
 
 ' Helen interrupted her. " That is beyond me, quite ; — 
 the notion of its being good for oneself, except as scourging 
 and fasting might be good in the way of penance. But I 
 don't think that is quite what you mean." 
 
 Susan laughed. " Certainly I don't feel to-day very 
 much in the mood for either one or the other. But can't you 
 really understand, Helen, the good — I don't mean good in a 
 moral sense, — but the help and comfort it is to have inter- 
 ests out of one's own family ? " 
 
 " Y-e-s, — I can't say, — I suppose I have never tried." 
 
 " "When one is worried — out of spirits," continued Su- 
 san, and her colour changed a little — " it will happen, you 
 know, sometimes, — there is such inexpressible comfort in 
 feeling that one has others to live for besides one's own 
 wretched self." 
 
 " I can imagine it, if one had to go and nurse a person 
 who is ill," said Helen. " But magic lanthorns and games 
 are such trifling things. You must let me say it, Susan." 
 
 "But they may open the doors which let one in when 
 great things are needed 1 /' said Susan. "You would think 
 so if you knew how all kin<ls of people come to mamma 
 when they are in trouble, because slie has made them feel at 
 home with her by little attentions when there was nothing 
 the matter. And I have heard her say many times, that the 
 first thing which roused her out of her grief when papa died, 
 was the feeling that, as she had one great claim taken from
 
 300 iyors. 
 
 her in her own home, more would he required of her out 
 of it." 
 
 " She is very wonderful to me," said Helen ; " she is not 
 at all like the people one hears of, who are running about 
 after charitable societies, and leaving their children to gov- 
 ernesses." 
 
 " When mamma runs, she takes us with her," said Susan. 
 " And I have been — oh ! so thankful for it, Helen." 
 
 Helen sat in silent thought ; then she said : " If I had 
 the care of children, I would never bring them up as I was 
 brought up ; but I should be afraid of Aunt Fanny's way. 
 I don't know what I should do. Leave them to their fate, I 
 suppose. Kiss me, Susan, and forgive me ; I am very glad 
 now that I came." And they went down stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Helen was still more glad before the afternoon was over. 
 Simple, easy work for others, in which self could not possi- 
 bly have a share, was new and pleasant to her, and brought 
 out all the best parts of her character. She laughed at her- 
 self for tae amusement which she confessed could be found 
 in hanging markers, pin-cushions, balls, purses, and bonbons 
 on the branches of a tiny tree ; and wondered at her own 
 interest in the children for whom they were designed, and 
 whose histories Isabella, having a considerable talent in 
 making every-day incidents look romantic, took pains to re- 
 late. There was something very agreeable, also, in feeling 
 thivt her presence was a new element, which gave life to oth- 
 ers. Susan, she knew, was always glad to see her, but Isa- 
 bella and Anna were in general indifferent ; whereas now 
 they assured her, again and again, that it was delightful to
 
 IVORS. 301 
 
 have her, and they were charmed she came, they had never 
 liked dressing a Christmas-tree so much, — with various other 
 innocent little flatteries, very different from the laboured 
 praise and obtrusive deference ottered her in her own home. 
 Moods, irritations, all were for the time forgotten, all, — until 
 the bell rang, and Isabella, with a smile which she tried to 
 control, said, " That must be Mr. Egerton, he told us he 
 would come early." 
 
 " A message from the pastry-cook, Miss Graham," said 
 Martha, looking into the room. " "Would you be good enougli 
 to see if he has sent biscuits enough? " And Susan, who 
 superintended the housekeeping arrangements, obeyed the 
 summons. 
 
 " Helen, you have tied that little basket so near the 
 taper, it is not safe," said Anna, pointing to Helen's last 
 work. The basket was untied. Helen let it fall upon the 
 table, sat down, and said she was tired. 
 
 '• You had better come into the drawing-room and lie 
 down a little," said Isabella ; but Helen refused. 
 
 "How foolish you were, Isabella, to think that it was 
 Mr. Egerton," said Anna. " He won't certainly be here till 
 six." 
 
 Anna hated roman se, and was always a little cross with 
 persons who were engaged to be married. 
 
 The bell rang again. " That is he ; I hear his voice," 
 observed Isabella, after a few seconds ; and she listened. 
 
 " It is the butcher's boy," said Anna, giving a twist to a 
 piece of string. "Mamma had an order for him which was 
 forgotten this morning." 
 
 "It is some strange voice," said Isabella "I know it 
 now; it is the Admiral's man-servant." 
 
 I blen changed colour, and Isabella pushed a bottle of 
 salts towards her. Susan came in. Looking as though she 
 wer' the bearer of some uncomfortable news.
 
 302 ivoks. 
 
 "Is anything the matter? I am sure there is something 
 the matter ! " exclaimed Isabella. 
 
 " Mr. Egerton can't come, he is gone to London," said 
 Susan. " He had a telegraphic message from his lawyer, 
 saying that he must be in town to-morrow before eight 
 o'clock, so there was nothing to be done but to set off imme- 
 diately. He has been so thoughtful about us ; he has actu- 
 ally sent to Dollington for a man who can exhibit the magic 
 lanthorn. The servant brought a parcel for you, Helen — a 
 book, I think. Martha has taken it to your room, she 
 thought you were there." 
 
 Helen left the room without speaking. 
 
 There was silence as by one consent till she was out of 
 hearing. Then Isabella said, " Poor darling ! what a disap- 
 pointment for her ! " 
 
 "If it be a disappointment," replied Anna. "I doubt, 
 though, if we shall not be the greater sufferers. The Dol- 
 lington man won't be half as good as Mr. Egerton. It is 
 certainly excessively provoking." 
 
 " Oh, Anna, how shocking ! Susan, do scold her," said 
 Isabella. 
 
 "For not having learnt discretion?" inquired Susan, 
 with a faint smile. 
 
 " For always doubting, as she does, whether peopl« love 
 each other," replied Isabella. 
 
 " I don't doubt it at all," said Anna. " I only say that 
 being in love is a very odd thing, and makes people very dis- 
 agreeable ; and that is why I don't think Helen is in love, 
 because she is not disagreeable." 
 
 "But she is eno-acred to be married," said Isabella. 
 " She must be in love." 
 
 " Well ! yes. I always forget that." 
 
 " But you ought not to forget it, Anna, dear," said Su- 
 san. "Really, now and then you frighten me by what you
 
 ivoks. 303 
 
 say, and the way in which you look when anything is said 
 ahout it." 
 
 "Do I? I don't intend to look; only thoughts will 
 come out, — and Helen is the very oddest girl I ever saw. If 
 I were Mr. Egerton I would not marry her, — no, not if you 
 were to give me a thousand pounds for every minute I had 
 to live with her." 
 
 " You will be caught yourself some day, Anna," said Isa- 
 bella, " and then you will understand it all better." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall ; I don't profess to be wiser than other 
 people ; but one thing I know, that I could n't marry any 
 man whom I didn't think as superior to myself as — heaven 
 is to earth. I was going to say, only perhaps Susan will call 
 it exaggeration ; and if I did think him so superior, I could 
 no more fret and play with him, and torment him, as Helen 
 does Mr. Egerton, than I could fly." 
 
 " People have different notions about what is requisite for 
 happiness in marriage," said Susan, quietly. 
 
 "Vastly different," replied Anna, "and a very happy 
 thing, too. There are not above half a dozen men and 
 women in the world that would marry, if persons thought as 
 I do." 
 
 " And you know so well what is needed," said Susan, 
 ironically. 
 
 " You may laugh, Susan ; but you think the same at the 
 bottom of your heart. Just consider what one should re- 
 quire : principles, up in the clouds and never coining down ; 
 plenty of talent, perfect temper, large mindedness, manners 
 which would never offend your taste — oh ! loads of things 
 besides! and nothing frightfully ugly." 
 
 A hand was laid on Anna's shoulder, and Mrs. Graham's 
 voice said, '-Some one created on purpose for you, my 
 tlild." 
 
 "Oh, mamma!" Anna blushed and laughed; "but
 
 SOI IVOES. 
 
 you understand. How could one love with that sort of lovo 
 any one who was n't perfect % " 
 
 * " Perfect in will, my darling. We have no right to ex- 
 pect more." 
 
 Susan turned to her mother eagerly : " Thank you, dear 
 mamma ; you always know how to put one's thoughts into 
 
 words." 
 
 Anna considered a minute, and said, " He would aggra- 
 vate me very much if he was n't perfect in action too." 
 
 And Isabella added in a low voice, " Where one loves 
 very dearly, one is blind to faults." 
 
 Mrs. Graham's comment was short. "Love in theory 
 and love in practice are no doubt very different ; but it is 
 well, in this as in all things, to have the right theory. If 
 we expect too much, Ave become cynical ; and if we expect 
 too little, we lower the tone of our own minds. Therefore, 
 Susan, having to choose between the opinions of the three 
 princesses, I decide for you." 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 The parcel was lying upon Helen's table. She thought she 
 knew its contents. Claude had carried away from Ivors a 
 book Avhich he thought she might want. But there would 
 certainly be a note within. Yes, not only a note, but a thick 
 letter. Her heart beat quickly with undefined dread. Yet 
 she did not realise what there was to fear. She fancied that 
 disappointment at Claude's absence was the cause of her un- 
 wunted nervousness. She broke the seal, and even then she 
 paused, as though summoning all her energy to meet some 
 foreseen evil. She tore it open, and devoured, rather than 
 read, the following words : —
 
 itors. 305 
 
 (i My dearest Helen," 
 
 [A cold beginning for Claude, but Helen did not stop to 
 think about it.J 
 
 "I have had a grievous disapointment, — a sudden sum- 
 mons to London. If I do not go to-night, I shall miss see- 
 ing a person whom it is of the utmost consequence that I 
 should see. My chief thought has, of course, been of you. 
 I can provide a substitute for myself, as far as Mrs. Graham's 
 party is concerned ; but I cannot help being selfishly vexed 
 at missing the evening with you. Yet I should be happier, 
 ten thousand times happier, if I could be quite certain that 
 the vexation would be shared. It is a relief to me to take 
 this opportunity of repeating what has been pressing upon 
 my mind more and more since we have been parted. In that 
 most painful conversation which you can scarcely have for- 
 gotten, I told you that I could not but doubt whether my 
 affection was reciprocated ; and you replied by retaliating 
 the suspicion, but gave no answer to it. It is not, I trust, 
 wrong to feel that some answer is required. "Whatever else 
 may have passed betwen us since, on that one point, the 
 foundation of all, a cloud still rests ; and you will scarcely 
 blame me for saying, that until it is cleared away, my heart 
 can know no rest. 
 
 " Helen, I am writing coldly, but God knows the effort 
 which it costs me. Only believe that I do it with a purpose. 
 I have no wish to bias you by any expression of my own 
 feelings. If I know anything of the working of the human 
 heart, I have often forced you into a confession of affection 
 belied by the truthfulness of your own nature; and I wish 
 to do so no more. You cannot doubt my love ; you may as 
 well doubt the warmth, and light, and life-giving power of 
 the sun. But I would pray you, solemnly, earnestly, as in 
 the presence of Him before whom our binding vows must be 
 made, to examine into your own.
 
 30 G ivors. 
 
 " I urge the inquiry upon the highest grounds, because 
 upon them alone a Christian's judgment should be made. 
 But I -would speak to you also of your own happiness. 
 
 " When first you gave me the promise which made earth 
 a paradise, — too bright, it may be, for my safety, — you told 
 me that your love did not equal mine ; yet I was contented, 
 because I believed that in owning that I was not indifferent 
 to you, you were acknowledging the germ of a feeling which 
 must eventually ripen into love. I was willing, therefore, 
 to wait for it. But I have been mistaken ; at least if I may 
 judge from words, and looks, and manner. I repel rather 
 than attract you ; and if this is so under present circum 
 stances, how will it be when we are married? Can I make 
 you happy ? Love I will give you, pure, deep, unwavering, 
 unbounded ; but if the love which I offer now does not sat- 
 isfy you, how will it be sufficient for you hereafter? 
 
 " I pray you to ask yourself the question, putting aside 
 every thought of my anguish, every regret for the brief du- 
 ration of my happiness, — a happiness which but to have 
 known for a few weeks will be a source of thankfulness to 
 God for ever, — and looking only upon that which your own 
 heart requires. If you cannot love me, Helen, reject me. I 
 will bless you for it, because you will save yourself from a 
 life-long bitterness. I do not seek for an immediate answer. 
 I wish you to decide under no excitement, no constraint. 
 One thing only would I say for myself. You think me ex- 
 acting and imperious. I believe I am both by nature ; Dut 
 trust yourself to me as my wife, and the highest energy of 
 my nature shall be exerted in the hourly struggles which, 
 through God's grace, will make me gentle and tender as hi 
 ought to be to whom such a treasure has been confided. 
 
 " I commit my fate to you with unbounded confidence. 
 Whatever your determination may be, I shall feel that it is 
 that of a true and generous heart, and no shadow of blame
 
 IVOES. 
 
 307 
 
 shall ever through me be cast upon you. And now, farewell. 
 Ask of me what you will, except that I should no longer 
 love you. One change only could effect that change in me : 
 when lio-ht has been turned into darkness, and truth converted 
 into falsehood, then, and not till then, will the foundation of 
 my affection be removed, and I shall cease to be, 
 Yours, for ever, 
 
 " Claude Egerton." 
 
 "It is* just possible that I may conclude my chief busi- 
 ness to-morrow. I should then try to return for a few days, 
 and go back to London again ; but the probability is that I 
 may be detained much longer." 
 
 The guests were beginning to arrive, punctual and early, 
 as such little visitors always are. Isabella was taking off 
 cloaks and boas in one room ; Anna, in another, was talking 
 as much nonsense as she could think of to merry boys, and 
 showing pictures to shy girls ; Susan was superintending the 
 preparations for the magic lanthorn — whilst Mrs. Graham 
 was to be found in Helen's room, or rather standing before 
 Helen's door, asking for admittance. It was delayed for 
 some seconds ; and when granted, Helen was found in her 
 morning dress, her face pale, her eyes swollen with tears. 
 
 Claude's letter lay open upon the table. 
 
 Helen's first words were an apology. " Aunt Fanny, you 
 are come to scold me. I will be ready in two minutes." 
 The light tone might have deceived any one who had not 
 looked at Helen's face. 
 
 Mrs. Graham answered in the same way. " You have 
 been neglected, I am afraid, my love, in the confusion ; we 
 all forgot that you are unaccustomed to wait upon yourself. 
 Susan sliall come to you now." 
 
 "Not until Aunt Fanny, I had rather be alone a
 
 308 ivors. 
 
 little longer." Helen nearly broke down before the sentence 
 ■was ended. 
 
 Mrs. Graham kissed her. " You have had a great disap- 
 pointment, my darling ; so have we all." 
 
 Helen gulped down her tears, and looked in her aunt's 
 face with an expression so anxious, so pleading for help and 
 counsel, Mrs. Graham could not understand it. 
 
 " You are fretted, my love, and worn ; perhaps you had 
 better remain quiet ! Come down an hour hence, if you like 
 it ; the children will be thoroughly amused with the magic 
 lanthorn till then." 
 
 Helen turned away. 
 
 " It seems hard to have asked you to come when we had 
 only one temptation to offer," continued Mrs. Graham, " and 
 now to find that it is taken away." 
 
 " But it is not that ; Aunt Fanny — Oh ! if I had only 
 one friend who knew me." 
 
 Mrs. Graham's eye involuntarily glanced at Claude's let- 
 ter. Helen perceived it, and added with instant self-com- 
 mand, " But I shall be better presently. If you will leave 
 me, I will ring when I want any one to fasten my dress. I 
 can manage ail the rest. Indeed, I would rather be left." 
 
 Mrs. Graham lingered, hesitated, and then said, " You 
 will have a friend soon, I trust, Helen, to knoAv and kelp you 
 always." 
 
 Helen's lip quivered, and two large tears rolled slowly 
 down her cheek. Yet she again repeated, " I would rather 
 be left." Mrs. Graham went to the door, but before reach- 
 ing it, she turned round, and said, " Helen, darling, though 
 you can't talk to me, perhaps you can write. Some persons 
 find that much easier ; " and Helen threw her arms round 
 her aunt's neck, and whispered, "You are like my own 
 mother ; I could talk to you, if I could to any one." And 
 then the door was closed, and Helen was once more left to 
 her own thoughts.
 
 ivoks. 309 
 
 And what were they ? She could not have told herself. 
 Claude's letter had thrown no light upon her secret feelings, 
 or rather it had only added to the obscurity in which even 
 in her own eyes they were involved, by placing him before 
 her in the point of view most attractive to her best impulses. 
 
 If he had urged his love, she would have turned from it 
 with the painful consciousness of her own coldness; but 
 when he spoke of her happiness, he recalled the grounds ^pon 
 which she had originally been tempted to accept him, re- 
 minded her of Lady Augusta's arguments, her father's confi- 
 dence, the world's admiration, and added to it a deepening 
 and clearer conviction, that in generosity and unselfishness 
 Claude Egerton's equal could scarcely be found. 
 
 Free, Helen might at that moment have learnt to love 
 Claude ; but bound — pledged — it was a fatal mistake : and 
 once more at the thought of being united to him for ever, the 
 cold chill of indifference crept over her. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Merry were the shouts of the children below, but the sound 
 scarcely reached Helen's ears. Susan was sent away when 
 she came, offering to assist her cousin in dressing. Mrs. Gra- 
 ham was not admitted, when she knocked at the door, to beg 
 that if Helen's head ached, she would not attempt to conic 
 down stairs. Unused to self-control, untaught to think of 
 others, Helen never realised to herself that she was throwing 
 a damp over the general gaiety, by giving way to her own 
 sad and perplexing thoughts. "They can do very well 
 without me," was the salve which soothed her conscience ; 
 and it was only when at length hei fire had burnt low, and 
 the room was growing cold, that she roused herself to dress,
 
 310 rams. 
 
 and, with a feeling of painful effort and repugnance, sum- 
 moned resolution to join the party. 
 
 The children were gathered round the Christmas-tree, 
 loud in admiration and wonder ; Anna and Isabella marshal- 
 ling them in order, that they might see every thing ; whilst 
 Charlie kept guard over old Miss Harvey and her sister, 
 whom he had escorted with no little pride through the 
 streets, and who were to be taken back again witn all care 
 as soon as their curiosity was satisfied. 
 
 Helen paused in the doorway, the servants who crowded 
 it making way for her to pass on. There were a few grown- 
 up people near; mammas, elder sisters, and governesses, 
 who had the charge of the little ones ; and amongst these 
 she stood, as she hoped unnoticed. She heard their remarks. 
 " A beautiful tree ! so well lighted ; and such trouble 
 must have been taken in dressing it ! but Mrs. Graham re- 
 members everything and everybody." "It must be very 
 pleasant to be able to give so much pleasure." " Mrs. Gra- 
 ham has such help in her daughters. How nice they look 
 this evening ! I have heard Susan called pretty ; but I don't 
 think she is that, — it is only expression. Yet, just look at 
 her now. What a bright look ! she never can have known 
 much sorrow." "No; a little while ago some one said 
 she was quite altered ; but I don't see it. It was at the 
 time the report got about that she was to marry Mr. 
 Egerton." 
 
 The last words were spoken by Miss Gaunt, an elderly 
 lady, quick, shrewd, strongly inclined to satire, the daughter 
 of one of the former rectors of Wingfield ; and they were 
 addressed to Mrs. Berry, the wife of the present rector, a 
 sensible, straight-forward, middle-aged mother of a large 
 family, who had a dread of gossip, and was aware that Miss 
 Gaunt and her sister did not share the distaste. The re- 
 mark was received, therefore, coldly ; and Mrs. Berry en-
 
 1V0KS. 31.1 
 
 deavoured to divert the subject by some reference to the chil- 
 dren. But Miss Gaunt renewed it : " It all came to nothing, 
 as every one knows ; but I could not help wishing that it 
 had been true. I should so very much like to see dear Su- 
 san married ; and they say that Mr. Egerton is such a very 
 excellent man." 
 
 " He will make a good husband, then, for any one," said 
 Mrs. Berry, forced into a general observation. 
 
 " "Well, yes ; but it doe3 seem a pity that he should 
 throw himself away. He might do so much good." 
 
 "But he will, we trust." 
 
 " That is as time may show. Not if he takes after Ivors. 
 What is the neighbourhood the better for the Clares ? " 
 
 " Hush ! Some one said Miss Clare was here." 
 
 Helen was going to speak to Mrs. Berry, and stop the 
 conversation, but another lady edged herself in between 
 them, and prevented it. She heard Miss Gaunt reply : 
 
 " Miss Clare ! oh ! she is too fine to come down ; Susan 
 Graham told me, half an hour ago, that she was not ready. 
 I wonder Lady Augusta has allowed her to be here this 
 evening." 
 
 " Mr. Egerton was to have exhibited the magic Ian thorn , 
 I suppose that was the reason," replied Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " Xo doubt ! Poor young man ! Well ! I must say, I 
 think he might have made a better choice. They say he has 
 oeen quite taken in by Lady Augusta." 
 
 Helen felt her colour rise ; she longed to move, but it 
 was impossible. Miss Gaunt continued: " However, he has 
 a will of his own; one hears thai through his servants: and 
 when once they are married, and he is away from Ivors, it 
 may be better. Those Clares arc enough to ruin any one 
 with their exclusiveness." 
 
 "Those Clares! " Helen instinctively put out her hand, 
 
 and all but touched Miss Gaunt's arm, to remind her that 
 
 she was near. 
 
 U
 
 312 ivors. 
 
 Mrs. Berry remarked that Sir Henry was one of the first 
 men in the county. 
 
 " Because he is the member, I suppose, you mean ; but 
 one puts that aside ; mere political influence is nothing." 
 
 " And he is a good landlord," said Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " I dare say. Indeed, I have heard that he is respected 
 by the farmers." 
 
 " And he is a liberal man, too," observed Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " Yes, in a certain way. As I heard some one observe 
 the other day, You always see subscription lists headed 
 by Clares ; as you see benevolent institutions patronised by 
 the Queen." 
 
 Mrs. Berry spoke as if she was annoyed : " Beally, my 
 dear Miss Gaunt, you are a little too severe. Perhaps Mr. 
 Berry and I have as much right to speak about Sir Henry 
 Clare's liberality as any persons, because so much of his 
 charity passes through our hands : a kinder-hearted man 
 there can't be." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Berry, I don't mean to doubt it. All I 
 say is, that if Sir Henry Clare's bailiff managed his proper- 
 ty, and if Lady Augusta's housekeeper took care of the 
 Hall, and Lady Augusta and Miss Clare, and the whole set 
 were transported to the Antipodes, the neighbourhood would 
 not be one whit the worse off; and there would not be half 
 a dozen regrets for their departure. I speak from what I 
 know ; and I hear a great deal one way and another." 
 
 Mrs. Berry could bear this no longer. She managed to 
 move forward, so as to escape any more of Miss Gaunt's ob- 
 servations ; and Helen moved likewise, and was seen by Su- 
 san, and summoned to admire the Christmas-tree. 
 
 It was a very painful feeling Avhich came over her, as she 
 emerged from the little crowd in the doorway, and felt that 
 all eyes were directed towards her with curiosity. An hour 
 before, she would not have thought about herself at all ; now
 
 IVOKS. ol3 
 
 there was an uncomfortable self-consciousness, a sensation of 
 being apart, different from every one, being looked upon 
 with suspicion. " Those Clares ! " " Taken in by Lady 
 Augusta ! " The expressions haunted her ; though she 
 scarcely realised their full meaning, especially as regarded 
 Claude. But she felt as though she were among enemies ; 
 and became cold and stiff, even to the children, who, of course, 
 became cold and stiff to her in return : and so there was a 
 little restraint creeping over the party, which Helen knew 
 would be* attributed to herself. She had not the spirit or the 
 heart to alter her manner ; she, who had all her life been 
 amused, had no idea of amusing others ; and at last, one by 
 one, the children withdrew from the tree, and she was left 
 standing near it alone with Susan. 
 
 " We must take the presents off, and distribute them, 
 Susan," said Anna, coming up to them. "The children 
 have been looking long enough." 
 
 " Yes ; in one minute. Helen, you will help ? " But 
 Helen declined. 
 
 " But you must ; t» great many of the names are in your 
 writing." 
 
 " I can't always read my own writing, and I forget the 
 ■"ames." 
 
 " Never mind ! " exclaimed Anna, impatiently, " if she 
 does n't choose to do it." 
 
 And Helen drew back into a distant corner, solitary and 
 heavy-hearted. 
 
 " Helen ! my love, there is a lady wishing very much to 
 be introduced to you," said Mrs, Graham, coming up to her: 
 "a cousin of Mr. Egerton's," was added in a lower voice. 
 
 Helen's face flushed. "I had rather not, Aunt Fanny. 
 Must I? I don't know her." 
 
 " She is staying in the neighbourhood, and would 
 like it."
 
 314 ivors. 
 
 "What are the children going to do now?" asked 
 Helen, abruptly. 
 
 " To dance, I think, in the next room. Susan will man- 
 age for them." 
 
 " She is so kind to them. Must I go too ? I would 
 much rather sit here ; my head aches." 
 
 " You shall do just as you like, my love ; you don't look 
 well." 
 
 " Susan likes it, I suppose," said Helen, in a wondering 
 tone ; whilst she watched her cousin marshalling the chil- 
 dren, and telling them which way they were to go. 
 
 " She likes giving pleasure, as every one does." 
 
 " And she is always bright," said Helen. " She has 
 even spirits ; that is her great blessing." 
 
 " And vou like it, Aunt Fannv, don't vou ! " 
 
 " Yes ; but in a different way from Susan. But every 
 one likes it, Helen, that tries it. Will you come with me ? " 
 
 Helen held her aunt's hand. "Don't leave me, Aunt 
 Fanny ; it is a pleasure to talk to you." 
 
 " My love, I must ; and my friend is waiting for me, and 
 for you too." 
 
 " Does she know about me ? " Helen's voice trembled. 
 
 "She hopes you are to be a new cousin before very 
 long." 
 
 " I can't ; I can't." 
 , Mrs. Graham looked round. The room was empty. 
 
 " Aunt Fanny, I can't," repeated Helen. 
 
 "Can't what? my child." 
 
 " Be introduced. You don't understand." 
 
 "No, indeed, dearest. But if it is only shyness, you 
 ought not to give way to it." 
 
 Helen stood up, then sat down again ; and after a mo- 
 ment's pause, drew forth Claude's letter, put it into her aunt's 
 hand, and rushed away to her own room.
 
 ivoks. 315 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock before the guests were gone. Then 
 there were various matters to be arranged by Susan, Isabella, 
 and Anna ; lights and fires to be extinguished, music to be 
 put away, something like order restored to the rooms, to say 
 nothing of the time spent in discussing the pleasure of the 
 evening, — the children's amusement, their curious remarks, 
 the little tempers and fancies which had been exhibited. 
 One drawback was acknowledged by all. Even Susan owned 
 that she was disappointed in Helen. She had given her 
 credit for greater self-command ; but people in love, she sup- 
 posed, were to be judged by a different standard from oth- 
 ers : a remark to which Anna, as usual, replied by a sweep- 
 ing censure upon all persons in that unhappy condition. 
 
 And in the meantime, Helen herself was waiting anxious- 
 ly, yet with comparative calmness, in her own apartment, for 
 the interview with her aunt, which she knew wouid be given 
 her before the evening was over. She was calm, because she 
 believed that she had now placed the determination of her fate 
 out of her own Lands; and even the suspense of the time 
 which must intervene before ]\Irs. Graham could be expected 
 to have leisure to attend to her, was nothing, compared with 
 the painful indecision which bad confused, and in a degree 
 paralysed, her p.,«ver of thought and reason before. 
 
 Yet when the gentle footstep was at length heard, her 
 heart beat so rapidly that she could scarcely say, " Come 
 in ; " and when her aunt entered, she stood up to receive her, 
 but did not utter a word. 
 
 Mrs. Graham had Claude's letter in her hand. She laid 
 it before Seles without, pause or preface, and said, "I have 
 read it, my love, and thank you for it." 
 
 Helen's large, eager i ted for a moment with pain-
 
 31 G ivoks. 
 
 ful earnestness upon her aunt's face ; then they were Lent 
 upon the ground ; and in a low voice she said, " And you 
 think he is right ? " 
 
 Mrs. Graham, without at once answering, drew Helen 
 gently towards her, and made her sit down ; and kissing her 
 fondly, said, " Yes, he is quite right, for his own happiness 
 and for yours." 
 
 " I can't answer him," said Helen ; still not daring to 
 look up. 
 
 " That may be the best answer," replied Mrs. Graham. 
 " If it were all right between you, there would be no diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 " And I must tell him so," said Helen, in a hollow voice. 
 
 " You must be true to him and to yourself, my love." 
 
 " And I have deceived him, and mamma, and every one ; 
 and I must be lowered in his eyes. Aunt Fanny, help me ; 
 I can't do it." 
 
 " There is no degradation, my child, like the slightest 
 shade of iaisenood. But you must not take what I have said 
 too literally, and act upon it hastily. Claude is your best ad- 
 viser. He gives you time ; he wishes you to prove yourself: 
 so do I." 
 
 " But proof is no proof. I don't understand myself," 
 exclaimed Helen. " Aunt Fanny," — she looked at her aunt 
 simply and trustfully, — "I do love Claude. Yes, I think I 
 do. I could not have promised him what I did, if I had not 
 cared for him; for I meant to be quite sincere; and very 
 often — no, sometimes — I feel quite as I know I ought ; and 
 I think him better and wiser than any one else in the 
 world ; and it makes me miserable when I give him pain, 
 and yet I can't prevent myself from doing it. Is it because 
 I am so to every one ? " 
 
 " He jars upon you, perhaps," said Mrs Graham. 
 
 " lie makes me feel perverse," replied Helen. " But a
 
 IVORS. 317 
 
 great many people do that when they try to rule me. Aunt 
 Fanny, why do you look so grave ? " 
 
 "Because you vex me, Helen. You are throwing away 
 happiness." 
 
 "I need not. I will not, if you tell me it is right to 
 let everything go on." 
 
 " God forbid ! " Mrs. Graham began eagerly, then 
 checked herself. " Helen, my child, no human being could 
 take such a responsibility.*' 
 
 " Then you tell me it is not right. Oh ! Aunt Fanny, 
 have pity upon me ! I can never, never decide." 
 
 " Answer me one question, Helen. Would the feeling 
 which you entertain for Claude satisfy you, if it were offered 
 to yourself? " 
 
 " I — Aunt Fanny, he is a man, and I am a woman." 
 
 " Yet you are both human beings. But I will give you 
 another test, — action ; which is the proof of all love, earthly 
 or heavenly. Is it pleasure or pain to do what Claude 
 wishes?" 
 
 " Pleasure to please him ; not to obey him." 
 
 Mrs. Graham was silent, and very thoughtful. 
 
 "Is it the proof?" continued Helen, in an altered tone. 
 " I can never like to obey any one." 
 
 " I would rather not answer the question, my child." 
 
 " Aunt Fanny, you must — you shall, answer it ! If 
 pleasure in obedience be a test of love, I have no love in my 
 nature." 
 
 "You don't know yourself, Helen." 
 
 "But I have always felt the same," replied Helen. 
 " My life has been one continued storm ; hidden, perhaps — 
 but it has gone on when no one suspected it. I can do what 
 I am told, outwardly, — all people can do that; but — like it! 
 submil in my heart! — you may as well ask me to chain the 
 wind as control my own free will.
 
 31S IVORS. 
 
 " You can never do it for yourself, Helen. Yet it must 
 be done if there is to be peace on earth or rest in Heaven." 
 
 Helen was struck by ber aunt's tone. Her own manner 
 became more composed as she said, thoughtfully, " God 
 formed us as we are." 
 
 " Yes ; with an independent will, which must become one 
 with His before we can find either goodness or happiness ; 
 and which never will be one until we love Him with a per- 
 fect love. And there is no irreverence, Helen, in tracing 
 out the analogy between this love and the deepest human 
 affection, because it is done for us in the Bible. When we 
 love truly, our will becomes one Avith that of the in lividual 
 whom we love, and obedience ceases to be obedience." 
 
 " I should do everything Claude wished, if I were mar- 
 ried," said Helen ; " it would be my duty." 
 
 " If love cannot make you do so before you are married, 
 dearest, you may believe, from my experience, that duty will 
 not enable you to do it afterwards. The obedience which a 
 man requires from his wife is that of the heart." 
 
 Helen rested her forehead upon her hands, and a bitter 
 sigh escaped her. 
 
 Presently she looked up ; her face expressed intense suf- 
 fering. She pressed her aunt's hand, and said, " No one will 
 ever love me as well." 
 
 " And no one will ever so well deserve your love in re- 
 turn," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " And I have done him grievous wrong," said Helen ; 
 " He will hate me." 
 
 " He will honour you for your truth : but, Helen, you 
 have a duty owing to him, — not to be hasty. He gives you 
 time for consideration, and you must use it." 
 
 " I have considered," replied Helen ; " and you have 
 given me tests." 
 
 " Yet you may be mistaken. Claude's letter has drawn 
 yuu closer to each other than you were before."
 
 ivoks. 319 
 
 Helen started, clasped her hands tightly together, and, 
 hiding her face on her aunt's shoulder, whispered, " I am so 
 unworthy of him." 
 
 " He will never reject you from his heart for that ac- 
 knowledgment, my darling. But try yourself. A week 
 hence there will be less of this painful excitement ; you will 
 be able, during his absence, to understand your own mind ; 
 you will see what your thoughts turn to ; whether the know- 
 ledge of what he is and what he feels for you, which, I am 
 sure, you understand now better than you have ever done, 
 can make the prospect of your future life with him easy and 
 happy. There will be many little ways of judgng of the 
 state of your own heart ; and you are too sincere, Helen, to 
 deceive him when he has once brought the question so plain- 
 ly before you. All I would urge upon you is, not to allow 
 any fear of giving pain to prevent you from being honest 
 with him." 
 
 " And you will not help me ? " said Helen, reproachfully. 
 
 " Yes, help you to the very utmost, but not decide for 
 you. If I were to do so, the responsibility would not be the 
 less yours in accepting my decision." 
 
 Helen sat deep in thought ; then she said, " I shall make 
 him very miserable." 
 
 "Shall you make yourself miserable 1 " said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. 
 
 "I don't know ; I had rather not think about myself." 
 
 "But you must, dearest. It is one of those eases in 
 which, if we sacrifice ourselves, we must sacrifice others." 
 
 "I am so confused, I don't know what I feel," said 
 ! Lelen. 
 
 "Then try to act; — put before you all he wishes you to 
 do or to he ; endeavour to please him now that he is absent, 
 as you would if he were present: and remember that you are 
 still free, in one sense of the word, — free to draw back, by 
 his own i onsent."
 
 320 ivors. 
 
 " Free ! " Helen said the word a^ain to herself, antl 
 there "was a tone of moumfulness in the intonation of her 
 voice. 
 
 " If you can strive to please him heartily, without a feel- 
 ing of constraint," said Mrs. Graham, " that will be your 
 truest test." 
 
 " And mamma will say, what % " murmured Helen. 
 
 " It is not a case either for parent or friend," said Mrs. 
 Graham. " God will he your Judge, and He also will be 
 vour Guide." 
 
 Helen trembled. " Aunt Fanny, it is very awful, and I 
 am so wicked ! " 
 
 " Helen, dearest, you have one virtue, which is the root 
 of all,— truth." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Fanny ! no, you don't know me ; Claude does 
 not either ; I could love him better if he did." And Helen 
 gazed sorrowfully at her aunt, and added, "Truth, if one 
 has it, only helps to make one feel that one is untrue." 
 
 " God bless and help you, my darling," were Mrs. Gra- 
 ham's parting words. And Helen laid her head on her pil- 
 low, comforted by the feeling of having obtained sympathy, 
 though still weary and heart-sick with indeeision.
 
 I sr o R . S 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 The carriage came for Helen the nest clay, and she went 
 home : no one pressed her to stay, and neither Isabella nor 
 Anna expressed regret at her departure. She had been too 
 much absorbed in her own thoughts to make herself agreea- 
 ble. Yet a feeling of exceeding loneliness came over her, us 
 she looked back and saw her aunt's sweet, kind face at the 
 door, and felt that she must now return to the uncongeniality 
 of her own little world, and bear the burden of her doubtful 
 heart without human sympathy. 
 
 Mrs. Graham's last injunction had been, "Put aside 
 your feelings, my child, and try yourself by action;" and 
 Helen, in accordance with the suggestion, spent the short 
 time of her drive in thinking over what Claude would most 
 wish her to do. He had talked to her about the employment 
 of her time, urged regularity, suggested visits to the poor; 
 and if lie had been there to help her, she might now, perhaps, 
 have entered into his plans. But all seemed vapid when she 
 was to set to work by herself. She thought that her aunt 
 expected too much of her; and, unused (omental exertion, 
 soon sank back into the wearying reveries upon feeling, 
 against which she had been warned. 
 
 Lady Lduisa Stuarl and Miss Manners were looking out
 
 4 IYOKS. 
 
 for her, expecting to near amusing stories of the aborigines 
 Lady Louisa had prepared some more tiresome jokes about 
 Petruchio, and Miss Manners was ready with condolences for 
 his absence ; but Helen avoided them both, hurried up stairs 
 to her own room, and was soon followed thither by Lady 
 Augusta. 
 
 " You have had such a disappointment, my love ; I can't 
 say how vexed I have been, more almost for Claude than for 
 yourself; he is terribly cut up about it, as he says in his 
 note." 
 
 '' May I see the note, mamma?" 
 
 Lady Augusta hesitated. " I don't know that I have it 
 with me." She took out a number of notes from a pocket- 
 book. " This, — no, this is not from Claude, — it is Mrs. 
 Hopeton's apology for not coming to-morrow night; and 
 there has been a request from Sir John Hume that he may 
 bring a niece ; and Lord Steyne talks of a friend who wishes 
 to come : we shall have quite a crowd." 
 
 " That is Claude's note," said Helen, pointing to one 
 folded in a peculiar way, and written on rather blue note- 
 paper. 
 
 " How quick you are in discovering, my dear ! " but Lady 
 Augusta appeared unwilling to produce the note, till Helen 
 put out her hand for it. 
 
 " It is a short note — condensed ; all his are ; but his few 
 words express more than volumes from other people." 
 Helen read the note. 
 
 " My dear Lady Augusta, 
 " A telegraphic message has just summoned me to Lon- 
 don, and I have not a minute to spare. It is most unfortu- 
 nate, as I shall not be able to be at Mrs. Graham's to-night, 
 to exhibit the magic lanthorn ; and I am, of course, particu- 
 larly vexed in thiukiug of Helen. I enclose a note for Sir
 
 IVORS. 5 
 
 Henry about some political matters, which I wished to have 
 talked over with him. I don't know when I shall be down 
 again ; but you may be sure it will be the very first day pos- 
 sible. You will, I trust, have a successful evening; I wish, 
 indeed, I could be with you ; but I have foreseen from the 
 beginning how it might be, and must resign myself as best I 
 may, though I do not yet give up all hope. 
 
 " Very faithfully yours, 
 
 " Claude Egerton. 
 
 "I have written to Helen, and made arrangements for 
 some one to exhibit the magic lanthorn for me." 
 
 " He takes the world philosophically," said Helen, in a 
 bitter tone, as she laid Claude's note upon the table. 
 
 " His mind is so admirably well-disciplined," replied 
 Lady Augusta. " He never allows himself to be disturbed, 
 or at least to show it." 
 
 " Some people like the principle of faith in affection," 
 said Helen, sarcastically. 
 
 " My love, you are severe. What lessons have you been 
 learning at Wingfield ? But I ought not to find fault : I 
 should remember that young people can never be satisfied 
 with any expression of affection." 
 
 " I am infinitely obliged to Claude for taking thought for 
 me and the magic lanthorn together," said Helen, again fak- 
 ing up the note. 
 
 " You are laughing, my dear ; you don't really mean to 
 be so unjust." 
 
 "I read the words as they are written," said Helen. 
 
 " And put a wrong interpretation upon them." 
 
 " Ami take them for what they mean, rather." 
 
 "Why should much be said to me?" continued Lady
 
 6 IVORS. 
 
 Augusta : " you have his own words to yourself to satisfy 
 you." 
 
 Helen was silent. 
 
 And silent she continued, then and afterwards, during 
 the day; brooding over her own distracting thoughts, blam- 
 ing Claude, condemning herself, yielding, as she ever yielded, 
 to impulses from within, and influences from without; jarred 
 upon by Lady Louisa's tiresome jokes; fretted to irritation 
 by Miss Manners' stately condolences or Claude's absence; 
 alarmed by Lady Augusta's keen looks of surprise; and 
 startled by her father's cpiick, though good-tempered reproofs 
 of her dulness. 
 
 Could it be a matter of astonishment, if the great ques- 
 tion, which was to decide her fate, became more and more 
 bewildering, and was thought over, settled, unsettled, settled 
 again, and in reality left to be determined — Helen knew not 
 how, and dreaded to think ? 
 
 Such was the state of things on the day of the ball. The 
 routine of Ivors was disturbed then, as had been the case at 
 Wiugfield, a few days before; but the disturbance was of a 
 very different character, being managed by the servants, who 
 were bound to take care that no one should be "put out" 
 more than was absolutely necessary, and therefore kept all 
 arrangements to the utmost in the 'background. Lady Au- 
 gusta, indeed, superintended herself, but that was her habit ; 
 she superintended everything, and never believed that the 
 world could go on without her ; but Helen was not consulted, 
 except about the music, and had a long, dull, dreary day 
 with Lady Louisa and Miss Manners, feeling that she had 
 no excuse for leaving them, and yet longing more and more 
 every minute to go to her own room, and indulge in some of 
 those " few more " thoughts which, although they prevented 
 her from arriving at any definite conclusion, were becoming 
 a necessary of life.
 
 IVORS. 7 
 
 " It is a comfort that balls are not given every day," said 
 Miss Manners. 
 
 The observation broke a long silence in the library, 
 though not in the house, for the sound of hammering was 
 heard unceasingly. 
 
 " I don't think they interfere much with us," said Helen, 
 quickly; fearing a quotation from Shakspeare. 
 
 Lady Louisa looked up from a novel, and owned that she 
 had been nearly asleep, and asked what they were talking 
 about. 
 
 " Balls," replied Miss Manners. " Helen likes them." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but I am not aware that I said so," 
 replied Helen, shortly. 
 
 " But you implied it, my love, and it is natural, I imagine, 
 at your age, when the fresh spring of youth and enthusiasm 
 makes movement delightful. For myself, I confess, my tastes 
 lay always in a different direction ; a search into the wonders 
 of creation, which afforded food for reflecting hours, was from 
 infancy my craving." 
 
 " A geological baby," said Lady Louisa ; " I wish I had 
 seen you." 
 
 Helen laughed faintly, and observed that she certainly 
 could not imagine Miss Manners dancing. 
 
 " Not a minuet?" asked Lady Louisa. 
 
 Aiid Miss Manners answered sharply for herself, that 
 minuets had ceased to be in fashion, long before she was old 
 enough to dance. 
 
 " I was thinking whether a minuet would suit Petruchio," 
 said Lady Louisa. " If I remember rightly, he does not take 
 kindly to the polka." 
 
 " Neither for himself nor for any one else, docs he ? " in- 
 quired Miss Manners. "I thought I understood as much 
 from some remark of Lady Augusta's the other day." 
 
 Helen shrank from the subjeel with irritation and annoy- 
 ance.
 
 8 IVORS. 
 
 Lady Louisa, observed it, and, as usual, had not sufficient 
 tact or kindness to overlook it. 
 
 " He does not interfere with you, Helen, I hope. I 
 really shall be quite out of patience with him in that case." 
 
 Helen appeared not to hear, and Lady Louisa fancied she 
 looked vexed. 
 
 " Too bad ! " she continued : " A real Petruchio ! 
 
 " Better 'twere that both ol us did fast," 
 
 and then he goes away and leaves } r ou to fast alone. I would 
 be revenged upon him." 
 
 Helen's pride could not brook this ; she remarked, cold- 
 ly, " That Mr. Egerton and she quite understood each other," 
 and walked out of the room, followed by the sharp tone of 
 Lady Louisa's laugh. 
 
 In the hall she encountered her father, and was turning 
 from him, so as not to speak, when he stopped her. " What ! 
 running away from me, my child ? I have scarcely seen 
 you this morning. A dull day, I am afraid," and he kissed 
 her, — " but we must try to be merry for the sake of others." 
 
 '• "We shall do very well, I dare say," replied Helen, in 
 a light tone, which effectually repelled sympathy. 
 
 " It was too bad of Claude," continued Sir Henry ; " or, 
 I suppose one must say of his lawyer. I don't believe, my- 
 self, that there was any necessity for his going. I know the 
 business they make such a fuss about. It was one of 
 Claude's crotchets, to meet that particular individual on that 
 particular day ; but I am certain it might all have been 
 done as well by writing. You musn't let him be crotchety, 
 Helen. He is too young to begin in that line." Sir Henry 
 patted his daughter on both cheeks, and went to his own 
 room. 
 
 Helen went to hers. For the next half hour she might
 
 IVORS. 9 
 
 Lave been heard walking up and down, with somewhat of a 
 man's restlessness ; then she took up a pen and wrote, — 
 
 " I cannot give you the answer you require, my mind is 
 full of perplexity ; but I am sure of one thing, that I shall 
 never make you happy, and therefore it is better we should 
 part." The pen was thrown down, when Helen had gone so 
 far, whilst pressing her forehead tightly, as though to still the 
 working of her brain, her eye retraced the words; then open- 
 ing a private drawer in her desk, she took Claude's lettei 
 from it, and laid it beside her. 
 
 " My lady wishes you to come down into the hall, if you 
 please, Mademoiselle; " said Annette's voice at the door. 
 
 It was immediately followed by Lady Augusta's. " Hel- 
 en, my love, may I say one word to you ? Are you busy ? " 
 
 Helen unfastened the door. 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt you, my dear, but I wanted 
 
 to ask your opinion but you are writing for the post." 
 
 Lady Augusta's eyes fell with a scrutinizing glance upon 
 the table. 
 
 " It is nothing, it need not go to-day," said Helen, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " But you are desirous it should, I sec. I had no idea 
 you were so engaged, but Claude will be anxious to hear 
 from you." 
 
 Helen longed to be able to say that she was not writing 
 to him. 
 
 " I will keep my business till presently," continued Lady 
 Augusta ; " though one thing I may as well say now : I am 
 anxious to know how matters stand with ;you about the ball. 
 Does Claude still think of keeping you under his loving re- 
 straint ? " 
 
 Helen broke in upon the sentence : " Mamma, Claude 
 will neve; keep me under restraint any more ; we are part-
 
 10 IVORS. 
 
 ed," — she leaned her head upon the table, and burst intc 
 tears. 
 
 " Parted ! Helen ! can you dare ? " — Lady Augusta's 
 eyes sparkled, — but with one moment of self-recollection her 
 manner changed. She took Helen's hand in hers. " There 
 is some misunderstanding in this, my love." 
 
 " There has been a misunderstanding from the begin- 
 ning," said Helen, recovering herself, and speaking with dig- 
 nity ; " we were never intended for each other." 
 
 " Nonsense ! my dear ; begging your pardon, simple non- 
 sense ! "What is it all ? Let me hear whose fault it is." 
 Lady Augusta sat down, tapping the table with a paper 
 knife, as though she would fain have beaten the words out 
 of Helen's mouth. 
 
 " It is no fault ; — yet, I suppose it is mine, — it will be 
 called mine," said Helen, proudly. 
 
 " Because you have provoked him, silly, infatuated child ! 
 You have treated him as you have done every one from 
 childhood. I saw how it would be. I felt you were casting 
 away all the advantages for which I had laboured." 
 
 The conversation heard on the evening of Mrs. Graham's 
 party, flashed upon Helen's recollection. In an instant it 
 came to her with its full meaning. She started from her 
 seat, and exclaimed : " Then you have laboured, mamma ! 
 The world is right, and Claude has been entrapped." 
 
 There was one moment's pause. Lady Augusta's reply 
 came forth, slow, measured, soft, and mournful : — •' Yes, en- 
 trapped, if you so please to call it ; brought by the ordering 
 of Providential circumstances into close intercourse with 
 one as fair as she is false and weak ; made to rest his happi- 
 ness upon her, and then deceived. Helen, you have cruelly 
 disappointed me." 
 
 " Not as I have disappointed myself," replied Helen, 
 " nor " — her voice shook, — " as I have disappointed Claude."
 
 IVORS. .11 
 
 " Does he say so ? " asked Lady Augusta, sarcastically, 
 her eye turning to the letter in Claude's handwriting, which 
 was by Helen's side. 
 
 Helen would not see the unspoken request, that it might, 
 be read ; she only replied : " He requires of me more than 
 I can give, and therefore it is better we should part." 
 
 " Helen, you are too idiotic ! " exclaimed Lady Augusta. 
 ' : How many wives do you think give their husbands what 
 you would call their full affections before they are married?" 
 
 " Aunt Fanny thinks that I am right," said Helen. 
 
 Lady Augusta did not instantly trust herself with a re- 
 ply ; when she did, she drew near Helen, laid her hand upon 
 her arm, with a firm, painful pressure, and said, speaking be- 
 tween her half-closed lips : " This is the first and last time, 
 Helen, that Mrs. Graham comes between you and me." 
 
 " She is my aunt," said Helen. 
 
 " And I am your mother. In the eyes of the world I 
 hold your mother's place." 
 
 Helen's fingers were tightly clenched together, as she re- 
 plied, " My father shall be my judge." 
 
 " Let him be. He will bear none of this folly." 
 
 ' He will let me fee free," said Helen; and she added 
 sarcastically : " he at least has not laboured for my advan- 
 tage, and so will have nothing to regret." 
 
 " I bear with your taunt, Helen. I might have expected 
 no less. Gratitude has always been a stranger to your 
 heart." 
 
 " No, mamma ; never. I have been grateful to you ; 1 
 am grateful ; for your care, and your kindness and instruc- 
 tion ; for things which I never could have had without you ; 
 but I am not grateful for having been made a plaything, a 
 tool — having the eyes of the neighbourhood turned upon me 
 in derision. Mamma, if you will not 1><' proud for me, I will 
 be proud for myself. Byyour <n\u acknowledgment Claude
 
 1 2 IVOKS. 
 
 has not been free in tins matter. It is my will that he 
 should be ; and from this moment I restore him his liberty." 
 
 She took up her pen. and wrote again. Lady Augusta 
 stood by with folded hands, watching, as sentence after sen- 
 tence followed rapidly. When, at length, Helen's name was 
 signed, Lady Augusta laid her hand upon the paper, and 
 said : " It is for your father's perusal." 
 
 She expected a burst of passion, but Helen's answer was 
 calm : " It is intended for him to-morro'v." 
 
 And Lady Augusta, leaving the letter in Helen's pos- 
 session, departed without another word. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Brilliantly gay was Ivors on the evening of the long ex- 
 pected ball. London workmen had fitted up the hall for 
 dancing ; artistic taste had hung the walls with rich drapery, 
 and decorated them with evergreens and flowers, and bright- 
 ened the long rooms by silver sconces, and gorgeous chande- 
 liers. It was a scene of fairy land, magic in its beauty ; 
 room opening into room ; mirror reflecting mirror ; a maze 
 interminable of light and colour ; and through these dazzling 
 apartments wandered Lady Augusta Clare, queen-like, in a 
 dress of rich dark velvet, and a rnasriincent shawl of Brus- 
 sels lace, fastened by a diamond brooch. Yet the cares of 
 her domestic kingdom sat heavy upon her head. She re- 
 marked everything, knew whether everything was in its 
 right place, but it was by instinct only. Even when she 
 gave her final decisive orders, her heart was not in her words. 
 There was a marked nervousness in her manner, as though 
 she dreaded some startling news, or some painful interview.
 
 IYOK3. Id 
 
 " Is Sir Henry in his study, Marks ? " was her question 
 at last to the servant who had been following her footsteps, 
 and executing her commands. 
 
 " Sir Henry went to his room about half an hour ago, 
 1113- lady. I don't know whether he has come down again." 
 
 " G-o and see ; " and Lady xVugusta sat down wearily in 
 an arm-chair by the fireside, and in her splendid drawing- 
 room, sighed a real, hearty sigh, in which there was no 
 striving for effect. 
 
 Marks was gone a loner time, but Lady Ausrusta was 
 patient ; except that every now and then she raised her head 
 quickly, as a figure passed the open door at the further end 
 of the room. 
 
 Presently there came one which did not pass, but paused, 
 looked into the apartment, evidently not seeing that it was 
 occupied, entered, and stood for a few seconds under the glass 
 chandelier. 
 
 A very lovely face and form it was, — perfect in grace, 
 attractively sweet, though with somewhat of proud sadness 
 in its expression ; but when Lady Augusta said " Helen ! " 
 there was a sudden start, — the whole countenance changed ; 
 a fierce, fiery glance flashed like lightning over it, and Helen 
 turned away, and walked slowly out of the apartment. 
 
 Two hours afterwards the rooms were crowded ; dancing 
 had begun; laughter, and conversation, and music mingled 
 their joyous and inspiriting tones; and Lady Augusta Clare, 
 as she sailed from room to room, speaking kindly words, and 
 distributing gracious smiles, was looked upon with admiration, 
 envy and respect. Externally, indeed, there was everything 
 to exhilarate her. Heterogeneous as the ingredients of her 
 party were, she yet contrived to assimilate them, by her own 
 judicious tact. On this one evening she seemed to have for- 
 gotten exclusiveness, and the dread of contamination, and to 
 be able to throw herself into the minds and sympathies of
 
 14 IVORS. 
 
 persons, with whom in general she would have professed to 
 have no one idea in common. 
 
 For everything that Lady Augusta Clare thought it wise 
 to do, she considered it also wise to do well ; everything ex- 
 cept ; but why find fault with her for an exception, 
 
 common more or less to all ? why complain of her principle, 
 when in fact she was perfectly consistent ? Lady Augusta 
 did not really thiuk it worth while to labour for Heaven as 
 she did for earth ; and therefore she was but carrying out 
 her motives into action, when she left the work of Heaven to 
 circumstances. 
 
 " Sitting still, dear Susan ? how does that happen ? " Lady 
 Augusta placed her hand on Susan Graham's shoulder with a 
 gentle tenderness, which was quite maternal. 
 
 " I have been dancing a good deal, and I am tired," was 
 Susan's reply ; "and besides, I think, — are n't they going to 
 try the polka ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I see ! and your dear mother, I know, is par- 
 ticular. But young people are not all as well disciplined as 
 yourselves, and are apt to be rebellious in these matters. 
 Have you seen Helen lately?" 
 
 Lady Augusta looked at the circle forming for the dance 
 with an anxious eye. 
 
 Helen was talking to Captain Mordauut just now," said 
 Susan ; " she was near the conservatory." 
 
 " Are you enquiring for Helen ? " asked Miss Aubrey 
 who, with Mr. Frank Hume, was standing quite close to 
 Susan, waiting for the polka to begin. " She has been un- 
 dergoing an ordeal of bantering from her brother and Lady 
 Louisa. It really is too bad of them to tease her as they do, 
 only that she is quite a match for them. She is in a most 
 strange mood to-night. 
 
 " Maurice is very provoking," exclaimed Lady Augusta ;
 
 IVORS. 15 
 
 " I must go and stop him." She moved away with a more 
 hasty step than usual. 
 
 Miss Aubrey laughed. " Lady Augusta will have a 
 difficult task if she means to protect Helen from observation. 
 Every one is wondering at this new fancy of hers." 
 
 " Oh, about dancing ! " and Susan opened her eyes with 
 a look of sudden and astounded perception, which seemed to 
 increase Miss Aubrey's amusement, as she turned away, and 
 whispered to her partner, " Saintly individuals who live in 
 the cloud's ought not to venture into a ball-room." 
 
 Susan was unconscious of giving rise to satire: she was 
 thinking of Helen ; feeling for her annoyance ; wondering 
 whether Claude Egerton was quite right ; wondering still 
 more that Helen should not have had sufficient tact to keep 
 her own secret. She fell into a reverie, undisturbed ; for 
 the fireplace was on one side of her, and Isabella on the other, 
 very much amused in watching the dancing, and not troubling 
 herself to interrupt her. 
 
 A sharp voice broke in upon her meditations : " Miss 
 Graham, you are quite in the fashion in sitting down." 
 Lady Louisa Stuart had seated herself by Susan's side. 
 
 " Rather the contrary, to judge by appearances," replied 
 Susan. "It is very amusing to look on." 
 
 " It must give you a pleasant feeling of superiority ; yet 
 I wonder you don't retire with Helen. I have been trying 
 to persuade her that we arc, none of us, good enough for her." 
 
 " And she is not inclined to take your advice, I suppose," 
 said Susan, in a tone of indifference. 
 
 " She likes to be peculiar, as she always does. I have 
 been taxing her with the cause, but she won'i acknowledge 
 it." Lady Louisa looked scrutinisingly at Susan ; but the 
 glance which met hers gave no reply to the question implied. 
 
 "I should have thought," continued Lady Louisa, " that 
 there was some hidden influence at work, but that
 
 16 IVOKS. 
 
 ' Love's feeling is more soft and sensible 
 Than arc the tender horns of cockled snails ; ' 
 
 and there is neither softness nor feeling in making the poor 
 child a mark for general observation in this way." 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Egerton trusted too much to the world's 
 kindness," said Susan, quickly. 
 
 " Oh, then he is at the bottom of it ! I thought so : " 
 and Lady Louisa's countenance lighted up with amusement : 
 " I was sure you would be able to tell me all about it." 
 
 Susan felt so vexed with herself that she could almost 
 have cried ; yet she showed very little annoyance, and 
 answered coolly, " Whatever you may wish to know, Lady 
 Louisa, I must refer you to Helen herself." 
 
 " Thank you, no occasion for that ; between ourselves, — 
 I would not have Helen told of it, — Miss Manners and I 
 have a little bet depending upon the matter. We were sure 
 Petruchio had been at work." Lady Louisa, in her youth- 
 ful lace dress, swept across to the opposite side of the 
 apartment, where Miss Manners and Sir John Hume were 
 discussirjg some geological curiosities lately found in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Susan watched her, — saw the smile of understanding — 
 the satirical glance, — and then observed Lady Louisa pass 
 on, whispering her observations to one and the other, whilst 
 curious eyes were directed to the doorway, near which Helen 
 still stood with her brother and Captain Mordaunt. Mrs. 
 Graham's eyes, also, were bent in the same direction ; and 
 after a few seconds she followed Lady Louisa, and went up 
 to the spot where Helen was standing, like a chafed lioness, 
 proudly warding off the darts aimed at her, yet stung by 
 them to the quick. 
 
 " My love, you must be tired of standing ; there is a seat 
 by Susan ; won't you come ? " 
 
 A moment before. Helen's look and tone had been sati-
 
 IVORS. 1 t 
 
 rical and contemptuous; it changed in an instant, when Mrs. 
 Graham spoke; but she said, carelessly, " Thank you, no ; I 
 do very well here.' 1 
 
 " And Miss Clare is going to be my partner," said Cap- 
 tain Mordaunt. 
 
 " I don't know ; I may not dance at all. Aunt Fanny, I 
 think I will come with you; " but, instead of joining Susan, 
 Helen turned suddenly away, and crossed the ante-room to 
 the conservatory. Mrs. Graham followed. 
 
 The conservatory was empty. Helen sat down at the 
 farthest extremity. " That music ! oh, to be out of its 
 reach ! " She put her hand to her ear. 
 
 " You are nearly so now, and you may stay," replied 
 Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " And it is better for me that I should. Yet I can't ; I 
 must go back again ; " and Helen half rose. 
 
 Mrs. Graham stopped her. " What does all this mean, 
 Helen ? " 
 
 " I am noticed ; I have made myself remarkable ; he 
 made me do it." 
 
 " He trusted to your own tact and discretion," replied 
 Mrs. Graham, reproachfully. 
 
 " It is cruel : he ought to have known what it would be. 
 And that woman, Lady Louisa ! " 
 
 " You will not place yourself at her mercy, Helen ? " 
 
 " I am at no one's mercy," exclaimed Helen, hastily. 
 ' : Aunt Fanny," and her voice sank, " I have resolved to be 
 free." 
 
 There was no immediate reply. Helen repeated the 
 words, looking at her aunt steadily; and then Mrs. Graham 
 said, sorrowfully, " I feared it might be so." 
 
 Helen went on with rapidity ; " I could not do as you 
 
 told me, — I could do nothing. I don't know why I have 
 
 decided, but I have, lie has no right to control me; I could 
 
 tell Lady Louisa 8 >, if but, Aunt Fanny, I can't." 
 
 15
 
 18 IVORS. 
 
 " Of course you can't. Explanations with her would be 
 quite out of place." 
 
 " She finds out everything. She has been guessing and 
 teasing, and she has set Maurice to tease ; and I have laugh- 
 ed with them, as if I did not care ; but I can't help caring. 
 There would be one easy way of silencing them all." 
 
 " By doing what they wish, you mean ? " said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. 
 
 " Yes, showing them that it is all nothing ; and that I 
 am not bound now, although they think I am." 
 
 " Pardon me, Helen, I should say you are bound." Mrs. 
 Graham's face showed surprise and displeasure. 
 
 (: What ! when I have made up my mind that it shall 
 all be at an end ? " 
 
 " What you have made up your mind to do is not the 
 question. Is it done ? Have } t ou had an explanation with 
 Mr. Egerton ? " 
 
 Helen twisted the rings of her gold chain with the petu- 
 lance of a petted child. 
 
 " Till you have," continued Mrs. Graham, " you can't 
 possibly consider yourself free. And, Helen, I can scarcely 
 believe that you wish it." 
 
 Helen's face changed ; pride and temper contended with 
 an expression of inward suffering. She evaded a direet re- 
 ply, and exclaimed : " He wrote to mamma ; there was no 
 feeling for me in what he said. It is his own wish, Aunt 
 Fanny ; " as the words were uttered, Helen's conscience re- 
 proached her for untruth, and she added : " At least you 
 would think so, if you were to read his words." 
 
 " I don't wish to judge. It is quite impossible indeed, 
 my dear child, that I should. All I entreat of you is to 
 command yourself. A very little self-respect will conquer 
 sarcasm." 
 
 Helen's pride was wounded. She said bitterly, " It may
 
 IYOTJS. 19 
 
 seem a small trial, but an insect's sting may cause as much 
 irritation as a serpent's : Lady Louisa is unbearable." 
 
 " Dearest Helen, think only of what is your plain duty." 
 
 " Claude should not have exposed me to observation," 
 replied Helen, sharply. 
 
 It was Mrs. Graham's turn then to be vexed. She rose 
 and walked towards the door of the conservatory. 
 
 " Aunt Fanny ! " Helen's tone was softened, as she fol- 
 lowed and tried to detain her aunt, " You are ashamed of 
 
 me." 
 
 " Grieved for you rather, Helen. You have noble and 
 generous feelings, but you are too weak to act upon them." 
 
 " Weak ! yes, I am weak," exclaimed Helen, passion- 
 ately : " weak in having ever consented to place myself in a 
 position in which any man could dictate to me." 
 
 Mrs. Graham turned and kissed her sorrowfully, but she 
 .said no more. 
 
 Helen lingered in the conservatory but a few moments 
 longer ; and when Mrs. Graham saw her again, a quadrille 
 had been just formed, and she was standing with Captain 
 Mordaunt prepared to take part in it. 
 
 It was nearly supper-time. Lady Augusta came up to 
 Mrs. Graham, with symptoms of a tempestuous current un- 
 derneath her bland exterior : " You have great influence with 
 Helen; do you think you can prevail upon her to do what 
 her father wishes ? I say nothing of myself." The tone was 
 painfully bitter. 
 
 "I don't understand " began Mrs. Graham. 
 
 "I have no time for explanations, but perhaps, as she 
 confides entirely in you, you would have the goodness to urge 
 u p "ii her attention to her father's guests." 
 
 Lady Augusta walked away: Mrs. Graham said quietly 
 to Isabella, who had just sat down by her, "Lady Augusta 
 is annoyed ; where is Helen?"
 
 20 IVOES. 
 
 " There, opposite," said Isabella. " You see the circle, — 
 Lord Steyne, and Miss Aubrey, and Lady Louisa, and the 
 Humes. I heard Lady Augusta say just now to Helen that 
 people were becoming dull, and that she ought to exert her- 
 self. But, mamma, Helen will go her own way to-night, as 
 she does always. How Lady Louisa is laughing. And La- 
 dy Augusta looks so angry, standing in the distance." 
 
 There was a discussion going on about a raise a deux 
 temps which was to be tried, and in the meantime the music 
 had ceased. 
 
 Lady Augusta joined the group, and spoke in rather a 
 low voice : " This really won't do, you must mix yourselves 
 more." 
 
 Captain Mordaunt put up his eye-glass, and surveyed the 
 room. " Your ladyship need not be uneasy. We are afford- 
 ing quite sufficient entertainment for the aborigines." 
 " I had forgotten them," said Helen, carelessly. 
 " You have done nothing to-night to make yourself agree- 
 able, Helen," observed Lady Augusta, " and your father is 
 vexed with you." 
 
 Helen's face flushed at the reproof. 
 
 " I see what people think," continued Lady Augusta. " It 
 was all very well at first ; bat they are herding together now 
 in sets. This kind of thing can't be allowed." 
 " I can do nothing to prevent it," said Helen. 
 " You must, my love. If you don't choose to dance with 
 the people, you must talk to them. Maurice, I thought you 
 were going to ask that Miss Dawson to dance." 
 
 " Was I ? I had forgotten ; but it can't be now ; we 
 must have the valse first, it has been ordered." 
 
 And Maurice languidly turned away, as though he had 
 settled the matter by a conclusive argument, and added; 
 " Now, Helen, say you will stand up." 
 
 " It is not the polka," said Lady Louisa, " so there is no 
 broken vow."
 
 IYOKS. 21 
 
 Helen changed colour ; but Lady Augusta spoke before 
 she could answer. " I can have no nonsense of this kind ; a 
 couutry dance will put every thing right, and then we will 
 have supper." 
 
 Maurice held up his hands in despair. " Down the mid- 
 dle and up again ! one should faint before one had reached 
 the end. Come, Helen, set the fashion of the valse and 
 every one will follow it." 
 
 " And we will not tell upon you," said Lady Louisa. 
 " Sir Joh'n, Lord Steyne, Jane, my dear, we ian all vow it 
 was not the polka." 
 
 " Maurice, order supper immediately," exclaimed Lady 
 Augusta. " Louisa, this is absurd. Helen, I wonder you 
 allow it." 
 
 " Nay," replied Lady Louisa, " why not ? 
 
 'He does it under name of perfect love.'" 
 
 " Whatever the name may be," said Lady Augusta, 
 haughtily, " Helen understands the feeling, and values it. 
 Lord Steyne, may I ask you to take Lady Louisa into the 
 supper-room ? " 
 
 Lady Louisa was silent, but a contemptuous smile curled 
 her lip. 
 
 Lord Steyne offered her his arm. Miss Aubrey and Sir 
 John Hume followed the move, and in a few seconds there 
 was a general rush to the supper-room. 
 
 ilden seized Lady Augusta's hand, and spoke in a low 
 tone : "lam going to bed ; I can't bear this." 
 
 " Out of the question, my love. You have scarcely taken 
 notice of any one, and it will be so remarkable." 
 
 "I am remarked already: Mamma, when next you 
 speak of me, I must beg that you will not answer for my 
 feeling3." Without giving Lady Augusta time to reply, she 
 moved away.
 
 22 ivoes. 
 
 The crowd stopped the doorway, and she could not escape. 
 Captain Mordaunt came up, and asked if he might take her 
 in to supper, and she mechanically accpiiesced. 
 
 They moved op slowly, and after going a few paces, Helen 
 sat down upon ?. bench to wait. There was a hubbub of 
 voices, and the band was still playing in the hall, where 
 Maurice had remained, bent upon trying the valse a deux 
 temps. 
 
 " Carriage wheels ! " said Captain Mordaunt. " People 
 are going early." 
 
 Holen listened, but heard nothing, except the babel of 
 sounds immediately around her. 
 
 Some one near mentioned Mr. Egerton's name. Captain 
 Movdaunt asked when he was expected. 
 
 Helen did not know ; he might come any clay. Her 
 manner was short and ungracious. 
 
 Just then Maurice appeared from the hall. As soon as 
 he caught sight of them, he came up. " What ! Not gone 
 into supper yet ?. that's capital. I must have you back again. 
 There are just a few of our own set left." 
 
 " Hopeless, I am afraid," said Captain Mordaunt, glanc- 
 ing at Helen. She scarcely heard him ; her ear had again 
 caught the sound of Claude's name. 
 
 Several servants entered the passage, and there were in- 
 quiries for Lady Augusta. She issued from the supper-room 
 radiant in smiles. Pier eye fell upon Helen, and she came 
 up to her. " So delightful, my love ! he is just come ; un- 
 expectedly, indeed. Poor fellow ! what an effort he must 
 have made." 
 
 Helen's face became pale as death. Lady Louisa Stuart 
 followed close behind Lady Augusta. She stood by Helen 
 unperceived, and murmured, 
 
 " 'An awful rule and right supremacy.' 
 Petruchio comes to enjoy his triumph."
 
 ivoks. 23 
 
 Lady Augusta turned upon her, sternly. " Louisa, you 
 forget yourself. Helen, my love, you will have your full re- 
 ward now." 
 
 A contemptuous flash shot from Helen's eyes. She put 
 her arm within her brother's, and said, " Maurice, we will 
 try the valse ; " and when the music again commenced, Helen 
 was to he seen whirling in the dance with Captain Mordaunt. 
 On and on, faster and faster, flushed and eager in her proud 
 wilfulness, Helen moved ; conscious only of one feeling, that 
 she had asserted her own free will, and had shown herself, as 
 she imagined, independent of Lady Augusta, of Claude, of 
 Lady Louisa Stuart, of the mocking world. Numbers flocked 
 in from the supper-room, and joined the dance. Even in the 
 whirl of her excitement, Helen was aware of a painful, 
 suffocating dread. Even when all swam before her eyes, she 
 sought the forms of the bystanders, and in the bewilderment 
 of rapid motion, strove to distinguish them one from the 
 other, and then, rushing past, forgot or tried to forget, and 
 looked again, and thought she saw, — and hurried on wildly, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "Helen, this is too much; you will be ill." The calm, 
 sad, reproachful tone of Mrs. Graham's voice came to Helen's 
 ear clear as a knell, in the midst of the joyous music. She 
 sank upon the nearest seat, and her dizzy head was buried in 
 her hands. A dark figure stood opposite ; a keen, penetrating 
 gaze was fixed upon her. Helen raised her head ; her eye 
 met Claude's, and almost staggering, as she seized her aunt's 
 arm for support, she rushed from the hall, and hurried to her 
 own room. 
 
 It haunted her, that gaze; it looked upon her from the 
 darkened walls; it came before her, when she knelt, from 
 habit, to repeat her evening prayer; it dwelt with her when 
 she closed her eyes. And what a talc of anguish and disap- 
 pointment it told !
 
 24 ivoks. 
 
 Helen tore in pieces the letter in -which she had explained 
 her feelings, and before Claude retired to rest, he received a 
 few hasty lines. 
 
 " I am unworthy of you, and you acknowledge it. We 
 are parted for ever. H. C. 
 
 A feverish night succeeded ; broken sleep and distracted 
 dreams. When the light of morning broke upon the horizon, 
 Helen, awakened by a rumbling sound beneath her window, 
 was gazing from it at a fly, which stood at the hall door. A 
 man-servant brought out a portmanteau and carpet-bag, and 
 the driver enquired if there was more luggage, and said that . 
 the gentleman must be quick, or he would be late for the 
 train. 
 
 A cold tremor stole over Helen, and she sat down. A 
 quick step was heard along the passage ; it paused before her 
 door. A note or a message it might be ; but it passed on, 
 and then there were distant sounds very indistinct. The hall 
 door opened, and Claude came out; the driver let down the 
 carriage steps, and he jumped in. Helen saw his face as he 
 looked out. His eye was seeking her window; it rested 
 there. The carriage drove off, and still, still, the lingering, 
 hopeless, heart-sickening gaze was directed towards her room. 
 But the wheels rapidly turned into the avenue ; he was out 
 of sight ; and Helen, unable to find relief in tears, sat, cold 
 and deathlike, gazing into vacancy, and realising, for the 
 first time, that in her madness and folly she had cast away 
 a love which it was in her power to return. 
 
 CHAPTER XLY 
 
 There was a large, convenient, but old-fashioned house in 
 Cavendish Square. It had more intricacies, and therefore
 
 itors. 25 
 
 more romance, than the generality of London houses : odd 
 little rooms at the back, and curious dark passages in the 
 underground regions. The situation was not a very exciting 
 one ; the few laurels, and evergreens, and stunted trees, and 
 the blackened turf of a London square are seldom exhilarating 
 to the spirits, except in the first freshness of spring, when 
 they seem to be the harbingers and earnests of real country ; 
 and the negro-hued statue, the presiding genius of the vi- 
 cinity, standing in the centre of his domains, suggests few 
 historical* ideas, except those connected with the inquiry, how 
 long it has taken to cover his naturally pale face with such a 
 sepulchral stain. 
 
 But Admiral Clare was very well satisfied with his man- 
 sion. It was in the neighbourhood of a good deal that was 
 interesting, and comfortably distant from Belgravia, which, to 
 use his own expression, was his abomination. Moreover, — and 
 it was a most essential point — it was within easy reach of his 
 physician ; and the Admiral, having been persuaded to under- 
 take a journey to London, for the benefit of medical advice, 
 was resolved in this case, as in all others through life, to do 
 what he had to do thoroughly, and since he was to study his 
 health, to make it his first object. Perhaps, he might not 
 have been altogether so satisfied in his new, though tempo- 
 rary home, but that he had brought with him some most im- 
 portant ingredients, as regarded his happiness, in the shape 
 of Mrs. Graham and her three girls, who had now no neces- 
 sity for remaining at Wingfield, as Charlie was gone to a 
 public school. Without them, it might have been a very 
 difficult task to persuade the Admiral to move, but the idea 
 of giving Susan the opportunity of visiting exhibitions, and 
 [sabella the advantage of nni.-ic lessons, and brightening 
 Anna's quick intellect by lectures and sight-seeing, was a 
 temptation not to be resisted; and, infirm though he was, 
 and with a constitution evidently breaking, the old Admiral's
 
 26 ivors. 
 
 energy .shot up like the gleam of a dying lamp, as he made 
 his arrangements for a spring in London. 
 
 Nearly two years had gone by since the Christmas which 
 immediately succeeded • Claude Egerton's election. Two 
 dull and stagnant years externally; but they had left then- 
 trace upon the Admiral's wrinkled brow. The working of 
 the inward mind will do that as well as the pressure of out- 
 ward trials ; and Admiral Clare was always hoping, always 
 restless, even when he thought and called himself quite put 
 aside from the world, a confirmed invalid, and a martyr to 
 the gout. His manner had lost none of its quickness, though 
 his tone was lower, and his voice weaker. He had grown a 
 little more deaf, and this tended to increase the irritability 
 which was natural to him. But he strove much against it. 
 He was always striving in some way for something in which 
 he thought he might do better ; and he showed his efforts as 
 
 DO ' 
 
 plainly as a child might. 
 
 " Well ; and what are you after this morning ? " was his 
 half hasty, half good-humoured inquiry of Mrs. Graham, when 
 she came into his study, as usual, about eleven o'clock, to 
 inquire what kind of breakfast he had made. " Jennings 
 will be here presently, and I thought you were going to stay 
 at home and see him ? " 
 
 "" Half-past three is his hour, my dear sir, and there will 
 be time enough for us to do all our shopping and have lun- 
 cheon, besides, long before that." 
 
 " You women are always shopping; one would think that 
 you had mines of Golconda at command. What is it you 
 want ? " 
 
 The question was a prelude to insisting upon paj^ng for 
 every thing ; a fancy which Mrs. Graham wa,i obliged con- 
 tinually to combat. She evaded an ausAver by saying that 
 they were only trifles, — pencils, paper, and such things. 
 Mr. Egerton had recommended them where to so.
 
 ivors. 27 
 
 " And he means to go with you, T suppose. What a 
 dangler he is ! " 
 
 " He has not quite time to spare for buying pencils," 
 said Mrs. Graham. " I told him so, and he acknowledged it." 
 
 •• You are always sending him to the right about, Frances. 
 Poor young fellow ! he's lonely enough ; and you won't let 
 him have the home he might have." 
 
 " He is always fall of engagements," said Mrs. Graham ; 
 " and you would be the first to scold him if he did not attend 
 to them."" 
 
 " Perhaps I should. I'm given to scolding about most 
 things. I was cross to him twice yesterday, but I mean to 
 ask his pardon to-day." 
 
 " I don't think he is coming here to-day," observed Mrs. 
 Graham. 
 
 " Xot coming ! What's that for ? But never mind." 
 And the Admiral squeezed his left hand with his right, as 
 he often did when he felt inclined to be pettish. 
 
 " He said he should be late at the House last night, and 
 he had to meet some one about the Education Pill this after- 
 noon. I brought you the ' Times ' with the report of his 
 speech last nighl ; not a very Long one, — his never are, — ■ 
 but very much to the purpose." 
 
 The Admiral was mollified ; ke took the paper and wiped 
 his spectacles. .Mrs. Graham ventured another piece of in- 
 formation. " Dr. Jennings has sent in the ' Morning Post." 
 I see by it that Lady Augusta has come up rather earlier 
 than she talked of doing. They were at a grand party last 
 night; I forget where." 
 
 " Humph I The Admiral did not trust himself to any 
 more open expression of his fecliag 
 
 " And we have had an invitation to :i literary soiree, 
 given by Miss Manners."' continued Mrs. Graham 
 
 " Literary folly ! That woman is enough to drive away 
 a n\ little sense • may chance to have. Are you going ? "
 
 28 ivoes. 
 
 " I am not sure. Miss Manners is not very much to our 
 taste ; and it is generally disappointing to see lions aud 
 lionesses when they are brought out for show. They make 
 me think of children, of two years old, brought down stairs 
 and told to talk, and turning sulky." 
 
 " I suppose Lady Augusta's party was a dinner, not a 
 ball," said the Admiral, sarcastically. He had evidently 
 paid but little attention to Mrs. Graham's last remark. 
 
 " No, a dance ; so the ' Morning Post ' says." 
 
 " I thought she had given up the sin of dancing, and 
 taken to eating and drinking instead," said the Admiral. 
 " That was what people always did in my days when tluy 
 professed to take a decidedly religious turn." 
 
 " Eating and drinking is the sin now," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham ; " and dancing is an innocent recreation." 
 
 " With prayers twice a day as- an accompaniment," said 
 the Admiral. "Ah, Frances; you and I are not good 
 enough for this world." 
 
 " Church is a great rest ; in London especially," said 
 Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Rest ! Do you think Lady Augusta goes there for 
 rest ? " exclaimed the Admiral. " She is one of those who 
 can't take religion without sauce ; and she dresses it up now, 
 till you don't know which is the religion and which the ex- 
 citement that flavours it." 
 
 " But one must hope there is some reality in it," said 
 Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " I was born without hope," said the Admiral. 
 
 Mrs. Graham looked grave, and answered, " It always 
 gives me pain to talk about her." 
 
 " So it does me," replied the Admiral ; " only I speak it 
 all out, and then it's over. But I mean to be charitable ; 
 yes, I really do mean it ; only, don't mention her name 
 again." He paused for a moment, and added : " Miss Helen 
 doesn't take to church-going too, I suppose."
 
 ivors. 29 
 
 " Poor Helen ! I wish I could tell anything that she 
 would take to," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " She has a hard life of it now, I suspect," said the Ad- 
 miral, looking up keenly at Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Lady Augusta does not easily forget," was the reply. 
 
 " Nor forgive. She has a punishment in store, you may 
 be certain of that. Oh ! Frances," — and the Admiral raised 
 his hand, and gave effect to his ivords, by striking it on the 
 table, — " what an escape for Claude ' " 
 
 " I wish I could be quite sure of that," replied Mrs. 
 Graham. 
 
 " What ! would you have had him marry the girl after 
 all her vagaries ? " 
 
 " I would not venture to wish things altered ; yet one 
 thing is quite evident, that Claude is not happy." 
 
 " Because he doesn't know how to value his own good 
 luck. You don't mean to say that he is hankering after 
 Helen Clare still ? " 
 
 " No ; if he were, he would have made some attempts at 
 reconciliation ; and he has made none : he told me that him- 
 self. The charm once broken, it was broken for ever. But 
 he has had a great shock." 
 
 " And he deserves it. Claude Egerton is as sensible a 
 man as you would wish to find in other matters; but when 
 he fell in love with that giddy-pated girl, he was the greatest 
 idiot in Christendom. A child of two years old could have 
 taught him better." 
 
 " If it were only a shock as regarded Helen," replied 
 Mrs. Graham, "it might be of less consequence; but it lias 
 tiven him an impression about all young girls." 
 
 " A true one, perchance," said the Admiral ; " they are 
 a slippery race." 
 
 11 Papas and mammas make them slippery, very often," 
 replied Mrs. Graham. " [f Belen had been left to her own
 
 30 IVORS. 
 
 unbiassed feelings, she would never have accepted Claude so 
 hastily ; and, therefore, never would have given him up so 
 easily." 
 
 " She behaved very ill," said the Admiral. 
 
 " Very ! I make no excuse for her, except " 
 
 " What except ? You have an exception for eve-ry one 
 except me ; you put me down as the most prejudiced old fel- 
 low alive." 
 
 " Put persons in a false position, and they must irritate 
 each other," replied Mrs. Graham ; " that was the first mis- 
 take." 
 
 " Men tumble into love, and women walk into it, I sup- 
 pose," said the Admiral, thoughtfully : " any how it is a 
 happy thing for Claude, that he has tumbled out again : only 
 you declare that he is not happy." 
 
 " I don't say that he is unhappy ; he is too good and 
 useful for that. I doubt if people are ever thoroughly un- 
 happy when they feel, that if they were taken away from the 
 world they would be missed and wanted. But he seems to 
 me to have lost all his light-heartedness." 
 
 " He never had very much of it." 
 
 " I think he had in a certain way. If he was not light- 
 hearted himself, he could throw himself into the mirth of 
 others. But that is eone now ; he is a thorough man of bu- 
 siness." 
 
 " And well for him that he is. After all, Frances, what 
 is love worth ? " and the Admiral laughed with effort. 
 
 " Heaven. will tell us, I suppose," replied Mrs. Graham ; 
 u for it will live there, if it is true love." And as the Ad- 
 miral seemed unwilliDg to speak again, she added, " Claude 
 will be better when Helen is married." 
 
 " Then the report is true ? " said the Admiral, looking 
 up, quickly. 
 
 ' ; I don't know as to Captain Mordaunt ; I suppose that
 
 IYORS. 31 
 
 is mere report ; he is too silly, though he is heir to an earl- 
 dom. But Lady Augusta will scarcely be contented to go 
 through another London season without something decisive." 
 
 " I wish she would be quick about it then," said the Ad- 
 miral, sharply : " it is too bad making poor Claude miserable 
 still." 
 
 " Nay, my dear sir, it is not Lady Augusta's foult, or 
 any person's. It is simply the result of unfortunate circum- 
 stances. All I meant was, that -something of regret will 
 often linger in a man's mind, even when real feeling is gone ; 
 and that the sight of Helen, unmarried, must tend to bring 
 back painful recollections." 
 
 " But they have never met yet, have they ? You know 
 they went to Scotland to avoid him at first ; and last year 
 there was the sea ; and when he came down to me last au- 
 tumn she was away too." 
 
 " No, I don't think they have met, or Helen would have 
 given me some idea of it. But her letters lately have been 
 full of one topic, the wearisomeness of life." 
 
 " She'll soon get rid of that feeling in the London whirl." 
 
 " Or it will make the wearisomeness more weary," said 
 Mrs. Graham. " I long sometimes to draw her awaj r from 
 the set she mixes with, and bring her amongst ourselves: 
 but she is very fanciful ; I never know what will suit her. 
 She was very much taken, some time since, with a new ac- 
 quaintance she made last year, a Madame Iteinhard, a Ger- 
 man lady; 31 i^s Manners I think, introduced them; and 
 she stayed at Ivors for a fortnight. I don't know whether 
 the fancy has lasted." 
 
 " I see you want to put her in Claude's way again," said 
 the Admiral, rather hastily. 
 
 " No, indeed ; it would be so exceedingly awkward ; 
 though, I believe, there would be no fear for him; his idol 
 is deal royed."
 
 32 ivors. 
 
 " Don't trust to it,' 1 exclaimed the Admiral ; " once a 
 fool, twice a fool ! I won't have her here." He spoke with 
 angry determination. 
 
 Mrs. Graham hastened to assure him, that it was no real 
 plan or wish of hers, merely a passing idea, to which she 
 saw as many objections as he could himself. 
 
 "Mrs. Mordaunt, or Countess of what is it? 
 
 Change Alley ! She may come then," said the Admiral, 
 laughing. 
 
 Mrs. Graham did not laugh. She took out her watch, 
 and said it was time to go out, if they wished to return for 
 luncheon. But the Admiral would not give up his joke, and 
 declared he would send congratulations to Lady Augusta, 
 and promise to dance at the wedding. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Mes. Graham was right; Claude Egerton had become com- 
 pletely a man of business. " A most useful fellow ! capital 
 on Committees ! Always to be depended upon ! " were the 
 golden opinions which he was winning daily ; and others, 
 more valuable, were in process of formation. Claude only 
 wanted time to give himself confidence; and then his calm- 
 judging, deep, comprehensive mind, would be certain to 
 make its way. He felt it ; he knew that he was gaining 
 ground in public estimation, and the knowledge, to a certain 
 extent, pleased him. A year before, it might at once have 
 awakened his ambition ; but a change had passed over 
 Claude : life and its interests had become vapid. He worked 
 diligently, sometimes with apparent excitement, but it was 
 because work was a necessity to keep him from loneliness.
 
 iyors. 33 
 
 He -was unutterably lonely. His was the solitude of the 
 heart's bitterness, and there is none so dreary. There were 
 no day-dreams now to fill his imagination, no visions of 
 home and domestic comfort to cheer him in his solitary 
 hours. The light on the hearth was extinguished, the cham- 
 bers were desolate; and he had lost all hope, and for the 
 time even all wish, of restoring the joys gone by. Helen 
 had often been the cause of suffering to others by neglect 
 and thoughtlessness in the course of her short life ; but of 
 ail injuries attributable to her, none more needed repentance 
 than that which she had inflicted upon Claude, when she 
 shook his trust in her truth. 
 
 It is impossible to calculate the evil we do when we destroy 
 or even weaken faith in goodness, under any form. Claude 
 could have borne to be rejected, he would even have thanked 
 Helen for setting herself free, if the tie by which she was 
 bound had been irksome ; but the manner in which they had 
 been parted lingered by him as an incurable wound. Per- 
 haps he had never till then realised how weak, and thought- 
 less, and inconsistent a woman may be. He had indeed 
 been blind in his affection for Helen ; but he was justified, 
 by observation of her character, in his belief that she was 
 essentially true ; that her word once given, it would be kept; 
 that she would never act and feel towards him in his ab- 
 sence, as she would scorn to do in his presence. Upon this 
 conviction he had based his love ; and by one moment (if 
 wilfulness the spell was broken ; and he saw hef not only 
 divested of the charms which he had delusively pictured, but 
 even of those which she really possessed. He did her injus- 
 tice ; and not only so, but he was unjust also to others for 
 her sake. He was becoming indifferent, and secretly cynical, 
 towards women in general, lie forgot that it was his own 
 weakness which had made him imagine Helen different from 
 what she really was. He thought she had deceived him,
 
 34 ivors. 
 
 and he believed that others would do the same. And so hia 
 standard of a woman's excellence was insensibly lowered. 
 The fact was shown in his every-day life. He sought the 
 society of men, and occupied himself only with their pursuits; 
 and when the great need of his nature, the craving for sym- 
 pathy and tenderness, made him dissatisfied with the feeling 
 which he obtained from them, he shrank back into himself, 
 disgusted with life even at its outset, and conscience-stricken 
 because he could not at once find in religion and its duties a 
 solace for the loss of earthly happiness. 
 
 This at least had been his state of mind before Mrs. Gra- 
 ham came to London. Since then he had found something 
 approaching to his former pleasure in women's society, though 
 he still considered her rather an exception than a rule. She 
 allowed him to be what he was naturally, and never forced 
 him into exertion after happiness. If she had been absent 
 he would have gone frequently to see the Admiral; but it 
 would have been with a secret dread of the old man's sur- 
 mises and hints, and indirect questionings as to the state of 
 his feelings. But Mrs. Graham was his protection. He 
 could talk to her quite freely, and her ready sympathy gave 
 something like stimulus to the affairs which he had in hand ; 
 and she always drew the Admiral's attention away when any 
 thirg personal was said. Claude would have been a very 
 frequent guest in Cavendish Square, if Mrs. Graham had al- 
 lowed it ; but she was always urging him to keep up gen- 
 eral society, and warning him against becoming morbid ; and 
 very often an invitation was accepted, merely because she 
 gave her opinion in its favour. 
 
 The Admiral saw this influence, and the old dormant hope 
 revived. He flattered himself that Claude was attracted by 
 Susan. What pleasure, as he sometimes said to himself, 
 could a young man of eight and twenty find in the society of 
 a woman of fifty, even though she happened to be Frances
 
 IVORS. 3d 
 
 Graham, when there was a pleasant, pretty young girl close 
 at hand, to whom he might devote himself? It was all 
 make-believe, Claude's fancy for Mrs. Graham, — an excuse 
 for coming to see Susan. Mrs. Graham judged more truly. 
 In the present state of Claude Egerton's feelings, there was 
 neither hope nor fear for any young girl, whether pretty or 
 ugly, pleasant or the contrary. He wanted rest and sympa- 
 thy. A mother, or an aunt, or any near female relative who 
 understood him, would have given it him. And she had 
 taken the" place for the time being. Yet she kept him away 
 as much as possible, the reason being more prudence than fear. 
 
 Claude came to Cavendish Square, when Lady Augusta 
 Clare had beeu iu London about four days. Mrs. Graham 
 doubted whether he was aware of the fact. Lady Augusta 
 had decided upon coming very suddenly. At one time there 
 was a strange report that she meant to spend the spring in 
 the country, but Mrs. Graham never believed this. Tho 
 foregoing spring indeed, Lady Augusta had been in London 
 very little ; but that was the year after the engagement with 
 Claude was broken oil*, and Helen had been ill with influenza 
 and general weakness, and sea air had been recommended. 
 It was not likely that the Loudon season would again be in- 
 terfered with. Whether Lady Augusta considered Helen's 
 wishes or not, there was no doubt what her own would be ; 
 and her name in the Morning Post was read by Mrs. Graham 
 as a thing of course. 
 
 Claude came into the drawing-room, his head moio full 
 than usual of Parliamentary matters. An important 'question 
 was coming on, and possibly ministers would be defeated. He 
 entered at once upon the subject, gave his own opinions, and 
 the outlines of what he should say if he were called upon to 
 speak; and Mrs. ( ii aham listened, and encouraged ; and for 
 some time it might have been I nought that in Claude's eyes 
 the world Only existed for the purpose of settling the disputed 
 point.
 
 36 ivoks. 
 
 But there came a pause — a sudden pause — not very un 
 usual now, in the midst of Claude's most interesting conver- 
 sations. He spoke abruptly to Susan. " Miss Graham, I 
 ought to apologise to you for these politics ; they can't be in- 
 teresting to you." 
 
 Isabella answered for her sister. " We all like politics 
 very much, Mr. Egerton." 
 
 " And we don't like to be supposed not tc understand," 
 asked Anna. 
 
 " And we think we understand a good deil more than we 
 do sometimes," said Mrs. Graham, laughing. " I am quite 
 frightened at the turn Anna is taking." 
 
 " Susan, you mean, mamma; she reads all the debates." 
 
 " To the Admiral," said Susan, quickly. 
 
 " And to yourself very often," continued Anna. 
 
 " I believe it is the fashion with young ladies to take a 
 political mania at some time or other of their lives," said 
 Claude. 
 
 Susan looked up from her work, and asked, " Do you 
 think it only fashion ? " 
 
 " I suppose it is. I can account for it in no other way. 
 Are you going to Miss Manners' soiree ? " 
 
 Isabella was again spokeswoman ; " We are not sure : 
 are you ? " 
 
 " Probably ; Miss Manners bores me so," he added, ad- 
 dressing Mrs. Graham ; " I really think I must go one 
 evening, for the sake of ridding myself of her." 
 
 " I suppose she contrives sometimes to get interesting 
 people together," observed Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Yes ; but she seldom produces interesting results. Tar- 
 taric acid won't effervesce without soda; people forget that." 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Manners asked us with the hope of our 
 beiug the soda," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 Claude smiled faintly, and said he was very conscious of
 
 ivors. 37 
 
 the soda in his own composition ; his only fear was that it 
 would overpower any amount of acid which might be tried 
 upon it. 
 
 " Miss Manners has been waiting some time, I believe, to 
 give this party," observed Mrs. Graham. There was mean- 
 ing in her tone. 
 
 Claude said quietly, " I suppose till Lady Augusta Clare 
 arrived," and then he turned away his head, so that Mrs. 
 Graham was unable to see his face. Still, however, he pur- 
 
 
 
 sued the subject of the party, addressing himself to Susan. 
 " You would meet some people, Miss Graham, whom you 
 would like, — men who have exerted themselves for the benefit 
 of the lower classes in London; the difficulty is to make 
 them talk." 
 
 " Miss Manners is, I suppose, earnest," said Susan, " She 
 takes up useful things as well as those which are only scien- 
 tific." 
 
 " Yes, so far, she makes one ashamed of oneself : if one 
 could only believe there was no show in it." 
 
 " That may be a hard thing to require," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. 
 
 " True ; women so little know how to manage anything 
 out of the common way." And as the words were uttered, 
 the colour rushed to Claude's cheeks, and he added hastily : 
 " Forgive me ; I really did not mean, — I only thought, that 
 Miss Manners was a little given to show ; but no doubt I am 
 wrong ; she is a very good person I dare say." 
 
 Susan was again intent upon her work. 
 
 But Claude would not let her rest. lie asked, " Do you 
 take an interest in London charities, Miss Graham? " 
 
 He might as well have said, " Do you like balls? " there 
 would have been just as much heart in the question. Aud 
 Susan answered coldly, that she had had very few opportu- 
 nities of healing anything about them.
 
 38 ivok . 
 
 Claude was not thrown back by her manner. A fit of 
 repentance for bis ungraciousness to women was upon him, 
 and be was resolved to make amends. So be began upon 
 tbe subject of ragged schools, their failures and successes ; 
 and from thence proceeded to discuss the general condition 
 of the poor; giving anecdotes and illustrations; and at 
 length' the subject engrossed bim, and he passed out of the 
 region of cynicism, and became himself again — himself in the 
 olden days. 
 
 Several times Mrs. Graham tried to stop bim ; but it is 
 pleasant to us all to be made conscious of our own identity, 
 by having bygone feelings revived, and Claude liked his con- 
 versation for that reason, and continued it, addressing him- 
 self now to Mrs. Graham, instead of Susan. 
 
 Yet the stern reality of the present came back at last. 
 
 Anna's punctuality reminded her that they had visits to 
 pay, and in a pause of the conversation, she rather awk- 
 wardly mentioned the fact. Isabella begged her not to talk 
 about them, but Claude instantly took bis hat, and apolo- 
 gised for having detained them. 
 
 " I had forgotten the visits," said Mrs. Graham ; " I 
 don't think they can be very important ; only Anna has such 
 a memory for disagreeable duties." 
 
 " They will not be all disagreeable," replied Anna; " at 
 least to Susan " and then she stopped suddenly, as if re- 
 membering something that had better not be said. 
 
 Claude looked surprised ; but Mrs. Graham added di- 
 rectly, " Susan will be very glad to see Helen : only it is 
 doubtful if we shall find her at home." 
 
 " To-morrow will do as well," said Susan : she went on 
 with her work, though Anna endeavoured to take it from 
 her. 
 
 Claude was most entirely absorbed in moving the posi- 
 tion of two little china figures, which stood upon the mantel
 
 IVORS. 30 
 
 piece. He might have been realising Hans Andersen's tales, 
 and giving them imaginary life. 
 
 " You had better get ready at once, my dears," said Mrs. 
 Graham ; " the carriage was ordered at a quarter to four. 
 Isabella, you are not going ; it must be nearly your time for 
 reading to the Admiral." The hint was sufficient; the 
 three girls departed, and Mrs. Graham and Claude were left 
 alone. 
 
 Claude turned from his china figures, as soon as the door 
 was close'd. His countenance had in those few moments 
 assumed the worn, saddened look, which was now its habitual 
 expression. There was an evident effort, and then he said, 
 " Thank you for mentioning her name naturally ; it is what 
 I always wish." 
 
 " I thought you did. I saw that you chose to speak of 
 Lady Augusta." 
 
 " There is no reason why I should not speak of both," 
 he said, with some bitterness. 
 
 " Except that it might be painful." 
 
 " It ought not to be ; it is ." He could not finish 
 
 the sentence, and the china figures were again his resource. 
 Then he went on with a rapidity which did not allow a pause 
 for self-recollection : " I have wished very much to talk to 
 som? one; no one will understand me as well as you. It is 
 all over ; quite. You must not for an instant think it is 
 not; because I don't always command myself. It was a 
 dream. I was rudely awakened ; but no matter for that. I 
 beg you and all my friends not to spare me. I don't intend 
 to spare myself. 1 shall not shun " a momentary chok- 
 ing in the throat stopped him ; he began again, " I shall not 
 
 shun Helen " 
 
 Mrs. Graham gave him her hand, and he held it as he 
 
 added, " The sooner we learn to meet in public the better." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Mrs. Graham, thoughtfully; " though 
 
 Helen can never sec you without self-reproach."
 
 4-0 IVORS. 
 
 He answered quickly, " The first wrong was mine. I did 
 not accept her own words.'' 
 
 " Yet I should like you to feel that she is sorry." 
 
 A change came over his countenance. He shrank from 
 the word as if he had been stung. 
 
 " The expression sounds cold," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " I don't want her to be sorry; I would rather she should 
 not think about me." 
 
 " JNot in the way of repentance ? " 
 
 He looked up gravely, and answered, "■ Yes, in that way, 
 if — " the words came slowly, — " if it might be." There was 
 a long pause of consideration on both sides, and Claude once 
 more took up his hat, and departed. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 Very handsome, but rather sombre, was Lady Augusta 
 Clare's house in Grosvenor Place. It had lately been fitted 
 up especially to meet her wishes. She liked little singular- 
 ities ; and when all the world took a fancy to gilding and 
 bright colours, it was a mark of quiet and independent taste 
 to be devoted to drab, crimson, and oak. And the sober hue 
 of the mansion was in accordance with what might have been 
 called Lady Augusta's present tone of mind, if her mind had 
 really possessed any tone of its own, and had not simply 
 echoed that of others. Severity was now her profession ; 
 severity in manners, music, literature, and art. Dinner 
 parties, balls, and concerts, were given as in former days, 
 but always with a lamentation over the necessity. Her 
 dress was magnificent, but the silks and satins were brown or 
 grey. She lavished a fortune upon ornaments for her person
 
 rvoss. -il 
 
 and her house, but they had always, as she sometimes was 
 heard to say, a religious tendency. Symptoms of all this 
 might have been remarked in her before, but the character- 
 istics were now strongly developed. They might have been 
 traced in her features. The sharp nose was sharpened, the 
 lines of the mouth were more deeply indented, and the words 
 which were uttered escaped with increased force from the 
 compressed lips. But it was the forehead which perhaps in- 
 dicated the most plainly the peculiarities of Lady Augusta's 
 present character. It had a settled censuring frown, which 
 yet only served to enhance the striking impression made by 
 her countenance. It was one remarkable thing about Lady 
 Augusta Clare, that whatever belonged to her, whether it 
 was natural or acquired, suited her. As she had been for- 
 merly the blandest and most condescending, so was she now 
 the handsomest, most dio-nified, as well as the most severe of 
 matrons ; and the frown, instead of appearing as an indica- 
 tion of temper, was simply the result of that mournful quick- 
 si"htedness in rejrard to human weakness, which was the na- 
 tural consequence of her own exalted virtues. 
 
 Probably if it had not assumed that character it would 
 ere this have been smoothed away. No one was a better 
 judge of the effect produced by her own appearance than 
 Lady Augusta Clare. 
 
 Helen and Lady Augusta were a great contrast as they 
 sat together in a small, rather dark room, adjoining the 
 drawing-room, filled with books and sonic few good paintings 
 of a sacred cast. Lady Augusta, in her dark purple dress, 
 almost black ; very tall, very upright, very well satisfied with 
 herself, with enough to do and to think of; — Helen, dressed 
 in a light blue muslin, pale, languid, listless ; a shadow of 
 her former self, reclining in an easy chair, and appearing 
 scarcely to have power to turn oyer the pageB of a novel. 
 Both were reading, or appearing to read ; hut Lady Au- 
 10
 
 42 ivors. 
 
 gusta's eye steadily followed line after line a volume of re- 
 ligious biography, whilst Helen discursively wandered from 
 one pa^e to another, often passing over several together, and 
 occasionally looking at the end. 
 
 Presently Lady Augusta said : " Helen, is that all you 
 intend to do this morning ? " 
 
 " Yes ; till Madame Reinhard comes," was Helen's short 
 reply. 
 
 " I thought you were going to study history for her ? " 
 
 " I may after she has been here ; I can't begin for my- 
 self." 
 
 " But you can acquire facts," said Lady Augusta. 
 
 " I don't want facts, but philosophy," replied Helen. " I 
 don't think you quite understand, mamma." 
 
 " One thing I can quite understand, Helen ; that you are 
 wasting your time." 
 
 " It is useless to attempt to control one's mind," said 
 Helen ; " if it won't think, it won't. Madame Reinhard 
 will set me to work." 
 
 " And occupy you all day," said Lady Augusta. " This 
 German mania is carried too far; it must be stopped." 
 
 " If there is truth in it," said Helen : " it will be impos- 
 sible to stop it." 
 
 For the first time she spoke in her natural, eager tone. 
 Before, the words were dragged from her. 
 
 " Madame Reinhard's ideas are dangerous," said Lady 
 Augusta ; " she loses herself in labyrinths." 
 
 " So does Miss Manners," answered Helen. 
 
 " Not in the same way," replied Lady Augusta. " Her 
 theories are only theories." 
 
 " And Madame Reinhard's are carried into practice," ex- 
 claimed Helen. " Give me practice, not theory." 
 
 " And yet the moment I introduce a practical person to 
 you, you shrink back," said Lady Augusta
 
 ivoes. 43 
 
 "Never from the practice," said Helen, coldly ; "only 
 from the unreality." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by unreality, Helen. It 
 is a cant phrase of the present day." 
 
 " I don't know any other to use," replied Helen, indiffer- 
 ently. " Mamma, we need not go on talking in this way." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Helen. As I am responsible for 
 your views. I wish to comprehend them." 
 
 "I have no views, mamma; only I hate narrowness and 
 pettiness." 
 
 " Going to church and being reverential, for instance," 
 said Lady Augusta. 
 
 " Making goodness consist in such things as this," said 
 Helen ; taking up an elaborate piece of work intended as the 
 border of an altar carpet. 
 
 " I make no answer to your sneers, Helen. I am accus- 
 tomed to them. But since you are so bent upon being prac- 
 tical, I will put your principle to the test. You will go to 
 Miss Manners' soiree?" 
 
 " If Madame llcinhard intends to be there," replied 
 Helen. 
 
 Lady Augusta's cold eye sparkled, as she exclaimed : 
 " If it is my will, you mean." 
 
 " Then," replied Helen, " there could be no need to put 
 the question to me." 
 
 " Yet I was willing to give you the opportunity of pleas- 
 ing me by your own free will." 
 
 '" I have none, mamma." 
 
 " None ! when every hour in the day you exhibit it ? " 
 
 "None," repeated Helen. "If I had, I should not be 
 here." 
 
 " You don't mean, Helen, that you still cling to that ab- 
 surd fancy of remaining at Ivors; now, when I have made, 
 and am daily making, such sacrifices for you? ' :
 
 4i IVOKS. 
 
 " I wish for no sacrifice but one, mamma ; to be left 
 alone." 
 
 " To brood over fancies, and waste your powers in meta- 
 physics," exclaimed Lady Augusta. 
 
 " As well in that as in gold thread and floss silk," said 
 Helen, again pointing to the border of the altar carpet. 
 
 " To be the mark for ridicule," continued Lady Augusta? 
 her words being uttered with greater sharpness. " To make 
 yourself disagreeable to the persons whom your father and 
 I most desire you to please. To rehearse again, in fact, the 
 part which has been your public disgrace." 
 
 Helen roused herself from her leaning attitude and paused 
 before she spoke; then she said, " Mamma, you need have 
 no fear on that point. I shall never treat another man as I 
 treated Claude." 
 
 " I should be glad to think so," replied Lady Augusta. 
 " You will then be more willing to listen to what your father 
 and I have to say." 
 
 " Is it anything particular, mamma ? " asked Helen, ab- 
 ruptly ; whilst she moved so as to face Lady Augusta, and 
 regarded her with a steady and fixed gaze. 
 
 " I am doubtful whether I ought to tell you; but it may 
 be as well to be open. Captain Mordaunt has proposed for 
 you to your father." 
 
 " Has he ? " said Helen. Not a muscle of her face 
 moved. 
 
 " He has," replied Lady Augusta, emphatically. " He 
 has behaved as few men in his circumstances would have 
 done ; he has placed himself entirely in your father's hands." 
 
 " He is wise in that," said Helen. " He may have hope 
 with my father : he would have none with me." 
 
 " You are ungrateful, Helen." 
 
 " I see no ingratitude." 
 
 " Not in the way in which you receive the offer of 
 affection?"
 
 IVOES. 15 
 
 " If it -were affection, I -would be grateful for it," replied 
 Helen. " But, as it happens, I can appreciate exactly the 
 value of Captaiu Mordaunt's professions. He has known me 
 some time, and likes me in a certain W.ay. He thinks I am 
 not absolutely ugly or dull. It pleases him to hear me sing; 
 and we can carry on a sufficiently lively conversation in a 
 ball-room. Moreover, our families are connected, and I am 
 likely to have a tolerable fortune. Altogether, he thinks 
 that I shall some day make a very presentable Countess of 
 Harford. "I may be conceited, mamma, but I estimate my- 
 self rather above all this ; therefore I am not grateful, but 
 the contrary."' 
 
 " Helen, your satire is really unbearable." 
 
 " I am sorry fur it : but, unfortunately, truth is often 
 the greatest satire. My father, I suppose, is cpuite prepared 
 for my answer." 
 
 " None is required," replied Lady Augusta. u Captain 
 Mordauut asks only that he may be admitted to the house to 
 endeavour to make his own way : that, of course, you could 
 not refuse." 
 
 " It is indifferent to me," replied Helen. " Whether one 
 man or another may choose to pay me attentions can be of 
 little consequence, except for the trouble of the moment." 
 She took out her watch. " Half past twelve. Madame 
 Reinhard will be here directly."' 
 
 Lady Augusta detained her as the was about to leave the 
 room. Helen thought she was going to speak again of Cap- 
 tain Mordaunt ; but no notice was taken of the last remark, 
 and Lady Augusta only said : " I have accepted the invita- 
 tion for Miss Manners' ^piree. I mean to drive to Curzon 
 Street after church this afternoon, and then I shall learn who 
 arc likely to be present, J .-hould wish }OU, therefore, to go 
 out with me." 
 
 " The carriage may call for me when you return from 
 church," said Helen.
 
 46 ITOKS. 
 
 ;i It will take up time," replied Lady Augusta 
 " Only five minutes ; aud I have engagements till then." 
 " With Madame -Reinhard ? " 
 " It may be ; I can't answer for it." 
 " I wish to know," said Lady Augusta. 
 Helen's cheek flushed with aiiger. " Yes, with Madame 
 Reinhard," she said ; and Lady Augusta allowed her to go. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VIII. 
 
 Helen would scarcely have been supposed to be the sajie 
 person, if — about a quarter of an hour after her conversation 
 with Lady Augusta — she had been seen sitting by the side 
 of Madame Reinhard, and looking over the same book with 
 her. She had been sharply on the defensive during that un- 
 comfortable interview with her step-mother; all the worst 
 points of her character standing out in strong relief, as they 
 always did when she was brought in contact with Lady 
 Augusta. We all, so it seems, exercise distinct influences 
 upon each other, and call forth more or less some peculiar 
 characteristics, either congenial or antagonistic. Lady Au- 
 gusta, of late, had done this in a very marked way. She 
 roused Helen to opposition, even when there was nothing to 
 oppose. It was a struggle for supremacy between two strong 
 wills ; but Lady Augusta added knowledge of the world to 
 hers, and so in most cases it was victorious. Besides, she 
 had in general Right on her side. Her faults lay much 
 more in motive than in action; and although this effectually 
 prevented her from having any influence over Helen, whose 
 perception of truth in character was almost an instinct, it 
 gave her generally the support of Sir Henry's judgment, and
 
 IVORS. 4 < 
 
 the approbation of the circle in which she niovea ; and 
 against these it was very difficult for Helen to contend. 
 
 But Helen was at her ease now ; all the cold petulance 
 of manner, so offensive from its want of respect, was gone. 
 She was caressing, gentle, deferential, and full of eager in- 
 terest, and her affectionate cordiality was, iu appearance, 
 fully returned. Madame Reinhard might have been thirty, 
 but she was young-looking for her age. Her countenance 
 was very handsome at a distance ; on a nearer view it had 
 great defects, for the features were irregular ; but the look of 
 wonderful intelligence in the square forehead, and clear, dark 
 grey eyes, almost forbade criticism. It was a face which 
 took the beholder, as it were, by storm, and compelled ad- 
 miration. Then she had the charm of a foreign manner and 
 foreign accent. Even trifling observations became piquant 
 when uttered by her ; and when she passed into the region 
 of thought, her whole soul seemed to pour itself out in a 
 rush of earnest, though sometimes vague, and wild specula- 
 tions, which, even if Helen could not follow them, entranced 
 her by the fascination of power and eloquence. 
 
 No wonder that Helen was giving herself up to this new 
 influence; she, whose life had lately been so vapid and mo- 
 notonous, whose temper was becoming sharpened by domes- 
 tic uncongeniality, and at the bottom of whose heart lay 
 self-reproach, disappointed hope, and a restless longing for 
 some unattainable joy ; a heavy, heavy burden, which dead- 
 ened the present, and buried the past as under the weight of 
 a gravestone. 
 
 It was something to feel that she could be excited, though 
 but for a few hours ; it was much more to believe that her 
 mind was enlarging to receive new and valuable ideas ; that 
 she was learning to search into mysteries, and emancipate 
 herself from prejudice. 
 
 Madame Reiuhard taught her to think, and any person
 
 48 IYOKS. 
 
 ■who does that, is felt at once to be a benefactor. And so 
 Helen cultivated her acquaintance, at first from curiosity, then 
 from real pleasure, now from affection. The enjoyment of 
 her society was the only real gratification to which she had 
 looked forward in coming to London, and even that would, 
 she imagined, have been enhanced tenfold, if Madame Rein- 
 hard could have been prevailed upon to stay with her at 
 Ivors, instead of remaining amongst the gay, dissipated 
 friends, whom her husband, — a man of scientific tastes, but 
 devoted to self-indulgence, — was in the habit of collecting 
 around him. 
 
 " Beautiful ! it raises one's whole nature! If one .could 
 only feel so always ! " was Helen's exclamation, as Madame 
 Reinhard read, with perfect emphasis and taste, a scene from 
 Goethe's Torquato Tasso ; " but one forgets often that it is 
 possible." 
 
 " Ah ! meine Licbe ! that is true ; but the sense of the 
 beautiful deepens as the perception of it expands ; and so 
 one learns to live a life above life." 
 
 " But not in the midst of such pettiness as is found in 
 this London whirl." 
 
 " Why not ? The real beauty of humanity is the same 
 every where. One has but to dig beneath the surface to 
 find it. There are hearts to love in London as there are 
 elsewhere. And intellect — where will you find the like ? " 
 
 " You have the power to find," said Helen; " you know 
 where and how to search." 
 
 " And so will you, meine Freunde ! only let your soul 
 open, expand itself. It is contracted now, it is shut up, it 
 cannot see ; it is fenced in by forms, by exclusiveness, by con- 
 ventionalities; that is what you call them. Listen, sec what 
 forms the noble mind.
 
 IVORS. 4\) 
 
 '* ' Ein edler Mensch kann einem engen Kreise 
 Kicbt seine Bildung danken ; Vaterland 
 Und Welt muss auf ikn wirken. Uulim nnd Tadel 
 Muss er ertragen lernen. Sich und andre 
 Wird er gezwungen recht zu kennen. ILn 
 Wiegt nicht die Einsamkeit mehr schmeiekelnd ein, 
 Ea will der Feind — es darf der Freund nicht schonen. 
 Dann iibt der Jiingling streitend seine Krufte ; 
 F ublt was er 1st, und fiililt sick bald ein Mann.'" 
 
 " Yqs," and Helen's eyes sparkled -with enthusiasm, 
 " and if I were a man, it might be." 
 
 " Ach ! that is the narrowness — soul is soul — be it man 
 or woman's." 
 
 Helen sighed. 
 
 " Nay, mein Kind, wliy sigh ? It is but to strive, to 
 struggle, perhaps to wait; truth will have the victory at last. 
 The world is working for it : women are not what they were ; 
 they are making a position for themselves ; their voices are 
 raised even now ; they appeal for liberty, and it will be 
 granted them. As the regeneration of the world approaches, 
 the dimness is passing from the eyes of men, and they are 
 learning to acknowledge in us the same bein^r which lives 
 and works in themselves." 
 
 " You are free," said Helen. " Even now you have 
 marked out your own path, and are following it." 
 
 " Free ! But the freedom would never have been bought, 
 if I had paused to reckon the price to be paid for it." Mad- 
 ame Reinhard stopped for a moment, and a cloud of sorrow- 
 ful thought passed over her countenance. "Yet," she 
 added, " I am content." 
 
 Helen pressed her hand affectionately, and said : "You 
 know I would help you if I could." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, I know ; but none can. I must keep it to 
 myself; but I say again, I am content. That is what you 
 will be, if you give yourself up to the true inBtincta of your
 
 50 IVORS. 
 
 nature ; then you will always find companionship in the union 
 of soul with soul, abroad, though you may fail to meet with 
 
 it at home." 
 
 " But there are so few who could give me this compan- 
 ionship," said Helen. " I kuow none except yourself." 
 
 " Come with me, meine Liebe. I will show you. 1 
 will make you feel what mind can be ; what it can work ; 
 how it can rise above this earthly atmosphere ; how it can 
 expand itself, and find communion with the great and good 
 
 of all ages." 
 
 " I am a prisoner," said Helen ; " I go nowhere without 
 
 mamma." 
 
 " Oh ! Miladi Augusta ! she is very careful ; very good ; 
 but she is narrow, narrow ; you must not be shut in by her. 
 Nothing great will flourish in that air." 
 
 " Nothing does," said Helen ; " it sickens me ; I can't 
 live in it." 
 
 " Assuredly not ; you were made for another life." 
 
 " I see through it," continued Helen. " Mamma calls 
 it religion; it is no religion to me." 
 
 " Religion ! no, indeed," and Madame Reinhard's eyes 
 were lighted up by excitement ; il is not religion pure, free, 
 the adoration of the heart, — the voluntary homage of the 
 whole being ? It cannot be confined by forms ; it needs no 
 mystic rites. Give but to the conscious soul the sense of 
 beauty and love, and it will worship everywhere. Whether 
 standing on high, amongst the glorious mountains, or deep 
 hidden in the secluded valley, it will recognise greatness, 
 majesty, and power, and prostrate itself before them. And 
 if nature is concealed from its gaze, it will search amongst 
 the human hearts, amongst which it dwells, and see there 
 also the same attributes of divinity, and acknowledge the 
 same might." 
 
 Helen understood only a little of this speech, yet some-
 
 IVORS. 51 
 
 thing in the latter sentence startled her, and she said, " One 
 can scarcely speak of divinity in men." 
 
 " Not genius ? not the undying spark, which is to kindle 
 soul after soul for ages yet to come ? " exclaimed Madame 
 Reinhard. " Oh Helen, are you false to that creed ? " 
 
 " No, indeed," exclaimed Helen ; " genius is what I long 
 to meet ; it is what I pine after. But where is it to be 
 found, except in books ? " 
 
 " You do not know, meine Freunde ; as you say you are 
 a prisoner ; but they live* still, — the men whose spirits shall 
 work for centuries yet to come, even as he, — this great one, 
 to whom we have now paid homage." She laid her hand 
 upon the book which they had been reading. 
 
 " Mamma scoffs at Goethe," said Helen. " She says he 
 was a bad man." 
 
 '' Mem a.rmes Kind! and, are you to walk in leading 
 strings all jour life ? What matters the outward life, when 
 the inward heart is pure ? And why deny the majesty of 
 genius, because it comes to us in a form to which we are 
 unaccustomed ? Ah ! the world is blind, blind." 
 
 " And you could show me men who would have power to 
 stir my soul as he can stir it ? " asked Helen, doubtfully. 
 
 • ; He was one, alone — we do not look for a second ; we 
 would not wish it ; it would mar the grandeur of his power. 
 But there are others, — men, aye, and women too; — come but 
 with me, and you shall know them. They may not suit 
 Miladi Augusta; they would not drive every day to kneel 
 on a hard bench, in a cold church, and hear little boys groan 
 out dull tunes without time : and they might never bow their 
 budies down to the ground as a sign of reverence ; and, per- 
 chance, they don't know how to work the odd flowers and 
 strange stitches, which Miladi values only just next to her 
 prayers. But I will tell you what they will do, Helen. 
 They will elevate you; they will make you feel what life is
 
 52 ivors. 
 
 worth : they will carry 3-011 beyond these outward customs, 
 they will teach you to recognise the presence of the good and 
 the beautiful in all; and they will show you how to work for 
 freedom, — your own freedom, mine, the freedom of women, 
 of mankind ; the emancipation of the human race from every 
 rule but that of mind, directed by benevolence." 
 
 " You are imagining a perfect state of things," replied 
 Helen, thoughtfully. 
 
 " And is not the world working towards perfection ? 
 Look back upou past age3. That is what I want you to do ; 
 you should read history philosophically ; see how mankind 
 has progressed. We talk of the days of chivalry ; were there 
 not hardships then, and slavery, and cruelty, such as are 
 never heard of now ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Helen ; " that has often struck me." 
 
 " And it will strike you more, if you will only think; only 
 suffer yourself to think. But you are a coward, Helen; you 
 are afraid to cast off your chains, and give an independent 
 opinion." 
 
 " Because I am always having them recast around me," 
 answered Helen. " Mamma dreads freedom. She says we 
 ought to put ourselves under guidance in all things, and that 
 submission and obedience are the first of duties." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, obedience to one's own high instincts — sub- 
 mission to the mighty power of mind ; but with Miladi 
 Augusta it is not so ; it is submission to — I don't know 
 what." 
 
 " Submission to herself, as far as I am concerned," said 
 Helen, pettishly. 
 
 "Poor child!" Madame Reinhard became caressing; 
 " but it will not last, Helen." 
 
 " I don't see how it is to end." 
 
 " Before long you will marry. Then you will be free." 
 
 Helen's colour changed. She answered quickly, " I shall 
 never marry."
 
 ivors. 53 
 
 " Never ! oh ! such a long day! " and Madame Eeiuhard 
 laughed. 
 
 " I should not he happier if I were married," continued 
 Helen. 
 
 " You would he more free," was the quick reply. 
 
 " No, no," hegan Helen, but she was interrupted. 
 
 " SuiFer me to speak, meine Freunde. I have more right 
 to do so than you. It is your English laws, — your English 
 customs which make it so. It would not be if women were 
 independent, as they ought to be, and as they must and will 
 be. But now you are tied ; you cannot move, unless you 
 profess to have given up your freedom to a husband ; then 
 you are your own mistress, or at least you may make yourself 
 such." 
 
 " Profess ! " repeated Helen, thoughtfully. The word 
 jarred upon her sense of truth. 
 
 A slight sneer passed over Madame Rcinhard's face. 
 " You are so fanciful, rnein Kind. What is in your little 
 mind ? " 
 
 " That, if people profess, I suppose they are bound to 
 practise," said Helen, "though I should never like it." 
 
 "Ah! that old-fashioned notion! it dates from the del- 
 uge. But, meine Liebe, the world has grown wiser since 
 those days. We obey where we love, that I grant you." 
 
 " And women are supposed always to love their hus- 
 bands," said Helen. 
 
 Madame Reinhard's answer was a kiss, so fond that the 
 shade which had gathered upon Helen's face vanished. She 
 turned again toGroethe, and her full, melodious voice carried 
 Helen on, as in a dream of enchantment, whilst they read of 
 love and genius, high aspirations, and mournful passionate 
 struggles against suffering and oppression: So naturally was 
 all described, so entirely were the feelings depicted consid- 
 ered to be matti rs of course, that, Helen, in her simplicity,
 
 54 ivoes. 
 
 never paused to inquire whether underneath there lay the 
 recognition of God's moral law. Nothing offended her taste; 
 she did not ask, therefore, whether anything ought to offend 
 her principles ; and when Madame Keinhard concluded hy 
 an eloquent eulogium upon Goethe, Helen was quite pre- 
 pared to agree with her, and to believe that Lady Augusta's 
 condemnation was to be traced entirely to, what Madame 
 Reinhard termed; her narrowness. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 Helen had many such conversations with Madame Rein- 
 hard. They all ended in a similar way, with no definite 
 results, at least none which could be perceived; only Helen 
 grew more discontented, more abstracted, more wilful, and, 
 when alone, more unhappy. Madame Reinhard's society 
 was a species of intoxication ; it excited her for the moment, 
 but it left depression and restlessness behind. Helen 
 thought that it was because in her alone she could find con- 
 geniality, and therefore she was always forming plans for 
 meeting ; and when they did meet, either in public or 
 private, devoting herself to her, to the exclusion of all other 
 interests. 
 
 Lady Augusta complained, ana put difficulties , in the 
 way; but she had no arguments to bring forward against 
 the friendship strong enough to convince Helen's reason. 
 She had encouraged the acquaintance at first, because Madame 
 Reinhard had the reputation of talent and fashion; and 
 now, all that she could say against her was refuted by the 
 very words which she had herself used when it was proposed 
 that she should visit Ivors.
 
 IYOES. 55 
 
 Yet Lady Augusta had right on her side, — more right 
 than even she herself entirely understood. One thing only 
 she knew, — the discovery had been made quite recently, 
 since she came to London ; — the society which met at Mad- 
 ame Reinhard's hovise was not such as she could herself 
 tolerate, or with which Helen could ever be allowed to mix. 
 
 "Where the fault lay no one seemed to know. Madame 
 Eeiuhard said it was in her husband; that she was obliged 
 ' to submit to his will ; that she did so most unwillingly : and 
 her lamenfations, added to her talents, and the fascination 
 of her manners, induced the indifferent and selfish world to 
 accept her apologies, and to believe that she was a victim to 
 her husband's tyranny. 
 
 But Lady Augusta's professions of religion and strictness 
 of conduct could not thus be satisfied. It was against her 
 will that Madame Eeinhard was Helen's friend, yet not in 
 the least because she feared the influence of her principles. 
 It was simply because in the set amongst which it was her 
 pleasure to move the acquaintance was condemned. Madame 
 Eeinhard was looked upon coldly by certain persons, the 
 leaders of Lady Augusta's religious world ; — a great deal 
 was said of the mischief of latitudinarian principles; hints 
 given of tendency to scepticism, and anecdotes related of 
 the neglect of all outward religious observances in Madame 
 lieinhard's household. Helen believed nothing of all this. 
 She declared that it was religious gossip, which she bated 
 much more than that which was worldly. Now and then site 
 repeated the stories to Madame lleinhard, who received 
 them as matters of course, and answered them either by a 
 quiet smile of contempt, or an eloquent tirade against nar- 
 row-mindedness. 
 
 It would have been difficult, indeed, for Helen to doubt 
 her; she had such a How of words at rnminand, — such high- 
 sounding phrases and plausible excuses. And then her sym-
 
 56 ivoes. 
 
 pathies were so large ! She seemed the very personification 
 of charity. There was no form of belief or unbelief which she 
 could not tolerate, except that which, in the slightest degree, 
 attempted to put bounds to toleration. And this was very 
 charming to Helen, who was daily learning from Lady Au- 
 gusta to consider that all persons who endeavoured to limit 
 the range of truth were bent upon destroying its essence, and 
 making it to consist in certain mysterious outward ceremo- 
 nials, in which the heart had no share. True, Madame Rein- 
 hard was seldom or never seen at any place of public worship, 
 except the Roman Catholic, which she sometimes frequented, 
 as she openly confessed, for the sake of the music ; but who 
 could deny that it is possible to worship quite as devoutly in 
 the solitude of one's own chamber as in the most splendid 
 cathedral? And Madame Reinhard could speak, and did 
 speak, so fervently upon the most solemn subjects, — commu- 
 nion with the Supreme Being — dependence upon Him — 
 thirsting after union with His exalted Nature, — that Helen 
 naturally concluded any eccentricities in outward conduct to 
 be the result of education and foreign habits. She had no 
 doubt in her own mind that thei*e was much more real feeling 
 iu Madame Reinhard's religion tban in Lady Augusta's, and 
 much more spirituality (the term was vague, but it expressed 
 to herself what she meant) than in Mrs. Graham's. 
 
 Madame Reinhard's singularities were also confessed 
 openly. She owned that she held some singular opinions 
 about the Bible, — that is, they would have been singular in 
 former days, — but they were now, as she asserted, rapidly 
 becoming general. She talked of myths, and allegories, and 
 quoted Niebuhr and the legends of the early Roman kings, 
 by way of illustration ; but then she admired the Bible ex- 
 tremely, — indeed, she was quite enthusiastic about it. There 
 was no poetry, she declared, equal to Isaiah, — nothing to be 
 found in the whole compass of literature grander than certain
 
 IYOKS. 57 
 
 descriptions in the Book of Revelations; and, above all, — 
 and it was this acknowledgment upon which she piqued her- 
 self, as if it were a homage from her own powerful mind to 
 the force of simplicity and truth, — no life more touching, and 
 no example more inspiring, than that given in the Gospels. 
 
 Helen valued the Bible more than she had ever done be- 
 fore, after she had discussed it with Madame Reinhard ; and 
 when she saw Lady Augusta drive orf in her luxurious car- 
 riage to the daily service in a neighbouring church, looked at 
 her with a kind of pitying contempt, and sat down to read at 
 home; lulling herself into a "state of dreamy excitement by 
 the melody of her favourite chapters, and believing that she 
 was, if not outwardly as strict, certainly more sincere. 
 
 Now and then, however, though only for a moment, Helen 
 was startled by the opinions of her new friend. Madame 
 Reinhard's liberality extended itself to morals as well as re- 
 ligion, and here it was not quite so easy to mislead. Helen's 
 standard of duty might not be high ; but, such as it was, it 
 was based upon truth. If she failed to act up to it, yet she 
 never excused herself, and therefore was not inclined to ex- 
 cuse others. 
 
 But Madame Reinhard had excuses always ready for her- 
 self and every one else, and not only excuses but reasonings, 
 mystifying palliations, sophistical arguments, which con- 
 founded the distinctive lines of right and wrong, until it 
 was next to impossible to separate them. And this was at 
 first displeasing to Helen. It gave her an uncomfortable 
 feeling of insecurity. When a man of powerful intellect 
 and great genius^ full of the most exalted aspirations, bank 
 himself to the level of the lowest of mankind by a vicious 
 life, and she was told tlmt she had no right to censure, be- 
 cause mind of such a stamp could not be judged by ordinary 
 rules, she yielded to the argument, because she had so little 
 knowledge of the bindinir force of the eternal laws of God,
 
 5S IVOES. 
 
 that she had scarcely anything to say against it. But it 
 was not the sophistry of days or weeks which could satisfy 
 the misgiving of something wrong that rested at the bottom 
 of her heart. Helen believed, only because she wished to 
 believe. In her inmost soul she felt that no genius, be it 
 ever so great, can balance even with a feather's weight the 
 power of moral worth ; yet, according to Madame Rein- 
 hard's creed, she looked upon genius, even though uncon- 
 nected with goodness, as an emanation from God, to be 
 reverenced and worshipped for itself; and as such submitted 
 to its influence, without allowing herself to inquire too mi- 
 nutely into the right upon which its authority was based. 
 
 All this was doing her infinite harm ; but she was not in 
 the least aware of it. She was unhappy, that she knew, but 
 many sources existed to which this fact might be traced, 
 besides that of an ill-regulated mind. 
 
 One there was especially, scarcely acknowledged by 
 Helen, yet ever present with her. Madame Keinhard fos- 
 tered it insensibly. She was always talking to Helen of 
 love. She looked upon it not only as a necessary ingredient 
 in humau happiness, but as essential to the perfection of the 
 human character. Helen often said that she should never 
 marry, yet Madame Reinhard's conversation, added to her 
 own experience, made her feel that, unmarried, she must be 
 miserable ; and then she looked round the circle of her ac- 
 quaintance with a cold, criticising, scornful eye, and the 
 aching of her heart told her that once, love, — true, pure 
 love, such as man might approve, and God would surely 
 bless, — had been placed within her reach, and she had re- 
 jected it. 
 
 Deeper sadness, deeper regret, lay at the bottom of 
 Helen's heart than Madame Pteinhard could reach; but it 
 was all buried, covered day by day, more and more, with the 
 thick shroud of wilfulness, ignorance, and false principles,
 
 IYOKS. 59 
 
 which Lady Augusta's insincerity and Madame Reiuhar.d's 
 plausibility created and fostered. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 Helen consented to go to Miss Manners 1 soiree Madame 
 Pteinharcl had promised to be there, and Helen made a virtue 
 of her compliance, although knowing that, under all circum- 
 stances, she would in the end have been forced to yield. It 
 was one of a series of entertainments which Miss Manners 
 was endeavouriug to bring into fashion. Strictly literary, 
 she called it : tea, coffee, ices, lectures, conversation, and 
 supper. And there were certainly the germs of very agree- 
 able society to be found in it ; the misfortune being, as 
 Claude Egerton had suggested, that almost every one wished 
 to exhibit his or her peculiar talents, instead of enjoying 
 those of othirs. On this occasion, however, there was 
 greater prospect of satisfaction than usual. A lecture was 
 to be given by one with whom no one could compete; a 
 scientific man, and a traveller, who had been working very 
 successfully for the civilisation of a barbarous and heathen 
 people. Madame Heinhard entered warmly into the cause ; 
 only lamenting that Mr. Randolph was a little inclined to 
 be narrow in his views, and thought a bishop essential to 
 their success. Her object in going was to become acquainted 
 with him, and discuss the whole question ; and Helen, who 
 cared neither for natives, travellers, nor bishops, yet pleased 
 herself with the notion that she might hear agreeable con- 
 versation, and witness the triumph of her friend's intellect. 
 She looked forward to the evening at last, with something 
 really approaching to excitement; especially when she found
 
 60 IVORS. 
 
 that Mrs. Graham, Susan, and Isabella, tempted like herself 
 by the proposed lecture, were to be there also. Madame 
 Reinhard had not made Helen forget Susan ; forge tfulness 
 was not in her nature, and the tie between them had been 
 formed too early, and cemented by too many associations, to 
 be broken, unless by some sudden disruption. They suited, 
 as so many husbands and wives suit, precisely because each 
 possessed what the other wanted. Helen rested upon Susan, 
 and Susan admired and was excited by Helen. Yet they 
 had met but little of late, and always unsatisfactorily. There 
 was no barrier in the way of affection, but there was one as 
 regarded confidence. Helen lived in the present, and deep 
 feeling requires a past. And so they were accustomed to 
 keep upon the surface of all subjects, each couseious of the 
 quicksands which lay beneath. 
 
 Helen's eagerness, according to what was now becoming 
 a natural rule, caused Lady Augusta much annoyance ; 
 although she had before urged that the invitation should be 
 accepted. It was too provoking that Helen could not even 
 do what was wished, without showing that she was influenced 
 by Madame Reinhard. The feeling was shown in the first 
 observation addressed to Helen when she appeared in the 
 drawing-room to wait for the carriage. 
 
 " You ars over-dressed, my dear. If we were going 
 to the Duchess of Menteith's ball, you could not be more 
 splendid." 
 
 Helen looked at herself carelessly in the glass. " Splen- 
 did ! am I mamma ? I really did not think about it. I tola 
 Annette to give me the dress which Madame Reinhard ad- 
 mired so much the other evening, and it never struck me 
 whether it would be particularly suitable or not ; but it does 
 not signify." 
 
 " But it does signify, Helen, extremely ; nothing can be 
 a greater mark of bad taste than being over-dressed. I
 
 IVORS. 61 
 
 really wonder that, after the education you have received, 
 you should take delight in such absurd finery." 
 
 Helen only laughed. Love of finery was the last thing 
 of which her conscience accused her. 
 
 Lady Augusta continued : '•' And that vulgar German 
 woman to encourage }'OU in it ! " 
 
 " Nay, mamma," Helen interrupted her quickly : " the 
 vulgar German woman, as you are pleased to c-all her, has 
 nothino- to do with the matter. The dress was worn last 
 week at a ball, and you chose it yourself, and Madame Rein- 
 hard praised your taste. It is my own fancy wearing it 
 to-night; and I confess I see nothing splendid in it." 
 
 " You are not likely to do so whilst you are so devoted 
 to the world," said Lady Augusta. 
 
 Helen again looked at her dress, and smiled satirically. 
 " It would be easy enough to overcome the world, if all that 
 was required was to put on one dress instead of another." 
 
 " Signs," said Lady Augusta, " indicative of the spirit 
 within." She glanced complacently at her own sepulchral 
 black satin. 
 
 " Merely signs, and so of no consequence ! " retorted 
 Helen. 
 
 " You are misled, Helen ; your mind is perverted by 
 German mysticism. It will lead you into dangerous error." 
 
 " I am willing to run the i i>k," said Helen. " Satin, or 
 orown ho'land, it is all the same to me, except for the spirit 
 which is embodied in it." 
 
 " Spirit ! Embodied ! " repeated Lady Augusta. " Re- 
 ally Helen, you talk great nonsense." 
 
 " Why do you prefer dark colours to light, niamina ? '' 
 said Helen. 
 
 " I am afahameld that you should ask such a childish 
 question. I have a regard to propriety, simplicity; I wish 
 to show my contempt for the world."
 
 62 ivors. 
 
 " Then that is your spirit, mamma. Mine is to please a 
 person I love. One is of just as much value as the other ; 
 and if my friend liked best to see me in brown holland, T 
 •would wear it." 
 
 The confession struck Lady Angusta dumb for an instant ; 
 then she said, with an air of determined authority : " Helen, 
 it is my wish that you should change your dress." 
 
 Helen looked up angrily for a moment, but her tone was 
 provokingly indifferent as she replied : " I can just take .off 
 this brooch, mamma, if you dislike it. It sparkles too much, 
 I suppose, to please you." 
 
 " It is my wish that you should change your dress, 
 Helen," repeated Lady Augusta. 
 
 " There is no time, mamma. The carriage is at the 
 door." 
 
 Lady Augusta sat down. Helen drew on her gloves. 
 The carriage was announced. 
 
 " I will just knock at papa's study, and see if he is ready," 
 said Helen. " He told me he would go if he could." 
 
 " There is no use in doing that," replied Lady Augusta ; 
 " I am not going." 
 
 " Then I dare say he will take me," said Helen, without 
 even an accent of surprise ; and as she spoke the words, Sir 
 Henry entered the room. 
 
 Lady Augusta appealed to him instantly. " Sir Henry, 
 I must refer to your authority ; your daughter is beyond my 
 control." 
 
 She stood before the fire, the very embodiment of injured 
 dignity. 
 
 Poor Sir Henry was becoming used to these scenes; yet 
 they always perplexed him. He looked from one to the 
 other. Helen went up to him, playfully, and kissed him 
 " Dear papa, you will go with me to-night ; it will be so 
 much more pleasant if you do."
 
 ivoes. 63 
 
 " I don't know, my dear ; I can't say." He turned away 
 from her. " Augusta, what is all this ? " 
 
 ' : Simply that your daughter refuses to recognize my au- 
 thority," was the reply. 
 
 " I can't have you silly, Helen ; do as you are told to 
 do." 
 
 And Helen, with a proud, careless laugh, answered, " I 
 will, papa, if I know what to do ; only the carriage is wait- 
 ing, and we shall be late." 
 
 Sir Henry addressed his wife. "What do you wish, my 
 dear ? What is it she refuses to do ? " 
 
 " I wish her to appear, simply, suitably dressed," said 
 Lady Augusta. " Such finery is fit only for an opera dan- 
 cer." 
 
 Sir Henry's eye glanced quickly over his daughter's figure ; 
 but he could see nothing in Helen's handsome but very be- 
 coming dress, at all worthy of such censure. 
 
 " It is a very good dress. I don't see " he began. 
 
 Lady Augusta interrupted him with a sigh. " Of course, 
 you don't see, my dear. You can't possibly understand the 
 proprieties of a lady's dress. But I must beg you to believe, 
 upon my assurance, that if Helen appears in such extrava- 
 gant magnificence at a quiet literary soh\e, she will be the 
 laughing-stock of the room. But I am free ! I have noth- 
 ing to do with it! I give it up !" Lady Augusta folded 
 her hands together with an air of touching resignation. 
 
 " Helen, my dear, go and do what your mamma wishes, 
 directly," said Sir Henry, in the tone which Helen dreaded 
 to disobey. And almost before the sentence was ended, 
 Helen had disappeared — conquered.
 
 64 ivoiis. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 " An ! meine liebe ! and you are come at last ? I gave you 
 up. But so dull, so triste ! Where is your beauty gone ? 
 Annette was asleep when she dressed you." Madame Rein- 
 hard had made her way to Helen, by breaking through a 
 crowd of admiring gazers and auditors, who thought her 
 far more interesting than the learned traveller and philan- 
 thropist. One or two followed her ; amongst them Captain 
 Mordaunt. 
 
 Helen's face was clouded : she scarcely answered. 
 
 Captain Mordaunt made some silly flattering remark 
 about beauty unadorned, and then the cloud deepened, and 
 Helen drew Madame Reinhard aside. 
 
 " For pity's sake save me from personal observations, es- 
 pecially from that man. What does it signify how I look ? 
 what I wear ? I thought you would have known me bet- 
 ter." 
 
 Madame Reinhard laughed. " So proud are we, we can't 
 bear even praise ! But I like you all the better, mein Kind. 
 Only confess you are very sombre to-night ; and it is so daz- 
 zling to see you when you choose to make the most of your- 
 self." 
 
 " I have no choice ; I am a puppet," said Helen. 
 
 " Ah ! Miladi Augusta ! she likes that burial gown. But 
 she should not put it upon you ; you must rebel." 
 
 " I don't care enough about it," said Helen, with as- 
 sumed indifference. " But don't talk about it ; it is an odious 
 subject." 
 
 " It is no matter, except for freedom," continued Madame 
 Reinhard;" that weighs upon me, I own. I long to see you 
 free."
 
 ivors. 65 
 
 " Parents before marriage, husbands after ; where is the 
 freedom of a woman in England ? " said Helen ; " unless one 
 can follow the example set one here." And she glanced at 
 the further end of the room, where Miss Manners, in her 
 quaint black jacket and the odd head-dress, half turban, half 
 cap, was haranguing, in long-winded sentences, an audience 
 whose thoughts were centred in their coffee-cups. 
 
 " That is not freedom," said Madame Reinhard ; her 
 eyes following the same direction. " She is the slave of the 
 world's opinion. She would give up her singularity if peo- 
 ple did not bow down before it." 
 
 "Then where is freedom to be found?" a^ain asked 
 Helen. "If \*ou say in marriage, I can't agree with you." 
 
 Madame Reinhard only smiled. " We will discuss that 
 another time, meine Hebe. Look ! there comes — Is not that 
 your cousin ? We saw her in the distance in the park." 
 And Helen leaned forward, trying to distinguish, amidst the 
 crowd near the door, who might be entering. They were 
 silent for a moment : then Madame Remhard laid her hand 
 upon Helen's arm, and said emphatically, " Remember, what- 
 ever I think, I will never acknowledge that hearts can be 
 constrained to love by vows. It is all words, — useless. If 
 they love, they love; and their wills are one. If they don't 
 love, then musi each heart be free." 
 
 Helen looked round with an expression of surprise and 
 alarm. 
 
 Madame Reinhard laughed heartily. "Ah! I shock 
 you ! you misunderstand. Of course we all keep to outward 
 forms; we go on very well together, that is necessary. All 
 I mean is, that vows can't make us love if we don't love." 
 
 " Then we have no business to marry," said I [elen, quickly, 
 and as the words were uttered a pang shot through ber heart, 
 tfaused by uiingled feelings and recollections, which she dared 
 not face. 
 
 17
 
 CG IVORS. 
 
 " Qa depend" was Madame Eeinkard's reply. " Where 
 will you find the hero, the grand one, worthy of you, able 
 also to have you? but are you, therefore, to be a slave to Mi- 
 ladi Augusta, and her burial gown ? " 
 
 Helen's lips moved as if she would reply, but the answer 
 was unspoken. A sudden paleness overspread her face, and 
 drawing back hastily, she sat down on the nearest chair. 
 
 "Ah! what can be the matter? you are ill. Speak, 
 meine Hebe." Madame Reinhard bent over the chair. 
 
 Helen's eyes were fixed upon her eagerly, and entreating- 
 ingly. " Stand before me, don't let me be seen." 
 
 " My child, no, if you would rather not. But what for 
 do you wish to hide yourself ? " 
 
 A little reproach was to be distinguished in Madame 
 Pteinhard's tone, as she found herself in the background, un- 
 able to see or be seen. " You should rouse yourself, Helen. 
 See, who is that ? Ah ! quel grand homme ! " 
 
 A slight movement opened the way before them, and 
 Claude Egerton for the first time caught sight of Helen. 
 
 He did not appear startled : she could have bore it bet- 
 ter if he had. He drew near with his firm tread, his self- 
 controlled manner \ that manner which she had sometimes 
 watched when exhibited to others, and wondered whether it 
 would be possible for any one unacquainted with him to 
 guess the depths of tenderness beneath ; and each step 
 seemed to thrill her brain, whilst a mist covered her eyes. 
 
 She tried to be brave ; she tried to look at him, to meet 
 him, as it seemed he could meet her ; but the shame, the 
 overpowering, crushing sense of shame, the remembrance 
 that once — though only in the excitement of goaded feeling 
 — she had forgotten a woman's dignity and truth, was too 
 much for her : and hastily rising from her seat, she made her 
 escape through the crowd to the farther end of the room, fol 
 lowed by Madame Reinhard's frightened look and eagei 
 question : " Helen, meine Hebe, are you mad ? "
 
 ITOKS. G7 
 
 But Helen thought only of being alone and unnoticed. 
 It was all she cared for, all she longed for — to look at him 
 in the distance, to observe him unperceived : then for an in- 
 stant there came the strong impulse to throw herself at his 
 feet, and ask him if he could forgive, if he did not utterly 
 despise her, succeeded by the heavy sense of humiliation, 
 which whispered that some offences might be forgiven, but 
 could never, never be forgotten. She sat down, trembling : 
 she thought that she would summon her resolution and speak 
 to him. She watched lest he should again draw near, but 
 the lecture began, and all attention but her own was en- 
 grossed by it. 
 
 It was interesting from the commencement ; towards the 
 conclusion it became absorbing, yet less from the eloquence 
 of the speaker or the facts he narrated, than because his heart 
 was in his subject, and he carried other hearts with him. 
 
 When it was ended, a number of persons gathered around 
 the lecturer, Madame Eeinhard amongst them. She took a 
 prominent part in the conversation ; her bright eyes sparkled 
 with almost dazzling brilliancy, and her changing voice gave 
 utterance to question, remark, and repartee, with wonderful 
 and exciting rapidity. And by her side now stood Helen, 
 no longer humbled, crushed, by the sense of her own littleness, 
 but eager, excited, scarcely inferior to Madame lleinhard in 
 talent, yet exhibiting it as unconsciously as her beaut y. 
 Her voice, indeed, trembled at times, when a dark face, 
 almost severe in its expression, was to be seen tar in the back- 
 ground ; but Helen, when she caught the glance, turned pule 
 for an instant, and then talked only the more rapidly, and 
 laughed the more lightly, for the pang of humiliation was 
 over. 
 
 "You have a strange set here to-night, my dear Julia," 
 remarked Lady Augusta, as, from the elevation of her moral 
 and religious superiority, she condescendingly glanced around 
 the room.
 
 G8 ivoes. 
 
 " Men of note ! women of high intellectual cultivation ! ' 
 replied Miss Manners : " not known, it may be, in the fash- 
 ionable world, but all worthy of acquaintance, though possibly 
 singular." 
 
 " Very ! " escaped from Mrs. Graham, who happened to 
 be near. " Pray " — and she looked towards the group with 
 rather an anxious eye ; — " there is one lady — stout, dressed 
 in amber silk ; do you see her ? Madame Reinhard is just 
 speaking to her ; who is she ? " 
 
 Miss Manners seemed a little embarrassed : — " Oh ! that 
 — that is the Baroness d'Olban; French, of course. I never 
 saw her before this evening ; a friend asked leave to bring 
 her. She is peculiar." 
 
 " You should be careful, Julia," said Lady Augusta, 
 authoritatively ; " report says she gambles." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear, report ! — but what am I to do, if I am 
 to listen to report ? I may as well shut up my house ; and 
 there is no doubt she is excessively intellectual, an authoress; 
 she has published some splendid poems." 
 
 " She is an openly avowed infidel, I believe," said Mrs. 
 Graham, gravely; and, without waiting for Miss Manners' 
 reply, she told Isabella to remain with Lady Augusta, and 
 went with Susan towards the circle, in the centre of which 
 Helen had placed herself. 
 
 Madame Eeinhard was concluding an eloquent speech 
 upon the inherent rights of humanity, the danger of checking 
 freedom of thought, the necessity of allowing every nation 
 to develope its own powers, unshackled by forms and tradi- 
 tions. Even the thoughtful lecturer was listening to her 
 with deference, whilst low murmurs of applause were heard 
 from the admiring audience. Helen's eyes were riveted upon 
 Madame Reinhard ; as she ceased, she whispered " Go on, I 
 could listen for ever." Madame Reinhard started, and 
 blushed ; her piercing gaze was softened by an appearance
 
 IVORS. no 
 
 of womanly feeling, and she drew back, saying that she was 
 afraid she had been delivering very bold opinions. But 
 Helen grew eager from the slight opposition ; she repeated 
 her praise of Madame Reinhard, and added observations of 
 her own. Animation added to her beauty ; and some of the 
 gentlemen drew nearer, and listened attentively. Madame 
 Reinhard, free from any petty rivalry, seemed anxious to 
 bring her forward as her friend ; and Helen, flattered and 
 excited, and all unconscious of the lurking vanity, felt her- 
 self more "and more at ease, and talked yet more freely. 
 
 " Elle est charmante, n'est-ce pas ? " murmured the 
 French Baroness to her nearest neighbour. 
 
 She was speaking to Claude. His reply was scarcely 
 audible. 
 
 " What is her name ? I am dying to know her. I must 
 know her," continued the Baroness. 
 
 Claude started; the expression of his face became sud- 
 denly fierce. Susan was nearer to him than Helen; she was 
 in the outer circle; her mother had left her for a moment. 
 He made his way to her and addressed her in an under tunc. 
 
 " Is this pleasant to you ? would you rather go back to 
 Mrs. Graham ? " 
 
 Susan raised her eyes to his with a look of cordial, simple 
 gratitude. " Thank you, but nobody notices me, and it 
 amuses me to listen." 
 
 Claude glanced at Helen: — his words came with diffi- 
 culty, but he said, " Your cousin is amused also, I imagine." 
 
 " She enjoys it," said Susan; "for the moment, that is." 
 
 A look of exceeding pain came over Claude's face, 
 whilst he gave his attention to Helen again. She was talk- 
 ing French fluently with a strange gentleman. There was a 
 little timidity in her manner, which gave a peculiar charm 
 to the quick repartee in which .die was indulging; Claude's 
 were fixed on her. Susan could scarcely endure the
 
 70 IVORS. 
 
 expression of his countenance, it was so unlike himself; all 
 tenderness was gone from it. She longed to stop Helen, yet 
 could not move. It was a great relief when her mother's 
 voice was heard hehind her. " Susan, my love, will you come 
 with me ? supper is just ready." Claude looked round and 
 smiled. But the next minute he was watching Helen as 
 before. The Baroness d'Olban went up to Madame Bein- 
 hard. Claude could only have caught a few words, but he 
 moved directly, placed himself between Helen and the Ba- 
 roness, begged to be allowed to take Madame Beinhard into 
 supper himself, and hastily, without any apology, introduc- 
 ing a staid, elderly gentleman to Helen, confided her to his 
 care, and effectually prevented any introduction to the dis- 
 comfited Baroness. 
 
 Madame Bteinhard seated herself at the supper-table. 
 Claude stood behind her chair. Helen and Susan were op- 
 posite. Madame Beinhard whispered to him, as he poured 
 out a glass of wine for her : " They make a pretty contrast, 
 one all quiet thought, the other all life and animation." 
 
 She imagined she had touched the right chord to excite 
 him ; but he only assented formally, and then, after a mo- 
 mentary silence, said : " May I ask if the Baroness d'Olban 
 is your friend ? " 
 
 Madame Beinhard turned so as almost to face him. 
 
 "Hush! "she said; "don't you see her?" The Ba- 
 roness had just entered the room, talking very loudly ; and 
 Lady Augusta, seated by Miss Manners at the head of the 
 table, glanced at her with an expression of concentrated dis- 
 gust. 
 
 Claude was not to be repelled. " I trust yon will par- 
 don me; my question is not one of mere curiosity." 
 
 Madam Beinhard put aside her plate, and rose to make 
 room for some one beside her. " We will go," she said, " the 
 room is hot; " and Claude led her again into the drawing, 
 room, and stood waiting the reply to his question.
 
 IVOES. 
 
 71 
 
 Madame Reinhard's face showed amusement mingled with 
 satire, as she said, " You are pertinacious." 
 
 " Very. I own it." 
 
 " And if I don't choose to answer your question ? " 
 
 Claude bent his head rather haughtily, and replied that 
 of course it was entirely at Madame Reinhard's option; 
 he had hoped, however, that she would understand him 
 better. 
 
 A laugh preceded the reply. " Ah! you men, you Eng- 
 lish, you "do take offence so soon ! Did I say I would not 
 answer ? Can I care ? Madame la Baronne, what is she to 
 me?" 
 
 " Nothing, I should hope," said Claude very gravely. 
 
 A little hesitation was evident in Madame Reinhard's 
 manner. 
 
 " You are strict," she said. " What do you know about 
 her ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it may not be advisable to tell. It can never 
 be wise to speak of one friend to another." 
 
 " But that is too bad ! " exclaimed Madame Eeinhard, 
 angrily ; " I did not say she was my friend. I do not know 
 her ; I do not care for her. I — she is mauvais ton ; she is 
 — Miss Manners is unwise; it is not well to have her here." 
 
 " Or to introduce her to young girls without the sanction 
 of their parents," said Claude ; and he looked at Madame 
 Beinhard with an expression so quietly stern that for one 
 instant she seemed to .shrink from it. 
 
 Yet the feeling was shaken off almost as soon as felt; and 
 with an air of offended dignity, Madame Eeinhard replied: 
 "I do not allow hints, Mr. Egerton, even from my friends. 
 Forgive me, if I say that we know each other slightly, and 
 it would be better to be open." 
 
 ' .Most willingly," said Claude. " Voii are Miss Clare's 
 friend. I also"' — his voice was husky, but he went on calm-
 
 73 ivors. 
 
 ly — " have known her many years. That must be my excuse 
 for venturing to interfere. Perhaps I ought to have spoken 
 to Lady Augusta." 
 
 Madame Reinhard interrupted him : " Speak to Miladi 
 Augusta ! But what about ? Mr. Egerton, I will be angry ; 
 I will not bear this. Why speak to Miladi Augusta ? " 
 
 " Merely to suggest to her that before any new acquaint- 
 ance is made by her daughter, it would be well that Lady 
 Augusta should decide whether it is likely to be a desirable 
 one. The Baroness d'Olban can have no claim to be intro- 
 duced to Miss Clare." 
 
 A gleam of sudden comprehension lighted up Madame 
 Reinhard's face. " Ah ! ich verstehe. But so foolish ! La 
 paitvre Baronne ! You are jealous that she should become 
 known to Miss Clare. Ich verstehe ! And did you really 
 think it would be ? — it was not right, Mr. Egerton ; it was 
 not fair." Madame Reinhard spoke in a tone of just irri- 
 tation. 
 
 " If I were mistaken," said Claude, in a softened voice, 
 " you must pardon me. I certainly caught a few words 
 which made me think that you were about to comply with 
 some request." 
 
 " Some request ! You men are so suspicious. — The Ba- 
 roness would not venture. — She knows me so little, she would 
 not dare to take the liberty. — We do not meet; we are not 
 acquainted, except — very slight, very slight indeed." Ma- 
 dame Reinhard's eyes were raised to Claude's face fully, sim- 
 ply, so that he could not doubt her. 
 
 The change in his countenance and manner was very 
 marked. " Then you are not her friend," he said, " and I 
 may warn you against her. As a man I hear more than you 
 are likely to do. I need not enter into particulars ; but it 
 is well known that she gambles frightfully, that her society 
 is anything but select, that she is "
 
 ivors. 73 
 
 " Un esprit fort?" said Madame Reinkard, with a pecu- 
 liar accent of sarcasm upon the words. 
 
 " Yes, that, and much else, which it is most undesirable 
 for a woman to be. How she came here to-night I can't 
 imagine." 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Manners ! she does worship intellect," said 
 Madame Reinhard ; " and the Baroness is stupendous." 
 
 " So it is said. I have looked into her poems, and can 
 only account for much which I found there by supposing a 
 tendency to insanity." 
 
 " But you are not in earnest ? " exclaimed Madame Rein- 
 hard. Then observing his grave expression, she added, al- 
 most as gravely, " But I have read very little." 
 
 " And you will not read more, I hope," said Claude, 
 earnestly; "there is much in them likely to do immense 
 mischief." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, to some — the young. But I, ^n old married 
 
 woman ; " and Madame Reinhard laughed, and added, 
 
 " but you must not fear, and you must ask me to forgive, for 
 you did me wrong." 
 
 Claude held out his hand, aud said, " I do ask for for- 
 giveness ; but I think I have an excuse. I could not bear 
 any person, any young lady with whom I might have even a 
 slight acquaintance, to be brought in contact with such ;i 
 person." 
 
 Madame Reinhard's smile was not quite satisfactory to 
 Claude. She murmured to herself " La pauvre Baronne /" 
 and then remarking that it was late, begged Claude to in- 
 quire if her carriage had been announced. 
 
 Lady Augusta returned home very much out of humour. 
 Sir Henry took his candlestick and retired, with only one 
 remark, that Mr. Randolph was a first-rate speaker, and 
 would make a capital figure in the Bouse. Helen was about 
 to follow his example, bul Bhe was seized upon for a lecture.
 
 74 IVOKS. 
 
 " Wait a minute, my dear, I have something to say tc 
 you; " and Helen sat down. "Your behaviour to-night has 
 not pleased me. I don't choose to have such a show of in- 
 dependence. Madame Reinhard may be a very good woman, 
 but I can't allow of your devoting yourself exclusively to 
 her. Your cousin Susan was quite neglected. Captain 
 Mordaunt was treated with actual incivility." 
 
 Helen answered hastily : " Mamma, you may criticise 
 my conduct towards Susan as much as you please. She un- 
 derstands me too well to be offended. Towards Captain 
 Mordaunt I must and will consult only my own feelings, my 
 sense of what is true and dignified." 
 
 " There is little need to tell me, Helen, that you will fol- 
 low your own will ; that is shown by every look and action. 
 Even your dress " 
 
 Helen grasped the arm of her chair tightly, and her lips 
 moved, but she did not speak. 
 
 " Even your dress," continued Lady Augusta, " is noth- 
 ing but an exaggeration and caricature. I suppose because 
 I found fault, justly, with your uncalled-for magnificence, 
 you chose to appear so entirely without ornament that Julia 
 Manners even remarked it." 
 
 "It was late," replied Helen, in a tone of smothered re- 
 sentment ; " there was no time for ornament." 
 
 " A paltry excuse, Helen ! unworthy of you ! But it is 
 all part of the same determination. You have but one ob- 
 ject in life, to thwart me." 
 
 " May I be allowed to go to bed, mamma ? " replied 
 Helen. She stood up with her lighted candle in her hand. 
 
 Lady Augusta vouchsafed no reply and Helen went to 
 her room in towering indignation. 
 
 Bondage ! the bondage of married life ! it could be noth- 
 ing to this. No vows, no promises, no duties could be so 
 galling as this perpetual tutelage ; and to last — how long?
 
 ivoks. 75 
 
 For years and years — through youth and middle life, it 
 might be ; in all probability it would be. Surely Madame 
 Eeinhard was right. There was no freedom in England for 
 an unmarried woman in her parents' house. Let her a^e 
 and experience be what it might, those who had been accus- 
 tomed to treat her as a child would still continue to do so, 
 and the world would look upon her as such. Madame Rein- 
 hard was not so many years older, but she was free. She 
 went where she liked, did as she liked, chose her own friends, 
 her own society, read her own books, gave her intellect free 
 scope. It was all the charm of that magic word, Madame. 
 Under the shelter of subjection she was free; and Helen 
 might be free also, more free even than Madame Rein- 
 hard, whose husband, it was whispered, was often ill-tem- 
 pered and exacting. One word, and the simple, vapid, 
 devoted Captain Mordaunt would lay at her feet his fortune, 
 his expectations, his prospective title, all that could give her 
 independence in the world, and ask only in return a nominal 
 submission. In her grievous inconsistency, Helen allowed 
 herself to meditate upon the possibility, until a remembrance 
 of the past flashed across her mind, and the image of Claude 
 Egerton, as she had that night seen him, rose up before her. 
 All excitement was gone then — all hope, all feeling, but that 
 heavy, overwhelming sense of shame. No, the freedom which 
 she had pictured could never give her happiness. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 " Tired, my child?" said Mrs. Graham, as Susan sat at work 
 the next morning, looking pale, and almost out of spirits. 
 
 "A little, mamma; but I think my mind is more tired 
 than my body. It always is after I bave been at ;i party."
 
 76 ivoes. 
 
 " There could not Lave been much to tire you last night,'"' 
 observed Anna, drawing near Susan and appearing quite re- 
 lieved at the prospect of a little conversation. " You seem 
 to me to have done nothing but sit still and listen to what 
 one might just as well read in a review." 
 
 " Lectures are different from reviews, though," observed 
 Isabella. " You would understand it, Anna, if you had been 
 with us last night. I might have read precisely the same 
 words in a book and they would have had no effect upon me." 
 
 " Words read come to one through the medium of one's 
 mind, words spoken through that of the speaker. I suppose 
 that makes the difference," replied Mrs. Graham. " But, 
 Susan, the lecture did not tire you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma ! I could have listened for another 
 hour. But thinking, and wondering, and looking at every- 
 body — that is the fatigue in society. I am always trying to 
 understand people, and I never can. That strange French 
 Baroness, and Madame Beinhard, and Helen, and Mr. Eger- 
 ton — they are all such mysteries." 
 
 " Madame Beinhard is fascinating," said Isabella. " I 
 don't wonder at Helen's being so bewitched with her." 
 
 "Mamma looks grave," observed Anna; " she doesn't 
 like Madame Beinhard." 
 
 " And Mr. Egerton does not," observed Susan. 
 
 " I admire her," replied Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! that is so cold ! " exclaimed Isabella. 
 
 " You would not have me say I love her, my dear child, 
 when I have not seen her above half-a-dozen times in my 
 lite." 
 
 " But she is so clever, so brilliant and original. She has 
 real genius ! Mamma, one must delight in genius ! " 
 
 " Madame Beinhard's genius would disappoint me, I am 
 sure," said Susan. 
 
 " Because you are so prosaic, Susan. You can't separate 
 what people feel and think from what they do."
 
 Ivors. 77 
 
 " It is rather difficult, I own," replied Susan, quietly. 
 " But, mamma," — and she turned to her mother — " is genius, 
 or talent, or intellect of any kind, to be admired for itself? 
 That is what I have been thinking about all the morning." 
 
 " And all last night, too, I suspect," exclaimed Anna. 
 '"What do you think, mamma, was Susan's observation when 
 she woke me up from my comfortable sleep at ttne o'clock 
 this morning ? ' I am very glad I don't live with geniuses; 
 I am sure I should be very wicked if I did.' " 
 
 " Possibly Susan had arrived at a right conclusion," re- 
 plied Mrs. Graham, laughing ; " though it was rery unmer- 
 ciful to trouble you with it at such an irrational hour." 
 
 " But, mamma, mamma ! " exclaimed Isabella; " genius 
 make one wicked ? How can it ? It is divine ! it comes 
 from God ! " 
 
 " So you may say of personal beauty, which we are all 
 apt to estimate wrongly,' 7 replied Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " But you cannot put that on a par with genius ! " ex- 
 claimed Isabella. 
 
 " Certainly not ; only as it is a gift of God it is worthy 
 of admiration, and we do admire it. Anything which raises 
 a man above his fellows, even physical force alone, will ex- 
 cite the feeling. If we could see a giant tear up a tree by 
 its roots, we should admire him." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, mamma! with a certain kind of admiration," 
 replied Isabella, in a disappointed tone. " But who would 
 care for that ? " 
 
 " No one with any appreciation of that which is really 
 admirable, my dear child. Yet I am saying, I think, what 
 is true. The feelings seem to me to rest on the same basis, 
 the sense of power, and only to differ in degree." 
 
 Even Anna was startled by this, ami broke in suddenly 
 with an expression of dissent. 
 
 " I suppose," said Mis. Graham, quietly, " the highest
 
 78 iyors. 
 
 intellect and most consummate genius in the universe, put- 
 ting aside — if one may venture so to say — the intellect of 
 the Supreme Being, is that of Satan." 
 
 There was a momentary silence, and some expression of 
 pain on Isabella's face ; then she said in a low voice, " But 
 we could never worship that." 
 
 " I am not so sure, my love. I question, whether, if we 
 could analyse our feelings, we shoald not all find that admi- 
 ration, approaching to worship, is mixed up with our idea of 
 Satan — not admiration of his wickedness, but of his intellect 
 and power : the same feeling, mi fact, which shows itself more 
 plainly in the homage we pay to what we often call great- 
 ness in our fellow creatures ; to Napoleon, for instance, or 
 Alexander the Great ; or perhaps to intellectual superiority 
 only, as in Goethe, or Dante, or Shakspeare." 
 
 " Goethe, and Dante, and Shakspeare ! But, mamma, 
 they were so different ! " exclaimed Anna. 
 
 " Yet we — meaning by we, the people of this present 
 age — are in the habit of placing them in the same category, 
 my love. The question of moral worth does not weigh with 
 us. They were great, therefore they were to be reverenced. 
 Satan also is great, therefore he is to be reverenced. The 
 feeling is perfectly natural ; and we find that in heathen 
 countries it does actually develope itself into devil worship — 
 the worship of power apart from goodness." 
 
 Isabella looked extremely shocked ; and Anna remarked 
 that it was a very perplexing subject, for in the Bible the 
 ten talents obtained the highest reward, which, of course, 
 showed that superiority of any kind must be an advantage. 
 
 " But then they gained ten talents more," remarked Su- 
 san. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Graham ; " as our Lord says, ' To 
 whom much is given, of hiru will be much required.' And 
 the much, Anna, must be not what the world estimates, but
 
 ivoks. 79 
 
 ■what God estimates. "We are expressly told that ' not many 
 wise men after the flesh are called ; ' and that ' God hath 
 chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise.' 
 If these words mean anything they must mean that the tal- 
 ents which God will reward are not intellectual, but moral." 
 
 " But those who had the most given them were to obtain 
 the highest glory," persisted Isabella. 
 
 " Certainly, dear child. But then we must all allow 
 that great advantages involve great risks and temptations. 
 Therefore, if the ten talents gained ten more, there must 
 have been greater watchfulness and earnestness than in the 
 case of the five talents, which gained five." 
 
 " But supposing the ten talents had only gained two or 
 three ? " said Susan, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Then sureby, my love, they would have fallen far short 
 of the purpose for which they were given, and so the person 
 who possessed them would have been worthy rather of blame 
 than reward. Remember, I am only carrying out our Lord's 
 parable, — not supposing that we can really be anything but 
 unprofitable servants at the best." 
 
 " I think I see," observed Isabella, a little unwillingly; 
 " but it is very difficult exactly to measure what every one 
 has done and what he might have done." 
 
 " Not only difficult, but impossible," observed Mrs. Gra- 
 ham. " Talents in the Bible, as we all know, mean every 
 kind of advantage ; and we can neither tell what talents 
 others possess, nor what use they make of them really. But 
 the tendency in the present day is to call a man's intellectual 
 gifts his talents, and to reverence him according to the 
 amount bestowed, and not according to the use made of 
 them. There lies the danger." 
 
 " But I would not reverence the man, but only his gifts," 
 said Isabella. 
 
 " Very plausible, my love; but not very possible. "When
 
 SO IVORS. 
 
 you think of a man, you must think of him as a whole ; you 
 may analyse, and divide, and make metaphysical distinctions 
 in abstract reasoning, — but the very oneness of our being, 
 which constitutes our personal identity, compels us to feel 
 towards each individual as one, to form one idea of him; and 
 if this idea be mingled with reverence, from whatever cause, 
 we do reverence the man, and not his gifts. Think, for in- 
 stance, of any person, past or present, — Napoleon, William 
 the Conqueror, or any individual of your acquaintance. If 
 it were not for this power of forming one conception of the 
 individual, combining all you know of his powers, intellec- 
 tual, physical, and moral, collecting, as it were, the essence 
 from his being, you would really have no idea of him at all. 
 He would be to you merely different phases of a living crea- 
 ture, — a succession of phantoms, as he may have appeared 
 at different periods of his life. There must be something 
 distinct and beyond all this ; and if you try to describe any 
 person, you will feel that there is. You may say he is pas- 
 sionate, generous, clever, moody, fastidious, anything you 
 like ; but you will feel all the time, that you are not really 
 making the person to whom you are talking understand your 
 idea of the man. It is this idea, or rather this reality, — 
 for no doubt it is in its nature a reality, — which excites your 
 feeling of whatever kind; and if this should be reverence, 
 you do, and must, reverence the man, the essential, indi- 
 vidual, man ; and if he be not worthy of reverence, if his 
 will be not in accordance with God's will, and his heart 
 subject to (rod's law, then you are allowing yourself to hon- 
 our that which is not honoured by God." 
 
 Isabella looked very grave, and said, that it was next to 
 impossible not to admire talent of any kind, and still more 
 genius. 
 
 " I don't object to your admiring it, my love," replied 
 Mrs. Graham ; " admire it, if you will, as you do a beautiful
 
 IVORS. 81 
 
 face, or a beautiful picture ; but don't let reverence be mixed 
 up with admiration." 
 
 " Don't worship Madame Beinhard," said Anna, laughing. 
 
 " Mamma does not like us to be personal," replied Isa- 
 bella, rather quickly. 
 
 " Unless there may be some good reason for it," observed 
 Mrs. Graham. " I am very willing to give you my opinion of 
 Madame Eeinhard, and you can judge for yourselves, as you 
 see more of her, whether I am right. I think she is brilliant, 
 but rather superficial ; with a great many good qualities, 
 which unfortunately want a foundation, and so are perhaps 
 only the more likely to lead her astray." 
 
 " So very, very cold, mamma ! " exclaimed Isabella. 
 
 " My love, I really can't be enthusiastic about any per- 
 son, when I see that self-indulgence, instead of self-denial, is 
 the rule of life." 
 
 u Does Madame Beinhard lie on sofas, and eat and drink 
 a great deal? " asked Anna, satirically. 
 
 Isabella gave an indignant negative. 
 
 Susan smiled, and said, that even according to Helen's 
 account, Madame Heinhard was not indifferent to the com- 
 forts of life. 
 
 " And why should she be ? " inquired Isabella. " Mamma, 
 you don't uphold asceticism." 
 
 " Because I believe that very often there is a great deal 
 of self-conceit and spiritual pride concealed beneath it, my 
 love. But I do most entirely uphold thai self-restraint, 
 which never allows enjoyments to get the mastery over us ; 
 which can give them up when required, either by reason or 
 religion. But really, Anna, as regards .Madame Heinhard, 
 I was thinking much more of intellectual than physical sclf- 
 indulgeuce." 
 
 '• Yes ; 1 suppose she is ict likely to be tempted bj wine 
 and cigars," said Anna, laughing.
 
 82 IVORS. 
 
 " But she would allow them to others," observed Susan 
 quickly. " Vivre et laissez vivre, is her motto." 
 
 " She is charitable," said Isabella. 
 
 " Because she requires charity herself," observed Anna 
 " Mamma, is not that true ? " 
 
 Mrs. Graham only smiled. 
 
 " Mamma, now, you must answer," continued Anna. 
 
 " Well ! if I must, I will say that I don't think it can be 
 true charity which puts aside the laws of God. Therefore, 
 if we have strict rules for ourselves, we must, I suppose, ne- 
 cessarily be somewhat strict with our neighbours. We may 
 make excuses for them, but we must not call wrong right. 
 And self-indulgence of any kind is unquestionably wrong." 
 
 Mrs. Graham moved, intending to go away, but Isabella 
 detained her : " One more word, mamma. Intellectual self- 
 indulgence ! I don't understand what you mean by it." 
 
 u The enjoyment of intellect without regard to religion 
 and morality," replied Mrs. Graham. " I have heard Madame 
 Reinhard acknowledge that she reads books which no woman 
 ought to read, merely because they are clever. I have heard 
 her speak enthusiastically in praise of persons whose lives are 
 openly scandalous, for the same reason ; and I am afraid she 
 courts their society. She confesses that she studies only for 
 the purpose of pleasing herself, and that she can see no other 
 use or object in study. Now all this, Anna, must be perni- 
 cious ; it must lower a person's standard of right, and it is 
 undoubtedly based upon selfishness. Of course I should not 
 speak so freely of Madame Reinhard to any one else ; but 
 you must meet her occasionally, and you are very likely to 
 be fascinated by her, as Helen is, and so I would rather put 
 you on your guard beforehand." 
 
 " I think I would rather not have been put on my guard,'" 
 said Isabella, when her mother left the room. 
 
 And Susan looked up from her work, and added : " I
 
 IVORS. 83 
 
 heard Mr. Egerton say very much the same as mamma a few 
 evenings s'nee." 
 
 CHAPTER LIU. 
 
 " Ah ! mein liebes Hcrz ! alone, and thinking ! may I know 
 tfe"3 thoughts ? " 
 
 Hftlen had not seen Madame Reinhard for two days, and 
 she lo jked up with pleasure at the sound of her voice ; but 
 there was still something sad in the expression of her coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " My thoughts would be of no use to you," was her reply; 
 " you would not understand them." 
 
 " But that is judging beforehand ; and I may be wiser 
 than you think. Suppose I could guess ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed Helen, quickly. 
 
 " And wherefore ? but perhaps you would not like them 
 to be told ? " 
 
 A faint tinge of colour was visible on the cheek ; then it 
 deepened and spread, and still the gaze continued ; till 
 Helen, unable to bear it, turned away with tears gathering 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " You arc brooding over the past — sorrowing for it — 
 meine Hebe." 
 
 " I don't sorrow, I have nothing to sorrow for," exclaimed 
 Helen, quickly. 
 
 " jS'ay, then I am ignorant. Have we not often and 
 often told each other of the beautiful past ? " 
 
 " It was not beautiful," said Belen. " When I possessed 
 it I did not care for it ; and I don't think about it now. If 
 the present were different, L should not.'' 
 
 A shadow of annoyance was visible on Madame Rein-
 
 8i IVORS. 
 
 hard's face. She answered rather satirically, " The present 
 is what we all choose to make it. If we think of earthly 
 things it becomes earthly. Will you choose that ? will you 
 be content to live the life of every day, like the quiet cousin 
 we saw the other night, and her grim cavalier, Mr. Egerton ? " 
 
 If Helen had chosen to look at Madame Reinhard, she 
 would have seen a glance which, whilst it seemed to wander 
 all round the room, took in every change in her face ; but 
 her eyes were bent in another direction as she replied, with 
 cold self-restraint, " You are rapid in your conclusions." 
 
 " Rapid perhaps, but true ; do they not suit ? like twins ? 
 she is so very — what do you call it ? amiable, respectable ; 
 and he is John Bull — yes, very decided John Bull." 
 
 " That was not your impression when you exclaimed 
 ' Quel grand liomme ! ' ' said Helen, forcing herself to speak 
 coldly. 
 
 " You remember that, do you ? yes, a first impression, 
 and a true one. Quel grand liomme ! in the outward man ; 
 but in the spirit, oh ! no, no." 
 
 " Mr. Egerton has the reputation of living up in the 
 clouds," said Helen, in a perverse tone. " There are not 
 many John Bulls to be found there." 
 
 " In the clouds ? does he attain so high ? I should 
 never have thought it," said Madame Reinhard, ironically. 
 " And yet, yes, I suppose in his highest elevation he may 
 reach the clouds ; but the blue sky, the pure aether, which 
 allows the free gaze to pierce even to the infinite, — Helen, he 
 never has soared there." 
 
 " Very few persons have," said Helen. 
 
 " Pardon me, mon amie. Has it not been said that we 
 are all poets when we read a poem well ? So they who un- 
 derstand, who sympathize with, the noble minds whose 
 dwelling is in the depths of infinity, must themselves be of 
 them."
 
 ivors. 85 
 
 " It is a flattering creed at any rate," said Helen, with 
 an incredulous smile. 
 
 " And a true one : and necessary to be believed," contin- 
 ued Madame lleinhard. " Great minds feel themselves 
 great, or they never would be great. And lesser minds must 
 feel what they are and what may be, or they will never at- 
 tain to their perfection. Look round the world, or rather 
 listen to me, who have had greater opportunities of observa- 
 tion than you : there are hundreds now wasting themselves 
 in inaction, doomed to ignoble obscurity, who might have 
 shone amongst the bright ones of enduring ages, could they 
 but have realised their own powers." 
 
 " Is this a lecture for me ? " said Helen. " I am quite 
 willing to hear what my own powers are." 
 
 " Nay, not when you speak in that tone. We will talk 
 of something else, — your work pattern — Miladi Augusta's 
 crochet." 
 
 " I have vexed you," said Helen, affectionately. 
 
 " You never vex me, meine licbe ; it is the mist : I wait 
 till it is past." 
 
 " But it is past, — it shall be," said Helen. " I will hear 
 anything you have to say, and believe it — if I can," was 
 added in a doubtful tone. 
 
 " I wish you only to believe in yourself," continued 
 Madame Reinhard. " I would not have you lower yourself 
 by admiring that which is beneath you. You speak of that 
 Mr. Egerton as though he were great, but he is not. Shall 
 1 tell you what he is ? I read it in the first moment that he 
 talked with me. He is of those who feel, though they n.ay 
 not say, that women have no right to independence of 
 mind." 
 
 '■ .No ! no ! " exclaimed Helen, iropatii nilv. Then cheek- 
 ing herself, with the instincl of concealing her own feelings, 
 she added, coldly, " Vet, in < respect, I can imagine that
 
 86 itors. 
 
 you are right. Mr. Enerton would never endure his wife to 
 hold opinions different from his own." 
 
 " And so he would be a tyrant. Ah ! Helen, Helen, 
 there are souls which unite as one — which are one, but it is 
 the union of freedom, not of subjection. Your Mr. Eger- 
 ton is a man of forms, and creeds, and rules : the woman 
 who would be happy as his wife must be content to cut and 
 narrow her own mind to fit his. And there may be such an 
 one." Madame Reinhard paused. 
 
 And Helen said, in a voice which never faltered, " My 
 cousin Susan, for instance." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; I know but little, yet I can sometimes 
 see. She has been brought up (that is what you English 
 call it, is it not ?) — brought up, taken by the hand, trained, 
 led. She would close her eyes and follow blindfold, and think 
 she saw. Ah ! meine liehe ! how many there are like her ! " 
 
 " It may be a pity there are not many more," said Helen, 
 in a constrained voice. 
 
 " You think so," replied Madame Reinhard. " Well, 
 you may be right. Of course, if there are Mr. Egertons, 
 there must be Miss Grahams to suit them. But " — she 
 seized Helen's hand, and forced her to look towards her — 
 " let them be what they will to each other, mein Kind, I 
 would kneel in thankfulness that you will never consent to 
 be a slave." 
 
 Helen made no reply. 
 
 Madame Reinhard bent forward and kissed her forehead, 
 and whispered, " Freedom, Helen, freedom! the dearest gift 
 which God can bestow." 
 
 Helen's answer was bitter : — " I ask, as I have asked you 
 often before, — where am I to find it ? at home ? " 
 
 " And I answer, as I have answered often before, — in a 
 home of your own." 
 
 " I have such a choice ! " replied Helen, almost angrily.
 
 IVORS. O l 
 
 " Captain Mordaunt, perhaps, would be your recommenda- 
 tion, by way of securing an intellectual companion." 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur le Capitaine ! There are many worse 
 persons in this naughty world than Monsieur le Capitaine." 
 
 " Certainly, I should run no risk of beintr rid of him 
 either by hanging or transportation," said Helen. 
 
 " And he would be good — he would not interfere ; he go 
 his way, yoa go yours, — that would be his motto. I could 
 do very well with Monsieur le Capitaine." 
 
 " But you don't mean — you can't, — you would not for 
 the world have married him ! " exclaimed Helen. 
 
 " He never asked me," was Madame Reinhard's reply. 
 
 " But love, congeniality ! " exclaimed Helen. " I don't 
 understand you, — I can't in the least comprehend ! " 
 
 " How should you, mon amie ? we talk of different 
 things. You look for that which is to be found once, twice, 
 possibly three times, in the history of a hundred years. I 
 grant you to be very happy, very blessed, if you do find it ; 
 but if you don'r," — and Madame Reinhard shrugged her 
 shoulders, — " what can you do but do without it ? " 
 
 " And live and die an old maid," said Helen, with an 
 accent of quiet despair. 
 
 " Meine liebe, pity forbid ! why do you speak of it ? 
 No : anion of heart, sympathy of soul, may perhaps be found 
 in a husband, though L look round the world and see very 
 few who have found it, and those always content with less 
 far than you or I would ask. But it can never be that we 
 are shut out from it, though it may not be met with in him. 
 Give me but freedom of action, and I will seek till I meet 
 with it somewhere. Is it nut my own case, Helen ? " ami 
 Madame Reinhard's face assumed an expression of sadness. 
 " My home ! — what is it to me? hut my friends ! — do I not 
 live in them — live by them? ai^ they not my happiness? 
 There is no sorrow for me, Uebc, whilst vou and I can 
 
 thus meet and be one."
 
 88 ivors. 
 
 Helen fondly pressed the hand that was extended to her, 
 hut answered somewhat ironically : " And you think Captain 
 Mordaunt would interfere with us less than mamma ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it. But I don't speak of him, le pauvre 
 homrne. I would not mean any one in particular. Though 
 he would be kind, good-humoured, and he would have means, 
 — he would place the world at your feet." Helen shrank 
 from the suggestion. Madame Reinhard added, laughingly, 
 " You think that nothing, mon amic ; but remember money 
 is freedom's key, and freedom gives us the power of entrance 
 into the spiritual world." 
 
 " I can't bear it, I must not hear of it ! " exclaimed Helen : 
 she rose up suddenly, and passed her hand across her brow, 
 longing, so it seemed, to clear away some weight which pressed 
 upou it. " Gretchen," aud she turned almost fiercely to her 
 friend, " you tempt me." 
 
 " Tempt you, meineliebe/ no," replied Madame Reinhard, 
 in a sweet indifferent tone, as though the subject had scarcely 
 rested for a moment in her mind. " Friends cannot tempt 
 one another in these matters, they can but tell of their own 
 experience. I said but what came into my head, brought 
 there by the sight of Miladi Augusta's face when she met me 
 in the passage. She will not let us long be together, mein 
 Kind:' 
 
 " Was she alone ? " asked Helen, cpuickly. 
 
 " No, there was Monsieur le Capitaine, waiting, despair 
 ing to see you, I suppose." 
 
 " Not to see me ! he is quite aware that I have nothing 
 to say to him," exclaimed Helen. 
 
 Madame Reiuhard made no direct reply, she only said : 
 " Miladi Augusta looked thunder : I could almost have sup- 
 posed she knew my wish. I would carry you off, mon amie." 
 
 " For a drive ? I am engaged to go out with mamma." 
 
 " But you drive with her every day, and I would take 
 you where you would like to go."
 
 Ivors. 89 
 
 " And you really thought mamma would say yes?" asked 
 Helen. 
 
 " I thought I would beg. Miladi Augusta cannot be so 
 very hard, when she has you all day." 
 
 " Try," said Helen, bitterly. 
 
 " She cannot make you such a slave. Only a drive ! " 
 
 " Try," repeated Helen. 
 
 To her surprise, Madame Reinhard rose from her seat, 
 and said, playfully : " I go, and I return conqueror ; " and 
 she left the room. 
 
 Helen sat in the same position, dreaming sadly : a weight 
 was upon her, a sense of entanglement oppressed her, but she 
 did not feel that she had sufficient energy to shake it off. 
 She was sure that Madame Reinhard had some meaning in 
 her proposal, but she could not trouble herself to inquire 
 what it might be. After a few moments the door opened, 
 and Madame Reinhard appeared again, accompanied by Lady 
 Augusta and Captain Mordaunt. The expression of her face 
 was peculiar, — the mouth was grave, the eyes laughed. She 
 left it to Lady Augusta to speak. 
 
 u . Helen, Madame Reinhard tells me that you have a 
 headache, and that a drive in her open carriage will be 
 pleasanter than going out with me in a close one." 
 
 Helen was about to deny the headache, but Madame 
 Reinhard interrupted her, just as she was beginning to an- 
 swer. '" We will have no excuses, mon amie. You are very 
 pale, we think ho, all; the drive will be very good, and Mon- 
 sieur le Capitaine, he also goes for a ride in the park at this 
 hour, and that will be our pleasant escort." 
 
 " Then you had better go at once," continued Lady 
 Augusta; " I wish you to be at home in good time. We 
 shall see you at dinner/' the added, addressing Captain Mor- 
 daunt. 
 
 The unmeaning face, half-hidden by whiskers and a 
 18
 
 90 IVORS. 
 
 moustache, was brightened by a smile, as Captain Mordaunt 
 expressed himself proud to accept the invitation ; and Helen, 
 not being able to object to the arrangement without positive 
 incivility, went to prepare for her drive. 
 
 By what means Madame Reinhard had contrived to gain 
 that one victory, she did not choose to confess to Helen; 
 but it was followed by several others, all of the same kind. 
 One day it might be a visit to a picture gallery, another day 
 to a panorama, or an exhibition of curiosities; the object 
 seemed to be of little consequence to Lady Augusta, as long 
 as Madame Reinhard and Helen were not closeted together, 
 but allowed Captain Mordaunt to attend upon them. Yet 
 she never mentioned his name to Helen in private, neither 
 did Madame Reinhard. His coming or going appeared to 
 be a matter of equal indifference to both, whilst Helen treat- 
 ed him with a coldness, which she believed was a sufficient 
 indication of her sentiments to prevent his being deceived. 
 Only now and then Madame Eeinhard, by some seemingly 
 accidental observation, drew Helen's attention to the fact, 
 that she was more free with Captain Mordaunt than without 
 him. He was undoubtedly very good-natured, and had not 
 mind enough to interfere with the mind of others ; and Helen 
 and her friend were able to carry on in his presence conver- 
 sation which would have been tabooed by Lady Augusta as 
 dangerously liberal. Being certain that she did not care for 
 him, and that he was aware of the fact, Helen by degrees 
 was becoming accustomed to him. The " cousinship " and 
 the long acquaintance were an excuse for a certain amount 
 of convenient familiarity, cleverly fostered by Madame Rein- 
 hard, who took every opportunity of making him useful. 
 
 Helen was very blind to what was going on. Her 
 thoughts were often preoccupied, and the very knowledge 
 that Lady Augusta wished her to encourage Captain Mor- 
 daunt, made it appear impossible that Madame Reinhard, even
 
 IYOKS. 01 
 
 if she were capable of manoeuvring, could Lave the same ob- 
 ject iu view. 
 
 But, for once, the clever, liberal, sophistical Madame 
 Reinhard, and the stern, prejudiced, but equally worldly- 
 minded Lady Augusta Clare, were agreed. 
 
 Madame Reinhard's position in the society to which she 
 had been admitted, was a doubtful onr. She had entered 
 it, as it were, by stealth, introduced by Miss Manners, and 
 a few other would-be literary people, who were fascinated 
 by her quickness of intellect, and amused by the freedom 
 and originality of her foreign manners and habits of thought. 
 But she stood by herself; her husband's tastes were different 
 from her own ; his friends were regarded with suspicion ; 
 and he had neither rank nor fortune sufficient to set the 
 opinion of the world at defiance. Many persons declined 
 an intimacy with Madame Reinhard, because they did not 
 eboose to become acquainted with her husband; others, like 
 Lady Augusta, admitted her to their society for a time, and 
 then were inclined to draw back. She could only be certain 
 of those who were exclusively devoted to the worship of tal- 
 ent, and were content to set aside every prejudice, or even 
 principle, for the sake of its enjoyment. And this did not 
 satisfy her. Professing the most exalted theories of un- 
 worldlincss and contempt for conventionalisms, Madame 
 Reinhard was, in truth, the slave of admiration and the devo- 
 tee of fashion. To be first, wherever she might be, was an 
 absolute essential to her happiness. To be excluded from 
 any society was a sufficient motive to induce her to force her 
 way into it at all hazards. Intercourse with literary people 
 sufficed as long as it was but a stepping-stone to something 
 beyond; but when once she had discovered that there was 
 an inner circle, into which she had not the power of entrance, 
 her vain and restless spirit wearied itself iu endeavours to 
 break through the magic barrier.
 
 92 ivors. 
 
 And Helen might assist her — Helen, with beauty, grace, 
 talent, and fortune, — as the wife of a man who must, before 
 very long, inherit an earldom, would have it in her power, 
 and certainly in her will, to give Madame Reinhard, or any 
 person whom she chose to acknowledge as her friend, admis- 
 sion to the society in which she herself was privileged to 
 move. For Madame Reinhard never distrusted Helen. 
 There is something in truth of character which even the 
 untrue cannot but feel. Helen might be raised to a throne, 
 and Madame Reinhard knew that it would make no diffe- 
 rence in her affection. If they were friends now, when 
 Helen was a young girl, kept under subjection in her father's 
 house, still more would they be friends, when Helen should 
 have rank .and wealth, and freedom, and be able to share 
 them with whomsoever she would. Her house would be 
 Madame Reinhard's house ; her friends Madame Reinhard's 
 friends ; and her husband — that was but a secondary consid- 
 eration; yet much better, surely, was it for Madame Rein- 
 hard's views, that he should be a puppet in her hands, than 
 a man of strong, independent character, bent upon subject- 
 ing his wife to his will. 
 
 Better Captain Mordaunt than Claude Egerton. That 
 was a danger which Madame Reinhard's penetration had 
 discovered at one glance. Past it might be — there was 
 something in Helen's manner, reserved though she had been, 
 which made it probable — but not so past as that its influence 
 was gone. And Madame Reinhard smiled in scorn, as she 
 dwelt upon the obstacles which had arisen in her path, and 
 in her secret heart vowed that Helen Clare should, before 
 another month was over, consent to be the future Countess 
 of Harford.
 
 ivoks. 93 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 " Well, Claude, my good fellow ! glad to see you ! " was 
 the Admiral's greeting, as Claude sat down by the gouty 
 chair, and began to inquire after bis health. The Admiral's 
 weather-beaten face was looking pale and deeply wrinkled 
 that morning; his eyes bad lost their brightness, and the 
 tone of his voice was hollow, though its accent was cheeiful. 
 He did not seem inclined, as usual, to dilate upon his many 
 maladies; rather he turned with an interest, which had 
 somewhat of anxiety mingled with it, to Claude's account of 
 his own doings. " And so you have been down at Helmsley 
 for a day or two, seeing after your people ? how did you 
 make your business with the House suit with that?" 
 
 " I managed to pair off," was Claude's reply. " There 
 was nothing very important coming on, and I wanted to get 
 away very much," he added, in a lower tone. 
 
 " Hard work for j-ou, my boy ; late hours ! they don't 
 suit, I'm afraid. You must n't wear yourself out before 
 your time." 
 
 " No great matter, dear sir, if I do. There won't be too 
 many tears shed for me." 
 
 "Nonsense, Claude!" and the Admiral roused himself 
 to energy. " I won't have any such folly. No tears shed 
 for you ! Why, if a man feels that he is worth enough to 
 make him shed tears for himself, there is reason sufficient to 
 prevent his throwing away his life. I shall think you are 
 but a woman, after all, with such nniiscii.se." 
 
 " Bttt you must alhnv," said Claude, " that the consider- 
 ation will have sonic influence. One can imagine fathers 
 ami mothers, for instance, only wishing for life, because of 
 the loss their death will be to their children.' 5
 
 94 ivors. 
 
 " Well, then, marry, and be a father yourself, and then 
 yon will have something to live for." 
 
 Every muscle in Claude's face was rigidly strained, 
 whilst the Admiral's eye was fixed upon him. Very slowly, 
 but with perfect calmness, he answered : " I have no wish 
 to marry at present." 
 
 .The Admiral's first movement showed irritation; the 
 next instant he laid his rough hand upon Claude's, and said, 
 " My poor boy ! " and tears stood in his failing eyes. After 
 a momentary pause, he added, impatiently, " You should n't 
 be in London to come across that girl." 
 
 It required a great, great effort to speak, but Claude made 
 it. He said firmly, " I feel that it is best we should meet, 
 sir, and I am very thankful that we have done so. It will 
 be much less painful the second time." 
 
 " To you, perhaps ; as for her. she does n't care enough 
 to feel more or less pain." 
 
 " I cannot flatter myself she does," replied Claude; " and 
 in a certain way that fact makes my task more easy." 
 
 " What task ? you have done with her ? you have had 
 enough of her ? " exclaimed the Admiral. 
 
 Claude's answer was a faint attempt at a smile. 
 
 The Admiral became suddenly grave. " I'll tell you 
 what, Claude, my boy," he said ; " there 's no cure for all 
 this but marriage — marriage for you and marriage for her; 
 and take my word for it, she '11 be the first to set you the 
 example. Even now, I know from very good authority, that 
 she's on the high road to it; and when she has thrown her- 
 self away upon that jackanape cousin of hers, for the sake 
 of being one day a countess, then I suppose there '11 be some 
 chance of your friends seeing you a happy, domestic man.' 
 
 "Miss Clare is engaged then to Captain Mordauut?' 
 began Claude, coldly. 
 
 "Miss Clare ! don't talk of Miss Clare to me!" inter 
 
 >
 
 ivors. 95 
 
 rupted the Admiral; " Helen is the only name I know her 
 by now ; fair and false as her namesake. As to her being 
 engaged or not, I won't venture to say; you know well 
 enough, engagements are not matters of much consequence 
 to her. But any how, she's flirting with him till she's the 
 talk of London. You see, Claude, though I do sit in my 
 gouty chair, with my back to the light, I can tell how the 
 world goes. What's the matter? what are you after?" he 
 added, as Claude rose up and stood fronting the fire-place. 
 
 Claiule turned round directly. " Very likely the report 
 is true, sir. In a worldly point of view it will be a very 
 good connection." 
 
 " And you won't fret your life out about it? " 
 
 " I wish she may be happy, sir : you will allow me that 
 wish." 
 
 " And I wish you may be happy, my dear boy. There, 
 come and sit down by me : don't mind ; though you may be 
 a man to others, you are a boy to me — my boy, and its nat- 
 ural enough for me to think as I do. Time goes on, and 
 health and strength go with it, and before long I sh'a'nt be 
 able to say what I would. God knows, Claude, how fathers 
 love their children. 'T was His will to shut up that joy from 
 me; yet He has given me a taste of it too. There are few 
 fathers who would do more for their sons than I would for 
 you ; and when I think of lying down in my grave, the weight 
 which lies heaviest on my heart is the thought that you may 
 go through life as I have gone through it myself." 
 
 Claude looked surprised, but before he could speak the 
 Admiral continued : " I know what you would say. I 've 
 b i.ii a fortunate man, a prosperous, an honoured man. No 
 one, to the best of my belief, will say an ill word of me after 
 my death, and many have said good words of nic during my 
 lit'.'. God be thanked for both. But, (Maude, 1 haven't 
 been a happy man. There's been a want. Look! " and he
 
 06 IVOKS. 
 
 drew forth a small locket attached to a hair chain ; — " would 
 you think now that an old fellow, verging towards eighty, 
 would be such a fool ? that he would care still for that 
 which is now only a remembrance of one who is an angel in 
 Paradise; and who didn't love him — Claude, didn't love 
 him," he repeated, with an accent of mournful bitterness. 
 " Ah ! we are all more weak than we choose to own ; and 
 seventy years of this world's storms have n't sufficed to make 
 me look upon that trinket as what it is ; a bit of childish 
 memory ; a love-token from a little one who did n't know 
 what love meant. How other men manage I can't say, it's 
 seen a problem many a time ; perchance, they don't feel as 
 I felt ; but one thing I have learnt, Claude, from my own 
 experience, and it's the legacy of advice I'd fain give to you. 
 Don't cherish your sorrow : when God breaks our idols in 
 pieces, it is n't for us to put the broken bits together again. 
 I did it. For years I nursed my grief, and wouldn't part 
 from it, and when I would fain have rid myself of it, it was 
 too late. I had grown suspicious, and felt myself disagree- 
 able, and thought that no woman could ever be brought to 
 care for me, and so I never could bring myself to ask her if 
 she would try ; and then I became what I am now ; an old 
 bachelor, a weariness and a trouble." 
 
 Claude interrupted him : " Never, sir, never ; think of 
 Mrs. Graham, of her children; think of me. Is there any- 
 thing a son would do for a father which I would not do for 
 you ? " 
 
 The old man laid his hand upon Claude's head : " God 
 bless you, my boy, for being a blessing to me. Yes, He has 
 been very merciful ; but it is written, — many and many a 
 time have the words come to me almost as a reproach, — ' It 
 is not good for man to be alone.' And it is true, Claude : 
 women are not alone like men, when they have reached old- 
 age without being married. Their hearts are softer, they
 
 ivoes. 97 
 
 form more ties ; they have more loving ways. All their 
 lives through, for the most part, they have lived in families, 
 and so the families cling to them, and become theirs. But 
 men are very solitary, Claude ; for the greater part of their 
 life society shuts them in as by walls : they have no choice ; 
 their friends must be men ; and one man may have a great 
 regard for another, they may be very dear friends, but there's 
 seldom anything softening, there's not enough tenderness in 
 the love ; and a man wants that even for his good. The na- 
 ture is hard, and the world makes it harder, and if there's no 
 woman's influence to melt it, ten to one but he lives for him- 
 self, and his selfish needs, and so the good that is in him 
 never puts itself forth. I should have been a better man, 
 Claude, if I had married : married, that is, well and wisely." 
 
 " Yes, if one could marry well and wisely," exclaimed 
 Claude, hastily. 
 
 " To be sure ; that's the point. Better go down to your 
 grave lonely, than with a trouble which will eat into your 
 vitals; and there's none will do that sooner than a senseless 
 wife. But the fault is, Claude, in thinking that because you 
 can't have the first thing you wish for, you won't do very 
 well with the second." 
 
 " The loss of the first may destroy all inclination for the 
 second," said Claude. 
 
 " A burnt child dreads the fire, eh ? But you don't 
 mean to tell me that there are n't fifty, — a hundred women, 
 better worth having in the world than that butterfly girl, 
 Helen Clare ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, sir ; not the least, as far as the 
 taste of other men is concerned, or even according to my 
 own judgment." 
 
 "But you don't choose to seek them out," said the A.d- 
 miral, in a disappointed tone. 
 
 " Once deceived, deceived forever," said (Maude, sternly.
 
 98 ivoes. 
 
 A gleam of quick intelligence brightened the Admiral's 
 eyes. " Ah ! my boy ! I understand. That's the harm. 
 It's what we all do to each other, more or less. No one of 
 us can fall from a pinnacle without shaking those who stand 
 on the pinnacles round us. But perchance, Claude, there 
 may be some placed on pinnacles who had no right to be 
 there ; and the fault then may be with those who put them 
 there." 
 
 " Very likely, sir, very likely," said Claude, in a tone of 
 impatience, which showed how distasteful the subject was to 
 him. But the Admiral would not let him escape. 
 
 " You must bear with me, my dear boy ; you must let 
 me say my say. There may n't be so many opportunities 
 left; and I have it at heart, Claude. It's a yearning I have 
 to see you married." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Claude, incredulously. 
 
 " Yes, you may n't think it ; but if it had been that you 
 had married Helen Clare, I believe I should have been bet- 
 ter pleased than to see you as you are. You are n't made 
 for the life." 
 
 " I shall become used to it, no doubt," said Claude. 
 
 " Use ! It's nature, not use, that makes a man fit to be 
 an old bachelor. There are men made for it, with large 
 hearts but cold temperaments; who love widely, but not 
 deeply ; who have their work put before them when they en- 
 ter life, and who can throw themselves into it, and make it 
 their object. We must all marry something, Claude, or we 
 could n't live : and some marry principles, and some duties, 
 and some fame, and not a few marry themselves. But it's 
 not in you, by nature, to do either ; and if you don't find a 
 wife to your taste, and that before long, the want will canker 
 and eat out all the soft parts of your nature." 
 
 " That has not been your case, sir," said Claude. 
 
 Perhaps not entirely. But yours would be worse than
 
 ivors. 99 
 
 mine. We are not alike. You are shut up. I open to 
 everybody, and so everybody opens to me. If you don't take 
 care, Claude, you'll begin by acting coldness, and you'll end 
 by feeling it. That's a danger which young people don't 
 think of; but it's a true one." 
 
 Claude was silent and thoughtful : then, as with a sudden 
 recollection of duty, he turned to the Admiral, and said, 
 '• You are right, sir, I know. If I can't talk about it, I 
 feel it," 
 
 " Afft, man, act ! I would n't give a farthing for feeling 
 without action." 
 
 Claude smiled faintly. 
 
 The Admiral leaned back in his chair, looking very tired. 
 He sighed ; and Claude stood up to go, and yet lingered. 
 
 " Shall I ask Mrs. Graham to come to you, sir ? " he 
 said. 
 
 '.' She's out," was the Admiral's short reply. <: Pour out 
 my medicine, Claude ; it's time I should take it." 
 
 " Is Miss Graham at home ? " inquired Claude, as he put 
 the glass into the Admiral's hand. 
 
 The glass was rested upon the table, and the old man's 
 e}-e sparkled. " You'll find her in the drawing-room, she 
 had been reading to me before you came ; the other girls 
 went with their mother." 
 
 " I shall only disturb her, I am afraid," said Claude, 
 coldly. 
 
 The Admiral drank off his nauseous draught, and an- 
 swered quickly, "Not a bit, man. Faugh! where are the 
 bis< nits? one -would think it was ink. Not a bit likely to 
 disturb her, if you've anything to say." 
 
 " Only a question to ask," said Claude, doubtfully. 
 
 " She'll answer it : she's always ready, lling the bell 
 for Barnes ; he must rub my foot." 
 
 Barnes came. * Miss Graham in the drawing-room, 
 Barnes ? "
 
 100 IVORS. 
 
 " I believe so, sir." 
 
 " Right ; I told you so." The Admiral addressed Claude; 
 " She'll come here, if you like it best." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! thank you ! I -would not on any account 
 give her the trouble. I merely wanted to ask for the address 
 of a German lady she knows slightly." 
 
 " She'll give it you. She's sure to do it. Better go and 
 ask her." And Claude assented, though rather as if he were 
 speaking in a dream. And the Admiral, in spite of his wea- 
 riness, smiled, as he leaned back in his chair and muttered to 
 himself, " I will do it, after all." 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 " Affairs seem making progress, my dear friend," said Mis3 
 Manners, as she entered Lady Augusta's boudoir ; having 
 just seen Helen set off for her ride in the park with her 
 father and, as a necessary attendant, Captain Mordaunt. 
 
 Lady Augusta continued to work at her carpet with an 
 air of severe industry. " I leave all these things, Julia, my 
 love. Helen will take her own way. I don't think of 
 them." 
 
 "But your heart must be deeply interested in them," 
 continued Miss Manners. " It is impossible to watch the 
 course of a devoted attachment without being so." 
 
 " My heart, I am thankful to say, is not deeply interested 
 in any worldly events, Julia," replied Lady Augusta. " Look 
 at this lily, my love. Do you think the shades are exact ? 
 I have been examining them for the last ten minutes minutely, 
 and can't yet make up my mind. It would be sadly disap- 
 pointing to find they are wrong; and I have no time left to
 
 IVORS. 
 
 101 
 
 alter ; the work must be finished by the eighteenth, or it 
 won't be ready for the consecration." 
 
 Miss Manners brought her near-sighted eyes close to the 
 delicate work, looked at it in every direction, and decided 
 that she could not tell. She thought it possible there was a 
 difference, but she was not sure; she hoped not, but then she 
 was afraid ; in fact, she was no judge. 
 
 Lady Augusta rang the bell. " Excuse me, Julia, but I 
 must have the point determined, everything depends on it." 
 And sea'ting herself at her writing desk, she wrote a note to 
 be taken with the work to the Berlin warehouse, where the 
 experienced sorter and arranger of wools was to decide the 
 question. Then she turned to Miss Manners wiih a relieved 
 countenance. 
 
 " You will forgive me, my love ; you don't enter into 
 these things ; " and a sigh followed the words. " But you 
 were speaking of Helen ! did you meet her ? " 
 
 "Looking lovely," replied Miss Manners; "and with 
 spirits so brilliant, so exuberant ; certainly there is nothing 
 like the first freshness of youthful animation." 
 
 " No," replied Lady Augusta, solemnly ; " it is, indeed, a 
 great snare. I find Helen becoming more and more worldly, 
 Julia. She refuses to go with me to the consecration next 
 ■week, av.d I shall be obliged to have recourse, as usual, to 
 her father's authority. I should have thought that, after the 
 example I have set, the advice I have given, her eyes would 
 have been opened, but she 13 wilfully blind." 
 
 " The sympathies of married life will probably do much 
 for her," replied Miss Manners; "I have seen many girls 
 change in a wonderful way, when they have found a heart to 
 respond to their own. Lady Louisa Stuart and I have been 
 discoursing upon this subject for nearly an hour this morn- 
 ing. Of course you know her happiness? " 
 
 " Louisa Stuart ! happiness ! " exclaimed Lady Augusta,
 
 102 IVORS. 
 
 quite forgettiog in excitement her measured solemnity of 
 manner : " you don't mean to say, Julia, that she is going to 
 be married ; why, she is nearly fifty." 
 
 " She has found a heart to beat in unison with her own," 
 replied Miss Manners. " True, — it has known less of the 
 world's troubles by twenty years ; but what is time when feel- 
 ings are young ? Lady Louisa was sweetly confidential with 
 me on the occasion, and talked much of you and of dear 
 Helen, regretting that she had formerly thrown away a chance 
 of happiness, and wishing that she could share her joy." 
 
 Lady Augusta's foot patted the floor, as in a very gruff 
 tone she inquired who the man was. 
 
 " He is foreign, my love, — Polish, — a Polish count, — an 
 exile — most intellectual, — beautifully refined, — sensitive, — so 
 Lady Louisa tells me, — -to the most extreme degree. I be- 
 lieve she met him at a soiree given by Madame Eeinhard." 
 
 Lady Augusta nearly started from her seat. " Madame 
 Eeinhard ! that woman is at the bottom of half the mischief 
 in England. It is an absurdity, Julia. A Polish exile ! 
 Louisa Stuart throw herself away upon a refugee ! It is 
 monstrous; not to be believed." 
 
 " Kay, my dear friend ; quite true," replied Miss Man- 
 ners, drawing herself up with dignity ; " and, however you 
 may think fit to condemn Madame Reinhard, you must ac- 
 knowledge that her society is sought by the most enlarged 
 and cultivated minds in London." 
 
 " I care not a whit for their cultivation," exclaimed Ladv 
 Augusta. " Ydu frighten me, Julia ; you have lost all com- 
 mon sense. This German woman has bewitched you. 
 Louisa ! my cousin ! my first cousin ! so very intimate as we 
 have been ! She will be the laughing-stock of London. I 
 can't imagine, Julia, why you don't see the excessive impro- 
 priety of the whole thing." 
 
 " Lady Louisa judges for herself, my dear," said Miss 
 Manners.
 
 IVOKS. 103 
 
 " And Helen will some clay, I suppose, judge for herself," 
 continued Lady Augusta, " adopting as she does Madame 
 Beiuhard's tone ; we shall have her following the example, 
 and uniting herself to a Polish infant in long clothes. But 
 .it must be ended ; I won't bear it. Helen shall not keep 
 me any longer in such torturing suspense." 
 
 "I don't understand, my dear," began Miss Manners; 
 " it is difficult to understand the connection of ideas." 
 
 " Of course not, of course not," exclaimed Lady Augusta. 
 " Forgive me, my love. I am chafed, fretted." She took 
 out her watch. " Four o'clock ! I have shopping to do ; but 
 I shall leave it. I shall go into the park, then to church. 
 I require soothing. These worldly anxieties are too much 
 for me." 
 
 The bell was rung again. " Order the carriage directly. 
 If Captain Mordauut calls, tell him we expect him at dinner. 
 And John " — as the servant was about to leave the room, he 
 was recalled, — " when my parcel is brought back from the 
 Berlin warehouse, let me have it immediately, without delay. 
 I must ease my mind at least upon that point," murmured 
 Lady Augusta to herself, as she stood before the window in 
 a moody reverie. 
 
 An observation made in a very reproachful tone disturbed 
 her : '• Really, Augusta, you perplex me very much ; these 
 sudden storms of feeling are what I am not prepared for." 
 
 Lady Augusta turned round slowly; her excitement was 
 quite gone. " My dear Julia," she said, " it is impossible 
 that you should be; we live indifferent atmospheres; we 
 breathe a different air. When you have known the respon- 
 sibility of a mother's charge you will comprehend, not till 
 then. But don't be alarmed. I shall not allow myself to be 
 overcome; the emotion is but temporary. I doubt not that 
 1 shall, ere long, see my dear Helen's best interests provided 
 for, and !»■ at liberty to seek repose. Till then, my. lore.
 
 104 IVORS. 
 
 think of me, and pray for me." Lady Augusta pressed her 
 friend's hand tenderly, and left her, saying, " You will come 
 to us, this evening, Julia ; " an invitation which was declined 
 with all due protestations of lasting aifection and sympathy. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 Lady Augusta changed her intention before she reached 
 the Park. The order was given to drive to Cavendish Square ; 
 she wished to call on Mrs. Graham and Admiral Clare, — 
 the last wish that was likely to arise in Lady Augusta's 
 mind, except from some feeling of necessity. 
 
 "Is your master able to see me, Barnes?" was her 
 softly-uttered inquiry, as Barnes made his appearance in the 
 hall. 
 
 " I will inquires my lady." Barnes knew his duty too 
 well to admit Lady Augusta without preparation. Mrs. 
 Graham was out. Miss Graham at home. Lady Augusta 
 was shown into the drawing-room ; Susan sat there alone ; 
 work was in her hand, but her fingers were not moving. A 
 man's glove lay on the table ; her eyes were fixed on it so 
 intensely, and her thoughts were so deeply engaged, that she 
 did not perceive Lady Augusta's entrance. 
 
 A kiss on her forehead was almost the first intimation 
 she received of the presence of her visitor. " My love, it is 
 an age since we met. How are you ? You are looking 
 charmingly well." Susan happened to be very pale that af- 
 ternoon, but lady Augusta knew her speech by heart, and 
 would not be put out by facts. 
 
 " How is Helen ? " asked Susan. It was the question 
 which from childhood she had invariably asked after one of
 
 IVORS. 105 
 
 Lady Augusta's salutations. It seemed the shortest way of 
 putting an end to them. 
 
 " Helen is tolerable, my love ; she is gone out riding with 
 her father and Captain Morduant. She rides nearly every 
 day now. I wish you had a horse and could ride with her ; 
 it would be such a delight." 
 
 " Helen said something about it one day," replied Susan ; 
 " and the Admiral was very kind, and told her he would hire 
 a horse for me, if I liked ; but I am rather afraid of riding 
 horses !• don't know, in London ; and there are so many other 
 things to be done." 
 
 " Yes ; so much to see for those who come to London 
 but seldom! Your dear mamma I am afraid is not at 
 home ? " 
 
 " She went out with Isabella and Anna," replied Susan. 
 
 " They were to go to the Polytechnic, I think ; Anna had 
 never seen it."' 
 
 " And they left you alone. Too bad that seems, but you 
 have such resources. I often wish I could give Helen your 
 habits of industry." 
 
 " She does not need them in the same way," replied 
 Susan. " She has so many engagements." 
 
 "Ah! my dear, so you may think; but engagements 
 abroad dtfnH make up for want of interest at home, and Helen 
 
 is sadly wanting in interest; she has been so ever since 
 
 that was a very unfortunate business of poor Claude's." 
 
 Susan could scarcely conceal her surprise. This was the 
 first time that Lady Augusta had ever approached the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " But I hope she may be getting over it," continued Lady 
 Augusta! " At her age it is not possible that the morbid 
 feelings in which she indulged at first should last ; and so I 
 trust, my love, we may yet sec her happy. Her cousin, Cap- 
 tain Mordaunt, is devotedly attached to her."
 
 106 IVORS. 
 
 " And is Helen going to marry him ? " inquired Susan 
 hastily. 
 
 " My dear, you ask me a question of which I know as 
 little as yourself. Helen is a mystery to me. She shuts 
 herself up from me. She has but one friend now, a German 
 lady; I think you have seen her — Madame Reinkard." 
 
 " Yes, I know Helen is very fond of her," said Susan. 
 
 " Quite spell-bound, my love. I have no power to with- 
 stand it. And it pains me — you can well imagine — after the 
 very careful education which I gave to my dear child, that 
 she should fix her affections upon a stranger, a foreigner ; it 
 has beon a great grief to me, Susan." 
 
 " Helen once told me that Madame Reinhard was such a 
 relief in the solitude of the country, that she could not help 
 being fond of her," replied Susan. 
 
 Lady Augusta's countenance was clouded. " Helen had 
 no right to say that, my dear. If I have kept her from ordi- 
 nary country society, it has been in order to elevate and re- 
 fine her taste, not to lower it. But let that be as it may, 
 Helen is fast getting beyond my influence : but I have great 
 confidence in you, Susan." 
 
 Susan was silent ; she did not comprehend. 
 
 " Yes," continued Lady Augusta ; " I feel that it is in 
 your power to do much for my poor, wilful child ; and it has 
 been a subject of great regret that from circumstances she 
 has been thrown so little with you. Since dear Claude's 
 alienation, Helen has had no true friend. Ah ! he would 
 have guided her so well, Susan." 
 
 Lady Augusta's tone had a reality in it which for once 
 quite deceived Susan, and she answered with hearty sympa- 
 thy, that they had all felt very sorry for him and for cveiy 
 one. 
 
 " I feel assured of it, my love. I can at all times depend 
 upon your entering into my feelings, and I think now I may 
 look to you for aid."
 
 IVOKS. 107 
 
 Susans countenance spoke her surprise very plainly. 
 
 " I see, my love, that you don't understandnie," continued 
 Lady Augusta : " but I am sure you will allow me to be con- 
 fidential with you. This friendship of Helen's troubles me. 
 I don't know how to put a stop to it. Sir Henry is so indul- 
 gent, he won't interfere. A step-mother's position is a very 
 difficult one, Susan ; it is always looked upon with suspicion, 
 and Helen is naturally inclined to rebel against authority. 
 What I want is a frieud who will enter into my views, who 
 will be a friend to Helen also : am I mistaken, dear child, 
 in thinking that I may look to you '? " 
 
 Susan murmured something about her mother, it was the 
 only way which presented itself of escaping what her instinct 
 told her was likely to be a very disagreeable proposition. 
 
 " Ah ! but, my love, that won't epiite do. It is a friend 
 of her own age that Helen requires — an influence which she 
 will not suspect. Surely, Susan, you would help ? " 
 
 " I can't see what I am to do," was Susan's blunt reply. 
 
 " Tact, my dear ; that is the great desideratum, and I 
 am sure you possess it " 
 
 " I am afraid not," said Susan. " I speak my mind too 
 plainly." 
 
 " That simple sincerity ! Helen will value it above all 
 things. It will be a counterpoise to Madame Reiuhard's in- 
 fluence. You could not come and stay with us, Susan ?" 
 
 " Thank you, no ; impossible ! " exclaimed Susan, who 
 could not help remembering that she had been in London 
 for several weeks, and had received from Lady Augusta only 
 the bare civilities of distant acquaintance, until now there 
 was a motive for a show of affection. 
 
 " Why impossible, my love ? Surely your dear mother 
 will spare you, and Anna and Isabella are so good and use- 
 ful." 
 
 " The Admiral won't like it," said Susan.
 
 108 IVOKS. 
 
 " Poor, dear old man ! I suppose not ; but he must be 
 humoured ; we must come round hiui. I can't accept a re- 
 fusal." 
 
 Susan's eye wandered round the room to escape Lady 
 Augusta's gaze, which was so determined it almost compelled 
 her to say yes. 
 
 In her confusion she moved a book near her, and Claude's 
 glove fell to the ground ; she stooped to pick it up. Lady 
 Augusta glanced at it inquiringly, as it was laid upon the 
 table, but she made no remark, only repeated and insisted 
 upon her request. 
 
 Susan felt a little more inclined to yield. It seemed 
 impossible that she could do harm, and she might do good ; 
 and she felt very uneasy about Helen. It did not appear 
 right to allow her dislike to Lady Augusta to stand in the 
 way. In a more cordial tone she replied, that she would 
 talk to her mother, and send Lady Augusta a written an- 
 swer ; she felt much obliged for the invitation ; with a few 
 more civil speeches of the same kind, which were interrupted 
 by a perfect hailstorm of thanks from Lady Augusta, whe 
 immediately began to enter more fully into what she callec 1 
 her views. 
 
 Susan heard them with an uncomfortable feeling. She 
 was requested to be as much as possible with Heleu and Ma- 
 dame Reinhard, to take care that Helen formed no new ac- 
 quaintances amongst Madame Reiuhard's friends; in fact, 
 to counteract indirectly the German influence which, for 
 some reason that Lady Augusta evidently did not choose to 
 confess, was still allowed the opportunity of working upon 
 Helen's mind. Susan detested anything approaching to 
 management and plan She was again upon the point of de- 
 clining the invitation at once, but Lady Augusta did not 
 give her the opportunity. Of course, she said, Susan could 
 not decide without consulting her mother; but a refusal was
 
 IVORS. 109 
 
 not to be heard of. It would be the greatest possible com- 
 fort to know that a third person, and such a person, was 
 present when Madame Reinhard and Helen were together. 
 
 " But must they be together ? " asked Susan, feeling 
 more and more, that if she was helping Lady Augusta out 
 of a difficulty, she might be helping herself into one. 
 
 " My love, there are reasons— you would scarcely believe 
 it, but Helen has few persons to take an interest in her. We 
 have many friends, but they all have their engagements — 
 the London world is sadly selfish. And you know, Helen 
 and I are very different, our tastes lie quite in an opposite 
 direction. It would be impossible for me to follow her to 
 all the frivolities on which her heart is set. And Madame 
 Reinhard makes herself useful, so that I don't venture to in- 
 terfere. Helen, indeed, seems to take pleasure in forming 
 engagements which interfere with my one hour of rest in 
 church ; very different from you, my love." 
 
 " We generally go to the morning service," said Susan ; 
 " that interferes with no one." 
 
 " Ah ! if health would permit ! But late hours, late 
 breakfasts : what is to be done ? But I must not stay and 
 talk, my dear, though I could willingly. Can I see the old 
 Admiral for a few minutes ? " 
 
 Lady Augusta was shown into the library. The Admi- 
 ral tried to look his best. He detested condolences, but 
 they formed a necessary part of Lady Augusta's formulas. 
 He contrived, however, to cut them short. 
 
 " Your ladyship gives yourself too much trouble in ask- 
 ing so many questions, lam as well as pleases God; not 
 quite so well as pleases myself. I should be back in the 
 country if it weren't for Trances Graham, or rather her 
 children." 
 
 " You are good to them, my dear sir." 
 
 "Not at all good. They put themselves out of their
 
 110 rv-OEs: 
 
 way to eorac to London when I wanted to see my doctor, 
 and it's only fair that I should put myself out of mine when 
 they want to see all there is to be seen." 
 
 " But it must be a great enjoyment to them. Dear Su- 
 san, however, seems less energetic than the rest ; I found her 
 sitting thoughtfully alone in the drawing-room." 
 
 " Susan stayed at home because she had a cold. She 
 has n't been alone very long ; Claude Egerton was there talk- 
 ing to her not half an hour ago." The Admiral felt some- 
 thing like a naughty child in saying this : he hoped to teaze 
 Lady Augusta, and was quite aware that he should not have 
 done it if Mrs. Graham had been present. 
 
 But Lady Augusta was imperturbable. She did not even 
 betray that her curiosity was satisfied in having discovered 
 the owner of the glove. 
 
 " Poor Claude ! He is a frequent visitor here, I sup- 
 pose," she replied. " I was glad to hear a friend say, the 
 other day, that his spirits were rallying." 
 
 The Admiral laughed bitterly. " Your ladyship thinks 
 with Shakspeare, ' Men have died, and worms have eaten 
 them ; but not for love.' I believe you are right. Claude 
 Egerton is too sensible a man for that. I suppose we are 
 to congratulate Miss Helen upon being prospective Countess 
 of Harford." 
 
 " My dear Admiral, that is looking very far forward. 
 No ; T don't allow my mind to dwell upon such remote pro- 
 babilities — possibilities perhaps I ought to call them : I wish 
 to dwell only in the present. Life is so very uncertain ; and 
 one may never live to sec what now seems close at hand. I 
 shall feel for poor Claude if ever the time should come." 
 
 " Feel for him ! " thundered the Admiral. " He doesn't 
 want any one to feel for him. I beg your ladyship's par- 
 don, but Claude Egerton can never be in want of a wife 
 when he chooses to ask for one."
 
 IYOES. Ill 
 
 " I quite understand, my dear Admiral, quite sympathise 
 with you : yes, indeed, dear Claude is a very noble fellow ! 
 I only feel sorry that he should have fixed his affections so 
 unfortunately, and been so exigeant. He pressed the thing 
 — no woman can bear that ; but then Claude was never ac- 
 customed to women." 
 
 " Not to such women ! " murmured the Admiral to him- 
 self. He said aloud, rather sulkily, " I suppose Sir Henry 
 i3 too busy to come and see an old uncle ? " 
 
 '• He-is very busy, at the House every night; but he 
 would certainly find time for you, if he thought you had the 
 slightest feeling upon the matter." 
 
 " I don't say I have," muttered the Admiral ; then vexed 
 with himself, he added with childlike candour, " I should n't 
 care to see him if he came only for duty." 
 
 " But he will be delighted, he will be rejoiced to talk 
 ov.-r public matters with you, and he will tell you about dear 
 Claude's success. We naturally take a deep interest in his 
 career. I have heard many most eminent opinions about 
 him ; all agree he is likely to be one of the most distinguished 
 men of his day." 
 
 " Humbug ! " was the word which came most readily to 
 the Admiral's lips ; yet he could not help inquiring a little 
 more minutely into the eminent opinions ; and Lady Au- 
 gusta repeated, aud enlarged upon them, and detailed a few 
 anecdotes, and touched upon public topics so as to give the 
 Admiral just the opportunity of contradicting her, which he 
 enjoyed. He really thought at last that he had so put her 
 down, that he could afford to be generous and civil, and then 
 Lady Augusta seized her moment, and brought forward the 
 subject which had been upon her mind from the beginning — 
 Susan's visit. 
 
 The Admiral grumbled, — would give no opinion, — thought 
 Susan would be much better at home, — did not know what
 
 112 IVORS. 
 
 her mother would say, — but he was by no means decidedly 
 antagonistic ; and Lady Augusta, having learnt from long 
 experience to " let well alone," took care not to thank him 
 too much, but hurried to her carriage, and drove to church, 
 to exhibit herself in her favourite character of unworldliness, 
 and to congratulate herself that her friends would no longer 
 find fault with her for allowing Helen to associate exclusively 
 with Madame Reinhard. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 ? Susan, are you dressed for dinner already ? " said Helen, 
 coming into her cousin's room at Grosvenor Place. 
 
 " I had something to read which I wished particularly to 
 finish," said Susan; " so I dressed first, that I might not be 
 hurried." 
 
 u And you are not in a humour to talk then ? Yet I 
 have seen nothing of you yet." 
 
 " Is Madame Reinhard gone? " asked Susan. 
 
 " Yes, for the present " — and Helen sighed, and sat down 
 in the easy chair, determined not to be sent away. 
 
 " You have had a long conversation with her," said 
 Susan ; " you began before Lady Augusta and I went to 
 Church." 
 
 Helen looked up quickly. " So odd that is in you, Susan, 
 to go to church with mamma ! and you are not in the least a 
 humbug — Madame Reinhard says so." 
 
 " I am much obliged to her for her good opinion," replied 
 Susan, rather haughtily. 
 
 " You don't like Madame Reinhard ; you have a pre- 
 judice against her, but you will come round. She does you 
 more justice than you to her."
 
 IVORS. 113 
 
 " Because slie allows that I am Dot a humbug ? " ashed 
 Susau, ironically. 
 
 " That does not mean, I hope, that you think her one ! " 
 exclaimed Helen, almost angrily. 
 
 " Oh no, I would not for the world say that, yet I should 
 think it possible she deceives herself." 
 
 " She has a great deal to say for her opinions," replied 
 Helen. 
 
 " So have most persons who form them according to their 
 wishes."* 
 
 " She has a great deal to say for her opinions," again re- 
 peated Helen, speaking to herself ; then looking up suddenly 
 at Susan, she said : " If you were a slave, Susan, should you 
 think it any sin to run away ? " 
 
 " I don't, suppose I should ; at any rate, it would be a 
 sore temptation." 
 
 "A sore temptation!" repeated Helen; "one would 
 risk life for freedom, and why not happiness ? " she added, 
 in an under tone. It seemed as though she were mocking 
 her own words. 
 
 Susan looked at her sadly. " Helen," she said, " Ma- 
 dame Ileinhard, whatever pleasure she may give you, fails in 
 making you thoroughly happy." 
 
 " In that respect she is like every one else," replied 
 Helen ; " when have I ever been happy ? " 
 
 " In your childhood, when we played together by the 
 lake, and made huts in the wood, and said we would love 
 each other all our lives." 
 
 Helen shook her head. " No, Susan, no ; you are mis- 
 taken, I was not happy then. I lived in my own imaginations, 
 hut I was not deceived by them; I knew them to he unreal, 
 and all my life T have been searching for reality, and have 
 never found it." 
 
 '• And do yon think that Madame Ileinhard will give it 
 
 vou ?" asked Susan. 
 ° 19
 
 114 IVORS. 
 
 " At least she longs for it, as I do," replied Helen ; " we 
 can search for it together. Ah ! Susan, you can little com- 
 prehend the charm there is in that thought ; you who have 
 enjoyed sympathy always." 
 
 " Sympathy in my better feelings," said Susan, " not in 
 my fancies. My mother guided me, Helen — that has heen 
 my blessing." 
 
 " And I have had no guide," exclaimed Helen. " Mam- 
 ma thinks she is my guide, and asserts a power over me ; but 
 how can I submit my reason to forms, — shams ? Truth ! 
 give me but truth. If it be not mine now, let me be free to 
 seek it. Surely it is one's first duty," she added, her large, 
 speaking eyes bent upon Susan with a look of keen, eager, 
 restless earnestness. 
 
 A sense of fear, — of some unknown evil, stole over Su- 
 san's heart. She drew near to Helen, and knelt beside her, 
 and said gently : " Helen, you have something on your mind 
 which makes you speak in this way." 
 
 " Only a question, a doubt," and Helen laughed, a sharp, 
 harsh laugh. " If I were Louisa Stuart, I would make 
 Shakspeare my mouthpiece : — 
 
 " To be or not to be, that is tbe question : — 
 Whetber 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 Tbe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end tbem ? " 
 
 But you don't understand, we won't talk any more ; it is all 
 nonsense — nothing. Tell me — you have n't told me yet — 
 how did you make your mother and the old Admiral con- 
 sent to your coming here ? " 
 
 " By telling them I should like it," replied Susan : " but 
 Helen, I am not going to let you treat me in this strange 
 fashion."
 
 IVORS, 115 
 
 Helen interrupted her, " Telling them you liked it ! 
 When I say I like it, I have nay : "would you bear that ? " 
 
 " Helen, dearest, you won't be lectured by me, or I could 
 lecture." 
 
 ^ "I will be — yes, I will : " and Helen's manner changed 
 suddenly, and she became grave and gentle. " I love you, 
 Susan ; you would be my better angel — you would give me 
 rest if you could." 
 
 u I would try to show you where rest is to be found," 
 said Susan. " You seek it in yourself, and it is not there." 
 
 " No, indeed, indeed; but, Susan, let me tell you; you 
 have known my life — everything; you will not blame me. 
 Rest, and truth, and goodness, they are all phantoms to me ; 
 they have come near me," and she slightly shuddered, " and 
 I have tried to grasp them, but they have eluded me. Per- 
 haps it has been my own fault — perhaps I had no power to 
 retain them, — but they are gone now, and they will never 
 return to me again ; and so I would try to do without them. 
 If I cannot have the happiness of which I once dreamed, 
 yet I would have freedom, — room for my mind to expand — 
 scope for my intellect. If I am weak myself, so much the 
 more need that I should find strength in the strength of 
 others. But all this is denied me. I am hampered on 
 every side, checked in every longing for what is great and 
 noble ; soon I shall be isolated from all I love or care 
 for. "When we return to Ivors my life will be a dreary waste." 
 
 Susan interrupted her. " Helen, no one has a right to 
 say so who lives, as you do, surrounded by persons who arc 
 dependent upon you, and are ready to be influenced by you." 
 
 " Influence ! " exclaimed Helen. " Ob, Susan ! how lit- 
 tle you know ! Where is the influence of one who has no 
 power of sympathy ? You look shocked ; but it is true. 
 Education, people say, docs everything: if so, I may thank 
 mine for making me what I am. I was never taught to
 
 116 IVORS. 
 
 think of others except to criticise. Ivors was my world, and 
 I knew and cared for nothing beyond it. You know your- 
 self that, whether the persons who lived near us were happy 
 or unhappy, — whether they had tastes and interests like 
 mine, or feelings, or affections, it was of no consequence to 
 me. I was taught to look upon them as something foreign 
 to myself. Occasionally I may have heard anecdotes which 
 seemed to bring them within my powers of comprehension; 
 but my first impulse was to judge their actions by my own 
 standard — the standard of Ivors, — and to condemn them if 
 they differed from it. I have learnt now to laugh at that 
 standard, Susan, but I have not learnt to understand my fel- 
 low-creatures. No ; care for others, whether poor or rich, 
 will never make Ivors anything to me but a home of dreary 
 monotony." 
 
 " But if it is the scene of your duties," began Susan. 
 
 Helen laughed faintly. " Susan, dear, are you still so 
 innocent ? Do you really believe it possible to govern one's 
 affections by cold duty ? You must give up that creed, at 
 least where I am concerned ! " 
 
 " But you don't mean to live without sympathy ? " ex- 
 claimed Susan. 
 
 " Not at all, so that it shall be of my own choosing. 
 Give me but the power to choose my friends, — the few whom 
 I may love, and who will love me in return, and I will ask 
 for nothing more ; the world may then go its own way." 
 
 " I. don't understand that happiness, Helen," said Susan, 
 gravely. " It seems to me to be only a form of selfishness." 
 
 " I won't call it happiness," replied Helen, quickly, 
 " only the best substitute for it. But I must have it — yes 
 — at all hazards," she added, in a tone of assumed firmness. 
 
 " And what would be your notion of real happiness, 
 then ? " asked Susan. 
 
 Helen hid her face in her hands, and made no reply.
 
 IVORS. 117 
 
 The dressing-bell rang, and she started up. Her coun- 
 tenance was very pale, and when Susan touched her fingers 
 they were of an icy coldness. 
 
 " I must go," she said, trying to draw away the hand 
 whicii Susan held. 
 
 A strong impulse gave Susan strength to say, " Helen, 
 you are deluding yourself, and suffering Madame Eeinhard 
 so delude you." 
 
 " Freedom ! " exclaimed Helen, — a wild glance shot from 
 her eyes* 
 
 " Yes, freedom," repeated Susan; "none can be happy 
 without it ; but — let me say it, Helen, it is no cant — there 
 is but one true freedom, not outward, but inward, — freedom 
 from ourselves." 
 
 Helen smiled scornfully. 
 
 " Freedom from the power of our own will," continued 
 Susan — "freedom which shall bring every thought into cap- 
 tivity to a higher law." 
 
 Helen shook her head ; her lip quivered. " Too late for 
 that ! " she exclaimed ; " I must be what I have been made 
 — what I am doomed to be ; " and almost before Susan had 
 time to speak again she was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 Admiral Clare was ill. The physician said, not seriously 
 so, and talked of suppressed gout, and hoped that, in a few 
 days, a regular attack would make everything right. Mrs. 
 Graham nursed him unweariedly, and kept up her own spirits 
 and the spirits of every one about her. She would not al- 
 low Susan In be sent for, and had always a cheerful plan lor
 
 IIS IVORS. 
 
 the day for Isabella and Anna, and a hopeful word foi 
 Claude Egerton. The word danger was never mentioned ; 
 but there was one symptom — it might have been thought 
 superstition to notice it, yet every one did — the old man's 
 irritable and eager spirit had sunk already to rest. He 
 obeyed his doctor, and trusted to his servants ; he scarcely 
 uttered an impatient word; but something of a child's con- 
 fidence had stolen over him, — a belief that all would be 
 well, whatever it might be. It seemed as though he had 
 deliberately resigned his will into the Hands of God. 
 
 He had kept his bed about four days, growing, perhaps, 
 a little weaker, but with no other sign of change. Mrs. 
 Graham was sitting in his room, and he was repeating a psalm 
 himself. He did this constantly, not couscious, apparently, 
 that he could be heard. That simple-hearted unreserve 
 which is quite unaware of observation had always been one 
 of his chief characteristics. When the psalin was ended he 
 lay quiet for a little time; and then Mrs. Graham thought 
 that he was asking for some water, and went up to his bed- 
 side. 
 
 He put out his hand to her, and smiled, and said he was 
 not wanting anything, he had only been thinking aloud. 
 " Very happy thoughts, Frances, but I don't trouble about 
 them. It will all be as God wills." 
 
 " Are they thoughts about which I can help in any way, 
 dear sir ? " 
 
 " No, Frances ; no. It is n't for us mortals to meddle in 
 these matters. Only it seems to me now as if the way was 
 opened, and so I was thanking God for it." He paused a 
 moment and added : " "Would there be any harm, Frances, in 
 having my little Susan back ? I won't ask it if she is bet- 
 ter where she is." 
 
 (: She shall come directly, dear sir, if you have the slight- 
 est wish to see her. She wanted to return, as you know,
 
 rvoES. 119 
 
 directly she heard you were ill, but Lady Augusta wrote 
 such au urjrent note. ' 
 
 " She's right, — yes ; the child may do more good there 
 than here. Frances, there's a reproach on my conscience. 
 Helen Clare may be a giddy-pated girl, but I should have 
 tried to make her better, instead of calling her so." 
 
 " I am afraid you could not have done much," began Mrs. 
 Graham. 
 
 "I could have prayed for her," exclaimed the old man, 
 with sudcleu energy. " If I had said a prayer for every cross 
 word I have spoken about her, perhaps by this time she 
 might have been on her way to Heaven. God forgive me 
 for Jesus Christ's sake," and he joined his hands, and closed 
 his eyes, repeating the words again to himself. 
 
 " I trust Helen is on that way now," said Mrs. Graham 
 reverently. " Her faults may be great, but I cannot but 
 think there is a right purpose underneath." 
 
 The Admiral was silent for a moment. " Claude Eger- 
 ton has seen my little Susan more latterly, Frances ; he has 
 talked to me about her. He would not say to you what he 
 does to me." 
 
 Mrs. Graham's manner was a little nervous. She re- 
 plied : " I am sure Claude esteems Susan highly, but I can't 
 say I have ever seen anything which would make me believe 
 he has any warmer feeling." 
 
 " So you always say," replied the Admiral, in a disap- 
 pointed tone. " liut it's as God wills ; quite as He wills, 
 remember. I don't want to wish ; I ask Ilim every day not 
 to let me wish. But I love her, He knows why; and so, 
 sometimes, as I lie here, I tell him what I think would be 
 happy for her, and it is letting out my heart. He understands 
 it all, and ordered every thing for me, and for you, and for 
 all, long before the child was thought of ; and, Frances, I 
 can say to llim what there's no one here to know anything 
 about."
 
 120 IVORS. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Graham earnestly ; " one does feel the 
 blessedness of being understood by God more and more every 
 day." 
 
 "And it can't be wrong to think," began the Admiral — 
 he waited, considered, then repeated the words, and added, 
 " I pray Him to teach me if it is." 
 
 " "Wrong; ! what ? dear sir," asked Mrs. Graham. 
 
 His answer was abrupt, as he looked at Mrs. Graham 
 fixedly. " You are n't like your mother, Frances. I have 
 often tried to think you were, but you are not." 
 
 " I am like my father," was the quiet reply. 
 
 A strange, sad smile passed over' the old man's face. "A 
 cause why I ought not to care for you, so people would say. 
 But that was never my fashion. Let my own heart break, so 
 that those I love are happy. But it did n't break, it only 
 shrivelled, dried up for a time ; and now it seems fresh again. 
 Perhaps, Frances, God's dew has fallen upon it, and so re- 
 stored it." 
 
 A choking sensation in Mrs. Graham's throat interrupted 
 the answer, and the Admiral continued: "Age makes us 
 young again. You will feel that if you ever come to my 
 time of life. I have lived continually in my youth of late 
 years; and now that God has placed me on my death- bed, 
 and made me helpless, He seems to carry me back to be a 
 child. My little Susan's face is very sweet to me, Frances. 
 I shall like to see her by my side again; only don't let her 
 come if she's needed elsewhere, if she can do good. I can 
 dream," he added, eagerly, and a flash of light sparkled in 
 his dim eye : " it is n't any living features that are needed to 
 help me to do that. God gives me back the memory when 
 my eyes are closed, and He sends no sorrow with it now. 
 They ' neither marry nor are given in marriage ' where she 
 is, Frances, and I shall love her there, and tell her that I do, 
 and perhaps — I would n't think of it, if it were seen not to
 
 IVORS. 121 
 
 be God's will, — but perhaps it may be pleasant to her, even 
 
 in her great joy, to be told that I cared for the child for her 
 
 sake, and left her on earth happy. Was that Claude's step ? " 
 
 Claude came into the room. The Admiral's ear had 
 
 caught the accustomed sound though Mrs. Graham had not 
 
 heard it. 
 
 " Are you better to-day, dear sir ? I don't think you 
 
 look so." 
 
 " Yes, Claude, better, always better. When one is nearer 
 to port, pne must be so." 
 
 Claude glanced uneasily at Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " The Admiral has been talking leather more than usual," 
 she said, " and has tired himself. He certainly was better 
 this morning." 
 
 " And not at all worse now," said the Admiral, cheerfully. 
 " Sit down, my boy, and tell me what you have been doing. 
 Anything very important last night at the House ? Frances 
 has n't read the papers to me to-day." 
 
 Claude sat down, and described with minuteness the 
 course of the debates of the previous night, the Admiral 
 listening and occasionally making a remark, which showed 
 that his intellect was in its full vigour. He even debated 
 some important topics -with Claude, differing from him, and 
 giving arguments with clear, though perhaps rather preju- 
 diced reasonings. He was much more tolerant, however, of 
 a contrary opinion than he had ever been in health, and fre- 
 quently interrupted his own train of thought, to remind 
 Claude that " he did n't mean to be positive ; an old man of 
 eighty, shut up in a sick room, had no right to be ; he begged 
 Claude to forgive him if he was." The conversation in- 
 terested him so that no personal remarks were made for some 
 time. But Mrs. Graham remarked Claude's face, and saw 
 that his inmost thoughts wen; troubled, and she could catch 
 also, in the intonation of his voice, something which beto-
 
 122 ivors. 
 
 kencd a wandering attention. After a time the Admiral ap- 
 peared tired, and said he should like to be quiet, but he 
 ■would not hear of Claude's going away. He declared that he 
 had not said half he wished to say. " Could n't Claude take 
 a book, and wait for a quarter of an hour ? " and Claude, 
 though his time was precious, consented, and went with Mrs. 
 Graham into the dressing-room, the Admiral promising to 
 ring if he wanted them. 
 
 " I don't think he is so well to-day," said Claude, as Mrs. 
 Graham took up her work. He could not help feeling an- 
 noyed that she was calm, when he saw cause for anxiety, and 
 his tone showed it. 
 
 " I don't think he is," was the reply ; " but the change 
 has been within the last half hour. He always is worse when 
 he has been exciting himself with conversation, and yet if he 
 likes to talk, it seems hard to try and stop him." 
 
 " And you would not think of sending for Miss Graham," 
 asked Claude. He had almost said Susan, the name came to 
 him so familiarly. 
 
 "I had not thought of it, at least till this last conversa- 
 tion. Do you see any particular cause ? " 
 
 " Not exactly." He spoke as if attention was wandering, 
 and added, with abruptness, " Does Miss Graham tell you 
 much of Madame Reinhard ? " 
 
 " Not very much ; she knows I have been so occupied 
 with the Admiral. But what makes you ask ? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing ; " but the nothing certainly meant 
 something. 
 
 Mrs. Graham looked pained. " That will not do for an 
 old friend, Claude." 
 
 He caught her hand eagerly, " Thank you, thank you foi 
 that name ; to hear it from a woman's voice is so sweet ! " 
 
 " Then you must act towards me like Claude," continued 
 Mrs. Graham. " There is something troubling you ; I must 
 know it."
 
 ivors. 123 
 
 He sat down, and averted his face, as he murmured, " I am 
 horribly weak ; it would be impossible to tell any one but 
 you." 
 
 " There is no amount of weakness which I cannot sympa- 
 thise with," said Mrs. Graham. " Remember, I have had 
 much longer experience in it than you." 
 
 He smiled doubtfully, and drew a letter from his pocket, 
 but stopped as he was upon the point of giving it. 
 
 " You know the Baroness d'Olban ? " 
 
 " Byname." 
 
 " And reputation ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but one is unwilling to believe all that is said." 
 
 " Believe all, and more than all," said Claude, emphati- 
 cally, " and you will not be far from the truth. She is Mad- 
 ame Reinhard's friend, therefore " he paused. 
 
 " Helen's," said Mrs. Graham, gently. 
 
 He rose from his scat impetuously. " No, never, never ; 
 at least not yet," he added, checking himself sadly. " But I 
 want to explain. This letter was shown me by an acquaint- 
 ance, I can scarcely call him a friend, of my own. It is ad- 
 dressed by Madame Reinhard to the Baroness d'Olban. No 
 secret was made of it ; it was spoken of as a good joke. It 
 concerns " he stopped ; his voice was husky — " the sub- 
 ject to which it alludes was first made public by Madame 
 Reinhard. There is no reason perhaps, you will say, why I 
 should trouble myself about what two such women may 
 choose to say. But read it, read it — tell me what you would 
 feel if one of your own daughters was discussed in that way. 
 Oh, Helen ! Helen ! " and Claude threw himself into a chair, 
 and groaned aloud. 
 
 Mrs. Graham read the letter. It was, as Claude had 
 slid, addressed by Madame Reinhard to the Baroness 
 d'Olban, and written in a style of witty, but vulgar, confiden- 
 tial intimacy! It alluded to previous conversations, and
 
 124 ivors. 
 
 facts, -which were evidently well known, and these of a most 
 painful and humiliating kind as regarded Helen. It seemed 
 that the chance of her marriage with Captain Mordaunt had 
 become a common topic of amusing speculation, owing to 
 Madame Reinhard's incautiousness, and Captain Mordaunt's 
 absence of all delicacy of feeling. Captain Mordaunt appeared 
 to have made Madame Reinhard his confidante, whilst she 
 communicated all that passed to the Baroness d'Olban. 
 Helen's name was bandied about at cluts, and the letter al- 
 luded to bets which had been laid as to the chances of her 
 marriage, and especially to one which had been accepted by 
 Captain Mordaunt, depending upon Helen's consenting, be- 
 fore another week had gone by, to be his wife. 
 
 Mrs. Graham laid the letter upon the table with a very 
 grave air. 
 
 Claude looked up ; but waited for her to speak. 
 
 " I would ask one question," she said ; " is it authentic ? " 
 
 " Could I make myself miserable for a doubt ? " he ex- 
 claimed. " I heard the reports and the bets myself. I in- 
 quired how they arose ; the thing was quite public. This 
 letter, as I told you, was given to me without scruple by a 
 person to whom it had been shown as a capital joke." 
 
 " It is beneath Madame Reinhard," said Mrs. Graham ; 
 " it is so low." 
 
 " She knows well how to please the person whom she 
 addresses. Wit is all the Baroness cares for." 
 
 " To plan deliberately, — to show such an entire absence of 
 delicacy of mind — such an utter disregard for Helen's feel- 
 ings ! " said Mrs. Graham; " it seems impossible." 
 
 "She is false!" exclaimed Claude. "The very first 
 evening that I saw her she told me that her acquaintance 
 with the Baroness d'Olban was slight ; I soon found that 
 they were together constantly. When I discovered this I 
 resolved to watch ; and I have mixed with their set, and
 
 ivoks. 125 
 
 learnt Oh, Mrs. Graham ! death would be better than to 
 
 see Helen what they are. She has deceived and disappointed 
 me ; she is but the wreck of what she once was ; but she 
 cannot be to me merely what other women are. No ; let 
 her marry whom she will," — his lips quivered, but he re- 
 covered himself — " only let it be with her eyes open." 
 
 " Captain Mordaunt is the most to blame," began Mrs. 
 Graham. 
 
 Claude interrupted her. " A weak, vain, miserable 
 wretch, what could he do against an artful woman of the 
 world ? — the odds are not equal. When Madame Reinhard 
 made up her mind to get him into her toils, she had but to 
 flatter him, and the work was done." 
 
 " Intolerable ! " exclaimed Mrs. Graham. " Lady Au- 
 gusta must interfere." 
 
 " And ruin everything," said Claude. " Madame Rein- 
 hard has at least done me this favour; she has gossiped so 
 freely about Lady Augusta's domestic affairs, that I am as 
 well acquainted with them as if I had been living in her 
 house. Lady Augusta upholds Captain Mordaunt; even if 
 she knew these facts, she might do so still; if not, Helen is 
 in that state of mind, that the very slightest opposition from 
 her step-mother would drive her to assert her own indepen- 
 dence : she would marry instantly." 
 
 " After seeing this letter ? Impossible ! " 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know." A heavy sigh escaped him. 
 
 " You wish me to interfere," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " I don't know what I wish. The letter was given me 
 only the moment before I came here : I have had no time to 
 think." He put his hand to his forehead. 
 
 " Helen has sometimes listened to me," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham ; "but there is an immense difficulty in interfering 
 without Lady Augusta's knowledge : I must go either to her 
 or to Sir Henry."
 
 12G ivoks. 
 
 " And do nothing ! " exclaimed Claude. " Forgive me, 
 but Sir Henry would instantly put the affair into his wife's 
 hands. There is no one but Helen that can rule Helen," 
 he added, bitterly. 
 
 Mrs. Graham thought for a moment. " We must take 
 the right step," she said, " and leave consequences. Lady 
 Aujmsta must know best what should be done." 
 
 Claude made a gesture of impatience. " Lady Augusta 
 knows the hours for daily service in every church in London, 
 and she can tell you where to find the best singing and the 
 finest preachers ; she can give you, too, as much ecclesiastical 
 gossip as you may have a fancy to hear, and more, perhaps, 
 than you may like ; but what other knowledge she possesses 
 which may be of use to her daughter, I confess I have yet 
 to learn." 
 
 " It is very unfortunate," said Mrs. Graham. " But 
 Lady Augusta's mania, whatever it might be, was always 
 absorbing." 
 
 " This is a worse mania than any other," replied Claude. 
 " It disgusts really earnest people, and throws discredit upon 
 things in themselves worthy of all reverence. Of all play- 
 things, religion is the most dangerous ; touch it for amuse- 
 ment, and its wound is deadly ; and Lady Augusta will feel 
 this by-and-by. She has made her daughter indifferent; 
 before long she will make her a sceptic." 
 
 Mrs. Graham started. 
 
 " With Madame Reinhard and the Baroness d'Olban for 
 her friends," exclaimed Claude, " how can she escape ? Dear 
 Mrs. Graham, you know as well as I do that it is not by 
 church services, nor devotional books, nor religious conver- 
 sation, that a mind like Helen's can be influenced. The sight 
 of an earnest, practical, humble life would, through God's 
 mercy, have made her religious ; but she has never had it. 
 Why should she love religion, or even believe in it ? It is 
 to her merely another form of vanity and excitement."
 
 ivous. 127 
 
 " Yet Helen ought to see through Madame Reinhard," 
 said Mrs. Graham. " She has sufficient truth in herself to 
 detect falsehood." 
 
 "But not sufficient knowledge of the world," replied 
 Claude, quickly. " She is too guileless to be suspicious." 
 
 " And she was taught prejudice from her infancy," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Graham, thoughtfully. " That may be one 
 cause of her being so easily misled. I have remarked in 
 other cases, where girls have been brought up on a system 
 of exclusiveness, that their feelings become intensified, whilst 
 their power of judgment is narrowed ; and so any person 
 admitted to their intimacy is likely to become an idol, 
 merely because there is no one else with whom a comparison 
 3au be made." 
 
 " Lady Augusta would say, I suppose, that she did give 
 Helen opportunities of forming a judgment," said Claude, 
 ironically. " She brought her to London, and allowed her 
 to rush through a London season." 
 
 " Three months' residence in Loudon will not undo the 
 work of nine months in the country, and the training of years 
 previous," said Mrs. Graham. " Exclusiveness may be al- 
 tered b} r it in form, but it certainly won't be destroyed, for 
 it is the habit of the mind. A girl educated like Helen does 
 not know what it is to have sympathies in common with her 
 fellow-creatures. She likes or dislikes simply as a mutter 
 of taste, and always in reference to her own fancy. No ; I 
 suspect we may close our great gates, and flatter ourselves 
 that evil in a carriage-and-four can't enter, and then find that 
 self-conceit has glided in unperceived by the wicked. People 
 seem to me to forget that education is as necessary to enable 
 us to form our judgment of persons as of books. However, 
 we are doing no good in discussing all this now. The ques- 
 tion is, what is to be done ? " 
 
 " Leave it all,'' said Claude, despondingly. " I am fool- 
 ish t'. trouble myself aboul the mutter."
 
 128 ivors. 
 
 " You forget that Helen is my sister's child," said Mrs 
 Graham. 
 
 " Yes, I do forget it," be exclaimed. " When I think 
 of her surrounded by the cant of religion and philosophy, 
 about to rush upon her ruin, I forget that she is, or could 
 be, anything but the pupil of Lady Augusta Clare." 
 
 " We must not be severe," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 He looked at her in surprise. " Am I severe ? God 
 
 knows " he paused : his manner quite changed, as he 
 
 added, " I would wish to be guided by you." 
 
 Mrs. Graham considered. Then she said, rather hesi- 
 tatingly, " Your opinion of Madame Reinhard would go far 
 to second the impression made by this letter." 
 
 " Mine ! Mrs. Graham, you know Helen well. Have 
 you never heard from her the sharp laugh, which rings as 
 though it were struck from metal ? That lausrh would be 
 the answer if she were told my opinion of Madame Reinhard. 
 No ; there is one person — only one — your daughter, Susan. 
 I have thought that she might find an opportunity, only I 
 should be so sorry — so grieved — to trouble her mind with 
 such subjects." 
 
 " I have never kept from Susan any subjects, by knowing 
 which she could be useful to others," said Mrs. Graham. " I 
 believed the necessity would neutralise the harm. Besides, 
 I have always observed that the mischief of the knowledge 
 of evil consists, not in the facts, but in the mode in which 
 they are communicated. Whatever I have, at any time, 
 thought it desirable that my children should know, I have, 
 therefore, told them myself in as simple, and straightforward, 
 and unmysterious a manner as I possibly could. Susan 
 would hear anything I might tell her, whether about this 
 matter or any other of the same kind, without receiving any 
 great moral shock. She knows that there is a great deal of 
 evil in the world, and she will not become false, or sceptical,
 
 Ivors. 129 
 
 or careless in her conduct because cases of the kind are 
 brought before her. Still it requires a great deal of con- 
 sideration before one can determine that it is right she 
 should be mixed up with this business.". 
 
 A loud tingling; of the Admiral's bell at that moment in- 
 terrupted the conversation. Mrs. Graham hastened to an- 
 swer it. Claude left the letter and the envelope on the table, 
 and would have hurried after her, but she motioned to him to 
 remain. He went to the window and stood there, thinking. 
 His countenance expressed feelings of mingled scorn and suf- 
 fering, and again and again he put his hand to his brow, as 
 though the weight of sorrowful care were pressing him down 
 beyond his usual powers of endurance. A knock at the door 
 was twice repeated before he heard it. Isabella entered, and, 
 surprised at seeing him, was going away again ; but Mrs. 
 Graham's voice from the inner room summoned Claude in an 
 eager, frightened tone. He rushed into the next room. 
 Isabella lingered in the dressing-room, afraid to advance 
 further. 
 
 The Admiral's faintness had partially returned ; his face 
 was deathlike, but consciousness was left. He feebly kept 
 Claude's hand in his, whilst Mrs. Graham tried every means 
 to restore him. It was a work of time and difficulty; one 
 moment he would rally, but the next he sank back again. 
 Isabella stole into the room, hoping to be useful, and was 
 sent to call Barnes, and write a note to the Admiral's phy- 
 sician ; and when this was done she came back to station 
 
 elfin the dressing-room, and was told that " the Admiral 
 waa better. Mr. Egerton and Barnes had managed to raise 
 him. There was no confusion of the mind, — he knew them 
 all ; but he seemed distressed because Susan was not there, 
 and a message was to be sent to her." Isabella offered to 
 write it, and went hack to the dr< s.-iiig-rouni for the purpose. 
 
 Mrs. Graham and Claude Btood by tin' Admiral's bed.
 
 130 IVORS. 
 
 The old man feebly and uneasily turned his head from side tc 
 side, looking for some one. 
 
 ' : Susan will be here very soon, dear sir," said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham, gently. 
 
 But he scarcely smiled. His eye rested on Claude. 
 
 " She will be here almost directly, sir," repeated Claude. 
 " The note will be finished and sent in a few minutes." 
 
 " She won't come — she won't understand," murmured the 
 Admiral. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Susan understands more quickly than any 
 one," replied Mrs. Graham, " especially where those she 
 loves are concerned." 
 
 " I am sure she won't delay a moment," added Claude, 
 earnestly. 
 
 The Admiral's dim eye became quite keen in its expres- 
 sion. He glanced at Claude, and said, " I'm not going to 
 die." 
 
 An irrepressible smile crossed Claude's face as he an- 
 swered, <w We hope you are going to be a great deal better, 
 dear sir." 
 
 " Not so much chance of that," murmured the Admiral. 
 " Frances " — Mrs. Graham bent down to him — " he'd much 
 better go than write." 
 
 Claude heard the words. " Yes, I will go, sir, willingly, 
 directly ; " yet he hesitated. 
 
 Mrs. Graham read what was passing in his mind. " Dr. 
 Markham will be here presently," she said, " and you may 
 be wanted." 
 
 " Wanted ? what for ? " said the Admiral, quickly. 
 
 " There may be something to be done, — Claude may 
 make himself useful," replied Mrs. Graham. 
 
 The Admiral looked at Claude very earnestly. " I wish 
 you to go," he said, in a feeble voice ; and then he was heard
 
 ITOKS. 131 
 
 muttering to himsslf, as though making an apology : " it will 
 save her a fright, — he'll explain." 
 
 Claude moved away ; Mrs. Graham followed him. " We 
 must not fret him," she said ; " you had better go. If you 
 ask for Susan, that will be all that is necessary. Aud will 
 you tell Isabella that the note is not wanted ? " 
 
 She pressed Claude's hand affectionately. He stood lin- 
 gering, longing to say more, till the Admiral's voice was 
 heard at the highest pitch which his strength allowed : " Is 
 Claude gone ? why does n't he go ?" 
 
 Aud Claude then went into the dressing-room to give his 
 message to Isabella. She was sitting at her desk, writing ; 
 some note-paper and two or three envelopes were lying by 
 her side. " This is mine, I think," said Claude, observing 
 the direction of that which he had shown to Mrs. Graham. 
 Part of a letter was still in it ; the remainder lay upon the 
 table, rather hidden by the desk, and he did not remark it ; 
 neither did Isabella till Claude was gone, and she had finished 
 writing, and moved away her desk ; and then she took it up, 
 and looked at it; and, finding it was something which did 
 not belong to her, imagined it must have been addressed to 
 her mother, and put it into the pocket of her blotting-book, 
 to be kept safely. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 IIki.kn Clare sat alone in the little morning-room adjoining 
 the drawing-room. Her cheek was pale, her eyelids were 
 heavy and swollen, her lips pressed together, as though she 
 had forgotten to smile ; and before her lay two letters, one 
 worn, aud creased, and blotted, on which many tears might
 
 132 ivoks. 
 
 have fallen ; the other fresh and new, written in large char- 
 acters, upon glazed note paper, with the stamped crest of 
 nobility at the top of the page. Helen's thoughts did not 
 take the form of soliloquy. People soliloquise on the stage 
 for the benefit of the audience, but very rarely in real life 
 for their own. And Helen was not in a state to carry on 
 any regular train of thought. She was, indeed, upon the 
 verge of the great decision, by which, once again, she was to 
 bind herself for life ; and at every sound of the distant open- 
 ing of a door, she listened and trembled, in the expectation 
 that the interview which, at Madame Reinhard's instigation, 
 she had consented to grant, and which she felt must deter- 
 mine her fate, was close at hand. But she had not reached 
 this point by thought, bat rather, as is the case with thou- 
 sands, when bent upon their own destruction, by not think- 
 ing. She was about to commit a moral suicide, and she 
 walked deliberately forward, closing her eyes to conse- 
 quences, and stopping her ears to every voice, except that 
 which whispered, in the charmed accents of Madame Rein- 
 hard, that marriage, if it were not happiness, would at least 
 be freedom. 
 
 Rut we are ingenious self-tormentors. And now, re- 
 solved upon the act which was to place a barrier between 
 herself and the days gone by, insurmountable even in the 
 eyes of the world, Helen could not resist one lingering 
 glance at the past, a glance strangely mingled, of curiosity 
 and repentance. How had she felt towards Claude ? She 
 had almost forgotten. Time, new scenes, new associations, 
 the excitement of the present, had so blended conflicting 
 feelings, that she could not recall them. She took up his 
 letter, — the few lines — the last which she ever received from 
 him, — in which, without one word of reproach, he had ex- 
 pressed his acquiescence in the sentence that parted them.
 
 ivoes. 133 
 
 " Helen," it said, " you have decided wisely. I have 
 neither the right nor the wish to complain. We are not 
 suited, and I could never have made you happy. But let 
 me say in self-defence, — for I shall never again have the 
 opportunity, — that the last thought in my mind was that of 
 subjecting you to my will. My dream was of a law which 
 should rule us both, — the law of mutual love, and of willing 
 dedication of ourselves to God. May we both be saved from 
 the unutterable wretchedness of seeking for happiness with- 
 out it ! 
 
 " Do not think I shall forget you ; it is impossible : your 
 name will still.be treasured amongst my dearest, though sad- 
 dest memories ; and when I hear that you are blest, I shall 
 feel that I am blest myself. 
 
 " Claude Egeiiton." 
 
 Oh! the pang of shame, of self-reproach, which struck 
 Helen's heart, as she read these lines, and then glanced at 
 the note upon the table ! 
 
 Claude and Captain Mordaunt ! she would not, could 
 not, ought not to think of them together ; and she rose up, 
 and paced the room, and with a strong resolution, dashed 
 away the rising tear, and crushed, with unsparing hand, the 
 purer, holier longings, which those few words had caused to 
 spring up in her heart. 
 
 Footsteps upon the stairs ! Helen turned pale ; she 
 caught up the letter, and sat down. Men's voices in the 
 lobby ! She had almost rushed through the door, opening 
 into the drawing-room, and escaped. 
 
 Yet why ? her will was her own. Now, now, at the last 
 moment, she might drawback; she had given no open en- 
 couragement, beyond receiving a note of silly compliment ; 
 she had only said to Madame Rexnnard, that if Captain 
 Mordaunt called Bhe would see him. Coward! why should
 
 134 ivors. 
 
 she be afraid to listen to hiin, to hear all that he would say, 
 and trust herself, if 'she saw fit, to reject him ? She took up 
 her work, and the needle fell from her trembling hand; she 
 stooped to find it, and at that moment the door opened. 
 
 When she looked up, Claude Egerton was standing be- 
 fore her. 
 
 Cold, stern, self-possessed, not a line of his countenance 
 betraying the slightest emotion, confronting her without em- 
 barrassment ; — and Helen shrank from his eye like a guilty 
 thing, and her voice was scarcely audible, as, in reply to his 
 question, whether he might be allowed to see Miss Graham, 
 she replied, " I believe so. Perhaps she may be gone out ; 
 I will go and see." 
 
 He stopped her. " The servant will let me know. I 
 would not give you the trouble. I came to take her away. 
 Admiral Clare is very ill." 
 
 A thundering knock at the street door ! Helen could 
 not rise from her seat ; if she had attempted it, she must 
 have fallen to the ground. She made no reply to Claude's 
 information. 
 
 He could not help seeing how ill she looked, and he re- 
 marked it. 
 
 She said it was the noise ; she was startled by it. Her 
 eye turned to the door, and Claude's glance followed the 
 same direction. 
 
 A little page entered with a note. " The gentleman had 
 left it, and would call again in a few minutes." 
 
 Helen tore it open without an apology. " Visitors are 
 to be shown into the drawing-room," she said, hurriedly: 
 and the page left the room. 
 
 " I am in your way," observed Claude. 
 
 Helen's smile was ghastly. " My cousin will be here 
 directly," she said. " She went out with Mamma. I don't 
 know where she is."
 
 ivoes. 135 
 
 Again she took up her work, and both were silent. 
 
 Claude said something more about Admiral Clare. Helen 
 seemed scarcely to hear him. He talked for some minutes, 
 and mentioned Madame Reinhard's name, and asked if Helen 
 saw much of her, and watched the reply. 
 
 Helen said, " She must be gone out." She thought 
 Claude was speaking of Susan. 
 
 Another knock. Claude took up his hat, and remarked 
 that there must be a visitor. He would wait in Sir Henry's 
 study, if" he might be allowed. 
 
 " It does not signify ; there is no hurry,'' said Helen, 
 nervously. She seemed afraid now that he would leave her. 
 
 But he insisted upon going ; she could not stop him ; but 
 she murmured something about Susan, and went to the door, 
 and looked out into the lobby. 
 
 Claude followed her closely. Captain Mordaunt was 
 coming up the stairs. Claude saw the burning colour rise 
 to Helen's cheeks, and with a feeling that was almost mad- 
 dening, he rushed past Captain Mordaunt without speaking, 
 and entered Sir Henry's study. There, even there, before 
 the door closed, he heard the free confidential tone in which 
 Helen was addressed ; her confused hesitating reply, whilst, 
 as if certain of the footing on which he stood, Captain Mor- 
 daunt followed her into the little study. 
 
 No, it was too late ; and Claude knelt down and prayed 
 for her. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 Lady Augusta Clare's carriage was seen standing before a 
 small house, in a dull street, in the neighbourhood of Bel- 
 gravia. A page, duly buttoned and tutored, was at the opcu 
 door.
 
 136 IYOKS. 
 
 " Lady Louisa Stuart's, my love ; you won't miud call- 
 ing with me, I hope," said Lady Augusta ; and Susan acqui- 
 esced, and was ushered up the narrow stairs. Ormolu, 
 porcelain, Bohemian glass, papier mache, gilding, beads, 
 Berlin work, books in blue and crimson — such a profusion 
 of prettinesses ; and Lady Louisa, dressed in the youthful 
 style of three-and-twenty, flounces and ribands, and with the 
 simplest, slightest apology for a cap, and seated at an inlaid 
 table, writing with a gold pen upon superfine paper ! Noth 
 ing could be more touching, or prospectively bride-like. " My 
 dear Lady Augusta," she exclaimed, " come at last ! I have 
 been waiting, ' chiding the lagging hours,' till I saw you. 
 And Miss Graham, too ! I thought it had been fair Helen." 
 
 " Helen is engaged at home. I supposed you would 
 think me unkind, if I didn't call," said Lady Augusta, 
 bluntly. 
 
 She seated herself; her countenance and attitude severe. 
 
 Lady Louisa, with an air of uncomfortable misgiving, 
 addressed herself to Susan. 
 
 " I have not seen Helen for an age, but I trust that time 
 is working wonders for her." 
 
 " Helen is quite well," said Lady Augusta, quickly. 
 
 " Ah ! she has been taught by Proteus, 
 
 " ' Cease to lament for that thou canst not help ! ' 
 
 I should have called to see her long before this, but I have 
 been so occupied." 
 
 Lady Louisa's eyes were modestly cast upon the ground. 
 
 " Do you mean to be married in London, Louisa ? " said 
 Lady Augusta. 
 
 " You ask a difficult question ; there is much to be 
 thought of. Indeed, I have had no time for thought." 
 
 " So I imagined," said Lady Augusta : " one of my rea- 
 sons for calling to-day was to say, that Sir Henry disap-
 
 ivoes. 137 
 
 proves of Helen's accepting your offer of having her as one 
 of the bridesmaids." 
 
 Lady Louisa coloured. " Indeed ! I should have thought, 
 that considering former friendship and relationship — yet I 
 suppose it may be natural : there must be painful reminis- 
 cences ; things might have been so different." 
 
 " You had better get older bridesmaids, Louisa," con 
 tiuued Lady Augusts, ' they will look much better." 
 
 For a moment Lady Louisa was discomposed ; but she 
 quickly recovered herself. " There has been a difficulty 
 about bridesmaids," she said : " the Count has so few rela- 
 tions iu England, and all my own particular friends are mar- 
 ried, and so indeed are most of the young ladies of Helen's 
 age. This is her third season, I believe." Lady Augusta 
 would not vouchsafe a reply, and Lady Louisa addressed 
 Susan. " You rather despise London seasons, I believe, 
 Miss Graham." 
 
 " I have never had the opportunity, because I have never 
 had the experience of them," said Susan. 
 
 " Aptly answered. No doubt you devote yourself to the 
 sciences ? " 
 
 " I devote myself to whatever may happen to come," 
 replied Susan, laughing. " Everything is new to me." 
 
 " And you are staying with the Admiral ; and of course 
 you sec Petruchio ? how fares he ? " 
 
 " Mr. Egerton was very well when w r e last met," replied 
 Susan : " but I have not seen him for some days." 
 
 " Very well, is he ! of course meaning very happy ? ' 
 and Lady Louisa gave such a peculiar glance at Susan, that 
 she blushed, without knowing why. " "Well, it is but what 
 Rosalind says: 'The poor world is almost six thousand 
 years old, and in all this time there was not any man died iu 
 his own person, videlicet, in a love cause.' " 
 
 " You speak from experience, I Buppose, Louisa?" said 
 
 Lady Augusta, sharply. 
 20
 
 138 ivoks. 
 
 " Nay, how can it be niy own ? " said Lady Louisa, witij 
 a satirical smile. " I leave it to Helen to inflict the v«st. 
 But, seriously, I am comforted to hear that Petruchio bears 
 up against his trial. He will scarcely, I suppose, venture 
 upon another Kate ? " And again Lady Louisa determi- 
 nately looked at Susan. 
 
 " You talked of the Count's relations," said Lady Au- 
 gusta, abruptly ; " who are they ? " 
 
 " Who ? A wide question ; one must be learned in the 
 blood royal of Poland to answer it," said Lady Louisa. 
 
 " I never heard that Poland had a blood royal," observed 
 Lady Augusta, drily. " I suppose their names all end in 
 ski ; and I should advise you, Louisa, to take care that their 
 honours don't do the same, and melt into thin air." 
 
 Lady Louisa only smiled, with a pity that was more 
 nearly akin to contempt than to love. 
 
 Susan felt that the conversation was becoming uncom- 
 fortable, and, to divert it, asked if Lady Louisa had seen 
 Miss Manners lately. 
 
 " This morning, only ; she is just gone : and that re- 
 minds me — I was so sorry to hear from her such a bad ac- 
 count of the Admiral. She had been calling in Cavendish 
 Square, and was not admitted : seeing you here, however, I 
 trust the report is exaggerated." 
 
 Susau looked surprised, but scarcely uneasy. " It must 
 have been a mistake," she said. " I should certainly have 
 been told if he were worse. Last evening the account was 
 much better." 
 
 " Indeed ! I dare say it was." Lady Louisa evidently 
 thought the matter not of the slightest consequence, and 
 turned to Lady Augusta. 
 
 " I am afraid I shall scarcely have the pleasure of seeing 
 Sir Henry, and yourself, and fair Helen, on the twentieth of 
 next month. Rumour whispers that you are intending to 
 leave London about that time."
 
 iyoes. 13£ 
 
 " We talk of it," said Lady Augusta, stiffly. " But the 
 twentieth ! you are carrying on matters quickly." 
 
 " Yes ; and overwhelmed with business in consequence. 
 I may with truth say, ' I have to-day dispatched sixteen bu- 
 sinesses a month's length a-piece.' But the Count has no 
 mercy. Miss Graham " 
 
 Susan started at the sound of her own name. " Ah ! 
 your thoughts were elsewhere ; forgive me." 
 
 " I was thinking of the Admiral," said Susan. " Did 
 you say fhat Miss Manners had been calling in Cavendish 
 Square to-day ? " 
 
 " Only just before she came here. Mr. Egerton, she was 
 told, had gone to Grosvenor Place with some message for 
 you." 
 
 Susan stood up ; her face flushed and very anxious. " If 
 I had only known," she began, whilst looking at Lady Au- 
 gusta, and expecting her at once to say that they would go : 
 but no response was made, and she left her sentence unfin- 
 ished, and sat down again. 
 
 " Where do you mean to go for your wedding tour, Loui- 
 sa ? " asked Lady Augusta. 
 
 " It is uncertain. So many are busy with advice upon 
 the subject, that we are constantly changing our minds. 
 Sometimes it is France, sometimes Italy, occasionally Ger- 
 many. But doubtless we shall have the pleasure of meeting 
 abroad if, as rumour has again whispered, you are projecting 
 a tour on the continent." 
 
 Lady Augusta would not reciprocate the wish ; and in 
 the pause that followed Susan again hoped that she would 
 move. 
 
 Lady Louisa at length observed the expression of her 
 face. " You arc anxious, I am afraid ? " she said. " I have 
 disturbed your peace of mind." 
 
 Susan tried to smile, and answered, "A little. But I 
 shall hear everything from Mr. Egerton."
 
 140 IYOKS. 
 
 " You could not have a better messenger," said Lady 
 Louisa ; ll so entirely considerate." 
 
 " You were not used to speak so favourably of Claude," 
 observed Lad}' Augusta, sharply. 
 
 " Was I not ? that was because the world spoke so well 
 of him that there was no need. I may occasionally have 
 laughed at Petruchio, — I have an unhappy knack of laugh- 
 ing at every one, — but I never could do anything but respect 
 him, and suppose that others would have sense enough to do 
 the same." 
 
 Lady Augusta rose suddenly. " Susan," she said, " we 
 shall be late for church ; are you ready ? " Susan put down 
 her veil, wished Lady Louisa good-bye, and walked to the 
 further end of the room. Lady Augusta lingered. 
 
 " And you really can give me no hope of seeing you on 
 the twentieth, Augusta ? " said Lady Louisa, feeling a little 
 mollified at the last moment, and anxious to have the sanction 
 of such a dignified presence. " There will be little enough 
 to offer in the way of entertainment. My aunt comes to pre- 
 side and act the lady of the house ; and we shall have but 
 few guests, and nothing splendid. With my small establish- 
 ment it could not be otherwise." 
 
 Lady Augusta looked round to see if Susan was near, and 
 then answered, " This is not the time to talk seriously, yet I 
 may not have another opportunity. Louisa, though you 
 forget appearances, I don't. What can this unknown Polish 
 youth be to you ? " 
 
 Lady Louisa cast her eyes to the ground and answered, — 
 
 " ' Thou art an elm, my husband ; I, a vine, 
 
 Whose weakness married to thy stronger state, 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate.' 
 
 Is not that answer enough ? Would you not be happy if 
 Helen could say the same ? "
 
 IVORS. 14:1 
 
 " At one-and- twenty, yes," said Lady Augusta ; " and if 
 the man were worth her having." 
 
 Lady Louisa smiled hitterly. " And Helen says at one- 
 and-twenty, no ! though the man may be worth ever so much. 
 Take care that she does not say it too often." 
 
 Lady Augusta drew her shawl round her, and allowed 
 Lady Louisa's hand to drop from her grasp. 
 
 Susan followed her down stairs in silence. When they 
 were both seated in the carriage, Lady Augusta threw her- 
 self back" and exclaimed, " Intolerable idiot ! she is worth no 
 better fate. Now, Susan, for church." 
 
 But Susan had a request to make : — She could not go to 
 church ; Mr. Egerton was waiting for her, and she wished to 
 see him. 
 
 Lady Augusta's eye rested upon her with a sudden gleam 
 of suspicion. " Mr. Egerton ! why should he be sent ? They 
 can't wish you to go back with him ? " 
 
 " I don't know, — I have not thought about it, — only I 
 am so very anxious : " and Susan's feelings, repressed during 
 the interview witli Lady Louisa, struggled to gain vent, and 
 tears stood in her eyes. 
 
 Lady Augusta spoke again, and more sternly : " This is 
 weakness, Susan ; I don't like weakness ; I warn you against 
 it. You had much better go with me first ; it will strengthen 
 you." 
 
 Susan's tears were repressed in an instant. " I am never 
 afraid of not having strength given me when I am doing my 
 duty," she said, " whether it may be in church or out of 
 church. If Mamma wishes me to return, I must." 
 
 Lady Augusta's face showed great displeasure; she mur- 
 mured, '• Mr. Egerton must be very intimate! "and then, pull- 
 ing the cheek-string, gave an order that the carriage should 
 take her to church, and afterwards carry .Miss Graham back 
 to Grosvenor Place.
 
 1P2 IVORS. 
 
 She did not utter another word during the remainder of 
 the drive, and Susan mechanically watched the crowds mov- 
 ing through the streets, whilst thinking of the Admiral's ill- 
 ness, and her mother's message, and in the depth of her heart 
 nursing a vague feeling of mingled happiness, shame, and 
 foreboding, — now, for the first time, assuming a definite form, 
 and based upon those few words, " Mr. Egerton must be 
 very intimate ! " 
 
 The carriage stopped in Grosvenor Place. Susan woke 
 up as from a troubled dream when the clamorous knock was 
 given. She almost opened the carriage herself to rush into 
 the house ; but a conflicting feeling kept her back. She 
 asked for Mr. Egerton, and was shown into Sir Henry's 
 study. 
 
 Claude sat there alone ; his back was towards the door, 
 and he turned impatiently as she entered. Susan saw his 
 face, and her heart sank. Sallow, dark, agitated ! she read 
 in it at once the confirmation of her worst fears. 
 
 " He is dying ! " she exclaimed : " you are come to tell 
 me of it ! " and she burst into tears. 
 
 Claude became more calm ; he seemed in a moment to 
 throw aside self, and his manner was full of a brother's ten- 
 derness. He ventured to take her hand: he spoke gently 
 and soothingly. " The Admiral," he said, " was not so 
 well, and was wishing to see her. There was nothing serious 
 yet : of course, all changes for the worse must cause uneasi- 
 ness. Perhaps Susan could return at once in Lady Au- 
 gusta's carriage if it was still waiting ? " 
 
 Susan had sat down, but she rose directly, her tears gone, 
 composed, reasonable, as she always was. She felt that 
 Claude's eye was upon her ; it made her self-conscious ; she 
 could not understand what it meant, and lingered, thinking 
 he had something else to say. 
 
 " Your presence will be a great comfort," he continued ;
 
 IVOKS. 143 
 
 " Mrs. Graham has been wanting you sadly. Shall you be 
 ready directly ? " 
 
 " Yes, in one instant. I will give directions to Annette, 
 and she will take care of everything for me, and then I will 
 say good-bye to Helen." 
 
 Claude's countenance changed ; he tried to speak and 
 failed. 
 
 " Ought I not to wait even for that ? Have you kept 
 anything back from me ? " exclaimed Susan. 
 
 " Nothing, nothino- 1 " He walked towards the window 
 that his face might not be seen, and Susan dar :d not ask him 
 another question. She went to her. room, rang for Annette, 
 and gave her directions, and inquired if Miss Clare was in 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 " In the boudoir, I believe, mademoiselle ; and I think 
 there is a visitor there." Annette had her own suspicions, 
 but she would not betray them. 
 
 " Then ask if she can see me for one moment ; tell her I 
 am going home ; that Admiral Clare is very ill." Susan 
 followed Annette down the stairs, and waited in the lobby. 
 She heard voices ; Captain Mordaunt's was easily recognised ; 
 its tones were eager. "What Helen replied was inaudible, 
 but she came out looking flushed and confused ; she scarcely 
 seemed to understand what Susan said. 
 
 " Going, are you, dearest ? so suddenly ! I am so sorry. 
 ]5ut you will come back again ? the Admiral will soon be 
 better." 
 
 " I am afraid they won't be able to spare me again, dear 
 Helen ; and you will be leaving London soon." 
 
 " I don't know. Did you leave Mamma at church ? Is 
 she coming back ? Shall you take the carriage ? I think I 
 am quite bewildered by these changes." And Eelen pressed 
 her hand across her brow. 
 
 The footman came up the stairs. " 1 am desired to say,
 
 144 IVORS. 
 
 ma'am, that, if you don't go at once, there won't be time to 
 take you to Cavendish Square, and to return for my lady." 
 
 " I must go, Helen, dearest ; one word only, don't be 
 led." 
 
 Helen's laugh was sharp and grating ; she made no 
 answer. 
 
 " Hark ! there is Mr. Eijerton's voice : he is waiting : 
 dearest, good-bye." 
 
 The touch of that icy clammy hand which was laid in 
 hers ! Susan never forgot it. She ran down stairs ; and 
 Helen stood at the top and watched Claude come out of the 
 study and take Susan to the carriage, saying kind, gentle 
 words of comfort. A cloud of intense, irrepressible agony 
 passed across her face, and her fingers were laid on the 
 handle of the boudoir door. Yet she lingered. The lock 
 was moved involuntarily, and the slight sound decided her. 
 She entered', and before the interview ended she was engaged 
 to Captain Mordaunt. 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 Claude talked a good deal during that short drive ; it 
 seemed that he feared to trust himself with silence. He 
 gave Susan details of the Admiral's illness, anticipated her 
 questions, and seemed to know by instinct everything which 
 interested her.. She became more uneasy as symptoms were 
 disclosed which her mother had kept from her, and the hys- 
 terical choking feeling which had before overpowered her 
 returned again ; but she controlled it, and talked quietly 
 and with more unreserve than was her wont. She felt relief 
 in being able to say what was in her mind to one who could
 
 iyors. 145 
 
 understand ; and Claude, as be listened to her, found repose 
 in the deep, yet unescited feeling, which she expressed. 
 
 " I am so much obliged to you for coming for me," said 
 Susan, as they reached Cavendish Square. She half put 
 out her hand to him, and then drew it back again. But he 
 took it cordially, and answered, 
 
 <; I have to thank you. It has been a comfort ; it is 
 always a great pleasure to do anything for you. I hope you 
 think that." Susan's colour came and went quickly ; she 
 hurried" away from him. Claude's eye followed her as she 
 went up stairs. 
 
 She was not Helen ; but she had given him what Helen 
 never could — rest. 
 
 That evening Susan sat beside the Admiral's bed, her 
 hand laid upon the coverlid, and his resting upon it ; his 
 fingers every now and then moving, as though he would con- 
 vince himself by touch that she was still there. She was 
 telling him about her visit, talking to him of Helen and Lady 
 Augusta. He listened, not perhaps with pleasure, for the 
 old associations aroused something like irritable feelings, 
 yet with interest, and some satisfaction in the confession of 
 his own repentance. It was more unreserved to Susan than 
 it had been to her mother. He said that it humbled him to 
 think how uncharitable he had been ; he had indulged the 
 feeling against his better conscience ; people little knew how 
 the hard words, said perhaps with half the hard . meaning 
 put upon them, would rise up on a death-bed. Probably he 
 should never see Helen again, but he begged Susan to give 
 his love to her. " I can say that truly now," he added. 
 " When the world's troubles are coming to a close, the 
 world's dislikes die; ami she's not likely to stand in your 
 way, my little one; that's a human thought, but it's a great 
 help." "
 
 140 IVORS. 
 
 " I don't understand ; Helen never did stand in my 
 way," said Susan. 
 
 " Not that you saw, my child, you were too innocent ; 
 hut we must n't talk about that. Where's Claude. Can't 
 you all come in for prayers before he goes to the House ; and 
 then I should feel ready for the night." 
 
 " Mr. Egerton is with mamma, I think, and she is writ- 
 ing a note to the Rector, as you wished, to ask if he can ar- 
 range about to-morrow for the Holy Communion." 
 
 " Ah ! yes ; all well. I can wait ! " The Admiral's 
 head sank back on his pillow. Presently he said, " If it had 
 been God's will, I should have been glad to see you happy, 
 my pretty one ; but since it's not, I don't complain. Only 
 if the time comes, you'll think of me." 
 
 " I am happy," said Susan ; " I should be, that is, if you 
 were better." 
 
 " No cause to let that disturb your happiness, child. 
 The ' peace that passeth understanding ' is better than 
 earth's joy. "But life is before you, Susan, and I pray God 
 to bless it for you." 
 
 " In His way," said Susan, earnestly. 
 
 "Yes; you are right, you are right — in His way ; but 
 that's a hard way sometimes." 
 
 " Still if it has His blessing " began Susan. 
 
 " It must be well in the end. You feel that, do you? " 
 He looked at her intently, turning his head to read more in 
 the answer than the words would convey. 
 
 " I think I do," said Susan; " but I have had very little 
 trial." 
 
 " It will come," he continued, " sooner or later, in some 
 form or other ; but bear up bravely, my child. Each day 
 has its own sorrow, but each day has also its own strength ; 
 and as we draw nearer the close of our journey, the sorrow 
 decreases and the strength increases. It is a pleasant thing,
 
 Ivors. 147 
 
 Susan, to stand at the foot of the great hill of life, and feel 
 that we are mounting to the top : and it is sobering and very 
 solemn to rest there when we've reached it, and look down 
 upon the path by which we are to descend, with the grave 
 bounding our view, and never from that time to be lost to 
 sight. But the upward journey is slow and toilsome ; the 
 downward, rapid and easy. Whatever your burden may be 
 in the upward way, my child, cast it upon God, and He will 
 aid you to bear it ; and when the downward path begins, 
 you will; through His Grace, cease to feel its weight. But 
 I don't know why I go off in this strain," he added, check- 
 ing himself. " I always want to talk of bright things to 
 you, Susan, but somehow the thoughts wander off into sad- 
 ness. Can't you call Claude now ? I'm getting tired." 
 
 They came — Claude, Mrs. Graham, Isabella, and Anna 
 — and knelt with Susan around the bed. Claude came 
 nearest to the Admiral that he might hear the prayers, and 
 the old man beckoned to Susan, and made her kneel nest. 
 His eye rested upon them with a lingering gaze of indescrib- 
 able, longing affection, whilst Claude waited to begin; and 
 then, making a sudden effort, he folded his hands, and said, 
 " Now I am ready." And Claude read the evening prayers 
 to which he was accustomed. The Admiral followed them, 
 half aloud, till towards the end, when his voice failed. 
 Claude looked up alarmed, but the Admiral motioned to 
 him to go on. At the close lie stretched out his hand feebly, 
 and touched Claude, and murmured Susan's name. 
 
 " "We are both here, dear sir," said Claude; and Susan 
 approached and put her hand within that of the Admiral. 
 
 "Both," murmured the old man. He felt for Claude's 
 hand, and joined it with Susan's. " Be kind to her, Claude ; 
 be kind." 
 
 They were the last words he, spoke. Another fainting 
 fit came on, from which he never entirely rallied, and before 
 midnight, — Admiral Clare was dead.
 
 148 Ivors. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 Susan spent the greater part of the next day lying upon the 
 sofa in the dark, desolate drawing-room • desolate, not be- 
 cause it was changed in its outward appearance, but because 
 the spirit which had filled it was fled. She was ill ; the 
 shock had come upon her very suddenly. The love of the 
 aged is a less exciting, but perhaps a prouder possession than 
 the affection of the young ; it calls forth all our best feel- 
 ings ; it is nourished by reverence, humility, and unselfish- 
 ness. There had been but little romance in Susan's life, so 
 the world would have said ; but there is romance in every 
 pure and holy affection, and Susan's daily work had been 
 refined and ennobled by the consciousness that all which she 
 did, though possessing no intrinsic value, was precious in the 
 old man's sight as the living memory of his youth. The 
 feeling was gone now ; she had one interest less in life, one 
 person less for whom lovingly to sacrifice ln;r own will, and 
 that is a great loss to the affectionate and the unselfish. But 
 she was not miserable, as she expected to be. She had given 
 way, in momentary physical weakness, to a passionate burst 
 of sorrow, but now she was calm again ; more than calm — 
 peaceful and hopeful. Mrs. Graham and Claude were busy. 
 They had arrangements to make, painful, and admitting of 
 no delay. Anna was her mother's right hand, and Isabella 
 was occupied in writing letters. At another time Susan 
 would have been fretted by the thought that others were 
 exerting themselves without her ; but the shock upon her 
 nerves had destroyed this longing for activity. She was 
 told that it was her duty to be quiet, and she acquiesced 
 without remonstrance. All that she now needed was to lie 
 in the dark room, and dream over the closing moments of
 
 ivors. 149 
 
 the Admiral's consciousness — dream of tliem, dwell upon 
 them, with intense love, with bitter regret ; yet with an un- 
 der-current of happier feeling, indefinite, unrealised. Was 
 it faith ? was it the thought that the labour of life was over, 
 and he whom she loved was at rest ? 
 
 Alas, for the deceitfulness of the human heart ! 
 
 Some one entered the drawing-rooin. Susan started up, 
 but she felt weak and dizzy, and her head sank back again 
 upon the cushion. She was vexed with herself, but she 
 could only lie quite still, and resolve to speak as though 
 nothing was the matter. 
 
 Claude drew near the sofa, and Susan made another 
 unavailing attempt to sit up, and then smiled, and said it 
 was no use, she must consent to be good for nothing ; but it 
 was very trying. 
 
 Claude paused before he replied. Susan could not clearly 
 distinguish his face in the imperfect light; but he sat down 
 wearily. 
 
 '• Mamma will wear herself out, I am afraid," observed 
 Susan ; " it seems hard not to be able to help her." 
 
 " But you must not try yet. I hope you won't think of 
 it," he said, quickly. " I came to tell you what we thought 
 of doing, if it would not worry you. You are sure, quite 
 sure you would not rather be left alone ? " 
 
 Susan heard his voice tremble, and her own heart 
 throbbed so painfully that she could scarcely answer intelli- 
 gibly : " Thank you : you are very kind to remember me." 
 
 He interrupted her. "Don't tell me I am kind ; all I 
 can do is nothing. If you would only let me be of service 
 t () vou — now, always. Mrs. Graham talks of going back to 
 Wingfield Immediately. You won't regret that, though 1 
 may." 
 
 " l>ut you will come to the Lodge," said Susan. It was 
 an unfortunate remark, made only because it had sugge 
 itself as something to be said
 
 150 IVORS. 
 
 Poor Claude's firmness gave way. He rose and walked 
 up and down the room ; then came again to the sofa, and 
 said, " I must go to-morrow ; the funeral is to be there. I 
 must wait to see the relations ; then my connection with the 
 Lodge, and Wingfield, and with all that part of the country 
 will be at an end." 
 
 It was as though Susan's heart had been touched by ice, 
 such a cold chill passed through her. 
 
 " Mrs. Graham has promised to write to me," he con- 
 tinued, more cheerfully ; " and I hope she will let Charlie 
 pay me a visit at Helmsley, some day." 
 
 " He will be very glad, I am sure," said Susan. Her 
 voice was cold ; Claude noticed it. 
 
 " I can never express what I feel," he said. " "VVhenevei 
 I try, I fail ; but we have had such deep feelings in common, 
 I don't think we can ever meet as strangers, however long 
 our separation may be. I can answer for myself, at least — 
 I shall never forget." 
 
 " Neither shall we," said Susan, and the words were 
 spoken timidly, but the tone came from her heart. 
 
 " Shall it be a compact ? " said Claude, and he offered 
 her his hand. Susan placed hers within it, yet scarcely re- 
 turned the cordial affectionate pressure. 
 
 " Thank you for allowing me to be your friend," he 
 said. 
 
 " You have been so without my permission," she replied. 
 
 " Not as I could wish. Promise me you will tell me if 
 in any way I can be of service to you." 
 
 " If you will promise the same." 
 
 " You might be ; yes, I think you might," he exclaimed 
 with an eager impulse ; but a change followed instantaneously. 
 " Yet it is too late ; forgive me for disturbing you," and with 
 another hasty pressure of the hand, he left her. 
 
 Mrs. Graham went into Susan's room late that night to
 
 IVORS. 151 
 
 see if she was asleep. She had been sitting up herself talk- 
 ing. for some time to Claude. And Susan knew this, for she 
 had heard their voices in the room below hers, and knew 
 when Claude said good night, and followed his step through 
 the hall, and heard him shut the front door ; and still fancied 
 that she was listening to his footsteps beneath her window, 
 but that was only imagination. 
 
 Her mother came in very quietly, but Susan spoke and 
 inquired if it was late. 
 
 " Not very, my love ; but I hoped you would have been 
 asleep." 
 
 " I can't sleep, mamma ; I think of so many things ; I 
 heard the voices down stairs," she added. 
 
 " Claude is but just gone. Poor fellow ! he is so terribly 
 lonely now, and I don't know what to do for him. I am 
 afraid it will even be worse for him by and by than it is 
 now." 
 
 " Mamma, you are tired and worn out, you are thinking 
 of everyone but yourself," exclaimed Susan. " And yet you 
 must be the most unhappy." 
 
 " I can keep up, my love, for the present, and there is no 
 support like that of thinking for others. I must do that 
 now. Can you t^ll me, Susan, anything about Helen and this 
 reported engagement with Captain Mordauut? Don't if it 
 involves any breach of confidence." 
 
 "Helen!" repeated Susan, in a tone of surprise; "I 
 don't know : she never tells me anything. Mamma, will Mr. 
 Egerton travel with us to-morrow ? " 
 
 " I think he will go later, though I can't bear his being 
 left alone as he must be ; and he distresses himself about 
 Helen." 
 
 Mrs. Graham waited for a remark in reply, but it did not 
 come. 
 
 She drew a chair to the side of the bed, and as she sat
 
 152 ivoks. 
 
 down Susan threw her arms round her and kissed her, and 
 murmured " My own, sweet mother ! " She had no power 
 to say more ; and the touch of her parched lips sent a pang 
 to her mother's heart. 
 
 " You had better sleep, my child," said Mrs. Graham ; 
 " we will talk of this to-morrow. I only wanted, if I could, 
 to satisfy poor Claude. He is so sure that Helen is en- 
 £ao;ed." 
 
 " "Will he care ? " asked Susan, and her voice sounded 
 changed and hollow. 
 
 " He thinks Captain Mordaunt unworthy of her, and he 
 has proof of it. A gossiping letter from Madame Ilein- 
 hard to the Baroness d'Olban has fallen into his hands, 
 which corroborates some disagreeable reports he has heard 
 at his Club. Captain Mordaunt has been making so sure 
 of having Helen at any moment, that he has even laid bets 
 upon the subject. If Helen knew this she would be intensely 
 angry, but the difficulty is how to let her know it. If Lady 
 Augusta is told, she will interfere just in the way to exas- 
 perate Helen, and induce her to marry Captain Mordaunt ; if 
 Sir Henry is told, he will give the affair into Lady Augusta's 
 management. I don't see what is to be done ; and if Helen 
 is really engaged, the affair becomes very complicated and 
 awkward." 
 
 "I — I " Susan struggled for breath; her mother 
 
 gave her some water, and raised her pillow, and in a trem- 
 bling voice she said, " Helen was not engaged when I left 
 her to-day." Turning her head aside she closed her eyes. 
 
 " Thank you for that shadow of comfort, at least, my 
 darling," said Mrs. Graham ; " I will let Claude know the 
 first thing in the morning." 
 
 Susan's lips moved, but no sound came from them, and 
 underneath the coverlid her hands were tightly clenched to- 
 gether with a pressure which at any other moment must have 
 been real suffering.
 
 ivoes. 153 
 
 Once more she felt her mother's kiss upon her forehead, 
 and Mrs. Graham stood by her and looked at her anxiously, 
 but she did not speak again. Sleep seemed to be stealing 
 over her ; and at length, as minutes passed on and still she 
 did not move, Mrs. Graham's uneasiness lessened, and she 
 left her. 
 
 But sleep came not to Susan. Feverish, restless, a weight 
 on her heart, tumultuous thoughts thronging her brain, a 
 sense of sin on her conscience, where could the weary heart 
 find rest^? Claude's anxiety for Helen — what mattered it 
 to her ? Why did the mere sound of their names, when 
 coupled together, strike her as with the sharp thrust of a 
 dagger ? Why did the possibility of Helen's being actually 
 engaged to Captain Mordaunt make the blood rush to her 
 heart with a thrill of excitement, only to end in the depres- 
 sion of a wretchedness that seemed about to sink her to the 
 earth ? What was it she felt, which she did not dare own 
 even to her mother? Susan groaned in bitterness of heart, 
 and tried to pray, and felt her words checked by the con- 
 sciousness of some unknown yet permitted evil ; and then, 
 iu very weariness, said that she would think no more, and 
 strove to sleep and failed. So the hours of darkness passed, 
 whilst the dim light burning in her room gave a new and 
 fearful outline to every well-known object. Occasionally she 
 started at the sudden cry of some reveller in the street, or 
 shuddered as a faint moaning through the crevices of the old 
 walls recalled the solemn hours of watching, and the last 
 struggle of human life. And before the first glimmering of 
 dawn stole through the closed shutters, she rose and went to 
 the window, and sat there gazing into the vacant street, lis- 
 tening to the silence of the great city. The twilight dawn 
 awoke, bringing witli it a dead rumbling sound. Some heavy 
 cart or wagon was setting forth on its long journey into the 
 country, and rolled heavily along; then a footstep was beard
 
 151 IVORS. 
 
 on the pavement, whilst a passenger wended his way slowly 
 and stealthily, as though fearful that some face from the 
 closed and veiled windows would look forth to discover the 
 business which drew him forth at that unwonted hour. At 
 length the light of morning made its way through the murky 
 haze which shut out the sky ; and with it came lighter sounds 
 of market-carts, and cabs driving up to their station ; and 
 passengers passed more frequently, and men stopped and 
 greeted each other beneath the window. And when the great 
 current of London life was once more flowing on in its full and 
 wondrous vigour, Susan, utterly exhausted, crept to her bed, 
 aud fell asleep ; the striking of the clock from the churches 
 in the vicinity, mingling with her last waking thoughts, and 
 seeming to echo in her ears, " Be kind to her, Claude ; be 
 kind." 
 
 She slept, and her dreams were troubled. She was in a 
 vast church ; crowds filled it, familiar forms glided in and 
 out amongst the tall pillars, and before the altar stood Claude 
 with Helen by his side — lovely in her bridal dress, yet with 
 a luok of trouble on her brow. And then it was all changed, 
 and it was Susan herself who knelt by Claude, and felt his 
 hand clasping hers, icy as though it had been with the touch 
 of death ; and again all was dark, confused, and a deep pit 
 had opened before her, and Claude was leading her to the 
 brink, and bidding her look in, for Helen lay there. She 
 started, aud awoke to hear her mother's sweet voice ask- 
 ing if she felt able to rise ; and with the half-consciousness 
 of those first waking moments, Susan clung to Mrs. Graham, 
 and murmured, "Keep me, mamma; don't let me dream 
 again. I am wicked in my dreams ; keep me."
 
 ivors. 155 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 Mrs. Graham -was to leave London at twelve ; but Claude 
 was to go down to the Lodge by a night train, make what- 
 ever arrangements might be needful there, and return to 
 London the following day. He was at Cavendish Square in 
 time for breakfast. Susan was down stairs There was no 
 agitation^ now ; nothing but that composed self-possession 
 which might have been called stoicism. Neither did she 
 seem ill or over tired, her usual powers of judging and act- 
 ing for every one seemed restored to her ; and even her 
 mother forgot to remind her not to do too much. 
 
 Claude talked to her a good deal, and consulted her. No 
 allusion was made to anything but immediate questions of 
 business, not even to the griff which every one shared. The 
 world's necessities had for the hour closed upon all that deep 
 underlying sorrow, a strong power kept it down ; only now 
 and then one might be seen to steal apart from the rest, and 
 stand in silent thought, or perhaps dash away a rising tear, 
 but no one dared give way. 
 
 " Half-past eleven ! " said Mrs. Graham, taking out her 
 watch, and then glancing round the deserted rooms. 
 
 " The carriage is just come," said Claude. " You will 
 have plenty of time." 
 
 " Isabella is late as usual," said Mrs. Graham. " Susan, 
 my love, go and call her, will you ? " 
 
 Susan went, and returned with a report that Isabella was 
 in distress about her desk and portfolio ; she could not find 
 room for them. 
 
 " And her trunk is not fastened then ? " said Mrs. Gra- 
 ham, looking very vexed. " We shall certainly be late. She 
 must come and leave it."
 
 15G ivors. 
 
 But Susan brought back another message. Isabella did 
 not like to leave her treasures to any care but her own. If 
 she mi<dit be allowed to wait and see her trunk corded, and 
 follow in the cab, it would be all right. She and Martha 
 might go together. 
 
 " I can't allow that. Isabella must come with me, and 
 Martha will see to everything," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Martha will be sure to be late, if she is left alone," 
 said Anna. 
 
 " Let me stay, mamma," said Susan. You can trust 
 me to be in time ; and Barnes will help me in anything 
 there may be to be done, and he will come with us to the 
 station. We shall be there nearly as soon as you." 
 
 Mrs. Graham looked very doubtful. 
 
 " It is the best plan," said Claude. " Miss Graham, I 
 know, is always punctual; and we shall have time to get the 
 tickets, and see to the rest of the luggage, if we start at 
 once." 
 
 " I don't like leaving Susan ; she is not well enough to 
 have anything to do," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 Claude looked up quickly. " Not well ? I am so very 
 sorry. Are you really not well ? " 
 
 " Quite, thank you," said Susan, shortly. " Manmia, in 
 deed you must consent." 
 
 " You and Isabella — I don't like it," was the reply. 
 
 " And Barnes, dearest mother. You will see us following 
 you before you have turned the corner." Susan put her 
 mother's shawl round her, and gave her her carriage bag. 
 
 Barnes came in to hasten them. The carriage was pack- 
 ed, and they had no time to lose. 
 
 " And there is the cab ready, too," said Anna. " Never 
 mind Isabella's fidgets, Susan. She must carry her desk in 
 her hand." 
 
 Mrs. Graham went into the hall. She could not bear to 
 be seen as she said good-bye to the servants.
 
 IVORS. 157 
 
 Claude turned to Susan. " It troubles me to think you 
 are ill ; }-ou must give yourself rest when you reach home." 
 
 Susan tried to speak and smile, but tears came instead. 
 He held her hand so kindly, almost tenderly; it seemed as 
 though he longed to give way to some pent-up feelings. And 
 then he tore himself from her; and she watched him as he 
 handed her mother and Anna into the carriage, and turned 
 back to the dark room, and felt as though it were flooded 
 with sunshine. 
 
 The. carriage drove off. and Susan went up stairs. The 
 trunk was still open, the housemaid and Isabella were vainly 
 trying to close it. Isabella was nearly crying ; her spirits 
 often gave way under pressure. She yielded at once, 
 however, to Susan, who insisted that the trunk should be 
 fastened directly, and the writing-desk left as a separate 
 parcel. But then the key of the trunk was missing ; and 
 some little time was spent in searching for it ; and when it 
 was found and the bos corded, and carried down stairs, the 
 blotting book, as well as the writing-desk, was seen lying on 
 the table. That completely overcame Isabella, she could 
 not imagine what to do with it ; and her mamma disliked 
 having so many parcels. She might have remained ponder- 
 ing the difficulty f}r many precious minutes, but that Susan 
 cpuietly decided the point, by taking the unfortunate c:iuso 
 of offence under her own charge. Barnes was visihly im- 
 patient, and gave his directions in a loud voice to the cab- 
 man, to drive as fast as he could, and take the shortest way. 
 The latter injunction was unfortunate; the shortest way was 
 through a crowded thoroughfare, and a heavy dray and an 
 omnibus blocked up the passage. Barnes scolded ; the cab- 
 man-shouted; the omnibus driver returned a volley of abuse. 
 "When at last the cab emerged from tin- scene of confusion, 
 Susan looked at her watch, but made no remark. 
 
 "Just in time, I declare," said Isabella, as they stood
 
 158 IVORS. 
 
 upon the platform of tlie railway station ; " and there is 
 mamma, in that farthest carriage ! " They hurried down the 
 line. 
 
 " It moves," exclaimed Susan. 
 
 " Just off, ma'am," said a railway porter at her side. 
 And the train rushed away. 
 
 Isabella uttered a faint scream. Susan stood for a mo- 
 ment confounded, and then said: "Mamma saw us, so she 
 won't be anxious ; we must go by the next train ; " and she 
 walked towards the waiting-room. 
 
 "I am very sorry. I am afraid it is my fault," began 
 Isabella, in an exculpatory tone ; " but we should have been 
 cpuite in time, if it had not been for that dreadful omnibus, 
 and the dray. What will mamma say ? And look, there is 
 Mr. Egerton." 
 
 Susan stopped involuntarily. 
 
 " I don't want him to see us," said Isabella ; and Susan 
 moved on a few steps, but slowly. 
 
 Claude was looking for them. He came up, seeming 
 much more vexed than Susan, and complaining of the cab- 
 man. 
 
 " It is my fault," said Isabella, humbly. 
 
 " It is every one's fault, and no one's," observed Susan. 
 " There is no good in thinking about it. We can wait here, 
 very well, for the next train," she added, addressing Claude. 
 
 " Yes ; but I don't like your travelling alone. I wish — 
 if I had only known it before, I could have managed to go 
 with you." 
 
 " Two ladies can't come to any harm," said Susan. " I 
 don't like to feel so dependent." 
 
 " No, you like to be useful always. I know that. If 
 you are going to the waiting-room, you must let me get you 
 some luncheon first." 
 
 ,J We had some biscuits before we came away," said Isa- 
 bella. " I don't think we want anything more."
 
 IVORS. 150 
 
 " And your luggage ? " 
 
 " Barnes has taken care of it. He will be here a^ain in 
 
 O 
 
 time for the next train." 
 
 They stopped at the door of the waiting-room. 
 
 " I won't trust to Barnes ; I will come back for you my- 
 self, before the train starts," said Claude. 
 
 Isabella's arm was within that of her sister's, and some 
 sudden movement made her look at Susan, and ask if she 
 was tired. 
 
 " Only a little ; we had better go in and sit down." She 
 turned to Claude : " Thank you very much for looking after 
 us, but don't trouble yourself to come again. Barnes will 
 do very well."' 
 
 Claude smiled. " I shall trouble myself. Four o'clock, 
 I think. Good-bye till then ; " and he walked away. 
 
 Isabella made Susan lie down on one of the sofas ; the 
 room was empty, and the quietness was a luxury. Susan 
 closed her eyes, and Isabella took out a book, thinking, per- 
 haps, she would fall asleep. But if she did, it was only for 
 a moment, and she started up almost immediately, asking if 
 it was time to move, and glancing at the door eagerly, as 
 though expecting some one to enter. Isabella laughed at 
 her, and begged her to lie down again ; but Susan refused, 
 and said she would write a note ; — she had not said good-bye 
 to Helen, — there had not been time, and it would seem un- 
 kind to leave London without a word. "I may use your 
 writing things, I suppose? " she added. 
 
 Isabella nodded assent, and went on reading. It was a 
 1 nag time before she looked up again. When she did, it was 
 in consequence of a sound of rather quick, nervous breathing. 
 Several people were in the room now ; she did not know 
 from whence it came. 
 
 "The lady is not very well, ma'am, I think," said a re- 
 spectable-looking woman, apparently a nurse, who was stand-
 
 160 IVOKS. 
 
 * 
 
 ing near the table with a child in her arms. She handed a 
 bottle of salts to Susan, whose face was very pale. Susan 
 did not see it, she beckoned to Isabella, — a folded paper was 
 in her hand. " Whose is this ? How did you come by it ?" 
 she asked, anxiously, but cpuite quietly. 
 
 " What ? I don't understand." Isabella took the paper 
 from her. 
 
 " I found it in the blotting-book accidentally," said Susan; 
 " I thought it belonged to myself, — I did not read it all 
 through. Isabella, what does it mean, — is it yours ? " 
 
 Isabella rapidly glanced at it, and a look of extreme per- 
 plexity came over her face, followed by an expression of 
 sudden recollection. " Oh ! I remember, — yes, — there is no 
 mystery, only I have been careless. Mamma or Mr. Egerton 
 must have left it in the dressing-room, the day before yester- 
 day. I put it away, and forgot it. What makes you look 
 so strange, Susan ? " 
 
 " Do I look strange ? " Susan tried to smile. 
 
 " Yes, is it about the letter ? it seems a very odd one." 
 
 " Mr. Errerton left it, did he ? " asked Susan. 
 
 "He may have done it, or mamma, I can't say. I saw 
 there was something in it about Helen." 
 
 Susan kept the letter in her hand, but without looking at 
 it. " I remember now," continued Isabella, " that Mr. Eger- 
 ton came back into the dressing-room, and carried away an 
 envelope from amongst the papers near my writing-desk, — 
 this must have belonged to it." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 Isabella returned to her book, Susan took up a pen, 
 wrote a few words, and laid it down again. The room was 
 becoming crowded, for another train was going off. Isabel- 
 la's attention was drawn away from her sister. She did not 
 see — no one saw or noticed- — the change in Susan's counte- 
 nance, — the look of intense thought, of indecision, then of
 
 IVOKS. 161 
 
 sudden resolution, and again of doubt. Susan's mind was a 
 chaos, her judgment seemed to Lave failed her. 
 
 The paper — she knew well what it was. It was the letter 
 to which her mother had referred, — which would prove 
 Madame Reinhard to be insincere, and Captain Mordaunt 
 unworthy. And it was needful, above all things, that Helen 
 should have it at once; the delay of an hour might, so 
 Susan believed, be of consequence. But there was no one to 
 take it or send it, no one who would venture to interfere. 
 
 Only.Susan herself. The pulsation of her heart stopped 
 for an instant, as the thought occurred to her, and then it 
 went on with sickening rapidity. All the difficulties, doubts, 
 questionings, attendant upon such a step, thronged upon her ; 
 she had not time to disentangle and combat with them sepa- 
 rately. Minutes were hurrying on ; if she waited, it would 
 be impossible to go to Helen, — and without seeing her, inter- 
 ference might be useless. 
 
 Yet Susan could not resolve at once. She had little 
 doubt of her mother's approval, of Claude's gratitude. Her 
 cousin loved and trusted, and would listen to her. A few 
 words from her, and with such proof before her, Helen would 
 be safe and free. But it was the suggestion of the tempter 
 which whispered, that Helen's freedom might be her own 
 misery. A terrified sense of weakness for one moment over- 
 powered her, the next she went up to her sister. 
 
 "Isabella, I have something very much on my mind to 
 say to Helen ; I can't write it ; I must sec her. You will 
 be quite safe in remaining here, and I shall be back long be- 
 fore the train starts." 
 
 Isabella gazed at her in amazement, "Going to Grosve- 
 nor Place by yourself 1 Susan, you air mad ! " 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! don't keep me, I must go. Minutes are 
 
 precious. Stay here and read." Susan attempted to smile. 
 
 "Don't look at me in that strange way. I know what I am 
 
 doinir." 
 
 2t
 
 162 ivoes. 
 
 " But I will go with you ; I can't let you go alone." 
 Isabella fastened the strings of her bonnet. 
 
 Susan laid her hand quietly upon Isabella's arm ; all ex- 
 citement of manner was gone, as she said : " I am doing 
 what mamma would wish, and I am going alone. If Mr. 
 Egerton should come, tell him — no, don't say where I am 
 gone, only that I had thought of something which I was 
 obliged to do." 
 
 Almost before Isabella could find words to continue her 
 expostulation, Susan had sent a porter for a cab, and was on 
 her way to Grosvenor Place. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 That afternoon Lady Augusta Clare sat at work finishing 
 her altar-carpet. A very complacent, satisfied smile was on 
 her lips. She looked at her stitches affectionately, every 
 now and then held them at a little distance to admire their 
 regularity, whilst occasionally she turned the pages of a 
 volume of Thomas-a-Kempis, red-lined, and bound massively, 
 vhich lay open before her. 
 
 "Whether Lady Augusta's unwonted softness add serenity 
 were to be attributed to the altar-carpet or the devotional 
 book, might have been doubtful. Unkind judges probably 
 would have said that they were due to neither, for certainly, 
 when the door opened, and Helen came in, Lady Augusta's 
 first words might have suggested that something rather more 
 worldly was at the root of her good humour. 
 
 " My dear love, I have been longing to see you this morn- 
 ing. But you have been too happy, I suppose, to think of 
 me. Is dear Constantine gone ? "
 
 IYOKS. 103 
 
 " Captain Mordaunt is talking to papa in the study, I 
 believe," said Helen. 
 
 Her tone betrayed no feeling of any kind, neither did her 
 countenance. 
 
 " I hope I shall see him before he goes," said Lady Au- 
 gusta; "I have some plans in my head, which will please 
 you, my darling." 
 
 " Thank you," said Helen ; " I dare say they will do very 
 well." 
 
 1 More than that, I trust. Of course your father and I 
 wish to further your happiness in every way. You can 
 never enjoy yourself younger." 
 
 " Never," said Helen, a little sarcastically. 
 
 " And you would like a continental tour so much," con- 
 tinued Lady Augusta. " We are quite bent upon your going 
 abroad after your wedding, and we talk of following you." 
 
 Helen could with difficulty repress an exclamation of 
 disagreeable surprise ; but she managed to say that it might 
 be a good arrangement. 
 
 " It will give us the opportunity of meeting you again 
 sooner than we otherwise should," continued Lady Augusta; 
 " and we shall long to do that. Maurice, too, may be able 
 to accompany us, if we wait till the end of the season. I 
 feel sure it will add to dear Constantino's pleasure to have 
 him with him." 
 
 Helen was silent. 
 
 " I long to let your aunt know of your happiness," pur- 
 sued Lady Augusta. " She will feel it even in the midst of 
 her grief for the dear old Admiral. Ah! how quickly he 
 has been taken from us! It docs not do to set our hearts 
 upon anything in this world : " and Lady Augusta worked 
 two stitches in her carpet, as a comment upon her words. 
 
 " They arc to leave London fco-day," said lb len, shortly. 
 
 " So I understand. Poor Claudi ; no doubtj has to make
 
 1GJ: IVOES. 
 
 all the arrangements. By-the-by, my love, I congratulate 
 you now upon all awkwardness being over between you and 
 him. You will meet quite upon a comfortable footing." 
 
 " Quite," said Helen. She turned away to the window, 
 and, without looking at Lady Augusta again, said, " I have 
 engaged to go to Richmond this afternoon ; Madame Rein- 
 hard will be with me, and Captain Mordaunt will drive us." 
 
 A transient cloud of surprise came over Lady Augusta's 
 face at this determined assertion of an independent will; but 
 she replied most amiably, — " Just as you like, my love. 
 Under the circumstances, you will, I know, wish to be as 
 much as possible with dear Constantine." 
 
 " And to-morrow we go to the horticultural fete," con- 
 tinued Helen. 
 
 " Certainly, my love, if you wish it." 
 
 " And perhaps to the Duchess of Monteith's soiree after- 
 wards," added Helen. 
 
 " Quite dissipated ! " said Lady Augusta, in her sweetest 
 tone. " And such a change ! " she added, in an under voice, 
 though loud enough for Helen to hear ; " but love works 
 wonders. Did dear Constantine tell you how the Earl was 
 to-day, my love ? " 
 
 " He says he is better," said Helen, bluntly. " The 
 doctors declare he may live years yet." 
 
 " One can scarcely wish it," said Lady Augusta, sighing; 
 — " such a suffering life as he has, — and so well prepared ; — 
 one can't help feeling it would be a happy release." 
 
 " He is not such an old man," replied Helen. " He is 
 fifteen years younger than the Admiral." 
 
 " Constitution makes all the difference," said Lady Au- 
 gusta ; " his has been broken for years. But, speaking of 
 the Admiral, have you had any message or note from Susan 
 to-day ? " 
 
 " I had a few lines from my aunt last night," said Helen,
 
 ivoks. 1G5 
 
 — " just -wishing me good-bye. Susan, she said, was not 
 well enough to write." 
 
 Lady Augusta looked as though she expected to see the 
 note ; but Helen made no offer of showing it. 
 
 " Susan will feel the Admiral's loss severely," said Lady 
 Augusta, " unless — — has it struck you lately, Helen, that 
 she and poor Claude have been very much together ? " 
 
 " I don't know anything about them," was Helen's an- 
 swer; and she moved away from the -window, and walked 
 out of the room, slowly, till the door was closed, and then 
 rushed up the stairs to her own apartment, turned the bolt 
 violently, and paced her chamber in a storm of indignation. 
 
 She had no doubt as to the wisdom of her decision now. 
 Live with Lady Augusta ! It would be better a thousand 
 times to marry Captain Mordaunt. Penances ! purgatory ! 
 ■were nothing to this moral torture. Such utter ignorance 
 of her feelings ! — such a betrayal of double motives ! — hy- 
 pocrisy — worldliness ! Another such conversation, and she 
 would be driven frantic. And Helen, in her excited sensi- 
 tiveness, walked up and down, believing herself a martyr, 
 and stifling any uneasy suggestions of conscience as to her 
 own great offences, by the angry consideration of Lady Au- 
 gusta's want of tact and good feeling. 
 
 Annette knocked at the door twice without being heard; 
 the third time she was answered by a harsh, " Come in; " 
 and, when she entered, stood for a moment, afraid to speak. 
 
 That was often the case now : the bright and affectionate 
 Helen Clare was grievously changed of late. Few dared to 
 interrupt or intrude upon her unsummoned. 
 
 " Miss Graham in the drawing-room, Mademoiselle," 
 said Annette, whilst she glanced doubtfully at Helen. 
 
 Helen turned to her sharply. " Miss Graham ! You 
 are mistaken ; she has left London."' 
 
 " Pardon, Mademoiselle! she is wishing to speak to you;
 
 1G0 IVOES. 
 
 she begs to come to your own room ; she has no time to 
 spare." 
 
 " Neither have I," murmured Helen : yet she went up 
 to the glass, gazed at her own lovely yet haggard face, strove 
 to look calm and unruffled, and again said, " she may come." 
 Annette drew near cautiously. " Captain Mordaunt, 
 he saw me in the corridor ; he gave me this little note, 
 Mademoiselle. He returns at three o'clock." 
 
 Helen would not take the note, and Annette laid it on 
 the table. It was unopened until Susan was heard coming 
 on the stairs ; then it was read through hastily, and thrown 
 aside. Helen received such little notes now at all hours of 
 the day ; it was Captain Mordaunt's fashion of showing his 
 tenderness. 
 
 A gentle tap at the door, very unlike Annette's quick 
 demand for admission, was heard by Helen directly. Susan 
 came in, without haste or agitation, — without even saying 
 that she had but a few minutes to spare. There was that 
 in her countenance which told of a will which held in check 
 every feeling of womanish nervousness or weakness, — a self- 
 control so great, that it acted, as if by magic, upon Helen ; 
 and the cousins kissed each other silently and tenderly; and 
 Susan said in her slow, measured voice, " I have come to you 
 suddenly, dear Helen ; but I was not able to write. "We 
 leave London at four, and I had something to say to you be- 
 fore we go." 
 
 " Anything serious ? of consequence ? " exclaimed Helen, 
 whilst the excitable spirit flashed in her quick, dark eyes. 
 
 A momentary pause. Then Susan said, " Helen, are 
 you engaged to Captain Mordaunt ? " 
 
 She asked the question so quietly, that Helen could not 
 help answering it in the same tone. " Yes." 
 
 A momentary feeling, difficult to interpret, might have 
 been seen on Susan's face. She sat in silent thought.
 
 ivors. 167 
 
 " You don't like it," said Helen. 
 
 " I wish that you did not," replied Susan. 
 
 " It is freedom," said Helen. " Susan, you won't despise 
 me ? " and she leaned her head upon her cousin's shoulder, 
 and gave way to a flood of bitter tears. 
 
 Susan allowed the tears to flow for some moments; and 
 Helen started up suddenly, and one of those brilliant smiles 
 which formed the peculiar beauty of her face flashed across 
 it ; but it ended in withering sarcasm, as she murmured, " I 
 do what others do ; it is all a lottery." 
 
 " It is certainly, in some cases," said Susan. " Helen, if 
 you were not engaged, I would kneel to you, to beg you to 
 pause." 
 
 Susan's words were earnest, but her tone was not. Helen 
 smiled, as she said, " You are come to reason with me from 
 duty." 
 
 " Yes, from duty," repeated Susan, abstractedly. 
 
 " And I must not listen to you from duty," said Helen. 
 "It is too late." 
 
 Susan was silent. 
 
 " We will talk of something else," said Helen. " Tell 
 me about your mother." 
 
 Susan's hand shook as she opened her carriage bag. In- 
 stead of replying to Helen's question, she put a paper into 
 her hands. 
 
 "I don't understand; you frighten me," said Helen, 
 scarcely looking at it. 
 
 " Will you read it ? " Susan walked to the further end 
 of the room, and stood before a book-case ; but she sat down 
 again soon, for her knees trembled. 
 
 She did not look towards Helen, till a hand was pressed 
 upon her shoulder, and a hollow voice said, with a harsh :it- 
 tempt at a laugh, " This is an absurdity. \\'ln»s^ is it, ? " 
 
 " Madame Reinhard's," said Susan ; " you see her signa
 
 1CS IVOKS. 
 
 ture ; you know the handwriting. It is addressed, as you 
 perceive, to the Baroness d'Olban." 
 
 Helen tossed it from her, scornfully. " Madame Rein- 
 hard does not know the Baroness ! " Yet she took up the 
 letter again, and speaking through her closed lips, said, " it 
 is a good imitation ; a clever device also. So it is said that 
 Captain Mordaunt has done me the honour to make me the 
 subject of his bets. I thank you, Susan, much, for your in- 
 formation, but the matter will easily be set at rest. Captain 
 Mordaunt will soon discover the writer ; only do me the 
 favour to tell me how the precious document came into your 
 possession." 
 
 " It was found by me accidentally," said Susan ; " but it 
 
 was " she stopped, and her voice trembled. " Helen, 
 
 I believe Mr. Egerton knows more of it than I do." 
 
 " Claude ! " exclaimed Helen, indignantly. " Claude 
 lend himself to a plot ! " Her eyes flashed. " Susan, if he 
 were to tell me so himself, I would not believe it." 
 
 " No stratagem, dearest Helen," said Susan; and as she 
 touched her cousin's arm kindly, her hand was shaken off 
 impatiently. " How can it be one ? and why should Mr. 
 Egerton wish to interfere ? " She spoke the last words 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes, why should he wish ? " repeated Helen, in a tone 
 of unutterable mournfulness, which touched a chord of keen 
 self-reproach in Susan's heart. She went on eagerly : " You 
 were right in coming, Susan ; it shall be found out. Don't 
 think me ungrateful; it shall be found out." 
 
 " But there is nothing to find," said Susan, quietly. " It 
 is true." 
 
 Helen laughed satirically. " True, that Madame Rein- 
 hard has deceived me ; has told falsehoods ? I would sooner 
 believe that the sun had ceased to shine in the heavens ; she 
 does not know the Baroness. And for Captain Mordaunt,—
 
 IVORS. 169 
 
 Susan, -whatever you may think of him," and Helen drew 
 herself up proudly, " he is a gentleman." 
 
 " Then let him act like one," exclaimed Susan. " Helen, 
 dearest, listen to me but for one moment ; I have so few to 
 spare. It is true, all true ; they have been playing with 
 \ ou ; you have thrown yourself away ; you must be wretched. 
 But there is still time. Oh, listen, listen! Claude says it; 
 Claude cares about it." Susan's '*one grew sharper, more 
 vehement ; the words seemed forced from her as she uttered 
 them, and still, whilst Helen averted her face, she repeated, 
 " Claude knows all ; Claude would give worlds to save you." 
 
 Helen turned her ghastly countenance towards her cou- 
 sin. "It must not be true ; Susan, — I have promised." 
 
 " But draw back." 
 
 " And be stamped by the world a second time as a jilt," 
 murmured Helen ; and she covered her face with her hands. 
 Looking up again the next moment, she added, eagerly, 
 •■ But it is not true ; there is falsehood on the face of it." 
 
 " Inquire," said Susan. " Madame Beinhard will tell 
 you." 
 
 "And will know that I suspect her of untruth," said 
 Helen. " It can't be. Susan, you mean kindly. Yet see 
 what I think." She was about to tear the letter in pieces, 
 but Susan caught it from her. 
 
 " Think what you will, Helen; but you have no right to 
 do that. Follow your fate, if you choose." 
 
 " Not if I choose," exclaimed Helen, interrupting her, — 
 "if I must." 
 
 Her mocking laugh thrilled upon Susan's ears with a 
 sense of terror. She seized Helen's hand, and her tone was 
 tremulous in its earnestness. 
 
 " Helen, I should not dare to speak, if I were not sure 
 that Captain Mordaunt is unworthy, — quite sure. Claude 
 could not be mistaken, and he is so anxious, so miserable.
 
 170 IVOES. 
 
 Only inquire ; ask, for Lis sake," she added, in a changed 
 and hollow voice. 
 
 Helen murmured to herself, " Not for his sake," and 
 Susan's heart bounded, as though the weight of worlds had 
 been removed from it. 
 
 " Yon think me weak and blind," continued Helen, 
 firmly. " I am neither. What I have chosen to do I have 
 done with my eyes open. For this miserable document, I 
 neither know, nor wish to know, what it means. It is suf- 
 ficient evidence against it that it professes to be written by 
 Madame Reinhard to the Baroness d'Olban, and that its 
 tone shows this to be an impossibility. I choose to trust 
 my friends, and I will inquire no further." 
 
 Susan walked towards the door, but returned suddenly. 
 " I heard Madame Reiuhard's voice in the hall, as I came up 
 the stairs. If you don't choose to ask her yourself if the 
 letter is hers, you can have no objection to my asking." 
 
 " I have ; I do object," exclaimed Helen, vehemently. 
 " The letter is a disgrace, a libel. I don't believe it. I 
 won't allow Madame Reinhard to be insulted. Susan, in 
 this house, you would not dare do it." 
 
 " I would dare do any thing that should open your eyes,' 
 replied Susan. " Helen, you are afraid." 
 
 The burning colour rushed to Helen's cheek, then faded 
 away, and left them colourless. She made no answer. 
 
 Susan put her hand upon the bell. " Annette will ask 
 Madame Reinhard to come to us." 
 
 Helen sat down, clenching tightly the arm of her chair. 
 
 " Madame Reinhard is in the study," said Susan, as 
 Annette appeared at the door. " Ask her if she will have 
 the goodness to come to Miss Clare's room." 
 
 " It is your doing," said Helen reproachfully. 
 
 " Mine entirely. "Wc need not shrink from truth ! " 
 Yet Susan, while she said the words, leaned against the wall 
 for support.
 
 IVORS. 171 
 
 " Mcin armcs Kind ! you are ill then," was Madame 
 Reinhard's exclamation, as she rushed into the room, and 
 threw her arms round Helen. " Why did you not send me 
 word before ? why keep me from you ? " 
 
 " It was I who sent the message," said Susan, coming 
 forward. 
 
 Madame Reinhard started. " Ah ! Miss Graham ! So 
 surprised I am ; so little expecting the honour, the pleasure. 
 But my sweet Helen, she is quite ill, surely ? " 
 
 Helen looked up at her, smiled, but did not speak. 
 Madame Reinhard appealed to Susan for an explanation. 
 
 " Helen has been fretted this morning," said Susan, and 
 unconsciously there was a slight bitterness in her tone. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, there are many things to fret one. This is 
 a very discomfortable world. Melne Liebe, what shall I do 
 for you ? " 
 
 " Helen will be quite satisfied if you will only tell her 
 whether this letter is yours," said Susan ; and in an instant 
 she placed the letter before Madame Reinhard and looked 
 at her steadily. 
 
 "Mine! my letter! Miss Graham ! " Madame Rein- 
 hard took the letter from Susan's hand, and there was a 
 visible change in her countenance. 
 
 " It is yours, I believe," said Susan ; and Helen raised 
 her eyes to Madame Reinhard, and as she waited for a re- 
 ply, withdrew from the caressing arm which was laid upon 
 her neck. 
 
 Madame Reinhard laughed. "Mcin lirbes Herz ! and 
 you care for the nonsense, tlic joke ! Too silly." 
 
 " Is it yours? " said Helen, in a faltering voice. 
 
 "What can it signify? and how did you have it?" 
 Madame Reinhard became indignant as she addressed Susan, 
 " So unladylike ! so low ! so mean ! " 
 
 " What I am is nothing to the present purpose," replied 
 Susan quietly. " I think, Helen, your question i^ answered.' 1
 
 172 iyors. 
 
 " No ! it is not answered," exclaimed Madame Reinhard. 
 " I will proclaim to the world, I will let it be known what 
 Miss Graham is. Ma pauvre petite/" Again she would 
 have caressed Helen, but there was the same steady repul- 
 sion ; Helen did not even look at her. 
 
 "It shall be a public disgrace a dishonour," continued 
 Madame Reinhard, passionately ; ' for myself, what care I ? " 
 and, changing her tone, she tried to laugh. " You ask me 
 about the letter. Suppose it to be mine. Suppose I write 
 to a friend about things near my heart, and all but settled. 
 Suppose I repeat the nonsense I have heard ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Helen, and the tone of her voice for 
 a moment silenced Madame Reinhard. 
 
 " It is scarcely nonsense," continued Susan, " to repeat to 
 a person like the Baroness d'Olban the things you have 
 heajd from Helen in strict confidence ; still less can it be 
 uonsense to tell them to Captain Mordaunt, and to encourage 
 him to make a bet publicly that, with your help, Helen 
 Clare shall consent to be his wife, willing or not willing, be- 
 fore another week has passed." 
 
 Helen involuntarily shuddered, and Susan stooped and 
 kissed her forehead. 
 
 " The Baroness d'Olban spoken of in that way ! " ex- 
 claimed Madame Reinhard. ■ Miss Graham, you will 
 answer for your words." 
 
 " You spoke of her yourself," said Helen, in a faint voice. 
 " You told me that you were scarcely accpaainted with her." 
 
 " At first, of course ; one is but a slight accmaintance at 
 first ; and I did hear things : it follows not they are true. 
 Meine Liebe, it must not be that jou judge me so. Let me 
 talk to you by myself." She glanced impatiently at Susan. 
 
 " I shall keep you but a very few minutes," said Susan. 
 " Helen, Madame Reinhard deceives you. She has long been 
 the intimate friend of the Baroness d'Olban. I could prove
 
 itors. 173 
 
 that -without the help of the letter. A person whom we 
 both depend upon kuows it." 
 
 <c A person ! hear her, Helen," exclaimed Madame Rein- 
 hard. " I will tell you all. Do I not see it as if it were 
 written before me ? She leagues with that Mr. Egerton : 
 she spies upon jou and upon me. He has been at my 
 house ; he knows my friends ; it is his scheme. He does 
 not forgive, and he would revenge ; he would not see you 
 happy." 
 
 Susan smiled coldly. " Helen, dearest," she said, ' you 
 are convinced." But Helen could not speak ; only bitter, 
 scalding tears coursed each other clown her cheeks. 
 
 " Monsieur le Capitaine will have Mr. Egerton answer for 
 this," said Madame Reinhard. 
 
 Helen clasped her hands together in terror. 
 
 Susan whispered to her, " An idle threat ! Now or never 
 you must have courage." She spoke aloud to Madame 
 Reinhard, " You have brought in Mr. Egcrton's name unjus- 
 tifiably. It is I who am answerable for this, and I only. 
 Helen, before I go, promise me that this miserable engage- 
 ment shall be put an end to." 
 
 " And take the consequences," exclaimed Madame Rein- 
 hard. " Let Mr. Egerton meet Captain Mordaunt if he 
 dare." 
 
 Susan held her cousin's trembling hand. " Helen, dar- 
 ling trust me, the blame is mine, only save yourself." 
 
 " She deceived me," murmured Helen. 
 
 " And Captain Mordaunt,*' said Susan ; " what of him ? " 
 
 The contraction of Helen's brow showed the feeling 
 which his name aroused. 
 
 " Twice a jilt," said Madame Reinhard, sarcastically. "I 
 know your English word."' 
 
 Helen started from herseat. " Who dares call me that V M 
 but she sank down again and murmured, "It will be true."
 
 171 IVOES. 
 
 " It will not be true ! " exclaimed Susan. " You were 
 deceived by false appearances, and you have a full right to 
 draw back." 
 
 " And Sir Henry and Miladi Augusta, and the kind 
 world ? " said Madame Reinhard, coolly. 
 
 " Mamma ! " murmured Helen. " Susan, I dare not." 
 
 " Dare not be honest ! Oh, Helen, how low hare you 
 sunk ! " 
 
 Helen groaned in bitterness of spirit. 
 
 Madame Reinhard put her arm round her ; but Helen 
 drew herself away as from the touch of a serpent. 
 
 Susan looked at her watch. " There are but a few min- 
 utes more : come with me now, Helen, to Lady Augusta. 
 Let the world blame you ; and grant that it may have cause 
 for blame, yet you will have some always to love and care 
 for you, — my mother, myself, Claude " 
 
 " Not him ! not him ! " murmured Helen. 
 
 " Yes, Claude," repeated Susan ; and the unselfish noble- 
 ness of her nature gave force to the words which jarred upon 
 the very tenderest chord of her own heart. " He has never 
 ceased to be your friend. It is not in his nature to forget." 
 
 " Only to be comforted," observed Madame Reinhard, 
 bitterly. " You see, meine Liebe, it is as I said; Miss Gra- 
 ham and Mr. Egerton, they are one." 
 
 " Was not that a carriage which stopped ? " exclaimed 
 Helen. She rushed to the window. :i Mamma is going out. 
 I can't see her." 
 
 Susan, instead of replying, drew her gently to the door. 
 
 " I congratulate you," said Madame Reinhard. 
 
 Helen turned to her with sudden composure : " You may 
 congratulate me," she said. " Whatever may be the end, 
 Madame Reinhard, at least, will never again have the op- 
 portunity of deceiving me." 
 
 She followed Susan down the stairs, and paused at the
 
 IVOKS. 1 I O 
 
 entrance of Lad}- Augusta's boudoir. " Let me go in alone ; 
 wait for me in the drawing-room." 
 
 Susan whispered, " God help you, dearest ! " and Helen 
 opened the door. 
 
 But the room was empty. She hurried again into the 
 passage. Susan was in the drawing-room, and Helen joiued 
 her there. In that interval Lady Augusta passed down the 
 staircase, and the rattle of the carriage wheels was the an- 
 nouncement that she had driven off. 
 
 Helen looked at her cousin with a face of utter despair. 
 " You see," she said, " it is all against me." 
 
 " Never ! never ! Helen ; it will save you from a life- 
 long repentance." 
 
 " If you could only stay with me," murmured Helen. 
 
 " Impossible ! I have not even now three minutes. Only 
 promise that it shall be done." 
 
 Helen trembled as she said, " I promise." 
 
 And Susan kissed her tenderly, and whispered again, 
 " God help you ! " And in another minute she was driving 
 through the streets, amid the whirl of business and pleasure, 
 with one thought in her heart, that she had saved Helen for 
 the present, and that the future lay with God. 
 
 Helen had but a short private interview with Lady Au- 
 gusta that evening, very much shorter than she had antici- 
 pated. Lady Augusta came home from her drive full of ex- 
 citement. She had been making a round of visits, announcing 
 to her friends dear Helen's approaching marriage with Con- 
 stantine Mordaunt, so soon to be Earl of Harford. She 
 had received congratulations, heard from all quarters that she 
 was the best, wisest, kindest of Step-mothers, and had owned 
 that she was at the summit of her expectations. Something 
 perhaps in the unusual flow of spirits which the circum- 
 stances occasioned, and the heat of the weather, which hap- 
 pened to be great, broughl on a violenl headache; but she
 
 170 IVOKS. 
 
 tfould not yield to it. When her maid came to dress her for 
 dinner, she insisted upon seeing Helen, and talking with her 
 about her wedding dress. Helen went to her as a culprit. 
 Lady Augusta's first question was, " How did you enjoy 
 your drive to Richmond ? " 
 
 " I did not go, mamma," was the reply. The tone and 
 manner were very peculiar. 
 
 Lady Augusta turned round sharply, and curiously. 
 " You did not go, Helen ? And Madame Rcinhard, and 
 Oonstantine ? " 
 
 " They may have gone; I can't say." 
 
 Helen had not the least intention of being aggravating ; 
 she was too much afraid of the task before her willingly to 
 increase the irritation which she discovered in Lady Au- 
 gusta's manner. But her very timidity was her danger. 
 
 " I don't understand ; you are playing with me, Helen." 
 
 " Not playing at all, mamma, only in very serious ear- 
 nest." Helen's voice softened, and there was something be- 
 seeching in her accent. 
 
 Lady Augusta raised her hand to her head: Helen saw 
 that her face was flushed, and there was an expression in her 
 eyes which was unusual. She begged her to sit down, and 
 offered her some eau de Cologne, and Lady Augusta bathed 
 her temples, and owned she felt strange and ill ; but she per- 
 sisted in her inquiry. Helen tried to evade it ; and the 
 evasion increased Lady Augusta's agitation. It seemed as 
 though the secret misgiving lurked in her mind, ready to 
 break forth at any moment. 
 
 " I have been thinking about your wedding dress," she 
 said. 
 
 " Have you, mamma ? I am sorry you should have given 
 yourself the trouble." 
 
 " Why call it trouble ? What do you mean ? " Lady 
 Augusta's tone was fierce, and again she pressed her hand 
 upon her brow.
 
 ITORS. 177 
 
 " We won't talk about it just at present," said Helen, 
 for she felt frightened. 
 
 " But we must talk about it ; there is something hidden, 
 — I will know. Helen ! " — the suspicion burst forth, — 
 " you would not dare play false a second time ? " 
 
 Helen trembled violently. She said in a faltering voice, 
 " I will explain what I feel another time, but I think Cap- 
 tain Mordaunt has not treated me quite as he ought." 
 
 Lady Augusta gazed upon her wonderingly and incredu- 
 lously. " Changed since this afternoon ! changed ! changed ! " 
 she repeated. 
 
 " Only from things I have heard," said Helen, speaking 
 very gently. " They must be impaired into. But not now, 
 mamma, not now ; you are ill. I am sure you are," she 
 added, taking Lady Augusta's hand. 
 
 " I am not ill; I am well." Lady Augusta caught her 
 hand away, and stood up ; her face was crimson. " Helen, 
 you have been my torment from your infancy." 
 
 Helen was proudly silent. 
 
 " Yes," continued Lady Augusta, " you have thwarted 
 me in everything — all my wishes have been disappointed. 
 You have made yourself a mark for the world ; every one 
 points at me because of your conduct. But it shall not be 
 again " — the tones of her voice became louder. " You shall 
 promise me that you will never treat Constantino Mordaunt 
 as you did Claude Egcrton." 
 
 She waited for a reply, her eyes riveted, and her figure 
 immovable. If it had been an hour before Helen answered, 
 it seemed that she would still have remained in the same 
 fixed attitude. 
 
 " I cannot promise, mamma. I can prove to you that 
 
 Captain Mordaunt is " But Helen dared not finish 
 
 her .sentence, for Lady Augusta sank into a chair, her face 
 working with convulsive agitation. Helen" drew near, but
 
 17s IVOES. 
 
 she was motioned away. Lady Augusta's countenance ex 
 pressed the most racking pain and mental excitement. 
 
 Helen, now excessively alarmed, touched the bell, but 
 Lady Augusta started forward to prevent her. The exertion 
 was followed by reaction, and she fell back in a kind of 
 stupor. 
 
 A telegraphic message that evening carried the intelli- 
 gence to Wingfield, that Lady Augusta Clara was attacked 
 with brain fever, and that her life was in danger. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 Among the many scenes upon which the eye of the traveller 
 rests, as he wanders through foreign lands, there are perhaps 
 only a few which imprint themselves indelibly on the me- 
 mory. The greater part fade both in colouring and in the 
 distinctness of their outline, as years go by. The geueral 
 impression — the soul, if it may be so called — leaves its trace ; 
 we feel what we have looked upon, but we cannot recall it. 
 Yet some recollections there are upon which the hand of 
 time seems to have no power. The current of life bears us 
 rapidly away, and its cares call our attention aside, and give 
 us no leisure for imagination ; but the beauty once gazed 
 upon, has become " a joy for ever." Still it appears before 
 us, unlooked for, unsummoned ; still it paints itself to our 
 fancy in the heaped-up masses of the stormy clouds, and the 
 vivid colouring of the sunset sky ; and even as it rises there 
 follows the intense, eager, longing to look upon it once 
 more, which would seem to belong only to the love called 
 forth by a living being, the yearning for the absent and the 
 dead.
 
 IVOKS. 
 
 170 
 
 There is a narrow pass between the mountains which 
 separate the southern Tyrol from the Austrian province of 
 Venice. 
 
 Some fifty years ago, it was probably traversed by few 
 but the people of the country. Now, a road, broad and 
 smooth, passes along the base of the mighty hills, and tracks 
 the course of the little river Rienz, leading by a continuous 
 but gradual ascent from the Pusteithal to the vale of Am- 
 pezzo. Along this road, the English traveller rolls in his 
 easy carnage, troops of soldiers march on their way to the 
 Austrian provinces, and the stream of commercial traffic 
 passes from Bavaria and the Tyrol to the seaports of Trieste 
 and Venice. 
 
 Yet the Ampezzo pass can never be anything but solitary 
 — solitary in spirit. The jagged peaks of the dolomite moun- 
 tains stand apart, holding no communion with the pettiness 
 of human interests. They point t'leir spiral summits, sharp 
 as gigantic needles, to the sky ; and the gloomy cliffs which 
 form their base stand proudly inaccessible to the foot of 
 man. Wonderful indeed they are both in form and colour- 
 ing: in parts black, as though some huge hand had stained 
 their rugged precipices with pitch ; iu parts tinged with a 
 pale yellow, and again exhibiting a surface of deep, bright 
 red. Peak above peak they rise ; their keen heads looking 
 down upon the solemn pine forests which clothe their sides; 
 whilst behind, peering over all, may be seen a far distant 
 summit, steeped, glowing, fused in the light which is neither 
 of Heaven nor of earth, but which mingles the glories of each, 
 the hue of sunset upon snow. 
 
 Such at least was the appearance of the mountains as a 
 party of English travellers, on their way from [nspruck to 
 Venice, journeyed through the Ampezzo pass, late in an eveu- 
 ing towards the close of summer. An elderly lady, thin and 
 
 rird, and propped up by cushions, and evidently wearied
 
 ISO IYOKS. 
 
 by the distance -which she had already travelled, leaned back 
 in the luxurious carriage, with her eyes closed ; or, if she 
 opened them, casting a vacant glance around her, as though 
 she did not understand why she should be there, and inquir- 
 ing how much farther they must go before they stopped for 
 the nio;ht. 
 
 By her side sat a young girl, pale and worn likewise, so 
 worn indeed, that at the first glance the perfect outline of 
 her very lovely features would scarcely have attracted re- 
 mark. But bodily fatigue seemed to have no power over 
 her, as bending from the carriage, she gazed intently upon 
 the rocks, every now and then uttering some ejaculation of 
 wonder and delight, and the next moment turning to the 
 invalid with a word of apology or thoughtfulness, arranging 
 the pillows, and suggesting, " We shall be there very soon 
 now ! Pietro says so." 
 
 The back seat of the carriage was occupied by a tall, 
 grey-haired gentleman, busied with Murray's Handbook ; and 
 another lady, young, with no marked beauty, nothing strik- 
 ing in figure or manner, unless it might be an air of thought- 
 ful self-contvol and repose. She too was engrossed by the 
 scenery, but It was in a different way from her companion. 
 There were no expressions of ecstacy ; she sat quite still, and 
 it seemed an effort to her to speak ; but there was a mist 
 over her dark grey eyes, and occasionally she laid her hand 
 gently upon that of her friend, and when their glances met, 
 she smiled, and the smile was as a sunbeam of gladness light- 
 ing up some quiet home valley. 
 
 " Cortina d'Ampezzo, that was the place, wasn't it, Su- 
 san ? " said the gentleman, pointing to the name in the 
 Handbook. " Stella d'Oro, clean and honest, — one must 
 look out for both those points now : these people are not so 
 unsophisticated as our friends in the Tyrol." 
 
 " Lady Augusta will like the Italian cookery, I hope,"
 
 IVOES. 181 
 
 said Susan ; " that is one great fault in the Tyrol ; one can't 
 afford to have a fastidious appetite." 
 
 Lad}- Augusta roused herself. " Are we getting to the 
 end, Sir Henry ? I don't see any houses." 
 
 No one smiled; but Helen answered directly, " We are 
 very near the top of the pass ; and there Pietro will move 
 on faster ; and papa says it is a very good inn." 
 
 " Murray says so, not I," said Sir Henry ; " what he mils 
 good may be straw beds and sour bread." 
 
 " It 'is very hard," murmured Lady Augusta ; " we 
 would pay for every thing ; we don't care what we pay 
 Pietro manages very badly ; we ought to turn him away." 
 
 " Pietro is only the voiturier, my dear," said Sir Henry. 
 " He does well enough what he professes ; he can't answer 
 for the inns." 
 
 Lady Augusta looked to Helen as if for protection. 
 There was an expression of helplessness in her marked, hard 
 features which was very sad. 
 
 " Annette will manage very comfortably for us," said 
 Helen. " She has been abroad so much, she knows exactly 
 what to do. You will quite enjoy your tea and your rest 
 when they come, mamnia. Now we really are at the top." 
 
 " I don't know what you call the top," said Lady Augus- 
 ta ; " we have not been going up hill at all. I can't think 
 why you talk so, Helen ; and Annette did not make my bed 
 at all comfortable last night. We will go back, Sir Henry. 
 I want to go back to England." 
 
 Helen sighed bitterly, and offered no reply. 
 
 " Pietro is taking off the horse he hired, I see," said Sir 
 Henry, looking out. " That shows we shall have no more 
 hills. 1 don't think we needed help, oidy Pietro is so careful. 
 The Tyrol peasant will hav< a good journey to travel to- 
 night if he has to make his way hade lo I In: I'ustcrthal with 
 his tired animal. That can't be Cortina d'Ampezzo surely f "
 
 1S2 IVORS. 
 
 and be pointed to a small inn, little more than a hovel, by 
 the wayside. 
 
 It was an unfortunate question, for it drew Lady Augusta's 
 attention again to the fact that it was rapidly growing dark, 
 and that there were no signs of a human habitation, except 
 the shelter to which Sir Henry had alluded, and which had 
 Deen originally intended for a hospice; and the ruins of a 
 castle standing on the ridge of one of the nearest hills, and 
 in former days commanding the approach to the Tyrol 
 through the Ampezzo pass. 
 
 " I don't know why we came here," she began ; but she 
 was interrupted by Sir Henry, in the determined tone which 
 betrays a secret misgiving. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself my dear ; Cortina must be quite 
 close now. Pietro," — he summoned the voiturier to the 
 carriage, — "get on, man, quickly; we can't be out all 
 night." 
 
 Pietro, usually the most good-natured of voituriers, was a 
 little out of heart, from the fact that he knew no more than Sir 
 Henry of the exact distance his horses had still to travel. He 
 mounted to his seat rather sullenly, gave his whip a very spirit- 
 less smack compared with that which he usually exhibited, and 
 rounding the angle of the hill, turned his back upon the 
 mountains, now growing gloomier and fiercer in their phan- 
 tom grandeur, as the gathering darkness, and the last burn- 
 ing colouring of sunset enveloped their sharp peaks, and 
 descended into the valley of Ampezzo 
 
 The party in the carriage Decame silent. Lady Augusta 
 again closed her eyes. Sir Henry turned round every in- 
 stant, as if the action would hurry the horses, and make the 
 distance shorter ; and Susan looked back upon the mountains, 
 and wrote the scene in her memory ; whilst Helen's eye 
 dwelt upon the wide opening valley, dark as one of Poussin's 
 pictures, and her thoughts took their hue from the pine
 
 ivors. 183 
 
 forests, and the twilight shadow?, and it seemed to her an 
 image of her life. 
 
 " "We go to the Stella d'Oro, remember, Pietro," shouted 
 Sir Henry, when the twinkle of a light was seen in the 
 distance. 
 
 " Not near yet, sir," was the answer; and the voiturier 
 quickened his pace. 
 
 " There is a carriage before us, I think," said Helen, 
 leaning out ; " I wonder whether they know the way better 
 than we do." 
 
 " There is no mistaking the way in a country like this, 
 said Sir Henry, impatiently ; " you couldn't get out of the 
 road if you wished it. Distance is the only thing, — a mon- 
 strous long journey it is." 
 
 " I wonder what hotel those people are going to," said 
 Helen ; " they will have the best choice of beds if we don't 
 take care : not that it signifies for us, only for mamma." 
 
 " A choice of straw, I su>pect it will be," said Sir 
 Henry. " You don't expect to find Loudon hotels here, 
 Helen, do you ?" 
 
 " I don't know what I expect," said Helen, sadly ; " but 
 mamma is so tired, she will be quite ill if we don't stop 
 soon." 
 
 " We arc stopping, it seems," said Sir Henr}', as Pietro 
 suddenly drew his horses up. " What's the matter now ? " 
 
 " I should just like to kuow how much further we may 
 goto look for Cortina," was the reply. " There's a party 
 beyond at a stand still; " and Pietro let himsef down from 
 his seat, and called out to the voiturier of the vehicle be- 
 fore them. A short conversation, in a patois compounded 
 of German and Italian, followed, at the close of which 
 Pietro returned, with the information that it was a good 
 way still." 
 
 "Ask what inn they go to," .-aid Sir Henry; "ask if
 
 1SI IVORS. 
 
 they know anything about the Stella d'Oro. It won't do tc 
 give your mamma a bad night," he added, looking anxiously 
 at Lady Augusta. 
 
 Pietro went back with his query. " The Post, or the 
 Aquila Nera," called out an English voice, in the unmistak- 
 able accent of an English gentleman. 
 
 " Claude Egerton ! " exclaimed Sir Henry, and he tried 
 to push open the carriage door, but it resisted. The voitu- 
 rier drove on, and Sir Henry finished his sentence quietly, 
 by adding, ' ; It couldn't have been though ; he is kept at 
 home." 
 
 Neither Susan nor Helen spoke again till they entered 
 the village of Cortina d'Ampezzo, and stopped before the 
 uninviting entrance of the Stella d'Oro. 
 
 CHAPTER LXYI. 
 
 " One person at least is happy to-night," said Helen, as she 
 sat down upon the edge of a pallet bed, literally the only 
 piece of furniture in the bare apartment, considered one of 
 the good bed-rooms of the Stella d'Oro. I thought Pietro 
 would have kissed the landlord in his delight at hearing 
 Italian spoken at last. 
 
 " It does not seem like Italy," said Susan. She had 
 made a seat of her carpet-bag, and was resting her back 
 against the wall. " Are we both to sleep in that bed, Helen ? 
 as they say this is the only room we can have." 
 
 " I could sleep upon the ground," said Helen, " if it were 
 only clean." She put the candle down upon the floor, and 
 examined it. 
 
 " Better not," said Susan ; " ' what the eye does n't see 
 the heart does n't grieve.' "
 
 ivors. 185 
 
 H But the body does, unfortunately," observed llelen. 
 " Poor mamma ! If they put her into a bed like this, what 
 will become of her ? Stuffed with straw, actually ! I 
 thought papa was laughing at me ; and such hills and val- 
 leys ! However, it will remind one of the Ampezzo pass." 
 
 " One shall scarcely need to be reminded of that," said 
 Susan. 
 
 « Xo ; " — Helen paused — " it was a longing of my child- 
 hood to travel. I remember once when I was a very little 
 thing, arrd had been hearing people talk about it, I prayed 
 that I might. When the prayer is granted, I suppose one 
 ou^ht not to murmur at the way." 
 
 " "What have you done with Lady Augusta ? " asked Su- 
 san, rather abruptly. 
 
 " Left her with Annette. I tried to do what I could, 
 but it wouldn't do. She says she is cold, and she has had 
 the stove lighted ; she will find it too much by and by, but 
 one can't help it. It will make that odd ante-room comfort- 
 able for papa. Annette has taken out the back of the stove 
 which opens into it, and now it looks like an English fire- 
 place. One likes that, in spite of being in Italy." 
 
 " It must be cold so high as we are," said Susan. " It 
 is cold now." 
 
 "The Post or the Aquila Nera might have been better 
 than this," said Helen. 
 
 " Yes," was the only reply, Susan rose from her carpet- 
 bag, and unlocked it. 
 
 " Was it Claude Egcrton? " said Helen. 
 
 " I think SO ; " but Su.san did not look round. 
 
 "I wonder how he came here," said Helen. 
 
 "He won't brave] as we do," observed Susan quickly. 
 
 "No; " Helen thought for a moment. "I am not sure, 
 Susan, that we were wise in coming." 
 
 " Lady A ugusta will be better when we are at rest again," 
 22
 
 186 irons.. 
 
 said Susan; " when we get to Venice. The long journeys 
 are too much for her." 
 
 " And the discomfort," said Helen. She looked round 
 the room disconsolately. " I suppose Annette will be here 
 presently ; there are no bells." 
 
 " We may as well trust to her," said Susan ; " we can do 
 nothing ; " and as she spoke a knock at the door was fol- 
 lowed by the entrance of Annette, and the peasant girl who 
 acted as chambermaid. 
 
 " Miladi waits tea," said Annette, reproachfully. Sir 
 Henry begs you to go, young ladies. Miss Graham ! at your 
 carpet-bag ! What's the use ? You go.' I see to all ; only 
 you be patient. Here," — and she beckoned authoritatively 
 to the girls, and touched the bed — " due — tu comprends — 
 zwei." 
 
 " And some water, Annette ? can't we have a little wa- 
 ter ? " said Helen. 
 
 "Ah! dell' acqua, — wasser, — water; you fetch some." 
 Annette pushed the chambermaid out of the room, and then 
 followed to see that she obeyed orders. 
 
 " Annette is in her glory," said Helen ; " she always is 
 when every one else is in despair ; " why don't we fetch the 
 water ourselves, Susan?" 
 
 " Because we don't know where to find it, I suppose," 
 said Susan, laughing. " And that ante-room, which they 
 call a sitting-room, with all our doors opening into it, is like 
 the sea ; one is afraid to cross it and explore tho regions on 
 the other side. How much water will they give us, I won- 
 der ! Our chambermaid looks as if she had never seen such 
 an element." 
 
 Annette came back with a small basin, and a smaller 
 jug, and one towel. " It was all they could have then," she 
 said, in a threatening tone ; " so they must be contented. If 
 they would travel amongst les rochers, les moniagnes, what
 
 IVORS. 1ST 
 
 could they expect ? And poor Miladi ! tired out : wanting 
 her tea ! They must go at once." 
 
 " ' Beggars musn't he choosers,' " said Susan. She took 
 up one corner of the towel, and dipped it in the water, and 
 gave another to her cousin. But Helen was thinking of 
 something else, and let it fall. 
 
 " Mamma didn't ask for me after I left her, did she, An- 
 nette ? " 
 
 " No, mademoiselle. Miladi only wants her tea ; " and 
 Annette" opened the door into the ante-room, in spite of Hel- 
 en's warning that she was not ready. 
 
 " She didn't say anything about my having the other bed 
 in her room, did she ? " continued Helen. 
 
 " No, mademoiselle. Miladi said to me. ' Annette, }-ou 
 sleep there.' And I think it better, Miladi depends upon 
 me." 
 
 Annette spoke proudly, conscious of her own importance. 
 
 " Please go and pour out the coffee, Susan ; I am coming. 
 Annette, you may wait to get the room ready." 
 
 The door closed, and when Helen was left alone, in the 
 bare, uncarpeted, dreary chamber of the homely inn, she 
 knelt by the side of the little pallet bed, and as tears coursed 
 each other down her cheeks, prayed as she ha J never prayed 
 in her own splendidly furnished apartment at Ivors, that 
 God would be pleased to pardon the many, many sins of her 
 wilful youth, and permit her to a tone to her father and her 
 step-mother for the sorrow she had caused thciu, by the de- 
 votion of her future life. 
 
 That was Helen's constant prayer now. There was one 
 thought ever in her mind ; her faults, her follies, had been 
 the indirect, though possibly no! the immediate cause of the 
 Wreck of Lady Augusta's health, and of the powers of her 
 iniud. 
 
 Coffee, fresh effes, an omelette, and some eatable bread!
 
 188 ivors. 
 
 The Stella d'Oro rose in Helen's estimation -when she found 
 that Lady Augusta could make a Learty meal ; but it was 
 only a sad pleasure, after all. Lady Augusta was like a child 
 now. When her bodily comforts were attended to, she was 
 satisfied to remain, without troubling herself either with the 
 past or the future. She was irritable indeed when the next 
 day's journey was mentioned. " If they were comfortable 
 where they were," she said, " why should they not stay ? 
 The people were very civil, she did not like moving; now 
 they were in Italy, they ought to be contented." 
 
 " Only near Italy, not quite in it, yet," said Helen, in a 
 soothing tone. " We must pass Zuel first. That must be 
 some miles beyond this. Besides, mamma, you know we want 
 to reach Venice." 
 
 " You shall go about in a gondola, then, my dear," said 
 Sir Henry ; " you will like that motion, it is so easy." 
 
 Lady Augusta only shook her head, and muttered some- 
 thing about not liking gondolas, and wishing to go to bed. 
 Helen summoned Annette from the room, where she was 
 employed in superintending the arrangement of a second 
 bed, and a washing-stand, and Lady Augusta departed; 
 Helen following her to the door of her apartment, and beg- 
 ging to be allowed to help her, but receiving only an abrupt 
 negative. 
 
 " Now for plans ! " said Sir Henry, as he pushed aside 
 his coffee cup, and referred to his constant friend, Murray. 
 " It does n't do to discuss them with your mamma, Helen. 
 I can't make out at all where Pietro means to take us to- 
 morrow. Belluno — that is out of our way; Santa Croce — 
 ' inn miserable ; ' Sarravalle, Ceneda — too far ; Longarone — 
 ' Post improved of late years ; ' that does n't sound well ; 
 but it is the only thing within reach that I can see. I won- 
 der," — he started up and then sat down again, — " If that 
 were really Claude Egerton, he would be sure to know; but 
 it could n't have been, certainly it could n't."
 
 IVORS. 1S9 
 
 Susan answered without raising her eyes from the pocket- 
 book, in which she was making a few pencil notes. "Isa- 
 bella said in the letter which I had at Innsbruck, that 31 r. 
 Egerton had been at Wingfield, and that he was making 
 particular inquiries as to our route." 
 
 " A man may do that without intending to follow it," 
 said Sir Henry. " If we were in a civilized place, we might 
 send and inquire for Claude at the Post, and the Aquila 
 Nera. But these fellows talk such a jargon. And as to 
 going oaeself " he drew his chair nearer to the fire burn- 
 ing at the back of the stove ; — " I declare it 's as cold as 
 December, for all they call it Italy." 
 
 He devoted himself again to the guide book. " Helen, 
 you are a good hand at reckoning distances ; just reckon 
 these with me." 
 
 Helen tried to follow where her father's finger pointed, 
 but she could not give her attention, and Sir Henry appealed 
 to Susan. 
 
 " I can't think what has happened to you to-night, you 
 seem both good for nothing. Bed is the best place for you 
 after all. Why dou't you go? We shall have to start early 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I can't go till I am sure mamma is comfortable," said 
 Helen ; " but that need n't keep you, Susan. Papa, would 
 it be really impossible to find out more about our journey 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 Susan had closed her book, and lighted her candle, but 
 she waited to hear the answer. 
 
 "I don't know who is to help us, unless it may be 
 Claude," said Sir Henry. 
 
 " It will be very bad for mamma to have an ancertaiu 
 distance," continued Helen. "The moment there is any 
 
 doubt as to what is to he done, she becomes BO nervous." 
 
 "Yes." Sir Henry Looked at his watch, th on at the lire.
 
 190 IVORS. 
 
 " It is late ; they will be gone to bed. I think we had bet- 
 ter make inquiry the first thing in the morning. Pietrc 
 will go then, but he and his horses must be fast asleep by 
 this time." 
 
 Susan took np her candle, and said good night. 
 
 " I shall come soon," said Helen. " How very tired you 
 look, Susan ! " 
 
 Susan only smiled. As she left the room, Sir Henry 
 remarked : " People used to say that Susan had even spirits; 
 I don't think that is at all the case now." 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 " A glorious morning, Helen, and your mamma has had a 
 good night, Annette says. We shall do famously now." 
 Sir Henry made his appearance in the ante-room at eight 
 o'clock, rubbing his hands, and walked up to the window and 
 back again to the door, and looked out into the passage to 
 see if breakfast was coming. " A glorious morning ! we 
 ought to have been oif, though, by this time. Not a place 
 to stay in, this, in spite of your mamma's wishes. A very 
 shabby apology for a bed they gave me ; if I had n't been 
 dead tired, I could n't possibly have slept. And for cleanli- 
 ness — it's best not to inquire too minutely. What are you 
 doing there, child ? " 
 
 " Arranging some crochet work for mamma," said Helen. 
 " When she stops in the middle of the day, she likes to have 
 some work." 
 
 "Always thoughtful," said Sir Henry; and he patted 
 her shoulder. 
 
 Tears rose in Helen's eyes.
 
 IVORS. 191 
 
 " Not sad, my child, eh ? " he continued. " We shall do 
 very well again, depend upon it. Markham assured me that 
 time and change were the only things wanted. And for 
 other matters, you know, Helen, I don't quarrel with you, 
 whatever the rest of the world may do." 
 
 " It would not signify for the world," said Helen, " if I 
 did not quarrel with myself." 
 
 " I don't see the cause you have," continued Sir Henry, 
 a little impatiently. " Mordaunt was a scoundrel; one can't 
 hide the fact. You had a full right to cast him off, and you 
 were n't answerable for any consequences." 
 
 " I oucrht never to have cast him on," said Helen, at- 
 tempting to answer her father in a tone as light as his own. 
 " If I had n't been led — but I don't excuse myself, — dear 
 papa, please don't teach me to do so." 
 
 " That German woman was a desperate humbug ! " said 
 Sir Henry. " Ah. Helen ! if I had a wish — but, however, 
 you are free, I always told you so. By the bye, I sent 
 Pietro to the Post, and the Aquila Nera, this morning to 
 inquire for Claude, but I could n't find out anything. Three 
 English gentlemen slept at the Post, but they were off at 
 seven, and forgot to put their names in the book. If we do 
 come up with him, it would be pleasant enough for me; but 
 I don't know about you, child. "What do you say?" Sir 
 Henry put his hand under Helen's chin, and made her look 
 at him. 
 
 "I suppose we should manage pretty well," was Helen's 
 constrained answer, and she turned away, and knocked at 
 Lady Augusta's door. 
 
 Annette answered the knock " Miladi is just ready j 
 she comes to breakfast this instant ! Ah ! the coffee not 
 up; stop, you go to Miladi, mademoiselle. Thi bag 
 
 is to be locked; then Pietro will come for it; are 
 ready? And Miss Graham:— you tell Miss Graham, *be 
 must not wait. Why don't they bring the coffee?"
 
 192 ivoks. 
 
 Annette bustled herself out of the ante-room, catching 
 up stray articles in her way, to be thrust into a certain bag 
 kept for emergencies and last hopes, and Helen went to Lady 
 Augusta. 
 
 " Papa says you slept well, dear mamma ; I am so glad. 
 Is there anything else to be put into the carpet bag ? Let 
 me fasten your boot for you." 
 
 " Stop, Helen ; the floor is so dirty ; you must not kneel 
 upon it;" and Lady Augusta laid her handkerchief on the 
 ground. " Such a nasty place this is ! I wonder why we 
 came here ; we would have paid handsomely for better 
 rooms." 
 
 " We are going on to Venice, you know, mamma," said 
 Helen ; " we shall find beautiful hotels there, which once 
 were palaces. You must come and have some breakfast, and 
 then we shall start ; and such a lovely day ! You will like 
 to have your breakfast," she repeated, trying to draw away 
 Lady Augusta's attention from the little courtyard under- 
 neath the window, where Pietro, surrounded by peasants and 
 ostlers, was employed in packing the carriage. 
 
 " I don't know the good of going to Venice ; I shan't be 
 better there. English people are n't wise to come abroad. 
 Annette tells me that there are more English people here ; 
 she says that Claude has come after you, Helen. But it's 
 no use for him ; it's no use for any one. You never mean 
 to please me." 
 
 " I would try to please you in any way I could, dear 
 mamma." Helen spoke very calmly ; she had been now too 
 long accustomed to this kind of reproach to be shocked at it, 
 and she took it as part of her punishment. " But you will 
 come to breakfast ; the coffee will be cold." 
 
 She led Lady Augusta into the ante-room, poured out 
 her coffee, cut her roll in slices, and took care that there 
 should be just enough chicken placed on her plate, and then
 
 ivors. 193 
 
 Lady Augusta for the first time said, " Thank you ; and 
 Helen sat down contented. 
 
 " The carriage is ready, Miladi. Sir Henry is waiting. 
 Let me take the carriage bag. Mademoiselle, you carry the 
 book. Miss Graham, — ah me ! where is Miss Graham ? 
 Too tiresome ! Miladi, you won't go alone ; nobody else will 
 put you comfortable. Miss Graham ! " Annette rushed to 
 Susan's door. 
 
 " Miss Graham is gone down," said Helen. " She is 
 never late." 
 
 " Never ! a long day ! " Annette shrugged her shoulders. 
 " But we come ; we leave ce vilain lieu. Ah les montagncs ! 
 que je les detest e ! " and she shook her hand at the window-, 
 in defiance of the green hills which looked down upon the 
 little inn. 
 
 Sir Henry was examining the horses, and talking to 
 Pietro. Susan stood by him. 
 
 " Capo di Pontc, you say ? I don't see it mentioned." 
 
 " Capo di Ponte ; good beds at Capo di Ponte," said the 
 landlord, proud of the first English words he had learnt. 
 
 " Who told you about Capo di Pontc, Pietro ? " asked 
 Susan. 
 
 Sir Henry turned round quickly. " You here, Susan ! 
 how you startled me! Better get into the carriage, child, 
 and settle yourself." 
 
 But Susan lingered; Sir Henry was impatient. "I 
 shall manage it all ; don't be fidgety." 
 
 She could not help herself then; but she leaned out of 
 the carriage to hear Pietr er. 
 
 " A man at the Post, who saw the English parly off 
 this morning," replied Pietro. •' They don't go there them- 
 selves; they stop short at Longarone; bul thai makes to- 
 morrow's journey tOO lODg." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand. We get to Treviso to-morrow.
 
 194 ivoes. 
 
 No chance of coming up with Claude Egerton then, if it 
 should be he." 
 
 Susan put down her veil, and was so interested in ob- 
 serving Annette's final adjustment of boxes and carpet bags, 
 that she averted her face completely from Lady Augusta and 
 Helen, not even looking round, when Helen urged that they 
 should change places, and asserted that the back seat, on 
 such a fine day, could not make her uncomfortable. 
 
 There is a great charm, doubtless, in visiting a country 
 long familiar to us by description, and which we have, as it 
 were, made part of our own by experience ; but there is a 
 greater still in that which we know only by its place in the 
 map, and the loveliness of which we discover, as for the first 
 time, for ourselves. The mountains of Friuli around Tai de 
 Cadore may, perhaps, bring to us but few associations; yet, 
 if we have ever looked at the background of Titian's pictures, 
 we may see the impression which they made upon a mighty 
 genius, and may trace the scenes impressed upon his childish 
 imagination, with all the brilliancy belonging to early age, 
 and scarcely to be diminished, even when revisited in after 
 years, and criticised by the sober judgment, and with the 
 careworn feeling of manhood. 
 
 For, in truth, it is a glorious country. Jagged moun- 
 tains, their summits occasionally tipped with snow ; lesser 
 hills covered with wood, with here and there huge yellowish 
 crags, giving a peculiar warmth of colouring to the scenery ; 
 deep rocky ravines ; villages, and churches, dotted about on 
 all sides ; and the ruins of ancient castles, proudly looking 
 down upon them from the projecting cliffs ; and all felt, 
 rather than seen, beneath the blue Italian sky, and under 
 the soothing influence of the southern air ! — it is a land to 
 dream of. When it has passed, and memory recurs to it, it 
 is with a strange, incredulous doubt whether the eye, now 
 profaned by common sights, can ever have been permitted to 
 gaze upon such a vision of beauty.
 
 ivors. 195 
 
 Helen and Susan leaned over the carriage, drinking in 
 with delight the views which every turn of the road brought 
 before them, whilst even Lady Augusta was sometimes roused 
 to observation, and owned that it was much warmer and 
 pleasanter in Italy than in the Tyrol. They were descend- 
 ing into the valley at an easy pace, following the course of 
 the little river Piave. Sir Henry having satisfied himself 
 that it was a splendid country, was looking out for Perarollo, 
 "'Inn fair,' " as he informed them, after due consultation 
 with Murray. There they were to dine ; there he hoped 
 that they might get something fit for Lady Augusta to eat. 
 " You need n't look scoimful, Helen ; rocks and mountains 
 won't keep you alive. AVhat does Pietro say, I wonder?" 
 and touching Annette, who was seated on the carriage box, 
 he told her to inquire how long it would be before they 
 reached Perarollo. 
 
 " Un petit qaa.it J'heurc, Sir Henry. Is Miladi tired : " 
 was Annette's anxious reply. 
 
 " Trois quart-d'heures, you mean, Annette. Always 
 multiply by three, when you are travelling. You have no 
 biscuits with you, I suppose ? Lady Augusta looks as if she 
 would like something." 
 
 " Des biscuits I non. Ce vilain pays ! Bread very bad ; 
 sandwiches never heard of; how do the people live. Ah! 
 quel costume!'''' and forgetting Lady Augusta, Annette lilt- 
 ed up her hands in astonishment, as a peasant girl pa 
 them, with the Tyrolean man'.-; hat, a gown made of a blue 
 bodice and red skirt, and wearing a silver necklace, with a 
 cross depending from it. 
 
 "She is stopped to be drawn. Ce sont des Anglais ! " 
 called out Annette, in delight, looking back as the 
 went on. "See,ther< are ome gentlemen sketching. Look, 
 mademoiselle, look." 
 
 Helen did not take tin' trouble to turn round, but Su
 
 196 ivors. 
 
 from the back seat, did "what she thought would please An- 
 nette, and bent forward. 
 
 " Did you see them, Susan ? " asked Helen, laughing ; 
 " were they English wild animals ? " 
 
 " They are gone now," said Susan ; " or rather we are. 
 Will you allow me to look at Murray ? " she added, taking 
 the book from its place by Sir Henry's side. 
 
 Susan was busy with the guide book for more than the 
 " petit quart-d'heure " of which Annette had spoken ; but 
 just as they began to descend the wonderful zig-zag road 
 which carries the traveller from the Alpine scenery around 
 Cadore into the picturesque little village of Perarollo, she 
 gave it as the result of her researches, that if they had set 
 off earlier, and had chosen to stop on the road, they might 
 have visited Pieve di Cadore, the birthplace of Titian. 
 
 " I suppose the people we passed had been doing that," 
 *aid Helen. 
 
 A remark to which no reply was obtained. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII. 
 
 "Now, Susan, mamma is comfortable and Annette looking 
 after her, shall we attempt a sketch ? " said Helen. The first 
 Italian dinner was concluded; and Lady Augusta, having 
 acknowledged that certainly, though the place was so misera- 
 ble and dirty, they did manage to send up things in a very 
 different way from the Tyrol, had taken to her crochet, as 
 Annette remarked, quite kindly, and would no doubt be 
 willing to sit quiet till Pietro was ready. 
 
 They left the little inn, and strolled through the village, 
 scattered at the foot of steep hills, and affording scarcely any 
 level ground except the high road.
 
 itors. 197 
 
 " It is beyond sketching." said Susan, as sbe glanced at 
 the wall of cliff by which they had descended into the village, 
 and alone the face of which the road could be traced in lines 
 which seemed at a distance nearly horizontal. 
 
 "Cowardly, that is," exclaimed Helen. "If I don't 
 please other people in sketching, I please myself, even if I 
 can only make half-a-dozen strokes. Just see what a picture 
 that would be, where the water is rushing from above, de- 
 scending, one cannot see how, from the hills. The meeting 
 of the Piave and what is the other river ? " 
 
 " The Bolte. But they scarcely look like natural streams. 
 They must have been pent up, I fancy, artificially, and are 
 like foaming English mill streams. I suppose if one asked 
 why it was done one should not comprehend the answer. 
 Oh. dear ! one's ignorance ! Is there anything like travelling 
 to make one understand how great it is?" 
 
 •• Natural or artificial," said Helen, in a determined tone, 
 "I shall try it." And she seated herself upon a low wall by 
 the side of the river, facing the mountainous zig-zag road and 
 the raviue through which the water had forced its way as it 
 descended from the hills. 
 
 " And I shall walk on a little further aud see how the 
 village looks from the heights,'' s-.id Susan. " I can't sketch 
 to-day." 
 
 The accent of her voice struck Helen ; and she said, a 
 little uneasily, " You are not well." 
 
 " Not so very, as people say. The carriage tire- me, 1 
 shall be all the better for a walk ; ami I like ;■> )„■ alone, in- 
 deed I do : you know I am always honest." 
 
 ''Yes, alwi lid Helen, heartily. "But, Susan, I 
 
 think sometimes that in caring for mamma we don'< care t'"r 
 you." 
 
 " I can care for myself," -aid Susan. '• Besides, why 
 should I be thought of more than you?"
 
 198 IYOKS. 
 
 " Because I have been thought of all my life," said Helen ; 
 " and it has spoilt me. That is not bitterness, but truth ; 
 and I am learning to bear it. Now go ; if we begin talking 
 I shall never sketch. Remember, we have only an hour." 
 
 Susan lingered for a moment, and then slowly pursued 
 her solitary way. 
 
 Strange it seemed to herself that she should be so un- 
 changed, so English still, so wrapt up in home and home 
 feelings, in what almost seemed selfishness. Here, in that 
 remote village, hidden amongst the vast hills whose existence 
 she had scarcely before realised, and with the scenes through 
 which she had previously passed, — the Rhine and its bright 
 beauty and historical associations, — Munich, with its glorious 
 galleries of art, — Innsbruck, the city of the noble Peasant 
 land, all fresh in her recollection, it seemed hard that she 
 should still be the same. She had rested upon the hope that 
 travelling would bring forgetfulness, though what she wished 
 to forget she would not trust herself to acknowledge. 
 
 But even amidst the charms of that surpassing beauty, 
 Susan felt herself to be living in the past. The bodily eye 
 rested upon the mountains of Italy ; but the eye of the mind 
 travelled back to the chamber of death, the stealthy footsteps, 
 the hushed voices, the fervent prayer, the dying grasp which 
 had joined her hand with Claude's, the voice that had whis- 
 pered to him to be kind. 
 
 And he had been kind, to her mother, and Isabella, and 
 Anna, to herself also, in those first days of sorrow. But 
 since then they had never met. Lady Augusta's illness had 
 summoned Mrs. Graham and Susan to London; and Claude, 
 though constant in his inquiries, had never appeared in 
 Grosvenor Place. She would probably seldom see him again. 
 He could not come to Ivors, and there was little to call him 
 to Wingfield ; and in London Susan would most likely be at 
 Grosvenor Place, and Claude would therefore never come in
 
 ivors. 199 
 
 her way. They were separated by circumstances : it was 
 the will of God, and doubtless it was well that it should 
 be so. 
 
 It was foolish to think of him now, very unwise to dwell 
 upon the distant probability that he had followed them 
 abroad, and that they should meet. Certainly the voice 
 they had heard was like his, the figure at the side of the road 
 resembled him, but the last thing he would be likely to do 
 would be to take their route, even if he were abroad : he evi- 
 dently dreaded so much to meet Helen. If he had made the 
 inquiries which Isabella mentioned, it must have been with 
 the view of avoiding them. 
 
 And now — yes, the point was quite settled; a carriage 
 was descending the hill, two gentlemen in it, a stout, elderly 
 man, and a tall, slight youth; it must have been he that she 
 had mistaken for Claude. Susan felt a sudden pang, then a 
 great sense of relief. She stood upon a bank to escape the 
 dust ; the carriage drove past, the gentlemen looking at her 
 curiously. When it was gone she did not feel any inclination 
 to ascend the road higher, and, seeing a little mountain path 
 leading to a cottage above the bank, she pursued it for some 
 distance, and then sat down to rest. 
 
 Her mind was quieter now, more in its ordinary state; 
 and she took out her sketch book, ashamed of the indolence 
 which had prevented her from using it before. But the situ- 
 ation whicL she had chosen was not favourable, and she 
 moved on. A piece of rock close to her was inviting tor a 
 foreground ; and passing round at the back, she came sud- 
 denly and unexpectedly in sight of Claude Egertbn. 
 
 It could be no other than he. His back was towards 
 her, he was drawing; but there was no mistaking him, he 
 was the traveller whom she had seen by the roadside; be 
 ought to have made the third in the carriage which had just 
 driven by. She drew back behind the rock, lrer limbs treui-
 
 200 rvoKS. 
 
 bling so that she could not stand : and seating herself on 
 the ground she threw aside her sketch book, and thought — 
 she knew not of what, only she seemed chained to the spot, 
 and minutes appeared hours, as she expected every instant to 
 see Claude descend the bank into the road-, and pass away 
 from her sight. 
 
 The rush of the brawling, mingling little rivers below 
 deadened every other sound, so that Susan could not hear 
 if Claude moved ; and the rock was so situated that it was 
 possible for him to go back to the road without her seeing 
 him. The idea did not strike her for some seconds; when it 
 did she instinctively altered her position a few paces, and in 
 doing so, the sketch book fell out of her hand and rolled 
 down the bank. 
 
 Claude saw it, hurried after it, and looking round for the 
 owner, confronted Susan. His start of surprise and pleasure 
 told his tale instantly — the meeting was accidental. But he 
 came up to her, his face radiant with delight. 
 
 " 3Iiss Graham here ! alone ! how strange ! how very sat- 
 isfactory ! " 
 
 " Not quite alone," said Susan; and her face was crim- 
 soned with a deep blush. " I have left the rest of the party 
 in the village." 
 
 " But you are alone for the moment. Stay, will you 
 not ? " As Susan moved down the bank, he stopped her. 
 " I have so many things to say, and I so little expected this 
 pleasure. I did not know you were in Italy." 
 
 " "\\ e talked of Salzburg and Vienna, when we left 
 home," said Susan ; " but it was Helen's wish to see Italy." 
 
 His face changed instantly. He said in an altered, quiet 
 tone, " Is Helen — is Miss Clare well ? " 
 
 " Tolerable, better than she was in London ; but won't 
 you come?" Susan, in her agitation, forgot everything but 
 her wish to escape being alone with Claude.
 
 IYOKS. 201 
 
 " No ; I can't come. "Wait, please ; don't leave me yet." 
 Claude stood still, and Susan was obliged to do the same. 
 " Tell me about Lady Augusta." 
 
 " I don't know what to say. Her bodily health improves; 
 but the mind is a wreck." 
 
 " Such a shock ! such a terrible shock for all ! " he said, 
 thoughtfully. " Can you enjoy yourselves ? It is very 
 splendid." And he looked round at the mountains. 
 
 " "We enjoy it immensely at times," said Susan. " Per- 
 haps we should enjoy it too much if we had no cares." 
 
 " Yourself still," he said, smiling. " It makes me almost 
 a boy again. Are you staying here ? " 
 
 " No; we are on our way to Venice." 
 
 His face lighted up brilliantly ; but a cloud soon came 
 over it again. " Venice is our destination too ; but I don't 
 know when we shall be there. I am under Captain Hume's 
 orders. You remember him; Sir John Hume's brother. 
 He has come abroad for his son's health. Sir John and his 
 family are at Yeuice; and we are to meet them there. Do 
 you go on to Venice immediately ? " he added. 
 
 " I believe so; but Sir Henry will tell you everything. 
 He will be terribly vexed if he does n't see you. And we 
 are intending to set Dff again directly." 
 
 "Like ourselves; strange that we should be travelling 
 the same road. I can give you no news from home, I sup- 
 pose ; you must have heard since I left England. I was at 
 Wingfield, and saw them all; — your mother, and Anna, and 
 Isabella. Is that very impertinent ? " he added with a 
 doubtful smile; " and, shall I confess? sometimes, when you 
 are not present, I say, Susan." 
 
 "I like you to say it," replied Susan. She spoke the 
 words eagerly, yet corrected herself directly, and added, with 
 some BtiftheBS, " I like you to do what ifl most pleasant to 
 yourself."
 
 202 ivoes. 
 
 He seemed thrown back for a moment, and answered, 
 " Home ties and home friendships are strong in a foreign 
 land ; you must forgive me. Did you say that Sir Henry 
 was to be found at the inn ? " 
 
 " I think so ; but I am not sure. We left him there. 
 Helen and I came out together." 
 
 " Miss Clare is with you then ? " He glanced round 
 anxiously. 
 
 " She is sketching in the village. It is good for her to 
 be away from Lady Augusta, when she can be ; it is such a 
 wearing life." 
 
 " And Helen waits upon Lady Augusta entirely, does 
 she ? I heard so in Loudon." 
 
 " She would wait upon her more, if she were allowed," 
 said Susan. " But Lady Augusta is very strange. No one 
 but Annette knows how to manage her. It frets Helen," 
 she continued: " she reproaches herself." 
 
 " I don't know why she should," he said, quietly. 
 
 " I ought to reproach myself, if any one does," said 
 Susan. " But I don't," she added ■ " I feel I am not an- 
 swerable for consequences if I did right." And she raised 
 her eyes with confidence to Claude's face. 
 
 " You don't doubt it ? you can't think any one would 
 blame you for an instant," he exclaimed. " I, for one, thank 
 you from my heart." 
 
 His voice shook ; and he hurried on a few paces before 
 Susan, but turned to assist her down the bank. 
 
 " There is Helen," said Susan, " sitting on the little wall 
 by the river. Don't you see her ? " 
 
 Claude had observed her long before Susan pointed her 
 out ; but now. when his attention was drawn towards her, he 
 seemed disinclined to go on. 
 
 " She has seen us," continued Susan. " Look, she is 
 coming towards us."
 
 itors. 203 
 
 Helen made a few steps to meet them, then turned and 
 walked rapidly back to the inn. 
 
 " I see ; it is as I feared. My presence is unwelcome," 
 said Claude, rather bitterly. 
 
 " You must not judge her hardly," replied Susan. " It 
 is only awkwardness." 
 
 " Of course, of course. But I don't wish to make her 
 feel awkward. I trust to you ; you will make Sir Henry 
 understand why I did not wait. I trust entirely to you." 
 He drew off his glove to shake hands ; but just at that mo- 
 ment Sir'Henry came up. 
 
 " Claude, my dear fellow ! " Sir Henry grasped Claude's 
 hand with both his. " Where in the world did you drop 
 from, I should say, only I have heard all about you. I met 
 Captain Hume and George. How ill the boy looks ! but 
 this air is sure to do him good. So you are going on our 
 road Come in, we have just ten minutes before we start; 
 Hume and his son said they were going to walk about a 
 little before dinner, so they won't want you; and Lady Au- 
 gusta and Helen " Sir Henry checked the words which 
 
 would naturally have followed, and added mournfully, " You 
 will iind Lady Augusta changed ; but she will like to see an 
 old fiiend." 
 
 " Are you sure I sha'n't intrude ? " asked Claude, draw- 
 ing back. 
 
 " Not a bit, man. Intrude ! It will do her good. I 
 told her you were here ; and Helen said " 
 
 " Lid Miss Clara think it wise ? I should fear it might 
 do harm," continued Claude. 
 
 "Nonsense, my good fellow! I saw Helen a moment 
 :i<ro ; and she said it was best to take all things naturally, 
 and Helen knows best. She is devoted to Lady Augusta, — 
 a pattern daughter, I must s;iv that lor her." 
 
 Sir Henry drew Claude into the passage of the inn,
 
 204: ivors. 
 
 without allowing him time for any further excuses. He 
 seemed in a nervous hurry to have the meeting over, and 
 would not take Claude's suggestion that he should be an- 
 nounced before making his appearance in Lady Augusta's 
 presence. 
 
 " Better not, much better not. She will only work her- 
 self up into an agitation. It will do all very well if it comes 
 naturally, as Helen says." Sir Henry entered the room • 
 and Claude stood at the entrance. Lady Augusta was sitting 
 with her back to the door, looking out of the window; ber 
 crochet work lay in her lap ; she had her hand upon it ; and 
 I lelen was trying gently to disengage it from her, whilst 
 Annette stood by threateningly, saying that, if they did not 
 start directly, it would be the last night over again, they 
 should not be in till dark. It was the old trouble ; where 
 Lady Augusta was, there she chose to remain, at least when- 
 ever she was asked to go. There was the long indulged de- 
 termination of her natural character, only now with very 
 little reason to control it. 
 
 " Dear mamma, I think you will let me put up your cro- 
 chet," said Helen ; " it will be quite ready for you to begin 
 again when we stop by and by." 
 
 " I don't wist, to stop," began Lady Augusta ; but Sir 
 Henry came forward, and his step made his wife start, and 
 caused Helen to take her hand, and say soothingly, as she 
 glanced at the door, " Here is papa come to tell us that 
 we must go ; and he has brought Claude Egerton to see 
 you for a minute ; he is travelling the same way that we 
 are." 
 
 Her voice did not tremble in the least ; but Claude's 
 was scarcely audible, as he obeyed a sign m ide by Sir Henry, 
 and approached, and shook hands, first with Lady Augusta, 
 then with Helen, and said to the latter, " I hope you are 
 better than you were when I heard of you in London ? "
 
 itors. 205 
 
 Lady Augusta appeared to Lave some difficulty at first in 
 recognising him. Presently, however, a gleam of pleasure 
 came over her face, and she said it was very kind of Claude ; 
 he always was kind ; now he was come, she did not see why 
 they might not all go back to England together." 
 
 Claude turned his head away ; for a tear dimmed his 
 eye, 
 
 " It's a bad time of the day with her," whispered Sir 
 Henry. " She was much better at starting. Augusta, my 
 dear, you will like to think that we shall have a friend at 
 Venice, when we get there." 
 
 " Are you coming with us ? " Lady Augusta for a mo- 
 ment spoke quite like herself; aud Helen looked up eagerly 
 at Claude, but bent her head again as she caught his eye fixed 
 upon her. 
 
 " You must promise to meet us again," said Sir Henry. 
 u Anything belonging to home does her good, though jM ark- 
 ham declared change was the only thing needed. It is so, 
 isn't it, Helen?" he added, observing Claude's doubtful face. 
 
 And Helen answered, with sad composure, " I hope it 
 may do good ; I think she likes it." She addressed herself 
 again to Lady Augusta. "I think, mamma, you had better 
 come into tue nest room, and put your bonnet aud shawl on. 
 Claude will not go till we return." 
 
 She appealed to Claude as she might have done in other 
 day?. His thoughts were quite occupied with Lady Augusta. 
 He answered directly, "No, indeed; we have to wait here 
 more than half an hour longer to rest the horses." 
 
 "And Claude will meet us at Venice, my dear," con- 
 tinued Sir Henry. " You must," he added, as Lady An. 
 ta at Length unwillingly rose from her seat, and followed 
 B< Len's suggestion. " It was just the chance how she might 
 receive you ; but it dues her good evidently. So we shall 
 depend on you."
 
 206 ivoes. 
 
 Claude's answer was unsatisfactory. " My movements 
 depend upon others. It is possible Captain Hume may be 
 summoned to Milan to meet a relation; if so, I shall pro- 
 bably go with him there, and then make my way back to 
 Venice a week hence by another route. Whether we return 
 to England by Austria or France is equally uncertain." 
 
 " The blessing of travelling like an independent gentle- 
 man, without incumbrance ! " said Sir Henry, — and there 
 was an accent of real sadness under his assumed cheerful- 
 ness. "■ With three ladies one is under strict orders." He 
 looked round. " What, Susan, here still ! we seem to have 
 quite forgotten you, child." 
 
 " Have you ? " replied Susan ; " it did not strike me." 
 She was sitting down by the table, her bag and parasol in 
 her hand, quite ready to go. 
 
 " Persons who are always remembering others must make 
 up their minds to be often forgotten themselves," said Claude, 
 with a smile. " I dare say you have never once been late 
 during the whole journey." 
 
 " I have only myself to take care of," said Susan. 
 
 " Helen is very much improved in that respect, I must 
 say," observed Sir Henry ; " she makes a great effort, and 
 then she is generally helping her mamma. I think, Susan, 
 I had better go and see that the carriage is all right ; and 
 you can bring Lady -Augusta down after me." Sir Henry, 
 always restless when upon the point of starting, hurried 
 down stairs. 
 
 Claude drew near to Susan when Sir Henry was gone. 
 " Must I come to Venice ? " he said ; " you will tell me." 
 
 Susan answered hurriedly, " I don't know, — I can't say. 
 Do you mean about Lady Augusta ? " 
 
 " Yes ; will it do her harm ? I am sure you will judge 
 better than Sir Henry." 
 
 " Helen will know best," said Susan, rising; " I will call 
 her."
 
 IYORS. 207 
 
 " No, do ! I entreat you not." He put out his hand to 
 detain her. " Excuse me, I would much rather trust to you. 
 Can't you tell me ? " 
 
 " It may be excitement," said Susan, coldly. 
 He looked exceedingly pained. " I was afraid so. Thank 
 you for telling me. I will take care, even if we should un- 
 fortunately be in Venice together." 
 
 " But I am not sure ; I can't really say. If you would 
 only let me ask Helen." Susan was evidently distressed at 
 the strong effect of her words. 
 
 " No, "not on any account." He spoke almost impatient- 
 ly, and added, " It has been a great pleasure, seeing you 
 here. You don't know how I long for sights and faces akin 
 to home. You won't think that weak," he added, with a 
 marked emphasis ; " you understand always. " 
 
 Susan bent her head down, and searched for something 
 in her carriage-bag. 
 
 Claude waited for a moment, and, as he heard a hand laid 
 on the handle of the door opening into the inner room, 
 added, in a low voice, " One thing more you will tell me : 
 Helen, — is she happy? that is, as she can be under such cir- 
 cumstances ? " 
 
 " Happier than she ever was before," said Susan ; '■ .she 
 is so good ! " 
 
 Helen came in; and Claude withdrew from Susan in 
 evident embarrassment. 
 
 Lady Augusta looked more her former self in her trav- 
 elling-dress ; the bonnet-cap helped to iill up the hollows of 
 her face, and made her appear less thill ; and the shawl cov- 
 ered her tall, spare figure, now bent from illness. Claude 
 gave her his arm to take her down stairs ; and she went 
 with him, talking all the way of their meeting, and urging 
 him td join them at Venice: she was bo eager, thai it was 
 almost impossible not to promise. Helen followed with Su-
 
 208 ivoes. 
 
 san. As they stepped into the carriage, Helen offered her 
 hand to Claude, and said, " Mamma wishes it; and we shall 
 all be glad to see you." 
 
 There was very little constraint in her manner ; but she 
 did not speak to him again, though he stood by the carriage 
 for several minutes whilst they were waiting for Pietro. 
 
 Susan had the last pressure of his hand, the last smile, 
 and the last words, spoken in an under tone of friendly, al- 
 most affectionate confidence : — " Still I trust to you more 
 than to any one else." 
 
 Lady Augusta was the only person inclined to talk for 
 the next quarter of an hour. Helen answered her, but with 
 an effort which any other person would have perceived. Sir 
 Henry studied Murray, being determined, as he said, to get 
 at Venice properly ; and Susan's eye followed the course of 
 the Piave, as it made its way through the ravine which they 
 had just entered, whilst a smile of peace rested upon her 
 lips, which, to Helen at least, needed no explanation. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 A very indifferent resting-place was Capo di Ponte, found 
 after long and anxious expectation whether any such place 
 were in existence. Moreover, the afternoon journey was by 
 no means so interesting as that of the morning. The gran- 
 deur and beauty of the Friulian mountains was gone; and 
 the road, after emerging from the ravine immediately 
 beyond Perarollo, led into a broader valley, affording space 
 for the Piave to spread itself out, and leave a roush, shingly 
 beach at its edge, which considerably injured its picturesque- 
 ness. Longarone, a bright-looking little village on the side 
 of the river, might have been better chosen for the halting- 
 place, if bodily comfort only had been consulted ; but there
 
 ivoes. 200 
 
 were secret reasons against it in the minds of most of the 
 party. Pietro thought of his horses, and the next day's 
 journey to Treviso; Sir Henry disliked coming to a stand- 
 still early in the afternoon, unless there was something very 
 remarkable to be seen ; Annette dreaded the weary hours 
 before bed-time, to be spent in attending to Lady Augusta, 
 and helping her with her crochet ; Helen remembered that 
 Lougarone would bring them a^ain within reach of Claude 
 Egerton ; and Susan, — her feelings were a problem not so 
 easily solved. And so Longarone was passed ; and Pietro 
 smacked his whip triumphantly, and drove on at a great 
 pace, nodding, and smiling, and chatting to Annette with con- 
 summate nonchalance; taking care, however, to make an ex- 
 cuse for stopping every now and then to make secret in- 
 quiries of the peasants ; whilst poor Sir Henry, — his eyes 
 fixed one monieut upon the " Handbook," aud the next 
 raised doubtfully to look around him, — was heard to murmur 
 to himself, " Very perplexing ! very uncomfortable ! not at 
 all sure there is such a place ! Very strange that Murray 
 should n't mention it ! I'll row that rascal, Pietro, well if 
 he has misled us." 
 
 But Capo di Ponte came at last, — a straggling village, 
 only remarkable for a long wooden bridge over the Piave, 
 ornamented by the Winged Lion of St. Mark ; and so carry- 
 ing the thoughts back to the days when Venetian power ex- 
 tended itself far beyond the limits of the city of the sea. 
 
 The poverty-stricken little inn was crowded by groups of 
 Italian peasants, neither very clean nor very respectable- 
 looking. Lady Augusta uttered a faint exclamation of 
 terror, declaring that they were in the land of banditti, and 
 Lad been brought there to be murdered ; and insisted, as 
 usual, that they should all go back to England. Put the 
 travelling-carriage, as it drew up before the door, had the 
 effect of dispersing the crowd immediately around; and they 
 23
 
 210 - IVORS. 
 
 withdrew to a convenient distance, watching, with marked 
 interest, the proceedings of the strangers. 
 
 " Uno, due, tre, quaiiro" exclaimed Annette, counting 
 upon her fingers, as she made her way into the inn. " Where 
 will they find so many rooms ? Ah ! quel pays ! quel pays ! " 
 
 But she was stopped by the smallest, briskest, blithest, 
 most black-haired of Italian waiters, who showered upon her 
 a volley of asseverations, promises, and ecstatics of all kinds- 
 Rooms ! they had any, all ; an infinite number. Beds ! ah ! 
 yes, superb. Supper! instantly; fresh eggs, fish, bread, meat, 
 omelettes, tutto, tutto, alia sua servizia ; the lingering 
 emphasis upon tutto, tutto, giving a depth of meaning which 
 included what in London would certainly have been called 
 every delicacy of the season. 
 
 " A salon ! where is the salon, Annette ? " asked Lady 
 Augusta, reproachfully, as the little waiter threw open the 
 door of a bed-room, and ushered them into a very moderate- 
 sized apartment, with one large uncurtained bed in it. 
 
 " No salons here, Miladi," said Annette gruffly ; " they 
 tion't know what such things mean. Here ; " — and she 
 caught the man by the arm, and held him, whilst he stood 
 like a bird upon the point of taking wing. " Cenere, — vous 
 comprenez, — cenere ? " 
 
 a Ah! si ; " but the waiter stood still, his eyes opened to 
 their fullest extent, with anxiety and eagerness. 
 
 " Cenere ! " repeated Annette, angrily. " All, quHl est 
 sot" 
 
 " Cena, Annette ! " murmured Lady Augusta, in a faint 
 voice, and she sank down in a chair by the bed ; and the 
 little waiter uttered an exclamation of delight, and rushed 
 to the door as if he had been shot. 
 
 " Cena ! cenere 1 " muttered Annette to herself. " Cenere ! 
 cena ! quelle langue. Pauvre Miladi." 
 
 " Not in this room, Annette," almost screamed Lady 
 Augusta ; " tell him it must n't be here."
 
 IVORS. 211 
 
 " Pauvre Miladi! we shall do quite -well." " Made- 
 moiselle, Miss Graham ; " Annette addressed Helen and 
 Susan, who had just followed her into the room; " You go 
 out with Sir Henry; take him out; let him have a walk. 
 Miladi and I, we arrange everything; allez, allez" — and in 
 a moment she was fiercely confronting the waiter. " Dcr 
 mussen: ah, why do we go through so many countries, to 
 talk so many languages. Voyez vous ; — bisogna vcdere — 
 what must I say. mademoiselle ? I forget. How call they 
 landlady here ? " 
 
 " There is no occasion to call her," said Susan ; " here 
 she is. Now you can arrange everything." 
 
 "Ah/ oui, out,' then you go." Annette drew forth a 
 little Italian vocabulary, which she had been carefully study- 
 ing during the journey. 
 
 " You had much better let us talk to her," said Helen. 
 " You will be sure to blunder." 
 
 " Blunder ! did I ever blunder yet ? Then you take it 
 your own way ; see how you manage. I give it up ; I 
 leave it." Annette shrugged her shoulders, and scowled 
 defiance. 
 
 " A Roman dictatorship was nothing to this," said Helen, 
 aside to Susan ; " I am only thankful that we left our courier 
 at Innsbruck; we shouldn't have been allowed to choose 
 our own road, if we had not. But I can't leave mamma in 
 this way, to the mercies of Annette's Italian. Just go out 
 with papa, and let me stay." 
 
 "Sir Henry will be disappointed," said Susan. 
 
 " That can't be helped. I don't mean i<> be ondutifu] ; 
 only go, — occupy him in some way, or he will be misera- 
 ble." 
 
 Susan went down stairs, and found Sir Henry talking 
 over the prospects of the next day with Pietro. Susan's 
 
 suggestion that they should .-. e wh:it the place wa- like was 
 
 just the thing he wanted, and they wenl oul together.
 
 212 ivors. 
 
 A scramble over the rous;h stones, which formed the 
 shore of the river, and which spread out on either side so as to 
 form a very desolate and uninteresting featui'e in the scenery, 
 was occupation for Sir Henry for the next three quarters of 
 an hour ; and then, being sufficiently tired, he proposed re- 
 turning to the inn. Susan was only too glad not to have 
 had a loug tete-a-tete walk. Conversation with her uncle 
 was generally painful, for he was always asking her what she 
 thought of Lady Augusta, and she was obliged to disappoint 
 him by confessing that she saw but very little, if any, im- 
 provement. This day, however, Sir Henry chose another 
 topic, in the short distance which they walked along the 
 road, as they came back from the river. He spoke of 
 Claude Egerton, and regretted openly, that Helen had not 
 been able to like hiin. " Claude may not be such an attrac- 
 tive man to a young girl, as many persons of his age are," 
 he said ; " there is a certain stiffness and coldness about him, 
 a want of sunshine ; but that is all to be attributed to his 
 early life ; he knew sorrow just when most boys know joy, 
 and he has never recovered it. A happy marriage would 
 make hiin quite another man ; and then he is such a first-rate 
 fellow ! Hume was talking to me about him when we met ; 
 telling me all he has been doing at Helmsley. He has been 
 down there staying with him. There is not a cottage on the 
 estate which Claude has n't repaired, or added to ; not a la- 
 bourer thit he doesn't know, if not personally, at least suf- 
 ficiently to look after his family, and take care that there is 
 no want. Certainly, he has a capital agent on the spot, but 
 he is down there continually, seeing after things himself, 
 and working like a dray horse in Parliament besides. 
 Where is there another man of Claude's age, and with his 
 fortune, who would give himself up to work in that way ? 
 And yet you women can't like him, because he does n't
 
 ivors. 213 
 
 play the flute, and dance the polka, and won't sport a 
 moustache. Ah ! Susan, you are a very perplexing race." 
 
 " Very," said Susan; it was the only reply required of 
 her, for they bad reached the door of the inn, and Sir 
 Henry hurried away from her, to see what progress had 
 been made, in providing for Lady Augusta's comfort. 
 
 " Odd this ! but not to be despised, eh, my dear ?" was 
 his cheerful observation to his wife, as he sat down at a. 
 square table, placed between the bed and the side wall of 
 Lady Augusta's apartment. 
 
 " I don't see why they don't treat us better," said Lady 
 Augusta. <: Annette would n't ask for a salon, though I told 
 her what to say." 
 
 " Something new and pleasant enough, once in a way," 
 continued Sir Henry. " What are they going to give us, 
 Helen ? " 
 
 " Fish, and soup, and an omelette," said Helen. " I 
 was afraid of trusting too much to tea and coffee." 
 
 '• A'ery good ; we shall do capitally. "What have you 
 been doing with yourself, my dear ? " 
 
 " I have been reading to mamma," said Helen. 
 
 " Yes; Helen reads to me sometimes. I like that," said 
 Lady Augusta. " "We had not quite finished.'! 
 
 1 I was reading the Psalms for the day," said Helen, 
 with an air of apology. " It soothes her," she added, in an 
 under-tone. 
 
 Sir Henry looked as if he thought it rather a strange 
 and inconvenient time to choose for reading the Psalms, but 
 in his good-nature he would not interfere. Helm weni on 
 reading; Lady Augusta listening, with her .•yes closed, and 
 Sir Henry striving to be reverent and attentive, though 
 showing his restlessness by an impatient movement, of bia 
 foot; He started up as Helen shut the book. u Now then 
 for supper! Cmerc, as Annette calls it; wh.it a capital blun-
 
 214 ivoks. 
 
 der ! Are we to have a table-cloth, I wonder, C-arcon ? " 
 He went, to the door and called, and was answered by the 
 black-haired waiter. 
 
 " Ah ! si, signor ; un momento." The little man skip- 
 ped into the room with a cloth over his arm, which he spread 
 upon the table, puckering it into ornamental figures ; then, 
 after disappearing, he danced up to the table again with 
 some bottles, placing green leaves in them for stoppers ; and 
 at length, with an air of ineffable satisfaction and looking 
 round upon the party with the evident inquiry, whether any- 
 thing could possibly be more perfect, he laid before Sir 
 Henry a dish of fish, name and species unknown. 
 
 " Now, my dear." Sir Henry put some on the plate be- 
 fore him, looked at it doubtfully, turned it over. " Will it 
 do, Helen ? I am afraid not." His usual expression of 
 good-humoured contentment deserted him for the instant. 
 He pushed it aside, pointed it out with an air of scorn to the 
 little waiter, and in the best Italian he could collect thun- 
 dered out, " Via, via, male ! " 
 
 "Si, signor, si. Grazia signor; and the condemned 
 fish was seized and carried off with the merriest of steps and 
 the most civil of smiles. 
 
 Helen and Susan laughed heartily. Lady Augusta in- 
 quired mournfully why they did not give them something to 
 eat, she was very hungry, and they had all to go to bed, and 
 this was her bedroom, she could not think why Annette 
 would not ask for a salon ; she was quite sure they would be 
 much better in England. 
 
 The waiter reappeared with something supposed to be an 
 omelette, but which in reality looked very much more like 
 what in England is called Yorkshire pudding. It was eata- 
 ble, however, and so was the soup ; and Lady Augusta, who 
 was the person chiefly to be considered, contrived to make a 
 tolerable repast, which, however, was no sooner euded, than
 
 ivors. 215 
 
 she insisted upon it she must go to bed directly ; and her 
 apartment being the only sitting room, every one else -was 
 obliged to follow her example. 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 Susan and Helen occupied, as usual, the same room. A 
 little trial it was to both ; friends though they were from 
 childhood, and intimately acquainted with each other's habits 
 and modes of thought, there was something very wearing in 
 never being alone. This evening Susan felt it more espe- 
 cially. Helen was inclined to sit up and talk ; the very way 
 in which she laid her candlestick upon the dressing-table and 
 leisurely took out her journal was enough to prove it. Susan 
 longed to be in bed, not that she might sleep, only that she 
 might be quiet, still, to herself, — that she might think. The 
 day had been singularly long and exhausting ; she felt as 
 though months had been condensed into it. It seemed scarcely 
 possible that she had parted from Claude only a few hours 
 before, and that he was even then but a few miles distant 
 from her; and still less possible that they might meet at 
 Venice. That, however, was doubtful. Again and again du- 
 ring the course of the afternoon she had said to herself that 
 she would not think of it, she would not think of Claude at 
 all; — whilst the next moment found her recalling his looks, 
 tone, manner, words, dwelling upon the peculiar marks of in- 
 terest he had shown, and the undisguised pleasure he had 
 evinced in meeting her. 
 
 Could it all be vanity? petty, womanish vanity'/ Susan 
 perhaps was as: i'm-, from that greal weaknei - as any person 
 of her age and sex, but she could discover it in herself when 
 
 others would never have noticed it; and now she blamed
 
 216 itoes. 
 
 herself for it, and felt humbled in her own sight. But the 
 suspicion of a fault could not, as at other times, enable her 
 to subdue it ; and worn with the constantly recurring feeling 
 which she could not conquer, it was a relief, even though for 
 the moment she felt it to be an interruption and annoyance, 
 to be addressed by Helen with the matter-of-fact inquiry, — 
 " What time are we to start to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Half-past eight, as usual, I believe," answered Susan. 
 " At least, I heard Pietro say so to my uncle." 
 
 " Two more days and then we rest," said Helen. " We 
 could not go on much longer iu this way." 
 
 " Lady Augusta would be over-tired, I am afraid," said 
 Susan. 
 
 " Tired and excited," said Helen ; " I dread that the 
 most. I am sure those London doctors were wrong ; I could 
 have managed her better if they would only have listened to 
 me." 
 
 " I doubt," said Susan. " I am sure change was the thing 
 needed, even though it may be an exertion at the time, and 
 Lady Augusta may dislike it. You will find the benefit 
 when you are at home again. It breaks up old habits." 
 
 " Yes," said Helen, thoughtfully, " if that be good ; but 
 I doubt it. Perhaps I am selfish, though ; I could have done 
 something for her in England, and I can do nothing here ; 
 Annette takes everything from me." 
 
 " You do all you can," said Susan, kindly. 
 
 Helen smiled, though with a bitter sadness in her ex- 
 pression. " Yes, I do all I can, and what is it ? I read the 
 Psalms to her sometimes, and put her cushions right, and 
 the chances are that she makes Annette alter them directly 
 afterwards." 
 
 " But if it is not given you to do more, shouldn't you be 
 satisfied ? " asked Susan. 
 
 Helen laid down her pen and sighed. " You don't un-
 
 ITOKS 217 
 
 derstand, Susan : I suppose it is not possible you could. If 
 I were a Bomanist, I could wear out my life with pen- 
 ances. I should like to do so now. I can understand their 
 feeling, quite ; any thing to get rid of the perpetual fret of 
 one's conscience." 
 
 " But, Helen," exclaimed Susan, eagerly ; " Sir Henry, — 
 mamma, — every one tells you that you are not answerable." 
 
 " I know it," said Helen, coolly. " I am not idiot- 
 enough to suppose that I alone was the cause of that misera- 
 ble fever. Perhaps — very likely, indeed — it would have 
 been just the same if I had never come in the way. But 
 it is no use arguing against feeling, Susan ; most especially 
 there is none in trying to persuade one, one is an angel, 
 when conscience says just the reverse. Whom have I ever 
 come in contact with that I have not made wretched ? "Who 
 is there in the world that has to thank me for an hour's hap- 
 piness? Nay, let me speak, I know beforehand all you 
 would say. You think that being sorry does away with it 
 all ; but I am not sorry, at least not in the way you mean. 
 I am not at all what people would call converted." 
 
 " You are altered," said Susan, " whatever you may 
 choose to call it." 
 
 "I should be insane if I were not. Persons ean*t have 
 such a shock as 1 have had without bi fag so. If it were only 
 having one's cyc^< opened to deceit where one imagined truth," 
 — and Helen's voice faltered as she thought of Madame 
 Beinhard, — "one must view the world differently in conse- 
 quence. But that is not being religious. It is not really 
 loving and caring for religion; a heathen might feej as 1 
 feel." 
 
 "But if he did, he would be on the high road towards 
 becoming a Christian, " said Su-.m. 
 
 " On the high road, possibly;" Helen considered a little. 
 " It. does not follow that he might not wander ovi of it again.
 
 218 ivoks. 
 
 I don't feel in the least sure that I should not go back to my 
 old ways if temptation came in my path. I don't know whai; 
 is to keep me." 
 
 " Gratitude," said Susan ; " the feeling that you were 
 stopped and warned." 
 
 " If I could feel it," replied Helen ; " but I don't. I 
 hate myself, that is all." 
 
 " So we must all hate ourselves, I suppose," said Susan. 
 " Your hatred is a different feeling from mine, though," 
 continued Helen. " I am so angry with myself for having 
 been taken in ; that is one thing I can't get over ; but there 
 is no great virtue in it. And as to poor mamma, — I know I 
 was a wretch ; I teased and tormented her ; and I would do 
 anything in the world to help her now : but that is merely the 
 longing to satisfy my own mind." 
 
 " I wish you would give up analysing your feelings," said 
 Susan ; " you would be much better and happier." 
 
 " I should be thankful if I could," said Helen • " but I 
 am a puzzle to myself; and I see clearly what every one 
 about me thinks, and I know it is not true. People fancy I 
 have become quite good and religious ; but if it were not for 
 you, Susan, and just one or two others, I suspect I should 
 very often have no faith in goodness at all." 
 
 Susan showed by her countenance that she was shocked, 
 but she would not say so. Helen went on in a wild, eager 
 way, giving vent to the thoughts which oppressed her. 
 :i Teaching does, nothing, Susan ; practice is everything ; 
 and all the practice I have seen, except yours, and Aunt 
 
 Fanny's, and — and — Claude's, " she paused, and Susan 
 
 listened more attentively, — " it has all been pivtence, — all 
 that church-going and formalism. Madame Reinhard taught 
 me to see that, if she taught me nothing else." 
 
 " But Madame Reinhard could not understand it," ex- 
 claimed Susan.
 
 ivoks. 219 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; she may have been false in her conduct, 
 but her intellect was as clear and piercing as the sun." 
 
 " Intellect has nothing to do with the matter," said Susan. 
 " It is a spiritual insight which is required to discern spiritual 
 truths. I don't mean to talk cant, but it is the only way I 
 can express myself. An irreligious person cannot possibly 
 comprehend the use or comfort of religious practices." 
 
 " Madame Keinhard may have been very deceptive," 
 said Helen, " but I am convinced she had a great deal of 
 devotional feeling." 
 
 "Only it did not embody itself in deeds," said Susan; 
 " and what was it worth ? " 
 
 " I can't say ; I don't know what anything is worth," 
 said Helen, despairingly. 
 
 " It is all worth nothing, dearest," replied Susan, as she 
 drew near to her cousin, and laid her hand fondly upon her 
 shoulder. " I quite agree with you that all the church-goino- 
 and formalism, as you call it, are, in themselves, just as good 
 for nothing as Madame Reinhard's devotion, and just as in- 
 comprehensible; but I would not for that reason cast them 
 aside, any more than I would cry down religious feelings. 
 It is absurd to talk of either as religion; but they may be 
 great helps ; they are means to an end. Like crutches, they 
 are not the power of motion; yet, if the leg is weak, the 
 power will not be sufficient without the crutches." 
 
 " People think they are more than crutches," said Helen. 
 " Poor mamma piqued herself upon her church-going, as if it 
 bad embodied all the cardinal virtues ; and I should soon 
 fall into the same tone of mind myself, — I know I should. 
 I can't be happy unless I have done a certain set of things 
 for mamma in the course of the dayy — looking after her 
 crochet — preparing her breakfast, — all those little matters; 
 but I am not one whit, more kind and dutiful, really ." 
 
 "But if. you knew that Ladj Lugusta Loved you very 
 much, that would make a diffi i lid Su an,
 
 220 IVOES. 
 
 " Yes, an immense difference," — and Helen's eyes spar- 
 kled ; " but she can't do that : I have been such a trouble to 
 her." 
 
 " I suppose, if we believe the Bible, we must believe also 
 that God loves us," said Susan, " in spite of our being what 
 you call a trouble." 
 
 " I can't believe it," said Helen. 
 
 " But you can believe that He is more pleased with you 
 when you try to do what is right than when you wilfully do 
 wrong," said Susan. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose I can; I must." Helen spoke doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " That will help you in a degree," said Susan ; " it will 
 take away the hard feeling from your duties." 
 
 " If it were not for all those mazes, those dreamy notions 
 of Madame Beinhard's ! " said Helen ; " I used to think at 
 the time that I did not care for them ; but they return now, 
 whenever anything like comfort comes to me, and throw me 
 into such a whirl of doubt ! and then I think, and think, till 
 I am half wild." 
 
 " Thinking won't help you," said Susan 
 
 " I know that ; nothing will, unless Susan, I wish 
 
 you would tell me about yourself; I should understand 
 then." 
 
 " I can't talk of myself," was Susan's reply ; and she 
 turned avay, and walked to the other end of the room. In 
 another moment, however, she came back again, and said, 
 " I don't mean to be unkind, Helen ; but it is so different 
 with me from what it is with you ; and I have never been ac- 
 customed to analyse my own feelings. I don't know quite 
 what I feel, or why I do things ; only " — and her voice trem- 
 bled — " I think I know what it is to love." After an in- 
 stant she went on more composed^. " I can't tell how that 
 feeling grew up. You know religion has always been part
 
 ivors. 221 
 
 of our lives ; it was mixed up with our idea of mamma : 
 when we loved her, we could not help loving what she did ; 
 aud so it came to us without auy effort ; and what you call 
 formalisms were as natural to us as getting up in the morn- 
 ing, aud going to bed, and eating and driuking. Perhaj s 
 the first thing that presented itself to me distinctly, as a 
 feeling of religion, was that one which I mentioned just now, 
 — I mean, that God would be pleased with me if I tried to 
 do right. I had it when I was a very little child, even bo- 
 fore I ceuld understand all that has been done for us. It 
 was the first thought that came home to me personally, and 
 that, I dare say, is the reason why I dwell so much upon it. 
 Of course people may say that it is not the ground of our 
 love, and I know it is not ; but I am sure, as regards myself, 
 that it was a long time before I could realize the higher feel- 
 ing of love to our Saviour for His sufferings, — that grows 
 deeper and clearer as one goes on; but at first it is very dif- 
 ficult to enter into it." 
 
 " Very," said Helen. 
 
 " I dare say the fact is," continued Susan, " that religion 
 comes to people in different ways, according to their differ- 
 ent circumstances : in one way to a child, and in another to 
 a grown up person. I always feel as if my religion was that 
 of a child ; it is so much quieter than what I have heard of 
 in persons who have been, what is called, converted late in 
 life. But I should not like to change, — I mean, it would 
 not suit me." 
 
 " Quietness is what I like," said I felon. " The odd ways 
 people have of being religious, disturb me." 
 
 "We must take people as they are," said Susan; "we 
 can be no more alike in our religious tastes, I suppose, than 
 we are in any other; but I am glad to put all external dif- 
 ferences aside, and think of what persons are underneath. 
 If tncy are ill earnest, I can like and esteem them, in spite 
 of their peculiar ways."
 
 222 ivors. 
 
 " Yes, if they are in earnest," said Helen ; " but that is 
 what I am always doubting." 
 
 " Well, suppose we don't think about others, but about 
 ourselves." 
 
 "About myself," said Helen; " that is the point. What 
 is to help me to be anything but a cold-hearted wretch ? " 
 
 Susan kissed her, and answered, " The knowledge that 
 you are not one ; that God does not look upon you as one, 
 any more than I do ; that He has made you very sorry for 
 anything that may have been wrong before, and given you a 
 hearty wish to do right now." 
 
 " I don't know ; I can't say that I am very sorry, or that 
 I have a hearty wish," said Helen. • 
 
 " But, without saying it, only go on trying to please 
 God, because He made you His child at your baptism ; and 
 though you may have been a very naughty child, you wish 
 now to be a very good one." 
 
 " And think that He loves me in spite of it all," said 
 Helen ; " that is harder than anything." 
 
 " You don't like to have texts quoted," said Susan ; " but 
 I may just show you one ; " and she turned to her Bible, and 
 pointed to the eighth verse of the fifth chapter of St. Paul's 
 Epistle to the Bomans : " ' God commendeth His love 
 towards us in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died 
 for us.' There is nothing to be said against that argument." 
 
 " No," said Helen, thoughtfully. She took the Bible 
 from Susan's hand, and stood for some seconds reading it 
 Then laying it down suddenly, she exclaimed, in her usual 
 light tone, " Susan, do you know where we are ? " 
 
 " In Italy," said Susan. 
 
 " Capo di Ponte ; a little out of the way village in Fri- 
 uli. I don't quite believe it." 
 
 " One carries oneself everywhere," said Susan, with a 
 sigh.
 
 ivors. 223 
 
 " People think that when they travel they shall forget 
 their former selves," said Helen ; " but they don't, at least 
 I don't. The surface may change, but the substratum is the 
 same. It is very odd, though, that you and I should choose 
 to talk on these grave matters, at Capo di Ponte." 
 
 " Very odd ! " said Susan ; " only Capo di Ponte is on 
 earth, and whilst we live on earth I suppose we must per- 
 plex ourselves about matters of earthly conduct." 
 
 " Somehow, I never realised before that Italy was earth,'' 
 said Helen. " But good-night ; I am not going to talk any 
 more." 
 
 Helen fell asleep quickly. Susan had a long, restless, 
 wakeful night, full of dreams of Claude Egerton ; but there 
 was no longer the dread that her dreams were wicked. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI. 
 
 " Treviso to-day, Venice to-morrow, Susan," exclaimed 
 Helen, as she stood by the side of her cousin's bed, at six 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 Susan half opened her very drowsy eyes. 
 
 " Very comfortable beds, in spite of our chambermaid's 
 apology," continued Helen. "Hid you hear her say last 
 Dight that they had not been accustomed to wait upon la- 
 dies?" 
 
 " I don't remember anything now," said Susan; " only 
 that I should like to go to sleep again for another hour." 
 
 "Here comes Annette, to frighten us," said Helm, 
 "you had better get up directly, Susan, or you will have a 
 lecture." 
 
 Annett-' entered as brisk as though Bhe had condensed 
 two nights' rest into one. " Miladi much better this morn-
 
 22± ivors. 
 
 ing, wishing to set off very early. Dcpechez voits, made- 
 moiselle. Sir Henry moves about already. Miss Graham ! 
 you have not a moment." 
 
 " Well, then, just leave poor Miss Graham to herself, and 
 come to me, Annette," said Helen. " What kind of night 
 has mamma had ? " 
 
 Annette's attention was happily withdrawn from Susan, 
 who was left at liberty to dress ; but quietness was not to be 
 had. Helen required her services, and talk she would and 
 must, about all things, and all places, and people ; most es- 
 pecially, this monjing, about Mr. Egerton. She had learnt 
 more about him than he had told of himself. Captain 
 Hume's man-servant had gossiped a good deal. " Mr. Eger- 
 ton," she said, " had settled to go abroad quite suddenly. 
 He had been overworking himself, and wanted change, and 
 his spirits were not good. He was exceedingly kind to Cap- 
 tain Hume's invalid son, who had taken a great fancy to 
 him, and that was one reason of his coming. Just before 
 he left England there was a report that Mr. Egerton was 
 going to be married, but Captain Hume's man didn't believe 
 it." Annette was stopped short in the middle of her com- 
 munication by an exclamation from Helen, that a hair-pin 
 was running into her head. 
 
 " That will do, Annette ; thank you ; now you may go. 
 Mamma will be waiting for you." 
 
 " Miss Graham, you want help. What can I do ? " said 
 Annette, advancing to the corner to which Susan had retired. 
 
 " Nothing, thank you, nothing." Susan's tone bordered 
 upon irritation. 
 
 " Pardon, pardon, only you be ready in time. Miladi 
 is very much disturbed when she is kept; and Sir Henry, 
 he does not like it. Shall I put these shoes in your carpet 
 bag ? " 
 
 " Thank you, no. I can do it all myself. I don't want
 
 tvoes. 225 
 
 any help ; I can do quite -well," persisted Susan, retiring 
 further into the corner. 
 
 " Young ladies like their own way, but you be ready, 
 mind. Mademoiselle," — she turned to Helen, — " where is 
 your dressing-case ? I put it up, and take it separate to 
 Pietro. Mr. Egerton's carriage is a better one than ours: 
 he puts things all comfortable. See," and she stood delib- 
 erately by the little dressing-table — " let this be the car- 
 riage ; there is a pocket here, a pocket there " 
 
 Susan sat down, her hands on her lap. 
 
 " Annette, Annette, go ! " exclaimed Helen, and she 
 burst into a fit of laughter ; " you will drive poor 31 iss 
 Graham out of her senses." 
 
 " Jloi / qiCai je faii? pourquoi? You much better 
 let me do your hair ; " and she advanced again to Susan. 
 
 " Thank you, no, not on any account ; " and Susan raised 
 her hands to her head, to keep off the proposed assistance. 
 
 A thundering knock was heard at the door, and Sir 
 Henry's voice, "Helen, Susan, why do you keep Annette? 
 Lady Augusta wants her." 
 
 " Ah I pauvrc Miladi I " Annette hurried out of the 
 room, and Helen turned to Susan. " An enemy for life, 
 Susan. She will forgive you anything but getting up into 
 the corner in that fashion and refusing to talk to her." 
 
 " I must run the risk,'' replied Susan. " It does try one 
 beyond patience to have that French chattering going on the 
 first thing in the morning." 
 
 "And such things as she tells!" said Helen. "I 
 wish " she stopped herself. 
 
 " What do you wish ? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing. I don't think, any more than Cap- 
 tain Hume's man-servant, that Claude Egertoo is gom 
 be married;" and almost involuntarily, Helen bent down 
 and kissed her cousin's fori head.
 
 22G ivoks. 
 
 They finished dressing in silence. Helen went to make 
 breakfast. Susan remained to pack the carpet bag, and was 
 just collecting the few things to be put into it, when the 
 door opened suddenly, and in rushed the black-haired waiter, 
 with a grimace and a smile. Pcrdona signorma, perdona ,*" 
 he made his way past Susan, unfastened a cupboard, caught 
 up some wine-glasses, and was gone before Susan had time to 
 laugh. Annette followed. " Ah ! you so late ! no wonder 
 the garqon should come in. What can you expect ? " She 
 motioned Susnn, with an air of offended majesty, to leave 
 the carpet bag, and would accept no apology for trouble. 
 " Miladi ready, Sir Henry ready, and every one ; only Miss 
 Graham, she will always be last;" and the assertion was 
 made so authoritatively, that poor Susan began to believe it 
 must be true. 
 
 Straight level roads, bordered by acasias, gently rounded 
 hills, and luxuriant vineyards, form a very agreeable country 
 for a rapid and easy drive, but they are not very interesting 
 nor picturesque. Lady Augusta and Annette were the only 
 persons of the party who seemed to enjoy the change from 
 the mountains. Helen complained openly, and was only 
 comforted by the deliciously clear warmth of the climate. 
 She would scarcely, indeed, acknowledge that there was any 
 interest in the tiny lakes of Santa Croce, and the Lago 
 Morto ; the latter a most singular little sheet of water, 
 shut in by high cliffs, and so still, as fully to deserve its 
 name ; and was only roused to excitement when they entered 
 Sarravalle, the first Italian town which they had reached. 
 Here, indeed, infinite amusement was to be found in the 
 streets, which, from its beiDg a festival day, were full of 
 people. The quaint costumes, painted houses, arcades, and 
 innumerable fruit stalls, made a mixture of gaiety and busi- 
 ness, which seemed to please even Lady Augusta, and Sir 
 Henry rubbed his hands with genuine satisfaction, as he
 
 iyoks. 227 
 
 muttered to Susan : " It will do after all ; Markham was 
 right. Italy is the place. I begin to say with Annette : les 
 montagnes ct les vilains rochers, que je les deteste ! " 
 
 " We are to dine at Conegliano, I believe, papa, are n't 
 we ? " said Helen. 
 
 Sir Henry had recourse to Murray. " Conegliano, — 
 plains of the Piave, — Post, as usual, — frescoes by Pordenone, 
 on private houses. Altar-piece in the Duomo, by Cima, 
 cracked, blackened, and ruined ! Great comfort that ! for 
 we need n't trouble ourselves to go and look at it." 
 
 " I think I could walk a little, and go to the shops," 
 said Lady Augusta, speaking with some energy. " Annette 
 would go with me." 
 
 " I would go — we would all go, mamma," exclaimed 
 Helen, and her face lighted up with a smile of relief and 
 satisfaction, but disappointment followed almost instantly. 
 Lady Augusta said decidedly, she did not want any one but 
 Annette, and Helen sank back in the corner of the carriage, 
 and did not speak again till they entered Conegliano. 
 
 "As good as Sarravalle, I declare," said Sir Henry. 
 "Look, my dear; " and he drew Lady Augusta's attention 
 t the arcades and fruit stalls. " We will just order dinner, 
 and then you and Annette can walk about a little, and if you 
 like, buy us some figs to carry on with us this afternoon. 
 Helen, and Susan, and I, will go further to sec what the 
 
 place is like." 
 
 Lady Augusta seemed pleased at the idea of a oomnns- 
 sion, and Sir Henry handed her out of the carriage, and 
 cailed to Annette to take care of her, and hurried into the 
 hotel, to inquire about a salon and order dinner. 
 
 Helen lingered sadly behind. " h is do use^" she Said 
 to Susan; "I may as well give it up. Even papa won't 
 acknowledge that 1 can do anything for her.'! 
 
 •• [ should persevere," said Susan ; " things may change by
 
 228 ivoes. 
 
 and by ; one never knows ; and I would not let Annette 
 take the upper hand. Now, I would insist upon seeing that 
 the salon is comfortable, and that Lady Augusta rests for a 
 few minutes before going out." 
 
 Susan turned round, and saw Annette close behind her. 
 She had left Lady Augusta in the salon, and was returned 
 to look after a bag that was wanted. 
 
 Her countenance was anything but amiable. " Made- 
 moiselle, Miss Graham ; Sir Henry will be coming down 
 directly. Miladi goes out with me : she is quite comfortable, 
 quite." Annette placed herself in the way, so as almost to 
 prevent Helen from passing. 
 
 " Thank you, Annette ; I wish to go to the salon, myself, 
 and see how mamma is," was Helen's resolute answer ; and 
 Annette drew back, murmuring to herself, and casting threat- 
 ening glances at Susan, as she followed her cousin up the 
 stairs. 
 
 Lady Augusta, changeable as the wind, had given up her 
 momentary wish to walk, and was willing now to sit by the 
 window, and look out into the streets. " She liked Coneglia- 
 no," she said ; " there was something going on to amuse her. 
 She did not wan?: her crochet." 
 
 " And if you and I stay here together, mamma," said 
 He'.sn, "papa and Susan can take their walk, and Annette 
 can go out and buy the fruit." 
 
 " No reason for that, my dear," said Sir Henry ; " you 
 will miss a good deal ; there's an upper town to be seen, a 
 curious place enough, from what I can make out. You had 
 better come with us, and leave your mamma. Annette un- 
 derstands her better than you do." 
 
 " Annette must go and get the fruit," said Lady Augusta, 
 a little petulantly. " If Helen likes to stay, she can." 
 
 " Like it," muttered Sir Henry, " she does n't like it, but 
 she's always sacrificing herself." He was evidently discon- 
 certed.
 
 iyors. 229 
 
 " You won't be gone long, I hope," continued Lady Au- 
 gusta. '• Dinner will be ready. I think you had better all 
 wait till afterwards." 
 
 Sir Henry appealed to Susan. " We had better be off, 
 Susan. If we wait, we shan't go at all. Helen, I can't let 
 this kind of thing so on." 
 
 But Helen was contented, and a smile passed over her 
 features, as she nodded to her father and cousin, and said, 
 "Good-bye for the present; you must tell me all you see." 
 Susan was satisfied then that the choice was an honest one. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 Sir Henry and Susan wandered leisurely up a steep hill to 
 the upper town, the original Conegliano, enclosed within 
 walls, and containing the Duomo, and a castle. The pic- 
 turesqueness of the place was to be found here, the ornamen- 
 tal stonework of the old houses, and the half-defaced fres- 
 coes with which they were ornamented, giving an air of 
 quaintness and beauty of colouring to the narrow streets. 
 Susar longed to stop and sketch every instant, and Sir Henry- 
 was bud and constant in his regrets that he had been fool- 
 ish enough to give in to Helen's whim, and had not insisted 
 upon her accompanying them. 
 
 " These old towns of northern Italy are quite to them- 
 selves, Susan; we shan't see their like elsewhere, and Helen 
 may never have the opportunity of coming abroad again. 
 She will be married, I dare say, before long, ami then there 
 will be claims enough to keep he* in England. See the 
 world while you are young, fur yon may never lire I" be old, 
 is the wise motto. I wish I bad insisted. I wish to my 
 heart I had. Just look across t" the opposite side, now;
 
 230 ivors. 
 
 where will you see anything like that carved stone-work ? 
 and the arcades below ; I wonder whether Lady Augusta 
 would have come if I had suggested it ? we could have 
 driven up." Sir Henry was becoming quite excited, wan- 
 dering along, and dragging Susan with him, in spite of her 
 entreaties to be allowed to stop. 
 
 " No time, my dear, no time ; dinner will be ready. We 
 must look into the Duomo, just to say we have seen it. Here's 
 a curious place ! " and he peeped into a large court-yard, 
 partially filled with tubs and carts, but bearing traces of ex- 
 quisite ornament in the stone-work of the side walls and the 
 roof. 
 
 " The hall of a house it must have been," continued Sir 
 Henry. He made his way in, and Susan followed, a little 
 frightened at the thought of trespassing, but considerably 
 interested. 
 
 " Yes, the hall of a house, and now used as a warehouse ; 
 and look, there are some steps leading to upper rooms. 
 But we mustn't stay — we have no time. On to the Duomo, 
 Susan." 
 
 " I don't care for the Duomo," replied Susan. " Mur- 
 ray would have told us if there had been anything worth 
 seeing there. I would much rather stay and sketch some little 
 bits of this carving, if I might. I am sure I should find 
 some which would do." 
 
 " You can't stay alone," said Sir Henry. 
 
 "Oh! yes, Lire; no one will see me. Please let me 
 stay, and you can just walk on to the Duomo, and come 
 back and tell me whether there is anything worth seeing in 
 it. It is quite close." 
 
 Sir Henry hesitated, went out into the street to be quite 
 sure that the Duomo really was very close, came back again, 
 and found Susan already prepared with her sketch-book and 
 pencil ; and telling her he gave her only five minutes., left 
 her alone.
 
 Ivors. 281 
 
 But it was not so easy as Susan had expected to find 
 what would do for sketching, and especially as sbe wished to 
 place herself so that she might be screened from the observa- 
 tion of any one in the street. She examined the building 
 more carefully. From the outer court there was an open- 
 ing into another, heaped up with dirt and rubbish, yet hav- 
 ing a beautiful carved and covered gallery built round it, 
 and broken stone statues lying on the ground. Tlie place 
 must once, she saw, have been of considerable grandeur ; 
 perhaps it was a palace. Her attention was directed again 
 to the flight of steps in the outer court, and a longing seized 
 her to explore the rooms to which tbey led. She stood hes- 
 itating whether she should venture, and afraid of being 
 missed by Sir Henry, when the sound of loud English voices 
 disturbed her. It was a curious feeling, which made her 
 much more nervous than if they had been Italian. English 
 people, unless they are previously acquainted, have an in- 
 stinctive dislike to meeting each other abroad; and when 
 the party entered the court, Susan, not very wisely, hurried 
 up the stairs. They terminated in a passage, the floor of 
 which looked like marble, and passing along this she found 
 herself in a large, and what must once have been a very 
 handsome room, hung with tattered paintings of men in ar- 
 mour, princes and nobles, with their titles written beneath, 
 but bearing nanr.^s unknown in the marked events of general 
 history. Great and powerful, however, they must doubtless 
 have been in their day; each grim, torn portrait having its 
 tale of earthly distinction, now past and forgotten ; whilst the 
 phantom forms connected with tlicm, stood forth mockingly in 
 their own halls, preaching eloquently of the nothingness of 
 human greatness, by the very means intended to perpetuate 
 its memory. 
 
 It was a startling sensation which came upon Susan, when 
 she entered thus, unannounced, into die presence of these
 
 232 ivoks. 
 
 forgotten nobles. The first emotion was awe, the second, 
 shame at having intruded ; she looked round for some one 
 to whom she miglit apologise ; but she was alone with the 
 silent figures. Without, in the street, there was life, and 
 mirth, and business ; below, she could catch the sound 01 
 men's voices, speculating and curious, doubtless, like herself; 
 but there was no one to tell her where she was, or with 
 whom. The hall was the only part of the palace apparently 
 remaining, with the exception of one small room beyond, the 
 ceiling of which was painted. She was lingering in the hall, 
 feeling unwilling to leave it, and looking upon it as a dis- 
 covered treasure of her own, when the English voices were 
 heard at the foot of the steps. Susan might have been un- 
 comfortable, but that the first which was recognised was that 
 of Sir Henry Clare. 
 
 " Up here, Hume. "Where won't a woman's curiosity 
 lead her ? Susan, child." Susan, rather ashamed of herself, 
 appeared at the head of the stairs. 
 
 " What did you think I was to do when you hid yourself? 
 I should have given you credit for more sense. We have 
 stumbled upon our friends again. Captain Hume, Mr. 
 George Hume, — my niece, Miss Graham. "What have you 
 found here, Susan ? Anything worth looking at ? " 
 
 Sir Henry made his way into the hall ; Susan kept rather 
 aloof. " A curious place, a very curious place ! " muttered 
 Sir Henry, and he had recourse to Murray ; whilst Captain 
 Hume, and his intelligent but sickly-looking son, were read- 
 ing the names at the foot of the pictures, and trying to ran- 
 sack their memories for history which had never had a place 
 there. 
 
 " Monstrously ignorant every one is," said Sir Henry. 
 " Susan, you must know something about it; you haven't 
 left school so long as we have." 
 
 Susan did not hear ; she was resting against the doorway 
 looking out into the passage.
 
 ivoes. 233 
 
 " Where is Egerton ? He is sure to know, or to find 
 out," said Sir Henry. 
 
 " We left Lira in the court below," replied Captain Hume. 
 " He always sets to work methodically when he is lionising." 
 
 "Hark! he is talking," said Sir Henry, going out into 
 the passage, and listening : " he has found some one to give 
 him a little information. We'll have him up." 
 
 He went to the top of the stairs, put his foot on the first 
 step, stumbled over a loose stone, aud fell to the bottom. 
 
 Susan, Claude, Captain Hume and his son, were collect- 
 ed together in an instant. Sir Henry had hurt himself; 
 there was no doubt of that, for his face expressed great pain ; 
 but he would scarcely allow it. " It was a mere nothing," 
 he said; "just a slip, that was all ; " and he took hold of 
 Claude's hand, and tried to stand up ; but his ankle was in 
 some way twisted, and his back bruised, and he was obliged 
 to sit down. 
 
 " I had better go back to the hotel for the carriage," 
 said Susan, in the quiet voice which was her characteristic 
 when at all nervous or agitated. 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed Claude, " I will go ; I must ; " and 
 he would have hurried away, but he was stopped by a faint 
 entreaty from Sir Henry. 
 
 '• Let her go, Claude ; she will manage best. Poor Lady 
 Augusta will be frightened, else. Let her go." 
 
 "And I may go too, I suppose," said Claude, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, yes; be quick," exclaimed Captain Hume. ".Miss 
 Graham, do you happen to have salts <>r eau de Cologne with 
 you?'' lie rested Sir Eenry's head against his knee; the 
 pain, was so great. as. to cause a sensation of faintness; yet 
 Sir Henry laughed still, and declared he knew quite well 
 what was the matter. A sprained ankle ! That Was all. 
 
 Susan looked at him with some anxiety. 
 
 "Nothing. amiss, child. Don'1 put on such a long face. 
 T Bhall be walking after you if yon don'i make ha 
 24
 
 234 ivoks. 
 
 Claude hurried her away. 
 
 They walked on in silence for some distance through the 
 bustling arcades. Susau did not notice them now. A crowd 
 of perplexing possibilities were presenting themselves ; but 
 they excited instead of depressing her ; she felt able to bat- 
 tle with them all. 
 
 Claude broke the silence. " I am thankful we were 
 there, but I don't believe there is much the matter; you 
 must not be uneasy." 
 
 " I care most for Lady Augusta," said Susan. " She 
 is so soon made ill by over-excitement ; but Helen will help 
 to keep her quiet." 
 
 " Is Helen with Lady Augusta now ? " asked Claude. 
 
 He said Helen quite naturally again. That stiff, un- 
 comfortable notion of the necessity of talking of her as Miss 
 Clare seemed to have passed away. 
 
 " Helen fancied she might please Lady Augusta by stay- 
 ing with her. She thinks of that the first thing always." 
 Susan spoke very earnestly ; a sense of justice impelled her. 
 Helen doubtless ought to be restored to Claude's good opinion. 
 She would have said the same, indeed, under any circum- 
 stances ; but it demanded no effort now. There was no 
 room for jealousy. Helen herself had contributed to remove 
 any such feeling. The tone in which she spoke of Claude, 
 the quiet way in which, when his name was mentioned, she 
 assumed that his goings and comings, his actions and words, 
 were indifferent to her — all tended to separate him from her 
 ii\ thought. 
 
 Susan's present anxiety was that he should think well 
 enough of her ; and that if they must meet, it should be on 
 friendly and comfortable terms. She felt for them both. 
 
 It was a quick hot walk ; weary, and anxious, and little 
 was said, and that little of small importance ; but Susan 
 could have gone much farther, and scarcely have felt inclined 
 to stop.
 
 itok?. 235 
 
 Annette met them as they were about to enter the inn, 
 tired, laden with purchases, and, as a consequence, out of 
 humour. She began an expostulation, even before Susan had 
 time to speak. 
 
 " Miss Graham ! dinner will be cold. Pardon Mon- 
 sieur Egerton, I did not know what made Miss Graham so 
 late." Her angry meaning tone roused Claude's indignation, 
 and excited Susan's surprise. They both passed on without 
 entering upon any explanation, but Susan stopped as they 
 were half, way up the stairs, and said : " We had better take 
 her into our counsels, it is the only way of keeping the 
 peace. Annette ! " 
 
 Annette came very slowly up the stairs, under the pretence 
 that she was too exhausted to move more quickly. 
 
 Susan went down to meet her, and spoke in a confidential 
 tone. " Poor Sir Henry has fallen down and hurt his foot, 
 Annette. He is in the Upper Town, and he wants to have 
 the carriage sent there for him. How shall we break the 
 news to Lady Augusta ? " 
 
 " Sir Henry fallen ! his leg broke ! he not be able to 
 move. Ah! quel malheur I " And Annette began to 
 wring her hands, and bewail so loudl}', that the waiters 
 gathered at the foot of the stairs to hear the news. 
 
 "Quel malheur ! quel malheur! Pavvre Miladi I " 
 screamed Annette. 
 
 Claude turned round sharply. " Silence Annette ; don't 
 make a fool of yourself. If you can't do better than that, 
 leave Lady Augusta to us.'' 
 
 'Son! non ! you not understand at all ; you nol go to 
 her." Annette rushed passed Claude and Susan, and placed 
 herself before the door of the salon. "Monsieur Egerton, 
 you order the carriage. — Miladi will go into the lit ; she will 
 not hear a stranger. Miss Graham, you come with rue." 
 
 Susan could scarcely refrain from ;> smile. There sraa
 
 236 ivors. 
 
 something so indescribably ludicrous in the instinct which 
 both she and Claude had to obey Annette's orders. 
 
 The smile was unfortunately seen, and it increased 
 Annette's indignation. She motioned to Claude to go, but 
 would not condescend to speak again ; and seeing that it was 
 really the best thing to be done, he said quietly to Susan, 
 " I shall give the order, and then come back to see how Lady 
 Augusta is:" and ran down stairs. 
 
 Annette stood for an instant facing Susan. "Ah ! young 
 ladies ! they know best what they are at," she muttered, half 
 aloud. " Captain Hume's man, he say that Monsieur Eger- 
 ton is soon taken in." 
 
 Happily Susan did not hear. She was as unconscious of 
 Annette's suspicions, as she was of having excited more than 
 a momentary annoyance. 
 
 Claude proceeded to the courtyard of the hotel with a 
 feeling of fretful irritation, conscious of having been made a 
 subject of impertinent observation, which yet it was beneath 
 him to notice. His only hope was that Susan, in her sim- 
 plicity, did not understand, or that, if she did, she would not 
 care. That self-restrained, composed manner of hers, cer- 
 tainly put him very much at his ease with her, ani it was so 
 far dangerous that it led him to treat her in a way which 
 might be open to observation. They were on those comfor- 
 table brother and sister terms which the world could not 
 possibly be supposed to understand ; and Claude, who always 
 faced disagreeables manfully, at once made up his mind that 
 he would be more prudent for the future, even if prudence 
 destroyed the pleasure and freedom of their intercourse. 
 Happily, they were not likely to be together very much, and 
 perhaps it would be wiser under the circumstances for him 
 to keep to the plan of going with Captain Hume to Milan, 
 and leaving Venice for the present. There was a pang, a 
 sharp, sharp pang, as the resolution was made; Claude
 
 ivobs. 237 
 
 thought that it was caused by the feeling of loneliness, the 
 knowledge that his going to either place was a matter of no 
 real moment to any one. 
 
 He knocked at the door of the salon again, and was told 
 by Susan to come in. Lady Augusta was in tears, almost 
 hysterics. The intelligence of the accident had been com- 
 municated in the gentlest way, but it had completely upset 
 her. Annette was bustling about looking for sal volatile, and 
 asking the Italian for camphor-julap, and red lavender ; 
 Susan was trying to keep her quiet by following her and 
 talking in an under tone ; whilst Helen knelt by Lady 
 Augusta, holding her hands, and endeavoring, by every 
 soothing, caressing tone and word, to tranquillise her. 
 
 " Claude! you are come. I am so thankful, 1 ' murmured 
 Lady Augusta; "you will tell us the worst. Helen, ask 
 him to tell me at once ; I can't wait." 
 
 Claude read great anxiety in Helen's eyes ; but she only 
 said, without looking at him, "It is but a slight accident, 
 dear mamma; Susan was there, and knows all about it." 
 
 " But Claude — why won't he speak ? He keeps every 
 thing from me," said Lady Augusta. 
 
 " You had better tell her," said Helen ; and she rose 
 up and gave her place to Claude, and stood behind Lady 
 Augusta, bathing her forehead with cau de Cologne, and 
 every now and then whispering, " You are better bow, dear 
 mamma, and so we are all ; it was only a slight accident." 
 
 Claude told what had happened iii few words; but even 
 before he had quite finished, Pietro senl word thai the car- 
 riage was ready. 
 
 " Annette wants to go," whispered Susan, coming up to 
 Helen: " she fancies nothing can be 'done withonl her." 
 
 Lady Augusta caught the words. " Yes, Annette bad 
 better go. Some our inii-i ;j<i with Claude." 
 
 Claude sugge ted that there was nothing to be d
 
 238 ivors. 
 
 that he should be quite sufficient; but poor Lady Augusta, 
 all the more excitable and unreasonable because she was 
 perfectly powerless, could not be pacified. 
 
 " It can't be," said Claude, aside to Susan ; " that noisy 
 woman would drive any man in pain out of his senses." 
 
 Helen left her place by the sofa, and came forward. " I 
 am going," she said ; " papa would rather have me than any 
 one else. Good bye, mamma ; " and she kissed Lady 
 Augusta : " we shall bring him back in a very few minutes, 
 and it will be all well." 
 
 She fastened her bonnet strings, hastily adjusted her 
 mantilla, and saying to Claude, " Now, if you please, I am 
 quite ready," led the way downstairs, without giving any one 
 the opportunity of objecting. 
 
 A short silent drive that was to the foot of the steep hill. 
 Neither Claude nor Helen spoke : when they began to ascend, 
 Claude got out of the carriage and walked ; and when they 
 reached the courtyard of the deserted palace, he merely said 
 that he would go in first, and left her sitting in the carriage. 
 It was Captain Hume who came out to tell her that Sir 
 Henry was better, and that she need not be uneasy, and 
 begged her now she was there to look at the building ; — 
 Captain Hume who advised her how to place the cushions 
 and pillows she had brought, — and Captain Hume who, when 
 Sir Henry was lifted into the carriage, and Helen seated by 
 him, took the vacant place. 
 
 Claude said nothing, did nothing, seemed to care for 
 nothing, except what common kindness for Sir Henry 
 demanded. 
 
 Poor Helen ! It was a bitter experience, but ehe felt 
 that she had deserved it.
 
 iyors. 230 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 A cabinet council was held when dinner was ended. Sir 
 Henry had managed to eat iu spite of the pain he was suffer- 
 ing, and that was sufficient evidence of the injury not being 
 serious, to satisfy even Lady Augusta for a time. But when 
 the cpiestion of movement was mooted, all her fears revived. 
 
 Sir Henry was bent upon proceeding. He had no no- 
 tion he said, of keeping them all cooped up iu an out-of-the- 
 way town like Conegliauo, when they were within a day's 
 journey of Venice. If he must have rest, he would have it 
 there. It was only the right foot which was really hurt, 
 and he could easily get to the carriage without putting it to 
 the ground, and when once there, he could rest it just as 
 well as if he were lying on a sofa. As for his back, he would 
 not allow that it was injured at all, though whenever he 
 attempted to move he winced with pain. He argued, as 
 persons who have any tiling the matter with them generally 
 do, in the most foolish and irrational way, simply in accord- 
 ance with his own wishes ; and as there was no one to con- 
 trol him, there was nothing to be done but to yield. 
 
 " That is settled, then,'' exclaimed Sir Henry, when at 
 length he had s-ilenccd opposition; " so we start forthwith. 
 Claude, my dear fellow, when shall we see you again ?" 
 
 Claude had been standing a little apart, having mi. in 
 given up the attempt of bringing Sir Henry to reason, lb' 
 came forward now, and replied rather coldly, that it was im- 
 possible to say ; all depended upou the letters which Captain 
 Hume might find at Treviso. 
 
 "Claude," Baid L-nly Augusta plaintively, "he is not 
 going to have us. We can'l gel on ai all without him. We 
 can't talk to i'ietro; we can'l 'In anything."
 
 240 IVORS. 
 
 " I have not lost the use of my tongue, my dear," said 
 Sir Henry, impatiently; "not that we should n't be very 
 glad to have Claude with us ; very glad, indeed," he added, 
 trying to move so as to face Claude. 
 
 Claude hesitated to reply, and looked at Captain Hume 
 for his opinion. But immediately afterwards his eye wan- 
 dered to the corner of the sofa, near which Helen was seated : 
 Susan wa3 just behind her, and the sight of her seemed to 
 settle his resolution as he said, " I am afraid I could not dis- 
 arrange Captain Hume's plans." 
 
 " Don't think of me," said Captain Hume, bluntly, but 
 good-naturedly. " George and I shall do very well together, 
 and it may be only for a few days ; we shall join you at 
 Venice, probably, before Sir Henry is able to leave it." 
 
 " I don't see what we are to do," said Lady Augusta, 
 almost crying. " If we could only stay here ! It is very 
 pleasant to look out into the streets. I like Conegliano. 
 If Sir Henry would only let me stay ! but he always will 
 go on." 
 
 " To be sure, my dear. There's a gondola waiting for you 
 at Venice," said Sir Henry, in the tone which he would have 
 used in speaking to a spoilt child. " Don't fear for us, Claude ; 
 don't put yourself out of your way ; I wouldn't have you do 
 so on any account. Helen, just look into the next room for 
 Annette, and tell her to order the carriage in a quarter of an 
 hour. You go on with us to Treviso to night ? " he added, 
 addressing Captain Hume. 
 
 " Why, no ; at least not according to our original plans. 
 You see we have had a longer day's journey than you ; we 
 came from Longarone this morning, and started unusually 
 early ; and to tell the truth, I think my boy has had enough 
 of it. We talked of staying here to-night and having a rest 
 for some hours, and perhaps strolling a little about the town 
 in the evening, and making our way cpuietly on to Treviso to- 
 morrow."
 
 ivoks. 241 
 
 The announcement evidently gave Sir Henry a blank, 
 uncomfortable feeling : he said nothing. 
 
 " I don't see why we shouldn't all stay," observed Lady 
 Augusta. " We can't go without Claude. Who is to order 
 dinner and look to our luggage? and who can help you, Sir 
 Henry ? and what are Helen and Susan to do ? I think it 
 very unkind. I can't go." And her face flushed, whilst her 
 voice was raised to a high, harsh pitch. 
 
 " We must go," said Sir Henry, shortly. " We have 
 written to. secure beds at Treviso, and Sir John Hume has 
 ordered rooms for us at Danieli's when we get to Venice, 
 and our letters are all to be ready for us : we must go on." 
 
 Lady Augusta began to cry. 
 
 " The young ladies give no opinion," observed Captain 
 Hume, trying to say something which would put every one at 
 ease. 
 
 " I think it would be a comfort if Claude could go with 
 ua to Treviso to-night," answered Helen. She held Lady 
 Augusta's hand whilst she was speaking, and (Maude saw a 
 tear drop from her eye. 
 
 He was decided at once ; he did not even remark that 
 Susan said nothing. 
 
 "Yes; that cuts the Gordian knot: thank you. Dear 
 Hiady Augusta, I will go with you to-night. Hume, if I don't 
 wait for you at Treviso to-morrow, E will have a note to tell 
 
 you why." 
 
 " Come, Susan," said Helen, touching her cousin's arm, 
 "we shall be Late if \w don't, put OB our bounds.'' 
 
 "Susan is in a dream,"' said Sir llmrv; " thinking of I In-- 
 deserted palace, the ' Count of Mont All.aV as b man told 
 us while we were waiting there. 
 
 "Very unlike Miss 1 1 r.ihani," Bftid Ofettdfc "She is 
 jvreMut, not absent, generally^ Wbea anything it to be done." 
 And at the sound of his voir i painfully pre •
 
 1242 ivoks. 
 
 ent and coloured so deeply, that Helen came to her rescue, 
 and remarking lightly that personal observations, whether 
 good, bad, or indifferent, were never allowable, drew her into 
 the adjoining room. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 The deserted palace was recalled to the recollection of all 
 who had seen it, by the drive to Treviso. Handsome houses 
 standing by the roadside, empty and decaying, gave an air of 
 departed grandeur to the country, which imparted a feeling 
 of melancholy, in spite of the delicious sensation of the cli- 
 mate, and the easy pace at which the carriage passed over 
 the broad, smooth, and well kept road, as usual bordered with 
 acacia trees. 
 
 Sir Henry made an effort to talk at first, but gave it up 
 after a time ; and Helen was sure, although he would not 
 acknowledge it, that the motion of the carriage was trying to 
 his back. Claude had taken possession of a small, uncom- 
 fortable, back seat, intended usually for Annette, but which 
 she always declined, preferring the company of Pietro on the 
 box. He was therefore quite out of reach of conversation ; 
 and as Lady Augusta soon fell asleep, and Helen and Susan, 
 when tired of the acacia trees, both began to read, the drive 
 was silent and dull. It was late when th ^y reached Treviso ; 
 a circumstance which provoked Sir Henry, who had been 
 consoling himself for having seen nothing on the road, by the 
 prospect of amusement in the town. " The chief city of a 
 province, — the residence of a bishop, — a manufacturing place 
 too, with eighteen thousand inhabitants, cpiite a marvel for 
 Italy ! it was too tiresome to come in so late, and only to
 
 Ivors. 243 
 
 have a glimpse of narrow streets and arcades, like Conegliano 
 and Sarravalle, and to be off again the next niornina\" 
 
 The thought of finding a good hotel rather consoled him ; 
 but here again there was disappointment. The rooms were 
 large, but unquestionably dirty; and with all the delight, 
 which Italy must inspire, there is no question that dirt is as 
 much a part of its nature as warmth. Carpets in bedrooms 
 may be comforts in a cold climate, but they are just the re- 
 verse in a hot one ; and poor Lady Augusta, particular and 
 sensitive to a fault, even at Ivors, looked with horror at the 
 dingy covering spread upon the floor of her handsome apart- 
 ment, and insisted upon it, that before she went to bed it 
 should be rolled up and taken away, even at the risk of dis- 
 covering the mountains of dust beneath, with which Annette 
 threatened her. 
 
 Every one went to bed early; and Claude felt really 
 thankful he had consented to come, when he found how help- 
 less Sir Henry was, though still trying to keep up, and in- 
 sisting that he should be perfectly well the next day. His 
 back only wanted a night's rest, he said, and the Treviso beds 
 were soft, if they were not very clean, so that he had no 
 doubt of being able to sleep. He allowed Claude, however 
 to make inquiry for a chemist's shop, at which he might pro- 
 cure some laudanum, and took a small quantity, though 
 laughing at the notion, and declaring that it was quite unne- 
 cessary. The next morning, however, brought a diflp rent 
 tone. Whether from the effects of the laudanum or the fall, 
 Sir Henry did not feel so well, and was disinclined to get up 
 to breakfast. A consultation was held in his room with 
 Claude and Pietro, and instead of starting in the morning, it 
 was decided to wait till the afternoon. The drive t" M( 
 was not very long, and though the railway was nut completed, 
 a gondola would soon take them to Venice. And besides, 
 one thing was quite clear to Claude now, that it would 1 1<.(
 
 24:4: IVORS. 
 
 do to leave Sir Henry in his present state. It would be ac- 
 tually cruel to Helen and Susan, who were already beginning 
 to look anxious ; and even if the plan had been disagreeable, 
 he would have been consoled for making it, by the change 
 which came over Lady Augusta, when he announced his de- 
 termination of giving up all thoughts of Milan, and proceed- 
 ing with them to Venice, if Sir Henry should be well enough 
 in the course of the day to move. She pressed his hand, and 
 thanked him as though he had saved her from some fatal ca- 
 tastrophe; but neither Helen nor Susan expressed satisfac- 
 tion, except that the former remarked, that anything which 
 kept Lady Augusta's mind from working must be good. It 
 seemed that she did not think it right to betray any feeling 
 of her own, and imagined that it was not her place to do so ; 
 and she kept quite aloof from Claude, putting Susan forward 
 on every occasion. His being with them certainly did not 
 raise her spirits, however it might relieve her from anxiety. 
 
 They went i&to the town after breakfast. Lady Augusta 
 seemed so comforted by Claude's presence, that she consented 
 to take a carriage, and drive to the cathedral ; and whilst it 
 was getting ready, she begged Claude to take Helen and 
 Susan into the market, which was held in the square imme- 
 diately in front of the hotel. She, as usual, stationed her- 
 self at the window, with Annette by her side, commenting 
 in French upon all that was going on below. 
 
 There was a strange medley: birds, bread, coloured cloth, 
 handkerchiefs, macaroni, fruit, fish, flowers, shoes and boots, 
 both old and new, were all displayed upon the stalls ; and in 
 and out amongst them passed crowds of men and women ; 
 the latter wearing large straw hats, but otherwise having a 
 less peculiar dress than the Tyrolese. Eating seemed as 
 much a part of the business of the day as buying and sell- 
 ing : chestnuts boiled in pots, set over little pans of char- 
 coal, and slices from hot cakes, made of Indian corn, and
 
 itoes. 2 1 5 
 
 looking very like gourds, being the favourite delicacies. The 
 long arcades in the streets were full of bustle also ; but the 
 square was the chief attraction, and Helen acknowledged to 
 Susan that, if she were allowed her choice, she thought she 
 should prefer staying there, if Annette could be with her, 
 and trying to sketch rather than going to the cathedral. 
 
 Claude began a sentence which sounded as though he in- 
 tended to offer to stay also ; but Helen interrupted him be- 
 fore it was finished, by saying in a very quiet tone, that 
 she could not allow Lady Augusta to drive about without 
 her. 
 
 " I would take great care of her," said Susan, whilst 
 unconsciously at the same moment a change came over 
 her face, which showed that she did not enter into the 
 idea. 
 
 <l Thank you ; I know you would. But she was pleased 
 with my being with her yesterday, and I would rather not 
 leave her to-day." 
 
 And so they drove to the cathedral, a handsome but un- 
 finished building, with five domes; and Lady Augusta sat 
 in the carriage whilst the rest went in, and looked at Porde- 
 none's ruined frescos, and tried to admire a Titian over the 
 high altar, and studied a curious old picture, representing a 
 procession of the authorities of the town; and at last stole 
 apari from each other to enjoy the building alone, till Helen 
 suggested that Lady Augusta would be tired. 
 
 l - Pictures are thrown away in a church, " said Claude, 
 as he Beated himself in the carriage, and told the driver to 
 take (hem to Ban Nicolo ; "at least, that is the conclusion 
 1 have arrived at. Perhaps one over 'the altar niaj be an 
 exeeptioB, but even then, 1 doubt whether carving is not 
 better. If they are good they draw one's attention from the 
 effect of the building; and if thej are bad they are simply 
 disfigurement
 
 216 ivoks. 
 
 " If one could get over the feeling that it is one's duty 
 to look at them, it would not signify," said Susan; "hut 
 whatever is mentioned in the Guide Book it seems part of 
 one's travelling business to examine. After all, I suppose, 
 we are great moral cowards in these matters. Shall we 
 give up searching for pictures fh churches for the future, 
 Helen ? " 
 
 Helen did not seem to understand that she was ad- 
 dressed ; but when Susan repeated the question, she said, a 
 little sadly, that she had not looked at the pictures in the 
 cathedral ; at least, she had not thought about them. 
 
 " You were with us," said Claude, quickly. 
 
 " Only just for the first few minutes ; but you did not 
 notice when I moved away." 
 
 Claude was silent ; and a strange pang of pity, mingled 
 with some other feeling, almost akin to satisfaction, was felt 
 by Susan. It did seem that when she was near, Claude had 
 no thought for any one else. 
 
 San Nicolo was ugly enough on the outside to induce 
 Susan to propose that they should exercise their moral cour- 
 age, and not trouble themselves to examine it ; but Claude 
 objected. It was the first specimen he had seen of the old 
 brick buildings to be found in the north of Italy, and he was 
 anxious to look at it more closely. Susan, yielding to his 
 slightest suggestion, was out of the carriage before he was 
 able to assist her ; and owned herself repaid by the general 
 effect of the interior, and struck by the peculiarity of seeing 
 the great pillars in the aisle half covered with crimson cloth. 
 Helen, as before, kept aloof, and not only when they were 
 in the church, but afterwards as they drove round the town. 
 She allowed Claude to continue a conversation with Susan 
 without attempting to take part in it, and seemed only em- 
 ployed in pointing out to Lady Augusta all that was worth 
 noticing; whilst Claude, safe from Annette's remarks, and
 
 iyoes. 247 
 
 delighted to find some one who could share his tastes, entered 
 con amore into the subject of the Lombard brick architec- 
 ture, promising, as soon as they reached Venice, to show 
 Susan some books upon the subject which he had brought 
 with him. 
 
 They found Sir Henry better on their return ; Claude 
 acted the part of valet, and assisted him to dress. Sir 
 Henry himself made many apologies for the trouble he gave, 
 blaming himself for not having foreseen the possibility of 
 an accident, and brought a servant, or a courier, or some one 
 of mankind with him ; an omission, he assured Claude, which 
 was entirely owing to Annette, who was essential to Lady Au- 
 gusta, and had quarrelled so grievously with the courier at 
 Innsbruck that they had been obliged to leave him behind. 
 " A woman at the bottom of the trouble ! — always the case, 
 Claude,"' he said, whilst Claude helped him to hop into the 
 salon.. "You remember the story of the Shah of Persia: 
 when he was told that a workman had fallen from a ladder, 
 he called out, 'Who is she? who is she?' 'Please your 
 Majesty, 't is a he.' ' Nonsense, there's never an accident 
 without a woman. Who is she ? ' The Shah was right, 
 Claude ; the man had fallen from his ladder because he was 
 looking at a woman at a window. Many a man does that in 
 other countries besides Persia." 
 
 They left Treviso early in the afternoon, Sir Henry 
 grumbling at the dark salon in which (hey had dined, 
 giving vent to as much rage as his good-nature would allow 
 at the terrific bill brought him by the landlord, whose only 
 excuse was, that he had charged more because it was market- 
 day ! 
 
 No tidings had been heard of Captain Hume and his bod , 
 but Claude left a note, telling them why 1"' found it im- 
 possible to have Sir Henry, and urging them, if possible, to 
 follow them to Venice.
 
 24:8 ivoks. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 
 Another long dull drive to Mestre, of all places the most 
 uninteresting. What situation could be more destitute of 
 beauty, than the low, swampy levels bordering the narrow 
 channel of the sea which separates Venice from tiie mainland ? 
 It requires every early historical association of Attila and 
 his invading Huns, and the flight of the frightened Italians, 
 and the wonderful rise of the fairy city from the islands bor- 
 dered by the muddy Lagune, to give the slightest charm to 
 the approach to Venice. Yet so strong is the power of ima- 
 gination, that few probably can for the first time find them- 
 selves in a gondola, pushing off from the shore, and floating 
 away between low flat banks, without a house, a tree, or even 
 a fence in view, and not experience a sensation so new and 
 bewildering, and yet so exciting, that it would not be ex- 
 changed for the delight of the most glorious scenery of the 
 Alps. 
 
 " A gondola, my dear, you see," said Sir Henry to Lady 
 Augusta, as they drove down to the waterside, and saw the 
 long narrow boat, with a curved beak and sepulchral awning, 
 drawn up alongside the quay. 
 
 Poor Lady Augusta was tired, and, as usual, inclined to 
 be fretful. She could not see, she said, how they were all 
 to get into the gondola, it was so small. And what would 
 Sir Henry do with his lame leg ? 
 
 " We must have two gondolas," said Claude, coming up 
 to the side of the carriage — " one for Annette and the lug- 
 gage, and the other for ourselves." 
 
 " Not quite room enough, I am afraid, even then," said 
 Sir Henry, laughing, " considering that I go for two. Thoso 
 ancient senators never travelled, I conclude, or they would
 
 IVORS. 2 40 
 
 have provided some more convenient mode of transit for the 
 bags and boxes." 
 
 " Well ! then Annette and I will occupy the luggage- 
 gondola," said Claude, good-uaturedlj. 
 
 But Lady Augusta would not hear of such a thing. She 
 could not stir without Claude. " If the gondola should up- 
 set," she said, " what would Sir Henry do ? " 
 
 Claude laughed heartily, which rather displeased Lady 
 Augusta, but she still would not allow the possibility of 
 going in a gondola without him. Susan was about to speak 
 when the question was set at rest by Helen, who pushed 
 open the carriage door, jumped out, and going up to Annette, 
 said, t; Now, Annette, you and I must manage; we are to 
 go together." 
 
 "Ah/ ovi ; trials, que fcrons nous? Arretez-vous ! 
 o 7 a.llez-vous ? where you taking that box?" and Annette 
 caught hold of one of the host of porters and beggars who 
 crowded the quay, and were seizing upon the luggage as 
 1'ietro took it off the carriage, conveying it away whither 
 they did not take the trouble to tell. 
 
 Claude came to her assistance, and forbade any thing to 
 be moved till he had given orders, telling Annette, at the 
 same time, to stand by and guard it, whilst he placed Helen 
 in the gondola. 
 
 '•You solved our difficulty for us," he said, when thev 
 stood for a moment together on the quay; "but no ono 
 thanked you." 
 
 11 1 don't want thanks," was Helen'.-.; reply ; " it was my 
 place." 
 
 And Claude said no more. 
 
 A considerable time elapsed before Sir Henry and Lady 
 Augusta, and the luggage, and, above all, Annette, could bri 
 properly disposed of. Without Claude's assistance it would 
 have been almosl a work of impossibility. Annette, good-
 
 250 ivors. 
 
 natured in general, was still never forgetful of herself ; and 
 there was a certain basket, containing some secret valuables, 
 which was not at once forthcoming when she looked for it in 
 the luggage-gondola ; and not all Claude's assurances that 
 everything had been put in, nor Helen's entreaties that she 
 would not delay any longer, could induce her to move her 
 foot from the quay till it was found. Fiercely she inter- 
 rogated the unfortunate porters, and threatened the beggars, 
 and scolded Mademoiselle, and cast scornful glances at 
 Claude. They might have waited for her till midnight, she 
 cared not ; Lady Augusta was dependent upon her, and they 
 could not move without her. 
 
 " Never mind," said Claude, seeing Helen's distressed 
 face, as Sir Henry raised his voice in towering indignation, 
 whilst Lady Augusta began to cry, " we will go, and return 
 for her." He made a sign to the gondoliers; and Annette, 
 seizing his arm, gave abound, which drew a shout of laughter 
 from the bystanders, and found her place in the gondola, and 
 her basket under the seat. 
 
 " Off at last ! " said Sir Henry, as the gondola was push- 
 ed away from the bank. " We are later than we ought to 
 be ; but that we always are. Annette shall have a consider- 
 able rowing when we get back to Ivors ; we can't afford it 
 now.' 
 
 He looked round rather anxiously. The evening shades 
 were deepening, and clouds were gathering in the sky, threat- 
 ening a thunderstorm. No one replied to his observation 
 The stillness of the air and the gliding motion of the gon- 
 dola, moving on seemingly without effort, had a subduing, 
 solemnising effect upon the spirits of all. It seemed as 
 though ihey were wandering forth on a voyage of discovery 
 propelled by some unknown power. There was neither the 
 restless life of the ocean nor the firmness of the land to give 
 power and energy to their movements ; but on they floated,
 
 IYOES. 251 
 
 slurnberingly, silently, as in search of some phantom city of 
 rest, lying far off, amidst the shadows of night. 
 
 Another delay : — An Austrian government vessel was 
 moored at the entrance of the narrow passage, and passports 
 were demanded, and given up to be examined : and Lady 
 Augusta fell fairly asleep, whilst the gondola waited beneath 
 the dark vessel, — the light of some dim candles bringing out, 
 in Eembrandt-like relief, the figures of the lew soldiers on 
 the deck. 
 
 But an end came at last. The passports were restored; 
 and again they glided on, away from the narrow banks, and 
 across one of the many channels of the Adriatic, which open 
 a way through the Lagune to the island city. 
 
 " See," said Claude, — he laid one hand involuntarily upon 
 Susan's, and with the other pointed to the horizon. A flash 
 of lightning glanced from the dark clouds ; and, rising out 
 of the water, a line of tall, misty buildings burst for one mo- 
 ment upon the sight, and then all was darkness again, and 
 silence, and mystery, till the sound of bells, with a slow and 
 heavy toll, came softly over the sea; and tiny had reach d 
 Venice. 
 
 The flashes of the summer lightning soon became more 
 brilliant. Lady Augusta, aroused from her short slumber, 
 would have been excited and frightened but for Claude's | 
 cnce. Her trust in him seemed unbounded, ; and he man 
 aged her so kind'y, yet so firmly ; — Susan could not help sav- 
 ing to him once, that they must be very thankful to him ; 
 and he answered simply, that it was an equal cause of thank- 
 fulness to him. His first sight of Venice would have been 
 very different to him if he had been with those who could qoI 
 feel with him. 
 
 A line of houses was now before them. It Beeined thai 
 they were approaching directly in front of them; bui the 
 gondoliers '1' :terously turned a .-harp corner, and the} found
 
 2 52 ivors. 
 
 themselves in a street of water, — the tall, irregular houses on 
 each side, built of brick, and having sufficient space before 
 than for a footpath. But this was only at the entrance of 
 the city : as the gondolas entered narrower canals, the walls 
 of the buildings came close to the water's edge, and doors 
 opened from the houses directly upon it. Yet the sight of 
 human habitations gave but little idea of human existence. 
 Gloom, stillness, mystery brooded over the faintly-gleaming, 
 watery streets. There were no sounds of mirth in the houses, 
 no indications of the bustle of traffic or the excitement of 
 pleasure. The idea of any living being as connected with 
 those once princely dwellings never suggested itself to the 
 mind. It might well have been a city of the dead ; for the 
 only life that exhibited itself was the ghostly gondola, which 
 occasionally glided by like a floating coffin, giving notice of its 
 approach by the light fastened to the awning, and casting a 
 sudden gleam upon the carving and ornament of some house, 
 splendid even in its decay ; and then passing noiselessly 
 away, and leaving all again to th3 increasing darkness. 
 
 But the gondolas emerged from the narrow canal, and 
 crossed one much broader, and more winding iu its course. 
 Lights were seen in the houses, lights upon the wide covered 
 bridge, with its single arch spanning the canal. 
 
 "The Bialto," said Claude to Susan; and she instinct- 
 ively looked up, as though the forms of Sliylock and Antonio 
 were still to be seen there, forgetful of Murray's warning, so 
 kindly destructive of all such fond imaginations, that in 
 Shakspear^'s time the present Ponte di Bialto could scai ?ely 
 have been completed. 
 
 " If Helen were but with us ! " said Susan. She looked 
 back to be quite certain that the other gondola was following. 
 
 " We could have found room for her," said Sir Henry 
 " only she was so quick in her arrangements. I think she 
 likes to make a victim of herself."
 
 ivoks. 253 
 
 Claude bent over the side of the gondola, and strained 
 his eyes to see. He fell into a reverie after Sh Henry's 
 remark, and Susan was fretted at finding that the congenial 
 .silence was quite broken, and that she was obliged to talk to 
 her uncle, and to Lady Augusta. 
 
 " We must be near Dauieli's now," said Sir Henry ; " I 
 believe it is close upon the Grand Canal." 
 
 Lady Augusta was revived bv the intelligence, for she 
 was becoming excessively tired, and inclined to complain be- 
 cause Annette was not with her, though what assistance 
 Annette could have afforded under the circumstances was 
 quite a problem. 
 
 " .Not quite so close either," continued Sir Henry in a 
 disappointed tone. " Why, we are getting into those narrow 
 places again, — very romantic, I dare say, they are, but there 
 is no end to them." 
 
 Sir Henry was right. In and out went the gondolas 
 again, all in the darkness and quietness. At length they 
 entered one canal which was singularly narrow and gloomy. 
 The dim light still lingering in the sky showed that it was 
 shut in by two large buildings; one lofty and richly orna- 
 mented, the other lower and perfectly plain. A high covered 
 bridge connected them. 
 
 u 11 Poiite dei Sospiri," said the foremost gondolier; and 
 even Lady Augusta sat more upright as tiny drew near the 
 Bridge of Sighs; and turning to her husband, she said: 
 " Do they keep the people in prison paw, as they used to 
 do ? " 
 
 Sir Henry made no reply. They were passing under the 
 high arch; and even sixty yen- of rough contact with the 
 vmrbi had not extinguished, though it mighl have deadened,] 
 the feelings of horror and indignation which the most 
 noted scene of Venetian tyranny is calculated to excite. 
 Lut they were only momentary. The gondola turn< d i harply
 
 25-i ivors. 
 
 round- the corner of the palace, and once more they were in 
 the Grand Canal, and in sight of the brilliantly lighted 
 and exquisitely beautiful arcades of the Piazzetta of St. 
 Mark, with the tall granite Byzantine columns, keeping 
 guard, as it were, over the soul of the city. 
 
 For human existence in Venice — that existence, at least, 
 which first meets the eye of the stranger — is all concentrated 
 in the great square of St. Mark : without, all is still and 
 sepulchral in its solemnity ; within, all is mirth, light and 
 gaiety. As the republic was in its political career, so is the 
 city still in its outward form — life and death, the most spark- 
 ling beauty and the deepest gloom, have there for centuries 
 stood side by side ; and the noiseless transition from the 
 sparkling loveliness of the Piazzetta to the darkness of the 
 Bridge of Sighs, is but the type of that secret, sudden, often 
 repeated transit, so common in Venetian history, from 
 the hopes and gladness of life to the dread stillness of the 
 grave. 
 
 " Danieli's at last ! " It was Claude who made the re- 
 mark, as they stopped in front of an archway in a side 
 canal, with steps leading down to the water side. Claude 
 hastened to inquire for rooms, as they had been ordered 
 some days before, and he supposed they were all ready. But 
 the face of the master of the hotel excited his consternation. 
 He seemed totally unprepared for such an arrival — there 
 had been some mistake. Rooms had, indeed, been ordered 
 for a party travelling from Innsbruck, but they had arrived, 
 they had already taken possession. 
 
 " No mistake at all," was Claude's answer. " We wrote 
 to a friend to engage the rooms ; we expected to have the 
 rooms ; in fact, we must have them. There are two invalids 
 in the party, and they must be accommodated." 
 
 " Very unfortunate ! extremely perplexing ! " The civil 
 landlord's obsequiousness increased with his difficulties : " he
 
 ivoes. 255 
 
 had no doubt he should be able to manage ; the hotel hap- 
 pened unfortunately to be extremely full ; but he had rooms, 
 very comfortable — they should be prepared." 
 
 Claude hesitated, having some doubt about the comfort- 
 able rooms in a house already overcrowded. He went back 
 to suggest to Sir Henry that they should try another hotel. 
 
 Lady Augusta, however, was urgent to remain where 
 they were ; she was very tired, and wanted to go to bed, aud 
 she tried to leave the gondola even before Claude was ready 
 to give her his hand. 
 
 Sir Henry shrugged his shoulders, and said she must 
 have her way ; but he would not attempt to move himself 
 until he was quite sure that Lady Augusta would not change 
 her mind. "And you can stay too, Susan," he added. 
 
 But Susan had followed Lady Augusta, and was already 
 standing on the steps. 
 
 " "We must not forget that there arc letters here," she 
 said. " Sir John Hume must have remembered them, in 
 spite of the blunder about the rooms." 
 
 " But Claude can ask fur them, child ; there is no occa- 
 sion fur you to trouble yourself." 
 
 "Thank you, no; I would rather go, it will make me 
 happier:" and Susan, in her eagerness, hastened after the 
 master of the hotel asking her own questions, without wait- 
 ing for Claude. 
 
 " "What is the matter with Susan ? Why does Bhe flurry 
 so?" said Lady Augusta, as Claude led her slowly up the 
 staircase. "She heard from home a' short time ago; what 
 can she want to hear again for ? " 
 
 Claude smiled at the question. He had no! remarked 
 Susan's eagerness as anything unusual, until Lady Augusta 
 drew his attention to it. Ther it made but little impression, 
 for he was thinking only of the "comfortable apartments." 
 They were Bhown into a dingy salon, evidently the forlorn
 
 256 ivoks. 
 
 hope of the hotel, never to be used except in cases of emer- 
 gency. Lady Augusta sat down in the nearest chair, and 
 looked round her in dismay. " Venice ! — this Venice ! " 
 She had expected a palace. 
 
 " The best we have, very sorry ; but all will be found 
 extremely comfortable,'' said the landlord, with one of his 
 most courteous bows. 
 
 " I should like to have the letters very much," said Su- 
 san, in a timid tone. 
 
 " But we must look at the bedrooms first," observed 
 Lady Augusta, fretfully. " I don't see how we are to sleep 
 in a place like this ; and beds were ordered. It is very 
 wrong ; we should not have cared what we paid. Where is 
 Annette ? I want her." 
 
 Annette appeared at the door with Helen, porters follow- 
 ed behind, bringing boxes and bags, with which the floor was 
 soon covered. 
 
 " I could not prevent them," said Helen, going up to 
 Claude. " I suspect the landlord had given them orders, not 
 wishing to lose us. But these rooms won't do." 
 
 " They must for to-night," observed Claude. " Won't 
 you look at the bedrooms now ? and then I will go back for 
 Sir Henry." 
 
 " Venez, mademoiselle, venez" said Annette, authorita- 
 tively, opening the door of a bedroom adjoining the salon 
 " Miss Graham, you come too." 
 
 But Susan was quite lost to present interests. The land- 
 lord had produced a letter for her, and in the midst of the 
 bustle and Shattering, the rushing to and fro, the flinging 
 down of boxes upon the floors, the complaints of Annette, 
 and the murmurings of Lady Augusta, she stood reading her 
 letter by the light of a dim lamp, placed upon a square, 
 uncovered table, which only served to bring out in stronger 
 relief the general discomfort of the apartment.
 
 ivoks. 257 
 
 Claude glanced at her countenance — excitement, agita- 
 tion, a strange mixture of joy and sorrow were to be read 
 there. She read on and on rapidly, as though she could 
 not bear to lose a word ; then turned back to obtain a mean- 
 ing which in her eagerness she had missed ; and at length, 
 folding up the letter, looked round her, with the air of one 
 just wakened from a dream. 
 
 " Lady Augusta and Helen are gone to sec the bed- 
 rooms." said Claude. 
 
 " Oh [ yes." Susan's very quiet manner was restored 
 when she became conscious of the presence of another, and 
 she walked into the adjoining room without allowing any 
 further sign of excited feeling to betray itself. Here she 
 found sufficient certainly to concentrate her attention upon 
 the present. Lady Augusta was almost in hysterics. " Such 
 a cold unfurnished room ! Such a miserable place ! And 
 beds covered in with those close curtains, they would stifle 
 her ; she should not sleep all night. Mosquitos ! what busi- 
 ness had mosquitos in a first-rate hotel ? It was quite shock- 
 ing. And how could she dress ? There was no dressing- 
 table, — no washing-stand, — nothing. Danieli's hotel good ! 
 It was the very worst she had ever entered." 
 
 Helen suggested that they had no right to expect any- 
 thing better under the circumstances. These were evidently 
 never used except from ne< essity 
 
 " Then why give them to OS ? it is an insult. I won't 
 stay here. How am I to drej 
 
 Annette opened the door into a Little dreBsing-room, but 
 this only served to make matters worse. It was bul a long 
 dark strip; the floor, encrusted to represent marble, seemed 
 a mixture of cold and dirt. Lady Augusta Looked in, ami 
 then sat down in a chair wringing her hands. 
 
 " We will go to another hotel, dear mamma," said 1 Lelen, 
 gently. " This is not the only one to be found in Venice."
 
 25 S i voits. 
 
 " But to-night ! what for to-night ?" exclaimed Anuette. 
 "Just see; 1 ' she pointed to some boxes, which had been 
 brought into the room. " It will take an hour to carry them 
 down stairs asrain." 
 
 Helen drew near to Susan, who was standing in the door- 
 way between the salon and the bedroom. " What must we 
 do?" she said; "if this is the best room, what will the 
 worst be ? I don't think we possibly can remain." 
 
 Susan, usually so sympathetic, appeared suddenly to 
 have lost her sympathy. She answered, in an abstracted, 
 wondering tone, " Can't we ?" 
 
 Helen was provoked, and said sharply, " No, we can't. 
 Mamma won't bear it." But the irritation was checked in 
 a moment, as she added, " I think, Susan, you are tired." 
 
 " Rather, yes ; perhaps it would be better to try another 
 hotel," said Susan, endeavouring to shake off her absence of 
 mind. She moved to speak to Claude ; but he was quite 
 close, and had heard what passed. Scarcely noticing Helen, 
 he addressed himself to Susan, seeming to imagine that the 
 arrangement of everything rested with her. It was quite 
 clear, he said, that it would be better to try another hotel ; 
 but as the same thing might happen again, he thought it 
 would be better to order tea for Lady Augusta, Helen, and 
 Susan, and t^en go himself in the gondola with Sir Henry, 
 to see if they could find better accommodation at the Impe- 
 ratore, which had also been recommended to him. If they 
 could have superior rooms there, he would return for them. 
 
 He said this to Susan ; but it was Helen who thanked 
 him so heartily, so gracefully ! with her marvellously be- 
 witching smile ; softened, as it had been of late, into an ex- 
 pression in which a latent sadness could always be perceived. 
 It was a reproach to Claude's sensitive conscience for not 
 having put her prominently forward ; but Helen was always 
 in the background now, except where Lady Augusta's com- 
 fort was concerned.
 
 iv.n;s. 259 
 
 Lady Augusta, after a little persuasion, couseuted to the 
 plan proposed. Tea was prepared in the general salon of 
 the hotel, a long, large room, not particularly attractive in 
 appearance ; but it was a great luxury to have good coffee, 
 and fresh bread and butter, and all other et-ceteras placed 
 upon the table in a style which would not have disgrace d 
 Paris; and again Lady Augusta's mind had assumed a new 
 phase, and when Claude returned with the intelligence that 
 he had secured splendid rooms at the Imperatore, she would 
 -willingly .have remained where she was, and might even have 
 complained of Claude, if Helen had not undertaken his de- 
 fence, and insisted that they were under the greatest obliga- 
 tion to him, aud could not possibl}' have managed without 
 him. 
 
 So orders were given to Annette to pack the carpet-bags 
 again, she in her energy having begun to unpack them, and 
 once more the porters rushed backwards and forwards with 
 the luggage, and the landlord, polite still, but very cold, was 
 paid his bill, and in about ten minutes' time, the whole party 
 were gliding, as before, in a gondola, along the great thor- 
 oughfare of the silent city. This time it was Susan who took 
 her place with the luggage, before any one had time to re- 
 mark what she was doing. Claude and Helen sat togetbei 
 without speaking, whilst the brilliant Piazza, the tall build' 
 hlgs, the lights in the windows reflected in the water, pa •! 
 1>< fore them like the unrealised beauty of a dream ; and like 
 a dream too, or rather like the unsubstantial reality of fairy 
 land, was the grandeur of the Imperatore, a palace in appear- 
 ance, once a palace in fact. The flight of broad steps, and 
 the large court surrounded by pillars, and having a fountain 
 in the centre, the splendid suite of rooms, with painted walla 
 and ceiling, floors representing marble*, and sofas and chairs 
 covered with crimson ami white damask, were Btrangely in 
 contra.-t with the din; of Treviso, and t! tily-
 
 200 ivors. 
 
 furnished apartments of Capo di Ponte, and Cortina d'Am- 
 pezzo ; and at last Lady Augusta and Sir Henry were 
 thoroughly satisfied. 
 
 Perhaps they were the only members of the party who 
 had cause to be so. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 Susan was the first person who appeared in the salon the 
 next morning. Helen was tired, and had taken advantage 
 of the certainty that Lady Augusta would be late. She was 
 in much better spirits, however, as Susan informed Claude 
 when he joined her ; for she was sanguine as to the effect of 
 rest and quiet amusement upon Lady Augusta's mind. As 
 to Susan's own spirits, Claude did not, of course, inquire 
 about them ; but they were a problem to him. She talked 
 a good deal, yet rather as though she were trying to keep 
 down some thought which would strive to be uppermost, 
 than as if really interested, even in Venice. Yet the palace 
 of the Foscari was immediately opposite, and the waters of 
 the Grand Canal were before her, and the gondolas passed 
 backwards and forwards in front of the windows, giving a 
 view of that siogular amphibious life which only Venice can 
 offer, and which it would seem must occupy the attention, if 
 anything external can. But no, Susan was not occupied ; 
 and Claude heard her confess to Helen, when after some 
 delay they all sat down to breakfast, that she had passed a 
 sleepless night. 
 
 " Papa says we must engage a gondola to take us out 
 regularly," said Helen. " I went into his room just now to 
 ask him how he was ; and he says he is so much better, that
 
 ivoes. 2G1 
 
 he thinks in a day or two he shall be able to take care of 
 vis himself." 
 
 Claude's countenance fell. He said, rather drily : " In 
 that case, if Captain Hume should be in Venice, I shall be 
 able to go to Milan with him, as I at first intended." 
 
 Susan's hand trembled as she was lifting her coffee cup ; 
 but no one saw it, and Helen said, quietly : " We should be 
 .sorry to interrupt your plans, but you have been a great help 
 to us." 
 
 " A crutch for Sir Henry," said Claude, trying to laugh ; 
 " but, if I am to go soon, I must make the best use of my 
 time. Do you think you shall be able to go out this morn- 
 ing ? " he added, addressing Lady Augusta. 
 
 " Perhaps, by and by, in the evening; but it is pleasant 
 sitting at the window, and the heat makes me ill." 
 
 Claude looked very blank. He had not exactly calcu- 
 lated before upon the difficulties of seeing Venice when both 
 Sir Henry and Lady Augusta were invalids. 
 
 " Sir John and Lady Hume," he said, " were to take up 
 their quarters at the Leone Bianco, I believe; the distance 
 is not very great, I could go to them this morning, and if 
 you did not dislike the idea of seeing them, they might be 
 useful to Helen, and " — a slight pause — " Miss Graham." 
 
 "Mamma won't like it," replied Helen, quickly; "she 
 has not seen Lad}" IJuine for a long time, and we can wait 
 very well. Papa will be better, I dare say, in a day <>r two." 
 
 But Claude persisted, and pressed the question again 
 upon Lady Augusta, who seemed annoyed, and said that 
 they might as well be in England if they were t • » have only 
 English people about them. 
 
 "Pray, pray dOtt't," .-aid Helen, ill an undertime; but 
 Lady Augusta heard. 
 
 " Why do you say don't V what do you mean P I can't 
 
 i mysteries. Why can'1 you all speak out? what i.- the 
 l,,., it x?"
 
 2G2 ivoks. 
 
 " Nothing, dear mamma ; only Claude is anxious we 
 should go about and see everything, and we are willing to 
 wait till you can take us," answered Helen, soothingly. 
 
 " I don't want you to wait for me, I can do very well 
 with Annette," said Lady Augusta, in a fretful tone. " Peo- 
 ple who are ill are always in the way. It would be a good 
 thing if I was taken out of it." 
 
 Helen's eyes filled with tears. She turned appealingly ( 
 to Susan, who had been sitting very silent, pretending to eat 
 rather than really eating her breakfast, and said : " What 
 are we to do ? " Susan started ; her thoughts had been ab- 
 sent, she only half comprehended the question, and in reply 
 observed that she had letters to write. 
 
 " Then you had better go out by yourself," continued 
 Helen, speaking to Claude with quiet determination of man- 
 ner ; " and if you will engage a gondola for us for the eve- 
 ning, we shall do very well, very well indeed," she added, 
 cheerfully. " With the Palazzo Foscari before us, what can 
 we want more ? " 
 
 She rose from the breakfast-table as she spoke, and pro- 
 posed to Lady Augusta to have her chair drawn near the 
 window. Claude assisted her in moving it, whilst Susan 
 left the room. 
 
 Annette was summoned to bring Lady Augusta's work- 
 basket, and attend to several other little needs, any one of 
 which, neglected, would have caused a fit of ill-Lumour ; and 
 Claude proposed to go and see Sir Henry. Yet he lingered 
 in the room still. Helen was searching in her portfolio for 
 some drawing-paper, having a fancy to sketch some of the 
 beautiful bits of ornamental architecture on the opposite side 
 of the canal. He went up to her, and asked, in a low voice, 
 whether she was quite sure they were right about Lady 
 Hume. 
 
 " Quite sure we must do whatever pleases mamma," re- 
 plied Helen, bending down over her drawing.
 
 iyors. 2G3 
 
 '' But your cousin ? Won't you think of her ? " said 
 Claude, eagerly, 
 
 Helen's eyes -were raised for a moment to his with an in- 
 voluntary, but searching, look of inquiry. As they sank 
 again, she said, " I did not remember her. I will talk to 
 mamma again; or, perhaps, if Lady Hume would call, I 
 would see her if mamma would not; and then, if she were 
 ^oing any where, Susan might go with her." 
 "And you ? " said Claude. 
 
 " I can't go ; it doesu't signify ; don't think about me." 
 Helen moved away, apparently unwilling to pursue the 
 conversation ; and Claude went to Sir Henry. He came 
 back again after some time, saying that he was going out, 
 and should engage a gondola for a week, and call at the post 
 office ; perhaps, also, he might go to the Leone Bianco, and 
 see Sir John and Lady Hume, and learn if Captain Hume 
 was expected. lie said this intending Lady Augusta to re- 
 mark upon it ; but she said nothing, neither did Helen. 
 
 Lady Augusta took her crochet, Helen her drawing, Su- 
 san her writing-case. They might have been at home as re- 
 garded their occupations, except that the exquisite outline 
 of Helen's sketch could never have been suggested by any 
 architecture in England. The quietness was so singular, 
 from the absence of all the usual noises of a great city, that 
 it struck Helen at last with a sense of' the ludicrous. 
 " Would any one believe," she exclaimed, " that three peo- 
 ple could sit themselves down, as we are doing now, to crochet, 
 and dull sketching, and writing, with Wince before them 
 unseen ? " 
 
 "Necessity," replied Susan, without raising her eyes; 
 and she went on writing rapidly. 
 
 Helen laid down hi r pencil and watched her. "Susan, 1 
 envy you ; 1 would :ri\c worlds to be bo quiet." 
 
 " Am I quiet ?" replied Susan. She did look up dow;
 
 26-1 ivoKS. 
 
 and her full, dark grey eyes seemed expanded with some in- 
 tense feeling. She put a letter across the table to Helen, 
 and said, " Head that." 
 
 And Helen read ; and when she had finished, she folded 
 up the letter again, and, stealing gently to the opposite side 
 of the table, so as not to attract Lady Augusta's attention, 
 bent over Susan, and, kissing her tenderly, said, in a low 
 voice, " I am so glad if you are." 
 
 " Yes, I am, — I think so ; but it is all strange. I will 
 tell you more by and by ; but I wanted you to know." 
 
 Helen returned to her drawing, Susan to her writing. 
 
 -»-*-*- 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVIL 
 
 Claude in the meantime was gliding down the Grand Canal. 
 
 He engaged a gondola for the week, went to the post 
 office, and to the Leone Bianco, found Lady Hume at home, 
 and enlisted her compassion in behalf of Helen and Susan, 
 and persuaded her to call in the afternoon and take them to 
 the Piazza and St. Mark's, roused Miss Hume to enthusiasm 
 on tbe subject of pictures, and proposed a plan for spending 
 the next morning at the Academia, and, in fact, played so 
 perfectly the part of brother and disinterested friend, that 
 neither Lady Hume nor her -daughters, when they gossiped 
 about him after he was gone, could find anything in what he 
 had said or done to excite any interesting speculation as to 
 his feelings, except that he had spoken of Helen as Miss 
 Clare ; and so they supposed he must still bear her a grudge 
 for having jilted him. 
 
 Poor Claude ! he floated back to the Imperatore, yield- 
 ing himself to the luxurious feelings caused by the delicious
 
 itoks. 265 
 
 climate, and the gliding motion, and the magic beauty of 
 the buildings, whilst care was lulled to rest, and sorrow so 
 soothed that it ceased to be pain; and hope, gentle and en- 
 ticing, lured him on to those soft, rainbow-like visions of the 
 future which we indulge unconscious of danger, because there 
 appears no prospect of their being realized. Life in that, 
 marvellous city of beauty and repose appeared so unlike the 
 bustling selfishness and the harsh conflict with opposing wills' 
 i,o which he had of late been accustomed, that he thought of 
 ir as of a, different existence ; and once more the deep poetry 
 of his nature was awakened within him,- and he dreamed of 
 happiness. 
 
 Yet it was not the happiness which he had pictured to 
 himself at Ivors, when in the fulness of his'devotion he had 
 knelt before Helen Clare and offered his heart, not to her, 
 but to the creature of his own imagination. That dream, 
 from which he had been so rudely awakened, could never 
 return. He might luve, but it would be in a different way. 
 His was not a nature to be deceived twice; and now the 
 form which hovered before his eyes, though it had the out- 
 ward lineaments of the same Helen, bore the impress of a 
 character, far different from that which he had then, even 
 in his highest moments, imagined. 
 
 He saw her not as an angel, but a woman — witli much 
 to repent of — much for which even he could attempt no ex- 
 tenuation ; but conscious of her faults, struggling against 
 the temptations, which beset hei to yield to them, with the 
 strength which gave the victory to the martyr.- of old; and 
 bearing with her wherever she moved the power of that deep- 
 rooted ean 3 of purpose which is the life of run 
 self-denying action, and without which aotion is worth) 
 Lovely she was Mill; hut it was a beauty \vhnh angels 
 might share, fox it wi tovelinesa of ;i redeemed and 
 purified spirit; ami when raid destroy the freshness
 
 266 itoes. 
 
 of its charm, it would still be there, seen by the eye of God, 
 and acknowledged by the reverence of man. Graceful also, 
 and winning, she appeared to him; but the grace was ac- 
 companied by the repose of humility, and the winning 
 brightness of her smile was tempered by the thoughtful 
 sadness of one who could never forget that God had placed 
 before her " life and death, blessing and cursing," and that, 
 by the wilfulness of her own choice, she had turned from 
 life, and accepted death. 
 
 When Claude landed at the steps of the Imperatore, the 
 fevered thought working in his brain was, — did the Helen 
 so changed, so chastened, look upon him with an eye as dif- 
 ferent from the fancy of former days as that with which he 
 regarded her ? 
 
 It was a question to be solved, — how, when, where, he 
 knew not, and could not trust himself to think. 
 
 Annette met him in the court-yard : he had a letter for 
 her, and gave it, and received, instead of thanks, complaints 
 that she had not had it before. She tried to prevent him 
 from going in: Lady Augusta, she said, was resting on the 
 sofa in the salon ; and it would be better not to interrupt 
 her. Dinner had been ordered at two o'clock; and they 
 were all going out in the gondola afterwards. Sir Henry 
 was writing in his room. 
 
 There was no companionship for Claude ; and unable, in 
 the present state of his mind, to bear solitude, he dismissed 
 his gondola, and hurried away to find the intricate alleys 
 and narrow lanes in which the main business of "the city is 
 conducted. The Venetian world was seen here in its most 
 crowded, energetic form ; and it was this which Claude 
 needed. The doubt suggested to his mind became more and 
 more agonising as he realised the possibility of solving it ; 
 and to distract his thoughts was his strong necessity. He 
 strode on through the bustling alleys, forcing himself to re-
 
 ivoks. 2G7 
 
 mark every thing strange, stopping before the small open 
 shops without -windows, in -which men and women -were ply- 
 ing their different trades ; listening to the unintelligible 
 jargon of women seated at stalls, selling fruit and boiling 
 chestnuts ; standing upon a steep bridge over some narrow 
 canal, and "watching a gondola glide underneath it; then 
 pausing before a church "with an open space in front, and 
 once or twice entering to admire the gorgeous marbles and 
 mosaics, and to wonder that so much richness should be lav- 
 ished to ,so little purpose as regarded the general effect. 
 
 It was one o'clock before he found himself in the Merce- 
 ria. There, while trying to amuse himself with looking at 
 the shops, which are certainly the best in Venice, he recog- 
 nised the tones of a voice he knew, and saw, to his surprise, 
 Annette standing at the entrance of a Turkey warehouse, 
 and bargaining for a Turkish dressing-crown. She was talk- 
 ing eagerly; yet she saw Claude, as she saw everything and 
 every person. Nothing under any circumstances escaped 
 her observation. 
 
 ■• All ! Monsieur Egerton. How did you come ? I 
 thought you gone home." 
 
 "No, Annette, you could not have thought that; you 
 saw me leave the hotel. But what business have you 
 here ? " 
 
 "Business! a great deal; why must you inquire ? " and 
 Annette frowned. " Am I not to see the world ? Vmi all 
 so selfish, you never think of the ladies' maids; and they 
 slave, slave, they nothing but slavi 
 
 " Nonsense, Annette," said Claude, good-humoured ly ; 
 "you know there are no persons in the world more thought 
 of than ladies' maids; and as for you, y<"i rule everything." 
 
 u Badinage 1 folie I I never understand Monsieur E 
 ton, he speaks s<i queer." But Annette's tone was Boftened, 
 aud she added, " Pauvre 8irHenri t he musi have a new
 
 2G8 Ivors. 
 
 dressing-gown, and I said I would see for it for him. Miladi 
 bogged me to come out. When you were gone she waked 
 up, and Miladi Hume called and took Miss Graham out, and 
 Mademoiselle stayed with Miladi; and then Sir John's man 
 was in the courtyard, and he offer to come with me here. 
 So now, Monsieur Egerton, you understand." And Annette 
 drew herself up with the proud satisfaction of having cpiito 
 redeemed herself from any suspicion of neglect of duty. 
 
 " Quite. Annette, quite. Miss Clare, you said, stayed 
 with Lady Augusta ? " 
 
 "Yes; but Miladi did not wish it, only Mademoiselle 
 said that it would be well for me to get out ; and Sir Henry, 
 he like her to read to him. . Mademoiselle a very good 
 daughter, Monsieur Egerton." 
 
 Annette nodded oracularly, and returned to her bargain 
 with the master of the Turkey warehouse. 
 
 The natural thing for Claude to do was to leave her; but 
 some secret feeling detained him He gave his opinion un- 
 asked about the pattern of the dressing-gown, and lingered 
 to look at some curious Turkish purses and bags, and pur- 
 chased a box of sweetmeats for an old friend in England. 
 When Annette had finished her business, he asked if she was 
 going back. 
 
 She seemed a little annoyed at the question, probably 
 fancying that it implied some control over her movements. 
 Sir John's man, she said, would take very good care of her. 
 She should be at home in time for Lady Augusta's dinner. 
 It was hard not to have some few minutes at her own dispo- 
 sal ; and it was so hot, so hot ! 
 
 What this had to do with the former part of the sentence 
 Claude could not tell ; but Annette sat down in the shop, 
 apparently fatigued, and with a full determination not to 
 move. 
 
 " Well, then, I shall tell Lady Augusta where I left
 
 TTORS. 269 
 
 you, so that she need not be anxious. Have you any idea 
 where Lady Hume was going to -take Miss Graham ? " 
 
 Annette's eyes flashed with some sudden thought. For- 
 getting her exhaustion, she started from her seat and seized 
 Claude by the arm. "Ah! monsieur, monsieur!" An 1 
 she shook her head at Lim so solemnly, that Claude burst 
 into a fit of laughter. 
 
 "Very well to laugh, but no laughing matter; you will 
 know soon enough ; and then you will cry." 
 
 " Cry J? senseless woman!" and Claude shook himself 
 from her and spoke quite fiercely; "tell me at once what 
 you mean ! " 
 
 "You young gentlemen very blind; you think your 
 ladies angels; but they not angels at all. Miss Graham is a 
 fianc'e ; she engaged to be married, as you call it." 
 
 Annette fixed her eyes upon Claude whilst she spoke, 
 with the triumphant feeling of having him in her power and 
 giving him a severe blow, and yet with womanly compa 
 at the pain which she felt she was inflicting. But, to her 
 surprise, Claude bore the stroke without shrinking. His 
 fa.ce, indeed, was inexplicable; it expressed something very 
 nearly akin to satisfaction as he said, lightly, "Why, An- 
 nette, where did you pick up that gossip ? " 
 
 •• Vou not believe it? but it is true. Do you see this 
 letter?" And she drew forth the letter which she had that 
 morning received. "It is from Wingfield, from a very dear 
 friend: her sister lives with Mrs. Graham; so yon sec there 
 can be no doubt. Look!" She pointed to a "It 
 
 . ' Miss Graham i- to be married quite .-non, but you are 
 not to tell any one, for my sister would be very angrj if sin- 
 knew I had mentioned it ; and she will not say the gentle- 
 man's Dame, btit 1 shall certainly lind nut.' Who can doubt 
 that?" added Annette, in a tone oi ding irritation, 
 
 ed evidently by finding thai Claude persisted in appear* 
 i 1 1 L r un m o v ( I .
 
 270 ivoks. 
 
 " "Who wishes to doubt it ? " he said, carelessly. " But, 
 Annette, I advise you the next time that you have a secret 
 committed to you, to be more careful how you betray it." 
 
 " Betray ! I betray ! I scorn it ! " exclaimed Aunette, 
 her face becoming fiery with indignation. " But I say what 
 I say to put young gentlemen on their guard. Miss Graham 
 look very good, and keep up in a corner, and she never say 
 nothing to no one ; but she very deep." 
 
 " Possibly," said Claude, haughtily. " I have no wish 
 to discuss Miss Graham. I advise you, Annette, to finish 
 your commissions quickly, or you will not be at the hotel in 
 time for Lady Augusta's dinner." 
 
 lie walked away, and Annette stood at the door of the 
 shop, watching him as he made his way through the narrow 
 street of the Merceria and passed under the brilliantly 
 painted clock tower into the Piazza of St. Mark; and then 
 with a shrug of the shoulders, and the usual exclamation — 
 "Ah/ quHl est sot ! " — returned to complete her bargain 
 with the Turkey merchant. 
 
 Claude wandered through the Piazza without in the least 
 understanding its beauty. The delicate tracery of the ar- 
 cades, the symmetry of the tall Campanile, even the gor- 
 geous richness of the exterior of St. Mark's, glittering with 
 gold, marbles, and mosaics, were lost upon him. His eye, 
 indeed, rested upon the outward forms of the buildings ; but 
 his attention was entirely withdrawn from them, it was im- 
 possible to study them. He held a guide book in his hand, 
 and read all that could be said of the history of the glorious 
 cathedral, and looked, as he was told to do, at the gilt bronze 
 horses, and the glittering gates, and the three pedestals from 
 which rise the masts that once supported the banners of the 
 republic; but it was all mechanical. Every figure which 
 passed him suggested some thought of Helen ; and every 
 beauty which met his eye brought the longing that she could
 
 ivors. 271 
 
 be at liis side to admire it; and when the recollection of 
 Susan, and of Annette's intelligence, fully confirmed by the 
 observations he had himself made upon her agitation when 
 receiving her letteis, crossed his mind ; it was with the 
 thought of relief, that now he might be free, as he had once 
 been, without any fear of exciting remark. lie scarcely 
 had understood till then the annoyance which Annette's im- 
 pertinent hints had been to him, or the check they had con- 
 tinually placed upon his freedom of feeling and action. But 
 all that w^is over. Susan had been his friend always, she 
 would be so now more than ever. Unselfish and sympathis- 
 ing, she would never allow her own happiness to interfere 
 with her feeling for others; and he might talk to her, and 
 might learn from her everything which he wished to know. 
 Perhaps, even, he might so far enlist her on his side, as to 
 induce her to say something which would have the effect of 
 sounding Helen's feelings, and save him the misery and hu- 
 miliation of a second refusal. He looked upon her as his 
 guardian angel. He felt so sure of her affection for Helen, 
 and her entire comprehension of himself, that at the moment 
 he could have gone to her to acknowledge his every 
 thought, and entreat her aid and counsel. Trust, — thai was 
 the one feeling which had for years been uppermost in his 
 mind whenever he thought of Susan; and now, in the ex- 
 citement, ami distrust, and despondency of heart caused 
 by the bitter remembrances of the past, it was increased ten- 
 fold. Claude found his way to the 1'iazzetta. threw himself 
 into a gondola, and gave the direction I" the [raperatore, 
 and again, under the tranquillising influence of the smooth 
 motion, grew calm, thankful, and hopeful.
 
 272 iyoks. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVIII. 
 
 Susan's letter had occupied her till she was disturbed by 
 Lady Hume's visit. It might have occupied her still longer 
 if she had said all that it was iu her heart to say ; but it 
 was hastily closed and given to Sir John, after a strict pro- 
 mise that he himself would put it into the post. It was ad- 
 dressed to Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Mv dearest Mother, 
 
 " We are at Venice. I can't tell you more than 
 that; for I have just had your letter, and can think of noth- 
 ing else. I can scarcely say how I feel, it is all so sudden 
 and startling ; but if you are satisfied, I must be. Tell my 
 darling Isabella that if I had wings, I would leave Venice 
 unseen only to have the pleasure of kissing her, and telling 
 her how I long for her to be happy. I always thought Mr. 
 George Berry liked her ; but then I thought too that he 
 liked all of us, and I confess that I had not the most remote 
 idea of anything serious. It must all have been managed 
 sinee I left home, which appears an incredibly short space 
 of time to have got up such an affair, as people say. You 
 know my notion has always been that it would require to 
 know a person for years before one could have a feeling ap- 
 proaching to love ; but Isabella was always different from 
 me, so I can't possibly judge ; and I do think, truly and 
 honestly, that she will be infinitely more happy married than 
 she ever could have been unmarried. My dearest mother, I 
 am sure this is not exuberant, as it ought to be ; Helen would 
 tell me that I am dreadfully cold ; but I can say anything 
 to you, and you will understand. I am so afraid of Bella's 
 moods. I will tell you now what I never quite liked to tell
 
 ivors. 273 
 
 you before, because it was only worrying and did no good. 
 They have been the great drawback to all my happiness ; 
 they have given me a feeling of insecurity, of walking upon 
 quicksands, even when I had you, my own, precious mother 
 to fall back upon ; and I am so afraid it may be the same 
 now. I don't fancy that a man can understand and bear 
 with such a temperament as a woman can ; and I seem to 
 wish so very much to know more of Mr. Berry. You say 
 he is religious, and upright, and honourable ; but I can't 
 help fancying that underneath all your expressions of satis- 
 faction, there is a slight misgiving. Do you think he knows 
 Isabella ? Does he see her truly ? I wish I could talk to 
 him about her; I feel I could put him in 'lie way of manag- 
 ing her. Then, airain, I feel that to be obliged to manage a 
 wife must be so trying. Do you remember the French say- 
 ing, ' on n 'a jamais de V enthousiame pour ce qu'on menage ? ' 
 Since you showed it me it has always been in my mind when 
 thinking of dear Isabella, and the possibility of her being 
 married. But on the other hand, she will be so devoted and 
 earnest in her duties, it must come right. My own mother, 
 please write to me and tell me that you are sure of it. I 
 long so inexpressibly for your word ; nothing else: will satisfy 
 me, and my head grows quite dizzy with thought. More 
 and more I feel that, if I c^uld see Bella and Anna happy, 
 and Charlie doing well, I could bear anything which might 
 come to myself. That sounds very melancholy, as if I were 
 not enjoying myself j but I am, mure than I e.in always un- 
 derstand or express. It is a new life here; nothing seems 
 real to me. Perhaps it may be tin' effect of these watery 
 streets, the of instability, which living on the sea 
 
 gives; but even before we arrived here, I had a strange dif 
 iieultv in realising my own happiness, — the Bensation of 
 walking in a dream. I. have actually fell mj pulse, <<> !/'• 
 
 quite sure that I was a living, substantial being; and now J
 
 271 ivoes. 
 
 look at the houses opposite, and could fancy that tney would 
 vanish before my eyes. But it is all bright, warm, exhila- 
 rating ; — perfect, when I don't think ; and I am learning to 
 give up thought. "Whom could I say this to except you, 
 who know every feeling that rises in my heart, and can in- 
 terpret my wordsexactly according to their true meaning ? 
 
 " I shall write again in a very few days. "We are at the 
 Imperatore, just opposite the Foscari Palace. I have seen 
 nothing yet, except the view from the windows, and the 
 glimpses of the city last night, when we entered late. It 
 was all exquisite. One feeling I have this morning akin to 
 disappointment. The houses look poverty-stricken ; I was 
 not prepared for that; but I can't judge till I have seen 
 more. Lady Hume, who is here, has just called, and offered 
 to take me out. Lady Augusta is better, in a way ; I am 
 not sanguine about any permanent amendment. Poor Helen 
 flatters herself that things will be better now we are at rest; 
 we have had many trials on the journey, which I must wait 
 till we meet to tell you. Mr. Egerton is here with us ; he 
 joined us at Conegliano (where Sir Henry met with an acci- 
 dent, not very serious, but very inconvenient ; he hurt his 
 foot by slipping down some steps) ; and being helpless, Mr. 
 Egerton offered to come with us, and take care of us. He 
 is the greatest possible comfort to Sir Henry. I don't know 
 how long he stays. I have so very much to say, this all 
 seems nothing. I can't give descriptions, and perhaps you 
 would not care to have them ; and Isabella will be too happy 
 to think of them ; and Anna must learn patience, and she 
 shall hear everything when we meet. W T ould you believe it, 
 that even now, at Venice, I long for that more than for any- 
 thing ? It must be that I am growing old that I can't throw 
 myself into enjoyment as I used to do. One thing always 
 sad to me is Helen. She is so blighted and crushed ; and I 
 can scarcely tell why she should be, except that she has ex-
 
 iyors. 275 
 
 liausted so much excitement in such a short time. "Wo 
 scarcely ever talk of the past ; I have seen her shudder at 
 Captain Mordauut's name, and Madame Reinhard is a for- 
 bidden topic by tacit consent. I suppose the farther one 
 travels from a great danger the more frightful it appears. 
 But Helen, I am sure, is entirely in earnest now, though she 
 will scarcely acknowledge it; I think she would feel more 
 confidence in herself if she had fewer cares for Lady Augusta. 
 She is one of those persons who, I always fancy, require a 
 southern plimate, moral and mental, to enable them to bring 
 the good that is in them to perfection. This she certainly 
 has not now. 
 
 " But this is very presumptuous in me ; and I have kept 
 Lady Hume waiting, and can only send ten thousand loves 
 to you all. My own precious mother, when I am writing to 
 you I always long for a new vocabulary of affection. 
 
 " Your ever loving and grateful child, 
 
 "S. G." 
 
 Venice is known by almost every one either by experience 
 or descripti.m. The glories of Ht. Mark's have been pour- 
 trayed, the impressive gloom of its red marble walls, the 
 brightness of its golden mosaics, the antiquity of its worn, 
 ■Hated pavement. The Doge's Palace has been sketched, 
 and painted, and engraved, and every line of its wonderful 
 architecture brought clearly into view, and the impression 
 of surpassing beauty which it gives carefully analysed. 
 History and poetry have joined band in hand to throw a 
 charm over the minutest details of the humblest Venetian 
 building, and to give romance to the mosl ordinal y objects 
 of daily life; things which in other cities would be pa 
 by unnoticed are in Venia i crated by association with 
 all that is awful, mysterious, and exciting. And so i1 is that 
 life i„ Venice, although made up of the same homely mate-
 
 276 itors. 
 
 rials -which arc requisite for existence in other places, must 
 always stand out apart, as something which can never be en- 
 joyed elsewhere. The events which occur to us may be the 
 same ; but the feelings which they awaken must always be 
 different. 
 
 Lady Hume, the most matter-of-fact of old ladies, took 
 upon herself, most kindly and willingly, the office of chape- 
 rone. Her gondola was daily seen at the stairs before the 
 courtyard of the Imperatore ; and daily were parties formed 
 for the Academia, or St. Mark's, or the Piazza, or the Palace, 
 or perhaps for a visit to Murano or Torcello, or to some of 
 the splendid but disappointing churches with which Venice 
 abounds. It was a perpetual course of sight-seeing; and 
 nothing becomes, in general, more wearisome after a time. 
 Eut there is a charm in Venice independent of its sights — a 
 luxury in the mere feeling of existence, a new and ever-pres- 
 ent loveliness in the soft, watery colouring, and the rich, 
 intricate, misty lines of the buildings which pass before the 
 eye ; and day after day as Susan Graham glided along the 
 Grand Canal, with Claude seated beside her, the feeling of 
 deep, hidden delight increased. He was her constant com- 
 panion now. It seemed quite natural that he should be the 
 person to hand her into the gondola, and find a place next 
 her. Sir John Hume took care of Helen, and Miss Hume 
 and her sister engaged her in conversation ; and if, as was 
 often the case, the party was too large to be together, Sir 
 John, as a matter of course, insisted that Helen should 
 come with him, and left Claude in charge of the rest. It 
 was a very natural arrangement, a kind feeling on the part 
 of Lady Hume, that Claude and Helen might, under the 
 circumstances, feel more at their ease when separate; and 
 Claude, as it appeared, had no wish to alter it. 
 
 When with Susan, his whole tone and manner was that 
 of being quite at rest with one who thoroughly understood
 
 itors. 277 
 
 him. It was not that they always talked much together ; at 
 times they would sit so long silent as to awaken obser- 
 vation ; but whatever was said showed that quick, sympathis- 
 ing appreciation of each other's tastes which binds heart 
 with heart more firmly far than words. 
 
 And on one subject Susau thought that she entirely com- 
 prehended Claude. They of en spoke of Helen ; and it was 
 a pleasure to her to be able to do so. It put her more at 
 ease with him than anything else could; for it showed that 
 even upon-the point on which he had felt and suffered most 
 keenly, he could open his mind to her. Claude, indeed, never 
 referred directly to past events; but he talked much and 
 freely of all that had occurred in London ; he inquired 
 minutely into the extent of Madame Reinhard's influence, 
 and Helen's present feelings respecting her. He even went 
 so far as to beg Susan to communicate to Helen «diiic pain- 
 ful facts which had reached him, as to Madame Reinhard's 
 domestic life, her open neglect of her husband, and the 
 alienation between them, which was now so public as to 
 cau^e her to be shunned by many persons who had before 
 admitted her to their society. She was, he said, fast sinking 
 to the level of the Baroness d'Olban ; her principles were 
 working out their fatal effect; and even if Helen had never 
 openly separated from her, it would have been impossible to 
 keep up the acquaintance. He told all this with what might 
 have been the kind, protecting interest of a brother, denrous 
 to know what effect the baneful influence exercised upon 
 Helen's mind had produced. And Susan replied to him 
 with equal simplicity-ana" openness. In her anxiety to make 
 him do justice to her cousin, she d< cribed to bim the inter- 
 view in which Eel es were firs! opened to Madame 
 Reinhard's conduct, and dwelt niueh apon the few words in 
 which she had since expressed Iht unutterable thankful) 
 for having been Baved from a marriage which musl have I
 
 278 ivoiis. 
 
 utterly fatal to her happiness. " Helen," she said, " looked 
 back upon that time with a feeling far deeper than regret. 
 It was a deep sincere repentance, too sacred to be alluded 
 to, but which was never absent from her mind; and any per- 
 son watching her daily life would see how the remembrance 
 worked upon her." And then Susan went on to give little 
 details of Helen's thoughtfulness and nobleness, the unself- 
 ishness which was apart of her natural character, but which 
 had been hidden by worldly follies ; and at length she touched 
 upon religion, and her countenance lighted up, and became 
 almost beautiful, as she spoke of the quiet, unseen growth 
 of feelings which Helen in her humility was almost afraid 
 to acknowledge, but which were evinced by every action, and 
 every expression of taste or feeling. Some months before, 
 Susan might have felt it an effort to say all this ; she might 
 have remembered that Helen had once been very dear to 
 Claude; and a secret jealousy might have chilled her tones, 
 and arrested the eager flow of her words. But that time 
 was separated from the present as by a vast gulf. They were 
 in Venice, living a new life amid new scenes, beneath the 
 power of a new atmosphere ; and as the gondola floated along 
 on its silent way, Susan looked at the past as she did upon 
 the aerial outlines which rose up before her, and it became 
 unreal and awoke neither hope nor fear, and she felt only 
 that Claude had but one thought, one wish for her. 
 
 At the close of the first week of their stay in Venice, 
 Susan spoke no longer in her letters of the feeling of insecu- 
 rity, and the longing for home. The single drop of sadness 
 in the fulness of her happiness was the recollection that they 
 must separate. 
 
 And was every one else blinded ? Did Venice, and its 
 loveliness, and its associations so engross all attention that 
 there was no thought for the living romance passing before 
 the eye ? Sir Henry and Lady Augusta for the most part
 
 ivors. £79 
 
 stayed at home ; or if, as happened at last when Sir Henry's 
 lameness decreased, they sometimes joined the rest of the 
 party, Claude was always bestowing his time and attention 
 upon their comfort. Lady Hume did not understand love 
 without the laughing, and talking, and badinage of flirtation ; 
 and the Miss Humes supposed that, because Claude and 
 Susan were content to sit together sometimes for half an hour 
 at a time without speaking, they considered each other dull 
 companions. But there was one who saw all, and thought 
 she understood all, and, with the firm energy of a heart 
 which has voluntarily cast away a treasure that might have 
 been its own, and knows that from henceforth it must be 
 content to live without it, stifled every pang of regret which 
 would have risen up to mar its peace, and soberly and thank- 
 fully accepted the contentment which was brought to it by 
 the sight of another's joy. 
 
 One great and lingering grief to Helen had been the 
 knowledge that she had rendered Claude miserable. She 
 believed now that he was on the way to happiness ; and 
 her heart beat more lightly as she watched him talking to 
 Suscn, or heard him appeal to her on some question of taste, 
 with the confident tone which showed that they were entirely 
 of one mind. It seemed as though she were, in some deg 
 making amends to him fur her former conduct, by further- 
 ing his wishes now: and it was often bv her delicately-man- 
 
 O ' w w 
 
 aged contrivance that ( llaude found himself left to take 
 care of Susan in walking, as well as placed by her side in 
 the gondola. 
 
 Poor Helen could live now only in self-sacrifice. It was 
 a rest to her conscience, — the living evidence which she re- 
 quired to prove to herself thai she was not utterly hearth 
 for when our faith in ourselves has once been thoroughly 
 shaken, it requires a long, long time torestoreit. We can- 
 not trust our own hearts as others trust them; and much of
 
 2S0 ivoes. 
 
 the comfort of the self-imposed penances so often abused may 
 probably be found, not in the hope of atoning for what has 
 been wrong in the past, but simply in giving us confidence 
 for the present. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 It was a deliciously warm morning, yet in no way over- 
 powering, so as to render going out impossible ; and it was 
 very early, not later than seven. Helen and Susan were in 
 a gondola, with Lady Hume's elderly German Abigail to act 
 as chaperone. Annette could not be spared ; and Helen 
 was bent upon making a sketch of a very beautiful bit of the 
 Dole's palace, as seen from one of the entrances to St. 
 Mark's, and could only hope to do so by taking advantage of 
 the comparatively quiet morning hours. Drawing was her 
 constant employment and interest now ; and perhaps none 
 but Susan could appreciate the amount of self-control and 
 power of will exercised in thus forcing herself into an occu- 
 pation which had no definite aim nor external stimulus. In 
 bygone days, Helen's drawing moods had been as variable as 
 her temper, and she had believed that it was as impossible 
 to control the one as the other ; but she was learning by 
 degrees that God intends us to discipline our minds by our 
 tastes and inclinations as well as by our faults. The love of 
 freedom, which had once been her temptation, was now be- 
 coming her great safeguard. Helen had known what it was 
 to be her own slave ; and now her whole heart was bent upon 
 asserting that blessed freedom of will which, through God's 
 grace, keeps in check even the passing humours and fancies 
 to which so many, really in earnest in great matters, yield
 
 ivoks. 281 
 
 ■without repentance, and scarcely with regret. Iu Susan's 
 eyes, she was more to be respected in the ceaseless watch 
 kept over petty temptations to indolence, self-indulgence, and 
 ehangeableness, than even in her untiring devotion to Lady 
 Augusta, and the unselfish consideration which put every one 
 before herself. Claude, Susan thought, could not see these 
 temptations; audit was difficult to point them out to him 
 without asserting a certain amount of superiority, as tin High 
 she never gave way to them herself. But she did sometimes, 
 laughingly, draw his attention to the fact that Helen was 
 the only person of the party who could never afford to have 
 an idle minute; and Claude, in his grave, abstracted way, 
 would listen to what she said, and watch Helen for a few 
 minutes, and perhaps even go up to the table at which 
 she was drawing, and make some remark upon her sketch ; 
 but there was no excitement or eagerness in his manner. It 
 was evidently a greater effort to speak to Helen than to talk 
 even to Miss Hume ; and so the drawing went on, no one 
 particularly appearing to care for it except Sir Henry; and 
 his was more a father's pride in his child's talent, than the 
 discriminating approbation of a person who really understood 
 its worth. 
 
 "I shall finish my Bketch this morning, I hope," said 
 Helen, as she sat down by her cousin, and the gondola was 
 pushed off from the steps; "and then you and pool- L 
 may have a little longer rest in the morning. It makes me 
 quite ashamed of myself to bring you out in this way, only 
 that it is so intensely del;. 
 
 "Every hour in Venice is a memory," said Susan ; " one 
 would he ashamed of missing more than one i- actually 
 obliged. Just look, now, at thai mil exquisite bit of bal- 
 cony, at the very top of the pala< pposite, and the dingy 
 
 old woman looking over it. All the Venetian history one 
 
 could ever read would not realise the ; 90 much as 
 
 20
 
 2S2 IYOKS. 
 
 that. I can notice these things, and think upon them when 
 I am alone with you, in these quiet mornings ; but I don't 
 know how it is, I do nothing but dream when we are all 
 together." 
 
 "Do you dream?" said Helen; and she sighed. "I 
 wish I could ; but dreaming is over for me." 
 
 Susan took her hand affectionately. " Helen, dearest, I 
 can't preach ; and it seems often as if I had no right to show 
 sympathy : can you understand that ? Just now, every- 
 thing is so bright to me." 
 
 Helen looked at her very earnestly. " When you are 
 happy, Susan," she said, " you will never be selfish, as others 
 are. When I was happy, I forgot every one but myself." 
 
 It seemed as if Susan would not trust herself to under- 
 stand what might be in her cousin's thoughts. She turned 
 from the personal allusion, and spoke of her sister. " I had 
 another letter from mamma yesterday," she said ; " and it 
 has taken a great load off my mind. I feel sure that what 1 
 always hoped will really be the case. Isabella has no moods 
 and fancies now, mamma says. Everything is too real and 
 important to admit of them." 
 
 " Because she loves," said Helen, thoughtfully. " Yes, 
 that must make everything real ! the little things must be so 
 swallowed up in the great feeling." 
 
 " Mamma is not quite so sanguine as I am," continued 
 Susan. " She tells me that she is perfectly satisfied for the 
 present, and trusts to God for. the future ; but her theory is, 
 that when the excitement of feeling goes off, all the old 
 faults will revive. One thing, however, I am quite sure of, 
 that Isabella will be much better, even if she should not be 
 much happier, married than unmarried." 
 
 " It must, I suppose, require strength of mind to be 
 thoroughly good, and contented, and happy, unmarried," said 
 Helen , " to be quite satisfied to go through the world alone."
 
 itoes. 2 S3 
 
 Susan made no reply. 
 
 " Don't you think so ? " continued Helen. 
 
 Susan's face was flushed with eagerness, and then pale 
 with some sudden revulsion of feeling, as she answered, " I 
 don't know ; I thought I could be so once." 
 
 " I am trying to make up my mind and to train myself 
 for it," said Helen, more lightly. " One thing I have re- 
 solved upon ; I will never be a useless, idle, gossiping old 
 maid. I am not quite sure, though, as to being a useful 
 aunt. I have rather a horror of that : but I don't make 
 vows upon the subject ; for if I do, I shall infallibly break 
 them. Maurice must promise, however, to marry a person 
 whom I approve." 
 
 " I don't think I could be happy in merely being any 
 one thing," said Susan. " I mean I should like to look upon 
 my condition, whatever it may be, on all sides, and so un- 
 brace it fully and heartily. I used to fancy that I never 
 could be satisfied, unless I regarded old maidism, in a cer- 
 tain way, as a profession ; but I may be wrong ; I can't say. 1 ' 
 And she bent over the .side of the gondola, dipping her para- 
 Bol in the water. 
 
 Helen sat in thought fur some seconds; then she said, 
 gravely, " I should like to be taught by you, Susan. STou 
 would have made a better old maid than I shall ever be." 
 
 "God places us where it is best," said Susan, without 
 raising herself up ; "so, Helen dear, if we are t" be old 
 maids, I suppose there can be no doubt that it is tin- right 
 state fir us." 
 
 "Yes," said Helen; '■ but some endure their condition; 
 others, as you say, accept it, and male- use of it; that in 
 what I should wish to do, but what 1 I hall '1"."' 
 
 u You don't know yourself," said Susan, hastily. The 
 tone of her roiee betrayed thai the Bubjecl was painful. 
 " Do we land b re, 1 i lie ? " sai 1 Louise, p ibtii g to the
 
 284 ivobs. 
 
 Piazzetta, and bending forward from the back seat wliere she 
 had been attentively studying the book which on these morn- 
 ing excursions she always carried with her. 
 
 " No, not here. On a little farther — till we wish to 
 turn," exclaimed Helen to the gondoliers ; and the slender 
 boat glided on its course again, and Helen, addressing Su- 
 san, said, " the drawing will wait; it is too delicious to land." 
 
 Susan neither acquiesced nor objected ; she seemed lost 
 in thought. 
 
 Helen glanced beneath her cousin's bonnet, as her head 
 was partly turned aside, and saw the working of some secret, 
 intense feeling, which even Susan's wonderful powers of self- 
 command were unable thoroughly to subdue. 
 
 " Will you tell me what it is you are thinking of ? " she 
 said, in a low and gentle voice ; " can I help you ? " 
 
 Susan paused, then answered, calmly, " I was thinking 
 of the difference between what we imagine we can do at one 
 time, and what we feel we can do at another. I have had 
 fancies about an unmarried life ; but they are only fancies, I 
 hate myself for them." 
 
 " Nay, why hate yourself ? " exclaimed Helen ; — " if they 
 were good, ■ " 
 
 " They were unreal, self-deceiving." 
 
 " For you, possibly," said Helen ; " because you may 
 have a different lot appointed you ; but they may help oth- 
 ers ; they may be useful to me." 
 
 Susan smiled faintly. " I thought they would be useful 
 to myself," she said. " It was the prophecy about me from 
 childhood, that I should be an old maid. I remember one 
 of the servants telling me so in the nursery, because I was 
 so particular in putting away all my playthings in the same 
 order. People don't know how those chance words work 
 upon children. I have spent hours in thinking what I would 
 do, when I was left alone, never realising to myself what be-
 
 iyoes. 283 
 
 ing left alone meant. And I have been enthusiastic, that is, 
 you know, as far as I have ever been so about anything, in 
 my notions of the life I would lead, and the spirit I would 
 throw into it." 
 
 " And don't you feel the same now ? " said Helen, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 Susan hesitated; her hands were tightly pressed to- 
 gether as she said, " In reason, I think the same as ever." 
 
 They were both silent ; and the gondola went on its 
 smooth way, whilst the few soft sounds of the noiseless city 
 were borne faintly to their ear as they passed the Guidecca 
 and San Giorgio, and entered the more open channels of the 
 Lagune. 
 
 Then Susan spoke as from the fulness of an earnest and 
 saddened spirit : " I thought once — I think now — that there 
 is but one way of viewing life, which can make it anything 
 but a horrible mystery, a conscious insanity; and that is to 
 take it as we are told in the Bible, simply and literally as a 
 place of education, a school for eternity. And when I 
 thought that, Helen, it seemed to me that all these questions 
 of love and marriage, and the interests which belong fco them, 
 were merely accidents, different forms of probation and dis- 
 cipline, which might or might not be good, but which could 
 in no way really affect the great era sstion of hereafter ; and 
 so I put them from me. And I felt that, if I could but 
 take in}- life in whatever form it might be presented fco me, 
 with a full, deep, most perfect and entire dedication of my- 
 self to God, to work for Him, fco train myself as He wills, 
 to give up every thought of personal, individual happiness, 
 and live, as it v lely in the hap] lm of others, thru 
 
 my heart would have rest. I thought thai I should be able 
 to take the day as it might come, without a care for the mor- 
 row; thai I should be comforted bj eartblj love, bul that I 
 should never be dependent upon it — so dependent, I mean,
 
 2SG 
 
 IVORS. 
 
 as to feel that existence could not be borne without it ; and 
 I believed that if a single life were my portion, I should be 
 able to give my highest affection to God, and satisfy my 
 craving for human love by expending my feelings upon many, 
 instead of concentrating them upon one. That .wa,s my 
 dream, Helen ; it made me very contented, very happy. I 
 felt that loneliness then would be but another word for un- 
 selfishness, sympathy, self-devotion, and that which is high- 
 est, and dearest, and best of all, the heavenly love which has 
 no need to fear a rival. And so, instead of shrinking from 
 the prospect of an unmarried life, I was rather thankful 
 when I believed it might be my appointed lot." 
 
 "And is it all gone now?" said Helen; and her voice 
 trembled. 
 
 " Not gone," exclaimed Susan ; " no, not gone." But 
 there was something in the accent with which the words 
 were uttered, that made Helen feel she dared not ask a fur- 
 ther explanation. 
 
 She took out her sketch-book and made a few lines, civ- 
 ing an idea of the churches of the Kedentore and San Giorgio 
 ns they now appeared in the haze of distance; and the action 
 served to recall Susan's thoughts. 
 
 " It is very well to enjoy ourselves in this way," she 
 said ; " but it was not what we came out for, and Sir Henry 
 will be disappointed if he finds the drawing no more ad- 
 vanced than it was yesterday." 
 
 Helen gave the order to the gondolier. She did not 
 wish to go farther; for she felt that the conversation was 
 from some cause stopped, and Susan, witli all her gentleness, 
 was not a person who could ever permit her inmost thoughts 
 to be fathomed against her will, even if Helen had been in- 
 clined to make the attempt. 
 
 They landed on the Piazzetta , and Louise made a pur- 
 chase of some figs, and then stationed herself as Helen's
 
 ivoes. 287 
 
 guardian in front of one of the side entrances to St. Mark's, 
 whilst Susan, as was her wont, went into the church. 
 
 It was by far the most satisfactory time for the enjoy- 
 ment of the glorious cathedral. A few scattered worshippers 
 were kneeling here and there upon the worn pavement, and 
 occasionally a priest was to be seen going from one to the 
 other and collecting alms; but there were no sight-seers, no 
 curious gazers. The attention was neither directed to the 
 details of the mosaics, nor to the strange patterns upon the 
 pavement - r even admiration was not called forth, but only 
 an awe-s*truck sense of the mystery and solemnity of the 
 gloomy shadows which veiled everything painful and jarring, 
 and the rich completeness of colouring which seemed to fill 
 the building with a tinted atmosphere. Susan's heart was 
 very full that morning; but it was neither with joy nor sor- 
 row, but with that vivid sense of existence, that conscious- 
 ness of life, its powers of happiness, and its capacity for suf- 
 fering, which, if it were continued, must, it would seem, wear 
 away, merely by the pressure of overpowering sensation, the 
 frail bond which unites body and soul together. 
 
 There is but one relief for that state of feeling, — quiet- 
 ness in the presence of God; and the weight of thought 
 passed from Susan's heart, and its beating became more 
 calm, as she prayed alone in the grand old church, knowing 
 that she was close to One who understood all, and could in- 
 terpret all her needs, who knew her weakness far better than 
 she knew it herself, and who would bear her through happi- 
 or grief safe over " the waves of this troublesome world 
 to the land of everlasting life." . 
 
 She returned again to Helen, and round a number of 
 buys collected, whom Louise, with her wretohed German 
 Italian, was endeavouring to send away. Helen berself bore 
 their presence quietly, only now and then turning with sud- 
 den fierc bo startle some particularly bold intruder,
 
 288 ivoks. 
 
 "Via ! via ! " and Helen, without looking round, tapped 
 with her pencil the fingers of an impertinent urchin, who 
 had actually put his hand upon her shoulder in his eager 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Inglese ! '" was murmured amongst the crowd; and 
 there was a sudden lull, whilst Susan, stooping down, whis- 
 pered, " There is an English gentleman just come, who is 
 sketching likewise ; he will keep them in order." 
 
 But Helen seemed less disturbed by the Italian boys, 
 than by a stranger from her own country, and, taking out 
 her watch, observed that it was late, and they must be going 
 home. 
 
 She folded up her camp-seat, put away her sketch-book, 
 and collected her pencils. 
 
 Susan glanced at the English stranger. " A most un- 
 pleasant-looking man,'"' she said ; " so excessively slang ! I 
 am thankful he was not here" before." 
 
 " It is too provoking," observed Helen, a little petu- 
 lantly ; " when I calculated upon having the place to my- 
 self. I suppose he will be here to-morrow." 
 
 " There are some more people coming," continued Susan. 
 " They all seem to belong to the gentleman. How loudly 
 they talk ! really one is ashamed of one's country." 
 
 Susan's indignation was certainly quite justified. The 
 party who had now joined the artist, were of that peculiar 
 stamp, unfortunately too often to be met with abroad, who 
 seem only bent upon showing that English gentlemen, when 
 relieved from the restraints of society, can cease to be gen- 
 tlemen ; and English ladies almost forget that they are 
 women. Their loud laughter, self-conscious, flippant badi- 
 nage, and uncomfortable freedom of manner made Helen 
 quicken her movements ; and even Louise, though not at all 
 understanding what was said, seemed to think it necessary 
 to stand behind her two young ladies, so as to screen them 
 from observation.
 
 iyors. "2S9 
 
 " If you wait, be will ask to see the sketch," whispered 
 Susan. " He is just the sort of man who would." Aud the 
 idea made poor Helen so nervous that all her drawing mate- 
 rials fell to the ground. 
 
 A laugh, hard, coarse, and satirical, followed the acci- 
 dent ; and the ladies of the artist's party drew near the spot. 
 
 Susan was nearer to them than Helen. She heard some 
 one say, " Madame la Baronne." The voice struck her as 
 one she ought to recognise. She gave a timid glance round, 
 changed CQlour, and, putting her arm within Helen's, said, 
 " We will leave Louise to bring the things; we shall be bet- 
 ter at the Piazzctta," and drew her cousin away. 
 
 Helen was thoroughly annoyed ; her sensitiveness to 
 anything in the most remote degree approaching to imper- 
 tinence or vulgarity was almost a weakness. She seated 
 herself in the gondola, and, with a flushed cheek and glisten- 
 ing eye, said, "Good-bye to my sketch ; I shall never try 
 that again." 
 
 Susan made no replyfor an instant; then she said, quiet- 
 ly. " I am glad yon did not see. It was the Baroness d'Ol- 
 Dan am i ' she paused, — " Madame Reinhard." 
 
 Helen started, bo that Louise exclaimed, in fear, (i 
 ing Susan's hand, whilst her face became deadly pale, she 
 said, in a low voice, " It was an instinct; 1 fell something 
 was wrung. Oh ! Susan, I can't stay b< 
 
 " She will not come in our way," replied: Susan ; "and 
 you would not speak it' she did." 
 
 "But to see her, to know even that it i possible I Susan, 
 you can never understand the harm she did me; the fearful, 
 cruel harm. J feel it now; 1 shall feel it to my dying day. 
 Nothing has been the Bame to me rinoe 1 knew her. 1 can 
 never be what I might have keen if I bad never known ber, 
 Beg Papa to go— speak for mi tell bim be mu 
 
 " STou forgol thai you might bave met in London that
 
 290 ivors. 
 
 it was merely accidental that you Lave not done so," said 
 Susan, in a soothing but determined tone, and still holding 
 Helen's trembling hand. 
 
 " I won't think about London ; I wish only to do what I 
 can now; and she will bring it all back to me, — the fear, the 
 recollection of what I should have been if I had listened to 
 her ; oh, so miserable ! so miserable ! I don't think I saw 
 it at the time ; not as I see it now, I am sure. To have 
 been the wife of that man, — not loving him — despising him ! 
 Susan, I can't be good where she is." 
 
 "We must find out something about her," said Susan; 
 " perhaps she may only be here for a few days. We will ask 
 Mr. Egerton to inquire.'- 
 
 Helen interrupted her. " Claude ! oh, no ! no ! I could 
 not bear him to be told. Yet he must know all," she add- 
 ed, in a lower tone ; " he can't think worse of me than he 
 does." 
 
 " You exaggerate, dearest," said Susan. " No one 
 would say that you had done anything so shocking as you 
 seem to fancy." 
 
 " Because no one knows me as I know myself," replied 
 Helen. " Susan, there is not any human being who can tell 
 the influence which Madame Reinhard's principles had over 
 my mind. I hid them from myself in a veil of words, and 
 would not allow myself to look at them as they really were; 
 but I can see now plainly, as if written by a sunbeam, that 
 they were obliterating all distinctions of right and wrong. I 
 know that I was actually learning to forget that there was 
 such a distinction ; I would never have believed it if I had 
 not experienced it. But, looking back at the things which I 
 then praised, — the people whom I admired, — I can see that 
 I might have been led into any evil, simply because I was 
 taufht to shut my eyes to the fact that it was evil. And I 
 loved her dearly ; I thought her so perfect ! Ob, Susan !
 
 ivors. 291 
 
 don't ask me to see her again." And poor Helen hid her 
 face in her hands, and again repeated, " I loved her so 
 dearly ! " 
 
 ■' We will take eare ; don't trouble yourself about it; 
 leave it to ine," said Susan, tenderly. " Look, we are at 
 the Imperatore; you must not be unhappy now, or Lady 
 Augusta will be uneasy." 
 
 Helen raised her sad eyes to her cousin's, and answered, 
 " I must be unhappy; but no one shall know it. Only, Su- 
 san," — her voice faltered, — " don't let Claude speak to me 
 about her." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. 
 
 " \\'j:ll, Helen, my darling ! what success this morning ? " 
 Sir Henry, who had only for the last few mornings been able 
 to appear at breakfast at half-past nine, put out his hand 
 eagerly for the sketch-book in the good-humoured manner of 
 one who is contented with himself, and determined to be con- 
 tented with others. 
 
 Helen hung back. " It has been rather an unsatisfactory 
 morning; I have not done much. We were tempted to row 
 on a little beyond the Piazzetta, and then — we were inter- 
 rupted." 
 
 She looked to Susan for assistance. 
 
 " We were hurried away by BQme tiresome people who 
 would come and sketch too," continued Susan. "I suppose 
 had as much .right as ourselves, strictly speaking ; but 
 they were so noisy and disagreeabL 
 
 Sir Henry's temper rose in a moment. " Disagreeable ! 1 
 won't have you go again; I will go with you myself 
 English abroad are detestable. There ought to be a law
 
 292 ivors. 
 
 allowing only certain people to travel. But I will go with 
 you myself; I want to Lave some more sketches. I must 
 have one of the San Giorgio ; and I am getting quite right 
 
 again." 
 
 " We should he rather too early for you, I am afraid," 
 
 said Helen, gently; " and, later in the day, the Piazza would 
 
 he too crowded." 
 
 " We will manage it, — we will do something. Where is 
 Claude this morning ? " Sir Henry glanced impatiently round 
 the room. 
 
 Annette, who had just entered with Lady Augusta, re- 
 plied that Monsieur Egerton was gone out; she believed he 
 meant to inquire at the post office for letters. 
 
 " I don't want letters," exclaimed Sir Henry ; " we are 
 doing very well as we are here ; I don't want to he reminded 
 that we must go away. Augusta, my dear, you have no fancy 
 for leaving Venice, have you ? " 
 
 Rather an unfortunate question, considering that Lady 
 Augusta had only five minutes before been venting a fit of 
 the old restlessness upon Annette. 
 
 Annette took upon herself to reply. Miladi, she said, was 
 not so well ; she did not think Venice agreed with her ; it 
 was too damp. 
 
 Poor Sir Henry was discomfited ; but Susan soothed him 
 by saying, cheerfully, that up to this point Venice had cer- 
 tainly agreed wonderfully well with Lady Augusta; whilst 
 Helen, with a scarcely audible sigh, occupied herself with the 
 usual thoughtful attentions, which now commonly had the ef- 
 fect of driving away, at least for a time, Lady Augusta's 
 
 moods. 
 
 Breakfast began rather silently ; in the middle Claude 
 entered. He had his own letters in his hand ; but there 
 were none for any one else. Helen seemed indifferent, Sir 
 Henry rather pleased. Susan was disappointed, and said so.
 
 irons. 293 
 
 " We shall expect our English news from you, Claude," 
 said Sir Henry. " Is Buckingham Palace burnt down yet ? 
 is London in insurrection ? and what are our prospects for 
 the next session? Come man, tell us. Any hope of a 
 change of ministry ? " 
 
 " My letters are from Helinsley, said Claude, " from my 
 bailiff chiefly. I am afraid they would not be interesting to 
 the company at large." 
 
 Lady Augusta caught the name Helmsley, and asked, 
 with a most unfortunate association of ideas, whether Kate 
 Hope was there still ? 
 
 Helen's face became rigid ; but Claude answered quietly, 
 yes, she was doing very well. His housekeeper had made 
 her a very useful person. "Can I say anything to her for 
 you? " he added, addressing Susan; "I shall see her proba- 
 bly before long." 
 
 •• Nonsense, my dear fellow," exclaimed Sir Henry ; " you 
 talk as if you had one foot in the carriage — or the gondola, I 
 suppose I must say in Venice, — and were wishing us good- 
 bye. We have a fortnight before us still for Italy, whether 
 we spend it here or at Milan." 
 
 " I am afraid it will not be m\ fortnight," r< plied Claude, 
 " I ought to be in England now." 
 
 "In England! we must all go to England," exclaimed 
 Lady Augusta. "I don't want to s i V. dci anymore; 1 
 would much rather go home if Claude go 
 
 Susan and Belen were silent. Sir Henry said, a little 
 fretfully, " You forget, my dear, that I have been lied by 
 the lea to that wearisome been here. 
 
 I must see something of Venice before we turn homewards. 
 Milan too; I had Bel my heart upon the girla 
 seeing the cathedral thorough! I is folly to talk of going 
 home, when we are only jusl settled. Come, Claudi 
 your breakfast, and then we'll decide whal i- tobedonefor
 
 294: itoes. 
 
 the day. I feel like a boy set free from school, now that I 
 can move about without hopping like a lame frog from room 
 to room." 
 
 " I fear that is precisely the raason why I must be like a 
 boy summoned back to school," said Claude. " I have been 
 playing truant too long ; and if you can do without me I shall 
 have an unquiet conscience, and be very disagreeable, if I 
 stay." 
 
 " Just put conscience in your pocket for once, my dear 
 fellow," exclaimed Sir Plenry ; " it's what all English people 
 do when they come abroad. Take my word for it, you are 
 a great deal too strait-laced. You know I always found fault 
 with you about it when you were a boy. I verily believe 
 people may die of an enlargement of the conscience, just as 
 well as they may of an enlargement of the heart." 
 
 "Perhaps I agree with you," said Claude, laughing; 
 " but I never found yet that my conscience had attained its 
 full natural growth ; so I -am not much afraid of dying of its 
 enlargement. You must remember that I gave myself five 
 weeks for my tour when I left England, and the five weeks 
 are nearly over." 
 
 " Five weeks ! it's not breathing-time for a man who 
 works like a dray-horse, as you do all the year round. It 
 might be very well for a lazy old stager like myself, who has 
 learnt to think that the young horses can draw the waggon 
 without his aid, and so does not trouble to carry more than 
 his own weight. But for you — why Hume told me you 
 would have broken down, he was sure, if he had not forced 
 you away." 
 
 " I was rather worn," said Claude, gravely ; " but it was 
 not from work only." 
 
 There was an uncomfortable pause, interrupted by another 
 question from Lady Augusta : " Claude, did Kate Hope 
 help to make the new furniture for Helmsley ? "
 
 ivoes. 295 
 
 " Some of it." And Claude turned to Susan, and beo-rr C d 
 
 * CO 
 
 for another cup of coffee. 
 
 " The drawing-rooin chintz was a very handsome pat- 
 tern," said Lady Augusta. 
 
 Sir Henry had failed to catch the awkward train of i 
 upon which Lady Augusta so unfortunately lingered; but he 
 could not help seeing, from the countenances round the table, 
 that something was wrong. Seizing upon the first thought 
 which presented itself, he said, " You have a capital bailiff at 
 Helmshw, Hume tells me ; so there can be no reason for 
 your hurrying away in this fashion, and leaving us in the 
 lurch. Besides, I thought you were going to wait here till 
 Hume and his boy joined you." 
 
 "George Hume is not so well," replied Claude; '-and 
 there is some idea of his staying in Italy for the winter. 
 That, of course, would make my joining them out of the 
 question. But if I were to leave Venice at once, 1 should 
 meet them at Verona, and have a day or two with them 
 then-; and then I rnkdit rush home as fast as 1 liked." 
 
 ill bent upon rushing home," exclaimed Sir Henry. 
 " One would think you were prime ministi i. 
 
 • 4 1 am prime minister in my own dominions," said Claude. 
 '• I appeal to Miss Graham ; " and he changed his tone, and 
 smiled as he spoke. "I am sure I shall have support from 
 her. My bailiff writes me word that the work I left him is 
 at a stand-still, for want of my presence. II al ques- 
 
 tions arise e ywhicb he does do! feel he has authority 
 
 to decide, and he respectfully hints that if English gentle- 
 men spend half the year in London, making laws for the 
 nation, they ought to spend the other half on their own i -- 
 
 j, making laws for their own people. Now what can be 
 said ? what would 
 
 " That you should go," said Susan, firmly, without the 
 
 1. in her voice; but the next moment, her head 
 
 ■ down, and tie; empty coffee cup raised to her lips.
 
 296 ivoKS. 
 
 " I should like to see the new furniture at Helmsley, 
 very much," murmured Lady Augusta ; but Claude, usually 
 so courteously attentive to her least observation, now entirely 
 disregarded it. He looked at Susan kindly and gratefully, 
 and there was a peculiar tone of affectionate confidence, re- 
 marked even by Sir Henry, in his words, "Thank you: I 
 can always depend upon you for helping me to do right." 
 
 " Not very complimentary to us; eh, Helen?" exclaim- 
 ed Sir Henry, hastily ; and poor Helen's voice seemed nearly 
 choked, as she tried to answer lightly and evasively, " Su- 
 san was always famous for making people do their duty." 
 
 Sir Henry, though he was not quite aware of the feeling, 
 was a little " put out," and fancied Helen neglected ; and 
 by way of saying something which should make her feel that 
 he at least thought a good deal of her, he told her to bring 
 her sketch that he mio-ht look at it a<rain ; it seemed to him 
 capital, and if they were all going to rush to England in this 
 sudden way, she must make haste and finish it. 
 
 " I can manage to work it up from what I have clone," 
 said Helen, quickly ; " I don't want to sketch any more." 
 She was afraid that Sir Henry, in his thoughtless way, would 
 ask Claude to go with them on some future occasion. He 
 very often did things of this kind merely from obtuseness. 
 He was so accustomed now to see Claude with them, that he 
 was falling back into the pleasant, easy feeling of former 
 days, only rendered yet more easy by the knowledge, half 
 provoking, half satisfactory, that Claude could never be 
 anything to Helen, she did not like him. If he cared for 
 any one now, it was for Susan Graham. 
 
 Helen brought her sketch, and Claude praised it, but 
 too coldly to satisfy Sir Henry ; for he pointed out a defect 
 in the perspective, and doubted whether some particular part 
 of the tracery could be correctly drawn. 
 
 Helen stood by and listened, and owned he might be
 
 ivoes. 297 
 
 right; but when Sir Henry declared that they would all go 
 the very next morning to the place, and Claude should cor- 
 rect the sketch himself, if he fancied he knew so much better 
 about it than any one else, she said, in a very decided way, 
 that she had no intention of going to St. Mark's again so 
 early; she must make the best that she could of her sketch 
 at home. 
 
 " What ! not frightened away by those noisy people ? " 
 exclaimed Sir Henry. 
 
 Claude turned round directly, to inquire what was meant ; 
 and Lady Augusta said, in a plaintive voice: "I always 
 thought it was dangerous for them to go out alone, and 
 Lady Hume's maid does n't understand a word of English. - ' 
 
 "There was no danger, — nothing to fear," said Susan, 
 seeing by the peculiar rigidity of Helen's face that a whole 
 torrent of excited feelings was working underneath ; " it 
 was simply disagreeable. There was rather a noisy party in 
 the Piazza this morning," she added, speaking to Claude; 
 " and a gentleman was sketching there, so we did not have 
 the place to ourselves as we have had before. It was of do 
 real consequence ; Helen had just finished ; but I am afraid 
 they will be likely to be there again to-morrow." 
 
 Helen had been fastening up her sketch-book. She laid 
 it down now on the table, and said, very earnestly : " I have 
 done as much as I shaft c^er wish to do; and, dear papa, as 
 we can't have many more days in Venice, ,\<' n must. Dot 
 waste your time upon me, bul mt with Susan and 
 
 all you can." 
 
 " And why not with y<>u, my child ? What's the mat- 
 ter? I don't understand." Helen changed colour rapidly, 
 and her hand trembled, an d Sir Henry took hold of it anx« 
 iously, and said : " I am sure there is more in tins than you 
 will say. Those people were rude; -tell me; I i 
 know."
 
 298 itoks. 
 
 " Oh ! no ; indeed, no." Helen looked at her cousin to 
 explain ; and with the conviction that mystery would only 
 make the awkwardness greater, Susan said at once : " We 
 did not speak to them, nor they to us, but they were not all 
 strangers to us ; by sight at least. The Baroness d'Olban 
 was one, and — Madame Bcinhard." 
 
 " That woman ! that audacious humbus; in Venice ! " Sir 
 Henry laid his hand fondly upon Helen's head. She had 
 sat down, and was resting it upon her hand. 
 
 Claude said, in a low, marked tone : " I heard this 
 morning that they were in Venice." 
 
 " They are not English. Thank Heaven, they are not 
 English ! " exclaimed Sir Henry. 
 
 " Only I am afraid they have been allowed to form part 
 of our English society," said Claude, in the same strained, 
 uncomfortable manner. 
 
 " Such fools we are to believe in them ! " exclaimed Sir 
 Henry. " So they are all here, are they ? — Monsieur le 
 Baron, and Madame la Baronne, and Herr Beinhard, and — 
 what is the German for Madame?" 
 
 " Madame Beinhard does not trouble her husband to 
 accompany her," said Claude, sternly : " they are sepa- 
 rated." 
 
 Helen burst into an agony of tears, and rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 CHAPTEB LXXXI. 
 
 Helen and Claude met no more on that day. A party was 
 formed for the Academia and the Lido; but Helen, shut up 
 in her own apartment, her head throbbing with pain, her eye- 
 lids swollen with tears, and her heart heavy with its burden 
 of sorrowful and repentant thought, declined all entreaty to
 
 ITOKS. 209 
 
 accompany them. When they were gone she came into the 
 salon, and read, and talked to Lady Augusta ; hut the sound 
 of a footstep or a voice drove her hack again to solitude. It 
 is terrible, even to the most indifferent, to read in the fate 
 of others what, hut for God's mercy and protecting Provi- 
 dence, might, in all human probability, have been their own. 
 The very feeling of present safety brings out in powerful 
 contrast the danger that has been escaped. The seaman, 
 saved from shipwreck, shudders more at the recollection of 
 his peril when he stands firmly on dry land, and sees his 
 comrades borne to destruction, than when he was himself 
 buffeting with the waves; and' the heart saved from the 
 shipwreck of pure and holy principle realises the horror of 
 its once dangerous position with an infinitely keener anguish, 
 when, humbly clinging to God for help, it watches to tie 
 close the career of those with whom it once sympathised, 
 than even at the moment of its first awakening to a con- 
 sciousness of sin, its guilt, and its consequences. There had 
 been much of personal feeling, — pride, disappointment, and 
 a sense of injured dignity, in Helen's indignation when she 
 opened her eyes to the fact of Madame Reinhard'a insincer- 
 ity. Hi-ic was angry with her, and knew that the anger was 
 justifiable; and thii feeling hid from her, for a time, her 
 own share in tho evil which she condemned. l>ut the per- 
 ception had grown and deepened since then. Lady Augus- 
 ta's illness, the anxiety and self-reproach which it caused, had 
 sown the seed of self-knowledge; and as Helen strove, day 
 by day, to read her own heart mere truly, and serve God 
 more perfectly, . W| > did the veil vanish from the past, and it 
 
 d out clearly in its shame and periL 
 
 Madame Reinhard's career might have been hers: what 
 was there to prevent it ? She bad imbibed the same princi- 
 ples, and, as far as in lier lay, carried them mil to the Batne 
 extent. Wilfully and knowingly, seeking only the gratifica-
 
 300 IVOKS. 
 
 tion of a wild, untamed spirit of independence, she had ac- 
 cepted a man whom she despised ; so had Madame Reinhard. 
 Putting aside the consideration of the sacred promise to be 
 made before God, that she would devote herself to the hap- 
 piness of her husband, she had chosen to look upon him only 
 as the means by which she might obtain a certain amount of 
 worldly independence and enjoyment ; so had Madame Rein- 
 hard. Delf had been her object; and self, ako, had been 
 Madame Reinhard's. When two persons set out together on 
 the same dangerous path, and follow it in its devious windings, 
 and never pause to look back at the point from which they 
 started, or the goal to which 'they are tending, who is to say 
 that the Hand of God will be interposed to save one from 
 the precipice in which it ends, while the other is allowed to 
 rush on madly to destruction ? 
 
 Helen did not condemn Madame Reinhard, sunk though 
 she was even in the eyes of the world. She only prayed for 
 her; and, in praying for her, she prayed also for herself, to 
 be forgiven, strengthened, guided; to be inspired with the 
 spirit of watchfulness and self-distrust ; to be made contented 
 under whatever cross should be in store for her ; to be tauirht 
 to live for the happiness of others, as she had once lived only 
 for herself Helen's prayers had been very earnest of late : 
 they were never so earnest as on that long and sorrowful 
 day. 
 
 And Susan in the meantime was happy, unconsciously 
 yet fully happy, even though Claude still spoke of departure : 
 and the words, " We must see what we can to-day, for to- 
 morrow will have other engagements," were sounded in her 
 ear from hour to hour, as though to remind her of the knell 
 which must sooner or later be tolled for all human joys. 
 
 Claude lingered by her side, devoted himself to her in 
 word and action ; seemed unable, except by an effort, to 
 separate himself from her, even to pay those necessary attcn-
 
 IVORS. 301 
 
 tions to the rest of tbe party which in his most abstracted 
 moments he never forgot. True he spoke of Helen, anxious- 
 ly, with deep interest, which could not be distrusted; but it 
 was the watchful interest of doubt, not the calm confidence 
 of sympathy, with which he addressed himself to her. He 
 talked for the first time of the days of his past happiness, 
 and seemed desirous to explain his feelings, and to show how 
 his love for Helen had first sprung up. His mind, indeed, 
 rested upon that period, more than upon the present. If in 
 any way. that was alluded to, it was evident that it pained 
 him. He looked upon Helen, apparently, as suffering for 
 her former follies, and felt for her. and was inclined to blame 
 himself for having in any way done her harm by his impa- 
 tience and exacting temper. He had learnt wisdom, he said, 
 since then ; his danger now would be that of over-caution : 
 what he should most require would be the absolute certainty 
 that his affection was returned: and how was that to be ob- 
 tained ? and as his eyes met Susan's their glance seemed to 
 demand from her the assurance which his lips could not ven- 
 ture to ask. 
 
 So passed the morning at the Academia, and Susan dwelt 
 with a fresh and untold delight upon the beauty before her, 
 fin' every sense was quickened by the enjoyment of a perfect 
 sympathy. She had visited it often before, and now she 
 could bear to leave much unnoticed, and give herself up to 
 the contemplation of ber peculiar favourites : Titian's wond< r- 
 ful " Assumption if the Blessed Virgin ; and her Presentation 
 in the Temple," and the far-famed "Paris Bordone," which 
 tells one of the most striking incidents in Venetian historj ; 
 and, perhaps better than all. the exquisite drawings bj Leo 
 nardo da Vinci and Ids pupil Luini, which Beem to embody, 
 even more than the designs of Raphael, the spirit id' purity 
 and unearthly bolin 
 
 The Armenian Conveul and the Lido were reserved for
 
 oO_} IYOK 5. 
 
 the evening. It was a particular request made by Claude 
 The gaiety of the Piazza, he said, was distasteful to him, 
 and he wanted his last associations with Venice to be those 
 of quietness and repose. It was the first regular announce- 
 ment which he had made that his mind was fully made up 
 upon the subject of departure. Sir Henry, subject himself 
 to momentary fits of what he called Quixotic duty, had sup- 
 posed that Claude's resolutions were of the same character ; 
 and when they were not talked about he thought they were 
 forgotten. But he knew little of the iron rule which a mind 
 like that of Claude exercises over itself at all moments. 
 There was no neutral ground with him between duty and in- 
 clination. Either a thiug was right to be done, or it was 
 not : and throughout the whole of that busy day, whilst en- 
 grossed apparently in present objects, there was an under 
 current of conflicting feeling in Claude's mind, a struggle 
 between the strong will to remain and the duty which bade 
 him depart, to which every word and action unconsciously 
 had reference. 
 
 But he had decided, and had found rest. Once before, 
 carried away by feeling, he had cast the die too soon, and 
 the end had been fatal to his happiness. Now it seemed that 
 a warning voice had been sent to guard him against the same 
 danger, and on his own head would be the consequences if he 
 chose to turn a deaf car to it. 
 
 There was a duty which called upon him to go ; not, per- 
 haps, obviously imperative, and one which a less honest con- 
 science might easily have put aside ; but still unquestionably 
 a duty, if there was nothing to oppose it. That was suffi- 
 cient for Claude. His arrangements were made so as to ex- 
 cite no further discussion, and whilst waiting for the arrival 
 of Lady Hume's party, before setting out for the Armenian 
 Convent, he announced to Lady Augusta that he must pro- 
 ceed the next day to Verona. Helen was not in the room
 
 ivors. 303 
 
 wnen he said it; perhaps he might have found it more diffi- 
 cult to state his intentions if she had heen. But Susan 
 came to his aid, and with gentle and judicious tact managed 
 to divert Lady Augusta's thoughts from the annoyance of 
 Claude's departure to the prospect of soon meeting again in 
 England. 
 
 " It is hut a short time," she said ; " we shall all, we hope, 
 he at home again before very long, and then it will be such a 
 pleasure to meet, and tell all that has been done and seen." 
 
 The observation seemed so simple and natural that 
 Claude, who was looking at Lady Augusta, was not at all 
 struck b}' it; and did not remark any change of voice. But 
 he felt grateful to Susan, and replied very cordially, that he 
 should look forward to that more than to anything ; he could 
 not say how different his recollections of his tour would be 
 now, from what thev would have been if he had not spent 
 this happy fortnight in Venice. 
 
 " And it is to be the last night," said Lady Augusta, 
 mournfully. " They won't see any thing, or go any where 
 when you are gone, Claude; and I dare say Sir Henry's foot 
 will become bad again; and Helen and Susan can't go about 
 together. I want Helen to go out this evening; 1 shan't 
 and Helen wants change. I wish .she would go; I wonder 
 why she keeps to her room ; she never used to do it ; I don't 
 like it; I don't think she is well. Susan, why don'1 yon 
 make her come here? She must say good-bye to Claude." 
 
 Susan glanced at Claude uneasily. There was m 
 citement and incoherency in Lady Augusta's speech and 
 manner, than she bad lately remarked. Claude was inclined 
 to regret bis determination. 
 
 •■ Helen oughl to come and say good-bye," repeated Lady 
 Augusta. 
 
 i: But I am not going now," said Claude, soothi 
 " Even if I do leave Venice to-morrow, we Bhall be together
 
 304 IVORS. 
 
 again this evening. We are only going out for an Lour or 
 
 two." 
 
 " I don't think it is hind of Helen not to say good-bye," 
 persisted Lady Augusta. " She always used to have fancies, 
 and she is very unkind to Claude ; it is very wrong of her." 
 
 Claude turned pale. There was no meaning in Lady 
 Augusta's words, but they gave hirn a sensation of heart- 
 sickness. 
 
 " I will call Helen," said Susan, perceiving that Lady 
 Augusta's mind was not likely to be set right by words. 
 
 Claude made a movement as though he would have pre- 
 vented her ; then he sat down silently. 
 
 Susan and Helen came back together. Helen looked 
 very worn and unhappy ; so unhappy that she had no room 
 for any other feeling. She was extremely cold in manner, 
 and said to Claude that she was sorry to hear he talked of 
 going, in a tone which had no accent of sorrow in it. 
 
 " You must wish Claude good-bye, Helen," said Lady 
 Augusta, plaintively. " He is going to leave us. It is ' 
 very unkind in you to say you won't be with him the last 
 evening." 
 
 Claude's eyes were raised eagerly to Helen's face, and 
 his lips moved, but his words were chilled by the stiff reply: 
 " There are so many that I should be in the way ; and I 
 have a headache." 
 
 1 Not in the way, indeed, Helen," exclaimed Susan. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, very much in the way." Helen tried to 
 smile. " I hope you will have a very pleasant row. I shall 
 make papa take me to the Lido another evening." 
 
 " It would do your head good if you would come with 
 us," said Claude, gently. 
 
 " Thank you, no, I shall be better at home, and I shall 
 go- to bed early; probably before you return." 
 
 Susan went to the window. " The gondola is ready,"
 
 ivoks. 305 
 
 she said ; " Miss Hume is there : uo one else. She will not 
 come up stairs, 1 suppose." 
 
 " I may, perhaps, not see you again," said Claude, ad- 
 dressing Helen. " I think I shall be obliged to go early to- 
 morrow." He spoke in a low voice, and almost as coldly as 
 Helen herself, except that his eyes contradicted his lips. 
 
 Susan was moving Lady Augusta's chair, so that she 
 might be able to see the gondola. .She did not notice what 
 was passing. 
 
 Helen's face expressed a conflict of bitter feelin^. She 
 replied to Claude's remark Ixv giving him her icy hand, and 
 saving : " Good-bye, I hope you will have a pleasant jour- 
 ney." 
 
 Claude answered nervously and eagerly : " I can't have 
 a pleasant journey if I leave you unhappy." 
 
 " I deserve it all." The burning blush of shame crim- 
 soned Helen's cheeks. She withdrew her hand hastily from 
 Claude ; uttered another cold good-bye, and left him. 
 
 y and soothing both to body and mind was that eve- 
 ning's gliding voyage through the winding channels inter- 
 secting the Lagune to the tiny island on which the Armenian 
 fathers have fixed their habitation. It is a quiet and v.ery 
 tempting resting-place. The white walls of the convent rise 
 immediately out of the water, which closes around them, 
 willing, it would seem, to shut out all sounds but those of its 
 own gentle but ceaseless pla h. The small entrance court, 
 surrounded by a cloistered wall;, and having a brighl garden 
 in the centre, speaks of study and meditation. And there 
 is a vineyard also, where clustering leaves and delicate ten 
 drils form arcades to shelter the long green walks beneath 
 them from the glare of the noi an ; and a terrace from 
 
 whence in the till aing the eye, weary with pi 
 
 cut objects, may turn to the buildings of Venice sel in their 
 watery frame, or wandi r a e Lagune to the shorei 
 
 27
 
 30G Ivors. 
 
 the mainland, and find a pleasure, renewed by every passing 
 light or flickering shadow, in the misty outline of the glo- 
 rious mountains of the Southern Tyrol. 
 
 It had all been seen. The courteous father who acted 
 as guide had displayed the treasures of the convent library, 
 and the work of the printing-room, which is one of the chief 
 occupations of the monks, and pointed out with proud de- 
 light the picture by Giovanni Bellino, which no sum of mo- 
 ney would ever, he said, induce them to part with ; and 
 Claude and Susan again and again had found themselves 
 walking apart, or lingering behind to examine some object 
 of mutual interest, whilst both were silent, — both sad. 
 
 Once more they stopped in the little garden. The gon- 
 dola was ready at the steps. Sir Henry pressed forwai-d to 
 place Miss Hume in it. The Armenian father accompanied 
 them, and then returned to Susan. He gathered a rose, the 
 last of the season, and presented it to her. It was full 
 blown, and some of the petals fell to the ground. 
 
 Susan looked a little vexed. " I had wished to carry it 
 home to Helen," she said to Claude. 
 
 "It should have been gathered sooner," he replied. "It 
 has lived to be wasted." 
 
 The monk plucked another flower, and Susan accepted it 
 gratefully ; but she collected the remaining petals of her 
 faded treasure, and as she laid them in her pocket-book, 
 said, " I won't complain. It is a pleasant memory now ; it 
 would have been but a hope before." 
 
 Claude's countenance changed. " Yes," he said, quickly, 
 " and a hope that might never have been fulfilled. You are 
 right; memory is best." He walked on a few steps; then 
 as they drew near the steps, he added, " and hopes plucked 
 too soon leave only sad memories. It is better to be pa- 
 tient." 
 
 Susan's face was averted : he could not see its expression,
 
 ivors. 307 
 
 neither could be feel the trembling of her Land as lie assisted 
 her into the gondola. He was thinking of other things ; and 
 bidding a kindly farewell to the courteous Armenian father, 
 he took his seat in the boat, and rousing himself to exertion, 
 addressed some light words to Miss Hume, and kept up an 
 unbroken conversation with her until they landed upon the 
 desolate shore. 
 
 Sir Henr} T was the first to leave the gondola, lfent 
 upon showing his freedom and independence after his weary 
 days of helplessness, he insisted upon taking care of Miss 
 Hume, and rejected the idea of walking with his niece, for 
 whom he professed a very high regard, but whom it so hap- 
 pened, he said, that he could see every day. So it was that, 
 without intention on cither side, Susan and Claude again 
 found them.-elves walking alone and apart. 
 
 Aery silent they were at first, as they passed the few 
 poor cottages containing the only inhabitants of the barren 
 island, and slowly made their way along a raised path by the 
 side of a narrow canal, the banks of which were planted with 
 Indian corn. There was nothing in the scene to excite a re- 
 mark, and nothing in their own hearts which at that moment 
 admitted of inspection. Claude especially seemed wrapt in 
 thought, anxious, and undecided. lie had the look 6f a 
 man wholly engaged in solving some painful, important prob- 
 lem of moral conduct When Susan at length broke the 
 silence, almost frightened by its continual] started, ami 
 
 .-puke eagerly, even impatiently. '• Stormy, did you 
 STes, it look.- bo. So much the better for the Adriatic; ' : and 
 he hurried on. 
 
 '■ But it will be uy Tor us to turn back, won't it '.' " 
 
 said Susan, timidly. 
 
 "Not till we h; □ it, — the clear, open sea, — all the 
 
 is hut a sham. I; uddenly checked him- 
 
 self, and spoke more gently, ■■ 1 111.- omethii 1
 
 SOS IVOKS. 
 
 must say it now, if you will hear me. If I lose this moment 
 I may have no other." 
 
 Susan's utterance was choked ; but she quickened her 
 pace. She had an indescribable longing to find herself again 
 with her uncle and Miss Hume. 
 
 They appeared at that instant, returning from the sandy 
 beach upon which they had looked for an instant, contented 
 wifh saying that they had gazed from the Lido upou the 
 Adriatic. 
 
 " Threatening ! " said Sir Henry to Claude, as he buttoned 
 his coat around him. " Quite a cold wind ! I shall get back 
 to the gondola. Don't stay till midnight making verses 
 upon the waves." 
 
 Susan spoke laughingly to Miss Hume, and asked her 
 whether she had carried away some sand for a remembrance. 
 Such a foolish question it was ! But there are times when 
 nonsense is more useful to us than sense. 
 
 Claude drew her on. The ground was rough, and he 
 made her take his arm, but he did not speak for some mo- 
 ments. 
 
 They stood upon the Lido ; the long waste of sand in- 
 terrupted only by the few moss-grown tombs of the Jews, 
 and the signs of a stunted and arid vegetation, washed by the 
 angry waters of the wide, cheerless Adriatic. 
 
 Then Claude said : " This is my last night. Must I go 
 to-morrow without carrying hope with me ? I ask you as a 
 friend." And his gaze rested upon her with an earnestness 
 which was agony. 
 
 Susan's eyes met his for one moment of silence, but they 
 sank again instantly, and before a sound escaped her lips, he 
 went on : " You know Helen perfectly ; all she feels and 
 thinks ; she keeps nothing from you. You know me also — 
 better than any one else knows me. If there is no hope, tell 
 me."
 
 irons. 30:' 
 
 A long pause followed. The answer came at last ; very 
 low, but calm and gentle, with all the tenderness of a woman's 
 sympathy. " I think there is hope." 
 
 He spoke again. " A thousand blessings upon you for 
 those words. But I am a coward. I wrecked my own hap- 
 piness once, I dare not do it again. I leave my fate in your 
 hands. "When you tell me I may venture I will, but not 
 before." He took her hand, and pressed it gratefully, af- 
 fectionately, and still held it as he added : " you are afraid 
 to speak ; you think I have taken a liberty ; that I am laying 
 too much upon you." 
 
 Susan's voice never faltered, but her words were abrupt ; 
 " I will try." 
 
 " Thank you! oh ! so much, so much ! But I can never 
 thank you sufficiently. I can never tell you what you have 
 been to me; my one comfort and guiding star in this long, 
 dreary time. I knew how it must be when you were with 
 her: I was sure that your influence must make her what she 
 is. And you will let me speak of yourself, too, now. You 
 must not be angry if I say how it has gladdened me, in the 
 midst of all my suspense; to think that you were happy." 
 He looked at her, expecting an answer; but no sound Game 
 save the swelling moan of the rolling waters seeking rest 
 where there was none. 
 
 Claude changed the subject with self-reproach. Ee 
 thought he had intruded too far. " I shall go now," hesaid, 
 "comparatively happy. I shall feel that I leave a friend 
 and advocate behind me. Perhaps in time Bhe will learn 
 from you to think of me — not as a hard master, always 
 tutoring and advising, but as one who has learni (nun her 
 lessons of unselfishness and daily endurance, which could 
 never have been taughl otherwise I will not ask you to 
 that you will work for me in my absence ; I feel thai trust 
 is more binding than any promi
 
 310 IY<TRS. 
 
 It might have been an echo from the moss-grown sepul- 
 chres upon the shore, which answered, " I promise." And 
 Claude drew Susan's arm again within his, and they turned 
 away. 
 
 The Lido was left to its solitude ; and the waves lifted 
 their crests, and as they clashed upon the beach bore back 
 with them the light sand upon which human feet had thought 
 to find their firm foundation ; and no eye, save that of God, 
 marked the changes which they worked ; as no eye but His 
 saw the destruction of the bright fabric of earthly joy, 
 which, in those few moments, had crumbled into dust beside 
 the wild shores of the Adriatic. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXII. 
 
 The first, faint tinge of autumn was gathering over the 
 woods of Ivors. There was a gleam of brightness upon the 
 light-spreading beeches in the park, a richer hue over the 
 close-leaved elms and the jagged foliage of the gnarled oaks. 
 Sunshine was more glowing, but shadows were deepening. 
 The avenue had been cleared from the few leaves scattered 
 by a late storm, the flower garden had been carefully put in 
 order, and late geraniums and gorgeous dahlias gave a bril- 
 liancy of colouring to the somewhat faded aspect of the 
 closely mown turf, scorched by a long and unusual summer 
 drought. 
 
 Men were vigorously at work in the plantations ; women 
 were weeding in different parts of the grounds ; there was 
 an appearance of energy in the movements even of the lazy 
 boy hired by the gardener out of charity, to help to move 
 flower-pots and put the walks of the kitchen garden in order 
 because Sir Henry Clare was to be at home immediately.
 
 IVORS. 311 
 
 Feople said Sir Henry, not Lady Augusta, as they used 
 to do. Those days of strict superintendence were over, and 
 rumour, always eager with its fatal news, said that Lady 
 Augusta was returning worse, instead of better; that a cold, 
 caught by some accidental exposure to night air, had par- 
 tially brought back the fever which had first broken her 
 down, and that it was no question of recovery with her now; 
 that she might live, but that life could never be enjoyment 
 either to herself or her friends; and that the most probable 
 expectation was, that with her strength so weakened, slie 
 would sink rapidly in body as well as in mind. 
 
 The report might be exaggerated, but it was certain that 
 all directions were given without reference to Lady Augusta, 
 except that some few careful instructions were sent by Miss 
 Clare as to the arrangement of the rooms which were spe- 
 cially appropriated to her use. 
 
 The butler and the footman were standing together at 
 the front door, straining their eyes to look down the avenue. 
 At the same moment a gentleman was seen "walking leisurely 
 towards the house, and the butler, with an exclamation which 
 showed that he was too proud to receive any but his own 
 master, turned into the house and left his companion to an- 
 nounce to Claude Egcrton that Sir Henry was not yet ar- 
 rived, but was expected every moment. 
 
 Claude entered, but stopped to ask more questions. " Sir 
 Henry, you said. Is he coming alone .' Ilf wrote me word 
 that I was to be here to meet the whole party." 
 
 "Oh, no, sir! My Lady, aid M Clare, and Mi — 
 Graham arc all ex] . thai is,] believe Mi-- Graham 
 
 to Wingfield to-night. A fly has been ber, as 
 
 they don't pass through the town; and i- waiting." 
 
 " Mrs. Graham is nol here then ?" 
 
 "No, sir, — no 'me. Will you go into the library? we 
 bavc had a lire Lighted there: we though! my Lady might !"•
 
 312 iyors. 
 
 chilly." And Claude went to the library, and sat down in 
 the arm-chair by the fire, and looked round the room and 
 thought of other days. 
 
 That sameness in outward and inanimate things, — what 
 a bitter mockery it presents to the changes in the circum- 
 stances and feelings of the living being! There was the 
 room, unaltered, except that it had lost the appearance of 
 being in constant use. The books were laid regularly in 
 order, the pens were new, the inkstand was perfectly bright, 
 and the chairs were placed symmetrically. There was not 
 the comfortable look of business which had pervaded it in 
 the days of Lady Augusta's health and strength. But the 
 oval table in the window was still covered with pamphlets 
 and papers, the large work-basket stood in its old place, and 
 the Bohemian flower vase had been filled by the gardener 
 with the best selection which his taste could make ; and 
 without there were the same trees and shrubs, only some a 
 little increased in size, and the deep glades admitting the 
 slanting, sunset rays, and beyond them the heavy masses of 
 wood, and the blue mist hanging over the distant town. 
 Only the spirit was wanting ; and how had that fled ! 
 
 Claude went back in thought through many years. It 
 seemed that he could trace now the course of Lady Augusta's 
 life, — her principles and objects ; they were so mixed up 
 with his own, that, in thinking of her, he was thinking of 
 himself; and at that moment, unselfish though he was, his 
 own position, his own hopes and fears, claimed instinctively 
 and peremptorily his full consideration. He dwelt upon the 
 remembrance of his boyish visits to Ivors, the impression 
 they had made upon him, his perception of Helen's faults, 
 and the prejudice which had lingered in his mind in conse- 
 quence. He had judged her hardly then : looking back, he 
 could see the germs of those noble qualities which trial and 
 disappointment had since developed. But he had been repelled
 
 ivoks. 313 
 
 from the besrinnimr, even when he did not understand his 
 own feelings, by Lady Augusta's evident manoeuvring. And 
 then his mind recurred to that time of excitement, delusion, 
 unreality which had followed; he could not explain it to 
 himself or account for it. But he had the consciousness of 
 having been led on, deceived, and of Helen's having been 
 deceived likewise. Lady Augusta's interference had ren- 
 dered them false to each other and to themselves ; for Claude 
 blamed himself as much as he was forced to blame Helen. 
 He could see now his own blindness, — how he had lived in a 
 world of shadows. His present feelings were cjuite different 
 from those which had formerly so entranced him ; so much 
 calmer, so much more resigned to God's "Will, even in this 
 moment of wearying suspense. There had been a sense of 
 insecurity then, even when his hopes were brightest. He 
 had always feared to approach too near to Helen lest his 
 should be opened to the truth ; he would not look at 
 her as she was, and he had suffered the fatal consequences 
 of his own wilful errors. Now he felt that he was treading 
 upon firm ground; he had no misgiving, except as to the 
 possibility of his affection being returned; ami, as the pang 
 of doubt was felt, Claude drew forth from his pocket-book a 
 note in the handwriting of Susan Graham. It -aid : " JTou 
 may be at Ivors: I think you will be happy. It ifi difficult 
 to convince her that you can overlook the pa-t ; but 1 have 
 made her feel that it is possible. When that barrier is re- 
 moved her heart will be free, and you will say for yourself 
 what no one can say for you." 
 
 "S. G."' 
 
 » 
 
 There was no delusion in this. Helen knew herself, ami 
 Claude knew her li .If she would consent to be his, 
 they might pass through life together, mutually strengthen- 
 ing each other, and loving all the re deeply and truly,
 
 314 ivoes. 
 
 because both could see and acknowledge that love in this 
 world is not perfection, but probation. 
 
 Claude said this to himself, and thought himself calm 
 and prepared for any disappointment ; but, as the sound of 
 carriage-wheels was heard in the avenue, he sank back in his 
 chair with a sensation of faint heart sickness, and, covering 
 his face with his hands, prayed with the earnestness of a soul 
 overwhelmed with the anguish of an intolerable suspense, 
 that God would bear him up, for he had no power in him- 
 self. 
 
 The footman looked into the library on his way to the 
 hall. " They are come, sir ; I don't know whether you 
 heard the bell ; " and Claude obeyed the summons and 
 followed. 
 
 Sir Henry jumped out of the carriage and grasped his 
 hand eagerly. " Claude, my dear fellow, indeed this is 
 kind — home-like ! " Sir Henry's eyes glistened, and his 
 voice was husky ; he glanced for an instant at Lady Augusta, 
 and hurried on a few steps without noticing the servants, and 
 then returned again ; and gently pushing Claude aside, said, 
 " I'll manage, I'll manage ; she will be more at home with 
 me : she's sadly changed." 
 
 He lifted his wife to the ground, and motioned to the 
 servants to move aside. Claude did not offer to assist ; Lady 
 Augusta's faltering step and vacant glance told their own 
 tale ; he could not venture to intrude upon her. Helen and 
 Susan were standing by the door of the carriage, looking for 
 parcels. Claude did not know whether they they had seen him ; 
 he asked if he could help them. Helen kept her face 
 averted, apparently not hearing. Susan turned towards 
 him. 
 
 Change ! what change could be like that ? The hollow 
 indentation of the cheek, and the marked sallow lines around 
 the pale lips, and the swollen eyelids, weary with the effort
 
 iyoes. 315 
 
 to shut out all sight of earth, and underneath them the hazi- 
 ness of the dark full eyes, over which the long lashes 
 drooped, as though the brain were so worn with thought, 
 that one longing only was left to it, even the craving for a 
 sleep that should know no waking. It was Susan Graham's 
 wraith, not herself, until she spoke. Then there was the 
 gentle voice, full of sweet womanly tenderness, with its under 
 tone of depth and power ; and across the haggard face passed 
 a smile, not brilliant, indeed, like Helen's sunshiny, summer 
 beauty, but bright with the touching gladness of the light 
 which breaks through a wintry cloud, and bids us hope, 
 even against hope, because, so God has willed, that our 
 true joy on earth should be realised " by faith, and not by 
 sight," 
 
 Claude started when he saw Susan. His first impulse 
 was to ask if she had been ill ; but she stopped him before 
 the question was uttered, and giving him her hand, said, 
 " You will be a comfort to them all." The next moment 
 she withdrew herself from the warm grasp by which he 
 strove to detain her, and walked on, following Lady Au- 
 gusta, and none would have marked a trace of effort or 
 self- control, except in the rigid compression of her colourless 
 lips 
 
 " You will allow me to take these things for you," said 
 Claude to Helen. 
 
 She could not avoid hearing him then, and she turned 
 round and gave him a basket and some books, and laughed 
 nervously, as she said it was impossible to welcome bim, for 
 her hands were full. 
 
 "I don't need a welcome,'' he said; "if I am only al- 
 lowed to be here." 
 
 Helen quickened her steps, and Led the way to the 
 library. 
 
 It wa i empty.
 
 316 iyobs. 
 
 She glanced round the room, and went tip to the oriel 
 window, and sitting down in the window seat, pressed her 
 face against the pane of glass, as though to shut in the tears, 
 which would fain have escaped. 
 
 " It is a sad return," said Claude, tenderly, as he stood 
 behind her. " But, Helen, there must still be hope." 
 
 " None," said Helen, and she looked at him firmly, and 
 added, " this last attack has wrecked her completely. Poor 
 papa ! " 
 
 " And you won't think of yourself ? " 
 
 " I have thought of myself too much," she said, whilst a 
 faint smile glanced across her face. " Even .now I ought to 
 to be with her." 
 
 " Stay, one moment, stay; " he laid his hand upon her 
 arm, as she rose. " Helen, will you allow no one to comfort 
 you ? " 
 
 " G-od will and can," said Helen. " I wish to look only 
 to Him." 
 
 " But he sends us earthly friends. He allows some the 
 privilege of offering comfort." 
 
 " Yes, some who have the right," said Helen, quickly; 
 and again she would have moved. 
 
 " And I have it not ; but I had it once." 
 
 Helen shuddered, and her limbs trembled. She leaned 
 against the window seat. 
 
 " I may have it again," continued Claude, passionately, 
 " if — oh, Helen, grant it, and I ask no other earthly hap- 
 piness." 
 
 " You have tried it, and it has failed," said Helen, and 
 her voice faltered. 
 
 " Failed, because we did not know each other ; because I 
 was exacting." 
 
 " And because I was — what I am and always shall be," 
 said Helen, bitterly. " Claude, Claude, you forget, that I 
 have wronged you."
 
 IY0E3. 317 
 
 "Love cancels every debt," said Claude; and he took 
 her unresisting hand in his. And Helen burst into tears, 
 and murmured, " It is all I have to offer." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIII. 
 
 It was nearly dark when a fly drove up to the entrance of 
 Wingfield. Court ; almost before it had reached the door, 
 eager eyes were looking out, and loving voices tittered their 
 words of welcome. 
 
 " My precious child ! " and Susan, as she threw herself 
 into her mother's arms, felt that warm kiss of unspeakable, 
 holy, unselfish affection, for which, when it is taken from us, 
 we pine in the hour of our lonely sorrow, as the pilgrim 
 pines for the water in the desert 
 
 " Isabella, dearest, you" look so well." Susan's accent 
 was so full of sympathising pleasure and congratulations, 
 that her sisters, in their delight at her return, could trace in 
 it no undertone of heaviness. Anna drew her into the 
 study. " See, we have had a fire lighted for \'nn, you are 
 such a chilly mortal. Now, let us look at you; " and Su san 
 was unwillingly turned towards the light. 
 
 " She docs n't look well," -aid [sabella, gravely. 
 
 And Mrs. Graham took Susan's trembling hand in both 
 
 . and in a voice which she vainly tried to render calm, 
 said: " My darling, you should have told us you had been 
 ill." 
 
 "No, Indeed, indeed;" — Susan laughed — oh I such a 
 hard laugh ! — "we have been travelling rather fast tin 1 last 
 week, ami Ladj Augusta baa been very ill, and made 
 every one anxious. I want rest, I -hill do quite will then; 
 indeed, I only want rest. Now, [sabella, tell mo every- 
 thing about home."
 
 318 ivoks. 
 
 Home meant " everything about yom-self ; " but Isabella 
 could not make ber confession before so many, and she only 
 put ber arm round her sister, and said : " I am very happy," 
 — and the large tears glistened in her eyes. But there were 
 no tears in Susan's ; only a quiet, fixed look which seemed 
 to show that she had a difficulty in understanding even her 
 own words. Mrs. Graham would not appear to watch her. 
 She asked questions about Helen and Lady Augusta, and 
 the journey, and conversed about home matters, and by de- 
 grees drew Isabella out, and helped her over her first shy- 
 ness, and made Anna talk about little thiugs which happened 
 in the neighbourhood; and when the sisters seemed to have 
 satisfied their first eager curiosity and excitement, she said : 
 " This poor child wants quiet, so she shall go and lie down 
 in her own room a little, and then we will have tea, and after 
 tea Martha shall unpack for her." 
 
 "Not yet, mamma. Susan, you haven't heard half; 
 you must n't go yet," said Anna, frying to detain her. 
 
 And Isabella kissed her, and added, that it was hard to 
 lose sight of her even for half an hour. 
 
 But Susan did not say she wished to stay; she moved 
 mechanically till she reached the door, and then she turned 
 round and smiled, and said : " We must talk all the evening, 
 I am tired now ; " and followed her mother up stairs." 
 
 " Anna wanted to have your little room new-papered 
 whilst you were away, my child," said Mrs. Graham, as she 
 opened the door of Susan's apartment ; " but I thought you 
 should have your own choice ; and I fancied too, that you 
 would like to see it just the same. 
 
 " Thank you, yes ; no change ; — I don't want any change." 
 Susan sat down at the foot of the bed. 
 
 " Only rest, my darling. Will you try and get some 
 now ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Oh ! mamma, mamma, is it really home ? "
 
 ivoks. 319 
 
 Susan's eye wandered round the room, and she grasped her 
 mother's hand tightl\\ 
 
 " Really home, my own child ; with so many, many 
 hearts to love you ! You will feel the quietness of it soon ; 
 yon have had too much anxiety and excitement." 
 
 " Quiet ! Oh yes, it will be very quiet," said Susan ; 
 " and I want that. Mamma, you won't let me go from you 
 again." The tone of sorrowful entreaty went to her mother's 
 heart. 
 
 " My.«hild, how can you ask me '? I have longed for 
 you every hour of your absence, — but I felt, — I hoped you 
 were happy." Mrs. Graham fixed her eyes earnestly on Su- 
 san's face, and unable to bear the glance, Susan turned away, 
 and said, quickly : " I was happy ; I enjoyed it all very much, 
 at first." 
 
 " But at last, when Lady Augusta became so ill, there 
 could have been nothing but anxiety ; only you must have 
 been such a comfort to Helen." 
 
 " I hope I was, — I don't know." Susan trembled vio- 
 lently. 
 
 " Arc you uneasy about her ? Is there anything amiss ? " 
 a ked Mrs. Graham, anxiously. 
 
 "Oil! no, no ; she is very good ; and she will lie quite 
 happy. Mamma," and Susan turned round suddenly, and 
 her voice became strangely firm, yet hollow, "she will marry 
 Mr. Eeerton.' 
 
 The quickness of a mother's insight ! It is a second pro- 
 phecy, for in those few words the vague dread of years was 
 realised. Mrs. Graham drew Susan towards her, and 
 whispered: "God help yen, my darling," — and Susan, 
 throwing herself on her knees, hid her face in her mother's 
 lap, and murmured, shuddering : " Hate me, mamma; I de- 
 serve it; lam wicked; I am not worthy to be with yon.'' 
 
 " God sees do Bin, my precione one, in the feelings which 
 I [q gi i .-. n . m re wronglj indulged "
 
 320 ivoes. 
 
 " They arc wrong, tbey must be ; " Susan lifted up her 
 haggard face, and her look was wild in its agony ; " he did 
 not think of me ; he never, never cared for me. But I 
 thought, — oh ! indeed I thought, — I would not have dwelt 
 upon it, — I would have left everything. Mamma, you think, 
 — you know I would. Oh ! it is so terrible, so terrible." 
 
 " My child, God will help you in this, none else can. He 
 sees it was not meant." 
 
 " He knows I would have Helen happy, and I tried ; — 
 mamma, I tried. It was left to me, and I said all I could, 
 and I bore up. Helen thought as I did ; she told me so. It 
 was one night, — the night Lady Augusta was taken ill, — she 
 told me that he had been more to me than to her, and she 
 could not think he cared for her. And I said it plainly, — 
 I would not let my voice change ; I told her that I was no- 
 thing to him ; and then — Oh ! mother, mother, let me die ; " 
 and Susan's voice grew faint, and her hands dropped power- 
 less by her side. 
 
 Mrs. Graham drew her towards the bed and laid her 
 gently upon it ; her lips parted into a feeble smile, but there 
 were no tears of relief, no softening of the stony gaze of 
 anguish ; and still she kept her mother's hand in hers, and 
 murmured, " Sinful, sinful ! save me, mother, save me ! " 
 
 " The feelings which God would not have called sinful if 
 it had been His will to bless them, cannot be sinful in His 
 sight because He sees good to disappoint them, my darling. 
 He has sent you a trial, not a punishment." 
 
 " But I indulged them. I ought to have seen. I was 
 blind, because I wished it," continued Susan : " and now — 
 oh ! mamma, mamma! if they were not sinful then, they are 
 now ; and I have them, I can't escape from them." She 
 covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " My child ! the future must be left to God. I have no 
 misgivings. It would be a wicked want of faith to doubt
 
 ivors. 321 
 
 that He will enable you to overcome everything. You have 
 done so, already. He sees, and I see, that you have acted 
 nobly." 
 
 " No, never, never," exclaimed Susan. " Mamma, I said 
 the truth to Helen; T don't know how; I scarcely knew 
 what I said; but the horrible feeling, the jealous}- was there 
 still. I thought I was not jealous ; and — I dou't know, - ' 
 — she paused for a moment, and gazing piteously in her 
 mother's face, murmured, — " if he had said once, only once, 
 that he loved me, I think I could have given him to Helen 
 and been happy." 
 
 And then came a torrent of impetuous, overwhelming 
 tears, and the heavy-laden heart seemed for a while to ha\ e 
 found relief. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIV. 
 
 There followed a weary time, — days of anxious care and 
 nights of watching. The deep stream which bends its quiet 
 course through the smooth meadows, gathers force from the 
 fulness of its unwasted powers, and when at length it is 
 roused into energy, has an overwhelming strength unknown 
 to the fretting, tossing waters which have chased their way 
 over rocks and stones, and turned aside at every oh tacle to 
 wear for themselves new channels, expending their eagerness 
 in foam and bubble. 
 
 Susan (Ira ha in had been called cold, sometimes she had< veil 
 called herself so. The things which excite,] others had but 
 little power over her; the harassing annoyances which ren- 
 dered other- mis< rable, were regarded by her as matti rs of 
 indifference. Even the enjoyments of life tfere received by 
 her calmly; she was never roused to eestacy, and bad but
 
 322 ivors. 
 
 few impulses of enthusiasm. Her deepest feelings were 
 known, even to herself, chiefly by the effort made to control 
 them ; for her smiles were given to her fellow-creatures, 
 whilst her tears were reserved for God ; and that which we 
 pour forth before Him we are little able to realise to our- 
 selves. 
 
 So it was that not even Mrs. Graham, with all her loving 
 perception of her daughter's character, was fully prepared 
 for the effect which one great shock might produce. She 
 had known that Susan might, and probably would, love in- 
 tensely, if ever the feeling were awakened at all, but she had 
 calculated upon the habitual self-restraint, the daily and hour- 
 ly watchfulness which had been her child's characteristic 
 almost from infancy, to guard her against the possibility 
 either of a misplaced or an exaggerated affection. The cir- 
 cumstances which had actually occurred had been, if not en- 
 tirely unforeseen, at least quite beyond her control. It was 
 a thought to which she was compelled continually to recur, in 
 order to keep her mind in its right balance, as she sat by Su- 
 san's bedside, watching the wasting of continual fever, listening 
 to the half-penitent, half agonized confessions of the sorrowful 
 and broken heart, aud marking the struggles for resignation, 
 and the conflict with haunting memories and natural feelings, 
 which the sensitive conscience condemned. 
 
 In the utter prostration of her physical powers, Susan 
 had become like a little child. She had not strength to be 
 reserved, and little by little, by broken sentences and passing 
 observations, and often by the doubtful questionings of a 
 heart busy with self-upbraiding, avid touched in that tender- 
 est point of womanly feeling, which, if it is once wounded, 
 can never be entirely healed, she revealed the story of her 
 life. 
 
 Who was to blame ? Mrs. Graham's first thought turned 
 upon herself. Long, long before, the dread of such a catas-
 
 ivoks. 323 
 
 trophe bad crossed her mind : but could she by any step of 
 ber own have averted it ? She might have refused to join 
 the Admiral in London, and so have kept Claude and Susan 
 apart; but her duty at that time was to minister to the old 
 man's comfort ; and Claude was absorbed in politics , and 
 Susan's feelings had been nipped in the bud by his avowed 
 preference for Helen. She had no right to conjure up 
 a very unlikely and remote evil, and allow it to interfere 
 with a present duty. The journey abroad had been planned 
 and carried out without reference to Claude, and solely out 
 of kindness to Helen. The very fact that Susan was with 
 her cousin would, at first sight, have rendered it wholly im- 
 probable that she should have been thrown in the way of 
 Claude. No human power had planned that meeting. If 
 blame could be attached to any person, it must be to Claude; 
 and Mrs. Graham would have blamed him bitterly almost 
 unnardonably, but fur a note received from Helen, the day 
 after her return ; announcing her own happiness, and anxious- 
 ly inquiring for Susan, and begging to be allowed to see her. 
 She spoke in it of Isabella's approaching marriage, and said 
 that she had taken a great liberty in mentioning it to Claude; 
 but that she had found he was under a falsi; impression as re- 
 garded Susan, thinking that the engagement was hers; and 
 as the thing seemed now generally known, she had thought 
 it better to set him right. The mistake was m< ntioned in 
 the simplest, most matter-of-fact way; for it wa-a matter 
 of indifference to Helen, except that she would have cared 
 much more for Susan's prospects of happiness than Bhe did 
 for Isabella's: but to Mrs Graham it afforded an interpreta- 
 tion of Claude's conduct, which removed the weight as of a 
 mountain from her heart. Whether his manner and his 
 words had always been wise and prudent, she could not 
 iud&e: for she had not been a witness to them. But Bhe 
 could well understand the ea a and freedom, which the idea
 
 324 
 
 IVORS. 
 
 that Susan's affections were engaged, had given him. At 
 least, he had not intentionally, or even carelessly, trifled 
 with her feelings ; he was still what she had always thought 
 him ; and with this clue Mrs. Graham threw aside every 
 painful misgiving, and bore patiently the details which Su- 
 san in her candour and simplicity unintentionally revealed, 
 and which had been the means of fatally wrecking her hap- 
 piness. 
 
 They were sitting together one evening about three 
 weeks after Susan's return. The fever was subdued ; and, 
 for the first time, she had been carried from her bed and 
 laid upon a sofa by the window. It was warm for the be- 
 ginning of September, and the flowers on the table, which 
 were daily sent from Ivors, gave a cheerful summer look to 
 the little room ; although the view from it was not of trees 
 and fields, but of the lane which divided the garden of Wing- 
 field Court from the town. 
 
 " I did not mean to return and be a burden," said Susan, 
 as she laid her wasted hand upon her mother's. " I thought 
 I should come back and help to prepare everything for Isa- 
 bella's wedding ; but I am only a drawback." 
 
 " Isabella will not have to wait longer than she first ex- 
 pected," said Mrs. Graham. " We always talked of three 
 months. You v/ill be strong, I trust, by that time, my dar- 
 ling." She looked at Susan uneasily. 
 
 " I mean to b^ well, mamma ; that is, if it please God. 
 I wish to be." There was a pause, and Susan added : " I 
 try to wish it." 
 
 Mrs. Graham kissed her tenderly. " You must wish it 
 for my sake, my child. What should I do without you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I think of that. I could not live, at least, I 
 think not, without that feeling.'' 
 
 " Or without the feeling of being a comfort to some one,'' 
 said Mrs. Graham.
 
 " Some one," repeated Susan, and she faintly smiled ; 
 " that was the first lesson I remember when I was quite a 
 tiny child ; that I was to be a comfort to some one. I did 
 not think then that it could ever be difficult. I fancied I 
 was a comfort to every one." 
 
 " And yon have been, my darling. No one has clone 
 more in a short life to make others happy than you have." 
 
 " It seems nothing now," said Susan ; " and mamma, " 
 
 and the struggling anguish dimmed her eyes ; — " the power 
 seems all-gone." 
 
 " But it will come again. "We want peace and rest our- 
 selves, and then we can give it to others." 
 
 " Rest, rest," murmured Susan. She turned her head 
 away, and a convulsive shudder passed over her, as she added 
 in a voice scarcely audible: " If I could forget! if it were 
 not sinful ! " 
 
 ' ; My child, we have talked of that before : we won't re- 
 turn to it now ; it is not a thought for reason, you must ban- 
 ish it." 
 
 " But it comes, it haunts me," said Susan, and she fixed 
 her hollow eyes upon her mother imploringly. "When 1 
 go to sleep, it is there; and when I wake up in the night it 
 comes to me as the first thought, and everything brings it 
 •back to me. Mamma, — you know it," — she caught Mrs. 
 Graham's hand, " he would think it sinful ; he would de 
 me. Sometimes, oh ! I have such a wild, wild fancy ; that 
 I must go to him and till aim all, ami hear him say that lie 
 
 loathes 1 j j - - : and then that I would hide myself s ewhere 
 
 far off, and no oik; should hear my mine' again." 
 
 " You are ill, my darling, thai is one cause of all this; 
 you have no power to reason justly. Sinful feelings are 
 
 e which we wilfully indulge knowing, or even Buspecting, 
 that they are contrary to the law of God. Where there 
 no law, there could have b : ^ no Bin. But no power of ar-
 
 326 ivoes. 
 
 gumcnt will teach you this now ; only when the wild fancy 
 comes, remember that you may say it all to God, and that 
 will help you more than any acknowledgment to man." 
 
 " I pray, indeed I pray," said Susan, " when I can ; but 
 my thoughts wander back, and I seem too wicked to be 
 heard." 
 
 " But even if you can't pray, if your thoughts seem quite 
 incoherent, yet say them to God. We may speak to Him 
 when we have scarcely the power to pray, because we have 
 not strength to wish." 
 
 " And He will forgive ; " said Susan, doubtfully. " But 
 the feelings won't go. Mamma ! mamma ! what shall I do 
 if they don't ? " 
 
 '■' They will go, my child. God sends a blessing with 
 time, which we can never understand as we look forward." 
 
 But if I don't want them to go ? " said Susan, and her 
 look for a moment was eager and imploring ; and then the 
 whole expression of her face changed, and she tried to 
 hide her face with her thin hands, as she said in a hollow 
 voice : '• Mamma, I cannot part with the memory ; it is my 
 all." 
 
 ' My darling one, that will be your trial ; the bitter, bit- 
 ter trial. But oh ! Susan, is there anything with which one 
 would not part for God ? " ' 
 
 Susan was silent. Her mother saw the trembling of her 
 whole frame, and the large drops which, as she turned aside 
 her head, forced their way down her wasted cheeks. For a 
 moment the long fingers were clasped together convulsively ; 
 and then Susan looked round again, and a faint smile lit up 
 her face, and she said : " Mamma, I have asked Him to take 
 it from me." 
 
 " My own child, I knew you would have strength for the 
 prayer. Yet I can tell, oh! so much better than you may 
 think, the struggle it must cost to think that it will be 
 granted."
 
 ivo 327 
 
 " I have thought," said Susan, "that I might live with 
 memory. Even lately, as I have heea lying here at times 
 alone, I have let my mind go back, and then there was rest; 
 no, not rest, but something better than rest, — something, — 
 
 mamma " she threw her arms round her mother's neck, 
 
 and whispered, " if I might only love him still in my dreams ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Graham rested the weary head on her shoulder, and 
 whispered : " Our Lord gave up all for us, Susan. There 
 was nothing withheld, not even His Father's love." 
 
 " Yes,, all, all ; mamma, I will try." And there was a 
 long silence ; but Susau laid her head back again on her pil- 
 low, and said quickly : " Will life be very long ? " 
 
 ■• As long as God wills ; and He has work for as to do." 
 
 " I have no power now for work," said Susan. 
 
 " Only the power to struggle," replied Mr.-. Graham. 
 " But there is no work so great as that." 
 
 " For oneself, yes. But I was so vain, so proud. I 
 thought I did not need any care for myself; and now there 
 is no one else whom I can do anything for." 
 
 '■ My darling, you cannot see how G«»d is dealing with 
 you; the work for which he is preparing you. .May I tell 
 you ; can you bear + o hear what I think that may be ; if it 
 should please Him that you should never main . 
 
 •• To live for you ; to love you, and comfort you, and be 
 more to you than ten thousand Ruths could ha a to 
 
 Naomi ; never, di per, to Leave you, my own sweet mother," 
 exclaimed Susan, passionately; and holding Mrs. Graham's 
 hand in hers, me added : " 1 can bear anything for you." 
 
 • Ves, to be with me alwa; .1 trust, my child," replied 
 Mrs. Graham; "to be m\ blessing and comfort unspeakable. 
 Bui not to live for me only. This is a dreary world, Susan, 
 and there are many Lonely and aching to I"- found in 
 
 it; and but few to comfort them, I many bave 
 
 found their own home.-, of I live in thi ir own
 
 328 itors. 
 
 circles, and finding all their duties and their sympathies 
 within, have no leisure to attend to the claims without. We 
 must not for a moment condemn them. God has appointed 
 them their place, and there is very much that is good and holy 
 in these deep concentrated affections. But there are some 
 whom he has seen fit to set free from such exclusive ties. 
 He has given them hearts as large — feelings as deep — but 
 there is no one earthly channel into which they may exclu- 
 sively flow. Yet He must have a purpose for those feelings ; 
 and it seems as though he wills them, not to sink and deep- 
 en, but to expand." 
 
 " But they do not," said Susan. " We are all selfish." 
 " Not all," said Mrs. Graham. " I know that many will 
 not acknowledge what I say, and when they find themselves 
 shut out from what they have accustomed themselves to con- 
 sider the great happiness of life, they allow their affections 
 to become chilled, and exhaust all their energies upon self, 
 and self-gratification. But I can never believe that this is 
 a necessary consequence of their lot. Bather, I feel that 
 they must have been intended to fill up all the blanks and 
 hollows which are left between the circles of married life ; 
 to spread themselves out in sympathy with griefs and cares 
 which can find no echo and no comfort elsewhere. That, 
 my darling, I can imagine to be your work on earth. God 
 has given you a very loving, tender nature, and a truth of 
 character which naturally inspires confidence; and so I can 
 fancy you going through life like one of those clear streams 
 which we sometimes see winding through a barren country, 
 its course tracked by the bright greenness of its banks. You 
 were born to be a blessing, Susan. And if God wills that 
 you should learn your work more surely by the experience 
 of suffering, you will not murmur." 
 
 " Mamma, no indeed ; but the suffering is selfish ; it can 
 do no good to any but myself, and I have borne it so mis- 
 erably."
 
 iv. 329 
 
 " All suffering is selfish, exeept as we make use of it for 
 others," said Mrs. Graham. "But even our past sins may 
 he turned into blessings, if we will, by teaching us how to 
 guard others against them. Dear child ! you know very 
 little of the world, but if God should spare your life, I can- 
 not but feel certain that you will, by and by, recognise fully 
 all that He is doing for you now; teaching you lessons of 
 tenderness, opening your heart to understand feelings, which 
 might otherwise have been judged hardly. If even our 
 Blessed Lard Himself vouchsafed to learn sympathy by the 
 experience of sorrow, surely we may be thankful to do the 
 same." 
 
 '■And the loneliness," said Susan, in a low voice ; and 
 tears stood in her eyes, and were kept down by a strong 
 effort, as she added, " Mamma, that is so wicked, when I 
 have you." 
 
 " My love will not satisfy you, my darling. I would 
 rather you should face the truth at once, unshrinkingly. A 
 void has been created in our hearts which only one kind of 
 earthly love can entirely fill. God has willed to den} you 
 that," — and Mrs. Graham passed her hand fondly over Su- 
 san's forehead, and stooped to kiss her jcolourless cheek, — 
 "but He has not willed that you should go through life in 
 loneliness. There i.- another love, before which all human 
 affection fades into nothingne 
 
 "God's love," said Susan; "I though! once that I un- 
 derstood it; but I don't now." 
 
 " You do, though you cannot r< alise it.'' 
 
 Susan shook her head mournfully, aa she answered, "1 
 gave myself to an earthly affection, and God took Hi- love 
 from me." 
 
 "No, my darling, never. God allowed you f<> feel what. 
 an earthly affection might be, and withdrew it that you tu 
 give your heart- in its fuU strength to Him. Onlj be patient 
 28
 
 330 irons. 
 
 with yourself, and the blessing will come. As you learn to 
 strengthen and quicken your feelings by living in the hap- 
 piness of your fellow creatures, the weight which keeps your 
 heart from rising to God will be removed, and then you will 
 know how fully that deep spirit of devotion can satisfy every 
 need." 
 
 " It ought ; it would with others," said Susan 
 
 " It ought with all ; but it does not," replied Mrs. Gra- 
 ham, " because persons make it second, where it ought to be 
 first. God's love is a jealous love. He will give us only 
 what we seek. If we are contented with our earthly ties, 
 and merely think of Him gratefully, as the author of our 
 enjoyment, we may be what is called religious, — that is, we 
 may be very careful in all our duties, we may be excellent 
 wives, and mothers, and children, but we shall never know 
 what the real blessedness of religion is. That is the danger 
 of married life, Susan, where it is perfectly happy ; it may 
 be — of course I do not say it will be — so satisfying, that the 
 feeling given to God is, in comparison, cold. If it is not so 
 satisfying, we may be well contented to do without it. and 
 take in its stead that which God offers, — a love which can 
 never change, never misunderstand, which waits for us when 
 our hearts are chilled, and deepens as they are faint and sad; 
 which is more fond than the love of a husband, more watch- 
 ful than the care of a parent, and sympathised with us before 
 we understood the affection of sisters or of brothers ; a real, 
 earnest, living, intense love, and to which we may give, not 
 mere duty, or reverence, or gratitude, but the warm, eager, 
 absorbing affection, which is infinite as the craving of our 
 hearts, and lasting as the blessedness of eternity." 
 
 Mrs. Graham paused. Susan laid her hand gently on 
 her mother's, and said, " I am better now, mamma. Will 
 you read me some prayers ? " 
 
 And the prayers were said ; and when they were ended
 
 ivous. 331 
 
 an remained quiet for a little time, and then sent for 
 Isabella, and talked to her of her new home, and even read 
 .some letters from Mr. Berry; aud when she left her, heard 
 her say, "There is no one so dear as Susan; she throws 
 herself into every person's business exactly as if it were her 
 
 own." 
 
 That was the first effort and the first reward. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXV. 
 
 Hours pass very slowly in illness, yet they passed too quickly 
 for Mrs. Graham's comfort. Her outward attention was of- 
 ten given to Isabella, but her secret thoughts were centred 
 in Susan. Day by day, as she marked the progress made in 
 the recovery of her child'.- bodily health, the wreck of her 
 happiness became more visible. Every thing was an effort ; 
 all duties had lost their interest. Whilst Susan was able to 
 keep to her own room the burden had been comparatively 
 light, for she was able to give herself resi in her own way ; 
 but for the first few days that she came down Btairs again and 
 mixed with the family, the perpetual exertion seemed at 
 times more than she could bear. Yet she kept up wonder- 
 ful!)' upon the whole ; and entered at once into all that was 
 going on, and made little plans of duty or of pleasure for 
 other.-, and even for herself; especially showing berself watch- 
 ful for Isabella's happiness, and giving her those little mat I 
 tender sympathy which touch the heart and indue. • it to open 
 itself freely ; and Mrs. Graham could not hut see thai tie- 
 hours of weakness which Susan spi a1 on her sofa were likely 
 to work more for [sabella' good than many years of previous 
 training.
 
 y<32 ivors. 
 
 But Susan never spoke of herself now. In the first agony 
 of a great grief we can all be unreserved ; but when sorrow 
 has settled itself into its place, and made for itself the home 
 in our memories in which it must dwell till death, we can no 
 longer bear that the eye of a fellow-creature should gaze 
 upon it. 
 
 Susan was quite changed ; yet it was not a change which 
 even her sisters could comment upon. She had a kind word, 
 a smile, an affectionate thought for them continually. If the 
 interest was not awakened spontaneously, it was at least so 
 genuine in its nature that none had cause to complain. Only 
 one thing was remarked by Anna, — that although Helen's 
 re-engagement was fully known, Susan had never yet ex- 
 pressed any curiosity as to the time fixed for the wedding, 
 and had hitherto shunned the idea of seeing her cousin ; say- 
 ing always that she would wait till she felt stronger; tbat 
 Helen knew her so well, she could not possibly think it un- 
 kind. 
 
 But the effort must be made shortly ; and Mrs. Graham 
 knew that the longer it was delayed the more trying it would 
 be. Besides, events were hastening on. Lady Augusta was 
 in a state from which she was not likely to rally, but in 
 which she might linger long. Helen had at first utterly re- 
 jected the idea of leaving her, but even Sir Henry was urgent 
 that there should be no delay. Helen could be little or no 
 comfort to Lady Augusta, who was now only occasionally 
 conscious of her presence, and had never been made to un- 
 derstand the fact of her engagement ; and for himself, heavy- 
 hearted though he was, yet there was something of brightness 
 and hope in the thought of Helen's marriage with Claude to 
 which he clung as to the one remaining prospect of earthly 
 interest. He might be alone at Ivors, but there would be 
 Helmsley to look to for change and society, and perhaps, by 
 and by, — his sanguine spirit wandered into the future with a
 
 ivoks. 333 
 
 strange tenacity of happiness. — he might give tip Ivors to 
 Maurice, who was very likely to marry, and then he could be 
 with Claude and Helen in his old age. 
 
 And so Sir Henry put aside his present griefs as well as 
 he could, and talked to Helen of her wedding, as he might 
 have done in the brighter days, when it had seemed to realise 
 all that he or Lady Augusta could desire for herself or for 
 them. 
 
 He called to see Mrs. Graham on the very day that 
 everything- was settled. It was quite necessary to him to 
 talk to some one; and Helen and Claude were gone out to- 
 gether, and Maurice, who vras expected, had not yet arrived ; 
 and so he made it a matter of duty to go himself to Wingfield, 
 and tell his sister-indaw all that had been arranged, and ask 
 for her advice. He had a scheme, too, in his head which he 
 thought admirable. Helen must have some lady with her, 
 and no one could be so proper as her aunt; and it was Ids 
 plan that Mrs. Graham should remove to Ivors several days 
 before the wedding, that she might superintend everything 
 and be a comfort to Helen. And then it would be so pi 
 ant, he thought, for the cousins to be together. Helen and 
 Susan were quite like sisters, and it would he really hard for 
 them to he parted at the last; and the change mighl do poor 
 Susan good. He had not seen h her illness; and he 
 
 fancied she was suffering from over exertion and an 
 about Lady Augusta, and bo ■ 1 him If doubly 
 
 bound to think about her and he ear. till for her. 
 
 In the falness of his heart, Sir Henry proposed his 
 i ue tO 1 sale -II a and Anna, whom he Ion nd Bitting alone in 
 
 the drawing-room, I dy having bet o given up to gu 
 
 •• W"here is your mamma, nay dear? I [rave a grcal deal 
 to talk to heraboUl ; ean't she ci me to me? we are going to 
 have a wedding soori, you know, at [vors; "'and for a mo- 
 ment | r klenry'a face brightened, ami the
 
 334: IVORS. 
 
 sad again as he added, " It is not what it might have been ; 
 but we don't allow ourselves to complain. God knows best 
 how these things should be. I want to have you all over 
 there." 
 
 " Is it to be very soon ? " said Isabella. " I am afraid 
 Susan will not be strong enough." 
 
 " Oh ! but we shall make her strong. The change will 
 be everything to her; we had a very trying time the last 
 week of our journey ! I have never quite made up my mind, 
 whether Markham was right in sending us abroad ; but any 
 how it is too late to think of that now. I should like to see 
 Susan very much. Is she in the study, did you say ? ' 
 
 He rose and went to the door. 
 
 " Please wait. I am not sure," said Isabella, rather ner- 
 vously, as she followed him ; but his hand had touched the 
 lock. 
 
 " Frances, Susan ; any admittance for an elderly gentle- 
 man?" 
 
 Before Mrs. Graham could answer, Susan's voice was 
 heard, saying " Uncle Henry ! yes, please come ; " and the 
 tone was so bright and affectionate, that Sir Henry stepped 
 forward eagerly, quite forgetting her illness. 
 
 He was reminded of it, though painfully. At the first 
 glance he started back. " What, Susan ! You never told 
 me, Frances, what was the matter. You have been listening 
 to those Wingfield doctors, who are only fit to dose horses." 
 He sat down by Susan, and took up her hand and examined 
 it. " Bad work this, my poor child ; but it must not go on ; 
 you must have a change. Frances, you must bring her to 
 Ivors; and we'll have Markham down to see her. He's 
 coming next week to Lady Augusta." 
 
 " Thank you, very much ; but I fancy time and mamma 
 will be the best doctors," said Mrs. Graham, trying to smile. 
 " Considerable progress has been made the last week."
 
 ivoes. 335 
 
 " It must be a snail's progress backwards, then," said 
 Sir Henry. ' ; Why, the poor child could not look much 
 worse if she was dying. No, no, Frances ; you must take her 
 away from this place. Town air is always unwholesome, and 
 I can't get the commissioners to look to Wingfield as they 
 might, and you have a very unhealthy population near }'ou 
 in the back streets." 
 
 " I dare say change may be good, by and by," said .Mrs. 
 Graham, unwilling to chill him by refusing his kindness. 
 
 " By and by won't suit me so well as just now," said Sir 
 Henry. " You know I was always rather given to selfish- 
 ness, Frances ; and I confess that when I cast a stone, I like 
 to kill a bird for myself, as well as my neighbour. Claude 
 and Helen, you know, have made it up together, and arc talk- 
 ing of beino; married in another three weeks." 
 
 "So soon!" Mrs. Graham glanced at Susan, but she 
 lay epiite still, with her gaze riveted on one spot on the wall. 
 
 " It seems soon ; but the fact is, — of course I can say it 
 all out to you, being quite sure that you will understand, — 
 Poor Lady Augusta's state is very precarious. Markhani 
 says things may go on as they are for another year ; they 
 may all come to an end in a few months, or even less. Now 
 Helen was very uneasy, and talked of waiting, and in fait 
 would have insisted upon it, if I would have allowed it; but 
 I felt that, under the circumstances, delays were worse than 
 dangerous; and Claude has had such a weary lime, and be- 
 haved really so nobly, that it seemed cruel to keep him longer 
 hanging between heaven and earth. So 1 overruled all her 
 scruples, and put forward my own plan, that tin 1 man 
 shuuld be as soon as possible, and quite quiet, jusl your- 
 selves, aid thr Buines, and Julia Manners. No one else, 
 ex'i pt, perhaps, some •>!' < 'laude's cousins. Then, when they 
 are marrii d, if matters should take an uncomfortable turn at 
 Ivor-. Helen "an be there at any moment. It won'1 really
 
 336 ivoks. 
 
 make any difference, except as to Claude's happiness. Poor 
 fellow ! he is desperately in love, worse now than ever ; and 
 to do Helen justice, I believe she is nearly as bad. Susan 
 my dear, do I talk too fast for you ? " 
 
 Susan had moved her head away from the light. 
 
 " She has not yet become accustomed to visitors," said 
 Mrs. Graham ; but Susan turned round quickly, and touched 
 her uncle's arm, as he was going to rise, and said, " I should 
 like to hear all." 
 
 " All is not much," continued Sir Henry, reseating him- 
 self, with evident willingness ; " but since you like to hear, I 
 will just tell you in a few words what has been settled." 
 
 " They must be very few, then," observed Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Indeed, I can bear it quite well," said Susan, whilst her 
 voice assumed a peculiar tone of firmness. 
 
 " I won't tire you, my dear, I will take care. They talk 
 of being married on the sixteenth, Wednesday three weeks ; 
 then they go for a short tour in Scotland. It is rather late 
 in the year for the north, but Claude wants to visit some re- 
 lations. Afterwards they are to settle themselves at Helms- 
 ley ; and as Claude may be obliged to be in London at the 
 end of the year, Helen talks of coming to us fo/ a little while. 
 However, I don't look forward ; God knows what may hap- 
 pen before then. All I think of is the present moment." 
 
 " And that seems tolerably bright, I hope," said Mrs. 
 Graham, moving her chair, as a hint that he should go. 
 
 " Yes ; very fairly so. As much so as we have a right 
 to expect. But I must have you at Ivors, Frances ; I can't 
 get on without you." 
 
 " I would be there for the day, certainly; but you see I 
 have claims at home. Isabella means to follow Helen's ex- 
 ample ; and there is my poor child here." 
 
 " Ah ! Isabella, how selfish one is ! I quite forgot to ask 
 about her."
 
 iyoes. 337 
 
 " It is a very quiet matter-of-fact affair with her," said 
 Mrs. Graham. " There have heen very few difficulties. She 
 and Mr. Berry have known each other a long time; and I 
 believe he has never really cared for any one else, neither has 
 she, and so they have made a very comfortable engagement ; 
 and I look forward thankfully to seeing her married and 
 settled as a clergyman's wife at East Dudden. They won't 
 be rich, but they will have a competency, and I am quite 
 ■satisfied with him as Isabella's husband, though he wpuld 
 not have sukcd every one." 
 
 " Not you, Susan, I suppose that means," said Sir Henry. 
 " I always thought mamma looked upon you as the flower of 
 her flock. But she was taught to do that. The poor old 
 Admiral ! what a pet he made of her, Frances ! " 
 
 Susan's lips were closely compressed together for a few 
 seconds, and then the aching heart could bear the anguish no 
 
 j* t. and she cried bitterly. 
 
 Sir Henry was very much distressed. He did not know 
 what he had done, or how. He could only kiss her, and tell 
 her she was ill and wanted change, and that she must come bo 
 Ivors. Claude and Helen would both be charmed to 
 her. There was no one scarcely whom Claude esteemed as 
 he did her. He had said, only the other day, that he felt 
 mure than half his happiness to be owing to her ; she had 
 done so much for Helen. "And Eelen is perfection now, I 
 must say that," added Sir Henry, with a father's pride. 
 " All her beauty coming back ; and such thought for i i 
 one. Poor Lady Augusta! That's the business! [f she 
 could but understand it alL" He sighed heavily; and the 
 sigh seemed to chase away the tears from Susan'e Eaci . and 
 she sai'l gently : " You must let as come and see you very 
 often when Helen i 
 
 "My poor child! yes, of course j bul before that .
 
 338 ivoks. 
 
 Why, Helen has reckoned upon you as one of the brides- 
 maids." 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed Mrs. Graham, quickly, and 
 what for her was almost angrily. 
 
 Hut Susan put her hand affectionately within that of her 
 uncle, and said : " If I am not quite well enough, Isabella 
 or Anna can take my place. Helen won't think it unkind ; 
 indeed, she must not. I do love her so much." 
 
 The expression of her face was so pleading, weary, and 
 haggard ; it struck some deep chord of feeling in Sir Hen- 
 ry's heart, and he dashed his hand across his eyes, and stood 
 up hastily and murmured : " To be sure ; we won't worry 
 you ; we'll talk of it all another day. You must get strong, 
 my dear child ; " and then he stooped down and kissed her, 
 and wrung Mrs. Graham's hand in silence, and hurried away. 
 
 As the door closed behind him, Susan looked at her 
 mother's anxious face, and said : " I can bear all, mamma ; 
 God will give me strength." 
 
 And from that moment there was no further discussion 
 about the visit to Ivors, until it was definitely fixed that they 
 should go there for two days preceding the marriage, and 
 that Isabella and Anna should be Helen's bridesmaids. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVI. 
 
 Brightly and hopefully arose the sun on the morning of 
 Helen Clare's wedding day ; makiog its way through gath- 
 ering clouds into the clearness of the pure blue sky. It 
 woke many hearts to gladness, some to though* and prayer 
 and one to the struggle of a broken heart. 
 
 Mrs. Graham stood by Susp-n's bedside as the firs*, brii 
 liant rays streamed through the half clesfc 1 shutteri
 
 ivors. 339 
 
 " My child, I hoped you were asleep ; there is no occa- 
 sion for you to be disturbed." 
 
 " I have been awake a long time," said Susan. " Mam- 
 ma, is it a fine day ? " 
 
 She sat up in bed, and her mother drew the curtain from 
 before the window. 
 
 " Lovely ; so it promises." 
 
 " I am so glad ; it ought to be lovely. I think I must 
 get up." 
 
 >; Why, dearest ? You will only tire yourself, and you 
 can do nothing." 
 
 " Xo, nothing." Susan's head sank back on her pillow 
 for an instant, but she raised it again. " Dear mamma, you 
 promised me I might have my own way to-day ; I don't want 
 to be wilful, but please let me get up." 
 
 i: Xot to go to Helen, my darling." 
 
 " Please, please." Susan's voice became very earnest. 
 " I can help her, and I ought if I can. Mamma, let me do 
 my duty to-day." 
 
 " Over-fatigue is no duty," said Mrs. Graham. 
 
 " Mother, dearest, don't make me lie here." And the 
 tone of piteous entreaty overcame Mrs. Graham's determi- 
 nation, and she kissed Susan many times, and then left her 
 to dress. 
 
 When next they met it was in Helen's room, in the midst 
 of confusion and bustle; Annette superintending Helen's 
 toilette, chattering and ordering ; servants knocking at the 
 door continually asking for directions; Helen herself, pale, 
 nervous, trying to give her attention to what was passing, but 
 with thoughts bewildered witli present hap] and past 
 
 sorrow, and self-distrust; and Susan, standing in the midst 
 of all, sugge-ting in her ijuiet, gentle tones, holding pins for 
 Annette, whispering fond words to Helen, yet with that in 
 wrought expression of Buffering which is occasionally to be
 
 34:0 iyoes. 
 
 read in the human countenance, even when the anguish itself 
 has passed, and which shows that grief has been petrified by 
 some sudden shock, and has left a trace which time can never 
 eradicate. 
 
 " Now, Annette, that will do," said Helen, as the wreath 
 of orano-e flowers was fastened, and the veil thrown over her 
 head. She glanced at herself in the pier-glass ; the beauty 
 which it reflected could not be hidden even from herself. It 
 seemed as if for an instant she realised it. The tall, slight 
 figure, with its graceful outline set off by the rich folds of the 
 white silk dress, and the exceeding sweetness of the fair face, 
 so delicate in its features, so clear and brilliant in its com- 
 plexion, and shaded by the braids of dark hair and the light 
 veil which fell around it. It was a picture which none could 
 look upon unmoved, and Helen's eye rested upon the lovely 
 image, and a look of calm self-contentment passed over her 
 countenance ; and then, as some sudden thought struck her, 
 she turned abruptly away, and tears filled her eyes, and she 
 said, very quietly, i; Annette, I think it is all done now. I 
 wish to be alone. Dear Aunt Fanny, you won't care ? " 
 
 '• My child, no ; of course that is what you want.'' 
 
 " And I must go presently. I must see mamma," said 
 Helen, and her voice seemed choked. 
 
 Mrs. Graham looked round. " That will do, Annette, 
 thank you ; I will do anything else for Miss Clare." 
 
 Annette unwillingly left the room. 
 
 " One word only, I would say, clearest Helen. I don't 
 think it is necessary to go to Lady Augusta now ; after- 
 wards, before you go away, will be sufficient ; it will only 
 upset you." 
 
 " I must," said Helen ; " I must ask her forgiveness. She 
 won't understand, she can't give it me, but I must ask it. 
 Oh ! Aunt Fanny ! " — and her eye turned again to the glass, 
 and then wandered eagerly round the luxurious apartment —
 
 ivoes. 341 
 
 " why did God bestow so muck upon me only that I might 
 waate it ? " 
 
 Susau it was who answered, with her thin hands clasped 
 together, and her figure slightly bent forward, whilst her 
 voice came from the very depths of her full heart. " Helen, 
 God has given it all back to you again, that you might make 
 Claude kappy." 
 
 And the bright smile of irrepressible joy lit up Helen's 
 face in an instant, and as she threw her arms round her 
 cousin's neck, she whispered, " Susau, if I can ever do that, 
 I shall owe it all to you." 
 
 Susan went to her own little sitting-room. Helen had 
 prepared it for her on the day she came to Ivors. It was 
 over the library, and looked out upon the flower-garden. 
 She sat down by the window, unable to occupy herself; she 
 ould hear a great deal that went on in the house ; Annette's 
 voice, especially, told what progress the business of dressing 
 the bridesmaids was making, and which of the few guests 
 who were to be present had arrived ; and once she came in 
 with Isabella and Anna in their wedding attire, purposely 
 to exhibit them, to pronounce the pink dress and white bon- 
 nets '' Charinant, parl'ait ! " and to look at Susau with an 
 eye of compassion, and perhaps a little contempt, as she 
 leaned Lack in the arm-chair in her dark silk dress, the Cin- 
 derella of the day. Annette had never hived Susan. There 
 had always been a certain suspicion in her mind of rivalry 
 with Helen, and now, when the thought was set at rest, she 
 had something of malicious pleasure in dwelling upon it. 
 
 But Susan was far beyond Annette's power' of teasing j 
 he was out of the reach of every feeling, indeed, except a 
 sense of strong support, arising from the tsalm trustfulness of 
 spirit which lays its burden upon God. She did not, think 
 herself miserable ; Bhe did doI think of herself at all ; butaa 
 she sat alone, she repeated to herself verses of the 1' .aim ,
 
 342 ivoks. 
 
 not always understanding their meaning, and sometimes 
 being quite unable to fix her attention upon the words, but 
 yet being soothed and strengthened with them. 
 
 It was as though she were grasping some strong Hand 
 mechanically, and knew that if she let it go for an instant 
 she must fall 
 
 So an hour passed by, and Mrs. Graham, who had been 
 with Susan for a few minutes from time to time, came in to 
 say that every one had arrived, and they were now only 
 waiting for the carriages to take them to church. 
 
 " Helen will come to me for one moment, mamma, won't 
 she ? " asked Susan. 
 
 " If she can, my dearest, and if it is wise. And Claude 
 has been asking for you ; he wished to see you last night 
 when he first arrived, but I would not hear of it." 
 
 Mrs. Graham hoped that her voice was firm, but it was 
 not. 
 
 " Dearest mamma, I am so thankful, so satisfied." Su- X 
 san held her mother's hand fondly, and a smile, the first that 
 had been seen on that day, passed over her features. 
 
 A tear was in Mrs. Graham's eye ; she averted her face, 
 and looked out of the window. Something which she saw 
 startled her, and a half exclamation was uttered. 
 
 Susan looked out also. Claude was below, walking in 
 the garden by himself. She said nothing, but continued 
 gazing at him. 
 
 Mrs. Graham made some little movement to withdraw 
 her attention, but Susan did not notice it, her eyes were in- 
 tensely fixed. 
 
 At last she turned round again, and said : " Mamma, I 
 have prayed for him. God will not be angry with me for 
 that." She took her prayer-book from the table, and turned 
 to the marriage service. 
 
 Mrs. Graham did not trust herself to speak for some
 
 ivoks. 34 
 
 *■*$ 
 
 seconds. At fast she said : " You shall see Helen before the 
 service, my darling, and Claude afterwards." 
 
 " Yes, dear mamma, thank you, that will be the best. 
 I shall like to see Helen at once." 
 
 And Helen came, hurried, pale with agitation, her eves 
 dark with the tears which she dared not allow to escape. 
 She had been in Lady Augusta's room. 
 
 " Pray for me, Susan," she said. " Ask that my sins 
 may not be visited upon me." 
 
 " Dear Helen, this is not the time to think so gloomily," 
 replied Susan, gently. 
 
 " I have been to mamma," continued Helen. " She 
 knew me — nothing more, I could not make her understand." 
 There was a sorrowful bitterness in her tone ; but Susan 
 looked at her with a winning expression of sympathy, and 
 Helen's buoyant spirits rose, whilst the cloud passed from 
 her face, and she said, glancing at the prayer-book in Susan's 
 lap : " I must go ; you will think of us. May Claude come 
 now, or by and by ? " 
 
 There was a pause. Susan's answer was very low : " By 
 and by, not now." 
 
 Helen turned to her, struck by something in the accent; 
 and instantaneouslv, as if the truth had been revealed b\ a 
 lightning Hash, her woman's instinct read the truth, which 
 till that moment her own happiness had hidden from her. 
 
 She threw open the window, and gasped for breath. Su- 
 san caught her cousin's hand, and Helen tried to speak, but 
 her voice was choked. She covered her face for an instant, 
 and then would hare moved away. At the same momenta 
 breath of air turned the pages of the prayer-book lying in 
 
 an's lap, and the withered rose leaves, gathered in the 
 garden of the Armenian convent, were wafted away. 
 
 Helen Btooped to gather them op, but Susan shipped 
 her. "Let them go, let them go," she said ; the expression
 
 341 ivors. 
 
 of L-er face for one moment was agony, the next it Lad re- 
 covered its deep calmness. 
 
 The cousins clasped each other in one long, silent em- 
 brace. The door closed behind Helen, and as Mrs. Graham 
 would have replaced the rose leaves in the book, Susan 
 said : " Not again, mamma. I wish to give up all." 
 
 In Ivors church Helen Clare knelt before God, and re- 
 peated her steadfast vow, to love, to honour, and obey, ac- 
 cording to His appointment ; and in her lonely chamber, 
 Susan Graham knelt also, to pray for Helen that the vow 
 might be kept, and for herself, that she might Se enabled to 
 offer herself a " reasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice " to 
 the service of Him, who was her all in all. 
 
 The Eye that seeth the heart was doubtless upon both, 
 and both in His sight must have been accepted. 
 
 It is vain to argue upon the abstract question of compar- 
 ative duty and self-sacrifice, where God's Providence is man- 
 ifestly visible. He it is who educates us by the circumstances 
 in which he permits us to be placed. If with a pure heart 
 we follow the guiding of His Haud, all will and must be 
 well ; whether our path through life be cheered by the sun- 
 shine of a satisfying affection, or overshadowed by the con- 
 sciousness that there is a happiness of which we have never 
 tasted. 
 
 It is but a path, we forget that. And if God will that 
 it should be the path of sorrow, there will be one unseen to 
 tread it with us ; and who does not feel that the loneliness 
 which is accepted for Christ's sake, that moment ceases to be 
 loneliness, and is but the realisation of the deepest, most per- 
 fect sympathy ? 
 
 Susan knelt still ; she was not praying, but listening. 
 She leaned against a chair, — pale, motionless, — her eyes riv- 
 eted upon the sky, her fingers clasped together. A peal of 
 merry bells rang upon the air ! and one bitter cry, one 
 agonised burst of human feeling escaped her; and the crushed
 
 IVUKS. 34:0 
 
 heart offered its last lingering feelings to God, and Susan 
 Graham had no worse pang to suffer. 
 
 A long time went by. Susan sent a message to beg that 
 she might be left alone till the breakfast was over. 
 
 At length her mother's voice was heard ; " Susan, my 
 love, may Claude and Helen say good-bye-to you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Graham opened the door, and showed that they 
 were close behind her. Helen came in leaning upon her 
 husband's arm. Her eyes were bright and full ; a hidden 
 joy, too deep for words, was in them; and Claude, graver 
 even than his wont, seemed lingering still in some thoughts 
 of earnest devotion, as though giving his treasure to God's 
 keeping, from the feeling that it was too unspeakably precious 
 fur his care. Susan rose to meet them. She held Claude's 
 hand as she kisged Helen's forehead, and her smile might 
 have been the smile of an anjrel. 
 
 Helen trembled violently whilst she looked at her cousin, 
 as though silently pleading fur forgiveness, even in the midst 
 of her happiness. 
 
 " You have been our only regret," began Claude ; but 
 he ptopped ; something seemed to arrest his words, — a feel- 
 ing almost of awe. Susan was so thin and changed, she 
 .-reined to him standing upon the verge of the grave. His 
 voice faltiTi id, and he added, " I did not know you had been 
 so ill." 
 
 Susan reseated herself, but she did not answer. 
 
 Mrs. Graham interposed lightly, and spoke of indifferent 
 matters; but the tone could not be kept up. Only Claude 
 replied, and his words came with an effort. There was a 
 Btruggle between present, unutterable joy, and the sense of 
 some unknown evil. 
 
 Ilehn clung to hiii), for her limbs could scarcely support 
 her. At length Claude roused himself, and said, gently, 
 "We are more than friend.-, we are cousins now, Susan."
 
 346 iyoks. 
 
 Susan paused — her face was death-like. Then she said, 
 " Yes, friends all the more, because we are cousins, Claude." 
 
 The name was faintly uttered, but Claude heard it, and 
 his warm feelings were set free as from a spell, and he seized 
 her hand in both his, and poured forth all the hidden grati- 
 tude and joy which he felt were due to her. Susan listened 
 like a marble statue, and Helen's eyes filled with tears, till 
 Mrs. Graham interrupted the burst of feeling, and said, 
 " You must go." There was another pressure of the hand, 
 full of all a man's cordial veneration and affection, and he 
 left the room. Helen turned away from him as she reached 
 the door, rushing back for one more instant, and whispered, 
 " Kiss me once more, kiss me, and pray God to bless me." 
 
 And Susan answered cpiietly, and from her heart, " God 
 bless you, dearest, and give you peace, as He has given it 
 to me." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVII. 
 
 Marriage is not the object of life, — only one amongst many 
 means to its attainment. That may seem a truism ; yet we 
 are tempted continually to forget it. 
 
 One way there is of reminding ourselves of it. It is to 
 accustom ourselves to study the summer of life, rather than 
 its spring. 
 
 Most truly has it been said, — 
 
 " Sweet is the infant's waking smile, 
 And sweet the old man's rest ; 
 But middle age by no fond wilo. 
 No soothing care is blest. 
 
 '' Still in the world's hot, restless gleam, 
 She plies her weary task ; 
 "While vainly for some pleasant dream, 
 Her wandering glances ask."
 
 IYOKS. 
 
 34T 
 
 But the true work of life is carried on in this dusty and 
 toilsome time. 
 
 The careworn, faded, unexcitable, uninteresting occupants 
 of middle age, those are the real actors in the great drama 
 of life. As they play their parts well, so are the young safe, 
 and the old happy ; and when we think of marriage, it is 
 surely wise to contemplate it, not as it is when youth, in the 
 first flush of loveliness and enthusiasm, sets forth upon its 
 flower-strewn road ; but as it will be when beauty shall have 
 faded, and the excitement of feeling become deadened, and 
 life shall be seen, not as the vista to an earthly Paradise, but 
 the dangerous way, along which man is to pass to death and 
 judgment, Heaven or Hell. And there are some facts which 
 might, if freely considered, suffice to put middle age in a 
 very different point of view from that in which it is usually 
 seen. It must, if there is anything good in the individual, 
 tend to unselfishness, especially with women. The young 
 pirl cares for herself, her own prospects, her own hopes and 
 fears. Life is so new to her, so engrossing, that it is only 
 by an effort that she can throw herself into the minds of 
 others, so as to feel real sympathy. But a mother or an 
 aunt, or a friend, wearied with disappointment, and pressed 
 down by care, has ceased to live for herself. When she 
 joys, it is because those she loves are happy; when she 
 grieves, it is because they are suffering. Self, indeed, may 
 and does lurk under the holiest affections, but, for the most 
 part, God has ordained that by them we should be purified 
 from the dross of the world, and so learn to live out of our- 
 selves, to find our rest at last with Him. 
 
 Neither may we forget that the most prosaic mind has 
 its history, the calmest heart its tale of sorrow. "When the 
 complexion becomes dim, and the brightness of the eyes 
 faded; when the outline of the features is sharpened, and sil- 
 ver streaks mingle with the dark hair, we say it is the work
 
 348 ivoks. 
 
 of time, and forget that each line which has marred the 
 beauty of the outward form may be but the mark of the 
 chisel by which God has fitted the soul for Heaven. 
 
 And surely there is no period of life more inestimably 
 precious. If angels watch the struggle of middle age, it 
 must be with very different eyes from those of man. The 
 stiff, unenthusiastic, saddened old maid ; the nervous, anx- 
 ious mother, must be to them objects of the deepest, tender- 
 est sympathy. So much of life has been passed, so little is 
 still to come ! The work of every moment must appear un- 
 utterably important. There is no leisure now for dreams; 
 no youthful excitability can mislead for the present ; no gild- 
 ed hopes can beguile for the future. Life has been met 
 and faced in its true colours, and now it is to be closely 
 grappled with. God help those who are engaged in the con- 
 flict, for truly they have need of many prayers. 
 
 Helen Egerton and Susan Graham sat together in the 
 morning-room at Helmsley. Two of Helen's children, — a 
 boy of five, and a little girl of three, — were playing in a 
 bow-window, with some to} 7 s given them by their grand- 
 papa, who since Lady Augusta's death had resided, for the 
 most part, at Helmsley ; and in a distant part of the house 
 were sounds of a piano, which told of the school-room, and 
 the governess, who was superintending the education of two 
 elder girls ; whilst a letter from a young Claude, who had 
 just begun the ordeal of the world at a public school, lay 
 open upon the table. 
 
 The romance of life was over ; it had fallen into its usual 
 course. Helen was the useful, happy mother ; Susan the 
 gentle, kindly, uniinpassioned old maid. Hundreds such are 
 to be met with in the world, of whom it would be said : 
 " She is an excellent mother, and she must have been lovely 
 when she was young ; or, she. is a very nice lady-like person, 
 but so quiet ; one wonders what her life can have been."
 
 irons. 349 
 
 " Shall you be ready to go out with your father, and 
 with me, by and by ?" asked Claude, suddenly opening a 
 door which led from his own study to his wife's room. 
 Change had come upon him also, but it was less marked than 
 in Helen. He had never been young, and now it seemed 
 that it would take much to make him old. In manner, per- 
 haps in mind, he had grown younger. There was an exhila- 
 ration as well as energy in his voice ; it told that doubt, and 
 miscrivinor, and loneliness were at an end ; that his afTec- 
 tions were at rest; and it was with something almost of bo}^- 
 ish eagerness, that now, instead of waiting for an answer, he 
 came forward to receive it. It was clear that he was glad 
 of the excuse, though he left the door open intending to re- 
 turn, and kept a pencil and paper in his hand, to persuade 
 himself that he was determined to continue his business. 
 Helen laughed, and warned him that he was longing to play 
 truant ; and he came and sat down by her chair, and took up 
 a book which he had been reading to her the evening before, 
 and turning over the pages, said : " One may long, but I 
 suppose one must wait till holiday-time comes. These sun- 
 ny days are great temptations." Helen turned to him with 
 the fascinating smile of her childhood, and Claude's face be- 
 came thoughtful, as some recollection, which was too sacred 
 for words, crossed his mind; and then it brightened with 
 unmixed gladness, as he answered : " You need n't be afraid. 
 I am not going to be tempted. Susan would come down 
 upon me at once if I Merc." 
 
 " I would trust you to yourself," said Susan; "you are 
 bo wretched if your conscience is not thoroughly satisfied." 
 
 " Yes, I must go back again to work." He stood up di- 
 
 !v. " But we will have our drive this afternoon, Helen, 
 and the children too. I shall have finished by that time, if 
 magistrates' business does not keep me." 
 
 '• And if parish busi ■ 'Iocs not keep me," said Helen.
 
 350 iyors. 
 
 " And you will think of me on my journey back tc 
 Wingfield," observed Susan; " I must go and pack now." 
 
 " I should fret much more at parting with you," said 
 Helen, " if I did not know how many will rejoice to have 
 you at home again. Change is necessary for you, and I 
 don't feel as if I could get on in the world without an occa- 
 sional peep at you, or I should have serious qualms of con- 
 science whenever I asked you to come to us. I can't think 
 what all the Wingfield people do without their prime minis- 
 ter, and head nurse, and chief governess." 
 
 " It is very pleasant," said Susan, simply, " to feel no 
 doubt of giving pleasure when one goes home, and the Wing- 
 field people are very kind. Certainly there is a great deal 
 to make one contented in this troublesome world. But then, 
 with my dear mother, who could help being so ? " 
 
 " It is more than that," said Helen. " Claude and I of- 
 ten say to each other that if we can only see our children 
 like you, we shall scarcely desire any other blessing for 
 them." 
 
 "Scarcely," repeated Claude; " not entirely." He 
 looked at her tenderly, and added, " We are very happy." 
 
 Helen did not answer, but she put her hand within that 
 of her husband, and the expression of trustful fondness in 
 her face was deeper and more touching far than the first 
 outburst of their early love. 
 
 Claude bent down and kissed her, half in affection and 
 half in admiration. His inward gaze could see in her no 
 change. To him she was lovely still, as on the day when 
 first he called her his, save that the hidden beauty of the 
 soul was exhibiting itself day by day in the outward form ; 
 and the deadened complexion and the sharpened lines of the 
 face spoke to him only of woman's fervent affection, and her 
 untiring spirit of self-sacrifice. 
 
 Susan looked en calmly. Years had gone by since the
 
 ivoks. 351 
 
 sight of that hallowed love could produce one momentary 
 pang; and now she said earnestly, " When God gives it, it 
 must be very blessed ; when He withholds it, He can make 
 up for it, fully, entirely." The last words were only par- 
 tially audible, and Susan's hands were folded together, for 
 they were followed by a prayer. 
 
 After a few seconds she spoke again more lightly. " I 
 am not, perhaps, a judge of these things, I have so many 
 blessings. People think me lonely because my sisters and 
 my brother are all married, but they don't know the inter- 
 ests which have sprung up in consequence, and Anna's being 
 settled near us is such a brightness to our daily life, giving 
 us others to live for and to love. Life can never be dreary 
 when one knows that there are so many who would grieve if 
 one were taken from it." 
 
 " And your mother ? " said Claude, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, my mother ; " — but Susan's countenance slightly 
 chano-cd as she added, " I often think how she has been 
 spared to help me through so large a portion of my life; and 
 when we shall be parted, she has taught me how to live with- 
 out her. It can be but for a few years." 
 
 " You remember that more constantly than we do," said 
 Claude, gravely. 
 
 " I suppose we have all some special difficulty in our po- 
 sition," said Susan. " Perhaps the trial of single life may 
 be rightly to remember earth, and that of married life, not 
 to forjret heaven." 
 
 " And different training may be required for different 
 characters, I suppose," said Helen. She hesitated a little, 
 and added, a.s though touching upon some doubtful, forbid- 
 den subject, "I could not have lived your life, Susan, I was 
 not strong enough for it." 
 
 " Helen needs sunshine/' said Claude ; " m that, Susan, 
 she is xury differenl from you." lie held his wife's hand in
 
 352 iyoks. 
 
 his, but his eye rested upon Susan with the gaze of reverent 
 affection and trust which had once exercised such a fatal in- 
 fluence over her. 
 
 Susan paused for an instant ; then a smile of inward 
 peace brightened her sweet calm face ; and, as she gently 
 laid her own hand upon those of Claude and Helen, she 
 said : " I have my ideal of the safest happiness in this world. 
 Let me live in shade and look upon sunshine, and I am quite 
 content." 
 
 ■I 1 n K END.
 
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