r RBRROOK 
 
 .it; st ciso.Ush Co'UitnJ ii'ifc 
 
 B¥ HA 
 
 RTINEA 
 
 • imvn-i. 
 
 ■UUJJ. 
 
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Just published. Ncio lUditwn, post 8vo, 
 price 2s. 6d. cloth, 
 
 AFTER ])APtK, 
 
 BY WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 Daily News. 
 " Mr. Wilkie Collins stands in the foremost rank of our youn<?er writers of fiction. 
 He tells a story well and forcibly ; his style is eloquent and picturesque ; he has 
 considerable powers of pathos ; understands the art of construction ; is never weari- 
 some or Avurdy, and has a keen insight into character." 
 
 Spectator. 
 " The tiles are stories of adventure, well varied, and often striking in the incidents, 
 or v/ith tlirilling situations. They have the advantage of brevity over the regular 
 novel, and are about as pleasant reading as a novel reader could desire." 
 
 Leader. 
 " Mr. Wilkie Collins has been happy in his choice of a thread whereon to string the 
 pearls ; we feel an independent interest in it, and read it almost as eagerly as the 
 stories themselves. The prologues to each story give us glimpses ot the various 
 sitters, and some happy descriptions and humorous sketching. Mr. Collins possesses 
 a rare facu'ty, Vart de confer. No man living better tells a story." 
 
 Globe. 
 
 " Mr. Wilkie Collins takes high rank among the few who can invent a thrilling 
 story, and tell it with brief simplicity. We prefer Mr, Collins' short stories to his 
 three volume novels ; we are not sure that we do not prefer his best short stories to 
 any others of the day. The power of commanding the faculties of the reader is 
 exercised in nearly all these stories." 
 
 Westminster Review. 
 " Of the tales themselves, the main element is the excitement either of curiosity or 
 terror. Their great merit consists either in the effective presentation of a mystery, 
 or the effective working up of striking situations." 
 
 British Quarterly. 
 " * After Dark ' abounds with genuine touches of nature, 
 
 New Quarterly. 
 " These stories possess all the author's well-known beauty of style and dramatic 
 power." 
 
 LONDON : SMITH, ELDER & CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
.,^^^ 
 
 Just published^ 2 vols., post 8vo, Ten Tinted Illustrai ions, 
 price 21 5. clotJi, 
 
 LIFE AID LIBEETY H AMEEICA: 
 
 OR, 
 
 SKETCHES OF A TOUR IN THE UNITED STATES 
 AND CANADA. 
 
 By CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D., F.S.A. 
 
 I 
 
 "'Life and Liberty in America' is a bright, fresh, and hopeful book, wortlr. of 
 the author, whose songs are oftenest heard on the Atlantic, and whose name is a 
 household word in Transatlantic homes and greenwoods. The author of ' The Good 
 Time Coming' has done much towards the peopling of the West, and we are greatly 
 mistaken if these sketches be less successful in influencing emigrants and tourists. 
 Dr. Mackay writes as healthily as he sings ; his visit and his book will cement the 
 entente cordiale between the two countries." — Athenaeum. 
 
 " There is much travelling incident, some statistical information, and abundance of 
 picturesque description in Dr. Mackay's two volumes on American Life and Liberty. 
 He exhibits good sense, kindly feeling, and freedom from prejudice and partizanship . 
 An occasional disquisition gives dignity to his tale of travel, and humorous illustration 
 relieves the graver portion of his book." — Westminster Review. 
 
 " We have read Dr. ^lackay's book throughout, from beginning to end, without 
 interruption, and this is more than we can say of any book of travels v.e have ever 
 taken up. It will be found trustworthy as a guide ; replete with valuable knowledge 
 and sound opinion ; frank and yet judicious ; written in a style of unaffected beauty 
 and simplicity ; and pervaded by that nameless charm which the poet alone can shed 
 over his works." — Illustrated News of the World. 
 
 " This should be a popular book, since it is produced wholly for the use of the great 
 general public by a writer who is, as to all his own humours and predilections, one 
 of themselves. It is a good-natured, every-day book, full of liveliness and sense. 
 For pleasant incidents that lie upon the surface of society. Dr. Mackay has a keen 
 eye, and his writing, though not vigorous, is ^a.^.y.'"— Examiner. 
 
 " * Life and Liberty in America ' is a chatty, readable, and entertaining book, 
 sufficiently elegant to grace a drawing-room, and which will no doubt prove a 
 favourite at the Circulating Library."— ZtYerar^/ Gazette. 
 
 " As may be expected, these volumes are eminently readable and very amusing." 
 
 Press. 
 
 LONDON : SMITH, ELDER & CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
University of California • Berkeley 
 
 Reinhard S. Speck Collection 
 
 of 
 
 Harriet Martineau 
 

 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 % 8«inil. 
 
 BY 
 
 HAEEIET MAKTINEAU. 
 
 " With good 
 Still overcoming evil, and by small 
 Accomplishing great things ; by things deemed weak 
 Sub?erting worldly strong and worldly wise." — Miltok. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., ^^, CORNHILL. 
 
 1859. 
 
IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PAGB 
 
 XXIX.—CoMiNG TO AX Understanding 
 
 324 
 
 XXX.— Condolence ..... 
 
 330 
 
 XXXI.— Keeping Sunday 
 
 341 
 
 XXXII.— Going to Rest . . . • 
 
 351 
 
 XXXIII.— Moving Onward . . . . 
 
 358 
 
 XXXIV.— Old and Young . . 
 
 368 
 
 XXXV.—BOATING ..... 
 
 379 
 
 XXXVI.— The Next Day . . 
 
 402 
 
 XXXVII.— The Conqueror 
 
 418 
 
 'CXXVIII.— The Victims ..... 
 
 423 
 
 XXXIX.— The Long Nights 
 
 438 
 
 XL. — Lightsome Days .... 
 
 455 
 
 XLI. — ^Deerbrook in Shadow 
 
 472 
 
 XLII. — Church-going .... 
 
 486 
 
 XLIII.— Working Round . . * . 
 
 492 
 
 XLIV. — ^Late Religion .... 
 
 503 
 
 XLV.— Rest or the Placable . 
 
 510 
 
 XLVI.— Deerbrook in Sunshine . 
 
 516 
 
DEERBEOOK, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN EVENT. 
 
 Every town-bred person who travels in a rich country region, 
 knows what it is to see a neat white house planted in a pretty 
 situation, — in a shrubbery, or commanding a sunny common, 
 or nestling between two hills, — and to say to himself, as the 
 carriage sweeps past its gate, *^ I should like to live there," — 
 " I could be very happy in that pretty place." Transient visions 
 pass before his mind's-eye of dewy summer mornings, when 
 the shadows are long on the grass, and of bright autumn after- 
 noons, when it would be luxury to saunter in the neighbouring 
 lanes ; and of frosty winter days, when the sun shines in over 
 the laurustinus at the window, while the fire burns with a dif- 
 ferent light from that which it gives in the dull parlours of a 
 city. 
 
 Mr. Grey's house had probably been the object of this kind 
 of speculation to one or more persons, three times a week, ever 
 since the stage-coach had begun to pass through Deerbrook. 
 Deerbrook was a rather pretty village, dignified as it was with 
 the woods of a fine park, which formed the back-ground to its 
 best points of view. Of this pretty village, Mr. Grey's was 
 the prettiest house, standing in a field, round which the road 
 swept. There were trees enough about it to shade without 
 darkening it, and the garden and shrubbery behind were 
 evidently of no contemptible extent. The timber and coal 
 yards, and granaries, which stretched down to the river side, 
 were hidden by a nice management of the garden walls, and 
 training of the shrubbery. 
 
 In the drawing-room of this tempting white house sat Mrs. 
 Grey and her eldest daughter, one spring evening. It was 
 
 B 
 
2 DEERBROOK. 
 
 rather an tinusiial thing for them to be in the drawing-room. 
 Sophia read history and practised her music every morning in 
 the little blue parlour which looked towards the road ; and her 
 mother sat in the dining-room, which had the same aspect. 
 The advantage of these rooms was, that they commanded the 
 house of Mr. Eowland, Mr. Grey's partner in the corn, coal, 
 and timber business, and also the dwelling of Mrs. Enderby, 
 Mrs. Rowland's mother, who lived just opposite the Eowlands'. 
 The drawing-room looked merely into the garden. The only 
 houses seen from it were the greenhouse and the summer- 
 house ; the latter of which noAV served the purpose of a 
 schoolroom for the children of both families, and stood on 
 the boundary-line of the gardens of the two gentlemen of the 
 firm. The drawing-room was so dull, that it was kept for 
 company ; that is, it was used about three times a-year, when 
 the pictures were unveiled, the green baize removed, and the 
 ground- windows, which opened upon the la\vn, thrown wide, 
 to afford to the rare guests of the family a welcome from birds 
 and flowers. 
 
 The ground-windows were open now, and on one side sat 
 Mrs. Grey, working a rug, and on the other Sophia, working 
 a collar. The ladies were evidently in a state of expectation 
 — a state exceedingly trying to people who, living at ease in 
 the country, have rarely anything to expect beyond the days 
 of the week, the newspaper, and their dinners. Mrs. Grey 
 gave her needle a rest every few minutes, to listen, and rang 
 the bell three times in a quarter of an hour, to make inquiries 
 of her maid about the arrangements of the best bedroom. 
 Sophia could not attend to her work, and presently gave in- 
 formation that Fanny and Mary were swinging in the orchard. 
 She was desired to call them ; and presently Fanny and 
 Mary appeared at the window, — twins of ten years old, and 
 very pretty little girls. 
 
 " My dears," said Mrs. Grey, " has Miss Young done with 
 you for to-day ? " 
 
 " O yes, mamma. It is just six o'clock. We have been out 
 of school this hour almost." 
 
 " Then come in, and make yourselves neat, and sit down 
 with us. I should not wonder if the Miss Ibbotsons should 
 be here now before you are ready. But where is Sydney ? " 
 
 " Oh, he is making a pond in his garden there. He dug it 
 before school this morning, and he is filling it now." 
 
 " Yes," said the other ; " and I don't know when he will 
 
DEERBROOK. 3 
 
 have done, for as fast as he fills it, it empties again, and he 
 says he cannot think how people keep their ponds filled." 
 
 " He must have done now, however," said his mother. " I 
 suppose he is tearing his clothes to pieces with drawing the 
 water-barrel, and wetting himself to the skin besides." 
 
 " And spoiling his garden," said Fanny. " He has dug up 
 all his hepaticas and two rose-bushes to make his pond." 
 
 " Go to him, my dears, and tell him to come in directly, 
 and dress himself for tea. Tell him I insist upon it. Do not 
 run. Walk quietly. You will heat yourselves, and I do not 
 like Mrs. Rowland to see you running." 
 
 Mary informed her brother that he was to leave his pond 
 and come in, and Fanny added that mamma insisted upon it. 
 They had time to do this, to walk quietly, to have their hair 
 made quite smooth, and to sit down with their two dolls on 
 each side the common cradle, in a corner of the drawing- 
 room, before the Miss Ibbotsons arrived. 
 
 The Miss Ibbotsons were daughters of a distant relation of 
 Mr. Grey's. Their mother had been dead many years ; they 
 had now just lost their father, and were left without any 
 nearer relation than Mr. Grey. He had invited them to visit 
 his family while their father's affairs were in course of 
 arrangement, and till it could be discovered what their means 
 of living were likely to be. They had passed their lives in 
 Birmingham, and had every inclination to return to it, when 
 their visit to their Deerbrook relations should have been paid. 
 Their old schoolfellows and friends all lived there : and they 
 thought it would be easier and pleasanter to make the smallest 
 income supply their wants in their native town, than to remove 
 to any place where it might go further. They had taken 
 leave of their friends as for a very short time, and when they 
 entered Deerbrook, looked around them as upon a place in 
 which they were to pass a summer. 
 
 All Deerbrook had been informed of their expected arrival 
 — as it always was of everj^thing which concerned the Greys. 
 The little Rowlands were walking with their mother when the 
 chaise came up the street ; but being particularly desired not 
 to look at it, they were not much benefited by the event. 
 Their grandmamma, Mrs. Enderby, was not at the moment 
 under the same restriction ; and her high cap might be seen 
 above the green blind of her parlour as the chaise turned into 
 Mr. Grey's gate. The stationer, the parish clerk, and the 
 milliner and her assistant, had obtained a passing view of 
 
 B 2 
 
4 DEERBROOK. 
 
 sundry boxes, the face of an elderly woman, and the outline 
 of two black bonnets, — all that they could boast of to repay 
 them for the vigilance of a whole afternoon. 
 
 Sophia Grey might be pardoned for some anxiety about the 
 reception of the young ladies. She was four years younger 
 than the younger of them ; and Hester, the elder, was one- 
 and-twenty, — a venerable age to a girl of sixteen. Sophia 
 began to think she had never been really afraid of anything 
 before, though she remembered having cried bitterly when 
 first left alone with her governess ; and though she had 
 always been remarkable for clinging to her mother's side 
 on all social occasions, in the approaching trial her mother 
 could give her little assistance. These cousins would be 
 always with her. How she should read history, or practise 
 music with them in the room, she could not imagine, nor what 
 she should find to say to them all day long. If poor Elizabeth 
 had but lived, what a comfort she would have Jeen now ; the 
 elder one would have taken all the responsibility ! And she 
 heaved a sigh once more, as she thought, to the memory of 
 poor Elizabeth. 
 
 Mr. Grey was at a market some miles off ; and Sydney 
 was sent by his mother into the hall, to assist in the work of 
 alighting, and causing the luggage to alight. As any other 
 boy of thirteen would have done, he slunk behind the hall 
 door, without venturing to speak to the strangers, and left the 
 business to the guests and the maids. Mrs. Grey and Sophia 
 awaited them in the drawing-room, and were ready with in- 
 formation about how uneasy they had all been about the rain 
 in the morning, till they remembered that it would lay the 
 dust, and so make the journey pleasanter. The twins shoul- 
 dered their dolls, and looked on from their stools, while 
 Sydney stole in, and for want of some better way of covering 
 his awkwardness, began rocking the cradle with his foot till 
 he tilted it over. 
 
 Sophia found the first half-hour not at all difficult to sur- 
 mount. She and Margaret Ibbotson informed each other of 
 the precise number of miles between Deerbrook and Birming- 
 ham. She ascertained fully to her satisfaction that her guests 
 had dined. She assisted them in the observation that the 
 grass of the lawn looked very green after the streets of 
 Birmingham; and she had to tell them that her father was 
 obliged to attend the market some miles off, and would not be 
 home for an hour or two. Then the time came when bonnets 
 
DEERBROOK. 
 
 were to be taken off, and she could offer to sliow the way to 
 the spare-room. There she took Hester and Margaret to the 
 window, and explained to them what they saw thence ; and, 
 as it was necessary to talk, she poured out what was most 
 familiar to her mind, experiencing a sudden relief from all the 
 unwonted shyness which had tormented her. 
 
 " That is Mr. Rowland's house — papa's partner, you know. 
 Isn't it an ugly place, with that ridiculous porch to it ? But 
 Mrs. Rowland can never be satisfied without altering her 
 house once a year. She has made Mr. Rowland spend more 
 money upon that place than would have built a new one of 
 twice the size. — That house opposite is Mrs. Enderby's, Mrs. 
 Rowland's mother's. So near as she lives to the Rowlands, it 
 is shocking how they neglect her. There could be no difficulty 
 in being properly attentive to her, so near as she is, could 
 there ? But when she is ill we are obliged to go and see her 
 sometimes, when it is very inconvenient, because Mrs. Rowland 
 has never been near her all day. Is not it shocking ? '* 
 
 " I rather wonder she should complain of her family," ob- 
 served Margaret. 
 
 *'■ Oh, she is not remarkable for keeping her feelings to her- 
 self, poor soul ! But really it is wonderful how little she says 
 about it, except when her heart is quite full, — just to us. She 
 tries to excuse Mrs. Rowland all she can ; and she makes out 
 that Mrs. Rowland is such an excellent mother, and so busy 
 with her children, and all that. But you know that is no 
 excuse for not taking care of her own mother." 
 
 '"'' Those are the Verdon woods, are they not?" said Hester, 
 leaning out of the window to survey the whole of the sunny 
 prospect. " I suppose you spend half your days in those 
 woods in summer." 
 
 " No ; mamma goes out very little, and I seldom walk beyond 
 the garden. But now you are come, we shaU go everywhere. 
 Ours is considered a very pretty village." 
 
 The sisters thought it so beautiful, that they gazed as if 
 they feared it would melt away if they withdrew their eyes. 
 The one discovered the bridge, lying in shadow ; the other 
 the pointed roof of the building which surmounted the spring 
 in the park woods. Sophia was well pleased at their pleasure: 
 and their questions, and her descriptions, went on improving 
 in rapidity, till a knock at the door of the room cut short the 
 catechism. It was Morris, the ]\Iiss Ibbotsons' maid ; and 
 her appearance gave Sophia a hint to leave her guests to 
 
6 DEERBROOK. 
 
 refresh tliemselves. She glanced over the room, to see that 
 nothing was wanting ; pointed out the bell, intimated that the 
 washstands were mahogany, which showed every splash, and 
 explained that the green blinds were meant to be always 
 down when the sun shone in, lest it should fade the carpet. 
 She then withdrew, telling the young ladies that they would 
 find tea ready when they came down. 
 
 " How very handsome Hester is ! " was the exclamation of 
 both mother and daughter, when Sophia had shut the draw- 
 ing-room door behind her. 
 
 " I wonder," said Mrs. Grey, " that nobody ever told us 
 how handsome we should find Hester. I should like to see 
 what fault Mrs. Kowland can find in her face." 
 
 " It is rather odd that one sister should have all the beauty," 
 said Sophia. " I do not see anything striking in Margaret." 
 
 " Mrs. Rowland will say she is plain ; but, in my opinion, 
 Margaret is better looking than any of the Eo»wlands are ever 
 likely to be. Margaret would not be thought plain away from 
 her sister. — ^I hope they are not fine ladies. I am rather sur- 
 prised at their bringing a maid. She looks a very respectable 
 person ; but I did not suppose they would keep a maid till 
 they knew better what to look forward to. I do not knov;* 
 what Mr. Grey will think of it." 
 
 When Hester and Margaret came down, Mrs. Grey was 
 ready with an account of the society of the place. 
 
 " We are as well off for society," said she, " as most places 
 of the size. If you were to ask the bookseller at Blickley, 
 who supplies our club, he would tell you that we are rather 
 intellectual people : and I hope you will see, when our friends 
 have called on you, that though we seem to be living out of 
 the world, we are not without our pleasures. I think, Sophia, 
 the Levitts will certainly calL" 
 
 " 0,yes, mamma, to-morrow, I have no doubt." 
 
 *' Dr. Levitt is our rector," observed Mrs. Grey to her 
 guests. " We are dissenters, as you know, and our neighbour, 
 Mrs. Rowland, is very much scandalized at it. If Mr. Rowland 
 would have allowed it, she would have made a difficulty on 
 that ground about having her children educated with mine. 
 But the Levitts' conduct might teach her better. They make 
 no difference on account of our being dissenters. They always 
 call on our friends the first day after they arrive, — or the 
 second, at furthest. I have no doubt we shall see the Levitts 
 to-morrow." 
 
DEERBROOK. 7 
 
 *' And Mrs. Enderby, I am sure," said Sophia, " if she is 
 at all able to stir out." 
 
 ^' Oh, yes, Mrs. Enderby knows what is right, if her daughter 
 does not. If she does not call to-morrow, I shall think that 
 Mrs. Eowland prevented her. She can keep her mother 
 within doors, as we know, when it suits her purposes." 
 
 " But Mr. Philip is here, mamma, and Mrs. Enderby can do 
 as she likes when she has her son with her. — I assure you he 
 is here, mamma. I saw the cobbler's boy carry home a pair 
 of boots there this morning." 
 
 Sydney had better evidence still to produce. Mr. Enderby 
 had been talking with him about fishing this afternoon. He 
 said he had come down for a fortnight's fishing. Fanny also 
 declared that Matilda Eowland had told Miss Young to-day, 
 that uncle Philip was coming to see the new schoolroom. 
 Mrs. Grey was always glad, on poor Mrs. Enderby' s account, 
 when she had her son with her : but otherwise she owned she 
 did not care for his coming. He was too like his sister to 
 please her. 
 
 " He is very high, to be sure," observed Sophia. 
 
 " And really there is no occasion for that with us," resumed 
 Mrs. Grey. " We should never think of mixing him up with 
 his sister's proceedings, if he did not do it himself. No one 
 would suppose him answerable for her rudeness ; at least, I 
 am sure such a thing would never enter my head. But he 
 forces it upon one's mind by carrying himself so high." 
 
 " I don't think he can help being so tall," observed Sydney^ 
 
 " But he buttons up, and makes the most of it)" replied 
 Sophia. " He stalks in like a Polish count." 
 
 The sisters could not help smiling at this proof that the 
 incursions of the Poles into this place were confined to the 
 book club. They happened to be well acquainted* with a 
 Polish count, who was short of stature and did not stalk. 
 They were spared all necessity of exerting themselves in con^ 
 versation, for it went on very well without the aid of more 
 than a word or two from them. 
 
 " Do you think, mamma, the Andersons will come ?" asked 
 Sophia. 
 
 ^^ Not before Sunday, my dear. The Andersons live three 
 miles off," she explained, "and are much confined by their 
 school. They may possibly call on Saturday afternoon, as 
 Saturday is a half-holiday ; but Sunday after church is a more 
 likely time. — We do not much approve of Sunday visits ; and 
 
8 DEERBROOK. 
 
 I dare say you feel the same : but this is a particular case,— 
 people living three miles off, you know, and keeping a school. 
 And being dissenters, we do not like to appear illiberal to those 
 who are not of our own way of thinking : so the Andersons 
 sometimes come in after church ; and I am sure you will accept 
 their call just as if it was made in any other way." 
 
 Hester and Margaret could only say that they should be 
 happy to see Mr. and Mrs. Anderson in any mode which was 
 most convenient to themselves. A laugh went through the 
 family, and a general exclamation of " Mr. and Mrs. Ander- 
 son !" " The Andersons" happened to be two maiden sisters, 
 who kept a young ladies' school. It was some time before 
 Mrs. Grey herself could so far command her countenance as 
 to frown with becoming severity at Fanny, who continued to 
 giggle for some time, with intervals of convulsive stillness, at 
 the idea that " the Andersons " could mean Mr. and Mrs. 
 Anderson. In the midst of the struggle, Mr. Grey entered. 
 He laid a hand on the head of each twin, observed that they 
 seemed very merry, and asked whether his cousins had been 
 kind enough to make them laugh already. To these cousins 
 he offered a brief and hearty welcome, remarking that he sup- 
 posed they had been told what had prevented his being on the 
 spot on their arrival, and that he need not trouble them with 
 the story over again. 
 
 Sydney had slipped out as his father entered, for the chance 
 of riding his horse to the stable, — a ride of any length being 
 in his opinion better than none. "Wlien he returned in a few 
 minutes, he tried to whisper to Sophia, over the back of her 
 chair, but could not for laughing. After repeated attempts, 
 Sophia pushed him away. 
 
 " Come, my boy, out with it!" said his father. "What you 
 can tell your sister you can tell us. What is the joke ?" 
 
 Sydney looked as if he had rather not explain before the 
 strangers ; but he never dared to trifle with his father. Ho 
 had just heard from little George Eowland, that Mrs. Eowland 
 had said at home, that the young ladies at Mr. Grey's, who had 
 been made so much fuss about, were not young ladies, after all : 
 she had seen the face of one, as they passed her in the chaise, 
 and she was sure the person could not be less than fifty. 
 
 " She saw Morris, no doubt," said Hester, amidst the general 
 laugh. 
 
 ^'I hope she will come to-morrow, and see some people who 
 are very little like fifty," said Mrs. Grey. " She will be sur- 
 
DEERBROOK. ^ 
 
 prised, I think," she added, looking at Hester, with a very 
 meaning manner of admiration. " I really hope, for her own 
 sake, she will come, though you need not mind if she does not. 
 You will have no great loss. Mr. Grey, I suppose you think 
 she will call?" 
 
 " No doubt, my dear. Mrs. Eowland never omits calling on 
 our friends ; and why should she now ? " And Mr. Grey ap- 
 plied himself to conversation with his cousins, while the rest 
 of the family enjoyed further merriment about Mrs. Eowland 
 having mistaken Morris for one of the Miss Ibbotsons. 
 
 Mr. Grey showed a sympathy with the sisters, which made 
 them more at home than they had felt since they entered the 
 house. He knew some of their Birmingham friends, and could 
 speak of the institutions and interests of the town. For a 
 whole hour he engaged them in brisk conversation, without 
 having once alluded to their private affairs or his own, or said 
 one word about Deerbrook society. At the end of that time, 
 just as Mary and Fanny had received orders to go to bed, and 
 were putting their dolls into the cradle in preparation, the 
 scrambling of a horse's feet was heard on the gravel before the 
 front door, and the house-bell rang. 
 
 " Who can be coming at this time of night ?" said Mrs. Grey. 
 
 " It is Hope, I have no doubt," replied her husband. "As I 
 passed his door, I asked him to go out to old Mr. Smithson, 
 who seems to me to be rather worse than better, and to let me 
 know whether anything can be done for the old gentleman. 
 Hope has come to report of him, no doubt." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, don't send us to bed if it is Mr. Hope!" cried 
 the little girls. " Let us sit up a little longer if it is Mr. Hope." 
 
 " Mr. Hope is a great favourite with the children, — with us 
 all," observed Mrs. Grey to the sisters. "We have the greatest 
 confidence in him as our medical man ; as indeed every one 
 has who employs him. Mr. Grey brought him here, and we 
 consider him the greatest acquisition our society ever had." 
 
 The sisters could not be surprised at this when they saw 
 Mr. Hope. The only wonder was, that, in the description of 
 the intellectual society of Deerbrook, Mr. Hope had not been 
 mentioned first. He was not handsome ; but there was a gaiety 
 of countenance and manner in him under which the very lamp 
 seemed to burn brighter. He came, as Mr. Grey had ex- 
 plained, on business ; and, not having been aware of the arrival 
 of the strangers, would have retreated when his errand was 
 done ; but, as opposition was made to this by both parents and 
 
10 DEERBROOK. 
 
 cliildren, lie sat down for a quarter of an hour, to be taken into 
 consultation about how the Miss Ibbotsons were to be con- 
 ducted through the process of seeing the sights of Deerbrook. 
 
 With all sincerity, the sisters declared that the woods of the 
 park would fully satisfy them, — that they had been accus- 
 tomed to a life so quiet, that excursions were not at all neces- 
 sary to their enjoyment. Mr. Grey was determined that they 
 should visit every place worth seeing in the neighbourhood, 
 while it w^as in its summer beauty. Mr. Hope was exactly the 
 right person to consult, as there was no nook, no hamlet, to 
 which his tastes or his profession had not led him. Sophia 
 put paper before him, on wdiich he was to note distances, 
 according to his and Mr. Grey's computations. Nov/, it was 
 one peculiarity of Mr. Hope that he could never see a piece of 
 paper before him without drawing upon it. Sophia's music- 
 books, and any sheet of blotting-paper which might ever have 
 come in his way, bore tokens of this : and now his fingers 
 were as busy as usual while he was talking and computing and 
 arranging. When, as he said, enough had been planned to 
 occupy a month, he threw down his pencil, and took leave till 
 the morning, when he intended to make a call which should be 
 less involuntary. 
 
 The moment he was gone, the little girls laid hands on the 
 sheet of paper on which he had been employed. As they 
 expected, it was covered with scraps of sketches ; and they 
 exclaimed with delight, — " Look here ! Here is the spring. 
 How fond Mr. Hope is of drawing the spring ! And hero 
 is the foot-bridge at Dingleford ! And what is this ? Here is 
 a place we don't know, papa." 
 
 *^ I do not know how you should, my dears. It is the 
 abbey ruin down the river, which I rather think you have 
 never seen." 
 
 " No, but we should like to see it. Are there no faces this 
 time, Fanny ? None anywhere ? No funny faces this time ! 
 I like them the best of Mr. Hope's drawings. Sophia, do let 
 us show some of the faces that are on your music-books." 
 
 " If you will be sure and put them away again. But you 
 know if Mr. Hope is ever reminded of them, he will be sure 
 to rub them out." 
 
 " He did old Owen fishing so that he can't rub it out if he 
 would," said Sydney. " He did it in ink for me ; and that 
 is better than any of your sketches, that will rub out in a 
 minute." 
 
DEERBROOK. 11 
 
 " Come, cliildren," said their father, "it is an hour past your 
 bedtime." 
 
 When the children were gone, and Sophia was attending 
 the sisters to their apartment, Mrs. Grey looked at her hus- 
 band over her spectacles. " Well, my dear !" said she. 
 
 " Well, my dear ! " responded Mr. Grey. 
 
 " Do not you think Hester very handsome?" 
 
 " There is no doubt of it, my dear. She is very handsome." 
 
 " Do not you think Mr. Hope thinks so too ? " 
 
 It is a fact which few but the despisers of their race like to 
 acknowledge, and which those despisers of their race are there- 
 fore apt to interpret wrongly, and are enabled to make too 
 much of — that it is perfectly natural, — so natural as to appear 
 necessary, — that when young people first meet, the possibility 
 of their falling in love should occur to all the minds present. 
 W^e have no doubt that it always is so ; though we are per- 
 fectly aware that the idea speedily goes out again, as naturally 
 as it came in : and in no case so speedily and naturally as in 
 the minds of the parties most nearly concerned, from the 
 moment that the concern becomes very near indeed. We 
 have no doubt that the minds in Mr. Grey's drawing-room 
 underwent the common succession of ideas, — slight and tran- 
 sient imaginations, which pass into nothingness when unex- 
 pressed. Probably the sisters wondered whether Mr. Hope 
 was married, whether he was engaged, whether he was meant 
 for Sophia, in the prospect of her growing old enough. Pro- 
 bably each speculated for half a moment, unconsciously, for 
 her sister, and Sophia for both. Probably Mr. Grey might 
 reflect that when young people are in the way of meeting 
 frequently in country excursions, a love affair is no very 
 unnatural result. But Mrs. Grey was the only one who fixed 
 the idea in her own mind and another's by speaking of it. 
 
 "Do not you think Mr. Hope thinks Hester very handsome, 
 Mr. Grey?" 
 
 " I really know nothing about it, my dear. He did not 
 speak on the subject as he mounted his horse ; and that is the 
 only opportunity he has had of saying anything about the 
 young ladies." 
 
 " It would have been strange if he had then, before Sydney 
 and the servants." 
 
 " Very strange indeed." 
 
 " But do you not think he must have been struck with her ? 
 I should like very well to have her settled here ; and the corner- 
 
12 DEERBROOK. 
 
 house of Mr. Eowland's might do nicely for them. I do not 
 know what Mrs. Rowland would think of Mr. Hope's marrying 
 into our connection so decidedly." 
 
 "My dear," said her husband, smiling, "just consider ! For 
 anything we know, these young ladies may both be attached 
 and engaged. Hope may be attached elsewhere ." 
 
 "No; that I will answer for it he is not. I ." 
 
 " Well, you may have your reasons for being sure on that 
 head. But he may not like the girls ; they may not like him : 
 — in short, the only thing that has happened is, that they have 
 seen each other for one quarter of an hour." 
 
 " Well ! there is no saying what may come of it." 
 
 " Yery true : let us wait and see." 
 
 " But there is no harm in my telling you whatever comes 
 into my head ! " 
 
 " None in the world, unless you get it so fixed there that 
 somebody else happens to know it too. Be careful, my dear. 
 Let no one of these young people get a glimpse of your specu- 
 lation. Think of the consequence to them and to yourself." 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Grey ! you need not be afraid. What a 
 serious matter you make of a word or two ! " 
 
 " Because a good many ideas belong to that word or two, 
 my dear." 
 
 CHAPTEE n. 
 
 MOONLIGHT TO TOWNSFOLK. 
 
 The moment the door closed behind Sophia, as she left the 
 sisters in their apartment, Hester crossed the room with a step 
 very like a dance, and threw up the window. 
 
 " I had rather look out than sleep," said she. " I shall be 
 ashamed to close my eyes on such a prospect. Morris, if you 
 are waiting for us, you may go. I shall sit up a long while 
 
 yet." 
 
 Morris thought she had not seen Hester in such spirits since 
 her father's death. She was unwilling to check them, but said 
 something about the fatigues of the journey, and being fresh 
 for the next day. 
 
 " No fear for to-morrow, Morris. We are in the country, 
 you know, and I cannot fancy being tired in the fields, and in 
 such a park as that. Good night, Morris." 
 
DEERBROOK. 13 
 
 When she too was gone, Hester called Margaret to her, put 
 her arm round her waist, and kissed her again and again. 
 
 " You seem happy to-night, Hester," said Margaret's gentle 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes," sighed Hester ; "more like being happy than for a 
 long time past. How little we know what we shall feel ! Here 
 have I been dreading and dreading this evening, and shrinking 
 from the idea of meeting the Greys, and wanting to write at 
 the last moment to say that we would not come. — and it turns 
 out — Oh, so differently ! Think of day after day, week after 
 week of pure country life ! 'When they were planning for us 
 to-night, and talking of the brook, and lanes, and meadows, it 
 made my very heart dance." 
 
 " Thank God !" said Margaret. " When your heart dances, 
 there is nothing left to wish." 
 
 " But did not yours ? Had you ever such a prospect before, 
 — such a prospect of delicious pleasure for weeks together, — 
 except perhaps when we caught our first sight of the sea ? " 
 
 " Nothing can ever equal that," replied Margaret. " Do 
 not you hear now the shout we gave when we saw the sparkles 
 on the horizon, — ^heaving sparkles, — when we were a mile off, 
 and mamma held me up that I might see it better ; and baby, — 
 dear baby, — clapped his little hands ? Does it not seem like 
 yesterday ? " 
 
 " Like yesterday : and yet, if baby had lived, he would 
 now have been our companion, taking the place of all other 
 friends to us. I thought of him when I saw Sydney Grey ; 
 but he would have been very unlike Sydney Grey. He would 
 have been five years older, but still different from what Sydney 
 will be at eighteen — graver, more manly." 
 
 " How strange is the idea of having a brother ! " said Mar- 
 garet. " I never see girls with their brothers but I watch 
 them, and long to feel what it is, just for one hour. I wonder 
 what difference it would have made between you and me, if 
 we had had a brother." 
 
 " You and he would have been close friends — always to- 
 gether, and I should have been left alone," said Hester, with a 
 sigh. " Oh, yes," she continued, interrupting Margaret's pro- 
 test, " it would have been so. There can never be the same 
 friendship between three as between two." 
 
 " And why should you have been the one left out ? " asked 
 Margaret. "But this is all nonsense — all a dream," she added. 
 " The reality is that baby died — still a baby — and we know 
 
14 DEERBROOK. 
 
 no more of what he would have been, than of what he is. The 
 real truth is, that you and I are alone, to be each other's only 
 friend." 
 
 " It makes me tremble to think of it, Margaret. It is not 
 so long since our home seemed full. How we used all to sit 
 round the fire, and laugh and play with papa, as if we were 
 not to separate till we had all grown old : and now, young as 
 we are, here we are alone ! How do we know that we shall 
 be left to each other ? " 
 
 " There is only one thing we can do, Hester," said Margaret, 
 resting her head on her sister's shoulder. " We must make 
 the most of being together while we can. There must not be 
 the shadow of a cloud between us for a moment. Our confi- 
 dence must be as full and free, our whole minds as absolutely 
 open, as — as I have read and heard that two minds can never 
 be." 
 
 " Those who say so do not know what may f)e," exclaimed 
 Hester. " I am sure there is not a thought, a feeling in me, 
 that I could not tell you, though I know I never could to any 
 one else." 
 
 "If I were to lose you, Hester, there are many, many things 
 that would be shut up in me for ever. There will never be 
 any one on earth to whom I could say the things that I can 
 tell to you. Do you believe this, Hester ? " 
 
 "I do. I know it." 
 
 " Then you will never again doubt me, as you certainly 
 have done sometimes. You cannot imagine how my heart 
 sinks when I see you are fancying that I care for somebody 
 else more than for you ; when you think that I am feeling 
 differently from you. Oh, Hester, I know every change of your 
 thoughts by your face ; and indeed your thoughts have been 
 mistaken sometimes." 
 
 " They have been wicked, often," said Hester, in a low 
 voice. " I have sometimes thought that I must be hopelessly 
 bad, when I have found that the strongest affection I have in 
 the Vv^orld has made me unjust and cruel to the person I love 
 best. I have a jealous temper, Margaret; and a jealous temper 
 is a wicked temper." 
 
 " Now you are u^nkind to yourself, Hester. I do believe you 
 will never doubt me again." 
 
 " I never will. And if I find a thought of the kind rising 
 in me, I will tell you the moment I am aware of it." 
 
 *' Do ; and I will tell you the moment I see a trace of such a 
 
DEERBROOK. 15 
 
 thought in your face. So we shall be safe. We can never 
 misunderstand each other for more than a moment." • 
 
 By the gentle leave of Heaven, all human beings have 
 visions. Not the lowest and dullest but has the coarseness of 
 his life relieved at moments by some scenery of hope rising 
 through the brooding fogs of his intellect and his heart. Such 
 visitations of mercy are the privilege of the innocent, and the 
 support of the infirm. Here were the lonely sisters sustained 
 in bereavement and self-rebuke, by the vision of a friendship 
 which should be unearthly in its depth and freedom ; they 
 were so happy for the hour, that nothing could disturb them. 
 
 '^ I do not see," observed Hester, "that it will be possible to 
 enjoy any intimate intercourse with this family. Unless they 
 are of a different order from what they seem, we cannot have 
 much in common ; but I am sure they mean to be kind, and 
 they will let us be happy in our own way. Oh, what mornings 
 . you and I will have together in those woods ! Did you ever 
 see anything so soft as they look in this light ? " 
 
 "And the bend of the river glittering there ! Here, a little 
 more this way, and you will see it as I do. The moon is not 
 at the full yet ; the river will be like this for some nights to 
 come." 
 
 "And these rides and drives, — I hope nothing will prevent 
 our going through the whole list of them. What is the matter, 
 Margaret ? Why are you so cool about them ? 
 
 " I think all the pleasure depends upon the companionship, 
 and I have some doubts about that. I had rather sit at work 
 in a drawing-room all day, than go among mountains with 
 people " 
 
 " Like the Mansons ; Oh, that spreading of shawls, and 
 bustle about the sandwiches, before they could give a look at 
 the waterfall ! I am afraid we may find something of the 
 same drawback here." 
 
 " I am afraid so." 
 
 " Well, only let us get out into the woods and lanes, and we 
 will manage to enjoy ourselves there. We can contrive to 
 digress here and there together without being missed. But I 
 think we are judging rather hastily from what we saw this 
 evening even about this family ; and we have no right to sup- 
 pose that all their acquaintance are like them." 
 
 " No, indeed ; and I am sure Mr. Hope, for one, is of a 
 different order. He dropped one thing, one little saying, 
 which proved this to my mind." 
 
16 DEEKBROOK. 
 
 " I know what you mean — about the old man that is to be 
 our guide over that heath they were talking of — about why 
 that heath is a different and more beautiful place to him than 
 to us, or to his former self. Is it not true, what he said ? " 
 
 " I am sure it is true. I have little to say of my own expe- 
 rience, or wisdom, or goodness, whichever it was that he par- 
 ticularly meant as giving a new power of sight to the old man ; 
 but I know that no tree waves to my eye as it did ten years 
 ago, and the music of running water is richer to my ear as 
 every summer comes round." 
 
 " Yes ; I almost wonder sometimes whether all things are 
 not made at the moment by the mind that sees them, so won- 
 derfully do they change with one's mood, and according to the 
 store of thoughts they lay open in one's mind. If I lived in 
 a desert island (supposing one's intellect could go on to grow 
 there), I should feel sure of this." 
 
 " But not here, where it is quite clear that the village sot (if 
 there be one), and Mr. Hope, and the childreii, and we our- 
 selves all see the same objects in sunlight and moonlight, and 
 acknowledge them to be the same, though we cannot measure 
 feelings upon them. I wish Mr. Hope may say something 
 more which may lead to the old man on the heath again. He 
 is coming to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Yes ; we shall see him again to-morrow." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ]VIAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 The sisters were not so fatigued with their journey but that 
 they were early in the open air the next morning. In the 
 shrubbery they met the twins, walking hand in hand, each 
 with a doll on the disengaged arm. 
 
 ^' You are giving your dolls an airing before breakfast," said 
 Hester, stopping them as they would have passed on. 
 
 " Yes ; we carry out our dolls now because we must not run 
 before breakfast. We have made arbours in our own gardens 
 for our dolls, where they may sit when we are swinging." 
 
 " I should like to see your arbours and your gardens," said 
 Margaret, looking round her. " Will you take me to them ? " 
 
 "Not now," answered they ; "we should have to cross the 
 grass, and we must not go upon the grass before breakfast," 
 
DEERBROOK. 17 
 
 " Wliere is your swing? I am very fond of swinging." 
 
 " Oh ! it is in the orchard there, under that large tree. But 
 
 ion cannot " 
 
 'I see ; we cannot get to it now, because we should have 
 to cross the grass." And Margaret began to look round for 
 any place where they might go beyond the gravel-walk on 
 which they stood. She moved towards the greenhouse, but 
 found it was never unlocked before breakfast. The summer- 
 house remained, and a most unexceptionable path led to it. 
 The sisters turned that way. 
 
 " You cannot go there," cried the children ; " Miss Young 
 always has the school-room before breakfast." 
 
 " We are going to see Miss Young," explained Hester, 
 smiling at the amazed faces with which the children stared 
 from the end of the path. They were suddenly seen to turn, 
 and walk as fast as they could, without its being called running, 
 towards the house. They were gone to their mother's dressing- 
 room door, to tell her that the Miss Ibbotsons were gone to see 
 Miss Young before breakfast. 
 
 The path led for some little way under the hedge which 
 separated Mr. Grey's from Mr. Rowland's garden. There were 
 voices on the other side, and what was said was perfectly 
 audible. Uneasy at hearing what was not meant for them, 
 Hester and Margaret gave tokens of their presence. The con- 
 versation on the other side of the hedge proceeded ; and in a 
 very short time the sisters were persuaded that they had been 
 mistaken in supposing that what was said was not meant for 
 them. 
 
 " My OAvn Matilda," said a voice, which evidently came from 
 under a lady's bonnet which moved parallel with Hester's and 
 Margaret's ; " My own Matilda, I would not be so harsh as to 
 prevent your playing where you please before breakfast. Ran 
 where you like, my love. I am sorry for little girls who are 
 not allowed to do as they please in the cool of the morning. 
 My children shall never suffer such restriction." 
 
 "Mother," cried a rough little person, "I'm going fishing 
 with Uncle Philip to-day. Sydney Grey and I are going, I 
 don't know how far up the river." 
 
 "On no account, my dear boy. You must not think of such 
 a thing. I should not have a moment's peace while you are 
 away. You would not be back till evening, perhaps ; and I 
 should be fancying all day that you were in the river. It is 
 out of the question, my own George." 
 
 c 
 
18 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " But I must go, mother. Uncle Philip said I might; and 
 Sydney Grey is going." 
 
 " That is only another reason, my dear boy. Your uncle 
 vdW yield to my wishes, I am sure, as he always does. And 
 if Mrs. Grey allows her son to run such risks, I am sure I 
 should not feel myself justified. You will stay with me, love, 
 won't you ? You will stay with your mother, my own boy." 
 
 George ran roaring away, screaming for Uncle Philip ; who 
 w^as not at hand, however, to plead his cause. 
 
 '' My Matilda," resumed the fond mother, "you are making 
 yourself a sad figure. You will not be fit to show yourself at 
 breakfast. Do you suppose your papa ever saw such a frock 
 as that ? There 1 look — dripping wet ! Pritchard, take Miss 
 Matilda, and change all her clothes directly. So much for my 
 allowing her to run on the grass while the dew is on ! Lose 
 no time, Pritchard, lest the child should catch cold. Leave 
 Miss Anna with me. Walk beside me, my Anr^a. Ah ! there 
 is papa. Papa, we must find some amusement for George to- 
 day, as I cannot think of letting him go out fishing. Suppose 
 we take the children to spend the morning with their cousins 
 atDingleford?" 
 
 " To-morrow would suit me better, my love," replied the 
 husband. " Indeed I don't see how I can go to-day, or you 
 either." And Mr. Eowland lowered his voice, so as to show 
 that he was aware of his liability to be overheard. 
 
 " Oh, as to that, there is no hurry," replied the lady, aloud. 
 ^' If I had nothing else to do, I should not make that call to-day. 
 Any day will do as w^ell." 
 
 As Hester and Margaret looked at each other, they heard 
 the gentleman softly say " Hush ! " But Mrs. Eowland went 
 on as audibly as ever. 
 
 " There is no reason why I should be in any hurry to call 
 on Mrs. Grey's friends, whoever and whatever they may be. 
 Any day will do for that, my dear." 
 
 Not having been yet forbidden to run before breakfast, 
 Hester and Margaret fled to the summer-house, to avoid hear- 
 ing any more of the domestic dialogues of the Eowland family. 
 
 "What shall we do when that woman calls?" said Hester. 
 ^^ How will it be possible to speak to her ? " 
 
 " As Ave should speak to any other indifferent person," replied 
 Margaret. " Her rudeness is meant for Mrs. Grey, not for us ; 
 for she knows nothing about us : and Mrs. Grey will never 
 hear from us what has passed. — Shall we knock ? " 
 
\ DEERBROOK. 19 
 
 In answer to the knock, tliey were requested to enter. Miss 
 Young rose in some confusion when she found her visitors were 
 other than her pupils : but she was so lame that Hester made 
 her sit down again, while they drew seats for themselves. 
 They apologised for breaking in upon her with so little cere- 
 mony, but explained that they were come to be inmates at 
 Mr. Grey's for some months, and that they wished to lose no 
 time in making themselves acquainted with every resort of the 
 family of which they considered themselves a part. Miss 
 Young was evidently pleased to see them. She closed her 
 volume, and assured them they were welcome to her apart- 
 ment ; " For," said she, " everybody calls it my apartment^ 
 and why should not I ? " 
 
 " Do you spend all your time here ? " asked Hester. 
 
 " Almost the whole day. I have a lodging in the village; 
 but I leave it early these fine mornings, and stay here till 
 dark. I am so lame as to make it inconvenient to pass over 
 the ground oftener than is necessary ; and I find it pleasanter 
 to see trees and grass through every window here, than to 
 look out into the farrier's yard, — the only prospect from my 
 lodging. The furnace and sparks are pretty enough on a 
 winter's evening, especially when one is too ill or too dismal 
 to do anything but watch them ; but at this season one 
 grows tired of old horse-shoes and cinders ; and so I sit here.'^ 
 
 To the sisters there seemed a world of desolation in these 
 words. They were always mourning for having no brother. 
 Here was one who appeared to be entirely alone. From not 
 knowing exactly what to say, Margaret opened the book Miss 
 Young had laid aside. It was German — Schiller's Thirty 
 Years' War. Every one has something to say about German 
 literature ; those who do not understand it asking whether it 
 is not very mystical, and wild, and obscure ; and those wha 
 do understand it saying that it is not so at all. It would be 
 a welcome novelty if the two parties were to set about finding 
 out what it is to be mystical, — a point which, for aught that 
 is known to the generality, is not yet ascertained. — Miss Young 
 and her visitors did not enter upon precise definitions this 
 morning. These were left for a future occasion. Meantime 
 it was ascertained that Miss Young had learned the German 
 language by the aid of dictionary and grammar alone, and 
 also that if she should happen to meet with any one who 
 wished to enjoy what she was enjoying, she should be glad to 
 afford any aid in her power. — Hester was satisfied with thank- 
 
 C 2 
 
20 DEERBROOK. 
 
 ing her. She was old enough to know that learning a new 
 language is a serious undertaking. Margaret was somewhat 
 younger, and ready for any enterprise. She thought she saw 
 before her hours of long mornings, when she should be glad 
 to escape from the work-table to Miss Young's companionship 
 and to study. The bright field of German literature seemed 
 to open before her to be explored. She warmly thanked Miss 
 Young, and accepted her offered assistance. 
 
 " So you spend all your days alone here," said she, looking 
 round upon the rather bare walls, the matted floor, the 
 children's desks, and the single shelf which held Miss Young's 
 books. 
 
 " Not exactly all the day alone," replied Miss Young ; 
 " the children are with me five hours a day, and a set of pupils 
 from the village comes to me besides, for a spare hour of the 
 afternoon. In this way I see a good many little faces every 
 day." 
 
 " And some others too, I should hope ; some besides little 
 faces ? " 
 
 Miss Young was silent. Margaret hastened on — 
 
 " I suppose most people would say here what is said every- 
 where else about the nobleness and privilege of the task of 
 teaching children. But I do not envy those who have it to 
 do. I am as fond of children as any one ; but then it is 
 having them out to play on the grass, or romping with them 
 in the nursery, that I like. When it becomes a matter of 
 desks and school-books, I had far rather study than teach." 
 
 " I believe everybody, except perhaps mothers, would agree 
 with you," said Miss Young, who was now, without apology, 
 plying her needle. 
 
 " Indeed ! then I am very sorry for you." 
 
 " Thank you ; but there's no need to be sorry for me. Do 
 you suppose that one's comfort lies in having a choice of 
 employments? My experience leads me to think the con- 
 trary." 
 
 " I do not think I could be happy," said Hester, "to be tied 
 down to an employment I did not like." 
 
 " Not to a positively disgusting one. But I am disposed to 
 think that the greatest number of happy people may be found 
 busy in employments that they have not chosen for themselves, 
 and never would have chosen." 
 
 " I am afraid these very happy people are haunted by long- 
 ings to be doing something else." 
 
DEERBROOK. -21 
 
 " Yes : there is their great trouble. They think, till expe- 
 rience makes them wiser, that if they were only in another set 
 of circumstances, if they only had a choice what they would 
 do, a chance for the exercise of the powers they are conscious 
 of, they would do such things as should be the wonder and the 
 terror of the earth. But their powers may be doubted, if they 
 do not appear in the conquest of circumstances." 
 
 '' So you conquer these giddy children, when you had 
 rather be conquering German metaphysicians, or — , or.—, 
 what else ? " 
 
 " There is little to conquer in these children," said Miss 
 Young ; " they are very good with me. I assure you I have 
 much more to conquer in myself, with regard to them. It is 
 but little that I can do for them ; and that little I am apt to 
 despise, in the vain desire to do more." 
 
 " How more?" 
 
 " If I had them in a house by myself, to spend their whole 
 time with me, so that I could educate, instead of merely teach- 
 ing them . But here I am doing just what we were talk- 
 ing of just now, — laying out a pretty-looking field of duty, in 
 which there would probably be as many thorns as in any 
 other. Teaching has its pleasures, — its great occasional, and 
 small daily pleasures, though they are not to be compared to 
 the sublime delights of education." 
 
 " You must have some of these sublime delights mixed in 
 with the humbler. You are, in some degree, educating these 
 children while teaching them." 
 
 " Yes : but it is more a negative than a positive function, 
 a very humble one. Governesses to children at home can do 
 little more than stand between children and the faults of the 
 people about them. I speak quite generally." 
 
 "Is such an occupation one in which anybody can be happy ?" 
 
 " Why not, as well as in making pins' heads, or in nursing 
 sick people, or in cutting square blocks out of a chalk pit for 
 thirty years together, or in any other occupation which may be 
 ordained to prove to us that happiness lies in the temper, and 
 not in the object of a pursuit ? Are there not free and happy 
 pin-makers, and sick-nurses, and chalk-cutters?" 
 
 " Yes : but they know how much to expect. They have no 
 idea of pin-making in itself being great happiness." 
 
 " Just so. Well : let a governess learn what to expect ; set 
 her free from a hankering after happiness in her work, and 
 you have a happy governess." 
 
Tl DEERBROOK. 
 
 " I tliought such a thing was out of the order of nature." 
 
 " Not quite. There have been such, though there are strong 
 influences against it. The expectations of all parties are un- 
 reasonable ; and those who are too humble, or too amiable, 
 to be dissatisfied with others, are discontented with themselves, 
 when the inevitable disappointment comes. There is a great 
 deal said about the evils of the position of a governess — be- 
 tween the family and the servants — a great deal said that is 
 very true, and always will be true, while governesses have 
 proud hearts, like other people : but these are slight evils in 
 comparison with the grand one of the common failure of the 
 relation. — There ! do you hear that bell?" 
 
 " What is it ? The breakfast bell ? " 
 
 "Yes. You must go. I would not be understood as 
 inviting you here ; for it is not, except upon sufferance, my 
 room ; and I have no inducement to offer. But I may just 
 say, that you will always be welcome." y 
 
 " Always ? " said Margaret. " In and out of school hours ? " 
 
 " In and out of school hours, unless your presence should 
 chance to turn my pupils' heads. In that case, you will not 
 be offended if I ask you to go away." 
 
 Mary and Fanny had just reported in the breakfast-parlour, 
 that the Miss Ibbotsons had been " such a time with Miss 
 Young ! " when Hester and Margaret entered. The testimony 
 there was all in favour of Miss Young. Mr. Grey called her 
 a most estimable young woman ; and Mrs. Grey declared 
 that, though she could not agree with her on all points, and 
 decidedly thought that she overrated Matilda Eowland's 
 talents, she was convinced that her children enjoyed great 
 advantages under her care. Sophia added, that she was very 
 superior, — quite learned. Mrs. Grey further explained that, 
 though now so much at ease on the subject of her daughters' 
 education, no one could have an idea of the trouble she had 
 had in getting the plan arranged. It had seemed a pity that 
 the Eowlands and her children should not learn together : 
 it was such an advantage for children to learn together ! But 
 Mrs. Eowland had made a thousand difficulties. After break- 
 fast, she would show her young friends the room which she 
 had proposed should be the school-room, — as airy and advan- 
 tageous in every way as could be imagined : but Mrs. Rowland 
 had objected that she could not have Matilda and George come 
 out in all weathers, — as if they would have had to walk a mile, 
 instead of just the sweep of the gravel-walk ! Mrs. Rowland 
 
DEEEBROOK. 23 
 
 had proposed that her back-parlour should be the school- 
 room : but really it was not to be thought of, — so small and 
 close, and such a dull room for Miss Young ! The gentlemen 
 had been obliged to take it up at last. Nobody could ever 
 find out which of them it was that had thought of the summer- 
 house, though she was satisfied in her own mind that Mr. 
 Eowland was not in the habit of having such clever ideas ; 
 but, however, it was soon settled. The summer-house was so 
 exactly on the boundary line between the two gardens, that 
 really no objection had been left for Mrs. Eowland to make. 
 She came as near to it as she could, however ; for she had had 
 the walk covered in at great expense from her garden-door to 
 the summer-house, when everybody knew she did not mind her 
 children getting wet at other times on the grass before the dew 
 was off. 
 
 " And the covered way is quite an eyesore from the draw- 
 ing-room windows," added Sophia. 
 
 " Quite," said Mrs. Grey ; ^' and it can be seen from ours, 
 as I dare say you observed last night. But I have no doubt 
 that entered into her calculations when she had it made." 
 
 Mr. Grey inquired about the arrangements for the morning, 
 and whether he could be of any service. It happened to be 
 a leisure morning with him, and he did not know when he 
 might have another at command. Sophia reminded her 
 father that it would be impossible for the ladies of the family 
 to go out, when they were expecting the neighbours to call : 
 and this brought on another speculation as to who would call, 
 — and especially when the Eowlands might be looked for. 
 Hester and Margaret believed they could have settled this 
 matter ; but they forbore to speak of what they had over- 
 heard. They began to wonder whether the subject of Mrs. 
 Eowland was to be served up with every meal, for a continu- 
 ance ; and Hester found her anticipations of delight in a 
 country life somewhat damped, by the idea of the frowning 
 ghost of the .obnoxious lady being for ever present. 
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 MORNING CALLS. 
 
 The little girls had been dismissed to the school-room before 
 Mr. Grey had finally pushed away his tea-cup. Not being 
 wanted by the ladies, he walked off to his timber-yard, and 
 
24 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 his wife followed to ask him some question not intended for 
 the general ear. Sophia was struck with a sudden panic at 
 being left alone with the strangers, and escaped by another 
 door into the store-room. As the last traces of the breakfast 
 things vanished, Hester exclaimed — 
 
 " So we may please ourselves, it seems, as to what we are 
 to do with our morning ! " 
 
 ^' I hope so," said Margaret. " Do let us get down to the 
 meadow we see from our window — the meadow that looks so 
 flat and green ! We may very well take two hours' grace 
 before we need sit down here in form and order." 
 
 Hester was willing, and the bonnets were soon on. As 
 Margaret was passing down stairs again, she saw Mrs. Grey 
 and Sophia whispering in a room, the door of which stood 
 open. She heard it shut instantly, and the result of the con- 
 sultation soon appeared. Just as the sisters were turning out 
 of the house, Sophia ran after them to say that n;iamma wished 
 they would be so good as to defer their walk; mamma was 
 afraid that if they were seen abroad in the village, it would 
 be supposed that they did not wish to receive visitors : mamma 
 would rather that they should stay within this morning. 
 There was nothing for it but to turn back ; and Hester threw 
 down her bonnet with no very good grace, as she observed 
 to her sister that, to all appearance, a town life was more free 
 than a country one, after all. 
 
 " Let us do our duty fully this first morning," said Mar- 
 garet. " Look, I am going to carry down my work-bag ; 
 and you shall see me sit on the same chair from this hour till 
 dinner-time, unless I receive directions to the contrary." 
 
 The restraint did not amount to this. Hester's chair was 
 placed opposite to Mrs. Grey, who seemed to have pleasure in 
 gazing at her, and in indulging in audible hints and visible 
 winks and nods about her beauty, to every lady visitor who 
 sat near her. Margaret might place herself where she 
 pleased. In the intervals of the visits of the morning, she 
 was treated with a diversity of entertainments by Sophia, who 
 occasionally summoned her to the window to see how Matilda 
 Rowland was allowed to run across the road to her grand- 
 mamma's, without so much as a hat upon her head, — to see 
 Jim Bird, the oldest man in the parish (believed to be near a 
 hundred), who was resting himself on the bank of the hedge, 
 — to see the peacock which had been sent as a present from 
 Sir William Hunter to Mr. James, the lawyer, and which was 
 
DEERBROOK. 25 
 
 a great nuisance from its screaming, — to say whether the two 
 little Reeves, dropping their curtseys as they went home from 
 school, were not little beauties, — and, in short, to witness all 
 the village spectacles which present themselves before the 
 windows of an acute observer on a fine spring morning. The 
 young ladies had to return to their seats as often as wheels 
 were heard, or the approach of parasols was discerned. 
 
 Among the earliest visitors were Mrs. Enderby and her 
 redoubtable son, Mr. Philip. Mrs. Enderby was a bright- 
 eyed, brisk, little old lady, who was rather apt to talk herself 
 quite out of breath, but who had evidently a stronger tendency 
 still ; and that was, to look on the bright side of everything 
 and everybody. She smiled smiles full of meaning and assent 
 in return for Mrs. Grey's winks about Hester's beauty ; and 
 really cheered Hester with accounts of how good everybody 
 was at Deerbrook. She was thankful that her maid Phoebe 
 was better ; she knew that Mrs. Grey would not fail to inquire ; 
 really Phoebe was very much better ; the influenza had left 
 sad effects, but they were dispersing. It would be a pity the 
 girl should not quite recover, 'for she was a most invaluable 
 servant — such a servant as is very rarely to be met with. 
 The credit of restoring her belonged to Mr. Hope, who in- 
 deed had done everything. She supposed the ladies would 
 soon be seeing Mr. Hope. He was extremely busy, as every- 
 body knew — had very large practice now ; but he always 
 contrived to find time for everything. It was exceedingly 
 difficult to find time for everything. There was her dear 
 daughter, Priscilla (Mrs. Rowland, whose husband was Mr. 
 Grey's partner) ; Priscilla devoted her life to her children 
 (and dear children they were) ; and no one who knew what 
 she did for her children would expect anything more from 
 her ; but, indeed, those who knew best, she herself, for in- 
 stance, were fully satisfied that her dear Priscilla did wonders. 
 The apology for Mrs. Rowland, in case she should not call, 
 was made not without ingenuity. Hester fully understood it; 
 and Mrs. Grey showed by her bridling that it was not lost 
 upon her either. 
 
 Mr. Enderby, meanwhile, was behaving civilly to Margaret 
 and Sophia ; that is to say, he was somewhat more than 
 merely civil to Margaret, and somewhat less to Sophia. It 
 was obviously not without reason that Sophia had complained 
 of his hauteur. He could not, as Sydney had pleaded, help 
 being tall ; but he might have helped the excessive frigidity 
 
26 DEERBROOK. 
 
 with wliich he stood upright till invited to sit down. The fact 
 was, that he had reason to believe that the ladies of Mr. Grey's 
 family made very free with his sister's name and affairs ; and 
 though he would have been sorry to have been obliged to defend 
 all she said and did, he felt some very natural emotions of dislike 
 towards those who Avere always putting the worst construction 
 upon the whole of her conduct. He believed that Mr. Grey's 
 influence was exerted on behalf of peace and good under- 
 standing, and he thought he perceived that Sydney, with the 
 shrewdness which some boys show very early, was more or 
 less sensible of the absurdity of the feud between the partners' 
 wives and daughters ; and towards these members of the Grey 
 family, Mr. Enderby felt nothing but good-will ; he talked 
 politics with Mr. Grey in the shrubbery after church on Sun- 
 day, executed commissions for him in London, and sent him 
 game : and Sydney was under obligations to him for many a 
 morning of sport., and many a service such as gentlemen who 
 are not above five-and-twenty and its freaks can render to 
 boys entering their teens. Whatever might be his opinion of 
 women generally, from the particular specimens which had 
 come in his way, he had too much sense and gentlemanly 
 feeling to include Mrs. Grey's guests in the dislike he felt to- 
 wards herself, or to suppose that they must necessarily share 
 her disposition towards his relations. Perhaps he felt, unknown 
 to himself, some inclination to prepossess them in favour of 
 his connections ; to stretch his complaisance a little, as a pre- 
 caution against the prejudices with which he knew Mrs. Grey 
 would attempt to occupy their minds. However this might 
 be, he was as amicable with Margaret as his mother was with 
 her sister. 
 
 He soon found out that the strangers were more interested 
 about the natural features of Deerbrook than about its gossip^ 
 He was amused at the earnestness of Margaret's inquiries about 
 the scenery of the neighbourhood, and he laughingly promised 
 that she should see every nook within twenty miles. 
 
 " People always care least about what they have just at 
 hand," said he. " I dare say, if I were to ask you, you have 
 never seen a glass-bottle blown, or a tea-tray painted?" 
 
 *' If 1 have," said Margaret, ^' I know many ladies in Bir- 
 mingham who have not." 
 
 " You will not be surprised, then, if you find some ladies 
 in Deerbrook who do not ride, and who can tell you no more 
 of the pretty places near than if they had been brought up in 
 
DEEEBROOK. 27 
 
 Wliitechapel. They keep their best sights for strangers, and 
 not for common use. I am, in reality, only a visitor at Deer- 
 brook. I do not live here, and never did ; yet I am better 
 able to be your guide than almost any resident. The ladies, 
 especially, are extremely domestic : they are far too busy to 
 have ever looked about them. But I will speak to Mr. Grey, 
 and—" 
 
 "Oh, pray, do not trouble Mr. Grey ! He has too much 
 business on his hands already ; and he is so kind, he will be 
 putting himself out of his way for us ; and all we want is to 
 be in the open air in the fields." 
 
 " ^ All you want !' very like starlings in a cage ;" and he 
 looked as if he was smiling at the well-known speech of the 
 starling ; but he did not quote it. " My mother is now say- 
 ing that Mr. Hope finds time for everything : and she is right. 
 He will help us. You must see Hope, and you must like 
 him. He is the great boast of the place, next to the new sign." 
 
 " Is the sign remarkable, or only new ? " 
 
 " Very remarkable for ingenuity, if not for beauty. It is 
 ' The Bonnet so Blue :' — a lady's bonnet of blue satin, with 
 brown bows, or whatever you may call the trimming when 
 you see it ; and we are favoured besides with a portrait of 
 the milliner, holding the bonnet so blue. We talk nearly as 
 much of this sign as of Mr. Hope ; but you must see them 
 both, and tell us which you like best." 
 
 " We have seen Mr. Hope. He was here yesterday evening." 
 
 " Well, then, you must see him again ; and you must not 
 think the worse of him for his being praised by everybody 
 you meet. It is no ordinary case of a village apothecary." 
 
 Margaret laughed ; so little did Mr. Hope look like the 
 village apothecary of her imagination, 
 
 "Ah, I see you know something of the predilection of 
 villagers for their apothecary, — how the young people wonder 
 that he ahvays cures everybody ; and how the old people 
 could not live without him ; and how the poor folks take him 
 for a sort of magician ; and how he obtains more knowledge 
 of human affairs than any other kind of man. But Hope is, 
 though a very happy man, not this sort of privileged person. 
 His friends are so attached to him that they confide to him all 
 their own affairs ; but they respect him too much to gossip at 
 large to him of other people's. I see you do not know how 
 to credit this ; but I assure you, though the inhabitants of 
 Deerbrook are as accomplished in the arts of gossip as any 
 
28 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 villagers in England, Hope knows little more than you do at 
 this moment about who are upon terms and who are not." 
 
 " My sister and I must learn his art of ign6rance," said 
 Margaret. "If it be really true that the place is full of 
 quarrels, we shall be afraid to stay, unless we can contrive to 
 know nothing about them." 
 
 " Oh, do not suppose we are worse than others who live in 
 villages. Since our present rector came, we have risen some- 
 what above the rural average of peace and quiet." 
 
 " And the country has always been identical with the idea 
 of peace and quiet to us to"vvn-bred people ! " said Margaret. 
 
 '^ And very properly, in one sense. But if you leave be- 
 hind the din of streets for the sake of stepping forth from 
 your work-table upon a soft lawn, or of looking out upon the 
 old church-steeple among the trees, while you hear nothing 
 but bleating and chirping, you must expect some set-off 
 against such advantages : and that set-off is the being among 
 a small number of people, who are always busy looking into 
 one another's small concerns." 
 
 '^ But this is not a necessary evil," said Margaret. " From 
 what you were saying just now, it appears that it may be 
 avoided." 
 
 " From what I was saying about Hope. Yes ; such an one 
 as Hope may get all the good out of every situation, without 
 its evils ; but " 
 
 " But nobody else," said Margaret, smiling. " Well, Hester 
 and I must try whether we cannot have to do with lawns and 
 sheep for a few months, -without quarrelling or having to do 
 with quarrels." 
 
 "And what if you are made the subject of quarrels?" 
 asked Mr. Enderby. " How are you to help yourselves in 
 that case?" 
 
 " How does Mr. Hope help himself in that case?" 
 
 " It remains to be seen. As far as I know, the whole place 
 is agreed about him at present. Every one will tell you that 
 never was society so blessed in a medical man before ; — from 
 the rector and my mother, who never quarrel with anybody, 
 down to the village scold. I am not going to prepossess you 
 against even our village scold, by telling her name. You 
 wiU know it in time, though your first acquaintance will 
 probably be with her voice." 
 
 " So we are to hear something besides bleating and 
 chirping ? " 
 
DEERBROOK. 29 
 
 A tremendous knock at the door occurred, as if in answer 
 to this. All the conversation in the room suddenly stopped, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Rowland walked in. 
 
 " This is my sister, Mrs. Rowland," observed Mr. Enderby 
 to Margaret. 
 
 " This is my daughter Priscilla, Mrs. Rowland," said Mrs. 
 Enderby to Hester. 
 
 Both sisters were annoyed at feeling timid and nervous on 
 being introduced to the lady. There is something imposing in 
 hearing a mere name very often, in the proof that the person it 
 belongs to fills a large space in people's minds : and when the 
 person is thus frequently named with fear and dislike, an idea 
 is originated of a command over powers of evil which makes 
 the actual presence absolutely awful. This seemed now to be 
 felt by all. Sophia had nothing to say : Mrs. Grey's head 
 twitched nervously, while she turned from one to another with 
 slight remarks : Mrs. Enderby ran on about their having all 
 happened to call at once, and its being quite a family party 
 in Mrs. Grey's parlour ; and Mr. Philip's flow of conversa- 
 tion had stopped. Margaret thought he was trying to help 
 laughing. 
 
 The call could not be an agreeable one. The partners' 
 ladies quoted their own children's sayings about school and 
 Miss Young, and Miss Young's praise of the children ; and 
 each vied with the other in eulogium on Miss Young, evi- 
 dently on the ground of her hopes of Fanny and Mary on the 
 one hand, and of Matilda, George, and Anna, on the other. 
 Mrs. Enderby interposed praises of all the children, while Mr. 
 Rowland engaged Hester's attention, calling off her observa- 
 tion and his own from the sparring of the rival mothers. 
 Philip informed Margaret at length, that George was a fine little 
 fellow, who would make a good sportsman. Th^e was some 
 pleasure in taking such a boy out fishing. But Mr. Philip 
 had lighted on a dangerous topic, as he soon found. His sister 
 heard what he was saying, and began an earnest protest against 
 little boys fishing, on account of the danger, and against any 
 idea that she would allow her George to run any such risks. 
 Of course, this made Mrs. Grey fire up, as at an imputation 
 upon her care of her son Sydney ; and before the rest of the 
 company could talk down the dispute, it bore too much of the 
 appearance of a recrimination about the discharge of maternal 
 duties. Margaret thought that, but for the relationship, Mrs. 
 
so DEERBROOK. 
 
 Rowland might fairly be concluded to be the village scold 
 alluded to by Mr. Enderby. It was impossible that he could 
 have been speaking of his sister ; but Deerbrook was an unfor- 
 tunate place if it contained a more unamiable person than she 
 appeared at this moment. The faces of the two ladies were 
 still flushed with excitement when Mr. Hope came in. The 
 sisters thought he appeared like a good genius, so amiable did 
 the party grow on his entrance. It seemed as if he was as 
 great a favourite with the Rowlands as with the other family ; 
 so friendly was the gentleman, and so gracious the lady ; while 
 Mr. Hope was, to all appearance, unconscious of the existence 
 of any unpleasant feelings among his neighbours. The talk 
 flowed on about the concerns of personages of the village, about 
 the aspect of public affairs, about the poets of the age, and 
 what kind of poetry was most read in Deerbrook, and how the 
 book society went on, till all had grown cordial, and some 
 began to propose to be hospitable. Mrs. Rowland hoped for 
 the honour of seeing the Miss Ibbotsons one day the next 
 week, when Mr. Rowland should have returned from a little 
 -excursion of business. Mrs. Enderby wondered whether she 
 <jould prevail on all her young friends to spend an evening 
 with her before her son left Deerbrook ; and Mrs. Grey gave 
 notice that she should shortly issue her invitations to those 
 with whom she wished her young cousins to become better 
 acquainted. 
 
 All went right for the rest of the morning. When the 
 Enderbys and Rowlands went away, the Levitts came. When 
 Dr. Levitt inquired about the schools of Birmingham, it could 
 not but come out that Hester and Margaret were dissenters. 
 Yet, as they were desired to observe, he did not seem in the 
 least shocked, and his manner was just as kind to them after 
 this disclosure as before. He was pronounced a very liberal 
 man. Mr. Hope was asked to stay to dinner, and Mrs. Grey 
 complacently related the events of the morning to her husband 
 as he took his place at table. Deerbrook had done its duty to 
 Hester and Margaret pretty well for the first day. Everybody 
 of consequence had called but the Andersons, and they would 
 no doubt come on Sunday. 
 
DEEKBRGOK. 81 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE MEADOWS. 
 
 The afternoon was the time when Miss Young's pupils prac- 
 tised the mysteries of the needle. Little girls are not usually 
 fond of sewing. Till they become clever enough to have 
 devices of their own, to cut out a doll's petticoat, or contrive a 
 pincushion to surprise mamma, sewing is a mere galling of 
 the fingers and strain upon the patience. Every wry stitch 
 shows, and is pretty sure to be remarked upon : the seam or 
 hem seems longer the oftener it is measured, till the little 
 workwoman becomes capable of the enterprise of despatching 
 a whole one at a sitting ; after which the glory is found to 
 ameliorate the toil, and there is a chance that the girl may 
 become fond of sewing. 
 
 Miss Young's pupils had not arrived at this stage. It was a 
 mystery to them that Miss Young could sit sewing, as fast as 
 her needle could fly, for the whole afternoon, and during the 
 intervals of their lessons in the morning. It was in vain that she 
 told them that some of her pleasantest hours were those which 
 she passed in this employment : and that she thought they 
 would perhaps grow as fond Si work as their sister Sophia 
 before they were as old as she. With languid steps did the 
 twins return to the house this afternoon for another pair of 
 shirt-sleeves, and to show mamma the work they had finished. 
 Hand in hand, as usual, and carrying up for judgment their 
 last performance, they entered the house. In a very different 
 mood did they return. Eunning, skipping, and jumping, they 
 burst again into the summer-house. 
 
 " Miss Young, oh. Miss Young, we are to have a holiday !"" 
 
 " Mamma sends her compliments to you. Miss Young, and 
 she hopes you will give us a holiday. It is a fine afternoon, 
 she thinks, and my cousins have never gathered cowslips ; and 
 we are aU going into the meadow for a cowslip-gathering ; and 
 Mr. Hope will come to us there. He has to go somewhere 
 now, but he will come to us before we have half done." 
 
 Matilda Rowland looked full of dismay tiU she was told that 
 Mrs. Grey hoped she would be of the party, and begged that 
 she would go directly and ask her mamma's leave. 
 
 '^ What a quantity of cowslips we shall get!" observed Mary^ 
 as she took down Fanny's basket from the nail on which it 
 hung, and then her own. " We are each to have a basket^ 
 
32 DEERBROOK. 
 
 mamma says, that we may not quarrel. Wliat shall we do 
 with such a quantity of cowslips ? " 
 
 " Make tea of them, to be sure," replied Fanny. " We 
 may dry them in this window, may not we, Miss Young? 
 And we will give you some of our cowslip tea." 
 
 Miss Young smiled and thanked them. She did not pro- 
 mise to drink any of the promised tea. She had a vivid 
 remembrance of the cowslip-dr3dng of her young days, when 
 the picked flowers lay in a window till they were laced all 
 over with cobwebs ; and when they were at length popped 
 into the teapot with all speed, to hide the fact that they were 
 mouldy. She remembered the good-natured attempts of her 
 father and mother to swallow a doll's cupful of her cowslip 
 tea, rather than discourage the spirit of enterprise which, now 
 that she had lost those whom she loved, was all that she had 
 to trust to. 
 
 '' Fanny," said Mary, with eyes wide open, (* cannot we have 
 a feast here for my cousins, when we make our cowslip tea?" 
 
 "A feast ! Oh, that would be grand !" replied Fanny. *' I 
 have a shilling, and so have you ; and we could buy a good 
 many nice things for that : and Matilda Rowland will lend us 
 her doll's dishes to put with ours. Miss Young, will you let us 
 have our feast here, one afternoon ? We will ask my cousins, 
 without telling them anything ; and they will be so surprised ! " 
 
 Miss Young promised everything, engaged not to tell, 
 smoothed their hair, tied their bonnets, and sent them away 
 quite happy with their secret. 
 
 Such a holiday as this was one of Miss Young's few plea- 
 sures. There were several occasions in the year when she 
 could make sure beforehand of some hours to herself. Her 
 Sundays were much occupied with the Sunday-school, and 
 with intercourse with poor neighbours whom she could not 
 meet on any other day : but Christmas-day, the day of the 
 annual fair of Deerbrook, and two or three more, were her 
 own. These were, however, so appropriated, long before, to 
 some object, that they lost much of their character of holidays. 
 Her true holidays were such as the afternoon of this day, — 
 hours suddenly set free, little gifts of leisure to be spent 
 according to the fancy of the moment. Let none pretend to 
 understand the value of such whose lives are all leisure ; who 
 take up a book to pass the time ; who saunter in gardens 
 because there are no morning visits to make ; who exaggerate 
 the writing of a family letter into important business. Such 
 
DEERBROOK. 33 
 
 have their o^vn enjoyments : but they know nothing of the 
 paroxysm of pleasure of a really hardworking person on hearing 
 the door shut which excludes the business of life, and leaves 
 the delight of free thoughts and hands. The worst part of 
 it is the having to decide how to make the most of liberty. 
 Miss Young was not long in settling this point. She just 
 glanced up at her shelf of books, and down upon her drawing- 
 board, and abroad through the south window, and made up 
 her mind. The acacia with its fresh bunches of blossoms 
 was waving above the window, casting in flickering shadows 
 upon the floor : the evergreens of the shrubbery twinkled in 
 the sun, as the light breeze swept over them : the birds were 
 chirruping all about, and a yellow butterfly alighted and 
 trembled on the window-sill at the moment. It was one of 
 the softest and gayest days of spring ; and the best thing was 
 to do nothing but enjoy it. She moved to the south window 
 with her work, and sewed or let the wind blow upon her face 
 as she looked out. 
 
 The landscape was a wide one. Far beyond, and some- 
 what below the garden and shrubberies in which the summer- 
 house stood, flat meadows stretched to the brink of the river, 
 on the other side of which were the park woods. All was 
 bathed in the afternoon sunshine, except where a tree here and 
 there cast a flake of shadow upon the grass of the meadows. 
 
 " It is a luxury," thought the gazer, " for one who cannot 
 move about to sit here and look abroad. I wonder whether I 
 should have been with the party if I had not been lame. 
 I dare say something would have taken off from the pleasure 
 if I had. But how well I can remember what the pleasure is ! 
 the jumping stiles — ^the feel of the turf underfoot, — the run- 
 ning after every flower, — the going wherever one has a fancy 
 to go, — how well I remember it all ! And yet it gives me a 
 sort of surprise to see the activity of these children, and how 
 little they are aware of what their privilege is. I fancy, how- 
 ever, the pleasure is more in the recollection of all such 
 natural enjoyments than at the moment. It is so with me, and 
 I believe with everybody. This very landscape is more 
 beautiful to me in the dark night when I cannot sleep, than at 
 this very moment, when it looks its best and brightest : and 
 surely this is the great difference between that sort of pleasures 
 and those which come altogether from within. The delight 
 of a happy mood of mind is beyond everything at the time ; 
 it sets one above all that can happen ; it steeps one in heaven 
 
 D 
 
34 DEERBROOK. 
 
 itself ; but one cannot recall it : one can only remember that 
 it was so. The deligbt of being in sucb a place as those 
 woods is generally more or less spoiled at the time by trifles 
 which are forgotten afterwards ; — one is hungry, or tired, or a 
 little vexed with somebody, or doubtful whether somebody 
 else is not vexed ; but then the remembrance is purely 
 delicious, — ^brighter in sunshine, softer in shade, — wholly 
 tempered to what is genial. The imagination is a better 
 medium than the eye. This is surely the reason why Byron 
 could not write poetry on Lake Leman, but found he must 
 wait till he got within four walls. This is the reason why we 
 are all more moved by the slightest glimpses of good descrip- 
 tions in books than by the amplitude of the same objects 
 before our eyes. I used to wonder how that was, when, as a 
 child, I read the openings of scenes and books in * Paradise 
 Lost.' I saw plenty of summer sunrises ; but none of them 
 gave me a feeling like the two lines, 
 
 * Now mom,lier rosy steps in the eastern clime 
 Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl.' 
 
 If all this be so, our lot is more equalised than is commonly 
 thought. Once having received pictures into our minds, and 
 possessing a clear eye in the mind to see them with, the going 
 about to obtain more is not of very great consequence. This 
 comforts one for prisoners suffering carcere durOy and for 
 townspeople who cannot often get out of the streets ; and for 
 lame people like me, who see others tripping over commons 
 and through fields where we cannot go. I wish there was as 
 much comfort the other way, — about such as suffer from un- 
 happy moods of jnind, and know little of the joy of the highest. 
 It would be a small gain to them to fly like birds, — to see like 
 the eagle itself — Oh, there are the children ! So that is their 
 cowslip meadow ! How like children they aU look together, 
 down on the grass ! — gathering cowslips, I suppose. The two 
 in black are more eager about it than Sophia. She sits on 
 the stile while they are busy. The children are holding forth 
 to their cousins, — ^teaching them something, evidently. How 
 I love to overlook people, — to watch them acting uncon- 
 sciously, and speculate for them ! It is the most tempting thing 
 in the world to contrast the little affairs one sees them busy 
 about, with the very serious ones which await them, — which 
 await every one. There are those two strangers busy gather- 
 ing cowslips, and perhaps thinking of nothing beyond the 
 fresh pleasure of the air and the grass, and the scent of their 
 
deerbrook:. 35 
 
 flowers, — their minds quite filled with the spirit of the spring, 
 when who knows what may be awaiting them ! Love may be 
 just at hand. The tempest of passion may be brewing under 
 this soft sunshine. They think themselves now as full of 
 happiness as possible ; and a little while hence, upon a few 
 words spoken, a glance exchanged, they may be in such a 
 heaven of bliss that they will smile at their own ignorance in 
 being so well pleased to-day. Or — but I pray they may 
 escape the other chance. Neither of them knows anything of 
 that misery yet, I am confident. They both look too young, 
 too open, too free to have really suffered. — I wonder whether 
 it is foolish to fancy already that one of them may be settled 
 here. It can hardly be foolish, when the thought occurs so 
 naturally : and these great affairs of life lie distinctly under 
 the eye of such as are themselves cut off from them. I am 
 out of the game, and why should not I look upon its chances ? 
 I am quite alone ; and why should I not watch for others ? 
 Every situation has its privileges and its obligations. — What 
 is it to be alone, and to be let alone, as I am ? It is to be 
 put into a post of observation on others : but the knowledge 
 so gained is anything but a good if it stops at mere knowledge, 
 — if it does not make me feel and act. Women who have 
 what I am not to have, a home, an intimate, a perpetual call 
 out of themselves, may go on more safely, perhaps, mthout any 
 thought for themselves, than I with all my best consideration: 
 but I, with the blessing of a peremptory vocation, which is to 
 stand me instead of sympathy, ties and spontaneous action, — 
 I may find out that it is my proper business to keep an intent 
 eye upon the possible events of other people's lives, that I may 
 use slight occasions of action which might otherwise pass me 
 by. K one were thoroughly wise and good, this would be a 
 sort of divine lot. Without being at all wiser or better than 
 others, — being even as weak in judgment and in faith as 
 I am, — something may be made of it. Without daring to 
 meddle, one may stand clear-sighted, ready to help. — How the 
 children are flying over the meadow towards that gentleman 
 who is fastening his horse to the gate ! Mr. Hope, no doubt. 
 He is the oldest cowslip gatherer of them all, I fancy. If one 
 could overhear the talk in every house along the village, I dare 
 say some of it is about Mr. Hope winning one of these young 
 ladies. If so, it is only what I am thinking about myself. 
 Every one wishes to see Mr. Hope married, — every one, even 
 to the servants here, who are always disputing whether he wiU 
 
 d2 
 
36 DEERBROOK. 
 
 not have Miss Sophia, or whether Miss Sophia is not to make 
 a grander match. Sophia will not do for him ; but it is very 
 possible that one of these girls may. And the other — ^but I 
 will not think about that to-day. — How yellow the glow is 
 upon those woods ! What heavenly hues hang about the 
 world we live in ! but how strange is the lot of some in it ! 
 One would wonder why, when all are so plainly made to feel 
 and act together, there should be any one completely solitary. 
 There must be a reason. I would fain know it ; but I can 
 wait till we may know all." 
 
 Such were some of Maria Young's natural and unchecked 
 thoughts. There was not much of common holiday spirit in 
 them : but to Maria, liberty and peace were holiday, and her 
 mind was not otherwise than peaceful. She was serious, but 
 not sad. Any one who could at the moment have seen her 
 face, would have pronounced her cheerful at heart ; and so 
 ehe was. She had been so long and so :l^r banished from 
 ordinary happiness, that her own quiet speculations were 
 material enough for cheerfulness. The subject on which she 
 would not think to-day, was the possibility of one of the 
 sisters attaching Mr. Enderby. Maria Young had not always 
 been solitary, and lame, and poor. Her father had not been 
 very long dead ; and while he lived, no one supposed that his 
 only child would be poor. Her youth passed gaily, and her 
 adversity came suddenly. Her father was wont to drive her 
 out in his gig, almost every summer day. One evening, the 
 horse took fright, and upset the gig on a heap of stones by the 
 road-side. Mr. Young was taken up dead, and Maria was 
 lamed for life. She had always known the Enderbys very 
 well ; and there had been some gossip among their mutual 
 acquaintance about the probability that Philip would prove to 
 be Maria's lover, when he should be old enough to think of 
 marrying. It never went further than this, — except in Maria's 
 own heart. She had, indeed, hoped — even supposed — that in 
 Philip's mind the affair had at least been entertained thus far. 
 She could never settle to her own satisfaction whether she had 
 been weak and mistaken, or whether she had really been in any 
 degree wronged. There had been words, there had been looks, 
 — ^but words and looks are so easily misinterpreted ! The 
 probability was that she had no one to blame but herself, — if 
 fault there was. Perhaps there was no fault anywhere : but 
 there was misery, intense and long. During her illness, no 
 tidings came of Philip. He was in another part of the country 
 
DEERBROOK. 37 
 
 when tlie accident happened ; and it was not till long after it 
 had been made known that Mr. Young had died insolvent, — 
 not till after Maria had recovered, as far as recovery was pos- 
 ^sible, — not till she had fallen into the habit of earning her 
 bread, that Philip re-appeared, and shook hands with her, and 
 told her with how much concern he had heard of her suffer- 
 ings. This interview gave her entire possession of herself : — 
 so she believed. She got through it calmly, and it left her 
 with one subject at least of intense thankfulness, — that her 
 mind was known only to herself Whatever might be her 
 solitary struggles, she might look without shame into the face 
 of every human being. She could bear being pitied for her 
 poverty, for her lameness, for her change of prospects, when the 
 recollection of this came across any of her acquaintance. If 
 it had been necessary, she could probably have borne to be 
 pitied for having loved without return ; but she could not be- 
 too thankful that it was not necessary. 
 
 Maria was right in her supposition that the village was 
 speculating upon the newly-arrived young ladies. The parish- 
 clerk had for some years, indeed ever since the death of the late- 
 stationer and dispenser of letters, carried on a flirtation with the 
 widow, notwithstanding the rumours which were current as to 
 the cause to which her late husband owed his death. It was- 
 believed that poor Harry Plumstead died of exhaustion from 
 his wife's voice ; for she was no other than the village scold, 
 of whose existence Margaret had been warned by Mr. En- 
 derby. Some thought that Owen was acting a politic 
 part in protracting this flirtation, — ^keeping her temper in 
 check by his hold upon her expectations ; and such had little 
 doubt that the affair would linger on to the end, without any 
 other result than Owen's exemption meanwhile from the inflic- 
 tions of her tongue, to which, in the discharge of his oflice, he- 
 might otherwise become frequently liable. Others wished to. 
 see them married, believing that in Owen, a Welshman 
 sufliciently irascible, Mrs. Plumstead would at last meet her 
 match. This afternoon, an observer would have thought the 
 affair was proceeding to this point. Mrs. Plumstead, looking 
 particularly comely and gracious, was putting up an unclaimed 
 letter at the window for display, when Owen stopped to ask if 
 she had seen the pretty young ladies who had come to Deer- 
 brook. He remarked that, to be sure, they might have gone 
 to some place where they were more wanted, for Deerbrook was 
 not without pretty faces of its own before : and, as he said so, 
 
69 DEEllBROOK. 
 
 he smiled hard in the widow's face. He should not wonder if 
 some work for the rector should rise up before long, for, where 
 there were pretty faces, weddings might be looked for. He 
 even asked Mrs. Plumstead if she did not think so ; and added 
 something so ambiguous about his own share in the work for 
 the rector which was to arise, that the widow could not make 
 out whether he spoke as her admirer or as parish-clerk. In 
 the milliner's workroom there was a spirited conversation 
 between Miss Nares and her assistant, on the past wedding 
 dresses of Deerbrook, arising out of the topic of the day, — the 
 Miss Ibbotsons. Mrs. Howell, who, with her shopwoman, 
 Miss Miskin, dispensed the haberdashery of the place, smiled 
 winningly at every customer who entered her shop, and talked 
 of delightful acquisitions, and what must be felt about Mr. 
 Hope, in the midst of such charming society, and what it must 
 be hoped would be felt ; and how gay the place was likely to 
 be with riding parties, and boating parties*, and some said, 
 dances on the green at Mrs. Enderby's ; and how partners in 
 a dance have been known to become partners for life, as she 
 had been jocosely told when her poor dear Howell prevailed 
 on her to stand up with him, — the first time for twenty years, 
 — at his niece's wedding. Hester's beauty, and what Mrs. 
 Grey had said about it to her maid, were discussed, just at the 
 moment when Hester, passing the shop, was entreated by Sophia 
 to look at a new pattern of embroidery which had lately 
 arrived from London, and was suspended at the window. Mrs. 
 Howell and her gossips caught a glimpse of the face of the 
 young lady, through the drapery of prints and muslins, and 
 the festoons of ribbons ; and when the party proceeded down 
 the street, there was a rush to the door, in order to obtain a view 
 of her figure. She was pronounced beautiful ; and it was 
 hoped that some gentleman in the village would find her irre- 
 sistible. It was only rather strange that no gentleman was in 
 attendance on her now. 
 
 If the gossips could have followed the party with their eyes 
 into the meadow, they would soon have been satisfied ; for it 
 was not long before Mr. Hope joined them there. On leaving 
 Mr. Grey's table, he was as little disposed to go and visit his 
 patient, as medical men are when they are called away from 
 the merriest company, or at the most interesting moment of a 
 conversation. The liability to this kind of interruption is one 
 of the great drawbacks of the profession to which Mr. Hope 
 belonged ; another is, the impossibility of travelling, — the 
 
DEERBROOK. 39 
 
 being fixed to one place for life, witliout any but the shortest 
 intervals of journeying. Mr. Hope had been settled for ^ve 
 years at Deerbrook ; and, during that time, he had scarcely 
 been out of sight of its steeple. His own active and gladsome 
 mind had kept him happy among his occupations. There was 
 no one in the place with whom he could hold equal converse ; 
 but, while he had it not, he did not feel the pressing want of 
 it. He loved his profession, and it kept him busy. His 
 kind heart was ever full of interest for his poorer patients. 
 Seeing the best side of everybody, he could be entertained, 
 though sometimes vexed, by his intercourse with the Greys 
 and Rowlands. Then there was the kindly-tempered and 
 gentlemanly rector ; and Philip Enderby often came down for 
 a few weeks ; and Mr. Hope had the chief management of the 
 book-society, and could thus see the best new books ; and his 
 professional rides lay through a remarkably pretty country. 
 He kept up a punctual and copious correspondence with the 
 members of his own family, — mth his married sisters, and 
 with his only brother, now with his regiment in India, — 
 relating to them every important circumstance of his lot, and 
 almost every interesting feeling of his heart. With this 
 variety of resources, life had passed away cheerily, on the whole, 
 with Mr. Hope, for the five years of his residence at Deer- 
 brook; though there were times when he wondered whether 
 it was to be always thus, — whether he was to pass to his grave 
 without any higher or deeper human intercourses than he had 
 here. If it had been possible, he might, like other men as 
 wise as himself, have invested some one of the young ladies of 
 Deerbrook with imaginary attributes, and have fallen in love 
 with a creature of his own fancy. But it really was not 
 possible. There was no one of the young ladies of Deerbrook 
 who was not so far inferior to the women of Hope's own 
 family, — to the mother he had lost, and the sisters who were 
 settled far away, — as to render this commonest of all delusions 
 impossible to him. 
 
 To such a man, so circumstanced, it may be imagined how 
 great an event was the meeting with Hester and Margaret. 
 He could not be in their presence ten minutes without be- 
 coming aware of their superiority to every woman he had 
 seen for ^ve years past. The beauty of the one, the sincerity 
 and unconsciousness of the other, and the general elevation of 
 both, struck him forcibly the first evening. His earliest 
 thought the next morning was of some great event having 
 
40 DEERBIiOOK. 
 
 taken place ; and when he left Mr. Grey's door after dinner, 
 it was with an unwillingness which made him S2)ur himself 
 and his horse on to their business, that he might the sooner 
 return to his new-found pleasure. His thoughts already 
 darted forward to the time when the Miss Ibbotsons would be 
 leaving Deerbrook. It was already a heavy thought how dull 
 Deerbrook would be without them. He was already uncon- 
 sciously looking at every object in and around the familiar 
 place with the eyes of the strangers, speculating on how the 
 whole would appear to them. In short, his mind was full of 
 them. There are, perhaps, none who do not know what this 
 kind of impression is. All have felt it, at some time or other, 
 — many have felt it often, — about strangers whom they have 
 been predisposed to like, or with whom they have been struck 
 at meeting. Nine times out of ten, perhaps, the impression is 
 fleeting ; and when it is gone, there is an unwillingness to 
 return to it, from a sense of absurdity in halving been so much 
 interested about one who so soon became indiiferent : but 
 the fact is not the less real and general for this. When it 
 happens between two young people who are previously fancy- 
 free, and circumstances favour the impression till it sinks 
 deeper than the fancy, it takes the name of love at first 
 sight. Otherwise it passes away without a name, without a 
 record : — for the hour it is a secret : in an after time it is for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Possessed unconsciously with this secret, Hope threw him- 
 eelf from his horse at the entrance of the meadow where the 
 cowslip-gatherers were busy, fastened his steed to the gate, 
 and joined the party. The children ran to him with the 
 gleanings of intelligence which they had acquired since he 
 saw them last, half an hour before : — that it was well they did 
 not put off their gathering any longer, for some of the flowers 
 were beginning to dry up already : that cousins had never 
 tasted cowslip-tea ; — (was not this very odd ?) — that cousin 
 Hester would not help to pick the flowers for drying, — she 
 thought it such a pity to pull the blossom out of the calyx : 
 that Sophia would not help either, because it was warm : that 
 cousin Margaret had gathered a great many, but she had been 
 ever so long watching a spider's nest, — a nasty large spider's 
 nest that Matilda was just going to i)reak into, when cousin 
 Margaret asked her not to spoil it ? 
 
 Margaret was indeed on her knees, prying into the spider's 
 nest. When duly laughed at, she owned to having seen cob- 
 
DEERBROOK. 41 
 
 webs before, but maintained that cobwebs in a closet were a 
 very different affair from a spider's nest in a field. 
 
 "I rather think, however," said she, "the word ^nest' itself 
 has something to do with my liking for what I have been 
 looking at. Some of your commonest country words have a 
 charm to the ear and imagination of townspeople that you 
 could not understand." 
 
 "But," said Mr. Hope, "I thought nests were very common 
 in Birmingham. Have you not nests of boxes, and nests of 
 work-tables?" 
 
 " Yes, and so we have stacks of chimneys ; but yet we do not 
 think of hay-making when we see the smoke of the town. — 
 I rather think country words are only captivating as relating 
 to the country ; but then you cannot think how bewitching 
 they are to people who live in streets." 
 
 " The children might have foimd you a prettier sort of nest 
 to indulge your fancy with, I should think. There must be 
 plenty of creatures besides spiders in this wide meadow." 
 
 Mr. Hope called out to the little girls, that whoever should 
 find any sort of a nest in the meadow, for Miss Margaret 
 Ibbotson, should have a ride on his horse. Away flew the 
 children ; and Hester and Sophia came from the water-side to 
 know what all the bustle was about. Fanny returned to 
 inquire whether the nests must be in the meadow ; whether 
 just outside woidd not do. She knew there was an ants' nest 
 in the bank, just on the other side of the hedge. The decision 
 was that the ants' nest would do only in case of her not being 
 able to find any other within bounds. Sophia looked on 
 languidly, probably thinking all this very silly. It put her in 
 mind of an old schoolfellow of hers who had been called very 
 clever before she came to school at nine years old. Till she 
 saw her, Sophia had believed that town children were always 
 clever : but no later than the very first day, this little girl had 
 got into disgrace with the governess. Her task was to learn 
 by heart Goldsmith's Country Clergyman, in the * Deserted 
 Village.' She said it quite perfectly, but, when questioned 
 about the meaning, stopped short at the first line, — "Near 
 yonder copse where once a garden smiled." She persisted 
 that she did not know what a copse was : the governess said 
 she was obstinate, and shut her up in the play hours between 
 morning and afternoon school. Sophia never could make out 
 whether the girl was foolish or obstinate in persisting that she 
 did not know what a copse was : but her cousin Margaret now 
 
42 DEERBROOK. 
 
 put her in mind of this girl, with all her town feelings, and 
 her fuss about spiders' nests. 
 
 " How is old Mr. Smithson to-day ? " Sophia inquired of 
 Mr. Hope, by way of introducing something more rational. 
 
 " Not better : it is scarcely possible that he should be," was 
 the reply. 
 
 " Papa thought last night he must be dying." 
 
 " He is dying." 
 
 " Have you just come from a patient who is dying?" aslsed 
 Hester, wdth a look of anxiety, with which was mixed some 
 surprise. 
 
 *' Yes : from one who cannot live many days." 
 
 Sophia observed that Mr. James had been sent for early 
 this morning — no doubt to put the finish to the will : but 
 nobody seemed to know whether the old gentleman would 
 leave his money to his nephew or his step-son, or whether he 
 would divide it between them. Hester and Margaret showed 
 no anxiety on this point, but seemed so ready to be interested 
 about some others as to make Mr. Hope think that they were 
 only restrained by delicacy from asking all that he could tell 
 about his patient's state. They knew enough of the profession, 
 however, to be aware that this kind of inquiry is the last which 
 should be addressed to a medical man. 
 
 " You are surprised," said he, "that I am come from a dying 
 patient to play with the children in the fields. Come, acknow- 
 ledge that this is in your minds." 
 
 *^ If it is, it is an unreasonable thought," said Margaret. 
 *^ You must see so many dying people, it would be hard that 
 in every case you should be put out of the reach of plea- 
 sure." 
 
 " Never mind the hardship, if it be fitting," said Hope. 
 " Hard or not hard, is it natural, — is it possible ? " 
 
 " I suppose witnessing death so often does lessen the feelings 
 about it," observed Hester. " Yet I cannot fancy that one's 
 mind could be at liberty for small concerns immediately after 
 leaving a house full of mourners, and the sight of one in pain. 
 There must be something distasteful in everything that meets 
 one's eyes, — in the sunshine itself." 
 
 " True. That is the feeling in such cases : but such cases 
 seldom occur. Yes : I mean what I say. Such cases are very 
 rare. The dying person is commonly old, or so worn out by 
 illness as to make death at last no evil. When the illness is 
 shorter, it is usually found that a few hours in the sick room 
 
DEEEEROOK. 43 
 
 do the work of months of common life, in reconciling the 
 minds of survivors." 
 
 " I am sure that is true," observed Margaret. 
 
 "It is so generally the case that I know no set of circum- 
 stances in which I should more confidently reckon on the 
 calmness, forethought, and composure of the persons I have to 
 deal with than in the family of a dying person. The news 
 comes suddenly to the neighbours : all the circumstances rush 
 at once into their imaginations : all their recollections and 
 feelings about the sufferer agitate them in quick succession ; 
 and they naturally suppose the near friends must be more 
 agitated, in proportion to their nearness." 
 
 " The watchers, meanwhile," said Hester, " have had time 
 in the long night to go over the past and the future, again and 
 again ; and by morning all seems so familiar, that they think 
 they can never be surprised into grief again." 
 
 " So familiar," said Mr. Hope, " that their minds are at 
 liberty for the smallest particulars of their duty. I usually find 
 them ready for the minutest directions I may have to give." 
 
 " Yes : the time for surprise,~for consternation, — is long 
 afterwards," said Hester, with some emotion. "When the 
 whole has become settled and finished in other minds, the 
 nearest mourners begin to wake up to their mourning." 
 
 "And thus," said Margaret, "the strongest agitation is 
 happily not witnessed." 
 
 " Happily not," said Mr. Hope. " I doubt whether any- 
 body's strongest agitations ever are witnessed. I doubt 
 whether the sufferer himself is often aware of what are really 
 his greatest sufferings ; and he is so ashamed of them that he 
 hides them from himself, when it is possible. I cannot but 
 think that any grief which reveals itself is very endurable." 
 
 " Is not that rather hard ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 " How does it seem to you hard ? Is it not merciful that 
 we can keep our worst sorrows, — that we are disposed, as it 
 were forced, to keep them from afflicting our friends ? " 
 
 " But is it not saying that bereavement of friends is not the 
 greatest of sorrows, while all seem to agree that it is ? " 
 
 " Is it, generally speaking, the greatest of sorrows ? I think 
 not, for my own part. There are cases in which the loss is 
 too heavy to bear being the subject of any speculation, almost 
 of observation ; for instance, when the happiest married people 
 are separated, or when a first or only child dies : but I think 
 there are many sorrows greater than a separation by death of 
 
44 DEERBROOK. 
 
 those who have faith enough to live independently of each other, 
 and mutual love enough to deserve, as they hope, to meet again 
 hereafter. I assure you I have sometimes come away from 
 houses unvisited, and unlikely to be visited by death, with a 
 heart so heavy as I have rarely or never brought from a death- 
 bed." 
 
 " I should have thought that would be left for the rector to 
 say," observed Hester. *^ I should have supposed you meant 
 cases of guilt or remorse." 
 
 " Cases of guilt or remorse," continued Mr. Hope, "and also 
 of infirmity. People may say what they will, but I am per- 
 suaded that there is immeasurably more suiFering endured, 
 both in paroxysms and for a continuance, from infirmity, ten- 
 dency to a particular fault, or the privation of a sense, than 
 from the loss of any friend upon earth, except the very nearest 
 and dearest ; and even that case is no exception, when there is 
 the faith of meeting again, which almost every mourner has, 
 so natural and welcome as it is." 
 
 " Do you tell your infirm friends the high opinion you have 
 of their sufferings?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " Why, not exactly ; that would not be the kindest thing 
 to do, would it ? What they want is, to have their trouble 
 lightened to them, not made the worst of ; — lightened, not by 
 using any deceit, of course, but by simply treating their case 
 as a matter of fact." 
 
 " Then surely you should make light of the case of the 
 dying too : make light of it even to the survivors. Do you 
 do this?" 
 
 " In one sense I do ; in another sense no one can do it. 
 Not regarding death as a misfortune, I cannot affect to con- 
 sider it so. Eegarding the change of existence as a very 
 serious one, I cannot, of course, make light of it." 
 
 " That way of looking at it regards only the dying person ; 
 you have not said how you speak of it to survivors." 
 
 " As I speak of it to you now, or to myself when I see any 
 one die ; with the added consideration of what the survivors 
 are about to lose. That is a large consideration certainly; 
 but should not one give them credit for viewing death as it is, 
 and for being willing to bear their own loss cheerfully, as 
 they would desire to bear any other kind of loss ? especially 
 if, as they say, they believe it to be only for a time." 
 
 " This is looking on the bright side," observed Hester, in a 
 low voice ; but she was overheard by Mr. Hope. 
 
DEERBROOK. 45 
 
 " I trust you do not object to the bright side of things," 
 said he, smiling, " as long as there is so much about us that 
 is really very dark ?" 
 
 " What can religion be for," said Margaret, " or reason, or 
 philosophy, whichever name you may call your faith by, but 
 to show us the bright side of everything — of death among the 
 rest ? I have often wondered why we seem to try to make 
 the most of that evil (if evil it be), while we think it a duty 
 to make the least of every other. I had some such feeling, 
 I suppose, when I was surprised to hear that you had 
 come hither straight from a deathbed : I do not wonder at 
 all now." 
 
 " Mr. Smithson will not be much missed," observed Sophia, 
 who felt herself relieved from the solemnity of the occasion by 
 what had passed, and at liberty to speak of him as freely as if 
 he was no nearer death than ever. " He has never been a 
 sociable neighbour. I always thought him an odd old man, 
 from the earliest time I can remember." 
 
 " Some few will miss him," said Mr. Hope. " He is a 
 simple-hearted, shy man, who never did himself justice, except 
 with two or three who saw most of him. Their aifection has 
 been enough for him — enough to make him think now that 
 his life has been a very happy one. There !" cried Hope, as 
 a lark sprang up almost from under the feet of the party— 
 " There is another member of Deerbrook society, ladies, who 
 is anxious to make your acquaintance." There were two or 
 three larks hovering above the meadow at this moment, and 
 others were soaring further off. The air was full of lark 
 music. The party stood still and listened. Looking up into 
 the sunny sky, they watched one little warbler, wheeling 
 round, falling, rising again, still warbling, till it seemed as if 
 it could never be exhausted. Sophia said it made her head 
 ache to look up so long ; and she seemed impatient for the 
 bird to have done. It then struck her that she also might 
 find a nest, like her sisters ; and she examined the place 
 whence the lark had sprung. Under a thick tuft of grass, in 
 a little hollow, she found a family of infant larks huddled 
 together, and pointed them out to her cousins. 
 
 The children came upon being called. They were damped 
 in spirits. They did not see how they were to find any nests, 
 if the ants' nest would not do ; unless, indeed, Mr. Hope 
 would hold them up into the trees or hedges to look ; but 
 they could not climb trees, Mr. Hope knew. They were. 
 
40 DEERBROOK. 
 
 somewhat further mortified by perceiving that they might 
 have found a nest by examining the ground, if they had hap- 
 pened to think of it. Margaret begged they would not be 
 distressed at not finding nests for her ; and Mr. Hope proposed 
 to try his luck, saying, that if he succeeded, every one who 
 wished should have a ride on his horse. 
 
 To the surprise of the children, he turned towards the 
 water, and walked along the bank. The brimming river was 
 smooth as glass ; and where it stood in among the rushes, and 
 in every tiny inlet, it was as clear as the air, and alive with 
 small fish, which darted at the flies that dimpled the surface. 
 A swan, which had been quietly sailing in the middle of the 
 stream, changed its deportment as the party proceeded along 
 the bank. It ruffled its breast feathers, arched back its neck 
 till the head rested between the erect wings, and drove 
 through the water with a speed which shivered the pictures in 
 it as a sweeping gale would have done. 
 
 " What is the matter with the creature?" *asked Margaret; 
 " I never saw a swan behave so." 
 
 The children seemed rather afraid that the bird would come 
 on shore and attack them. Mr. Hope took the opportunity of 
 its being at some little distance, to open the rushes, and show 
 where a fine milk-white egg lay in a large round nest. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Hope, you knew!" cried the children, "you 
 knew there was a swan's nest near." 
 
 " Yes ; and did not you, when you saw how the swan be- 
 haved ? But I was aware of this nest before. Tom Creach 
 has the care of the park swans ; he made this nest, and he told 
 me where it was. Let your cousins have a peep ; and then 
 we will go, before the poor swan grows too much frightened. 
 And now, who will have a ride on my horse ? " 
 
 All the children chose to ride ; and, while Mr. Hope was 
 coursing with them in turn, round and round the meadow, the 
 young ladies proceeded along the bank. A quarter of a mile 
 further on, they fell in with Sydney Grey and his friend Mr. 
 Philip. They had been successful in their sport. Mr. Enderby 
 had had enough of it, and was stretched on the grass reading, 
 while Sydney stood on the roots of an old oak, casting his line 
 into the pool beneath its shadow. 
 
 " So, here you are, quite safe !" said Sophia; "George Eow- 
 land might have come after all. Poor boy ! I am glad he is 
 not with us, he would be so mortified to see all the fish you 
 have caught without him I" 
 
DEERBROOK. 47 
 
 " Hc^ many times have we been in the river, Sydney ? 
 Can you remember ? " asked Mr. Enderby. 
 
 " I have seen no nsh big enough to pull us in," said 
 Sydney ; " and I do not know any other way of getting a 
 wetting at this sport. Mrs. Kowland should have seen 
 George and me climbing the old oak at the two-mile turning. 
 I dared George to it, and there he hung over the water, at the 
 end of the branch, riding up and down like a see-saw. She 
 would think nothing of letting him go fishing after that." 
 
 " If the branch had broken," said Mr. Enderby, " what 
 would you have done then ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is not often that a branch breaks." 
 
 " Old oaks are apt to break, sooner or later ; and, the next 
 time you dare George to see-saw over the river, I would 
 advise you to consider beforehand how you would get him 
 out, in case of his dropping in." 
 
 " Oh, he is not afraid. One day lately, when the water 
 was low, he offered to cross the weir at Dingleford. I did not 
 persuade him to that ; but he pulled off his shoes and stock- 
 ings, and got over and back, safe enough." 
 
 " Indeed ! and you tried it too, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes ; it would be a shame if I could not do what George 
 can. It was almost as easy as walking along this bank." 
 
 " I shall talk to Master George, however, before he goes to 
 Dingleford again, or he may chance to find it easier some day 
 to miss his footing than to hold it." 
 
 " I wonder Mrs. Eowland is afraid to let George go out 
 with you," said Sophia, " considering what things he does 
 when you are not with him." 
 
 " She does not know of these pranks, or she would feel as 
 you do ; and I hope every one here will be kind enough not 
 to tell her. It would only be making her anxious to no pur- 
 pose, whenever the boy is out of her sight. It would be a 
 pity to make a coward of him ; and I think I can teach him 
 what is mischief and what is not, without disturbing her. 
 Come, ladies, suppose you rest yourselves here ; you will find 
 a pleasant seat on this bank : at least, I fell asleep on it just 
 now, as if I had been on a sofa." 
 
 " I wish you would all go to sleep, or else walk off," said 
 Sydney. " You make so much noise I shall never catch any fish." 
 
 " Suppose you were to go somewhere else," said Mr. Enderby. 
 — " Would not that be rather more civil than sending us all 
 away?" 
 
48 DEEREROOK. 
 
 Sydney thought he would find another place : th^re were 
 plenty along the bank. He gathered up bait and basket, and 
 trudged off. There was an amusement, however, which he 
 liked better even than fishing ; and for which he now sur- 
 rendered it. He was presently seen cantering round the 
 meadow on Mr. Hope's horse. 
 
 Mr. Enderby hoped the Miss Ibbotsons were able to say 
 "No" with decision. If not, he did not envy them their 
 supper this evening ; for Sydney would certainly ask them 
 to eat all the fish he had caught — bream and dace and all. 
 The first pleasure of young anglers is to catch these small fry; 
 and the next is, to make their sisters and cousins eat them. 
 Sophia solemnly assured her cousins that mamma never 
 allowed Sydney's fish to come to table, at least in the house. 
 If the children liked to get the cook to boil them for their 
 dolls' feasts in the schoolroom, they might. 
 
 " And then Miss Young is favoured witl^i a share, I sup- 
 pose ? " said Margaret. 
 
 " Have you made acquaintance with Miss Young yet ? " in- 
 quired Mr. Enderby. 
 
 "Oh, yes ! I had the pleasure of knowing Miss Young long 
 before I knew you." 
 
 " Long ! how long ? I was not aware that you had ever 
 met. Where did you meet ? " 
 
 "In the schoolroom, before breakfast, — ^fuU four hours 
 before you called this morning." 
 
 "Oh, that is all you mean ! I wondered how you should 
 know her." 
 
 Sophia asked whether Margaret and Miss Young were not 
 going to study together : Margaret assented. Miss Young 
 was kind enough to promise to help her to read German. 
 
 "And you?" said Mr. Enderby to Hester. 
 
 " Why, no ; I am rather afraid of the undertaking." 
 
 " And you. Miss Grey?" 
 
 " No. Mamma says, I have enough to do with my history 
 and my music ; especially while my cousins are here. I 
 began German once, but mamma thought I was growing 
 awry, and so I left it off. I find Mrs. Eowland means Matilda 
 to learn German." 
 
 " We are all disposed to have my little nieces learn what- 
 ever Miss Young will be kind enough to teach them ; they 
 will gain nothing but good from her." 
 
 " She is very learned, to be sure," observed Sophia. 
 
DEERBROOK. 49 
 
 '^'** And something more than learned, I should think," said 
 Hester ; "I fancy she is wise." 
 
 *^ How can you have discovered that already?" asked Mr. 
 Enderby, whose fingers were busy dissecting a stalk of flower- 
 ing grass. 
 
 " I hardly know ; I have nothing to quote for my opinion. 
 Her conversation leaves a general impression of her being 
 very sensible." 
 
 " Sensible, as she is a woman," observed Margaret ; " if 
 she were a man, she would be called philosophical." 
 
 " She is very superior, " observed Sophia. " It was 
 mamma's doing that she is the children's governess." 
 
 " Philosophical !" repeated Mr. Enderby. " It is a happy 
 thing that she is philosophical in her circumstances, poor 
 thing!" 
 
 " As she happens to be unprosperous," said Margaret, 
 smiling. "If she were rich, and strong, and admired, her 
 philosophy would be laughed at ; it would only be in the way." 
 
 Mr. Enderby sighed, and made no answer. Before any one 
 spoke again, Mr. Hope and his little companions came up. 
 
 " How quiet you all are ! " exclaimed Sydney. " I Ve a 
 good mind to come and fish here again, if you will only go on 
 to be so drowsy." 
 
 Sophia declared that they had been talking, up to the last 
 minute, about Miss Young, and learning German, and being 
 philosophical. 
 
 " And which of the party have you made out to be the 
 most philosophical ? " inquired Mr. Hope. 
 
 " We have not so much as made out what philosophy is 
 for," said Hester ; " can you tell us ? " 
 
 As she looked up at Mr. Hope, who was standing be- 
 hind her, Sydney thought her question was addressed to him. 
 Swinging his fishing-rod round, he replied doubtfully that he 
 thought philosophy was good to know how to do things. 
 What sort of things ? Why, to make phosphorus lights, and 
 electrify people, as Dr. Levitt did, when he made Sophia jump 
 off the stool with glass legs. Sophia was sure that any one 
 else would have jumped off the stool as she did. She should 
 take good care never to jump on it again. But she won- 
 dered Sydney did not know any better than that what philo- 
 sophy was for. Her cousins said Miss Young was philosophical, 
 and she had nothing to do with phosphorus or electrical 
 machines. 
 
50 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Mr. Enderby explained to Mr. Hope that he had said what 
 he was ready to maintain ; that it was a happy thing for any 
 one who, like Miss Young, was not so prosperous as she had 
 been, to be supported by philosophy. 
 
 "And, granting this," said Margaret, ^'it was next in- 
 quired whether this same philosophy would have been con- 
 sidered equally admirable, equally a matter of congratulation, 
 if Miss Young had not wanted it for solace." 
 
 " A question as old as the brigg at Stirling," replied Mr. 
 Hope ; *' older, older than any bridges of man's making." 
 
 " Why Stirling brigg ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean — do not you know the story ? — that an old woman 
 wanted to cross the Forth, and some ferrymen would have 
 persuaded her to go in their boat when she was confident that 
 a tempest was coming on, which would have made the 
 ferry unsafe. They told her at last that she must trust to 
 Providence. ^ Na, na,' said she, * I vdll ne'er* trust to Provi- 
 dence while there is a brigg at Stirling.' The common prac- 
 tice is, you know, with the old woman. — We will not trust to 
 the highest support we profess to have, till nothing else is left 
 us. We worship philosophy, but never think of making use 
 of it while we have prosperity as well." 
 
 " The question is whether such practice is wise," said 
 Margaret : " we all know it is common." 
 
 " For my part," said Mr. Enderby, " I think the old 
 Scotchwoman was right ; Providence helps those that help 
 themselves, and takes care of those who take care of them- 
 selves." 
 
 " Just so," said Hope. " Her error was in supposing that 
 the one course was an alternative from the other, — that she 
 would not be trusting in Providence as much in going by the 
 bridge as in braving the tempest. I think we are in the same 
 error when we set up philosophy and prosperity in opposition 
 to each other, taking up with the one when we cannot get the 
 other, as if philosophy were not over all, compassing our life 
 as the blue sky overarches the earth, brightening, vivifying, 
 harmonizing all, whether we look up to see whence the light 
 comes or not." 
 
 " You think it a mistake, then," said Margaret, " not to 
 look up to it till all is night below, and there is no light to be 
 seen but by gazing overhead ? " 
 
 " I do not see why we should miss seeing the white clouds 
 and blue depths at noon because we may reckon upon moon 
 
DEERBROOK. 51 
 
 and stars at midnight. Then again, what is life at its best 
 without philosophy ? " 
 
 ^' I can tell you, as well as anybody," said Mr. Enderby, 
 ^' for I never had any philosophy, — no, neither wisdom, nor 
 the love of wisdom, nor patience, nor any of the things that 
 philosophy is understood to mean." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Enderby !" cried Sydney, " what pains you took 
 to teach me to fish, and to make me wait patiently for a bite ! 
 You say you are not patient ! " 
 
 " My account of life without philosophy," said Mr. Enderby y 
 proceeding as if he did not hear the children testifying to his 
 patience with them, — " my account of life without philosophy 
 is, that it slips away mighty easily, till it is gone, you scarcely 
 know where or how." 
 
 " And when you call upon philosophy at last to give an 
 account of it, what does she say ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 " I do not understand how life can slip away so," said 
 Hester. " Is there ever a day without its sting ? — without 
 doubt of somebody, disappointment in oneself or another,, 
 dread of some evil, or weariness of spirit ? Prosperity is no 
 more of a cure for these than for sickness and death. If 
 philosophy is " 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Mr. Hope, with strong interest, "if 
 philosophy is " 
 
 " Happy they that have her, for all need her." 
 
 " Hear a testimony at least as candid as your own, Enderby. 
 If you really find life steal away as easily as you now fancy, 
 depend upon it you are more of a philosopher than you are 
 aware of." 
 
 " What is philosophy ? " asked Matilda of Sydney in a 
 loud whisper, which the boy was not in any hurry to take 
 notice of, so little was there in the conversation which seemed 
 to bear upon phosphorus and electricity. 
 
 " A good question," observed Mr. Enderby. " Hope, wiD 
 you tell us children what we are talking about, — ^what philo- 
 sophy is all this while ? " 
 
 " You gave us a few meanings just now, which I should 
 put into one. Call it enlargement of views, and you have 
 wisdom, and the love of wisdom, and patience, all at once : 
 ay, Sydney, and your kind of philosophy too : — ^it was by 
 looking far and deep into nature that men found electricity." 
 
 "Did Dr. Levitt find it out?" asked Matilda: "he is so 
 very short-sighted ! I don't believe he would see those fish 
 
 E 2 
 
52 DEERBROOK. 
 
 snapping up the flies, if he sat where I do. What was that 
 that fell on my bonnet ? Is it raining ? " 
 
 Sydney, tired of fishing, had climbed into the oak, and was 
 sending down twigs and leaves upon the heads of the party. 
 Sophia desired him to come down, and even assured him that 
 if he did not, she should be angry. He replied, that he 
 would only stay to see whether she would be angry or not. 
 The experiment was cut short by the whole party rising, and 
 moving homewards. The sun was setting, and the picked 
 cowslips must not have any dew upon them. 
 
 As the group passed up the street, Sydney in advance, with 
 his rod and basket, on Mr. Hope's horse, Mr. Hope himself 
 following with Hester, and the tall Mr. Enderby, with Sophia 
 and Margaret on either arm, all, like the little girls, laden 
 with cowslips, the gossips of Deerbrook were satisfied that the 
 stranger ladies must have enjoyed their walk in the meadows. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SCHOOL-ROOM. 
 
 Mrs. Rowland was mortified that the Greys had been before- 
 hand with her in the idea of a cowslip-gathering. From the 
 moment of Matilda's asking leave to accompany them, she 
 resolved to have such an expedition from her house' as her 
 neighbours should not be able to eclipse. Like Lear, she did 
 not yet know what her deed was to be ; but it should be the 
 wonder and terror of the place : she would do such things as 
 should strike the strangers with admiration. When she 
 heard an account of it from her little daughter, she found 
 this had been a very poor beginning, — a mere walk in the 
 meadows, and home again to tea ; — ^no boiling the kettle in 
 the woods, — not even a surprise of early strawberries. She 
 could not call this being forestalled ; it could not give the 
 young ladies any idea of a proper country excursion, with 
 four or ^YQ carriages, or a boat with an awning. As soon as 
 Mr. Rowland came home in the evening, she consulted him 
 about the day, the place, the mode, and the numbers to be 
 invited. Mr. Rowland was so well pleased to find his lady in 
 the mood to be civil to her neighbours, that he started no dif- 
 ficulties, and exerted himself to overcome such as could not 
 be overlooked. All the planning prospered so well, that notes 
 
DEERBROOK. 53 
 
 to the Grey family and to the Miss Ibbotsons lay on Mr. Grey's 
 breakfast- table the next morning, inviting the whole party to 
 dine with Mrs. Eowland in Dingleford woods, that day week, 
 — the carriages to be at the door at ten o'clock. 
 
 The whole village rang with the preparations for this excur- 
 sion ; and the village was destined to ring with other tidings 
 before it took place. Mrs. Rowland often said that she had the 
 worst luck in the world ; and it seemed as if all small events 
 fell out so as to plague her. She had an unusual fertility in 
 such sensible suppositions and reasonable complaints ; and her 
 whole diversity of expressions of this kind was called into play 
 about this expedition to Dingleford woods. The hams were 
 actually boiled, and the chicken-pies baked, when clouds began 
 to gather in the sky ; and on the appointed morning, pattens 
 clinked in the village street. Miss Young's umbrella was wet 
 through in the mere transit from the farrier's gate to the 
 schoolroom ; the gravel- walk before Mr. Grey's house was full 
 of yellow pools, and the gurgling of spouts or drips from the 
 trees was heard on every side. The worst of it was, this rain 
 came after a drought of many weeks, which had perilled the 
 young crops, and almost destroyed the hopes of hay ; the ladies 
 and children had been far from sufficiently sorry to hear that 
 some of the poorer wheat lands in the county had been ploughed 
 up, and that there was no calculating what hay would be a ton 
 the next winter. They were now to receive the retribution of 
 their indifference ; rain had set in, and the farmers hoped that 
 it might continue for a month. It would not be wise to fix 
 any country excursion for a few weeks to come. Let the 
 young people enjoy any fine afternoon that they might be able 
 to turn to the account of a walk, or a drive, or a sail on the 
 river ; but pic-nic parties must be deferred till settled weather 
 came. There was every hope that the middle of the summer 
 would be fine and seasonable, if the rains came down freely 
 now. 
 
 This course of meteorological events involved two great 
 vexations to Mrs. Rowland. One was, that the neighbours, 
 who could pretend to entertain the strangers only in a quiet 
 way at home, took the opportunity of the rainy weather to do 
 so, hoping, as they said, not to interfere with any more agree- 
 able engagements. Mrs. Rowland really never saw anything 
 so dissipated as the Greys ; they were out almost every evening 
 when they had not company at home. It was impossible that 
 Sophia's studies, could go on as they ought to do. What with 
 
54 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 taking a quiet cnp of tea with one acquaintance, and being at 
 a merry reading party at another's, and Mrs. Enderby's little 
 dance, and dinner at the Levitts', there were few evenings left; 
 and on those few evenings they were never content to be alone. 
 They were always giving the young men encouragement to go 
 in. Mr. Hope made quite a home house of Mr. Grey's ; and 
 as for Philip, he seemed now to be more at Mr. Grey's than 
 even at his own mother's or sister's. Mrs. Grey ought to 
 remember how bad all this was for a girl of Sophia's age. It 
 would completely spoil the excursion to Dingleford w^oods. 
 The young people knew one another so well by this time, that 
 the novelty was all worn off, and they would have nothing left 
 to say to each other. It was provoking that Mr. Rowland had 
 promised that the excursion should take place whenever the 
 weather should be settled enough. It might so fairly have 
 been given up! and now it must be gone on with, when every 
 one was tired of the idea, and the young people must almost 
 be weary of one another, from being always together ! 
 
 The other vexation was, that there were frequent short 
 intervals of fine weather, which were immediately taken ad- 
 vantage of for a drive, or a walk, or a sail ; and it came out 
 one day from the children, who had learned it in the school- 
 room, that the Miss Ibbotsons had been in Dingleford woods. 
 There had been no such intention when the party set out ; 
 they had not designed to go nearly so far ; but they had been 
 tempted on by the beauty of the evening and of the scenery, 
 till they had found it the shortest way to come home through 
 the Dingleford woods. Mrs. Rowland pronounced this abomin- 
 able ; and she was not appeased by hearing that her brother 
 had been the proposer of this mode of return, and the guide of 
 the party. Philip forgot everything, she declared, in his fancy 
 for these girls ; it was always his fault that he was carried 
 away by the people he was with : he had got the name of a 
 flirt by it, and a flirt he was ; but she had never known him 
 so possessed as he seemed to be by these strangers. She must 
 speak to Mr. Rowland about it ; the matter might really 
 become serious ; and if he should ever be entrapped into 
 marrying into the Grey connections, among people so decidedly 
 objectionable, it would be a terrible self-reproach to her as 
 long as she lived, that she had not interfered in time. She 
 should speak to Mr. Rowland. 
 
 Meanwhile she kept a watchful eye on her brother's pro- 
 ceedings. She found from the children that their Uncle Philip 
 
DEERBROOK. ^ 55 
 
 had fulfilled his promise of going to see the schoolroom, and 
 had been so much better than his word, that he had been 
 there very often. When he went, it was always when the 
 Miss Ibbotsons were there, learning German, or drawing, or 
 talking with Miss Young. It was impossible to pick a quarrel 
 with Miss Young about this ; for she always sent her visitors 
 away the moment the clock struck the school -hour. The 
 summer-house was Mr. Grey's property, too ; so that Mrs. 
 Rowland could only be angry at the studies which went on in 
 it, and had no power to close the doors against any of the 
 parties. 
 
 The rainy weather had indeed been very propitious to the 
 study of German. For a fortnight Margaret had spent some 
 hours of each day with Miss Young ; and over their books 
 they had learned so much of one another's heart and mind, 
 that a strong regard had sprung up between them. This new 
 friendship was a great event to Miss Young ; — how great, she 
 herself could scarcely have believed beforehand. Her pupils 
 found that Miss Young was now very merry sometimes. Mr. 
 Grey observed to his wife that the warmer weather seemed to 
 agree with the poor young woman, as she had some little 
 colour in her cheeks at last ; and Margaret herself observed a 
 change in the tone of the philosophy she had admired from the 
 beginning. There was somewhat less of reasoning in it, and 
 more of impulse ; it was as sound as ever, but more genial. 
 While never forgetting the constancy of change in human 
 affairs, she was heartily willing to enjoy the good that befell 
 her, while it lasted. It was well that she could do so ; for the 
 good of this new friendship was presently alloyed. 
 
 She was not aware, and it was well that she was not, that 
 Hester was jealous of her, almost from the hour of Margaret's 
 learning what a vast number of irregular verbs there is in the 
 German. Each sister remembered the conversation by the 
 open window, on the night of their arrival at Deerbrook. 
 Remembering it, Margaret made Hester a partaker in all her 
 feelings about Maria Young ; her admiration, her pity, her 
 esteem. Reserving to herself any confidence which Maria 
 placed in her (in which, however, no mention of Mr. Enderby 
 ever occurred), she kept not a thought or feeling of her own 
 from her sister. The consequence was, that Hester found that 
 Maria filled a large space in Margaret's mind, and that a new 
 interest had risen up in which she had little share. She, too, 
 remembered the conversation, but had not strength to act up 
 
56 DEERBROOK. 
 
 to the spirit of it. She had then owned her weakness, and 
 called it wickedness, and fancied that she could never mistrust 
 her sister again. She was now so ashamed of her own con- 
 sciousness of being once more jealous, that she strove to hide 
 the fact from herself, and was not therefore likely to tell it to 
 Margaret. She struggled hourly with herself, rebuking her 
 own temper, and making appeals to her OAvn generosity. She 
 sat drawing in the little blue parlour, morning after morning, 
 during Sophia's reading or practising, telling herself that Mar- 
 garet and Miss Young had no secrets, no desire to be always 
 tete-a-tete; that they had properly invited her to learn German ; 
 and that she had only to go at any moment, and offer to join 
 them, to be joyfully received. She argued with herself, — how 
 mean it would be to do so ; to agree to study at last, in order 
 to be a sort of spy upon them, to watch over her own interests ; 
 as if Margaret — the most sincere and faithful of living beings 
 — were not to be trusted with them. She had often vowed 
 that she would cure the jealousy of her temper; now was the 
 occasion, and she would meet it ; she would steadily sit beside 
 Sophia or Mrs. Grey every morning, when Margaret was not 
 with her, and never let her sister know how selfish she could be. 
 This was all very well ; but it could not make Margaret 
 suppose her sister happy when she was not. She could not 
 be certain what was the matter, but she saw that something 
 was wrong. At times, Hester's manner was so unboundedly 
 affectionate, that it was impossible to suppose that unkind 
 feelings existed towards herself, though a few pettish words 
 were at other times let drop. Hester's moods of magnanimity 
 and jealousy were accounted for in other ways by her sister. 
 Margaret believed, after a course of very close observation, 
 that she had discovered, in investigating the cause of Hester's 
 discomposure, a secret which was unknown to her sister her- 
 self. Margaret was not experienced in love, nor in watching 
 the signs of it ; but here was the mind she understood best^ 
 discomposed without apparent cause — ^more fond, more gene- 
 rous to herself than ever, yet not reposing its usual confidence 
 in her — and subject to those starts of delight and disappoint- 
 ment which she had heard and could understand to be the 
 moods of love. She was confirmed in her suspicion by ob- 
 serving that the merits of Mr. Hope were becoming daily a 
 less common subject of conversation between them, while it 
 was certain that he had in no degree lost favour with either. 
 They had been charmed with him from the beginning, and 
 
DEERBROOK. 57 
 
 had expressed to each other the freest admiration of his truth, 
 his gaiety, his accomplishments, and great superiority to the 
 people amidst whom he lived. He was now spoken of less 
 every day, while his visits grew more frequent, longer, and, 
 Margaret could not but think, more welcome to her sister. 
 The hours when he was sure not to come happened to be those 
 which she spent with Miss Young — the hours in which gentle- 
 men are devoted to their business. Margaret thus witnessed 
 all that passed ; and if her conjecture about Hester was right, 
 she could have wished to see Mr. Hope's manner rather 
 different from what it was. He was evidently strongly at- 
 tracted to the house ; and there was some reason to think that 
 Mrs. Grey believed that Hester was the attraction. But Mar- 
 garet had no such impression. She saw that Mr. Hope 
 admired her sister's beauty, listened to her conversation with 
 interest, and was moved at times by the generosity of her tone 
 of moral feeling ; but this, though much, was not enough for 
 the anxious sister's full satisfaction ; and the one thing besides 
 which she would fain have discerned she could not perceive. 
 These were early days yet, however ; so early that, in the 
 case of any one whom she knew, except her sister, she should 
 have supposed her own conjectures wild and almost im- 
 proper ; but Hester's was one of those natures to which time 
 and circumstance minister more speedily and more abun- 
 dantly than to the generality. By the strength of her feelings, 
 and the activity of her affections, time was made more com- 
 prehensive, and circumstance more weighty than to others. 
 A day would produce changes in her which the impressions of 
 a week would not effect in less passionate natures ; and what 
 were trifling incidents to the minds about her, were great 
 events to her. 
 
 Margaret began to consider what was to be done. The 
 more she thought, the more plainly she perceived that there 
 was nothing to be done but to occupy Hester, simply and 
 naturally, with as many interests as possible. This was safe 
 practice, be the cause of her occasional discomposure what it 
 might. It was particularly desirable that she should not con- 
 tinue the habit of sitting in silence for a considerable part of 
 every morning. 
 
 One day, just after the voices of the children had been heard 
 in the hall, giving token that school was over, Hester, sitting 
 in the little blue parlour alone, with her head on her hand, 
 was apparently contemplating the drawing on her board, but 
 
58 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 really considering that Margaret was now beginning to be 
 happy with her friend, and asking why Margaret should not 
 be happy with her friend, when Margaret herself entered. 
 
 " Do yon want Sophia?'* said Hester. " She is up-stairs." 
 
 " No ; I want you." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 There was an ironical tone of surprise in the one word she 
 spoke, which let fall a weight upon Margaret's heart ; — an old 
 feehng, but one to which she had made no progress towards 
 being reconciled. 
 
 " I cannot help you with your German, you know. How 
 can you pretend to want me ? " 
 
 " It is not about the German at aU that I want you. Maria 
 has found a Spenser at last, and I am going to read her the 
 * Hymn of Heavenly Beauty,' I know you never can hear that 
 often enough ; so come ! " 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Young had rather not. I should be sorry to 
 intrude myself upon her. But, however," continued she, 
 observing Margaret's look of surprise, " I will come. Do not 
 wait for me, dear. I will come the moment I have put up my 
 drawing." 
 
 Margaret did wait, running over the keys of the open piano 
 meanwhile. 
 
 ^' Shall I call Sophia too ?" asked Hester, as she took up her 
 work-bag. " I dare say she never read any of Spenser." 
 
 " I dare say not," replied Margaret ; *' and she would not 
 care about it now. If you think we ought, we will call her. 
 Knot " 
 
 Hester smiled, nodded, and led the way to the schoolroom 
 without calling Sophia. She had not been two minutes in 
 the cordial presence of her sister and Maria, before she felt 
 the full absurdity of the feelings which had occupied her so 
 lately, and was angry with herself to her own satisfaction. 
 Her companions looked at each other with a smile as they 
 observed at the same moment the downcast attitude of her 
 moistened eyes, the beautiful blush on her cheek, and the 
 expression oi meek emotion on her lips. They thought that 
 it was the image of heavenly beauty which moved her thus. 
 
 Before they had quite finished the Hymn, the door was 
 burst open, and the children entered, dragging in Mr. Enderby. 
 Mr. Enderby rebuked them, good-naturedly, for introducing 
 him with so little ceremony, and declared to the ladies that 
 Matilda had promised to knock before she opened the door. 
 
DEERBROOK. 59 
 
 Hester advised Mary and Fanny to be more quiet in their 
 mode of entrance, observing that they had made Miss Young 
 start with their hurry. 
 
 Matilda was glad her uncle remembered to come some- 
 times. He had promised it several weeks before he came at 
 all ; even when he said he was going away in a fortnight. 
 
 " And if I had gone away in a fortnight," said he, " I 
 should not have seen your schoolroom. But this is not the 
 first time I have seen it, as you remember very well. I have 
 been here often lately." 
 
 " But you never attend to me here, uncle ! And I want so to 
 show you my desk, where I keep my copy-book, and the 
 work-box you gave me on my birthday." 
 
 " Well, you can show me now, cannot you ? So, this is 
 your desk ! It seems convenient enough, whatever we may 
 think of its beauty. I suppose it will hold all the knowledge 
 you mil want to have put into your head for some time to 
 come. Now show me which is George's desk, and which 
 Fanny's ; and now Mary's, — a nice row of desks ! Now," 
 whispering to her, " can you show me which is Miss Margaret's 
 desk?" 
 
 The little girl giggled as she answered, that Miss Margaret 
 was too old to be a school-girl. 
 
 " So she is : but she learns of Miss Young, and I know she 
 keeps some of her books here. Can you show me where?" 
 
 There was a desk rather larger than the rest, the lid of 
 which now happened to be standing open. Matilda slyly 
 pointed to it. While the ladies were engaged with the other 
 children, Mr. Enderby cast a glance into this desk, saw a 
 book which he knew to be Margaret's, laid something upon it 
 from his pocket, and softly closed the lid ; the whole passing, if 
 it was observed at all, as a survey of the children's desks. He 
 then pretended to look round for the rod. 
 
 *' No rod ! " said he to the laughing children. "Oh, I 
 should like to learn here very much, if there is no rod. Miss 
 Margaret, do you not find it very pleasant learning here?" 
 
 The children were shouting, " Miss Young, Miss Young, do 
 let uncle Philip come and learn with us. He says he will be 
 a very good boy, — won't you, uncle Philip ? Miss Young, 
 when may uncle Philip come and learn his lessons ? " 
 
 Margaret saw that there was constraint in the smile with 
 which Maria answered the children. Little as she knew, it 
 struck her that in his fun with the children, Mr. Enderby was 
 
60 DEERBROOK. 
 
 relying quite sufficiently on the philosophy he had professed 
 to admire in Miss Young. Mr. Enderby drew a chair to the 
 window round which the ladies were sitting, and took up the 
 volume Margaret had just laid down. 
 
 " Go, go, children !" said he ; " run away to your gardens ! 
 I cannot spare you any more play to-day." 
 
 "Oh, but uncle, we want to ask you a question." 
 
 " Well, ask it." 
 
 " But it is a secret. You must come into the corner with 
 Fanny, and Mary, and me." 
 
 For peace and quiet he went into the corner with them, and 
 they whispered into each ear a question, how many burnt 
 almonds and gingerbread-buttons, and how much barley-sugar, 
 two shillings and threepence halfpenny would buy ? The 
 cowslips were now ready to make tea of, and the feast t)n the 
 dolls' dishes might be served any day. Mr. Enderby promised 
 to inquire at the confectioner's, and not to teH anybody else ; 
 and at last the children were got rid of. 
 
 " Now that we have done with mysteries," said he, as he 
 resumed his seat by the window, "that is, with children's 
 mysteries that we can see to the bottom of, let us look a little 
 into the poet's mysteries. What were you reading ? Show 
 me, and I will be your reader. Who or what is this Heavenly 
 Beauty ? We have not done with mysteries yet, I see." 
 
 " I was wondering," said Margaret smiling, " whether you 
 take up Spenser because you are tired of mysteries. In such 
 a case, some other poet might suit you better." 
 
 "What other?" 
 
 " Some one less allegorical, at least." 
 
 " I do not know that," said Hester. " The most cunning 
 allegory that ever was devised is plain and easy in comparison 
 with the simplest true story, — fully told : and a man is a poet 
 in proportion as he fully tells a simple true story." 
 
 " A story of the mind, you mean," said Mr. Enderby, " not 
 of the mere events of life ? " 
 
 " Of the mind, of course, I mean. Without the mind the 
 mere life is nothing." 
 
 " Is not allegory a very pretty way of telling such a story 
 of the mind, under the appearance of telling a story of a life ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret ; " and that is the reason why so 
 many like allegory. There is a pleasure in making one's way 
 about a grotto in a garden ; but I think there is a much 
 higher one in exploring a cave on the sea-shore, dim and 
 
p 
 
 DEERBROOK. 61 
 
 winding, where you never know tliat you have come to the 
 end, — a much higher pleasure in exploring a life than follow- 
 ing out an allegory." 
 
 " You are a true lover of mystery. Miss Margaret. You 
 should have lived a thousand years ago." 
 
 " Thank you : I am very glad I did not. But why so long 
 ago ? Are there not mysteries enough left ? " 
 
 " And will there not be enough a thousand years hence ? " 
 said Hester. 
 
 " I am afraid not. You and I cannot venture to speak upon 
 what the Germans may be doing. But these two ladies can 
 tell us, perhaps, whether they are not clearing everything up 
 very fast ; — making windows in your cave. Miss Margaret, 
 till nobody will be afraid to look into every cranny of it." 
 
 '^ And then our complaint," said Miss Young, " will be like 
 Mrs. Howell's, when somebody told her that we were to have 
 the Drummond light on every church steeple. ^ Oh dear, 
 ma'am ! ' said she, * we shall not know how in the world to 
 get any darkness.' " 
 
 " You speak as if you agreed that the Germans really are 
 the makers of windows that Mr. Enderby supposes them," 
 observed Margaret ; " but you do not think we are any nearer 
 the end of mysteries than ever, do you?" 
 
 ^^ Oh, no ; not till we have struck our stone to the bottom of 
 the universe, and walked round it : and I am not aware that 
 the Germans pretend to be able to do that, any more than 
 other people. Indeed, I think there are as many makers of 
 grottoes as explorers of caves among them. What do you 
 want, my dear ? " 
 
 This last was addressed to George, whose round face, red 
 with exertion, appeared at a back window. The little girls 
 were hoisting him up, that he might call out once more, 
 ** Uncle Philip, be sure you remember not to tell." 
 
 " It would be a pity that mysteries should come to an end," 
 observed Mr. Enderby, " when they seem to please our 
 human tastes so well. See there, how early the love of 
 mystery begins ! and who can tell where it ends ? Is there 
 one of your pupils, Miss Young, in whom you do not find it ?" 
 
 " Not one ; but is there not a wide difference between the 
 love of making mysteries, and a taste for finding them out ? " 
 
 " Do you not find both in children, and up into old age ?" 
 
 " In children, one usually finds both : but I think the love 
 of mystery-making and surprises goes off as people grow 
 
62 DEERBROOK. 
 
 wiser. Fanny and Mary were plotting all last week how to 
 take their sister Sophia by surprise with a piece of India- 
 rubber, a token of fraternal affection, as they were pleased to 
 call it ; and you see George has a secret to-day : but they 
 will have fewer hidings and devices every year : and, if they 
 grow really wise, they will find that, amidst the actual busi- 
 ness of life, there is so much more safety, and ease, and 
 blessing in perfect frankness than in any kind of concealment, 
 that they will give themselves the liberty and peace of being 
 open as the day-light. Such is my hope for them. But all 
 this need not prevent their delighting in the mysteries which 
 are not of man's making." 
 
 " They will be all the more at leisure for them," said Mar- 
 garet, " from having their minds free from plots and secrets." 
 
 " Surely you are rather hard upon arts and devices," said 
 Philip. " Without more or fewer of them, we should make 
 our world into a Palace of Truth, — see ^the Veillees du 
 Chateau, which Matilda is reading with Miss Young. Who 
 ever read it, that did not think the Palace of Truth the most 
 disagreeable place in the world ? " 
 
 "And why?" asked Margaret. "Not because the people 
 in it spoke truth ; but because the truth which they spoke 
 was hatred, and malice, and selfishness." 
 
 "And how much better," inquired Hester, "is the truth 
 that we should speak, if we were as true as the day-light ? I 
 hope we shall always be allowed to make mysteries of our own 
 ;selfish and unkind fancies. There would be little mutual 
 respect left if these things were told." 
 
 " I think there would be more than ever," said Margaret, 
 carefully avoiding to meet her sister's eye. " I think so many 
 mistakes would be explained, so many false impressions set 
 right, on the instant of their being made, that our mutual 
 relations would go on more harmoniously than now." 
 
 " And what would you do with the affairs now dedicated to 
 mystery?" asked Mr. Enderby. " How would you deal with 
 diplomacy, and government, and with courtship ? You surely 
 would not overthrow the whole art of wooing ? You would 
 not doom lovers' plots and devices ? " 
 
 The ladies were all silent. Mr. Enderby, however, was 
 determined to have an answer. He addressed himself par- 
 ticularly to Margaret. 
 
 " You do not disapprove of the little hidden tokens with 
 which a man may make his feelings secretly known where he 
 
DEERBROOK. 63 
 
 wishes them to be understood ; — tokens which may meet the 
 eye of one alone, and carry no meaning to any other ! You 
 do not disapprove of a more gentle and mysterious way of 
 saying, * I love you,' than looking full in one another's face, 
 and declaring it like a Quaker upon affirmation ? You do not 
 disapprove " 
 
 "As for disapproving," said Margaret, who chanced to 
 perceive that Maria's hand shook so that she could not guide 
 her needle, and that she was therefore apparently searching 
 for something in her work-box, — " as for disapproving, I do 
 not pretend to judge for other people " 
 
 She stopped short, struck with the blunder she had made. 
 Mr. Enderby hastened to take advantage of it. He said, 
 laughing, 
 
 " Well, then, speak for yourself. Never mind other 
 people's case." 
 
 " What I mean," said Margaret, with grave simplicity, " is, 
 that all depends upon the person whose regard is to be won. 
 There are silly girls, and weak women, who, liking mysteries 
 in other affairs, are best pleased to be wooed with small 
 artifices ; — with having their vanity and their curiosity piqued 
 with sly compliments " 
 
 " Sly compliments ! What an expression !" 
 
 " Such women agree, as a matter of course, in the old 
 notion, — suitable enough five centuries ago, — that the life of 
 courtship should be as unlike as possible to married life. 
 But I certainly think those much the wisest and the happiest, 
 who look upon the whole affair as the solemn matter that it 
 really is, and who desire to be treated, from the beginning, 
 with the sincerity and seriousness which they will require 
 after they are married." 
 
 ."If the same simplicity and seriousness were common in 
 this as are required in other grave transactions," said Hester, 
 " there would be less of the treachery, delusion, and heart- 
 breaking, which lie heavy upon the souls of many a man and 
 many a woman." 
 
 Mr. Enderby, happening to be looking out of the window 
 here, as if for something to say, caught the eye of his sister, 
 who was walking in her garden. She beckoned to him, but 
 he took no notice, not desiring to be disturbed at present. 
 Turning again to Margaret, he said, 
 
 " But you would destroy all the graces of courtship : you 
 would " 
 
64 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Nay," said Hester, " what is so graceful as the simplicity 
 of entire mutual trust? — ^the more entire the more graceful." 
 
 " I wish you had left out the word * trust.' You have 
 spoiled something that I was going on to say about the sim- 
 plicity of drawing lots like the Moravians, — the most sincere 
 courtship of all: but that word ^ trust' puts my illustration 
 aside. You need not protest. I assure you I am not so dull 
 as not to understand that you think love necessary to the 
 wooing which seems graceful in your eyes ; — Oh, yes : love, 
 and mutual knowledge, and mutual reverence, and perfect 
 trust ! Oh, yes, I understand it all." 
 
 " Philip ! " cried a soft, sentimental voice under the window : 
 ^^ Brother, I want your arm for a turn in the shrubbery." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland's bonnet was visible as she looked up to the 
 window. She saw the braids of the hair of the young ladies, 
 and her voice was rather less soft as she called again, "Philip, 
 do you hear ? I want you." 
 
 It was impossible to seem not to hear. Mr. Enderby was 
 obliged to go : but he left his hat behind him, as a sort of 
 pledge that he meant to limit himself to the single turn proposed. 
 
 For various reasons, the young ladies were all disinclined 
 to speak after he had left them. Miss Young was the first 
 to move. She rose to go to her desk for something, — the 
 desk in which Margaret kept the books she used in this place. 
 Ever on the watch to save Maria the trouble of moving about, 
 which was actual pain to her, Margaret flew to see if she 
 could not fetch what was wanted : but Miss Young was 
 already looking into the desk. Her eye caught the pretty 
 new little volume which lay there. She took it up, found it 
 was a volume of Tieck, and saw on the fly-leaf, in the well- 
 known handwriting, " From P. E." One warm beam of hope 
 shot through her heart : — ^how could it be otherwise, — the 
 book lying in her desk, and thus addressed? But it was 
 only one moment's joy. The next instant's reflection, and the 
 sight of Margaret's German exercise, on which the book had 
 lain, revealed the real case to her. In sickness of heart, she 
 would, upon impulse, have put back the book, and concealed 
 the incident : but she was not sure but that Margaret had 
 seen the volume, and she ivas sure of what her own duty was. 
 With a smile and a steady voice she held out the book to 
 Margaret, and said, 
 
 " Here is something for you, Margaret, which looks a little 
 like one of the hidden, and gentle, and mysterious tokens 
 
DEERBROOK. 65 
 
 Mr. Enderby has been talking about. Here it is, lying among 
 your books ; and I think it was not with them when you last 
 left your seat." 
 
 Margaret bkished with an emotion which seemed to the one 
 who knew her best to be too strong to be mere surprise. She 
 looked doubtful for a moment about the book being meant for 
 her. Its German aspect was conclusive against its being 
 designed for Hester : but Miss Young, — was it certain that 
 the volume was not hers ? She asked this ; but Maria replied, 
 as her head was bent over her desk, 
 
 ^^ There is no doubt about it. I am sure. It is nobody's 
 but yours." 
 
 Some one proposed to resume the reading. The " Hymn 
 to Heavenly Beauty" was finished, but no remark followed. 
 Each was thinking of something else. More common sub- 
 jects suited their present mood better. It was urged upon 
 Hester that she should be one of the daily party ; and, her 
 lonely fancies being for the hour dispersed, she agreed. 
 
 " But," she observed, " other people's visits alter the case 
 entirely. I do not see how study is to go on if any one may 
 come in from either house, as Mr. Enderby did to-day. It is 
 depriving Miss Young of her leisure, too, and making use of 
 her apartment in a way that she may well object to." 
 
 " I am here, out of school-hours, only upon sufferance," 
 replied Miss Young. " I never call the room mine without 
 this explanation." 
 
 " Besides," said Margaret, *^ it is a mere accident Mr. 
 Enderby's coming in to-day. If he makes a habit of it, we 
 have only to tell him that we want our time to ourselves." 
 
 Miss Young knew better. She made no reply ; but she felt 
 in her inmost soul that her new-born pleasures were, from this 
 moment, to be turned into pains. She knew Mr. Enderby ; 
 and knowing him, foresaw that she was to be a witness of 
 his wooings of another, whom she had just begun to take 
 to her heart. This was to be her fate if she was strong 
 enough for it, — strong enough to be generous in allowing to 
 Margaret opportunities which could not without her be en- 
 joyed, of fixing the heart of one whom she could not pronounce 
 to have been faulty towards herself. His conversation to- 
 day had gone far to make her suppose him blameless, and 
 herself alone in fault ; so complete had seemed his uncon- 
 sciousness with regard to her. Her duty then was clearly to 
 give them up to each other, with such spirit of self-sacrifice 
 
66 DEERBROOK. 
 
 as she might be capable of. If not strong enough for this, 
 the alternative was a daily painful retreat to her lodging, 
 whence she might look out on the heaps of cinders in the 
 farrier's yard, her spirit abased the while with the experience 
 of her own weakness. Neither alternative was very cheering. 
 
 CHAPTEB VII. 
 
 FAMILY CONFIDENCE, 
 
 "When do you leave us, Philip?" inquired Mrs. Rowland, 
 putting her arm within her brother's, and marching him up 
 the gravel-walk. 
 
 " Do you wish me to go ? " replied he, laughing. " Is this 
 what you were so anxious to say ? " 
 
 " Why, we understood, six weeks since,* that you meant to 
 leave Deerbrook in a fortnight : that is all." 
 
 " So I did : but my mother is kind enough to be pleased 
 that I am staying longer ; and since I am equally pleased my- 
 self, it is all very well. I rather think, too, that the children 
 consider Uncle Philip a good boy, who deserves a holiday." 
 
 "My mother! Oh, she always supposes everything right that 
 you do ; and that is the reason why Mr. Eowland and I " 
 
 " The reason why Rowland and I agree so well," interrupted 
 the brother. " Yes, that is one reason, among many. Row- 
 land's wish is to see the old lady happy ; and she is naturally 
 happiest when she has both her children with her ; and for 
 every merry hour of hers, your good husband looks the more 
 kindly upon me." 
 
 " Of course ; all that is a matter of course ; though you are 
 not aware, perhaps, of the fatigue it is to my mother to have 
 any one with her too long a time. She will not tell you; but 
 you have no idea how low she is for some time after you go 
 away, if you have stayed more than a few days, from exhaus- 
 tion — from pure exhaustion. Ah ! you do not perceive it, 
 because the excitement keeps her up while you are here ; and 
 she naturally makes an effort, you know. But if you were to 
 see her as we do after you are gone ; — you cannot think how 
 it sets the Greys talking about her low spirits." 
 
 " Poor soul ! I wish I could be always with her. I will try 
 whether I cannot ; for some time to come, at least. But, 
 
DEERBROOK. 67 
 
 sister, how does it happen that neither you nor Rowland ever 
 told me this before ? " 
 
 "Oh, we would not distress you unnecessarily. We knew 
 it was an unavoidable evil. You cannot always be here, and 
 you must " 
 
 " Yes, I must sometimes come: that is an unavoidable evil; 
 and always will be, sister, while I have a good old mother 
 living here." 
 
 " My dear Philip, how you do misunderstand one ! I never 
 heard anything so odd." 
 
 " Why odd ? Have you not been giving me to understand, 
 all this time, that you do not wish to have me here, — that you 
 want me to go away ? If not this, I do not know what you 
 have been talking about." 
 
 " What an idea ! My only brother ! What can you be 
 thinking of? Why upon earth should I wish you anywhere 
 else?" 
 
 " That you may manage my mother and her affairs all your 
 own way, I imagine." 
 
 Mrs. Eowland had nothing to oppose to this plain speech 
 but exclamations. When she had exhausted all she could 
 muster, she avowed that the only consideration which could 
 reconcile her to the sacrifice of her dear brother's society was 
 anxiety for his happiness. 
 
 " Then, supposing 1 am happiest here, we are all satisfied." 
 And Uncle Philip would have made a diversion from the path 
 to give George his favourite swing, quite up to the second 
 branch of the great pear-tree. 
 
 " Pray let George swing himself for once, brother. Hold 
 your tongue, George ! You are a very troublesome boy, and 
 your uncle and I are busy. It is about your own affairs, 
 brother, that I want to open my mind to you. As for your 
 always remaining here, as you kindly hinted just now " 
 
 " I did not mean to hint," said Philip ; " I thought I had 
 spoken quite plainly." 
 
 " Well, well. We all know how to appreciate the kindness 
 of your intentions, I am sure : but your happiness must not be 
 sacrificed to the good of any of us here. We can take care of 
 one another : but, as it is impossible that you should find a 
 companion for life here, and as it is time you were thinking of 
 settling, we must not be selfish, and detain you among us 
 when you should be creating an interest elsewhere. Mr. Row- 
 land and I are extremely anxious to see you happily married, 
 
 F 2 
 
68 DEERBROOK. 
 
 brother ; and indeed we feel it is time you were thinking 
 about it." 
 
 " I am glad of that, sister. I am somewhat of the same 
 opinion myself." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it," replied the lady, in a rather imeasy 
 tone. *' We have been delighted to hear of these frequent 
 visits of yours to the Buchanans'. There is a strong attrac- 
 tion there, I fancy, Philip." 
 
 " Joe Buchanan is the attraction to me there. If you mean 
 Caroline, she has been engaged these three years to her 
 brother's friend Annesley." 
 
 " You do not say so ! But you did not know it ?'* 
 
 " I have known it these two years, under the seal of secresy. 
 Ah ! sister, I have had many an hour's amusement at your 
 schemes on my behalf about Caroline Buchanan." 
 
 *' I have been quite out, I see. When do you go to the 
 Bruces', to make the visit you were disappointed of at Christ- 
 mas?" 
 
 " When they return from the Continent, where they are 
 gone for three years. Miss Mary is out of reach for three 
 years, sister." 
 
 " Out of reach ! You speak as if Paris, — or Eome, if you 
 will, — was in Australia. And even in Australia one can 
 hardly speak of people being out of reach." 
 
 " If one wishes to overtake them," said Mr. Enderby : 
 " whereas, I can wait very well for the Bruces till th«y come 
 home again. Now, no more, sister ! I cannot stand and hear 
 the young ladies of my acquaintance catalogued as a specula- 
 tion for my advantage. I could not look them in the face 
 again after having permitted it." 
 
 "There is somebody in the schoolroom, I declare!" cried 
 the lady, as if astonished. And she stood looking from afar 
 at the summer-house, in which three heads were distinctly 
 visible. 
 
 " Were you not aware of that before ? Did you suppose I 
 was asleep there, or writing poetry all. alone, or what? The 
 Miss Ibbotsons are there, and Miss Young." 
 
 " You remind me," said the lady, *' of something that I 
 declared to Mr. Eowland that I would speak to you about. 
 My dear brother, you should have some compassion on the 
 young ladies you fall in with." 
 
 ** I thought your great anxiety just now was that the young 
 ladies should have compassion upon me." 
 
DfeERBROOK, 69 
 
 " One, Philip ; the right one. But you really have no 
 mercy. You are too modest to be aware of the mischief you 
 may be doing. But let me entreat you not to turn the head 
 of a girl whom you cannot possibly think seriously of" 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? " 
 
 " You may l3e making even more mischief than flattering 
 the poor girl with vain hopes. If you once let it get into the 
 heads of the Greys that any one belonging to us could think 
 of marrying into their connection, you do not know the trouble 
 you will impose upon Mr. Rowland and me." 
 
 " Does Eowland say so ?" 
 
 " Does he say so ? one would think Dear me! brother, 
 
 there is nothing one might not think from your manner. You 
 terrify me." 
 
 " Have you a pocket-mirror about you ?" asked Philip. "I 
 should like to see what this terrible manner of mine is like." 
 
 " Now, pray, no joking, Philip. I declare my nerves will 
 not bear it. But I tell you what, Philip : if you let your old 
 admiration of beauty carry you away, and make you forget 
 yourself so far as to dream of marrying into that connection, 
 you will repent it as long as you live. I shall never forgive 
 you ; and you will kill our poor dear mother." 
 
 "I will ask her whether she thinks so," said Philip, "and I 
 give you my word of honour that I will not kill my mother." 
 
 " Girls seem to think that beauty is everything," continued 
 the angry lady, "and so do their connections for them. I 
 declare Mrs. Grey sits winking at my mother when Miss 
 Ibbotson has a colour, as if nobody ever saw a good com- 
 plexion before. I declare it makes me sick. Now, Philip, 
 you have been fairly warned ; and if you fall into the trap, 
 you will not deserve any consideration from me." 
 
 " I have let you lay down the law to me, sister, in your own 
 way, because I know your way. Say what you please to me 
 of myself and my affairs, and a joke is the worst that will 
 come of it. But I tell you gravely, that I will not hear of 
 traps — I will not hear imputations like those you have just 
 spoken against these young ladies or their connections, with- 
 out rebuke. You can know nothing of the Miss Ibbotsons 
 which can justify this conversation." 
 
 " I shall soon believe you are in love," cried the lady, in 
 high resentment. 
 
 " Only take care what grounds you go upon before you 
 speak and act, sister. In my turn, I give you fair warning 
 
70 DEERBROOK. 
 
 how you take any measures against them, even in your own 
 inmost mind, without being quite sure what you are about." 
 
 " You do not say now that you do not mean to have that 
 girl?" cried Mrs. Kowland, fixing her fiery eyes upon her 
 brother's face. 
 
 " Why should I ? You have not set about obtaining my 
 confidence in any way which could succeed. If I am in love, 
 it would not be easy to own it upon such unwarrantable 
 pressure. If I am not in love " 
 
 " Ah ! If you are not " 
 
 " In that case I am disinclined to make my not caring for 
 them the condition on which those young ladies may receive 
 your civilities. These civilities are due to them, whatever I 
 may feel or intend ; and my respect for them is such that I 
 shall keep my mind to myself." 
 
 "At least," said the lady, somewhat humbled, "do not be so 
 much with them. For my sake, do not go into the schoolroom 
 again." * 
 
 " I am sorry I cannot oblige you," said he, smiling, " but I 
 must go at this moment : — not to sit down, — not to speak five 
 words, however, — ^but only to get my hat. I have to go into 
 the village, on an errand for the children. Can I do anything 
 for you in the village ? " 
 
 " She thinks only of Hester, it is plain," thought he. " If I 
 am to have any more lectures and advice, I hope they will 
 proceed on the same supposition : it will make my part easier, 
 and save my being driven to assert my own will, and so 
 plunging poor Priscilla into hysterics. I can bear her inter- 
 ference, as long as Margaret's name is not on her lips. The 
 moment she casts an evil eye on her, I shall speak to Rowland; 
 which I had much rather avoid. It would be delicious, too, 
 to be her protector, without her knowing it, — to watch over 
 her as she walks in her bright innocence, — to shield her — but 
 from whom ? From my own sister ? No ! no I better keep 
 her out of suspicion : better let it pass that it is really Hester. 
 Hester has plenty of friends to stand by her. The Greys are 
 so proud of her beauty, they have no eyes or ears but for her. 
 People who meddle with concerns they have no business with, 
 are strangely blind, — they make odd mistakes, from running 
 away with notions of their own, prepared beforehand. Here 
 is everybody determined that we shall all fall in love with 
 Hester. Priscilla has jumped to her conclusion at once, 
 — perhaps in emulation of Mrs. Grey. Mrs. Grey has clearly 
 
DEERBROOK. 71 
 
 given Hester to Hope, in Her own mind. I rather think Hope 
 would be obliged to her if she would not show so plainly what 
 is in her thoughts. I fear so, — I may be jealous, — but I am 
 afraid Hope and I are too much of the same mind about these 
 girls. I will stand up for Mrs. Grey, as long as I live, if she 
 proves right here. She shall wink and nod for evermore, and 
 I will justify her, if Hope turns out to be in love with Hester. 
 I will be the first to congratulate him, if he succeeds with 
 her : and really he would be a happy fellow. She is a lovely 
 creature ; and how she will love whenever she does love ! She 
 would be a devoted wife. Why cannot he see the matter so, 
 and leave my Margaret to me ? Now, how will she look up 
 as I go in ? " 
 
 His vision of Margaret's looks remained a vision. No one 
 was in the schoolroom but Miss Young, writing a letter. 
 
 " They are not here !" said Mr. Enderby. 
 
 " No ; they are gone with Mrs. Grey into the village, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " Oh, well, I only came for my hat. You are in the 
 children's secret, of course. Miss Young?" 
 
 " About their feast. Yes, I believe I know all about it." 
 
 " I am going to ask some important questions for them at 
 the confectioner's. You will not object to my bringing them 
 a few good things ? " 
 
 "I? Oh, no." 
 
 " I would not act in so serious a matter without asking you. 
 Can I be of any use to you in the village ? Or perhaps you 
 may want some pens mended before I go?'* 
 
 " No, I thank you." 
 
 " Then I will not interrupt your letter any longer. Good 
 morning," 
 
 It was a wonder that the letter was written at all. When 
 Maria had done leaning back in her chair, and had taken up 
 her pen again, she was disturbed by painful sounds from Mrs. 
 Kowland's garden. The lady's own Matilda, and precious 
 George, and darling Anna, were now pronounced to be naughty, 
 wilful, mischievous, and, finally, to be combined together to 
 break their mamma's heart. It was clear that they were 
 receiving the discharge of the wrath which was caused by 
 somebody else. Now a wail, now a scream of passion, went 
 to Maria's heart. She hastened on with her letter, in the hope 
 that Mrs. Rowland would presently go into the house, when 
 the little sufferers might be invited into the schoolroom, to 
 
72 DEERBROOK. 
 
 hear a story, or have their ruffled tempers calmed by some 
 other such simple means. 
 
 " What a life of discipline this is !" thought Maria. " We 
 all have it, sooner or later. These poor children are begin- 
 ning early. If one can but help them through it ! There ! 
 she goes in, and shuts the door behind her ! Now I may call 
 them hither, and tell them something or another about Una 
 and her lion." 
 
 At the well-known sound of Miss Young's lame step, the 
 little ones all came about her. One ashamed face was hid on 
 her shoulder ; another was relieved of its salt tears ; and the 
 boy's pout was first relaxed, and then forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FASHLY CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 From the time of the great event of the arrival of the Miss 
 Ibbotsons, Mr. Hope had longed to communicate all connected 
 with it to his family. As often as Hester looked eminently 
 beautiful, he wished his sisters could see her. As often as he 
 felt his spirit moved and animated by his conversations with 
 Margaret, he thought of Frank, and wished that the poor 
 fellow could for a day exchange the heats and fatigues, and 
 vapid society, of which he complained as accompaniments of 
 service in India, for some one of the wood and meadow ram- 
 bles, or garden frolics, which were the summer pleasures of 
 Deerbrook, now unspeakably enhanced by the addition lately 
 made to its society. Frank wrote that the very names of 
 meadows and kine, of cowslips, trout, and harriers, were a 
 refreshment to a soldier's fancy, when the heats, and the soli- 
 tude of spirit in which he was compelled to live, made him 
 weary of the novelties which had at first pleased him in the 
 East. He begged that Edward would go on to write as he 
 did of everything that passed in the village — of everything 
 which could make him for a whole evening fancy himself in 
 Deerbrook, and repose himself in its shades and quietness. 
 Mr. Hope had felt, for a month past, that such a letter was by 
 this time due to Frank, and that he had, for once, failed in 
 punctuality : but he now, for the first time, found it difficult 
 to get time to write. He never dreamed of sending Frank 
 letters which would be esteemed by others of a moderate 
 
DEERBROOK. 73 
 
 length. When he did write, it was an epistle indeed : and 
 during this particular May and June, there was always some- 
 thing happening which prevented his having his hours to him- 
 self. In other words, he was always at the Greys' when not 
 engaged in his professional duties. The arrival of a letter 
 from Frank one day gave him the necessary stimulus, and he 
 sat down on the instant to open his heart to his brother. 
 
 Frank was his younger and only brother, and the person in 
 the world most deeply indebted to him. Their parents being 
 dead, it was Edward who had been Frank's dependence as he 
 grew up. It was Edward who had, at great cost and pains, 
 gratified his wish to go into the army, and had procured him 
 the best educational advantages in preparation for a military life. 
 It was Edward who had always treated him with such familiar 
 friendship, that he had scarcely felt as if he wanted any other 
 intimate, and who seemed to forget the five years' diiFerence of 
 age between them at all times but when it afforded a reason 
 for pressing kindness and assistance upon him. The confi- 
 dence between them was as familiar and entire as if they had 
 been twin-brothers. The epistle which Frank was to have the 
 benefit of, on the present occasion, was even longer than usual, 
 from the delay which had caused an accumulation of tidings 
 and of thoughts. 
 
 " Deerbrook, June 20thj 18 — . 
 
 " Dear Frank, — Your letter of Dec. last has arrived to re- 
 mind me how far I am past my time in writing to you. I 
 make no apologies for my delay, however, and I do not pre- 
 tend to feel any remorse about it. We never write to one 
 another from a mere sense of duty ; and long may it be before 
 we do so! Unless we write because we cannot help it, pray 
 let us let it alone. As for the reasons why my inclination 
 to talk to you has not overpowered all impediments till now, 
 — you shall have them by-and-by. Meanwhile, here, before 
 your eyes, is the proof that I cannot but spend this June 
 evening with you. 
 
 " You ask about your grandfather ; and I have somewhat 
 to say to you about him. He is still living, — very infirm, as 
 you may suppose, but, I think, as clear in mind as I have 
 ever known him. He sent for me two months ago, as you 
 will have heard from the letter I find he caused to be written 
 to you about the business which then occupied his mind. My 
 share in that business he would represent to you as it appeared 
 
T4 DEERBROOK. 
 
 to him : but I must give you an account of it as it appears to 
 myself. He sent for me to take leave of me, as he said ; but, 
 in my opinion, to receive my acknowledgments for his latest 
 disposition of his property by will. The new arrangements 
 did not please me at all ; and I am confident that you would 
 have liked them no better than I ; and I wished not a little 
 that you were nearer, that we might have acted together. I 
 know that he once intended to divide his property equally 
 among us four ; but of late, from some unaccountable feeling 
 of indifference about Emily and Anne, or, as is more likely, 
 from some notion about women not wanting money, and not 
 knowing how to manage it, he has changed his mind, and des- 
 tined his money for you and me, leaving my sisters only a 
 hundred pounds each as a remembrance. He informed me of 
 this, as soon as I arrived. I thought him quite well enough 
 to hear reason, and I spoke my mind plainly to him. I had 
 no right to answer for you, any further than for your sense of 
 justice, and your affection for your sisters. The way in which 
 the matter was settled at last, therefore, with great pains and 
 trouble, was, that you and our sisters share equally, and that I 
 have the legacy of lOOZ., which was destined for one of them. 
 The reasons why 1 declined a fourth part of the property were 
 sufi[icient to my mind, and will be so, I doubt not, to yours. 
 Out of this property I have had my professional education, 
 while you and my sisters have received nothing at all. This 
 professional education has enabled me to provide sufficiently 
 for myself, so far, and this provision will in all probability go 
 on to increase ; while my sisters want as much as can fairly 
 be put into their hands. Their husbands are not likely ever 
 to be rich men, and will probably be poor for some years to 
 come. Their children have to be educated ; and, in short, there 
 is every reason why Emily and Anne should have this money, 
 and none why I should, I am afraid the old gentleman is not 
 very well pleased with my way of receiving what he intended 
 for kindness ; but that cannot be helped. If he falls back 
 into his previous state of mind, and leaves the whole, after all, 
 to you and me, I shall set the matter right, as far as I can, by 
 dividing my portion between my sisters : and I feel confident 
 that you will do the same ; but I earnestly hope this will not 
 happen. It will be a very different thing to my sisters re- 
 ceiving this money by their grandfather's will as their due, 
 and from our hands as a gift — (the way in which they will 
 look at it). The letter to you was sent off without delay, in 
 
DEERBROOK. 75 
 
 order that, in case of any dissatisfaction whatever on your 
 part, your wishes might have the better chance of being made 
 known to us during the old gentleman's life. I doubt not that 
 your thoughts, whatever they may be, will be on the way to 
 me before this reaches you ; and I can have as little doubt 
 what they are. You know Mr. Blunt says, that men are 
 created to rob their sisters, — a somewhat partial view of the 
 objects and achievements of mortal existence, it must be 
 owned, and a statement which I conceive the course of your 
 life, for one, will not go to confirm ; but a man must have had 
 a good deal of experience of what he is talking of before he 
 could make so sweeping a generalization from the facts of life ; 
 and I am afraid Mr. Blunt has some reason for what he says. 
 Medical men receive many confidences in sick rooms, you 
 know; and some, among others, which had better be reserved 
 for the lawyer. What I have seen in this way leads me to 
 imagine that my grandfather's notion is a very common one, — 
 that women have little occasion for money, and do not know 
 how to manage it ; and that their property is to be drawn 
 upon to the very last, to meet the difficulties and supply the 
 purposes of their brothers. On the utter injustice and ab- 
 surdity of such a notion there can be no disagreement between 
 you and me ; nor, I imagine, in our actions with regard to it. 
 "I heard from Emily yesterday. The letter is more than 
 half full of stories about the children, and accounts of her 
 principles and plans with regard to them. She writes on the 
 same subjects to you, no doubt, for her heart is full of them. 
 Her husband finds the post of consul at a little Spanish port 
 rather a dull affair, as we anticipated, and groans at the 
 mention of Bristol or Liverpool shipping, he says. But I like 
 the tone of his postscript very well. He is thankful for the 
 honest independence his office affords him, and says he can 
 tolerate his Spanish neighbours (though they are as ignorant 
 as Turkish ladies), for the sake of his family, and of the 
 hope of returning, sooner or later, to live in his own country, 
 after having discharged his duty to his children. Theirs 
 must be an irksome life enough, as much of it as is passed 
 out of their own doors : but they seem to be finding out that 
 it is not so much the where and the how^ as the what people 
 are, that matters to their peace of mind ; and I suppose those 
 who love each other, and have settled what they are living for, 
 can attain what they most want, nearly as well in one place 
 as another^ 
 
76 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Poor Anne wrote to you, I know, after the death of her 
 infant — her little Highlandman, as she proudly called him in 
 her last letter before she lost him. Gilchrist talked last year 
 of bringing her and his boy south this summer, and I had 
 some hopes of seeing them all here : but I have not been able 
 to get them to speak again of travelling, and I give it up for 
 this year. I hope your letters and theirs fall due seasonably ; 
 that your reports of all your devices to cool yourself, reach 
 them in the depth of their Caithness winter ; and that all they 
 say to you of their snow-drifts and freshets is acceptable when 
 you are panting in the hottest of your noons. Anne writes 
 more cheerfully than she did, and Gilchrist says she is exert- 
 ing herself to overcome her sorrow. Their love must be 
 passing strange in the eyes of all such as despised Anne's 
 match. It is such as should make Anne's brothers feel very 
 cordially towards Gilchrist. We have drifted asunder in life 
 rather strangely, when one comes to think of it ; and our 
 anchorage grounds are pretty far apart. Who would have 
 thought it, when we four used to climb the old apple-tree 
 together, and drop down from the garden wall ? I wonder 
 whether we shall ever contrive to meet in one house once more, 
 and whether I may be honoured by my house being the place ? 
 It is possible ; and I spend certain of my dreams upon the 
 project. Do you not find that one effect of this wide separa- 
 tion is, to make one fancy the world smaller than one used to 
 think it ? You, on the other side of it, probably waked up to 
 this conviction long ago. It is just opening upon me, shut 
 up in my nook of our little island. When I have a letter 
 from you, like that which lies before me, spiced with an old 
 family joke or two, and a good many new ones of your own, 
 all exactly like yourself, I am persuaded you cannot be very 
 far off ; and I should certainly call you from my window to 
 come in to tea, but from a disagreeable suspicion that I should 
 get no answer. But do tell me in your next whether our 
 globe has not been made far too much of to children, and 
 whether its oceans do not look very like ponds, when you cast 
 your eye over them to that small old apple-tree I mentioned 
 just now. 
 
 " But you want news, — this being the place of all others to 
 send to from the other side of the world for news. Deerbrook 
 has rung with news and rumours of news since winter. The 
 first report after the ice broke up in March was, that I was 
 going to be married to Deborah Giles. * Who is Deborah 
 
DEERBROOK. 77 
 
 Giles?' you will ask. She is not going to be a relation of 
 yours, in the first place. Secondly, she is the daughter of 
 the boatman whose boats Enderby and I are wont to hire. 
 The young lady may be all that ever woman was, for aught 
 I know, for I never spoke to her in my life, except that I one 
 day asked her for something to bale the boat with : but I heard 
 that the astonishment of Deerbrook was, that I w^as engaged 
 to a woman who could not read or write. So you see we of 
 Deerbrook follow our old pastime of first inventing marvels, 
 and then being scarcely able to believe them. I rather 
 suspect that we have some wag among us who fabricates 
 news, to see how much will be received and retailed : but 
 perhaps these rumours, even the wildest of them, rise * by 
 natural exhalation' from the nooks and crevices of village life. 
 My five years' residence has not qualified me to pronounce 
 absolutely upon this. 
 
 " Old Smith son is dead. You could not have seen him 
 half-a-dozen times when you were here ; but you may chance 
 to recollect him, — a short old man, with white hair, and deep- 
 set grey eyes. He is less of a loss to the village than almost 
 any other man would be. He was so shy and quiet, and kept 
 so much within his own gate, that some fancied he must be a 
 miser : but though he spent little on himself, his money made 
 its way abroad, and his heirs are rather disappointed at finding 
 the property no larger than when he came into it. He is much 
 missed by his household, and, I own, by myself I was not 
 often with him : but it was something to feel that there was one 
 among us who was free from ambition and worldly cares, 
 content to live on in the enjoyment of humble duties and 
 simple pleasures, — one who would not have changed colour at 
 the news of a bequest of ten thousand pounds, but could be 
 very eager about his grand-nephew's prize at school, and 
 about the first forget-me-not of the season beside his pond, 
 and the first mushroom in his meadow. During the fortnight 
 of his illness, the village inquired about him ; but when it 
 was all over, there was not much to forget of one so little 
 known, and we hear of him no more. 
 
 "The Greys and Eowlands go on much as usual, the 
 gentlemen of the family agreeing very well, and the ladies 
 rather the reverse. The great grievance this spring has been, 
 that Mrs Rowland has seen fit to enlarge her hall, and make 
 a porch to her door. Her neighbours are certain that, in the 
 course of her alterations, every principal beam of her house 
 
78 DEERBROOK. 
 
 has been cut througli, and that the whole will fall in. No 
 such catastrophe has yet occurred, however. I have not been 
 called in to set any broken bones ; and I have not much 
 expectation of an accident, as Mr. Eowland understands 
 building too well to allow his house to be cut down over his 
 head. As for the porch, I do not perceive what can be 
 alleged to its disadvantage, but that some people think it ugly. 
 " Here I must cease my gossip. I regularly begin my letters 
 with the intention of telling you all that I hear and see out of 
 my profession : but I invariably stop short, as I do now, from 
 disgust at the nonsense I should have to write. It is endurable 
 enough to witness ; for one thing quickly dismisses another, 
 and some relief occurs from the more amiable or intellectual 
 qualities of the parties concerned : but I hate detail in writing ; 
 and I never do get through the whole list of particulars that 
 I believe you would like to have. You must excuse me now, 
 and take my word for it, in the large, that we are all pretty 
 much what we were when you saw us three years ago, except 
 of course, being three years older, and some few of us 
 three years wiser. It will be a satisfaction to you also to know 
 that my practice has made a very good growth for the time. 
 You liked my last year's report of it. It has increased more 
 since that time than even during the preceding year ; and I 
 have no further anxiety about my worldly prospects. I am 
 as well satisfied with my choice of an occupation in life as 
 ever. Mine has its anxieties, and desagremens, as others have : 
 but I am convinced I could not have chosen better. You saw, 
 when you were Avith me, something of the anxiety of respon- 
 sibility ; what it is, for instance, to await the one or the 
 other event of a desperate case : and I could tell you a good 
 deal that you do not and cannot know of the perils and 
 troubles attendant upon being the depository of so much 
 domestic and personal confidence as my function imposes upon 
 me the necessity of receiving. I sometimes long to be able 
 to see nothing but what is apparent to all in society ; to . 
 perceive what is ostensible, and to dream of nothing more, 
 — not exactly like children, but like the members of large and 
 happy families, who carry about with them the purity and 
 peace of their homes, and therefore take cognisance of the 
 pure and peaceful only whom they meet abroad ; but it is 
 childish, or indolent, or cowardly, to desire this. While 
 there is private vice and wretchedness, and domestic mis- 
 understanding, one would desire to know it, if one can do 
 
DEERBROOK. 79 
 
 anything to cure or alleviate it. Dr. Levitt and I have the 
 same feeling about this ; and I sometimes hope that we 
 mutually prepare for and aid each other's work. There is a 
 bright side to our business, as I need not tell you. The mere 
 exercise of our respective professions, the scientific as Avell as the 
 moral interest of them, is as much to us as the theory of your 
 business to you ; and that is saying a great deal. You will 
 not quarrel with the idea of the scientific interest of Dr. 
 Levitt's profession in his hands ; for you know how learned 
 he is in the complex science of Humanity. You re- 
 member the eternal wonder of the Greys at his liberality 
 towards dissenters. Of that liberality he is unconscious : as 
 it is the natural, the inevitable result of his knowledge of men, 
 — of his having been ' hunting the waterfalls ' from his youth 
 up, — following up thought and prejudice to their fountains. 
 When I see him bland and gay amongst us, I feel pretty con- 
 fident that his greatest pleasure is the same as mine, — that of 
 reposing in the society of the innocent, the single-hearted, the 
 unburdened, after having seen what the dark corners of social 
 life are. It is like coming out of a fetid cave into the evening 
 sunshine. Of late, we have felt this in an extraordinary degree. 
 But I must tell you in an orderly way what has happened to 
 us. I have put off entering upon the grand subject, partly 
 from the pleasure of keeping one's best news for the last, and 
 partly from shyness in beginning to describe what it is impos- 
 sible that you should enter into. I am well aware of your 
 powers of imagination and sympathy : but you have not lived 
 "^ve years within five miles of a country village ; and you can 
 no more understand our present condition than we can appre- 
 ciate your sherbet and your mountain summer-house. 
 
 *' There are two ladies here from Birmingham, so far be- 
 yond any ladies that we have to boast of, that some of us 
 begin to suspect that Deerbrook is not the Athens and Arcadia 
 imited that we have been accustomed to believe it. You can 
 have no idea how our vanity is mortified, and our pride 
 abased, by finding what the world can produce out of the 
 bounds of Deerbrook. We bear our humiliation wonderfully, 
 however. Our Yerdon woods echo with laughter ; and sing- 
 ing is heard beside the brook. The voices of children, grown 
 and ungrown, go up from all the meadows around ; and wit 
 and wisdom are wafted over the surface of our river at even- 
 tide. The truth is, these girls have brought in a new life 
 among us, and there is not one of us, except the children, that 
 
80 DEERBROOK. 
 
 is not some years younger for their presence. Mr. Grey 
 deserts his business for them, like a school-boy; and Mr. Eow- 
 land watches his opportunity to play truant in turn. Mrs. 
 Enderby gives dances, and looks quite disposed to lead off in 
 person. Mrs. Plumstead has grown quite giddy about sorting 
 the letters, and her voice has not been heard further than 
 three doors off since the arrival of the strangers. Dr. Levitt 
 is preaching his old sermons. Mrs. Grey is well-nigh intoxi- 
 cated with being the hostess of these ladies, and has even 
 reached the point of allowing her drawing-room to be used 
 every afternoon. Enderby is a fixture while they are so. 
 Neither mother, sister, friend, nor frolic, ever detained him 
 here before for a month together. He was going away in a 
 fortnight when these ladies came : they have been here six 
 weeks, and Enderby has dropped all mention of the external 
 world. If you ask, as you are at this moment doing in your 
 own heart, how I stand under this influence, I really cannot 
 tell you. I avoid inquiring too closely. I enjoy every pass- 
 ing day too much to question it, and I let it go ; and so must 
 you. 
 
 " * But who are they ? ' you want to know. They are dis- 
 tant cousins of Mr. Grey's, — orphans, and in mourning for 
 their father. They are just above twenty, and their name is 
 Ibbotson. * Are they handsome ? ' is your next question. 
 The eldest, Hester, is beautiful as the evening star. Margaret 
 is very different. It does not matter what she is as to beauty, 
 for the question seems never to have entered her own 
 mind. I doubt whether it has often occurred to her 
 whether she can be this, or that, or the other. She is, and 
 there is an end of the matter. Such pure existence, with- 
 out question, without introspection, without hesitation or 
 consciousness, I never saw in any one above eight years old. 
 Yet she is wise ; it becomes not me to estimate how wise. 
 You will ask how I know this already. I knew it the 
 first day I saw them ; I knew it by her infinite simplicity, 
 from which all selfishness is discharged, and into which no 
 folly can enter. The airs of heaven must have been about 
 her from her infancy, to nourish such health of the soul. 
 What her struggle is to be in life I cannot conceive, for not a 
 morbid tendency is to be discerned. I suppose she may be 
 destined to make mistakes, — to find her faith deceived, her 
 affections rebuked, her full repose delayed. If, like the rest 
 of us, she be destined to struggle, it must be to conflict of this 
 
deerbrook:. 81 
 
 kind ; for it is inconceivable that any should arise from her- 
 self. Yet is she as truly human as the weakest of us, — 
 engrossed by affection, and susceptible of passion. Her affec- 
 tion for her sister is a sort of passion. It has some of the 
 features of the serene guardianship of one from on high ; but 
 it is yet more like the passionate servitude — of the benefited 
 to a benefactor, for instance — which is perhaps the most 
 graceful attitude in which our humanity appears. Where are 
 the words that can tell what it is to witness, day by day, the 
 course of such a life as this ? — to see, living and moving 
 before one's eyes, the very spirit that one had caught glimpses 
 of, wandering in the brightest vistas of one's imagination, in 
 the holiest hours of thought! Yet is there nothing fearful, as 
 in the presence of a spirit ; there is scarcely even a sense of 
 awe, so child-like is her deportment. I go, grave and long- 
 ing to listen ; I come away, and I find I have been talking 
 more than any one ; revealing, discussing, as if I were the 
 teacher and not the learner, — you will say the worshipper. 
 Say it if you will. Our whole little world worships the one 
 or the other. Hester is also well worthy of worship. If 
 there were nothing but her beauty, she would have a wider 
 world than ours of Deerbrook at her feet. But she has 
 much more. She is what you would call a true woman. She 
 has a generous soul, strong affections, and a susceptibility 
 which interferes with her serenity. She is not exempt from 
 the trouble and snare into which the lot of women seems to 
 drive them, — too close a contemplation of self, too nice a sen- 
 sitiveness, which yet does not interfere with devotedness to 
 others. She will be a devoted wife : but Margaret does not 
 wait to be a wife to be devoted. Her life has been devoted- 
 ness, and will be to the end. If she were left the last of her 
 race, she would spend her life in worshipping the unseen that 
 lay about her, and would be as unaware of herself as now. 
 
 " What a comfort it is to speak freely of them ! This is 
 the first relief of the kind I have had. Every one is praising 
 them ; every one is following them : but to whom but you 
 can I speak of them ? Even to you, I filled my first sheet 
 with mere surface matter. I now wonder how I could. As 
 for the * general opinion' of Deerbrook on the engrossing 
 subject of the summer, you will anticipate it in your own 
 mind, — concluding that Hester is most worshipped, on account 
 of her beauty, and that Margaret's influence must be too 
 subtle and refined to operate on more than a few. This is 
 
 Q 
 
82 DEERBROOK. 
 
 partly, but not wholly the case. It has been taken for granted 
 from the beginning, by the many, that Hester is to be exclu- 
 sively the adored ; and Enderby has, I fancy, as many broad 
 hints as myself of this general conclusion. But I question 
 "whether Enderby assents, any more than myself. Margaret's 
 influence may be received as unconsciously as it is exerted ; 
 but it is not, therefore, the less real, while it is the more 
 potent. I see old Jem Bird raise himself up from the church- 
 yard bench by his staff, and stand uncovered as Hester passes 
 by ; I see the children in the road touch one another, and 
 look up at her ; I see the admiration which diffuses itself like 
 sunshine around her steps : all this homage to Hester is visible 
 enough. But I also see Sydney Grey growing manly, and his 
 sisters amiable, under Margaret's eye. I fancy I perceive 
 
 Enderby' But that is his own affair. I am sure I daily 
 
 witness one healing and renovating process which Margaret is 
 unconsciously effecting. There is no one of us so worthy of 
 her, so capable of appreciating her, as Maria Young : they 
 are friends, and Maria Young is becoming a new creature. 
 Health and s]3irit are returning to that poor girl's countenance : 
 there is absolutely a new tone in her voice, and a joyous strain 
 in her conversation, which I, for one, never recognised before. 
 It is a sight on which angels might look down, to see Mar- 
 garet, with her earnest face, listening humbly, and lovingly 
 serving the infirm and much-tried friend whom she herself is 
 daily lifting up into life and gladness. I have done with 
 listening to abuse of life and the world. I will never sit still 
 under it again. If there are two such as these sisters, spring- 
 ing out of the bosom of a busy town, and quietly passing 
 along theii path of life, casting sanctity around them as they 
 go, — if there are two such, why not more ? If God casts 
 such seeds of goodness into our nook, how do we know but 
 that he is sowing the w^hole earth with it ? I Avill believe it 
 henceforth. 
 
 " You will wonder, as I have wondered many a time within 
 the last six weeks, what is to become of us when w^e lose these 
 strangers. I can only say, * God help us ! ' But that time is 
 far off. They came for several months, and no one hints at 
 their departure yet. They are the most unlearned creatures 
 about country life that you can conceive, with a surpassing 
 genius for country pleasures. Only imagine the charm of 
 our excursions ! They are never so happy as when in the 
 fields or on the river ; and we all feel ourselves only too 
 
DEERBROOK. 83 
 
 blest in being able to indulge them. Our mornings are all 
 activity and despatch, that our afternoons may be all mirth, 
 and our evenings repose. I am afraid this will make you 
 sigh with mingled envy and sympathy ; but whatever is that 
 can be told, you may rely upon it that I shall tell you, trust- 
 ing to your feeling both pleasure and pain in virtuous 
 moderation. 
 
 " I have done my story ; and now I am going to look what 
 o'clock it is — a thing I have refrained from, in my impulse to 
 tell you all. The house is quite still, and I heard the church 
 clock strike something very long just now; but I would not 
 count. It is so. It was midnight that the clock struck. I 
 shall seal this up directly. I dare not trust my morning — 
 my broad daylight mood with it. Now, as soon as you have 
 got thus far, just take up your pen, and answer me, telling 
 me as copiously of your affairs as I have written of ours. 
 Heaven bless you. 
 
 "• Yours ever, 
 
 " Edward Hope." 
 
 It was not only Mr. Hope's broad daylight mood which was 
 not to be trusted with this letter. In this hour of midnight 
 a misgiving seized upon him that it was extravagant. He 
 became aware, when he laid down his pen, that he was agi- 
 tated. The door of his room opened into the garden. He 
 thought he would look out upon the night. It was the night 
 of the full moon. As he stood in the doorway, the festoons of 
 creepers that dangled from his little porch waved in the night 
 breeze ; long shadows from the shrubs lay on the grass ; and 
 in the depth of one of these shadows glimmered the green 
 spark of a glow-worm. It was deliciously cool and serene. 
 Mr. Hope stood leaning against the door-post, with his arms 
 folded, and was not long in settling the question whether the 
 letter should go. 
 
 " Frank will think that I am in love," he considered. " He 
 will not understand the real state of my feeling. He will 
 think that I am in love. I should conclude so in his place. 
 But what matters it what he infers and concludes ? I have 
 written exactly what I thought and felt at the moment ; and 
 it is not from such revelations that wrong inferences are 
 usually drawn. What I have written is true ; and truth 
 carries safely over land and sea — more safely than confidence 
 compounded with caution. Frank deserves the simplest and 
 
 a 2 
 
84 DEERBROOK. 
 
 freshest confidence from me. I am glad that no hesitation 
 occurred to me while I wrote. It shall go — every word of it." 
 He returned to his desk, sealed and addressed the letter, 
 and placed it where it was sure to be seen in the morning, 
 and carried to the post-office before he rose. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 child's play. 
 
 The afternoon arrived when the children were to have their 
 feast in the summer-house. From the hour of dinner the 
 little people were as busy as aldermen's cooks, spreading their 
 table. Sydney thought himself too old for such play. He 
 was hard at work, filling up the pond he had dug in his gar- 
 den, having tried experiments with it for several weeks, and 
 found that it never held water but in a pouring rain. While 
 he was occupied with his spade, his sisters and the little 
 Rowlands were arranging their dishes, and brewing their cow- 
 slip tea. 
 
 " Our mamma is coming," said Fanny to Matilda : ^' is 
 yours ? '^ 
 
 " No ; she says she can't come — but papa will." 
 
 " So will our papa. It was so funny at dinner. Mr. Paxton 
 came in, and asked whether papa would ride with him ; and 
 papa said, it was out of the question ; it must be to-morrow ; 
 for he had an engagement this afternoon." 
 
 "A very particular engagement, he said," observed Mary : 
 "and he smiled at me so, I could not help laughing. Fanny, 
 do look at Matilda's dish of strawberries ! How pretty ! " 
 
 " There 's somebody coming," observed little Anna, who, 
 being too young to help, and liable to be tempted to put her 
 fingers into the good things, was sent to amuse herself with 
 jumping up and down the steps. 
 
 " There now ! That is always the way, is not it, Miss 
 Young ?" cried Fanny. "Who is it, George ? Mr. Enderby? 
 Oh, do not let him come in yet ! Tell him he must not come 
 this half-hour." 
 
 Mr. Enderby chose to enter, however, and all opposition 
 gave way before him. 
 
 " Pray don't send me back," said he, "till you know what 
 I am come for. Now, who will pick my pockets ?" 
 
DEERBROOK. 85 
 
 Little Anna was most on a level with the coat pocket. She 
 almost buried her face in it as she dived, the whole length of 
 her arm, to the very bottom. George attacked its fellow, while 
 the waistcoat pockets were at the mercy of the taller children. 
 A number of white parcels made their appearance, and the 
 little girls screamed with delight. 
 
 " Miss Young !" cried Fanny, "do come and help us to pick 
 Mr. Enderby's pockets. See what I have got — the very 
 largest of all ! " 
 
 When every pocket had been thoroughly picked without 
 Miss Young's assistance, the table did indeed show a goodly 
 pile of white cornucopise, — that most agitating form of paper 
 to children's eyes. When opened, there was found such a store 
 of sweet things as the little girls had seldom before seen out 
 of the confectioner's shop. Difficulties are apt to come with 
 good fortune ; and the anxious question was now asked, how 
 all these dainties were to be dished up. Miss Young was, as 
 usual, the friend in need. She had before lent two small china 
 plates of her own ; and she now supplied the further want. She 
 knew how to make pretty square boxes out of writing-paper ; 
 and her nimble scissors and neat fingers now provided a suffi- 
 ciency of these in a trice. Uncle Philip was called upon, as 
 each was finished, to admire her skill ; and admire he did, to 
 the children's entire content. 
 
 " Is this our feast, Mr. Enderby ? " inquired Mary, finally, 
 when Anna had been sent to summon the company. " May 
 we say it is ours ? '* 
 
 " To be sure," cried Fanny. " Whose else should it be ?" 
 
 ^' It is all your own, I assure you," said Mr. Enderby. 
 
 " Now, you two should stand at the head of the table, and 
 Matilda at the foot." 
 
 " I think I had better take this place," said Sydney, who 
 had made his appearance, and who thought much better of 
 the afiair now that he saw Mr. Enderby so much interested 
 in it. " There should always be a gentleman at the bottom of 
 the table." 
 
 " No, no, Sydney," protested Mr. Enderby ; "not when he 
 has had no cost nor trouble about the feast. March off. You 
 are only one of the company. Stand there, Matilda, and re- 
 member you must look very polite. I shall hide behind the 
 acacia there, and come in with the ladies." 
 
 A sudden and pelting shower was now falling, however ; 
 and instead of hiding behind a tree, Mr. Enderby had to run 
 
86 DEERBROOK. 
 
 between the house and the schoolroom, holding umbrellas over 
 the ladies' heads, setting clogs for them, and assuring Mrs. 
 Grey at each return that the feast could not be deferred, and 
 that nobody should catch cold. Mr. Grey was on the spot to 
 give his arm to Mrs. Enderby, who had luckily chanced to 
 look in, — a thing which " she really never did after dinner." 
 Mr. Hope had been seen riding by, and Mrs. Grey had sent 
 after him to beg he would come in. Mr. Rowland made a 
 point of being present : and thus the summer-house was quite 
 full, — really crowded. 
 
 "lam glad Mrs. Eowland keeps away," whispered Mrs. Grey 
 to Sophia. " She would say it is insufferably hot." 
 
 " Yes ; that she would. Do not you think we might have 
 that window open ? The rain does not come in on that side. 
 Did you ever see such a feast as the children have got ? I am 
 sure poor Elizabeth and I never managed such a one. It is 
 really a pity Mrs. Rowland should not see it. * Mr. Rowland 
 should have made her come. It looks so odd, her being the 
 only one to stay away ! " 
 
 The room resounded with exclamations, and admiration, 
 and grave jokes upon the children. Notwithstanding all Uncle 
 Philip could do, the ingenuous little girls answered to every 
 compliment — that Mr. Enderby brought this, and that that 
 and the other came out of Uncle Philip's pocket. They stood 
 in their places, blushing and laughing, and served out their 
 dainties with hands trembling with delight. 
 
 Maria's pleasure was, as usual, in observing all that went on. 
 She could do this while replying, quite to the purpose, to Mrs. 
 Enderby's praise of her management of the dear children, and 
 to George's pressing offers of cake ; and to Mr. Rowland's sus- 
 picions that the children would never have accomplished this 
 achievement without her, as indeed he might say of all their 
 achievements ; and to Anna's entreaty that she would eat a 
 pink comfit, and then a yellow one, and then a green one ; and 
 to Mrs. Grey's wonder where she could have put away all her 
 books and things, to make so much room for the children. She 
 could see Mr. Hope's look of delight when Margaret declined a . 
 cup of chocolate, and said she preferred tasting some of the 
 cowslip tea. She saw how he helped Mary to pour out the 
 tea, and how quietly he took the opportunity of getting rid of 
 it through the window behind Margaret, when she could 
 not pretend to say that she liked it. She observed Mr. Row- 
 land's somewhat stiff politeness to Hester, and Mr, Enderby's 
 
DEERBROOK. 87 
 
 equal partition of his attentions between the two sisters. She 
 could see Mrs. Grey watching every strawberry and sugar- 
 plum that went down the throats of the little Rowlands, and 
 her care, seconded by Sophia's, that her own children should 
 have an exactly equal portion of the good things. She be- 
 lieved, but was not quite sure, that she saw Hester's colour 
 and manner change as Mr. Hope came and went, in the course 
 of his service about the table ; and that once, upon receiving 
 some slight attention from him, she threw a hasty glance to- 
 wards her sister, and turned quite away upon meeting her 
 eye. 
 
 The rain had not prevented the servants from trying to 
 amuse themselves with witnessing the amusement of the family. 
 They were clustered together under umbrellas at the window 
 nearest the stables, where they thought they should be least 
 observed. Some commotion took place among them, at the 
 same moment that an extraordinary sound became audible, 
 from a distance, above the clatter of plates, and the mingling 
 of voices, in the summer-house. 
 
 " What in the world is that noise?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " Only somebody killing a pig," replied Sydney, decidedly. 
 
 " Do not believe him," said Mr. Enderby. " The Deer- 
 brook people have better manners than to kill their pigs in the 
 hearing of ladies on summer afternoons.'* 
 
 " But what is it ? It seems coming nearer.'* 
 
 " I once told you," said Mr. Enderby, " that we possess an 
 inhabitant, whose voice you might know before her name. I 
 suspect it is that same voice which we hear now." 
 
 " A human voice ! Impossible ! " 
 
 " What is the matter, Alice ? " Mrs. Grey asked of her maid 
 out of the window. 
 
 " O, ma'am, it is Mrs. Plumstead ! And she is coming this 
 way, ma'am. She will be upon us before we can get to the 
 house. O, ma'am, what shall we do ?" 
 
 Mrs. Grey entreated permission of the ladies to allow the 
 maid-servants to come into the summer-house. Their caps 
 might be torn from their heads before they could defend them- 
 selves, she said if they remained outside. Of course, leave 
 was given instantly, and the maids crowded in, with chatter- 
 ing teeth and many a tale of deeds done by Mrs. Plumstead, in 
 her paroxysms of rage. 
 
 The children shared the panic, more or less : and not only 
 they. Mr. Grey proposed to put up the shutters of the 
 
88 BEERBROOK. 
 
 windows nearest to the scene of action ; but it was thought 
 that this might draw on an attack from the virago, who might 
 let the party alone if she were left unnoticed by them. She 
 was now full in sight, as, with half Deerbrook at her heels, 
 she pursued the object of her rage through the falling shower, 
 and amidst the puddles in front of the stables. Her widow's 
 cap was at the back of her head, her hair hanging from 
 beneath it, wet in the rain : her black gown was splashed to 
 the shoulders ; her hands were clenched ; her face was white 
 as her apron, and her vociferations were dreadful to hear. 
 She was hunting a poor terrified young countrywoman, who, 
 between fright and running, looked ready to sink. 
 
 " We must put a stop to this," cried Mr. Grey and Mr. 
 ."Rowland, each speaking to the other. It ended with their 
 issuing forth together, looking as dignified as they could, and 
 placing themselves between the scold and her victim. It 
 would not do. They could not make themselvi^s heard ; and 
 when she shook her fist in their faces, they retired backwards, 
 and took refuge among their party, bringing the victim in 
 with them, however. Mr. Enderby declared this retreat too 
 bad, and was gone before the entreaties of his little nieces 
 could stop him. He held his ground longer ; and the dumb 
 show he made was so energetic as to cause a laugh in the 
 summer-house, in the midst of the uneasiness of his friends, 
 and to call forth shouts of mirth from the crowd at the virago's 
 heels. 
 
 " That will not do. It will only exasperate her the more," 
 said Mr. Hope, pressing his way to the door. ''Let me pass, 
 will you?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hope I Oh sir ! " said Alice, " don't go ! Don't 
 think of going, sir ! She does not mind killing anybody, I 
 assure you, sir." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hope, don't go !" cried almost everybody. Maria 
 was sure she heard Hester's voice among the rest. The young 
 countrywoman and the children grasped the skirts of his coat ; 
 but he shook them off, laughing, and went. Little Mary 
 loved Mr. Hope very dearly. She shot out at the door with 
 him, and clasped her hands before Mrs. Plumstead, looking 
 up piteously, as if to implore her to do^ Mr. Hope no harm. 
 Already, however, the vixen's mood had changed. At the 
 first glimpse of Mr. Hope, her voice sank from being a squall 
 into some resemblance to human utterance. She pulled her 
 cap forward, and a tinge of colour returned to her white lips. 
 
DEEREROOK. 89 
 
 Mr. Enderby caught up little Mary and carried her to her 
 mamma, crying bitterly. Mr. Hope might safely be left to 
 finish his conquest of the otherwise unconquerable scold. 
 He stood still till he could make himself heard, looking her 
 full in the face ; and it was not long before she would listen 
 to his remonstrance, and even at length take his advice, to 
 go home and compose herself. He went with her, to ensure the 
 good behaviour of her neighbours, and had the satisfaction of 
 seeing her lock herself into her house alone before he returned 
 to his party. 
 
 " It is as you told me," said Margaret to Mr. Enderby : 
 " Mr. Hope's power extends even to the temper of the Deer- 
 brook scold. How she began to grow quiet directly ! It was 
 like magic." 
 
 Mr. Enderby smiled ; but there was some uneasiness in 
 his smile. 
 
 The countrywoman was commended to the servants, to be 
 refreshed, and dismissed another way. There was no further 
 reason for detaining her when it appeared that she really 
 could give no account of how she had oiFended Mrs. Plumstead 
 in selling her a pound of butter. It remained to console little 
 Mary, who was still crying, — more from grief for Mrs. Plum- 
 stead than from fear, Maria thought, though Mrs. Grey was 
 profuse in assurances to the child that Mrs. Plumstead should 
 not be allowed to frighten her any more. All the children 
 seemed so depressed and confounded, that their guests exerted 
 themselves to be merry again, and to efface, as far as was 
 possible, the impression of the late scene. When Mr. Hope 
 returned, he found Mr. Grey singing his single ditty, about 
 Dame Dumshire and her crockery-ware, amidst great mirth 
 and unbounded applause. Then Mrs. Enderby was fluttered, 
 and somewhat flattered, by an entreaty that she would favour 
 the company with one of the ballads for which she had been 
 famous in her time. She could not refuse on such an 
 occasion, — if indeed she had ever been able to refuse what 
 she was told would give pleasure. She made her son choose 
 for her what she should sing ; and then followed a wonder- 
 ful story of Giles Collins who loved a lady : Giles and the 
 lady both died of true love ; Giles was laid in the lower 
 chancel, and the lady in the higher ; from the one grave 
 grew a milk-white rose, and from the other a brier, both 
 of which climbed up to the church top, and there tied them- 
 selves into a true-lover's knot, which made all the parish 
 
90 DEERBROOK. 
 
 admire. At this part, Anna was seen looking up at the 
 ceiling ; but the rest had no eyes but for Mrs. Enderby, as 
 she gazed full at the opposite wall, and the shrill, quavering 
 notes of the monotonous air were poured out, and the words 
 were as distinct as if they were spoken. 
 
 '' Is that true, grandmamma ? " asked Anna, when all was 
 over. 
 
 " You had better ask the person who made the song, my 
 dear. I did not make it." 
 
 " But did you ever see that church with the brier growing 
 in it, before the sexton cut it down ? " 
 
 " Do not let us talk any more about it," said Philip, 
 solemnly. " I wonder grandmamma dares sing such a sad 
 song." 
 
 *'Why, you asked her. Uncle Philip." 
 
 " Oh, ay, so I did. Well, we are much obliged to her ; and 
 now we will have something that is not quit^e so terrible. — 
 Miss Grey, you will favour us with a song ? " 
 
 Sophia's music-books were all in the house, and she could 
 not sing without. Mr. Enderby would fetch some, if she 
 would give him directions what to bring. No ; she could not 
 sing without the piano. As it was clearly impossible to bring 
 that, Philip feared the company must wait for the pleasure of 
 hearing Miss Grey till another time. Mr. Grey would have 
 Hester and Margaret sing ; and sing they did, very simply 
 and sweetly, and much to the satisfaction of all present. One 
 thing led on to another ; they sang together, — with Mr. Grey, 
 — with Mr. Enderby ; Mr. Hope listening with an unlearned 
 eagerness, which made Mrs. Grey wink at her husband, and 
 nod at Sophia, and exchange smiles with Mrs. Enderby. 
 They proceeded to catches at last ; and when people really 
 fond of music get to singing catches in a summer-house, who 
 can foresee the end ? 
 
 " *Fair Enslaver !'" cried Mr. Enderby. " You must know 
 
 * Fair Enslaver : ' there is not a sweeter catch than that. 
 Come, Miss Ibbotson, begin ; your sister will follow, and 
 I " 
 
 But it so happened that Miss Ibbotson had never heard 
 
 * Fair Enslaver.' Margaret knew it, she believed ; but she 
 did not. With a gay eagerness, Mr. Enderby turned round 
 to Maria, saying that he knew she could sing this catch ; and 
 everybody was aware that when she had the power of doing 
 a kindness, she never wanted the will : — he remembered that 
 
DEERBROOK. 91 
 
 she could sing ' Fair Enslaver/ He might well remember 
 this, for often had they sung it together. While several of the 
 company were saying they did not know Miss Young could 
 sing, and the children were explaining that she often sang at 
 her work, Mr. Enderby observed some signs of agitation in 
 Maria, and hastened to say, — 
 
 " You had rather not, perhaps. Pray do not think of it. I 
 •will find something else in a moment. I beg your pardon: I 
 was very inconsiderate." 
 
 But Maria thought she had rather not accept the considera- 
 tion ; and besides, the children were anxious that she should 
 sing. She bore her part in a way which made Mr. Kowland 
 and Mrs. Grey agree that she was a very superior young 
 woman indeed ; that they were singularly fortunate to have 
 secured her for their children ; and that she was much to be 
 pitied. 
 
 " I think Miss Young has got a little cold, though," observed 
 Sydney. *' Her voice is not in the least husky when she sits 
 singing here by herself. — Father ! look there ! there are all 
 the servants huddled together under the window again, to 
 listen to the singing." 
 
 This was true ; and the rain was over. It was presently 
 settled that the schoolroom should be evacuated by the 
 present party ; that the children should be allowed to invite 
 the servants in, to dispense to them the remains of the feast ; 
 and that Miss Young must favour Mrs. Grey with her com- 
 pany this evening. 
 
 Mr. Eowland was obliged to return home to business ; but, 
 before his friends dispersed, he must just say that Mrs. Row- 
 land and he had never, for a moment, given up the hope of the 
 pleasure of entertaining them at dinner in the Dingleford 
 woods ; and, as the rains were now daily abating, he might 
 perhaps be allowed to name Wednesday of the next week as 
 the day of the excursion. He hoped to see the whole of the 
 present company, from the oldest to the youngest, — bowing, 
 as he spoke, to Mrs. Enderby and to his own little daughter 
 Anna. This was one of Mr. Rowland's pieces of independent 
 action. His lady had given him no commission to bring the 
 affair to an issue ; and he returned home, involuntarily 
 planning what kind of an unconcerned face and manner he 
 should put on, while he told her what he had done. 
 
92 DEERBROOIC. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A TARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 Mr. Eowland lioj^ed " to see the whole of the present com- 
 pany, from the oldest to the youngest." This was the best 
 part of his speech to the ears of the children ; it made an 
 impression also upon some others. Two or three days after- 
 wards, Sydney burst, laughing, into the dining-room, where 
 his mother and her guests were at work, to tell them that he 
 had seen Mr. Hope riding a pony in the oddest way, in the 
 lane behind his lodgings. He had a side-saddle, and a horse- 
 cloth put on like a lady's riding-habit. He rode the pony in 
 and out among the trees, and made it scramble up the hill 
 behind, and it went as nicely as could be, wherever he wanted 
 it to go. Mr. Hope's new way of riding was easily explained, 
 the next time he called. Miss Young was certainly included 
 in the invitation to Dingleford woods : it was a pity she 
 should not go ; and she could not walk in wild places : — the 
 pony was training for her. Mrs. Grey quite agreed that 
 Miss Young ought to go, but thought that Mr. Hope was 
 giving himself much needless trouble ; there would be room 
 made for her in some carriage, of course. No doubt ; but 
 no kind of carriage could make its way in the woods ; and, 
 but for this pony. Miss Young would have to sit in a carriage, 
 or under a tree, the whole time that the rest of the party 
 were rambling about ; whereas, this quiet active little pony 
 would take care that she was nowhere left behind. It could 
 do everything but climb trees. It was to be taken over to 
 Dingleford the evening before, and would be ivaiting for its 
 rider on the verge of the woods, when the party should arrive. 
 Miss Young was touched, and extremely pleased with Mr. 
 Hope's attention. In the days of her prosperity she had been 
 accustomed to ride much, and was very fond of it ; but since 
 her misfortunes she had never once been in the saddle — -lame 
 as she was, and debarred from other exercise. To be on a 
 horse again, and among the woods, was a delicious prospect ; 
 and when a few misgivings had been reasoned away — mis- 
 givings about being troublesome, about being in the way of 
 somebody's pleasure or convenience — Maria resigned herself 
 to the full expectation of a most delightful day, if the weather 
 would only be fine. The children would be there ; and they 
 
DEERBROOK. 93 
 
 were always willing to do anything for her. Sydney would 
 guide her pony in case of need, or show her where she might 
 stay behind by herself, if the others should exhibit a passion 
 for impracticable places. She knew that Margaret would 
 enjoy the day all the more for her being there ; and so would 
 Mr. Hope, as he had amply proved. Maria was really 
 delighted to be going, and she and the children rejoiced 
 together. 
 
 This great pleasure involved some minor enjoyments too, 
 in the way of preparation. On Sunday Mr. Hope told her, 
 that he believed the pony was now fully trained ; but he 
 should like that she should try it, especially as she had been 
 long out of the habit of riding. She must take a ride with 
 him on Monday and Tuesday afternoons, for practice. The 
 Monday's ride was charming ; through Verdon woods, and 
 home over the heath from Crossley End. The circuit, which 
 was to have been three miles, had extended to ten. She 
 must be moderate, she said to herself, the next day, and not 
 let Mr. Hope spend so much of his time upon her ; and 
 besides, the pony had to be sent over to Dingleford in the 
 evening, after she had done with it, to be in readiness for her 
 on Wednesday morning. 
 
 The ride on Tuesday was happily accomplished as that of 
 Monday : but it was much shorter. Mr. Hope agreed that it 
 should be short, as he had a patient to visit on the Dingleford 
 road, so near the hamlet that he might as well take the pony 
 there himself. It would trot along beside his horse. Sydney 
 saved him part of the charge. Sydney would at all times 
 walk back any distance for the sake of a ride out, on what- 
 ever kind of saddle, or almost any kind of quadruped. He 
 was in waiting at the farrier's gate, when Miss Young returned 
 from her ride ; and having assisted her into the house, he 
 threw himself upon her pony, and rode three miles and a 
 half on the Dingleford road before he would dismount, and 
 deliver his bridle into Mr. Hope's hand. Tea was over, and 
 the tea-things removed, before he appeared at home heated 
 and delighted with his expedition. He ran to the dairy for a 
 basin of milk, and declared that his being hot and tired did 
 not matter in the least, as he had no lessons to do — the next 
 day being a holiday. 
 
 It was about two hours after this, when Hester and Mar- 
 garet were singing to Sophia's playing, that Mr. Grey put his 
 head in at the door, and beckoned Mrs. Grey out of the room. 
 
94 DEERBROOK. 
 
 She remained absent a considerable time ; and wben she re- 
 turned, the singers were in the middle of another duet. She 
 wandered restlessly about the room till the piece was finished, 
 and then made a sign to Sophia to follow her into the store- 
 room, the double door of which the sisters could hear carefully 
 closed. They were too much accustomed to the appearance 
 of mystery among the ladies of the Grey family, to be sur- 
 prised at any number of secret conferences which might take 
 place in the course of the day. But evening was not the 
 usual time for these. The family practice was to transact all 
 private consultations in the morning, and to assemble round 
 the work-table or piano after tea. The sisters made no 
 remark to each other on the present occasion, but continued 
 their singing, each supposing that the store-room conference 
 related to some preparation for the next day's excursion. 
 
 It was too dark to distinguish anything in the room before 
 their hostess re-entered it. Margaret was playing quadrilles ; 
 Hester was standing at the window, watching the shadows 
 which the risen moon was flinging across the field, and the 
 lighting up of Mrs. Enderby's parlour behind the blinds ; and 
 Sydney was teasing his twin sisters with rough play on the 
 sofa, when Mrs. Grey returned. 
 
 " You are all in the dark," said she, in a particularly grave 
 tone. " Why, did you not ring for lights, my dears ? " and 
 she rang immediately. " Be quiet, children ! I will not have 
 you make so much noise." 
 
 The little girls seemed to wish to obey ; but their brother 
 still forced them to giggle ; and their struggling entreaties 
 were heard — " Now don't, Sydney ; now pray, Sydney, 
 don't!" 
 
 ^' Mary and Fanny, go to bed," said their mother, decidedly, 
 when lights were brought. " Sydney, bid your cousins good- 
 night, and then come with me ; I want to ask you a question." 
 
 " Good-night already, mother ? Why, it is not time yet 
 this half-hour." 
 
 " It is enough that I choose you to go to bed. Wish your 
 cousins good-night, and come with me." 
 
 Mrs. Grey led the way once more into the store-room, fol- 
 lowed rather sulkily, by Sydney. 
 
 ^' What can all this be about ? " whispered Hester to Mar- 
 garet. " There is always something going on which we are 
 not to know." 
 
 " Some affair of fruit, or wine, or bonbons, perhaps, which 
 
DEERBROOK, 95 
 
 are all the better for making tlieir appearance unex- 
 pectedly." 
 
 At this moment Sophia and her mother entered by oppo- 
 site doors. Sophia's eyes were red ; and there was every 
 promise in her face that the slightest word spoken to her 
 would again open the sluices of her tears. Mrs. Grey's 
 countenance was to the last degree dismal : but she talked — 
 talked 'industriously, of everything she could think of. This 
 was the broadest possible hint to the sisters not to inquire 
 what was the matter ; and they therefore went on sewing and 
 conversing very diligently till they thought they might 
 relieve Mrs. Grey by offering to retire. They hesitated only 
 because Mr. Grey had not come in ; and he so regularly 
 appeared at ten o'clock, that they had never yet retired with- 
 out having enjoyed half an hour's chat with him. 
 
 " Sophia, my dear," said her mother, " are the night 
 candles there ? Light your cousins' candles. — I am sure they 
 are wishing to go ; and it is getting late. You will not see Mr. 
 Grey to-night, my dears. He has been sent for to a distance." 
 
 At this moment, the scrambling of a horse's feet was heard 
 on the gravel before the front door. Sophia looked at her 
 mother, and each lighted a candle precipitately, and thrust it 
 into a hand of of each cousin. 
 
 " There, go, my dears," said Mrs. Grey. " Never mind 
 stopping for Mr. Grey. I will deliver your good-night to 
 him. You will have to be rather early in the morning, you 
 know. Good- night, good-night." 
 
 Thus Hester and Margaret were hurried up-stairs, while 
 the front door was in the act of being unbarred for Mr. Grey's 
 entrance. Morris was despatched after them, with equal 
 speed, by Mrs. Grey's orders, and she reached their chamber 
 door at the same moment that they did. 
 
 Hester set down her candle, bade Morris shut the door, and 
 threw herself into an arm-chair with wonderful decision of 
 manner, declaring that she had never been so treated ; — to be 
 amused and sent to bed like a baby, in a house where she was 
 a guest ! 
 
 **I am afraid something is the matter," said Margaret. 
 
 *' What then ? they might have told us so, and said plainly 
 that they had rather be alone." 
 
 " People must choose their ovvti ways of managing their 
 own affairs, you know : and what those ways are cannot 
 matter to us, as long as we are not offended at them." 
 
96 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Do you take your own way of viewing their behaviour, 
 then, and leave me mine," said Hester hastily. 
 
 Morris feared there was something amiss ; and she believed 
 Alice knew what it was : but she had not told either cook or 
 housemaid a syllable about it. By Morris's account, Alice 
 had been playing the mysterious in the kitchen as her mis- 
 tress had in the parlour. Mr. Grey had been suddenly sent 
 for, and had saddled his horse himself, as his people were all 
 gone, and there was no one on the premises to do it for him. 
 A wine-glass had also been called for, for Miss Sophia, whose 
 weeping had been overheard. Master Sydney had gone to 
 his room very cross, complaining of his mother's having 
 questioned him overmuch about his ride, and then sent him 
 to bed half an hour before his usual time. 
 
 A deadly fear seized upon Margaret's heart, when she heard 
 of Sydney's complaint of being overmuch questioned about 
 his ride, — a deadly fear for Hester. If her suspicion should 
 prove true, it was out of pure consideration that they had 
 been "amused and sent to bed like babies." A glance at 
 Hester showed that the same apprehension had crossed her 
 mind. Her eyes were closed for a moment, and her face was 
 white as ashes. It was not for long, however. She presently 
 said, with decision, that whatever was the matter, it must be 
 some entirely private affair of the Greys'. If any accident 
 had happened to any one in the village, — if bad news had 
 arrived of any common friend, — there would be no occasion 
 for secrecy. In such a case, Mrs. Grey would have given 
 herself the comfort of speaking of it to her guests. It must 
 
 certainly be some entirely private, some family affair. 
 
 Hester was sincere in what she said. She knew so little of 
 the state of her own heart, that she could not conceive how 
 some things in it could be divined or speculated upon by 
 others. Still only on the brink of the discovery that she 
 loved Mr. Hope, she could never have imagined that any one 
 else could dream of such a thing, — much less act upon it. 
 She was angry with herself for letting her fears now point for 
 a moment to Mr. Hope ; for, if this bad news had related to 
 him, her sister and she would, of course, have heard of it 
 the next moment after the Greys. Margaret caught her 
 sister's meaning, and strove to the utmost to think as she did; 
 but Sydney's complaint of being " overmuch questioned about 
 his ride" was fatal to the attempt. It returned upon her 
 incessantly during the night ; and when, towards morning. 
 
DEERBROOK. 97 
 
 she slept a little, these words seemed to be sounding in her 
 ear all the while. Before undressing, both she and Hester 
 had been unable to resist stepping out upon the stairs to 
 watch for signs whether it was the intention of the family to 
 sit up or go to rest. All had retired to their rooms some 
 time before midnight ; and then it was certain that nothing 
 more could be learned before morning. 
 
 Each sister believed that the other slept ; but neither could 
 be sure. It was an utterly wretched night to both, and the 
 first which they had ever passed in misery, without speaking to 
 each other. Margaret's suffering was all from apprehension. 
 Hester was little alarmed in comparison ; but she this night 
 underwent the discovery which her sister had made some 
 little time ago. She discovered that nothing could happen 
 to her so dreadful as any evil befalling Mr. Hope. She dis- 
 covered that he was more to her than the sister whom she 
 could have declared, but a few hours before, to be the 
 dearest on earth to her. She discovered that she was for 
 ever humbled in her own eyes ; that her self-respect had 
 received an incurable wound : for Mr. Hope had never given 
 her reason to regard him as more than a friend. During 
 the weary hours of this night, she revolved every conversa- 
 tion, every act of intercourse, which she could recall ; and 
 from all that she could remember, the same impression re- 
 sulted — that Mr. Hope was a friend, a kind and sympathizing 
 friend — ^interested in her views and opinions, in her tastes and 
 feelings ; — that he was this kind friend, and nothing more. 
 He had in no case distinguished her from her sister : she had 
 even thought, at times, that Margaret had been the more im- 
 portant of the two to him. That might be from her own jealous 
 temper, which, she knew, was apt to make her fancy every one 
 preferred to herself: but she ^ac? thought that he liked Margaret 
 best, as she was sure Mr. Enderby did. Whichever way she 
 looked at the case, it was all wretchedness. She had lost her 
 self-sufficiency and self-respect, and she was miserable. 
 
 The first rays of morning have a wonderful power of 
 putting to flight the terrors of the darkness, whether their 
 causes lie without us or within. When the first beam of the 
 midsummer sunshine darted into the chamber, through the 
 leafy limes which shaded one side of the apartment, Hester's 
 mood transiently changed. There was a brief reaction in her 
 spirits. She thought she had been making herself miserable 
 far too readily. The mystery of the preceding evening might 
 
 H 
 
98 DEERBROOK. 
 
 turn out a trifle : she had been thinking too seriously about 
 her own fancies. If she had really been discovering a great 
 and sad secret about herself, no one else knew it, nor need 
 ever know it. She could command herself ; and, in the 
 strength of pride and duty, she would do so. All was not 
 lost. Before this mood had passed away, she fell asleep, 
 with prayer in her heart, and quiet tears upon her cheek. 
 Both sisters were roused from their brief slumbers by a loud 
 tapping at their door. All in readiness to be alarmed, 
 Margaret sprang up, and was at the door to know who was 
 there. 
 
 " It is us — it is we, Fanny and Mary, cousin Margaret," 
 answered the twins, *' come to call you. It is such a fine 
 morning, you can't think. Papa does not believe we shall 
 have a drop of rain to-day. The baker's boy has just carried 
 the roUs, — such a basket-full I — to Mrs. Rowland's ; so you 
 must get up. Mamma is getting up already." 
 
 The sisters were vexed to have been thrdwn into a terror 
 for nothing ; but it was a great relief to find Mr. Grey pro- 
 phesying fine weather for the excursion. Nothing could have 
 happened to cast a doubt over it. Margaret, too, now began 
 to think that the mystery might turn out a trifle ; and she 
 threw up the sash, to let in the fresh air, wuth a gaiety of 
 spirits she had little expected to feel. 
 
 Another tap at the door. It was Morris, with the news 
 that it was a fine morning, that the whole house was astir, 
 and that she had no further news to tell. 
 
 Another tap before they were half -dressed. It was Mrs. 
 Grey, with a face quite as sorrowful as on the preceding 
 evening, and the peculiar nervous expression about the mouth 
 which served her instead of tears. 
 
 " Have you done with Morris yet, my dears ? " 
 
 " Morris, you may go," said Hester, steadily. 
 
 Mrs. Grey gazed at her with a mournful inquisitiveness, 
 while she spoke ; and kept her eyes fixed on Hester through- 
 out, though what she said seemed addressed to both sisters. 
 
 " There is something the matter, Mrs. Grey," continued 
 Hester, calmly. " Say what it is. You had better have 
 told us last night." 
 
 " I thought it best not to break your sleep, my dears. We 
 always think bad news is best told in the morning." 
 
 " Tell us," said Margaret. Hester quietly seated herself on 
 the bed. 
 
DEEIIBROOK. 99 
 
 ** It concerns our valued friend, Mr. Hope," said Mrs. Grey. 
 Hester's colour had been going from the moment Mrs. Grey 
 entered the room : it was now quite gone ; but she preserved 
 her calmness. 
 
 " He was safe when Sydney lost sight of him, on the ridge 
 of the hill, on the Dingleford road ; but he afterwards had an 
 accident." 
 
 " What kind of accident ?" inquired Margaret. 
 
 "Is he killed?" asked Hester. 
 
 " No, not killed. He was found insensible in the road. 
 The miller's boy observed his horse, without a rider, plunge 
 into the river below the dam, and swim across ; and another 
 person saw the pony Sydney had been riding, grazing with a 
 side-saddle on, on the common. This made them search, and 
 they found Mr. Hope lying in the road insensible, as I told you." 
 
 ** What is thought of his state ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 " Two medical men were called immediately from the 
 nearest places, and Mr. Grey saw them last night ; for the 
 news reached us while you were at the piano, and we 
 thought " 
 
 " Yes but what do the medical men say?" 
 
 " They do not speak very favourably. It is a concussion 
 of the brain. They declare the case is not hopeless, and 
 that is all they can say. He has not spoken yet ; only just 
 opened his eyes : but we are assured the case is not quite 
 desperate ; so we must hope for the best." 
 
 " I am glad the case is not desperate," said Hester. " He 
 would be a great loss to you all." 
 
 Mrs. Grey looked at her in amazement, and then at 
 Margaret. Margaret's eyes were full of tears. She compre- 
 hended and respected the eiFort her sister was making. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Grey!" said Margaret, "must we go to-day? 
 Surely it is no time for an excursion of pleasure." 
 
 " That must be as you feel disposed, my dears. It would 
 annoy Mrs. Eowland very much to have the party broken up ; 
 so much so, that some of us must go : but my young people 
 will do their best to fill your places, if you feel yourselves 
 unequal to the exertion." She looked at Hester as she spoke. 
 
 " Oh, if anybody goes, we go, of course," said Hester. " I 
 think you are quite right in supposing that the business of the 
 day must proceed. If there was anything to be done by stay- 
 ing at home, — if you could make us of any use, Mrs. Grey, it 
 
 would be a different thing : but " 
 
 k2 
 
100 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Well, if there is nothing in your feelings which If 
 
 you believe yourselves equal to the exertion ^" 
 
 Margaret now interposed. " One had rather stay at home 
 and be quiet, when one is anxious about one's friends : but 
 other people must be considered, as we seem to be agreed, — 
 Mr. and Mrs. Eowland, and all the children. So we will pro- 
 ceed with our dressing, Mrs. Grey. But can you tell us, before 
 
 you go, how soon How soon we shall know ; — when 
 
 this case will probably be decided ? " 
 
 It might be a few hours, or it might be many days, Mrs. 
 Grey said. She should stay at home to-day, in case of any- 
 thing being sent for from the farm-house where Mr. Hope 
 was lying. He was well attended — in the hands of good 
 nurses — former patients of his own : but something might be 
 wanted ; and orders had been left by Mr. Grey that applica- 
 tion should be made to his house for whatever could be of 
 service : so Mrs. Grey could not think of leaving home. Mr. 
 Grey would make inquiry at the farmhouse as the party 
 went by to the woods : and he would just turn his horse back 
 in the middle of the day, to inquire again : and thus the Row- 
 lands' party would know more of Mr. Hope's state than those who 
 remained at home. Having explained, Mrs. Grey quitted the 
 room, somewhat disappointed that Hester had received the 
 disclosure so well. 
 
 The moment the door was closed, Hester sank forward on the 
 bed, her face hidden, but her trembling betraying her emotion. 
 
 " I feared this," said Margaret, looking mournfully at her 
 sister. 
 
 " You feared what ? " asked Hester, quickly, looking up. 
 
 " I feared that some accident had happened to Mr. Hope." 
 
 " So did I." 
 
 " And if," said Margaret, " I feared something else — — 
 Nay, Hester, you must let me speak. We must have no 
 concealments, Hester. You and I are alone in the world, 
 and we must comfort each other. We agreed to this. Why 
 should you be ashamed of what you feel? I believe that 
 you have a stronger interest in this misfortune than any 
 one in the word ; and why '^ 
 
 "How do you mean, a stronger interest?" asked Hester, 
 trying to command her voice. " Tell me what you mean, 
 Margaret." 
 
 " I mean," said Margaret, steadily, *Hhat no one is so much 
 attached to Mr. Hope as you are." 
 
DEERBROOK^ 101 
 
 " Is that all?" said Hester. Hiding her face on her sister's 
 shoulder, she whispered, " You sscf you feared this for me. 
 What do you think — have you observed his manner to me ? 
 What do you think?" 
 
 " I think," said Margaret, after a pause, "that Mr. Hope has 
 a high respect and strong regard for you." She paused again, 
 and then added, " If I believed anything more, I would tell you." 
 
 When Hester could speak again, she said, gently and hum- 
 bly, " I assure you, Margaret, I never knew the state of my 
 own mind till this last night. If I had been aware " 
 
 " If you had been aware, you would have been unlike all 
 who ever really loved, if people say true. Now that you have 
 become aware, you will act as you can act — nobly — righteously. 
 You will struggle with your feelings till your mind grows calm. 
 Peace will come in time." 
 
 ^' Do you think there is no hope ?" 
 
 " Consider his state." 
 
 '^ But if he should recover ? Oh, Margaret, how wicked all 
 this is ! While he lies there, we are grieving about me ! What 
 a selfish wretch I am ! " 
 
 Margaret had nothing to reply, there seemed so much truth 
 in this. Even she reproached herself with being exclu- 
 sively anxious about her sister, when such a friend might be 
 dying ; when a life of such importance to many was in jeo- 
 pardy. 
 
 " I could do anything, I could bear anything," said Hester, 
 " if I could be sure that nobody knew. But you found me 
 out, Margaret, and perhaps " 
 
 " I assure you, I believe you are safe," said Margaret. " You 
 can hide nothing from me. But, Mrs. Grey — and nobody ex- 
 cept myself, has watched you like Mrs. Grey — has gone away, 
 I am certain, completely deceived. But, Hester I my own pre- 
 cious sister, bear with one word from me ! Do not trust too 
 much to your pride." 
 
 " I do trust to my pride, and I will," replied Hester, her 
 cheeks in a glow. " Do you suppose I will allow all in this 
 house, all in the village, to be pitying me, to be watching 
 how I suffer, when no one supposes that he gave me cause ? 
 It is not to be endured, even in the bare thought. No. If 
 you do not betray me " 
 
 "I betray you?" 
 
 "Well, well! I know you will not: and then I am safe. 
 My pride I can trust to, and I will." 
 
102 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " It will betray you," siglied Margaret. " I do not want 
 you to parade your sorrow, God knows ! It will be better 
 borne in quiet and secresy. What I wisli for you is, that you 
 should receive this otherwise than as a punishment, a disgrace 
 in your own eyes for something wrong. You have done 
 nothing wrong, nothing that you may not appeal to God to 
 help you to endure. Take it as a sorrow sent by Him, to be 
 meekly borne, as what no earthly person has any concern 
 with. Be superior to the opinions of the people about us, in- 
 stead of defying them. Pride will give you no peace : resig- 
 nation will." 
 
 " I am too selfish for this," sighed Hester. " I hate myself, 
 Margaret. I have not even the grace to love Jiim^ except for 
 my own sake ; and while he is dying, I am planning to save 
 my pride ! I do not care what becomes of me. Come, Mar- 
 garet, let us dress and go down. Do not trouble your kind 
 heart about me : I am not worth it." 
 
 This mood gave way a little to Margaret's grief and endear- 
 ments ; but Hester issued from her chamber for the day in a 
 state of towering pride, secretly alternating with the anguish 
 of self-contempt. 
 
 It was a miserable day, as wretched a party of pleasure as 
 could be imagined. Mrs. Eowland was occupied in thinking, 
 and occasionally saying, how strangely everything fell out to 
 torment her, how something always occurred to cross every 
 plan of hers. She talked about this to her mother, Sophia, 
 and Hester, who were in the barouche with her, till the whole 
 cavalcade stopped, just before reaching the farm-house where 
 Mr. Hope lay, and to which Mr. Grey rode on to make in- 
 quiries. Margaret was with Mr. Eowland in his gig. It was 
 a breathless three minutes till Mr. Grey brought the news. 
 Margaret wondered how Hester was bearing it : it would have 
 pleased her to have known that Mrs. Rowland was holding 
 forth so strenuously upon her disappointment about a dress at 
 the last Blickley ball, and about her children having had the 
 measles on the only occasion when Mr. Rowland could have 
 taken her to the races in the next county, that Hester might 
 sit in silence, and bear the suspense unobserved. Mr. Grey 
 reappeared, quite as soon as he could be looked for. There 
 might have been worse news. Mr. Hope was no longer in a 
 stupor : he was delirious. His medical attendants could not 
 pronounce any judgment upon the case further than that it 
 was not hopeless. They had known recovery in similar cases. 
 
DEERBROOK. 103 
 
 As Mr. Grey bore his report from carriage to carriage, every 
 one strove to speak cheerfully, and to make the best of the 
 case ; and those who were not the most interested really satis- 
 fied themselves with the truth that the tidings were better than 
 they might have been. 
 
 The damp upon the spirits of the party was most evident, 
 when all had descended from the carriages, and were collected 
 in the woods. There was a general tremor about accidents. 
 If one of the gentlemen had gone forward to explore, or the 
 children had lagged behind for play, there was a shouting, and 
 a general stop, till the missing party appeared. Miss Young 
 would fain have declined her pony, which was duly in waiting 
 for her. It was only because she felt that no individual could 
 well be spared from the party that she mounted at all. Mr. 
 Hope was to have had the charge of her ; and though she had 
 requested Sydney to take his place, as far as was necessary, 
 Mr. Enderby insisted on doing so ; a circumstance which did 
 not add to her satisfaction. She was not altogether so heart- 
 sick as her friends, the Ibbotsons ; but even to her, everything 
 Avas weariness of spirit : — the landscape seemed dull ; the 
 splendid dinner on the grass tiresome ; the sunshine sickly ; 
 and even the children, with their laughter and practical jokes, 
 fatiguing and troublesome. Even she could easily have 
 spoken sharply to each and all of the little ones. If she felt 
 so, w^hat must the day have been to Hester? She bore up 
 well under any observation that she might suppose herself the 
 object of; but Margaret saw how laboriously she strove, and 
 in vain, to eat ; how welcome was the glass of wine ; how 
 mechanical her singing after dinner ; and how impatient she 
 was of sitting still. The strangest thing was to see her walk- 
 ing in a dim glade, in the afternoon, arm-in-arm with Mrs. 
 Eowland, — as if in the most confidential conversation, — 
 Mrs. Rowland apparently offering the confidence, and Hester 
 receiving it. 
 
 " Look at them 1" said Mr. Enderby. " Who would believe 
 that my sister prohibited solitary walks and tete-a-tetes, only 
 three hours ago, on the ground that every one ought to be 
 sociable to-day? I shall go and break up the conference." 
 
 " Pray do not," said Margaret. " Let them forget rules, and 
 pass their time as they like best." 
 
 " Oh ! but here is news of Hope. Mr. Grey has now brought 
 word that he is no worse. I begin to think he may get through, 
 w^hich, God knows I I had no idea of this morning." 
 
104 DEERBROOK. 
 
 **Do you really think so? But do not tell other people, 
 unless you are quite confident tliat you really mean what you 
 say." 
 
 " I may be wrong, of course : but I do think the chances 
 improve with every hour that he does not get worse ; and he 
 is certainly not worse. I have a strong presentiment that he 
 will struggle through." 
 
 *' Go, then ; and tell as many people as you choose : only 
 make them understand how much is presentiment." 
 
 The tete-a-tete between the ladies, being broken oiF by Mr. 
 Enderby with his tidings, was not renewed. Hester walked 
 beside Miss Young's pony, her cheek flushed, and her eye 
 bright. Margaret thought there was pride underneath, and 
 not merely the excitement of renewed hope, so feeble as that 
 hope must yet be, and so nearly crushed by suspense. 
 
 Before the hour fixed for the carriages to be in readiness, 
 the party had given up all pretence of amusing themselves and 
 each other. They sat on a ridge, watching the spot where the 
 vehicles were to assemble ; and message after message was sent 
 to the servants, to desire them to make haste. The general 
 wish seemed to be, to be getting home, though the sun was yet 
 some way from its setting. When the first sound of wheels 
 was heard, Hester whispered to her sister — 
 
 " I cannot be in the same carriage with that woman. No ; 
 you must not either. I cannot now tell you why. I dare say 
 Miss Young would take my place, and let me go with the 
 children in the waggon." 
 
 ^^ I will do that; and you shall return in Mr. Rowland's gig. 
 You can talk or not as you please with him ; and he is very 
 kind. He is no more to be blamed for his wife's behaviour, 
 you know, than her mother or her brother. It shall be so. I 
 will manage it." 
 
 Margaret could manage what she pleased, with Maria and 
 Mr. Enderby both devoted to her. Hester was off with Mr. 
 Eowland, and Margaret with one child on her lap, and the 
 others rejoicing at having possession of her, before Mrs. Eow- 
 land discovered the shifting of parties which had taken place. 
 Often during the ride she wanted to speak to her brother: 
 three times out of four he was not to be had, so busy was he 
 joking with the children, as he trotted his horse beside the 
 waggon ; and when he did hear his sister's call he merely 
 answered her questions, said something to make his mother 
 laugh, and dropped into his place beside the waggon again. 
 
DEERBROOK. 105 
 
 It struck Maria that the waggon had not been such an attrac- 
 tion in going, though the flowers with which it was canopied 
 had then^been fresh, and the children more merry and good- 
 humoured than now. 
 
 The report to be carried home to Deerbrook was, that Mr. 
 Hope was still no worse : it was thought that his delirium was 
 somewhat quieter. Mrs. Grey was out on the steps to hear the 
 news, when the carriage approached. As it happened, the gig 
 arrived first, and Hester had to give the relation. She spoke 
 even cheerfully, declaring Mr. Enderby's opinion, that the case 
 was going on favourably, and that recovery was very possible. 
 Mrs. Grey, who had had a wretchedly anxious day by herself, 
 not having enjoyed even the satisfaction of being useful, nothing 
 having been sent for from the farmhouse, was truly cheered 
 by seeing her family about her again. 
 
 ^' I have been watching for you this hour," said she; " and 
 yet I hardly expected you so soon. As it grew late, I began 
 to fancy all manner of accidents that might befall you. When 
 one accident happens, it makes one fancy so many more ! I 
 could not help thinking about Mr. Grey's horse. Does that 
 horse seem to you perfectly steady, Hester? Well, I am glad 
 of it : but I once saw it shy from some linen on a hedge, and 
 it was in my mind all this afternoon. Here you are, all safe, 
 however : and I trust we may feel more cheerfully now about 
 our good friend. If he goes on to grow better, I shall get 
 Mr. Grey to drive me over soon to see him. But, my dears, 
 what will you have after your ride? Shall I order tea, or will 
 you have something more substantial?" 
 
 ^' Tea, if you please," said Hester. Her tongue was 
 parched : and when Margaret followed her up-stairs, she 
 found her drinking water, as if she had been three days deep 
 in the Great Desert. 
 
 *^ Can you tell me now," asked Margaret, *' what Mrs. 
 Eowland has been saying to you?" 
 
 ^' No, not at present ; better wait. Margaret! what do you 
 think now ? " 
 
 " I think that all looks brighter than it did this morning; 
 but what a wretched day it has been ! " 
 
 " You found it so, did you ? Oh, Margaret, I have longed 
 every hour to lie down to sleep in that wood, and never wake 
 again ! " 
 
 " I do not wonder : but you will soon feel better. The 
 sleep from which you will wake to-morrow morning will do 
 
106 DEERBROOK. 
 
 nearly as well. We must sleep to-niglit, and hope for good 
 news in the mormng." 
 
 ' " No good news will ever come to me again," sighed 
 Hester. '' No, no ; I do not quite mean that. You need not 
 look at me so. It is ungrateful to say such a thing at this 
 moment. Come : I am ready to go down to tea. It is really 
 getting dark. I thought this day never would come to an end." 
 
 The evening was wearisome enough. Mrs. Grey asked how 
 Mrs. Rowland had behaved, and Sophia was beginning to 
 tell, when her father checked her, reminding her that she had 
 been enjoying Mrs. Rowland's hospitality. This w^as all he 
 said, but it was enough to bring on one of Sophia's inter- 
 minable fits of crying. The children were cross with fatigue : 
 Mrs. Grey thought her husband hard upon Sophia ; and, to 
 complete the absurdity of the scene, Hester's and Margaret's 
 tears proved uncontrollable. The sight of Sophia's set them 
 flowing ; and though they laughed at themselves for the folly 
 of weeping from mere sympathy, this did not mend the matter. 
 Mrs. Grey seemed on the verge of tears herself, when she 
 observed that she had expected a cheerful evening after a 
 lonely and anxious day. A deep sob from the three answered 
 to this observation, and they all rose to go to their apartments. 
 Hester was struck by the peculiar tender pressure of the hand 
 given her by Mr. Grey, as she offered him her mute good- 
 night. It caused her a fresh burst of grief when she reached 
 her own room. 
 
 Margaret was determined not to go to rest without know^- 
 ing what it was that Mrs. Rowland had said to her sister. 
 She pressed for it now, hoping that it would rouse Hester 
 from more painful thoughts. 
 
 *' Though I have been enjoying that woman's hospitality, as 
 Mr. Grey says," declared Hester, " I must speak of her as I 
 think, to you. Oh, she has been so insolent !" 
 
 '' Insolent to you ! How ? Why ? " 
 
 " Nay : you had better ask her why. Her confidence was 
 all about her brother. She seems to think, — she did not say 
 so, or I should have known better how to answer her, but she 
 seems to think that her brother is — (I can hardly speak it 
 even to you, Margaret !) — is in some way in danger from me. 
 Now, you and I know that he cares no more for me than for 
 any one of the people who were there to-day ; and yet she 
 went on telling me, and I could not stop her, about the views 
 of his family for him ! " 
 
DEERBEOOK. 107 
 
 "What views?" 
 
 ^' Views whicli, I imagine, it by no means follows that he 
 has for himself If she has been impertinent to me, she has 
 been even more so to him. I wonder how she dares meddle 
 in his concerns as she does." 
 
 '* Well, but what views ?" persisted Margaret. ^ 
 
 " Oh, about his marrying : — that he is the darling of his 
 family, — that large family interests hang upon his marrying, 
 — that all his relations think it is time he was settling, and 
 that he told her last week that he was of that opinion himself : 
 — and then she went on to say that there was the most 
 delightful accordance in their views for him ; — that they did 
 not much value beauty, — that they should require for him 
 something of a far higher order than beauty, and which 
 indeed was seldom found with it " 
 
 '' Insolent creature ! Did she say that to you ? " 
 
 " Indeed she did : and that her brother's wife must be of a 
 good family, with a fortune worthy of his own ; and, naturally, 
 of a county family." 
 
 " A county family ! " said Margaret, half laughing. " What 
 matters county or city, when two people are watching over 
 one another for life and death, and for hereafter ? " 
 
 " With such people as Mrs. Rowland," said Hester, " mar- 
 riage is a very superficial aiFair. If family, fortune, and 
 equipage are but right, the rest may be left to Providence. 
 
 Temper, mind, heart . The worst of all, however, was 
 
 her ending — or what was made her ending by our being in- 
 terrupted." 
 
 *' Well ! what was her finish ?" 
 
 *' She put her face almost under my bonnet, as she looked 
 smiling at me, and said there w^as a young lady — she wished 
 she could tell me all about it — the time would come when she 
 might — there was a sweet girl, beloved by them all for many 
 years, from her very childhood, whom they had hopes of 
 receiving, at no very distant time, as Philip's wife." 
 
 " I do not believe it," cried Margaret. After a pause, she 
 added, " Do you believe it, Hester ? " 
 
 " I am sure I do not know. I should not rate Mrs. Row- 
 land's word very highly : but this would be such a prodigious 
 falsehood ! It is possible, however, that she may believe it 
 without its being true. Or, such a woman might make the 
 most, for the occasion, of a mere suspicion of her own." 
 
 " I do not believe it is true," repeated Margaret. 
 
108 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 " At all events," concluded Hester, " notliing tliat Mrs. 
 Eowland says is worth regarding. I was foolisli to let myself 
 be ruffled by her." 
 
 Margaret tried to take the lesson home, but it was in vain. 
 She was ruffled ; and, in spite of every effort, she did believe 
 in the existence of the nameless young lady. It had been a 
 day of trouble ; and thus was it ending in fresh sorrow and 
 fear. 
 
 Morris came in, hesitated at the door, was told she might 
 stay, and immediately busied herself in the brushing of hair 
 and the folding of clothes. Many tears trickled down, and 
 not a word was spoken, till all the offices of the toilet were 
 finished. Morris then asked, with a glance at the book-shelf, 
 w^hether she should go or stay. 
 
 *' Stay, Morris," said Hester, gently. " You shall not 
 suffer for our being unhappy to-night. Margaret, will you, 
 can you read ? " ^ 
 
 Margaret took the volume in which it was the sisters' 
 common practice to read together, and with Morris at night. 
 While Morris took her seat, and reverently composed herself 
 to hear, Margaret turned to the words which have stilled 
 many a tempest of grief, from the moment when they were 
 first uttered to mourners, through a long course of centuries, 
 *'Let not your heart be troubled." ^'Believe in God; be- 
 lieve in me." Morris sometimes spoke on these occasions. 
 She loved to hear of the many mansions in the House of the 
 Father of all ; and she said that though it might seem to her 
 young ladies that their parents had gone there full soon, 
 leaving them to undergo trouble by themselves, yet she had 
 no doubt they should all be at peace together, sooner or later, 
 and their passing troubles would seem as nothing. Even this 
 simple and obvious remark roused courage in the sisters. 
 They remembered what their father had said to them about 
 his leaving them to encounter the serious business and trials 
 of life, and how they had promised to strive to be wise and 
 trustful, and to help each other. This day the serious business 
 and trials of life had manifestly begun : and they must 
 strengthen themselves and each other to meet them. They 
 agreed upon this, and in a mood of faith and resolution fell 
 asleep. 
 
DEERBROOK. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 MEDIATION. 
 
 Mr. Hope's case' turned out more favourably than any of his 
 attendants and friends had ventured to anticipate. For some 
 days the symptoms continued as alarming as at first ; but 
 from the hour that he began to amend, his progress towards 
 recovery was without drawback, and unusually rapid. Within 
 a month, the news circulated through the village, that he had 
 been safely brought home to his own lodgings ; and the day 
 after, the ladies at Mr. Grey's were startled by seeing him 
 alight from a gig at the door, and walk up the steps feebly, 
 but without assistance. He could not stay away any longer, 
 he declared. He had been above a month shut up in a dim 
 room, without seeing any faces but of doctor, nurse, and Mrs. 
 Grey, and debarred from books ; now he was well enough to 
 prescribe for himself ; and he was sure that a little society, 
 and a gradual return to his usual habits of life, would do him 
 more good than anything. 
 
 Mrs. Grey kept all her own children out of sight during 
 this first visit, that Mr. Hope might not see too many faces 
 at once. She admitted only Hester and Margaret, and Alice, 
 who brought him some refreshment. The girl made him a 
 low curtsey, and looked at him with an expression of awe and 
 pleasure, wlaich brought tears into the eyes of even her mis- 
 tress. Mr. Hope had been a benefactor to this girl. He had 
 brought her through a fever. She had of late little expected 
 ever to see him again. Mr. Hope replied to her mute looks, 
 
 " Thank you, Alice, I am much better. I hope to be quite 
 well soon. Did not you make some of the good things Mrs. 
 Grey has been kind enough to bring me ? — I thought so. 
 Well, I'm much obliged to you ; and to everybody who has 
 been taking pains to make me well. I do not know how it 
 is," he continued, when Alice had left the room, " but things 
 do not appear as they used to do. Perhaps my eyes are dim 
 still ; but the room does not seem bright, and none of you 
 look well and merry." 
 
 Mrs. Grey observed that she had drawn the blinds down, 
 thinking he would find it a relief after the sunshine. Margaret 
 said ingenuously — 
 
 " We are all well, I assure you ; but you should not wonder 
 if you find us rather grave. Much has happened since we 
 
110 DEERBROOK. 
 
 met. We have been thinking of you with great anxiety foi 
 so long, that we cannot on a sudden talk as lightly as when 
 you used to come in every day." 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, ^' I little thought, at one time, that I should 
 ever see any of you again in this world." 
 
 " We have thought of you as near death," said Margaret ; 
 " and since that, as having a sick-room experience, which we 
 respect and stand in awe of ; and that is reason enough for 
 our looking grave." 
 
 "You feel as if you had to become acquainted with me 
 over again. Well, we must lose no time ; here is a month 
 gone that I can give no account of." 
 
 Hester felt how differently the case stood with her. The 
 last month had been the longest she had ever known, — tedious 
 as to the state captive, serving his noviciate to prison life. 
 She. would have been thankful to say that she could give no 
 account of the past month. She inquired how the accident 
 happened ; for this was still a mystery to everybody. Mr. 
 Hope could not clear up the matter : he remembered parting 
 with Sydney, and trotting, with the bridle of the pony in his 
 hand, to the top of the ascent, — the point where Sydney lost 
 sight of him : he had no distinct remembrance of anything 
 more, — only a sort of impression of his horse rearing bolt up- 
 right. He had never been thrown belbre ; and his supposi- 
 tion was, that a stone cast from behind the hedge might have 
 struck his horse : but he really knew no more of the affair 
 than any one else. The ladies all trusted he would not ride 
 the same horse again ; but this he would not promise : his horse 
 was an old friend ; and he was not in a hurry to part with old 
 friends. He was glad to find that Miss Young had not laid 
 the blame on the pony, but had ridden it through the woods 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 " Not exactly so," said Margaret, smiling. 
 
 "The young folks did not enjoy their excursion very much, 
 I fancy," said Mrs. Grey, smiling also. " Mrs. Rowland was 
 quite put out, poor soul ! You know she thinks everything 
 goes wrong, on purpose to plague her." 
 
 " I think she had some higher feelings on that occasion,'^ 
 said Mr. Hope, gently, but gravely. " I am indebted to her 
 for a very anxious concern on my account, and for kind ofiices 
 in which perhaps none of my many generous friends have sur- 
 passed her." 
 
 Mrs. Grey, somewhat abashed, said that Mrs. Eowland had 
 
DEERBROOK. Ill 
 
 ^me good qualities : it was only a pity that Iier nnliappy 
 temper did not allow them fair play. 
 
 " It is a pity," observed Mr. Hope ; " and it is at the same 
 time, an appeal to us to allow her the fair play she does not 
 afford herself. That sofa looks delightfully comfortable, Mrs. 
 Grey." 
 
 " Oh, you are tired ; you are faint, perhaps ? " 
 
 " Shall I ring ? " said Hester, moving to the bell. 
 
 " No, no," said he, laughing ; " I am very well at present. 
 I only mean that I should like to stay all day, if you will let 
 me. I am sure that sofa is full as comfortable as my own. 
 I may stay, may I not ? " 
 
 " No, indeed you shall not, this first day. If you will go 
 away now before you are tired, and if I find when I look in 
 upon you this evening, that you are not the worse for this 
 feat, you shall stay longer to-morrow. But I assure you it is 
 time you were at home now. My dears, just see whether the 
 gig is at the door." 
 
 " So I only get sent away by begging to stay," said Mr. 
 Hope. ^^ Well, I have been giving orders to sick people for so 
 many years, that I suppose it is fairly my turn to obey now. 
 May I ask you to send to Widow Rye's to-day ? I looked in 
 as I came ; and her child is in want of better food, better 
 cooked, than she is able to give him." 
 
 " I will send him a dinner from our table. You are not 
 going to see any more patients to-day, I hope ? " 
 
 " Only two that lie quite in my road. If you send me 
 away, you must take the consequences. Farewell, till to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Mr. Grey and I shall look in upon you this evening. 
 Now do not look about you out of doors, to catch anybody's 
 eye, or you will be visiting a dozen patients between this house 
 and your own." 
 
 There were, indeed, many people standing about, within 
 sight of Mr. Grey's door, to see Mr. Hope come out. All 
 Mr. Grey's children and servants were peeping through the 
 shrubbery. Mrs. Enderby waved her hand from a lower, and 
 her two maids looked out from an upper window. The old 
 man of a hundred years, who was sunning himself on the 
 bank, as usual, rose and took off his hat : and the little 
 Eeeves and their school-fellows stood whispering to one another 
 that Mr. Hope looked rarely bad still. Mrs. Plum.stead 
 dropped a low curtsey, as she stood taking in the letter-bag, 
 
112 DEERBROOK. 
 
 at her distant door. Mrs. Grey observed to Hester on the 
 respect which was paid to Mr. Hope all through the place, 
 as if Hester was not feeling it in her heart of hearts at the 
 moment. 
 
 Mrs. Grey flattered herself that Mr. Hope was thinking of 
 Hester when he said his friends did not look well. She had 
 been growing thinner and paler for the last month, and no 
 doubt remained in Mrs. Grey's mind about the cause. Hester 
 had commanded herself, to her sister's admiration ; but she 
 could not command her health, and that was giving way under 
 perpetual feelings of anxiety and humiliation. Mrs. . Grey 
 thought all this had gone quite far enough. She was more fond 
 and proud of Hester every day, and more impatient that she 
 should be happy, the more she watched her. She spoke to 
 Margaret about her. Margaret was prepared for this, having 
 foreseen its probability ; and her answers, while perfectly 
 true and sincere, were so guarded, that Mrs. Q-rey drew from 
 them the comfortable inference that she alone penetrated the 
 matter, and understood Hester's state of mind. She came to the 
 resolution at last of making the young people happy a little 
 sooner than they could have managed the affair for themselves. 
 She would help them to an understanding, but it should be 
 with all possible delicacy and regard to their feelings. Not 
 even Mr. Grey should know what she was about. 
 
 Opportunities were not wanting. When are opportunities 
 wanting to match-makers? If such do not find means of 
 carrying their points, they can construct them. Few match- 
 makers go to work so innocently and securely as Mrs. Grey ; 
 for few can be so certain of the inclinations of the parties as 
 she believed herself. Her own admiration of Hester was so 
 exclusive, and the superiority of Hester's beauty so unques- 
 tionable, that it never occurred to her that the attraction which 
 drew Mr. Hope to the house could be any other than this. 
 About the state of Hester's affections she felt justly confident ; 
 and so, in her view, nothing remained to be done but to save her 
 from further pining by bringing about an explanation. She 
 was frequently with Mr. Hope at his lodgings, during his 
 recovery, seeing that he took his afternoon rest, and beguiling 
 a part of his evenings ; in short, watching over him as 
 over a son, and declaring to Hester that he was no less dear 
 to her. 
 
 One evening, when she was spending an hour in Mr. Hope's 
 parlour, where Mr. Grey had deposited her till nine o'clock, 
 
DEERBROOK. 113 
 
 when he was to call for her, she made the same affectionate 
 declaration to Mr. Hope himself, — that he was as dear to her 
 as if he had been her own son ; " and," she continued, " I 
 shall speak to you with the same freedom as I should use with 
 Sydney, and may, perhaps, ten years hence." 
 
 " Pray do," said Mr. Hope. " I shall be glad to hear any- 
 thing you have to say. Are you going to find fault with me ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! What fault should I have to find with 
 you ? unless, indeed, it be a fault or a folly to leave your 
 own happiness and that of another person in needless un- 
 certainty." 
 
 Mr. Hope changed colour, quite to the extent of her wishes. 
 
 " I know," continued she, " that your illness has put a stop 
 to everything ; and that it has left you little nerve for any 
 explanation of the kind : but you are growing stronger every 
 day now, and the case is becoming so serious on the other 
 side that I own I dread the consequences of much further 
 delay. You see I speak openly." 
 
 She had every encouragement to do so, for Mr. Hope's 
 countenance was flushed with what appeared to her to be 
 delight. " You observed, yourself, you know, that Hester 
 did not look well ; and indeed the few weeks after your acci- 
 dent were so trying to her, — the exertions she made to con- 
 ceal her feelings were so . But I must spare her delicacy. 
 
 I trust you are quite assured that she has not the most 
 remote idea of my speaking to you thus. Indeed, no human 
 being is in the least aware of it. 
 
 "Hester! Miss Ibbotson ! Pray, Mrs. Grey, do not say 
 another word. Let us talk of something else." 
 
 " Presently ; when I have finished. You must have seen 
 that I love this dear girl as a daughter ; and there is not a 
 thought of her heart that she can conceal from me, though 
 her delicacy is so great that I am confident she thinks me 
 unaware of her state of mind at this moment. But I saw how 
 the affair was going from the very beginning "; and the failure 
 of her health and looks since your accident have left me no 
 doubt whatever, and have m-ade me feel it my duty to give 
 you the encouragement your modesty requires, and to confide 
 to you how wholly her happiness lies in your hands." 
 
 " Hester ! Miss Ibbotson ! I assure you, Mrs. Grey, you 
 must be completely mistaken." 
 
 " I beg your pardon : I am not so easily mistaken as some 
 people. There is IVIrs. Rowland, now ! I am sure she fancies 
 
 I 
 
114 DEERBROOK. 
 
 that her brother is in love with Hester, when it is plain to 
 everybody but herself that he and my other young cousin are 
 coming to a conclusion as fast as need be. However, I know 
 you do not like to hear me find fault with Mrs. Eowland; and, 
 besides, I have no right to tell Margaret's secrets ; so we will 
 say no more about that." 
 
 Mr. Hope sighed heavily. These remarks upon Enderby 
 ^nd Margaret accorded but too well with his own observations. 
 He could not let Mrs. Grey proceed without opposition ; but 
 all he was capable of was to repeat that she was entirely mis- 
 taken. 
 
 " Yes, that is what men like you always say, — ^in all sin- 
 cerity, of course. Your modesty always stands in the way of 
 your happiness for a while : but you are no losers by it. The 
 happiness is all the sweeter when it comes at last." 
 
 " But that is not what I mean. You have made it difficult 
 for me to explain myself. I hardly know how to say it ; but 
 it must be said. You have mistaken my intentions, — mis- 
 taken them altogether." 
 
 It was now Mrs. Grey's turn to change colour. She asked, 
 in a trembling voice, 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Mr. Hope, that you have not been 
 paying attentions to Hester Ibbotson ? " 
 
 " I do say so ; that I have paid no attentions of the nature 
 you suppose. You compel me to speak plainly." 
 
 " Then I must speak plainly too, Mr. Hope. If any one had 
 told me you would play the part you have played, I should 
 have resented the imputation as I resent your conduct now. 
 If you have not intended to win Hester's affections, you have 
 behaved infamously. You have won her attachment by atten- 
 tions which have never varied, from the very first evening 
 that she entered our house, till this afternoon. You have 
 amused yourself with her, it seems ; and now you are going to 
 break her heart." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Mrs. Grey ! I cannot hear this." 
 
 " There is not a soul in the place that does not think as I do. 
 There is not a soul that will not say ." 
 
 " Let us put aside what people may say. If, by any im- 
 prudence of my own, I have brought blame upon myself, I 
 
 must bear it. The important point is . Surely, Mrs. 
 
 Grey, it is possible that you may be in error about Miss 
 Ibbotson's — Miss Ibbotson's state of mind." 
 
 " No, Mr. Hope, it is not possible." And being in for it, as 
 
DEERBROOK. 115 
 
 she said, Mrs. Grey gave such a detail of her observations, 
 and of unquestionable facts, as left the truth indeed in little 
 doubt. 
 
 " And Margaret," said Mr. Hope, in a troubled voice : ** do 
 you know anything of her views of my conduct?" 
 
 " Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester," said 
 Mrs. Grey : an assertion from which Mr. Hope silently dis- 
 sented ; Margaret appearing to him the most simple-minded 
 person he had ever known ; lucid in her sincerity, transparent 
 in her unconsciousness. He was aware that Mrs. Grey had 
 been so occupied with Hester as not to have been open to 
 impression from Margaret. 
 
 " Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester, you know ; 
 and she and I have never talked over your conduct confiden- 
 tially : but if Margaret does not perceive the alteration in her 
 sister, and the cause of it, it can only be because she is occu- 
 pied with her own concerns." 
 
 " That is not like Margaret," thought Mr. Hope. 
 
 ** However, she does see it, I am sure; for she has proposed 
 their return to Birmingham, — their immediate return, though 
 their affairs are far from being settled yet, and they do not 
 know what they will have to live upon. They promised to 
 stay till October, too ; and we are only half through August 
 yet. Margaret can hardly have any wish to leave us on her 
 own account, considering whom she must leave behind. It is 
 for Hester's sake, I am confident. There is no doubt of the 
 fact, Mr. Hope. Your honour is involved. I repeat, you 
 have won this dear girl's affections ; and now you must act as 
 a man of conscience, which I have always supposed you to be." 
 
 Mr. Hope was tempted to ask for further confirmation, from 
 the opinions of the people who were about Hester ; but he 
 would not investigate the degree of exposure which might have 
 taken place. Even if no one agreed with Mrs. Grey, this 
 would be no proof that her conviction was a wrong one ; it 
 might happen through Hester's successful concealment of what 
 she must be striving to suppress. 
 
 Mrs. Grey urged him about his honour and conscience more 
 closely than he could bear. He faintly begged her to leave 
 him. He obtained from her a promise that she would inform 
 no person of what had been said ; and she again assured him 
 that neither Hester, nor any one else, had the remotest idea of 
 her speaking as she had done this evening. On his part, Mr. 
 Hope declared that he should reflect on what had passed, and 
 
 I 2 
 
116 DEERBROOK. 
 
 act with the strictest regard to duty. As, in Mrs. Grey's eyes, 
 his duty was perfectly clear, this declaration was completely 
 satisfactory. She saw the young people, with her mind's eye, 
 settled in the corner house which belonged to Mr. Eowland, 
 and was delighted that she had spoken. As soon as she was 
 gone, Mr. Hope would discover, she had little doubt, that he 
 had loved Hester all this time without having been conscious 
 what the attraction had really been ; and in a little while he 
 would be thankful to her for having smoothed his way for 
 him. With these thoughts in her mind, she bade him good- 
 night, just as Mr. Grey drove up to the door. She whispered 
 once more, that he was as dear to her as a son, and that this 
 was the reason of her having spoken so plainly. 
 
 "How are you this evening, Hope?" said Mr. Grey, from 
 the door- way. " On the sofa, eh ? don't rise for me, then. 
 Rather done up, eh ? Ah ! I was afraid you were for getting 
 on too fast. Bad economy in the end. You will be glad to 
 be rid of us : so I shall not come in. Take care of yourself, 
 I beg of you. Good-night." 
 
 In what a state of mind was Hope left ! His plain-speaking 
 motherly friend little guessed what a storm she had raised in a 
 spirit usually as calm as a summer's morning. There was 
 nothing to him so abhorrent as giving pain ; nothing so in- 
 tolerable in idea as injuring any human being : and he was 
 now compelled to believe that through some conduct of his 
 own, some imprudence, in a case where imprudence is guilt, 
 he had broken up the peace of a woman whom, though he did 
 not love, he respected and warmly regarded ! His mind was 
 in too tumultuous a state for him to attempt to settle with 
 himself the degree of his culpability. He only knew that he 
 was abased in his own sense of deep injury towards a fellow- 
 creature. In the same breath came the destruction of his 
 hopes, — ^hopes, of which, till the moment,he had been scarcely 
 conscious, — with regard to the one on whom his thoughts 
 had been really fixed. He had pledged himself to act strictly 
 according to his sense of duty. His consolation, his refuge 
 in every former trial of life, since the days of childhood, had 
 been in resolving to abide faithfully by the decisions of duty. 
 In this he had found freedom ; in this he had met strength 
 and repose, so that no evil had been intolerable to him. But 
 what was his duty now ? Amidst the contradictions of honour 
 and conscience in the present case, where should he find his 
 accustomed i efuge ? At one moment he saw clearly the obli- 
 
DEEREROOK. 117 
 
 gation to devote himself to her whose affections he had gained, 
 — thoughtlessly and carelessly, it is true, but to other eyes 
 purposely. At the next moment, the sin of marrying with- 
 out love, — if not while loving another, — rose vividly before 
 him, and made him shrink from what, an instant before, 
 seemed clear duty. The only hope was in the possibility of 
 mistake, which might yet remain. The whole could not be 
 mistake, about Hester, and Enderby, and Margaret, and all 
 Mrs. Grey's convictions. Some of all this must be true. The 
 probability was that it was all true : and if so, — he could 
 almost repine that he had not died when his death was ex- 
 pected. Then he should not have known of all this injury and 
 woe ; then he should not have had to witness Margaret's love 
 for another : then Hester's quiet grief would have melted away 
 with time, unembittered by reproach of him. No one had, 
 till this hour, loved and relished life more than he ; yet now 
 this gladsome being caught himself mourning that he had sur- 
 vived his accident. He roused himself from this ; but all was 
 fearful and confused before him. He could see nothing as it 
 was, and as it ought to be : he could decide upon nothing. He 
 must take time : he must be deliberate upon this, the most 
 important transaction of his life. 
 
 Thus he determined, as the last remains of twilight faded 
 away in his apartment, and the night air blew in chill from 
 the open window. He was so exhausted by his mental con- 
 flict as to be scarcely able to rise to close the window, and 
 retire to rest. There was one hope, familiar as the sunshine 
 to his eyes, but unusually feeble, still abiding in his mind for 
 comfort, — that he should, sooner or later, clearly discern what 
 it was his duty to do. All was at present dark ; but this light 
 might flow in. He would wait : he would not act till it did. 
 
 He did wait. For many days he was not seen in any of the 
 haunts to which he had begun to return. The answer to in- 
 quiries was that Mr. Hope was not so well, and wished for 
 entire quiet. Everyone was anxious. Hester was wretched, 
 and Mrs. Grey extremely restless and uneasy. She made 
 several attempts to see him ; but in no instance did she suc- 
 ceed. She wrote him a private note, and received only a 
 friendly verbal answer, such as all the world might hear. 
 
 Mr. Hope did wait for his duty to grow clear in the accu- 
 mulating light of thought. He decided at length how to act ; 
 and he decided wrong ; — not for want of waiting long enough, 
 but because some considerations intruded themselves which 
 
118 DEERBROOK. 
 
 warped his judgment, and sophisticated his feelings. He 
 decided upon making the great mistake of his life. 
 
 Nothing had ever been clearer to his mind than the guilt of 
 marrying without love. No man could have spoken more 
 strongly, more solemnly than he, on the presumption, the dis- 
 honourableness, the profligacy, of such an act : but he was 
 unaware how a man may be betrayed into it while he has 
 neither presumption, nor treachery, nor profligacy in his 
 thoughts. Hope went through a world of meditation during 
 the days of his close retirement ; some of his thoughts were 
 superficial, and some deceived him. He considered Margaret 
 lost to him : he glanced forwards to his desolation when he 
 should lose the society of both sisters — an event likely to 
 happen almost immediately, unless he should so act as to retain 
 them. He dwelt upon Hester's beauty, her superiority of 
 mind to every woman but one whom he had known, her 
 attachment to himself, her dependence upouv him. He pon- 
 dered these things till the tone of his mind was lowered, and 
 too many superficial feelings mingled with the sacredness of the 
 transaction, and impaired its integrity. Under their influence 
 he decided what to do. 
 
 He had no intention, all this while, of taking Mrs. Grey's 
 word for the whole matter, without test or confirmation. From 
 the beginning, he was aware that his first step must be to ascer- 
 tain that she was not mistaken. And this was his first step. 
 
 There were two obvious methods of proceeding. One was 
 to consult Mr. Grey, who stood in the place of guardian to 
 these girls, as to the probability of his success with Hester, 
 in case of his proposing himself to her. The other was to ask 
 the same question of Margaret. The advantage of speaking 
 to Mr. Grey was, that he might not be bound to proceed, in 
 case of Mr. Grey differing from his lady's view of the case ; 
 but then, Mr. Grey was perhaps unaware of the real state of 
 Hester's mind. From Margaret there was certainty of hear- 
 ing nothing but the truth, however little of it her feelings for 
 her sister might allow her to reveal ; but such a conversation 
 wdth her would compel him to proceed : all retreat would be 
 cut off after it ; and he naturally shrank from conversing with 
 Margaret, of all people, on this subject. But Hope was equal 
 to any effort which he thought a matter of duty ; and he 
 resolved not to flinch from this. He would speak first to IVIr. 
 Grey ; and if Mr. Grey did not undertake to answer for 
 Hester's indifference, he would seek an interview with Mar- 
 
DEERBROOK. 119 
 
 garet. If Margaret should encourage his advances on her 
 sister's behalf, the matter was decided. He should have a 
 wife who might be the pride of any man, — whom it would be 
 an honour to any man to have attached. If, as was still just 
 possible, Margaret should believe that her sister felt no 
 peculiar regard for him, he thought he might intimate so much 
 of the truth as, without offending her feelings on her sister's 
 account, would secure for him freedom to reconsider his pur- 
 poses. No man disliked more than he so circuitous a 
 method of acting in the most important affair of life. He 
 had always believed that, in the case of a genuine and vir- 
 tuous attachment, there can or ought to be nothing but the 
 most entire simplicity of conduct in the parties, — no appeal to 
 any but each other, — no seeking of an intervention, where 
 no stranger ought to intermeddle with the joy : but the pre- 
 sent affair, though perpetually brightening before Hope's 
 fancy, could not for a moment be thought of as of this kind : 
 and here the circuitous method, which had always appeared 
 disgusting to his imagination, was a matter of necessity to his 
 conscience. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A TURN IN THE SHRUBBERY. 
 
 Mr. Grey looked extremely pleased when asked whether he 
 supposed Hester might be won. His reply was simple enough. 
 He was not in his young cousin's confidence : he could not 
 undertake to answer for the state of mind of young ladies ; 
 but he knew of no other attachment, — of nothing which need 
 discourage his friend Hope, who would have his hearty good 
 wishes if he should persevere in his project. Yes, yes ; he 
 fully understood : it was not to be spoken of, — it was to rest 
 entirely between themselves till Hope should have felt his way 
 a little. He knew it was the fashion in these days to feel the 
 way a little more than was thought necessary or desirable in 
 his time : but he liked that all should follow their own method 
 in an affair which concerned themselves so much more than 
 any one else : so the matter should be a perfect secret, as 
 Mr. Hope desired ; though he did not fancy it would have to 
 be kept so close for any great length of time. 
 
 This was over. Now for the interview with Margaret, 
 which had become necessary. 
 
120 DEERBROOK. 
 
 His reappearance in the family party at Mr. Grey's, under 
 the inquisitive eyes of Mrs. Grey herself, must be an awkward 
 business at the best, while he remained in uncertainty. The 
 only way was to put an end to the uncertainty as soon as 
 possible. Pie would go this very afternoon, and ascertain his 
 fate before the day was over. He went boldly up to the door 
 and rang. " The family were all out in the garden after 
 dinner," Alice said : " would Mr. Hope join them there, or 
 would he rest himself while she told them he had arrived?" 
 Alice's anxiety about his looks was not yet satisfied. 
 
 " I will step in here," said he, the door of the blue parlour 
 being open. " Send Morris to me," Morris at that moment 
 crossing the hall. " Morris, I want to see Miss Margaret. 
 Will you just tell her that some one wishes to speak with 
 her ? I know she will excuse my asking the favour of her to 
 come in." 
 
 " Miss Margaret, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I am sure, sir, you look more fit to sit here than to be 
 gathering apples with them all in the orchard. Did you say 
 Miss Margaret, sir ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Whatever else may be in Morris's mind," thought Hope, 
 "it is clear that she is surprised at my wanting to see 
 Margaret. — Here she comes." 
 
 He was not sorry that the step paused in the hall, — that 
 there was a delay of some seconds before Margaret appeared. 
 He felt as weak at the moment as on first rising from his 
 bed after his accident ; but he rallied his resolution before he 
 met her eye, — now timid and shrinking as he had never seen 
 it before. Margaret was very grave, and as nearly awkward 
 as it was possible for her to be. She shook hands with him, 
 however, and hoped that he was better again. 
 
 " I am better, thank you. Will you sit down, and let me 
 speak to you for a few minutes ? " 
 
 It was impossible to refuse. Margaret sank down, while 
 he shut the door. 
 
 " I hear," said he, " that you are already thinking of re- 
 turning to Birmingham. Is this true ? " 
 
 " Yes : we shall go home in a few days." 
 
 " Then, before you leave us, will you allow me to ask your 
 advice ? " 
 
 At the word "advice" a glow of pleasure passed over 
 
DEERBROOK. 121 
 
 Margaret's face, and she could not quite suppress a sigh of 
 relief. She now looked up freely and fearlessly. All this 
 was good for Mr. Hope : but it went to his heart, and 
 for a moment checked his speech. He soon proceeded, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " I want your advice as a friend, and also some information 
 which you alone can give me. What I have to say relates 
 to your sister." 
 
 Margaret's ecstacy of hope was scarcely controllable. For 
 her sister's sake she hung her head upon her bosom, the 
 better to conceal her joy. It was a bitter moment for him 
 who could not but note and rightly interpret the change in 
 her countenance and manner. 
 
 " I wish to know, if you have no objection to tell me, 
 whether your sister is disengaged." 
 
 " I have no objection to say," declared Margaret, looking 
 up cheerfully, " that my sister is not engaged." 
 
 *' That is the information I wished for. Now for the 
 opinion which I venture to ask of you, as of the one to whom 
 your sister's mind is best known. Do you believe that, if I 
 attempt it, I am likely to win her ? " 
 
 Margaret was silent. It was difficult to answer the question 
 with perfect truth, and with due consideration to her 
 sister. 
 
 " I see," said Hope, ^' that you do not approve my ques- 
 tion : nor do I myself. Eather tell me whether you suppose 
 that she prefers any one to me, — that she had rather I should 
 not seek her, — whether, in short, you would advise me to 
 withdraw." 
 
 "By no means," said Margaret. " I cannot say anything 
 tending to deter you. I know of nothing which need dis- 
 courage you ; and I assure you, you have my best wishes that 
 you may succeed." 
 
 She looked at him with the bright expression of sincerity 
 and regard which had touched his heart oftener and more 
 deeply than all Hester's beauty. He could not have offered 
 to shake hands at the moment ; but she held out hers, and he 
 could not but take it. The door burst open at the same 
 instant, and Mr. Enderby entered. Both let drop the hand 
 they held, and looked extremely awkward and grave. A 
 single glance was enough to send Mr. Enderby away, without 
 having spoken his errand, which was to summon Margaret 
 to the orchard, for the final shake of the apple-tree. When 
 
122 DEERBROOK. 
 
 he was gone, each saw that the face of the other was crimson : 
 but while Hope had a look of distress which Margaret won- 
 dered at, remembering how soon Mr. Enderby would imder- 
 stand the nature of the interview, she was struggling to 
 restrain a laugh. 
 
 ** Thank you for your truth," said Mr. Hope. ^' I knew I 
 might depend upon it from you." 
 
 '^ I have told you all I can," said Margaret rising ; " and it 
 will be best to say no more at present. It is due to my sister 
 to close our conversation here. If she should choose," con- 
 tinued she, gaily, " to give us leave to renew it hereafter, I 
 shall have a great deal to say to you on my own part. You 
 have done me the honour of calling me ^ friend.' You have 
 my friendship, I assure you, and my good wishes." 
 
 Hope grasped her hand with a fervour which absolved 
 him from the use of words. He then opened the door for her. 
 
 " I must return to the orchard," said she. »" Will you go ? 
 or will you repose yourself here till we come in to tea ? " 
 
 Mr. Hope preferred remaining where he was. The die was 
 cast, and he must think. His hour of meditation was salutary. 
 He had never seen Margaret so — he dared not dwell upon 
 it : but then, never had her simplicity of feeling towards him, 
 her ingenuous friendship, unmixed with a thought of love, 
 been so clear. He had made no impression upon her, except 
 through her sister, and for her sister. He recalled the stiiF- 
 ness and fear with which she had come when summoned to a 
 tete-a-tete ; her sudden relief on the mention of her sister ; 
 and her joyous encouragement of his project. 
 
 '* I ought to rejoice — I do rejoice at this," thought he. ** It 
 seems as if everyone else would be made happy by this affair. 
 It must have been my own doing ; there must have been that 
 in my manner and conduct which authorised all this expecta- 
 tion and satisfaction, — an expectation and satisfaction which 
 prove to be no fancy of Mrs. Grey's. I have brought upon 
 myself the charge of Hester's happiness. She is a noble 
 woman, bound to me by all that can engage my honour, my 
 generosity, my affection. She shall be happy from this day, 
 if my most entire devotion can make her so. Margaret loves 
 Enderby : I am glad I know it. I made him dreadfully 
 jealous just now ; I must relieve him as soon as possible. I 
 do not know how far matters may have gone between them ; 
 but Margaret is not at liberty to explain what he saw till I 
 have spoken to Hester. There must be no delay : I will do 
 
DEERBROOK. 123 
 
 it this evening. I cannot bring myself to communicate with 
 IMrs. Grey. If Mr. Grey is at home, he will make the oi3por- 
 tunity for me." 
 
 Mr. Grey was at home, and on the alert to take a hint. " I 
 guessed how it was," said he. *' Margaret has been trying to 
 keep down her spirits, but not a child among them all flew 
 about the orchard as she did, when Mr. Enderby had been to 
 look for her, and she followed him back. I thought at first it 
 was something on her own account ; but Enderby looked too 
 dull and sulky for that. I have no doubt he is jealous of you. 
 He found you together, did he? Well, he will sodn know why, 
 I trust. Oh, you have a hearty well-wisher in Margaret, I am 
 sure ! Now, you see they are setting Sophia down to the 
 piano ; and I think I can find for you the opportunity you 
 want, if you really wish to bring the business to a conclusion 
 this evening. I will call Hester out to take a turn with me in 
 the shrubbery, as she and I often do, these fine evenings ; and 
 then, if you choose, you can meet us there." 
 
 Hester was not at all sorry to be invited by Mr. Grey to the 
 turn in the shrubbery, which was one of the best of her quiet 
 pleasures, — a solace which she enjoyed the more, the more she 
 became attached to kind Mr. Grey : and she did much respect 
 and love him. This evening she was glad of any summons 
 from the room. Margaret had fully intended not to speak to 
 her of what had passed, thinking it best for her sister's dignity, 
 and for Mr. Hope's satisfaction, that he should not be antici- 
 pated. AIL this was very wise and undeniable while she w^as 
 walking back to the orchard : but it so happened that Hester's 
 "hand hung by her side, as she stood looking up at the apple- 
 tree, unaw^are that Margaret had left the party. Margaret 
 could not resist seizing the hand, and pressing it with so much 
 silent emotion, such a glance of joy, as threw Hester into a 
 state of wonder and expectation. Not a syllable could she 
 extort from Margaret, either on the spot or afterwards, when 
 summoned to tea. Whether it was on account of Mr. Hope's 
 return to the house, she could not satisfy herself She had 
 sat, conscious and inwardly distressed, at the tea-table, where 
 nothing remarkable had occurred ; and was glad to escape 
 from the circle where all that was said appeared to her 
 excited spirit to be tiresome, or trifling, or vexatious. 
 
 How difierent was it all when she returned to the house ! 
 How she loved the whole world, and no one in it was dull, and 
 nothing was trifling, and it was out of the power of circum- 
 
124 DEERBROOK. 
 
 stances to vex her 1 Life had become heaven : its doubts, 
 its cares, its troubles, were gone, and all had given place 
 to a soul-penetrating joy. She should grow perfect now, 
 for she had one whom she believed perfect to lead her on. 
 Her pride, her jealousy, would trouble her no more : it was 
 for want of sympathy — perfect sympathy always at hand — 
 that she had been a prey to them. She should pine no more, 
 for there was one who was her own. A calm, nameless, all- 
 pervading bliss had wrapped itself round her spirit, and 
 brought her as near to her Maker as if she had been his 
 favoured child. There needs no other proof that happiness 
 is the most wholesome moral atmosphere, and that in which 
 the immortality of man is destined ultimately to thrive, than 
 the elevation of soul, the religious aspiration, which attends 
 the first assurance, the first sober certainty, of true love. 
 There is much of this religious aspiration amidst all warmth 
 of virtuous affections. There is a vivid love of God in the 
 child that lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and 
 clasps its arms about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps 
 unconsciously) for the brightness of his earth, on summer 
 evenings, when a brother and sister, who have long been 
 parted, pour out their heart stores to each other, and feel their 
 course of thought brightening as it runs. When the aged 
 parent hears of the honours his children have won, or looks 
 round upon their innocent faces as the glory of his decline, 
 his mind reverts to Him who in them prescribed the purpose 
 of his life, and bestowed its grace. But, religious as is the 
 mood of every good affection, none is so devotional as that of 
 love, especially so called. The soul is then the very temple of 
 adoration, of faith, of holy purity, of heroism, of charity. At 
 such a moment the human creature shoots up into the angel : 
 there is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity — nothing 
 in hell too appalling for its heroism — nothing in heaven too 
 glorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified 
 by that most mysterious power, union with another spirit, it 
 feels itself set well forth on the way of victory over evil, sent 
 out conquering and to conquer. There is no other such crisis 
 in human life. The philosopher may experience uncon- 
 trollable agitation in verifying his principle of balancing 
 systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he actually saw the 
 creative hand in the act of sending the planets forth on their 
 everlasting way ; but this philosopher, solitary seraph, as he 
 may be regarded, amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a 
 
DEERBROOK. 125 
 
 moment no emotions so divine as those of tlie spirit becoming 
 conscious that it is beloved — be it the peasant girl in the 
 meadow, or the daughter of the sage, reposing in her father's 
 confidence, or the artisan beside his loom, or the man of letters 
 musing by his fire-side. The warrior, about to strike the 
 decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed 
 with the solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty 
 resolution as those who, by joining hearts, are laying their 
 joint hands on the whole wide realm of futurity for their own. 
 The statesman who, in the moment of success, feels that an 
 entire class of social sins and woes is annihilated by his hand, 
 is not conscious of so holy and so intimate a thankfulness as 
 they who are aware that their redemption is come in the 
 presence of a new and sovereign affection. And these are 
 many — they are in all corners of every land. The statesman 
 is the leader of a nation — the warrior is the grace of an age — 
 the philosopher is the birth of a thousand years ; but the lover 
 — where is he not ? Wherever parents look round upon their 
 children, there he has been — wherever children are at play 
 together, there he will soon be — wherever there are roofs under 
 which men dwell — wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating 
 with human voices, there is the lover, and there is his lofty 
 worship going on, unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness 
 of the eye, the majesty of the presence, and the high temper of 
 the discourse. Men have been ungrateful and perverse ; they 
 have done what they could to counteract, to debase, this most 
 heavenly influence of their life ; but the laws of their Maker 
 are too strong, the benignity of their Father is too patient and 
 fervent, for their opposition to withstand : and true love con- 
 tinues, and will continue, to send up its homage amidst the 
 meditations of every eventide, and the busy hum of noon, and 
 the song of the morning stars. 
 
 Hester, when she re-entered the house, was full of the com- 
 monest feeling of all in happy lovers, — a wonder that such 
 intense happiness should be permitted to her. Margaret was 
 lingering about the stair-head in the dusk, and met her sister 
 at the door of their own apartment. 
 
 " May I come in?" said she. 
 
 " May you come in ? Oh, Margaret ! I want you." 
 
 " All is right : all is well; is it, Hester ? And I was quite 
 wrong throughout. I grieve now that I helped to make you 
 miserable : but, indeed, I was miserable myself. I saw no 
 hope ; I was completely mistaken." 
 
126 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " We were both mistaken," said Hester, resting hei' head on 
 Margaret's shoulder. " Mistaken in judgment, — blinded by 
 anxiety. But all that is over now. Margaret, what have I 
 done that I should be so happy ? " » 
 
 " You have loved one who deserves such a love as yours," 
 said Margaret, smiling. ^' That is what you have done : and 
 you will have the blessings of all who know you both. You 
 have mine, dearest." 
 
 " What an ungrateful wretch shall I be, if I do not make 
 every one happy that is within my reach ! " cried Hester. 
 "Margaret, I will never grieve his heart as I have grieved 
 yours. I will never grieve yours again." 
 
 "But how is it?" asked Margaret. "You have not told 
 me yet. Is it all settled ? " 
 
 A silent embrace told that it was. 
 
 " I may shake hands with you upon it, t|ien. Oh, Hester, 
 after all our longings for a brother, you are going to give me 
 one ! We are not alone in the world. My father, — our 
 mother, — where are they? Do they know? Have they fore- 
 seen while we have been suffering so ? Do they now foresee 
 for us?" 
 
 " There was not one word of his," said Hester, " that I should 
 not have gloried in their hearing. So gentle, Margaret ! so 
 noble ! so calm ! " 
 
 "And you?" said Margaret, softly. "Did you speak — 
 speak openly ? " 
 
 " Yes : it was no time for pride. With him I have no pride. 
 I could not have believed how I should tell him all : but he was 
 so noble, — spoke so gloriously, — that it would have been an 
 insult to use any disguise. He knows all that you know, Mar- 
 garet, and I am not ashamed." 
 
 " I honour you," said Margaret. " Thank God, all is right! 
 But where is Mr. Hope all this time ? " 
 
 " He went away when I came in. You will see him in the 
 morning." 
 
 " Can you go down this evening ? If you think you 
 can ." 
 
 ^* Go down ! Yes : — this moment. I feel as if I could face 
 the whole world." 
 
 " Let me ask one thing. May I tell Maria in the morning? 
 She will be so pleased I and no one but you understands my 
 feelings so well. Everybody will rejoice with me ; but I can 
 say anything to her. May I tell her all in the morning ? " 
 
DEERBROOK. 3 27 
 
 " Dear Maria ! Oh, yes : tell her from me, with my love. I 
 know I shall have her blessing. Now let us go down," 
 
 " But we must just settle how matters are to proceed," said 
 Margaret. " Are the family to know or not ? " 
 
 " Oh, let all that take its chance ! " said Hester. " I am sure 
 I do not care. Let it be as it happens, for to-night at least." 
 
 *^ For to-night at least," agreed Margaret. 
 
 All was going on as usual below-stairs. The working of 
 collars and of rugs was proceeding, as the family sat round 
 the lamp. On the appearance of Hester and Margaret, the 
 book, with the Society's cover on it, was produced ; and it 
 was requested that some one would read aloud, as it was 
 necessary that forty pages a-day should be gone through, to 
 get the volume done by the time it must be sent to Mrs. 
 Enderby. Sophia asked whether some one else would be so 
 good as to read this evening, as she thought she could finish 
 her collar by keeping steadily to it till bed-time. 
 
 Margaret took the book, and was surprised to find how 
 easy a process it is to read aloud passably without taking in 
 a word of the sense. Fortunately the Greys were not much 
 given to make remarks on what they read. To have gone 
 through the books that came from the Society was enough ; 
 and they could not have accomplished the forty pages an 
 evening if they had stopped to talk. The only words spoken 
 during the lecture, therefore, were occasional remarks that the 
 reader seemed hoarse, and that some one else had better take 
 the book ; and whispered requests across the table for scissors, 
 thread, or the adjustment of the light. Such being the method 
 of literary exercise in the family, Hester and Margaret were 
 able to think of anything they pleased with impunity. 
 
 "There! here comes papa!" said Sophia; "and I do not 
 believe we have read nearly forty pages. Where did you 
 begin, Margaret ? " 
 
 Margaret resigned the volume to her to have the place 
 found, and was told that she should not have shifted the 
 marker till the evening reading was done, unless she at once 
 set it forward forty pages : it made it so difiScult to find the 
 place. Sophia was detained only five minutes from her collar, 
 however, before she discovered that they had read only eight- 
 and-twenty pages. Mrs. Grey observed that Mr. Grey was 
 coming in rather earlier than usual to-night j and Sophia 
 added, that her cousins had been a good while in their own 
 room. 
 
128 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Hester was conscious that Mr. Grey cast a rapid, penetrat- 
 ing glance upon her as he drew his chair, and took his seat 
 at her elbow. 
 
 ^' What a clever book this is !" said Mrs. Grej. 
 
 " Very entertaining," added Sophia. 
 
 " What is your opinion of it ?" asked Mr. Grey of Hester. 
 
 She smiled, and said she must read more of it before she 
 could judge. 
 
 " It is such a reHef," said Mrs. Grey, " to have a book like 
 this in hand after the tiresome things Mr. Rowland orders in ! 
 He consults Mrs. Rowland's notions about books far too much ; 
 and she always takes a fancy to the dullest. One woLild 
 almost think it was on purpose." 
 
 Sydney liked the sport of knocking on the head charges 
 against the Rowlands. He showed, by a reference to the 
 Society's list, that the book just laid down was ordered by the 
 Rowlands. 
 
 *' Dear me ! Sophia," said her mother, " you made quite a 
 mistake. You told us it was ordered in by Mr. Hope. I am 
 sure, I thought so all this time." 
 
 " Well, I dare say we shall not be able to finish it," said 
 Sophia. " We have read only eight-and-twenty pages this 
 evening. Papa ! how shockingly Mr. Hope looks still, does 
 not he? I think he looks worse than when he was here 
 last." 
 
 ^' And I trust he will look better when we see him next. I 
 have the strongest hopes that he will now gain ground every 
 day." 
 
 " I am' sure he seems to have gained very little yet." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he has ; as I trust you will soon see." 
 
 Sophia was about to bewail Mr. Hope's sickly looks again, 
 w^hen her mother trod on her foot under the table ; and, 
 moreover, winked and frowned in a very awful way, so that 
 Sophia felt silenced, she could not conceive for what reason. 
 Not being able to think of anything else to say, to cover her 
 confusion, she discovered that it was bedtime, — at least for 
 people who had been gathering apples. 
 
 Once more Mrs. Grey gazed over her spectacles at her 
 husband, when the young people were gone. 
 
 '' My dear," said she, " what makes you think that Mr. 
 Hope is gaining ground every day ? " 
 
 *' My dear, what made you tread on all our toes when I 
 said so '? " 
 
dehrbrook. 129 
 
 " Dear me, I only gave Sophia a hint, to prevent her sajdng 
 dismal things before people. One does not know what may- 
 be passing in their minds, you know." 
 
 " And so you kindly show what is passing in yours. How- 
 ever, these young ladies may soon be able, perhaps, to tell us 
 more about Hope than we can tell them." 
 
 " My dear, what do you mean?" 
 
 " I saw a glance between them, a smile, when you were 
 silencing Sophia. I believe you may prepare yourself for 
 some news, my dear." 
 
 *^ I have no doubt of Hester's state of mind — " 
 
 " And I feel confident of Hope's ; so here is the case, pretty 
 well made out between us." 
 
 Mrs. Grey was in raptures for a moment ; but she then 
 resumed her system of mysterious tokens. She shook her 
 head, and owned that she had reason to think her husband 
 was mistaken. 
 
 " Well, just observe them the next time they are together ; 
 that is all." 
 
 " And my poor Hester looks wretchedly, Mr. Grey. It 
 really makes my heart ache to see her." 
 
 " How differently people view things ! I was just thinking 
 that I never saw her so lovely, with such a sprightliness, such 
 a glow in her face, as ^Ye minutes ago." 
 
 " Just this evening, she does not look so pale ; but she is 
 sadly altered — grievously changed indeed. Seeing this, is the 
 only thing which reconciles me to parting with her. Now, 
 Mr. Grey, I should like to know what sets you smiling in that 
 manner at the poor girl." 
 
 " I was smiling to think how, as young ladies have been 
 known to change their minds, it may be possible that we may 
 have the pleasure of seeing Hester pick up her good looks 
 again here, in spite of all that Morris says about her native 
 air. I should not wonder that we may persuade her to stay 
 yet." 
 
 Mrs. Grey shook her head decisively. She should have 
 been very glad, a little while since, to hear her husband's 
 opinion that Mr. Hope's views were fixed upon Hester ; but 
 now — . But men were always so positive ; and always the 
 most positive where they knew the least ! A deep sigh from 
 the one party, and a broad smile from the other, closed the 
 conversation. 
 
130 BEERBROOTv. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 SOPHIA IN THE VILLAGE. 
 
 Deeebrook was not a place "vvhere practical affairs could be 
 long kept secret, even where the best reasons for secrecy 
 existed. About Hester's engagement there was no reason 
 whatever for concealment ; and it was accordingly made 
 known to every one in Deerbrook in the course of the next 
 day. — Margaret shut herself up with Maria before breakfast, 
 and enjoyed an hour of hearty syopathy from her, in the 
 first place. As they were both aware that this communication 
 was a little out of order, — Mr. and Mrs. Grey having a clear 
 title to the earliest information, — Maria had to be discreet 
 for nearly three hours — till she heard the news from another 
 quarter. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Hope called on Mr. Grey 
 at the office, and informed him. Mr. Grey stepped home, and 
 found Margaret enlightening his wife. Sophia was next called 
 in, while Morris was closeted with her young ladies. Sophia 
 burst breathless into the summer-house to tell Miss Young, 
 which she did in whispers so loud as to be overheard by the 
 children. Matilda immediately found she had left her slate- 
 pencil behind her, and ran into the house to give her mamma 
 the news, just at the moment that Mr. Grey was relating it to 
 his partner in the office. On returning, Sophia found her 
 mother putting on her bonnet, having remembered that it was 
 quite time she should be stepping across the way to hear how 
 poor Mrs. Enderby was, after the thunder-storm of three days 
 ago. This reminded Sophia that she ought to be inquiring 
 about the worsteds which Mrs. Howell must have got down 
 from London by this time, to finish Mrs. Grey's rug. Mrs. 
 Grey could not trust her eyes to match shades of worsteds ; 
 and Sophia now set out with great alacrity to oblige her 
 mother by doing it for her. On the way she met Dr. Levitt, 
 about to enter the house of a sick parishioner. Dr. Levitt 
 hoped all at home were well. All very well, indeed, Sophia 
 was obliged to him. Her only fear was that the excitement of 
 present circumstances might be too much for mamma. Mamma 
 was so very much attached to cousin Hester, and it would 
 be such a delightful thing to have her settled beside them ! 
 Perhaps Dr. Levitt had not heard that Hester and Mr. Hope 
 
DEERBROOK. 131 
 
 were going to be married. No, indeed, he had not. He won- 
 dered his friend Hope had not told him of his good fortune, 
 of which he heartily wished him joy. How long had this 
 happy affair been settled ? Not long, he fancied ? Not very 
 long ; and perhaps Mr. Hope did not consider that it was quite 
 made public yet : but Sophia thought that Dr. Levitt ought 
 to know. Dr. Levitt thanked her, and said he would try and 
 find Hope in the course of the morning, to congratulate him ; 
 and he and Mrs. Levitt would give themselves the pleasure of 
 calling on the ladies, very shortly. 
 
 "Kitson, how is your wife?" said Sophia, crossing over to 
 speak to a labourer who was on his way up the street. 
 
 " A deal better, Miss. She 's coming about right nicely ! " 
 
 " Ah ! that is Mr. Hope's doing. He attends her, of course." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Miss ; he's done her a sight o' good." 
 
 " Ah ! so he always does : but Eitson, if he should not be 
 able to attend to her quite so closely as usual, just now, you 
 will excuse it, when you hear how it is." 
 
 " Lord, Miss ! the wonder is that he has come at all, so ill 
 as he has been hisself." 
 
 " I don't mean that : you will soon see him very well now. 
 He is going to be married, Eitson " 
 
 "What, is he? Well " 
 
 " To my cousin, Miss Ibbotson. He will be more at our 
 house, you know, than anywhere else." And with a wink 
 which was a very good miniature of her mother's Sophia 
 passed on, leaving Eitson to bless Mr. Hope and the pretty 
 young lady. 
 
 She cast a glance into the butcher's shop as she arrived 
 opposite to it ; and her heart leaped up when she saw 
 Mrs. James, the lawyer's wife, watching the weighing of a loin 
 of veal. 
 
 " You will excuse my interrupting you, Mrs. James," said 
 she, from the threshold of the shop : " but we are anxious to 
 know whether Mr. James thinks Mrs. Enderby really altered 
 of late. We saw him go in last week, and we heard it was 
 to make an alteration in her will." 
 
 " I often wonder how things get abroad," said Mrs. James. 
 " My husband makes such a particular point of never speak- 
 ing of such affairs ; and. I am sure no one ever hears them 
 from me." 
 
 " I believe Mrs. Enderby told mamma that about the will 
 herself." 
 
 K 2 
 
182 DEERBROOJh.. 
 
 " Well, that is as she pleases, of course," said Mrs. James, 
 smiling. *' What is the weight with the kidney, Mr. Jones?" 
 
 "We should like so to know," resumed Sophia, "whether 
 Mr. James considers Mrs. Enderby much altered of late." 
 
 " I should think you would be better able to judge than he, 
 Miss Grey ; I believe you see her ten times to his once." 
 
 " That is the very reason : we see her so often, that a 
 gradual change would be less likely to strike us." 
 
 " Mr. Hope will give you satisfaction : he must be a better 
 judge than any of us." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; but we cannot expect him to have eyes for any 
 person but one, at present, you know." 
 
 " Oh, so he is going to marry Deborah Giles, after all?" 
 
 "Deborah Giles!" 
 
 " Yes ; was he not said to be engaged to her, some time ago?" 
 
 " Deborah Giles I the boatman's daughter ! I declare I 
 never heard of such a place as this for gossip ! Why, 
 Deborah Giles can barely read and write ; and she is beneath 
 Mr. Hope in every way. I do not believe he ever spoke to 
 her in his life." 
 
 " Oh, well ; I do not pretend to know. I heard something 
 about it. Eleven and threepence. Can you change a sovereign, 
 Mr. Jones ? And, pray, send home the chops immediately." 
 
 " It is my cousin, Miss Ibbotson, that Mr. Hope is engaged 
 to," said Sophia, unable to refrain from disclosures which she 
 yet saw were not cared for : — " the beautiful Miss Ibbotson, 
 you know." 
 
 "Indeed : I am sure somebody said it was Deborah Giles. 
 Then you think, Mr. Jones, we may depend upon you for 
 game when the season begins ? " 
 
 Mr. Jones seemed more interested in the news than his 
 customer ; he wished Mr. Hope all good luck with his pretty 
 lady. 
 
 Sophia thought herself fortunate when she saw Mr. Enderby 
 turn out of the toy-shop with his youngest nephew, a round- 
 faced boy, still in petticoats, perched upon his shoulder. 
 Mr. Enderby bowed, but did not seem to heed her call: he 
 jumped through the turnstile, and proceeded to canter along 
 the church lane amidst the glee of the child so rapidly, that 
 Sophia was obliged to give up the hope of being the first to 
 tell him the news. It was very provoking : she should have 
 liked to see how he would look. 
 
 She was sure of a delighted listener in Mrs. Howell, to 
 
DEERBROOK. I3i> 
 
 whom no communication ever came amiss: but there was a 
 condition to Mrs. Howell's listening — that she should be 
 allowed to tell her own news first. When she found that 
 Sophia wanted to match some worsteds, she and her shop- 
 woman exchanged sympathetic glances — Mrs. Howell sighing, 
 with her head on the right side, and Miss Miskin groaning, 
 with her head on the left side. 
 
 "Are you ill, Mrs. Howell?" asked Sophia. 
 
 " It shook me a little, I confess, ma'am, hearing that you 
 wanted worsteds. We have no relief, ma'am, from ladies 
 wanting worsteds." 
 
 " No relief, day or night," added Miss Miskin. 
 
 " Day or night ! Surely you do not sell worsteds in the 
 night-time ? " said Sophia. 
 
 " Not sell them, ma'am ; only match them. The matching 
 them is the trial, I assure you. If you could only hear my 
 agent, ma'am — the things he has to tell about people in my 
 situation — how they are going mad, all over the country, with 
 incessantly matching of worsteds, now that that kind of work 
 is all the fashion. And nothing more likely, ma'am, for 
 there is no getting one's natural rest. I am for ever matching 
 of worsteds in my dreams ; and when I wake, I seem to have 
 had no rest : and, as you see, directly after breakfast, ladies 
 come for worsteds." 
 
 " And Miss Anderson's messenger left a whole bundle of 
 skeins to be matched for her young ladies, as early as eight 
 this morning," declared Miss Miskin : " and so we go on." 
 
 " It will not be for long, I dare say, Mrs. Howell. It is a 
 fashionable kind of work, that we may soon grow tired of." 
 
 " Dear me, ma'am, think how long former generations went 
 on with it ! Think of our grandmothers' work, ma'am, and 
 how we are treading in their steps. We have the beauti- 
 fulest patterns now, I assure you. Miss Miskin will confirm 
 that we sold one, last week, the very day we had it — the 
 interior of Abbotsford, with Sir Walter, and the furniture, 
 and the dogs, just like life, I assure you." 
 
 " That was beautiful," said Miss Miskin, " but not to 
 compare " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! not to compare. Miss G-rey, with one that 
 we were just allowed the sight of — not a mere pattern, but 
 a finished specimen — and I never saw anything go pathetic. 
 I declare I was quite affected, and so was Miss Miskin. It 
 was * By the Rivers of Babylon,' most sweetly done ! There 
 
134 DEEHBROOK. 
 
 were the harps all in cross-stitch, ma'am, and the willows all 
 in tent-stitch — I never saw anything so touching." 
 
 " I don't think mamma will trouble you for many more 
 worsteds for some time to come, Mrs. Howell. When there 
 is going to be a wedding in the family, there is not much 
 time for fancy-work, you know." 
 
 "Dear me, a wedding !" smiled Mrs. Howell. 
 
 " A wedding ! Only think 1" simpered Miss Miskin. 
 
 " Yes : Mr. Hope and my cousin Hester are going to 
 be married. I am sure they will have your best wishes, 
 Mrs. Howell?" 
 
 " That they will, ma'am, as I shall make a point of telling 
 Mr. Hope. But Miss Grey, I should think it probable that 
 your mamma may think of working a drawing-room screen, 
 or perhaps a set of rugs, for the young folks ; and I assure 
 you, she will see no such patterns anywheue as my a^ent 
 sends down to me ; as I have no doubt you will tell her. 
 And pray, ma'am, where are Mr. Hope and his lady to live? 
 I hope they have pleased their fancy with a house ? " 
 
 " That point is not settled yet. It is a thing which 
 requires some consideration, you know." 
 
 " Oh, dear, ma'am ! to be sure it does : but I did not mean 
 to be impertinent in asking, I am su^. Only you mentioned 
 making wedding-clothes, Miss Grey." 
 
 " I did not mean that we have exactly set about all that 
 yet. I was only looking forward to it." 
 
 '' And very right too, ma'am. My poor dear HoAvell used 
 to say so to me, every time he found so much difficulty in 
 inducing me to listen to future projects — about the happy 
 day, you know, ma'am. He was always for looldng forward 
 upon principle, dear soul ! as you say, ma'am. That is the very 
 brown, ma'am — no doubt of it. Only two skeins, ma'am ?" 
 
 Here ended Sophia's pleasures in this kind. She could not 
 summon courage to face Mrs. Plumstead, without knowing 
 what was the mood of the day ; and the half-door of the little 
 stationery shop was closed, and no face was visible within. 
 All her father's household, and all whom she had told, were 
 as busy as herself ; so that by the time she walked down the 
 fitreet again, nobody remained to be informed. She could 
 only go home, put off her bonnet, and sit with her mother, 
 watching who would call, and planning the external arrange- 
 ments which constitute the whole interest of a wedding to 
 narrow minds and apathetic hearts. 
 
DEERBRCOK. 135 
 
 No one in Deerbrook enjoyed tlie news more than Mr. 
 Enderby. When he evaded Sophia in the street, he little 
 knew what pleasure she had it in her power to afford him. 
 It was only deferred for a few minutes, however ; for, on his 
 returning his little nephew to mamma's side, he found his 
 mother and sister talking the matter over. Mrs. Grey's visit 
 to Mrs. Enderby had been unusually short, as she could not, 
 on so busy a day, spare much time to one person. The 
 moment she was gone, the old lady rang for her calash and 
 .shawl, and prepared to cross the way, telling the news mean- 
 while to her maid Phoebe. It was a disappointment to find 
 Mrs. Rowland already informed : but then came Philip, 
 ignorant and unconscious as could be desired. 
 
 The extreme graciousness of his sister guided him in his 
 guess when he was desired to say who was going to be 
 married ; but there was a trembling heart beneath his light 
 speech. It was more difficult to disguise his joy when he 
 heard the truth. He carried it off by romping with the 
 child, who owed several rides from corner to corner of the 
 room to the fact that Mr. Hope was going to be married to 
 Hester. 
 
 '' I am delighted to see Philip take it in this way," observed 
 Mrs. Eowland. 
 
 '' I was just thinking the same thing," cried Mrs. Enderby ; 
 " but I believe I should not have said so if you had not. 
 I was afraid it might be a sad disappointment to poor Philip ; 
 and this prevented my saying quite so much as I should have 
 done to Mrs. Grey. Now I find it is all right, I shall just 
 call in, and express myself more warmly on my way home." 
 
 " I beg Philip's pardon, I am sure," said Mrs. Rowland, 
 " for supposing for a moment that he would think of marry- 
 ing into the Grey connexion. I did him great injustice, I 
 own." 
 
 *' By no means," said Philip. " Because I did not happen 
 to wish to marry Miss Ibbotson, it does not follow that I 
 should have been wrong if I had. It was feeling this, and a 
 sense of justice to her and myself, which made me refuse to 
 answer your questions, some weeks ago, or to make any pro- 
 mises." 
 
 " Well, well : let us keep clear of Mrs. Grey's connexions, 
 and then you may talk of them as you please," said the sister, 
 in the complaisance of the hour. 
 
 Philip remembered his pledge to himself to uphold Mrs. Grey 
 
136 DEERBROOK. 
 
 as long as he lived, if she should prove right about Mr. Hope 
 and Hester. He began immediately to discharge his obliga- 
 tions to her, avowing that he did not see why her connexion 
 was not as good as his own ; that Mrs. Grey had many excel- 
 lent points ; that she was a woman of a good deal of sagacity ; 
 that she had shoAvn herself capable of strong family attach- 
 ments ; that she had been gracious and kind to himself of late 
 in a degree which he felt he had not deserved ; and that he 
 considered that all his family were obliged to her for her 
 neighbourly attentions to his mother. Mrs. Enderby seized 
 the occasion of her son's support to say some kind thing of the 
 Greys. It gave her frequent pain to hear them spoken of 
 after Mrs. Eowland's usual fashion ; but when she was alone 
 with her daughter, she dared not object. Under cover of 
 Mr. Eowland's presence occasionally, and to-day of Philip's, 
 she ventured to say that she thought the Gi*eys a very fine 
 family, and kind neighbours to her. 
 
 '^ And much looked up to in Deerbrook," added PhiHp. 
 
 " And a great blessing to their poor neighbours," said his 
 mother. 
 
 '' Dr. Levitt respects them for their conscientious dissent," 
 observed Philip. 
 
 "And Mr. Hope, who knows them best, says they are a 
 very united family among themselves," declared Mrs. En- 
 derby. 
 
 Mrs. Eowland looked from one to the other as each spoke, 
 and asked whether they were both out of their senses. 
 
 " By no means," said Philip ; "I never was more in earnest 
 in my life." 
 
 " I have always thought just what I now say," protested 
 Mrs. Enderby. 
 
 " Yes, my dear ma'am," said the daughter, scornfully, " we 
 are all aware of your ways of thinking on some points — of 
 your " 
 
 " Of my mother's love of justice and neighbourly temper," 
 said Philip, giving his little nephew a glorious somerset from 
 his shoulder. " I believe, if we could find my mother's match, 
 the two would be an excellent pair to put into Eddystone 
 lighthouse. They would chat away for a twelvemonth 
 together without ever quarrelling." 
 
 " Philip,do let that poor boy alone," said mamma. " You are 
 shaking him to pieces." 
 
 "We have both had enough for the present, eh, Ned? 
 
DEERBROOK. 137 
 
 Mother, I am at your service, if you are going to call at the 
 Greys." 
 
 Mrs. Enderby rose with great alacrity. 
 
 " Come to me, my pet," cried mamma. " Poor Ned shall 
 rest his head in mamma's lap. There, there, my pet !" 
 
 Mamma's pet was not the most agreeable companion to her 
 when they were left alone : he was cr3dng lustily after uncle 
 Philip, for all mamma could say about uncle Philip always 
 tirinff him to death. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 PREPARING FOR HOME. 
 
 The aflfair proceeded rapidly, as such affairs should do 
 where there is no reason for delay. There was no more talk 
 of Birmingham. The journey which was to have been taken 
 in a few days was not spoken of again. The external arrange- 
 ments advanced well, so many as there were anxious about this 
 part of the matter, and accomplished in habits of business. 
 Mr. Eowland was happy to let the corner-house to Mr. Hope, 
 not even taking advantage, as his lady advised, of its being 
 peculiarly fit for a surgeon's residence, from its having a door 
 round the corner (made to be a surgery-door !), to raise the rent, 
 Mr. Eowland behaved handsomely about everything, rent, 
 alterations, painting, and papering, and laying out the garden 
 anew. Mr. Grey bestirred himself to get the affairs at Bir- 
 mingham settled ; and he was soon enabled to inform Mr. Hope 
 that Hester's fortune was ascertained, and that it was smaller 
 than could have been wished. He believed his cousins would 
 have seventy pounds a-year each, and no more. It was some 
 compensation for the mortifying nature of this announcement, 
 that Mr. Hope evidently did not care at all about the matter. 
 He was not an ambitious, nor yet a luxurious man: his 
 practice supplied an income sufficient for the ease of young 
 married people, and it was on the increase. 
 
 No one seemed to doubt for a moment that Margaret would 
 live with her sister. There was no other home for her ; she 
 and Hester had never been parted ; there seemed no reason 
 for their parting now, and every inducement for their remain- 
 ing together. Margaret did not dream of objecting to this : 
 she only made it a condition that fifty pounds of her yearly 
 income should go into the family-stock, thus saving her from 
 
138 DEERBROOK. 
 
 obligation to any one for lier maintenance. Living was so 
 cheap in Deerbrook, that Margaret was assured that she 
 would render herself quite independent by paying fifty pounds 
 a-year for her share of the household expenses, and reserving 
 twenty for her personal wants. 
 
 Both the sisters were surprised to find how much pleasure 
 they took in the preparations for this marriage. They could 
 not have believed it, and, but that they were too happy to feel 
 any kind of contemj)t, they would have despised themselves for 
 it. But such contempt would have been misplaced. All things 
 are according to the ideas and feelings Avith which they are 
 connected ; and if, as old George Herbert says, dusting a room 
 is an act of religious grace when it is done from a feeling of 
 religious duty, furnishing a house is a process of high enjoy- 
 ment when it is the preparation of a home for happy love. 
 The dwelling is hung all round with bright anticipations, and 
 crowded with blissful thoughts, spoken by none, perhaps, but 
 present to all. On this table, and by this snug fireside, will 
 the cheerful winter breakfast go forward, when each is about 
 to enter on the gladsome business of the day ; and that sofa 
 will be drawn out, and those window-curtains will be closed, 
 when the intellectual pleasures of the evening — the rewards 
 of the laborious day — begin. Those ground- windows will 
 stand open all the summer noon, and the flower stands will be 
 gay and fragrant ; and the shaded parlour will be the cool 
 retreat of the wearied husband, when he comes in to rest from 
 his professional toils. There will stand the books destined to 
 refresh and refine his higher tastes ; and there the music with 
 which the wife will indulge him. Here will they first feel 
 what it is to have a home of their own — where they will first 
 enjoy the privacy of it, the security, the freedom, the conse- 
 quence in the eyes of others, the sacredness in their own. 
 Here they will first exercise the graces of hospitality, and the 
 responsibility of control. Here will they feel that they 
 have attained the great resting-place of their life — the resting- 
 place of their individual lot, but only the starting-point of their 
 activity. Such is the work of furnishing a house once in a 
 lifetime. It may be a welcome task to the fine lady, decking 
 her drawing-room anew, to gratify her ambition, or divert 
 her ennui — it may be a satisfactory labour to the elderly 
 couple, settling themselves afresh when their children are 
 dispersed abroad, and it becomes necessary to discard the 
 furniture that the boys have battered and spoiled — it may be 
 
DEERBROOK. 130 
 
 a refined amusement to the selfish man of taste, wishing to 
 prolong or recall the pleasures of foreign travel ; but to none 
 is it the conscious delight that it is to young lovers and 
 their sympathising friends, whether the scene be the two rooms 
 of the hopeful young artisan, about to bring home his bride 
 from service ; or the palace of a nobleman, enriched with in- 
 tellectual luxuries for the lady of his adoration ; or the quiet 
 abode of an unambitious professional man, whose aim is 
 privacy and comfort. 
 
 Margaret's delight in the process of preparation was the 
 most intense of all that was felt, except perhaps by one person. 
 Mrs. Grey and Sophia enjoyed the bustle, and the consequence, 
 and the exercise of their feminine talents, and the gossip of 
 the village, and the spitefulness of Mrs. Rowland's criticisms, 
 when she had recovered from her delight at her brother's 
 escape from Hester, and had leisure to be offended at Mr. Hope's 
 marrying into the Grey connexion so decidedly. The children 
 relished the mystery of buying their presents secretly, and 
 hiding them from their cousins, till the day before the 
 wedding. Sydney was proud to help Margaret in training 
 the chrysanthemums, putting the garden into winter trim, and 
 in planting round the walls of the surgery with large ever- 
 greens. Mr. Grey came down almost every evening to suggest 
 and approve ; and Morris left her needle (now busy from 
 morning till night in Hester's service) to admire, and to 
 speak her wishes, when desired, about the preparations in her 
 department. Morris, another maid, and a footboy, were the 
 only servants ; and Morris was to have everything as she liked 
 best for her own region. But Margaret was as eager and 
 interested as all the rest together. Her heart was light for her 
 sister ; and for the first time since she was capable of thought, 
 she believed that Hester was going to be happy. Her own gain 
 was almost too great for gratitude : a home, a brother, and relief 
 from the responsibility of her sister's peace — as often as she 
 thought of these blessings, she looked almost as bright as Hester 
 herself. 
 
 How was Mr. Hope, all this while? Well, and growing 
 happier every day. He believed himself a perfectly happy 
 man, and looked back with wonder to the struggle which it 
 had cost him to accept his present lot. He was not only 
 entirely recovered from his accident before the rich month of 
 October came in, but truly thankful for it as the means of 
 bringing to his knowledge, sooner at least, the devoted affection 
 
140 DEERBROOK. 
 
 which he had inspired. It cannot but be animating, flattering, 
 delightful to a man of strong domestic tendencies, to know 
 himself the object of the exclusive attachment of a strong- 
 minded and noble-hearted woman : and when, in addition to 
 this, her society affords the delight of mental accomplishment 
 and personal beauty, such as Hester's, he must be a churl 
 indeed if he does not greatly enjoy the present, and indulge in 
 sweet anticipations for the future. Hope also brought the 
 whole power of his will to bear upon his circumstances. He 
 dwelt upon all the happiest features of his lot ; and, in his 
 admiration of Hester, thought as little as he could of Margaret. 
 He had the daily delight of seeing how he constituted the 
 new-born happiness of her whose life was to be devoted to 
 him : he heard of nothing but rejoicings and blessings, and 
 fully believed himself the happy man that every one declared 
 him. He dwelt on the prospect of a home full of domestic 
 attachment, of rational pursuit, of intellectuar resource ; and 
 looked forward to a life of religious usefulness, of vigorous 
 devotedness to others, of which he trusted that his first act of 
 self-sacrifice and its consequences were the earnest and the 
 pledge. He had never for a moment repented what he had 
 done ; and now, when he hastily recurred to the struggle it 
 had cost him, it was chiefly to moralise on the short-sighted- 
 ness of men in their wishes, and to be grateful for his own 
 present satisfaction. A few cold misgivings had troubled him, 
 and continued to trouble him, if Hester at any time looked at 
 all less bright and serene than usual : but he concluded that 
 these were merely the cloud-shadows which necessarily chequer 
 all the sunshine of this world. He told himself that when 
 two human beings become closely dependent on each other, 
 their peace must hang upon the variations in one another's 
 moods ; and that moods must vary in all mortals. He per- 
 suaded himself that this was a necessary consequence of the 
 relation, and to be received as a slight set-off against the 
 unfathomable blessings of sympathy. He concluded that he 
 had deceived himself about his feelings for Margaret : he 
 must have been mistaken ; for he could now receive from her 
 the opening confidence of a sister ; he could cordially agree to 
 the arrangement of her living with them ; he could co-operate 
 with her in the preparation for the coming time, without any 
 emotion which was inconsistent with his duty to Hester. 
 With unconscious prudence, he merely said this to himself, 
 and let it pass, reverting to his beautiful, his happy, his own 
 
DEERBROOK. 141 
 
 Hester, and the future years over which her image spread its 
 sunshine. The one person who relished the task of preparation 
 more than Margaret herself was Hope. Every advance in the 
 work seemed to bring him nearer to the source of the happiness 
 he felt. Every day of which they marked the lapse appeared 
 to open wider the portals of that home which he was now 
 more than ever habituated to view as the sanctuary of duty, 
 of holiness, and of peace. All remarked on Mr. Hope's altered 
 looks. The shyness and coldness with which he had seemed 
 to receive the first congratulations on his engagement, and 
 which excited wonder in many, and uneasiness in a few, had 
 now given place to a gaiety only subdued by a more tender 
 happiness. Even Mrs. Grey need no longer watch his coun- 
 tenance and manner, and weigh his words with anxiety, and 
 try to forget that there was a secret between them. 
 
 One ground of Mr. Hope's confidence was Hester's candour. 
 She had truly told her sister, she felt it was no time for pride 
 when he offered himself to her. Her pride was strong ; but 
 there was something in her as much stronger in force than her 
 pride as it was higher in its nature ; and she had owned her 
 love with a frankness which had commanded his esteem as 
 much as it engaged his generosity. She had made a no less 
 open avowal of her faults to him. She had acknowledged 
 the imperfections of her temper (the sorest of her troubles) 
 both at the outset of their engagement, and often since. At 
 first, the confession was made in an undoubting confidence 
 that she should be reasonable, and amiable, and serene hence- 
 forth for ever, while she had him by her side. Subsequent 
 experience had moderated this confidence into a hope that, by 
 his example, and under his guidance, she should be enabled 
 to surmount her failings. He shared this hope with her ; 
 pledged himself to her and to himself to forbear as he would 
 be forborne ; to aid her, and to honour her efforts ; and he 
 frequently declared, for his own satisfaction and hers, that all 
 must be safe between them while such generous candour was 
 the foundation of their intercourse, — a generosity and candour 
 in whose noble presence superficial failings of temper were as 
 nothing. He admitted that her temper was not perfect ; and 
 he must ever remember his own foreknowledge of this : but 
 he must also bear in mind whence this foreknowledge was 
 derived, and pay everlasting honour to the greatness of soul 
 to which he owed it. 
 
 An early day in December was fixed for the marriage, and 
 
142 DEERBROOK. 
 
 no cause of delay occurred. There happened to be no patients 
 so dangerously ill as to prevent Mr. Hope's absence for his 
 brief wedding trip ; the work-people were as nearly punctual 
 as could be expected, and the house was all but ready. The 
 wedding was really to take place, therefore, though Mrs. 
 Eowland gave out that in her opinion the engagement had 
 been a surprisingly short one ; that she hoped the young 
 people knew w^hat they were about, while all their friends 
 were in such a hurry; that it was a» wretched time of year for 
 a wedding ; and that, in her opinion, it would have been 
 much pleasanter to wait for fine spring weather. 
 
 As it happened, the weather was finer than it had been 
 almost any day of the preceding spring. The day before the 
 wedding was sunny and mild as an October morning, and the 
 fires seemed to be blazing more for show than use. When 
 Mr. Hope dropped in at the Greys', at two o'clock, he found 
 the family dining. It was a fancy of Mrs. Grey's to dine early 
 on what she considered busy days. An early dinner was, with 
 her, a specific for the despatch of business. On this day, the 
 arrangement was rather absurd ; for the great evil of the time 
 was, that everything was done, except what could not be tran- 
 sacted till the evening ; and the hours were actually hanging 
 heavy on the hands of some members of the family. Morris 
 had packed Hester's clothes for her little journey, and put out 
 of sight all the mourning of both sisters, except what they 
 actually had on. Sophia's dress for the next morning was laid 
 out, in readiness to be put on, and the preparations for the 
 breakfast were as complete as they could be twenty hours 
 beforehand. It only remained to take a final view of the 
 house in the evening (when the children's presents were to be 
 discovered), and to cut the wedding-cake. In the interval, 
 there was nothing to be done. Conversation flagged ; every 
 one was dull ; and it was a relief to the rest when Mr. Hope 
 proposed to Hester to take a walk. 
 
 Mrs. Eowland would have laughed at the idea of a walk on 
 a December afternoon, if she had happened to know of the 
 circumstance ; but others than lovers might have considered 
 it pleasant. The sun was still an hour from its setting ; and 
 high in the pale heaven was the large moon, ready to shine 
 upon the fields and woods, and shed a milder day. No frost 
 had yet bound up the earth ; it had only stripped the trees 
 with a touch as gentle as that of the fruit-gatherer. No 
 wintry gusts had yet swept through the woods ; and aU there 
 
DEERBROOK. 143 
 
 was this day as still as in the autumn noon, when the nut is 
 heard to drop upon the fallen leaves, and the light squirrel is 
 startled at the rustle along its own path. As a matter of 
 course, the lovers took their way to the Spring in the Yernon 
 woods, the spot which had witnessed more of their confidence 
 than any other. In the alcove above it they had taken shelter 
 from the summer storm and the autumn shower ; they had sat 
 on its brink for many an hour, when the pure depths of its 
 rocky basin seemed like coolness itself in the midst of heat, 
 and when falling leaves fluttered down the wind, and dimpled 
 the surface of the water. They now paused once more under 
 shelter of the rock which overhung one side of the basin, and 
 listened to the trickle of the spring. If "aside the devil 
 turned for envy" in the presence of the pair in Paradise, it 
 might be thought that he would take flight from this scene 
 also ; from the view of this resting of the lovers on their 
 marriage eve, when the last sun of their separate lives was 
 sinking, and the separate business of their existence was 
 finished, and their paths had met before the gate of their 
 paradise, and they were only waiting for the portal to open to 
 them. But there was that on Hester's brow which would 
 have made the devil look closer. She was discomposed, and 
 her rephes to what was said were brief, and not much to the 
 purpose. After a few moments' silence, Mr. Hope said gaily — 
 
 " There is something on our minds, Hester. Come, what 
 is it?" 
 
 " Do not say ^ our minds.' You know you never have any- 
 thing on yours. I believe it is against your nature ; and I 
 know it is against your principles. Do not say 'our minds.'" 
 
 " I say it because it is true. I never see you look grave 
 
 but my heart is as heavy . But never mind that. What 
 
 is the matter, love ? " 
 
 '^ Nothing," sighed Hester. " Nothing that any one can 
 
 help . People may say what they will, Edward : but 
 
 there can be no escape from living alone in this world, after all." 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean what no one, not even you, can gainsay. I mean 
 that ^ the heart knoweth its own bitterness ; ' that we have 
 disappointments, and anxieties, and remorse, and many, many 
 kinds of trouble that we can never tell to any human being — 
 that none have any concern with — that we should never dare 
 to tell. We must be alone in the world, after all." 
 
 " Where is your faith, while you feel so ? " asked Edward, 
 
144 DEERBROOK. 
 
 smiling. " Do you really think that confidence proceeds only 
 while people believe each other perfect, — while they have not 
 anxieties, and disappointments, and remorse? Do you not 
 feel that our faults, or rather our failures, bind us together?" 
 
 "Our faults bind us together!" exclaimed Hester. " Oh 
 how happy I should be, if I could think that !" 
 
 " We cannot but think it. We shall find it so, love, every 
 day. When our faith fails, when we are discouraged, instead 
 of fighting the battle with our faithlessness alone, we shall 
 come to one another for courage, for stimulus, for help to see 
 the bright, the true side of everything." 
 
 " That supposes that we can do so," said Hester, sadly. 
 " But I cannot. I have all my life intended to repose entire 
 confidence, and I have never done it yet." 
 
 " Yes : you have in me. You cannot help it. You think 
 that you cannot, only because you mean more by reposing 
 confidence than others do. Your spirit is too^ noble, too in- 
 genuous, too humble for concealment. You cannot help your- 
 self, Hester : you have fully confided in me, and you will go 
 on to do so." 
 
 Hester shook her head mournfully. " I have done it 
 hitherto with you, and with you only," said she : " and the 
 reason has been — you know the reason — the same which 
 made me own all to you, that first evening in the shrubbery. 
 Ah ! I see you think that this is a lasting security ; that, as 
 you will never change, I never shall : but you do not under- 
 stand me wholly yet. There is something that you do not 
 know, — that I cannot make you believe : but you will find it 
 true, when it is too late. No good influence is permanent 
 with me ; many, all have been tried ; and the evil that is in 
 me gets the better of them all at last." 
 
 She snatched her hand from her lover's, and covered her 
 face to hide her tears. 
 
 *' I shall not contradict you, Hester," said he, tenderly, 
 " because you will only abase yourself the more in your own 
 eyes. But tell me again — where is your faith, while you let 
 spectres from the past glide over into the future, to terrify 
 you? I say 'you' and not 'us,' because I am not terrified. 
 I fear nothing. I trust you, and I trust Him who brought 
 us together, and moved you to lay open your honest heart to 
 me." 
 
 " My sick heart, Edward. It is sick with fear. I thought 
 I had got over it. 1 thought you had cured it; and that now, 
 
DEEEBROOK. 145 
 
 on this day, of all days, I should have been full of your spirit 
 — of the spirit which made me so happy a few weeks ago, that 
 I was sure I should never fall back again. But I am disap- 
 pointed in myself, Edward — wholly disappointed in myself. 
 I have often been so before, but this time it is fatal. I shall 
 never make you happy, Edward." 
 
 " Neither God nor man requires it of you, Hester. Dismiss 
 it ." 
 
 " Oh, hear me!" cried Hester, in great agitation. " I vowed 
 to devote myself to my father's happiness, when my mother 
 died ; I promised to place the most absolute confidence in him. 
 I failed. I fancied miserable things. I fancied he loved 
 Margaret better ; and that I was not necessary to him ; and I 
 was too proud, too selfish, to tell him so : and when he was 
 dying, and commended Margaret and me to each other — Oh, 
 so solemnly ! — I am sure it was in compassion to me — and I 
 shrank from it, even at that moment. When we came here, 
 and Margaret and I felt ourselves alone among strangers, we 
 promised the same confidence I vowed to my father. The 
 next thing was — perhaps you saw it — I grew jealous of 
 Margaret's having another friend, though Maria was as ready 
 to be my friend as hers, if I had only been worthy of it. Up 
 to this hour — at this very moment, I believe I am jealous of 
 Maria — and with Margaret before my eyes — Margaret, who 
 loves me as her own soul, and yet has never felt one moment's 
 jealousy of you, I am certain, if her heart was known." 
 
 " We will rejoice, then, in Margaret's peace of mind, the 
 reward of her faith." 
 
 " Oh, so I do ! I bless God that she is rewarded, better 
 than by me. But you see how it is. You see hoAv I poison 
 every one's life. I never made anybody happy ! I never shall 
 make anyone happy ! " 
 
 " Let us put the thought of making happiness out of our 
 minds altogether," said Hope. " I am persuaded that half the 
 misery in the world comes of straining after happiness.'* 
 
 " After our own," said Hester. " I could give up my own. 
 But yours ! I cannot put yours out of my thoughts." 
 
 " Yes, you can; and you will when you give your faith fair 
 play. Why cannot you trust God with my happiness as well 
 as your own ? And why cannot you trust me to do without 
 happiness, if it be necessary, as well as yourself?" 
 
 " I know," said Hester, " that you are as willing to forego 
 all for me as I am for you ; but I cannot, I dare not, consent 
 
 L 
 
146 DEERBROOK. 
 
 to the risk. Oh, Edward ! if ever you wished to give me ease, 
 do what I ask now! Give me up ! I shall make you wretched. 
 Give me up, Edward !" 
 
 Hope's spirit was for one instant wrapped in storm. He 
 recoiled from the future, and at the moment of recoil came 
 this offer of release. One moment's thought of freedom, one 
 moment's thought of Margaret convulsed his soul ; but before 
 he could speak the tempest had passed away. Hester's face, 
 frightfully agitated, was upraised : his countenance seemed 
 heavenly to her when he smiled upon her, and replied — 
 
 '' I will not. You are mine ; and, as I said before, ail our 
 failures, all our heart-sickness, must bind us the more to each 
 other." 
 
 *' Then you must sustain me — you must cure me — you 
 must do what no one has ever yet been able to do. But above 
 all, Edward, you must never, happen what may^, cast me off." 
 
 " That is, as you say, what no one has ever been able to do," 
 said he, smiling. " Your father's tenderness was greatest at 
 the last; and Margaret loves you, you know, as her own soul. 
 Let us avoid promises, but let us rest upon these truths. 
 And now," continued he, as he drew nearer to her, and 
 made his shoulder a resting-place for her throbbing head, 
 " I have heard your thoughts for the future. Will you hear 
 mine?" 
 
 Hester made an effort to still her weeping. 
 
 " I said just now, that I believe half the misery in our lives 
 is owing to straining after happiness ; and I think, too, that 
 much of our sin is owing to our disturbing ourselves too much 
 about our duty. Instead of yielding a glad obedience from 
 hour to hour, it is the weakness of many of us to stretch far 
 forward into the future, which is beyond our present reach, 
 and torment ourselves with apprehensions of sin, which we 
 should be ashamed of if they related to pain and danger." 
 
 " Oh, if you could prove to me that such is my weakness !" 
 cried Hester. 
 
 " I believe that it is yours, and I know that it is my own, 
 my Hester. We must watch over one another. Tell me, is 
 it not faithless to let our hearts be troubled about any possible 
 evil which we cannot, at the moment of the trouble, prevent ? 
 And are we not sacrificing, what is, at the time, of the most 
 importance — our repose of mind, the holiness, the religion of 
 the hour?" 
 
 ^' I know I have defiled the holiness of this hour," said 
 
DEERBROOK. 147 
 
 Hester, Immbly. " But as my thoughts were troubled, was 
 it not better to speak them? I could not but speak them." 
 
 " You cannot but do and speak what is most honourable, 
 and true, and generous, Hester ; and that is the very reason 
 why I would fain have you trust, for the future as well as the 
 present, to the impulse of the hour. Surely, love, the proba- 
 tion of the hour is enough for the strength of every one of us.'^ 
 
 " Far, far too much for me." 
 
 " At times, too much for all. Well, then, what have we to 
 do ? To rest the care of each other's happiness upon Him 
 whose care it is : to be ready to do without it, as we would 
 hold ourselves ready to do -without this, or that, or the other 
 comfort, or supposed means of happiness. Depend upon it, 
 this happiness is too subtle and too divine a thing for our 
 management. We have nothing to do with it but to enjoy it 
 when it comes. Men say of it — * Lo ! it is here !' — * Lo ! 
 there ! ' — ^but never has man laid hold of it with a voluntary 
 grasp." 
 
 ^' But we can banish it," said Hester. 
 
 " Alas ! yes : and what else do we do at the very moment 
 when we afflict ourselves about the future? Surely our 
 business is to keep our hearts open for it — ^lioly and at peace, 
 from moment to moment, from day to day." 
 
 " And yet, is it not our privilege — said at least to be so — 
 to look before and after? I am not sure, however, that I 
 always think this a privilege. I long sometimes to be any 
 bird of the air, that I might live for the present moment alone." 
 
 " Let us be so far birds of the air — free as they, neither 
 toiling nor spinning out anxious thoughts for the future : but 
 why, with all this, should we not use our human privilege of 
 looking before and after, to enrich and sanctify the present ? 
 Should we enjoy the wheat-fields in June as we do if we knew 
 nothing of seed-time, and had never heard of harvest ? And 
 how should you and I feel at this moment, sitting here, if we 
 had no recollection of walks in shrubberies, and no prospect 
 of a home, and a lifetime to spend in it, to make this moment 
 sacred ? Look at those red-breasts : shall we change lots 
 with them?" 
 
 *^ No, no: let us look forward; but how? We cannot 
 persuade ourselves that we are better than we are, for the sake 
 of making the future bright." 
 
 " True : and therefore it must be God's future, and not our 
 own, that' we must look forward to." 
 
 L 2 
 
148 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 " That is for confessors and martyrs," said Hester. " They 
 can look peacefully before and after, when there is a bright 
 life and a world of hopes lying behind ; and nothing around 
 and before them but ignominy and poverty, or prison, or 
 torture, or death. They can do this: but not such as I. 
 God's future is enough for them — the triumjjh of truth and 
 holiness ; but ." 
 
 " And I believe it would be enough for you in their 
 situation, Hester. I believe you could be a martyr for opinion. 
 Why cannot you and I brave the suffering of our own faults 
 as we would meet sickness or bereavement from Heaven, and 
 torture and death from men ? " 
 
 " Is this the prospect in view of which you marry me ?" 
 
 ** It is the prospect in view of which all of us are ever 
 living, since we are all faulty, and must all suiFer. But 
 marriage justifies a holier and happier anticipation. The 
 faults of human beings are temporary features of their 
 prospect : their virtues are the firm ground under their feet, 
 and the bright arch over their heads. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " If so, how selfish, how ungrateful have I been in making 
 myself and you so miserable ! But I do so fear myself ! " 
 
 " Let us fear nothing, but give all our care to the day and 
 the hour. I am confident that this is the true obedience, and 
 the true wisdom. If the temper of the hour is right, nothing 
 is wrong." 
 
 " And I am sure, if the temper of the hour is wrong, 
 nothing is right. If one could always remember this " 
 
 " If we could always remember this, we should perhaps 
 find ourselves a little above the angels, instead of being, like 
 the serene, the Fenelons of our race, a little below them. We 
 shall not always remember it, love ; but we must remind each 
 other as faithfully as may be." 
 
 " You must bring me here, when I forget," said Hester. 
 " This spring will always murmur the truth to me — ^ If 
 the temper of the hour is right nothing is wrong.' How 
 wrong has my temper been within this hour ! " 
 
 " Let it pass, my Hester. We are all faithless at times, 
 and without the excuse of meek and anxious love. Is it 
 possible that the moon casts that shadow?" 
 
 " The dark, dark hour is gone," said Hester, smiling as she 
 looked up, and the moon shone on her face. " Nothing is 
 wrong. Who would have believed, an hour ago, that I should 
 now say so?" 
 
DEERBROOK. 149 
 
 " When you would have given me up," said Hope, smiling. 
 
 ^' Oh, let us forget it all ! Let us go somewhere else. Who 
 will say this is winter ? Is it October, or ' the first mild day 
 of March ? ' It might be either." 
 
 " There is not a breath to chill us ; and these leaves — what 
 a soft autumn carpet they make ! They have no wintry 
 crispness yet." 
 
 There was one inexhaustible subject to which they now 
 recurred — Mr. Hope's family. He told over again, what 
 Hester was never weary of hearing, how his sisters would 
 cherish her, whenever circumstances should allow them to 
 meet — how Emily and she would suit best, but how Anne 
 would look up to her. As for Frank . But this repre- 
 sentation of what Frank would say, and think, and do, was 
 somewhat checked and impaired by the recollection that 
 Frank was just about this time receiving the letter in which 
 Margaret's superiority to Hester was pretty plainly set forth. 
 The answer to that letter would arrive, some time or other, 
 and the anticipated awkwardness of that circumstance caused 
 some unpleasant feelings at this moment, as it had often done 
 before, during the last few weeks. Nothing could be easier 
 than to set the matter right with Frank, as was already done 
 with Emily and Anne ; the first letter might occasion some 
 difficulty. Frank was passed over lightly, and the foreground 
 of the picture of family welcome was occupied by Emily and 
 Anne. 
 
 It was almost an hour from their leaving the Spring before 
 the lovers reached home. They were neither cold nor tired ; 
 they were neither merry nor sad. The traces of tears were on 
 Hester's face ; but even Margaret was satisfied when she saw 
 her leaning on Edward's arm, receiving the presents of the 
 children where alone the children would present them — in the 
 new house. There was no fancy about the arrangements, no 
 ceremony about the cake and the ring, to which Hester did 
 not submit with perfect grace. Notwithstanding the traces of 
 her tears, she had never looked so beautiful. 
 
 The same opinion was repeated the next morning by all the 
 many who saw her in church, or who caught a glimpse of her, 
 in her way to and from it. No wedding was ever kept a 
 secret in Deerbrook ; and Mr. Hope's was the one in which 
 concealment was least of all possible. The church was half- 
 full, and the path to the church-door was lined with gazers. 
 Those who were obliged to remain at home looked abroad 
 
150 DEERBROOK. 
 
 from their doors ; so that all were gratified more or less. 
 Every one on Mr. Grey's premises had a holiday — including 
 IVIiss Young, though Mrs. EoAAdand did not see why her 
 children should lose a day's instruction, because a distant 
 cousin of Mr. Grey's was married. The marriage was made 
 far too much a fuss of for her taste ; and she vowed that 
 whenever she parted with her own Matilda, there should be a 
 much greater refinement in the mode. Every one else 
 appeared satisfied. The sun shone ; the bells rang ; and the 
 servants drank the health of the bride and bridegroom. 
 Margaret succeeded in swallowing her tears, and was, in her 
 inmost soul, thankful for Hester and herself. The letters to 
 Mr. Hope's sisters and brother, left open for the signatures of 
 Edward and Hester Hope, were closed and despatched ; and 
 the news was communicated to two or three of the Ibbotsons' 
 nearest friends at Birmingham. Mr. and Mrs. Grey agreed, 
 at the end of the day, that a wedding was, to be sure, a most 
 fatiguing affair for quiet people like themselves; but that 
 nothing could have gone off better. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MARIA AND MARGARET. 
 
 Mr. Hope's professional duties would not permit him to be 
 long absent, even on such an occasion as his wedding journey. 
 The young couple went only to Oxford, and were to return in a 
 week. Margaret thought that this week never would be over. 
 It was not only that she longed for rest in a home once more, 
 and was eager to repose upon her new privilege of having a 
 brother : she was also anxious about Hester, — anxious to be 
 convinced, by the observation of the eye and the hearing of 
 the ear, that her sister was enjoying that peace of spirit which 
 reason seemed to declare must be hers. It would be difficult 
 to determine how much Margaret's attachment to her sister 
 was deepened and strengthened by the incessant solicitude she 
 had felt for her, ever since this attachment had grown out of 
 the companionship of their childhood. She could scarcely 
 remember the time when she had not been in a state of either 
 hope or fear for Hester; — ^hope that, in some new circum- 
 stances, she would be happy at last ; or dread lest these new 
 circumstances should fail, as all preceding influences had failed. 
 
DEERBROOK. IM 
 
 If Hester had been less candid and less generous than she was, 
 her sister's affection might have given way under the repeated 
 trials and disappointments it had had to sustain ; and there 
 Avere times when Margaret's patience had given way, and she 
 had for a brief while wished, and almost resolved, that she 
 could and would regard with indifference the state of mind of 
 one who was not reasonable, and who seemed incapable of 
 being contented. But such resolutions of indifference dis- 
 solved before her sister's next manifestations of generosity, or 
 appeals to the forgiveness of those about her. Margaret 
 always ended by supposing herself the cause of the evil ; that 
 she had been inconsiderate ; that she could not allow sufficiently 
 for a sensitiveness greater than her own ; and above all, that 
 she was not fully worthy of such affection as Hester's — not 
 sufficient for such a mind and heart. She had looked forward, 
 with ardent expectation when she was happiest, and with 
 sickly dread when she was depressed, to the event of Hester's 
 marriage, as that which must decide whether she could be 
 happy, or whether her life was to be throughout the scene of 
 conffict that its opening years had been. Hester's connexion 
 was all that she could have desired, and far beyond her utmost 
 hopes. This brother-in-law was one of a thousand — one whom 
 she was ready to consider a good angel sent to shed peace over 
 her sister's life : and during the months of her engagement, 
 she had kept anxiety at bay, and resigned herself to the delights 
 of gratitude and of sweet anticipations, and to the satisfaction 
 of i'eeling that her own responsibilities might be considered at 
 an end. She had delivered Hester's happiness over into the 
 charge of one who would cherish it better and more successfully 
 than she had done ; and she could not but feel the relief of the 
 freedom she had gained : but neither could she repress her 
 anxiety to know, at the outset, whether all was indeed as well 
 as she had till now undoubtingly supposed that it would be. 
 
 Margaret's attachment to her sister would have been in 
 greater danger of being worn out but for the existence of a 
 closer sympathy between them than any one but themselves, 
 and perhaps Morris, was aware of. Margaret had a strong 
 suspicion that in Hester's place her temper would have been 
 exactly what Hester's was in its least happy characteristics. 
 She had tendencies to jealousy ; and if not to morbid self-study, 
 and to dissatisfaction with present circumstances, she was in- 
 debted for this, she knew, to her being occupied with her sister, 
 and yet more to the perpetual warning held up before her eyes. 
 
152 DEERBROOK. 
 
 This conviction generated no sense of superiority in Margaret — 
 interfered in no degree with the reverence she entertained for 
 Hester ; areverenceratherenhanced than impaired by the tender 
 compassion with which she regarded her mental conflicts and 
 sufferings. Every movement of irritabihty in herself (and she 
 was conscious of many) alarmed and humbled her, but, at the 
 same time, enabled her better to make allowance for her 
 sister ; and every harsh word and unreasonable mood of 
 Hester's, by restoring her to her self-command and stimulating 
 her magnanimity, made her sensible that she owed much of 
 her power over herself to that circumstance which kept the 
 necessity of it perpetually before her mind. For the same 
 reason that men hate those whom they have injured, Margaret 
 loved wdth imusual fervour the sister with whom she had to 
 forbear. For the same reason that the children, even the 
 affectionate children, of tyrannical or lax parents, love liberty 
 and conscientiousness above all else, Margaret was in practice 
 gentle, long-suffering, and forgetful of self. For the same 
 reason that the afflicted are looked upon by the pure-minded as 
 sacred, Margaret regarded her sister with a reverence which 
 preserved her patience from being spent, and her attachment 
 from wasting away. 
 
 The first letter from her brother and sister had been opened 
 in great internal agitation. All was well, however. It was 
 certain that all was well ; for, while Hester said not one word 
 about being happy, she was full of thought for others. She 
 knew that Margaret meant to take possession of the corner- 
 house, to " go home," a few days before the arrival of the 
 travellers, in order to make all comfortable for them. Hester 
 begged that she would take care to be well amused during 
 these few days. Perhaps she might induce Maria Young to 
 waive the ceremony of being first invited by the real house- 
 keepers, and to spend as much time as she could with her 
 friend. " Give my kind regards to Maria," said the letter, 
 ^' and tell her I like to fancy you two passing a long evening 
 by that fireside where we all hope we shall often have the 
 pleasure of seeing her." Six months ago Hester would not 
 have spoken so freely and so kindly of Maria : she would not 
 have so sanctioned Margaret's intimacy with her. All was 
 right, and Margaret was happy. 
 
 Maria came, and, thanks to the holiday spirit of a wedding 
 week, for a long day. Delicious are the pleasures of those 
 whose appetite for them is whetted by abstinence. Charming, 
 
DEEEBROOK. I5g 
 
 wholly charming, was this day to Maria, spent in quiet, free 
 from the children, free from the observation of other guests, 
 passed in all external luxury, and in sister-like confidence 
 with the friend to whom she had owed some of the best 
 pleasures of the last year. Margaret was no less happy in 
 indulging her, and in opening much more of her heart to her 
 than she could to any one else since Hester married — which 
 now, at the end of six days, seemed a long time ago. 
 
 Miss Young came early, that she might see the house, and 
 everything in it, before dark ; and the days were now at their 
 shortest. She did not mind the fatigue of mounting to the 
 very top of the house. She must see the view from the 
 window of Morris's attic. Yesterday's fall of snow had made 
 the meadows one sheet of white ; and the river looked black, 
 and the woods somewhat frowning and dismal ; but those who 
 knew the place so well could imagine what all this must be in 
 summer ; and Morris was assured that her room was the 
 pleasantest in the house. Morris curtseyed and smiled, and 
 did not say how cold and dreary a wide landscape appeared 
 to her, and how much better she should have liked to look 
 out upon a street, if only Mr. Hope had happened to have 
 been settled in Birmingham. She pointed out to Maria how 
 good Miss Hester had been, in thinking about the furnishing 
 of this attic. She had taken the trouble to have the pictures 
 of Morris's father and mother, which had always hung 
 opposite her bed at Birmingham, brought hither, and fixed 
 up in the same place. The bed-hangings had come, too ; so 
 that, except for its being so much lighter, and the prospect 
 from the window so different, it was almost like the same 
 room she had slept in for three -and-twenty years before. 
 When Maria looked at *^ the pictures " — silhouettes taken 
 from shadows on the wall, with numerous little deformities 
 and disproportions incident to that method of taking like- 
 nesses — she appreciated Hester's thoughtfulness ; though she 
 fully agreed in what Margaret said, that if Morris was willing 
 to leave a place where she had lived so many years, for the 
 sake of remaining with Hester and her, it was the least they 
 could do to make her feel as much at home as possible in her 
 new abode. 
 
 Margaret's own chamber was one of the prettiest rooms in 
 the house, with its light green paper, its French bed and toilet 
 at one end, and the book-case, table and writing-desk, foot- 
 stool and arm-chair, at the other. 
 
154 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " I shall spend many hours alone here in the bright summer 
 mornings," said Margaret. '' Here I shall write my letters, 
 and study, and think." 
 
 *' And nod over your books, perhaps," said Maria. " These 
 seem comfortable arrangements for an old or infirm person ; 
 but I should be afraid they would send you to sleep. You 
 have had little experience of being alone : do you know the 
 strong tendency that solitary people have to napping?" 
 
 Margaret laughed. She had never slept in the day-time in 
 her life, except in illness. She could not conceive of it, in the 
 case of a young person, full of occupation, with a hundred 
 things to think about, and twenty books at a time that she 
 wanted to read. She thought that regular daily solitude must 
 be the most delightful, the most improving thing in the world. 
 She had always envied the privilege of people who could 
 command solitude ; and now, for the first time in her life, she 
 was going to enjoy it, and try to profit by it. 
 
 " You began yesterday, I think," said Maria. " How did 
 youhkeit?" 
 
 ^^ It was no fair trial. I felt restless at having the house in 
 my charge ; and I was thinking of Hester perpetually ; and 
 then I did not know but that some of the Greys might come 
 in at any moment : and besides, I was so busy considering 
 whether I was making the most of the precious hours, that I 
 really did next to nothing all day." 
 
 ^' But you looked sadly tired at night. Miss Margaret," said 
 Morris. " I never saw you more fit for bed after any party or 
 ball." 
 
 Maria smiled. She knew something of the fatigues, as well 
 as the pleasures, of solitude. Margaret smiled too ; but she 
 said it would be quite another thing when the family were 
 settled, and when it should have become a habit to spend the 
 morning hours alone ; and to this Maria fully agreed. 
 
 Morris thought that people's liking or not liking to be alone 
 depended much on their having easy or irksome thoughts in 
 their minds. Margaret answered gaily, that in that case, she 
 was pretty sure of liking solitude. She was made grave by a 
 sigh and a shake of the head from Morris. 
 
 "Morris, what do you mean?" said Margaret, apprehen- 
 sively. " Why do you sigh and shake your head ? Why 
 should not I have easy thoughts as often as I sit in that 
 chair?" 
 
 '* We never know, Miss Margaret, my dear, how things will 
 
DEEREROOK. .155 
 
 turn out. Do you remember Miss Stevenson, that married a 
 gentleman her family all thought a great deal of, and he turned 
 out a swindler, and ? " 
 
 Tile girls burst out a laughing, and Maria assured Morris 
 that she could answer for no accident of that kind happening 
 with regard to Mr. Hope. Morris laughed too, and said she 
 did not mean that, but only that she never saw anybody 
 more confident of everything going right than Miss Stevenson 
 and all her family ; and within a month after the wedding, 
 they were in the deepest distress. That was what she meant : 
 but there were many other ways of distress happening. 
 
 '' There is death, my dears," she said. " Eemember death, 
 Miss Margaret." 
 
 *' Indeed, Morris, I do," said Margaret. " I never thought 
 so much of death as I have done since Mr. Hope's accident, 
 when I believed death was coming to make us all miserable ; 
 and the more I have since recoiled from it, the oftener has the 
 thought come back." 
 
 " That is all right, my dear : all very natural. It does not 
 seem natural to undertake any great new thing in life, without 
 reminding one's self of the end that must come to all our 
 doings. However, I trust my master and mistress, and you, 
 have many a happy year to live." 
 
 " I like those words, Morris. I like to hear you speak of 
 your master and mistress, it has such a domestic sound ! 
 Does it not make one feel at home, Maria ? Yes, Morris, 
 there I shall sit, and feel so at ease ! so at home, once more !" 
 
 " But there may be other ." Morris stopped, and 
 
 changed her mood. She stepped to the closet, and opened 
 the door, to show Miss Young the provision of shelves and 
 pegs ; and pointed out the part of the room where she had 
 hoped there would be a sofa. She should have liked that 
 Miss Margaret should have had a sofa to lie down on when 
 she pleased. It seemed to her the only thing wanting. 
 Margaret gaily declared that nothing was wanting. She had 
 never seen a room more entirely to her taste, though she had 
 inhabited some that were grander. 
 
 By the time the little breakfast-room had been duly visited, 
 and it had been explained that the other small parlour must 
 necessarily be kept for a waiting-room for Mr. Hope's patients, 
 and the young ladies had returned to the drawing-room, Maria 
 was in fuU flow of sympathy with the housekeeping interests 
 and ideas which occupied, or rather amused, her companion. 
 
156 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Women do inevitably love housekeeping, unless educational or 
 other impediments interfere with their natural tastes. House- 
 hold management is to them the object of their talents, the 
 subject of their interests, the vehicle of their hopes and€ears, 
 the medium through which their affections are manifested, and 
 much of their benevolence gratified. If it be true, as has been 
 said, that there is no good quality of a woman's heart and mind 
 which is not necessary to perfect housekeeping, it follows that 
 there is no power of the mind or affection of the heart which 
 may not be gratified in the course of its discharge. As 
 Margaret and her guest enjoyed their pheasant, their table 
 drawn close to the sofa and the fire, that Maria might be 
 saved the trouble of moving, their talk was of tradespeople, of 
 shopping at Deerbrook, and the market at Birmingham ; of 
 the kitchen and store-room, and the winter and summer 
 arrangements of the table. The foot-boy, wliom Margaret 
 was teaching to wait, often forgot his function, and stood still 
 to listen, and at last left the room deeply impressed with the 
 wisdom of his instructor and her guest. When the dinner and 
 the wine were gone, they sang, they gossiped, they quizzed. 
 The Greys were sacred, of course ; but many an anecdote 
 came out, told honestly and with good-nature, of dear old 
 Mrs. Enderby, and her talent for being pleased ; of Mrs. Row- 
 land's transactions abroad and at home — all regulated by the 
 principle of eclipsing the Greys ; and of Mrs. Howell's and 
 Miss Miskin's fine sentiments, and extraordinary pieces of 
 news. Margaret produced some of her brother-in-law's out- 
 lines, which she had picked up and preserved — sketches of the 
 children, in the oddest attitudes of children — of Dr. Levitt, 
 resting his book on the end of his nose, as he read in his 
 study-chair — of Mrs. Plumstead, exasperated by the arrival of 
 an illegible letter — of almost every oddity in the place. Then 
 out came the pencils, and the girls supplied omissions. They 
 sketched Mr. Hope himself, listening to an old woman's theory 
 of her o^vn case ; they sketched each other. Mr. Enderby 
 was almost the only person omitted altogether, in conversation 
 and on paper. 
 
 "Where can I have hidden my work-bag?" asked Maria, 
 after tea. 
 
 " You laid it beside you, and I put it away," said Margaret. 
 " I wanted to see whether you could spend a whole afternoon 
 without the feel of your thimble. You shall have it again 
 now, for you never once asked for it between dinner and tea." 
 
DEEEBROOK. 157 
 
 " I forgot it : but now you must give it me. I must finish 
 my collar, or I shall not duly honour your sister in my first 
 call. We can talk as well working as idle." 
 
 " Cannot I help you ? Our aiFairs are all in such dreadfully 
 perfect order, that I have not a stitch of work to do. I see a 
 hole in your glove : let me mend it." 
 
 " Do ; and when you have done that, there is the other. 
 Two years hence, how you will wonder that there ever was a 
 time when you had not a stitch of work in the house ! Wedding 
 clothes last about two years, and then they all wear out to- 
 gether. I wish you joy of the work you will have to do then 
 — if nothing should come between you and it." 
 
 "What should come between us and it?" said Margaret, 
 struck by the tone in which Maria spoke the last words. 
 " Are you following Morris's lead ? Are you going to say, — 
 ^ Eemember death. Miss Margaret ? ' " 
 
 *' Oh, no ; but there are other things which happen some- 
 times besides death. I beg your pardon, Margaret, if I am 
 impertinent " 
 
 " How should you be impertinent ? You, the most intimate 
 friend but one that I have in the world 1 You mean marriage, 
 of course ; that I may marry within these same two years ? 
 Any one may naturally say so, I suppose, to a girl whose 
 sister is just married : and in another person's case it would 
 seem to me probable enough : but I assure you, Maria, I do 
 not feel as if it was at all likely that I should marry." 
 
 " I quite believe you, Margaret. I have no doubt you feel 
 
 so, and that you will feel so till . But, dear, you may one 
 
 day find yourself feeling very differently without a moment's 
 warning ; and that day may happen within two years. Such 
 things have been known." 
 
 ^' If there was any one " said Margaret, simply — "if 
 
 I had ever seen any one for whom I could fancy myself 
 feeling as Hester did " 
 
 "If there was anyone!" — repeated Maria, looking up in 
 some surprise. " My dear Margaret, do you mean to say 
 there is no one ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do ; I think so. I know what you mean, Maria. 
 I understand your face and your voice. But I do think it is 
 very hard that one cannot enjoy a pleasant friendship with 
 anybody without seeing people on the watch for something 
 more. It is so very painful to have such ideas put into one's 
 mind, to spoil all one's intercourse — to throw restraint over it 
 
J.58 DEERBROOK. 
 
 — to mix up selfishness with it ! It is so wrong to interfere 
 between those who might and would be the most useful and 
 delightful companions to each other, without having a thought 
 which need put constraint between them ! Those wdio so 
 interfere have a great deal to answer for. They do not know 
 what mischief they may be doing — what pain they may be 
 giving while they are gossiping, and making remarks to one 
 another about what they know nothing at all about. I have 
 no patience with such meddling ! " 
 
 '' So I perceive, indeed," replied Maria, somewhat amused. 
 ^^ But, Margaret, you have been enlarging a good deal on w^hat 
 I said. Not a syllable was spoken about any remarks, any 
 observations between any people ; or even about reference to 
 any particular person. I alone must be subject to all this 
 displeasure, and even I did not throw out a single hint about 
 any friend of yours." 
 
 '^ No, you did not ; that is all very true," ftaid Margaret, 
 blushing : " but neither was I vexed with you ; — at least, not 
 so much as with some others. I was hasty." 
 
 ^' You were, indeed," said Maria, laughing. ^' I never 
 witnessed such an outburst from you before." 
 
 *' And you shall not see such another ; but I was answering 
 less what you said than what I have reason to suppose is in 
 the minds of several other people." 
 
 " In their minds ? They have not told you their thoughts, 
 then. And several other people, too ! Why, Margaret, I 
 really think it is not very reasonable in you to find fault with 
 others for thinking something which they have not troubled 
 you to listen to, and which is so natural, that it has struck 
 ' several'' of them. Surely, Margaret, you must be a little, 
 just a very little, touchy upon the matter." 
 
 *^ Touchy ! ^Vbat should make me touchy ?" 
 
 "Ay, what?" 
 
 "I do assure you, Maria, nothing whatever has passed 
 between that person and me which has anything more than 
 the commonest No, I will not say the commonest friend- 
 ship, because I believe ours is a very warm and intimate 
 friendship ; but indeed it is nothing more. You may be sure 
 that, if it had been otherwise, I should not have said a word 
 upon the whole matter, even to you ; and I would not have 
 allowed even you to speak ten words to me about it. Are 
 you satisfied now ? " 
 
 " I am satisfied that you say what you think." 
 
DEERBROOK. 159 
 
 " Oh, Maria ! wliat a sigh I If you have no objection, I 
 should like to know the meaning of that sigh." 
 
 ^^ I was thinking of * the course of true love.' " 
 
 *^ But not that it * never does run smooth.' That is not 
 true. Witness Hester's." 
 
 '^ Dear Margaret, be not presumptuous ! Consider how 
 early the days of that love are yet." 
 
 "And that love in their case has only just leaped out of the 
 fountain, and can hardly be said to have begun its course. 
 Well ! may Heaven smile on it ! But tell me about that 
 course of love which made you sigh as you did just now." 
 
 '^ What can I tell you about it ? And yet, you shall know, 
 if you like, how it appears to me." 
 
 '^ Oh, tell me ! I shall see whether you would have under- 
 stood Hester's case." 
 
 " The first strange thing is, that every woman approaches 
 this crisis of her life as unawares as if she were the first that 
 ever loved." 
 
 " And yet all girls are brought up to think of marriage as 
 almost the only event in life. Their minds are stuffed with 
 thoughts of it almost before they have had time to gain any 
 other ideas." 
 
 " Merely as means to ends low enough for their compre- 
 hension. It is not marriage — wonderful, holy, mysterious 
 marriage — that their minds are full of, but connection with 
 somebody or something which will give them money, and ease, 
 and station, and independence of their parents. This has 
 nothing to do with love. I Avas speaking of love — the grand 
 influence of a woman's life, but whose name is a mere empty 
 sound to her till it becomes, suddenly, secretly, a voice which 
 shakes her being to the very centre — more awful, more 
 tremendous, than the crack of doom." 
 
 *' But why ? Why so tremendous ?" 
 
 " From the struggle which it calls upon her to endure, 
 silently and alone ; — from the agony of a change of existence 
 which must be wrought without any eye perceiving it. 
 Depend upon it, Margaret, there is nothing in death to com- 
 pare with this change ; and there can be nothing in entrance 
 upon another state which can transcend the experience I 
 speak of. Our powers can but be taxed to the utmost. Our 
 being can but be strained till not another effort can be made. 
 This is all that we can conceive to happen in death ; and it 
 happens in love, with the additional burden of fearful secresy. 
 
160 DEERBROOK. 
 
 One may lie down and await death, with sympathy about one 
 to the last, though the passage hence must be solitary ; and it 
 would be a small trouble if all the world looked on to see the 
 parting of soul and body : but that other passage into a new 
 state, that other process of becoming a new creature, must go 
 on in the darkness of the spirit, while the body is up and 
 abroad, and no one must know what is passing within. The 
 spirit's leap from heaven to hell must be made while the 
 smile is on the lips, and light words are upon the tongue. 
 The struggles of shame, the pangs of despair, must be hidden 
 in the depths of the prison-house. Every groan must be 
 stifled before it is heard : and as for tears — they are a solace 
 too gentle for the case. The agony is too strong for tears." 
 
 *' Is this true love ?" asked Margaret, in agitation. 
 
 " This is true love ; but not the whole of it. As for what 
 follows " 
 
 " But is this what every woman has to undergo ? " 
 
 " Do you suppose that every woman knows what love really 
 is ? No ; not even every unmarried woman. There are 
 some among them, though I believe but few, who know 
 nothing of what love is ; and there are, undoubtedly, a mul- 
 titude of wives who have experienced liking, preference, 
 affection, and taken it for love ; and who reach their life's end 
 without being aware that they have never loved. There are 
 also, I trust, a multitude of wives who have really loved, and 
 who have reaped the best fruits of it in regeneration of soul." 
 
 " But how dreadful is the process, if it be as you say ! " 
 
 " I said I had alluded to only a part of it. As for what 
 follows, according as it is prosperous or unreturned love, 
 heaven ensues upon this purgatory, or one may attain a 
 middle region, somewhat dim, but serene. You wish me to 
 be plainer?" 
 
 ^' I wish to hear all you think — all you know. But do not 
 let us go on with it if it makes you sigh so." 
 
 *' What woman ever spoke of love without sighing?" said 
 Maria, with a smile. " You sighed yourself, just now." 
 
 " I was thinking of Hester, I believe. How strange, if this 
 process really awaits women — if it is a region through which 
 their path of life must stretch — and no one gives warning, or 
 preparation, or help ! " 
 
 "It is not so strange as at first sight it seems. Every 
 mother and friend hopes that no one else has suffered as she 
 did — that her particular charge may escape entirely, or get 
 
DEEBBROOK. 161 
 
 oiF more easily. Then there is the shame of confession 
 which is involved : some conclude, at a distance of time, that 
 they must have exaggerated their own sufferings, or have been 
 singularly rebellious and unreasonable. Some lose the sense 
 of the anguish in the subsequent happiness ; and there are not 
 a few who, from constitution of mind, forget altogether * the 
 things that are behind.' When you remember, too, that it is 
 the law of nature and providence that each should bear his 
 and her own burden, and that no warning would be of any 
 avail, it seems no longer so strange that while girls hear end- 
 lessly of marriage, they are kept wholly in the dark about love." 
 
 " Would warning really be of no avail ? " 
 
 " Of no more avail than warning to a pilgrim in the middle 
 of the desert that he will suffer from thirst, and be deluded 
 by the mirage, before he gets into green fields again. He has 
 no longer the choice whether to be a pilgrim in the desert or 
 to stay at home. No one of us has the choice to be or not 
 to be ; and we must go through with our experience, under 
 its natural conditions." 
 
 " * To be or not to be,'" said Margaret, with a grave smile. 
 *' You remind one that the choice of suicide remains : and I 
 
 almost wonder Surely suicide has been committed from 
 
 dread of lighter woes than you have described." 
 
 " I believe so : but in this case there is no dread. We 
 find ourselves in the midst of the struggle before we are 
 aware. And then " 
 
 " Ay, and then—" 
 
 " He, who appoints the struggles of the spirit, supplies aids 
 and supports. I fully believe that this time of conflict is that 
 in which religion first becomes to many the reality for which 
 they ever afterwards live. It may have been hitherto a name, 
 a fancy, a dim abstraction, or an intermitting though bright 
 influence : and it may yet be resorted to merely as a refuge 
 for the spirit which can find no other. But there is a strong ' 
 probability that it may now be found to be a wonderful 
 reality ; not only a potent charm in sorrow, but the Kfe of our 
 life. This is with many the reason why, and the mode in 
 which, the conflict is endured to the end." 
 
 " But the beginning," said Margaret ; " what can be the 
 beginning of this wonderful experience ? " 
 
 " The same with that of all the most serious of our expe- 
 riences — levity, unconsciousness, confidence. Upon what 
 subject in the world is there a greater accumulation of jokes 
 
 M 
 
162 DEERBROOK. 
 
 than upon love and marriage ; and upon what subject are 
 jokes so indefatigably current ? A girl laughs at her com- 
 panions, and blushes or pouts for herself, as girls have done 
 for thousands of years before her. She finds, by degrees, 
 new, and sweet, and elevated ideas of friendship stealing their 
 way into her mind, and she laments and wonders that the 
 range of friendship is not wider — that its action is not freer- — 
 that girls may not enjoy intimate friendship with the com- 
 panions of their brothers, as well as with their own. There 
 is a quick and strong resentment at any one who smiles at, or 
 speculates upon, or even observes the existence of such a 
 friendship." 
 
 " Oh, Maria ! " exclaimed Margaret, throwing down her 
 work, and covering her face with her hands. 
 
 " This goes on for a while," proceeded Maria, as if she did 
 not observe her companion, "this goes on for a while^ 
 smoothly, innocently, serenely. Mankind are *then true and 
 noble, the world is passing fair, and God is tender and boun- 
 tiful. All evil is seen to be tending to good ; all tears are 
 meant to be wiped away ; the gloom of the gloomy is faithless ; 
 virtue is easy and charming ; and the vice of the vicious is 
 unaccountable. Thus does young life glide on for a time. 
 Then there comes a day — it is often a mystery why it should 
 be that day of all days — when the innocent, and gay, and 
 confident young creature finds herself in sudden trouble. 
 The film on which she lightly trod has burst and she is in 
 an abyss. It seems a mere trifle that plunged her there. Her 
 friend did not come when she looked for him, or he is gone 
 somewhere, or he has said something that she did not expect. 
 Some such trifle reveals to her that she depends wholly upon 
 him — that she has for long been living only for him, and on 
 the unconscious conclusion that he has been living only for 
 her. At the image of his dwelling anywhere but by her 
 side, of his having any interest apart from hers, the universe 
 is, in a moment, shrouded in gloom. Her heart is sick, and 
 there is no rest for it, for her self-respect is gone. She has 
 been reared in a maidenly pride, and an innocent confidence : 
 her confidence is wholly broken down ; her pride is wounded 
 and the agony of the wound is intolerable. We are wont 
 to say, Margaret, that everything is endurable but a sense of 
 guilt. If there be an exception,-this is it. This wounding 
 of the spirit ought not perhaps to be, but it is very like the 
 sting of guilt ; and a * wounded spirit who can bear?'" 
 
 ,i^^ 
 
DEERBPwOOK. 163 
 
 " How is it borne — so many as are the sufferers, and of a 
 class usually thought so weak ? " 
 
 " That is a mistake. There is not on earth a being stronger 
 than a woman in the concealment of her love. The soldier is 
 called brave who cheerfully bears about the pain of a lacera- 
 tion to his dying day ; and criminals, who, after years of 
 struggle, unbosom themselves of their secret, give tremendous 
 accounts of the sufferings of those years ; but I question 
 whether a woman whose existence has been burdened with 
 an unrequited love, will not have to unfold in the next world 
 a more harrowing tale than either of these." 
 
 " It ought not to be so." 
 
 *'It ought not, where there is no guilt. But how noble is 
 such power of self-restraint I Though the principle of society 
 may be to cultivate our pride to excess, what fortitude grows 
 out of it ! There are no bounds to the horror, disgust, and 
 astonishment expressed when a woman owns her love to its 
 object unasked — even urges it upon him ; but I acknowledge 
 my surprise to be the other way — that the cases are so rare. 
 Yet, fancying the case one's own " 
 
 "Oh, dreadful !" cried Margaret. 
 
 " No woman can endure the bare thought of the case being 
 her own ; and this proves the strong natural and educational 
 restraint under which we all lie : but I must think that the 
 frequent and patient endurance proves a strength of sotiI, a 
 vigour of moral power, which ought to console and animate 
 us in the depth of our abasement, if we could but recall it 
 then when we want support and solace most." 
 
 " It can be little estimated — little understood," said 
 Margaret, " or it would not be sported with as it is." 
 
 " Do not let us speak of that, Margaret. You talk of my 
 philosophy sometimes ; I own that that part of the subject is 
 too much for any philosophy I have." 
 
 " I see nothing philosophical," said Margaret, " in making 
 light of the deepest cruelty and treachery which is transacted 
 under the sun. A man who trifles with such affections, 
 and abuses such moral power, and calls his cruelty flirta- 
 tion " 
 
 " Is such an one as we will not speak of now. Well ! it 
 cannot be but that good — moral and intellectual good — must 
 issue from such exercise and discipline as this ; and such 
 good does issue often, perhaps generally. There are sad 
 tales sung and told everywhere of brains crazed, and graves 
 
 M 2 
 
164 BEERBROOK. 
 
 dug by hopeless love : and I fear that many more sink down 
 into disease and death from this cause, than are at all sus- 
 pected to be its victims : but not a few find themselves lifted 
 up from their abyss, and set free from their bondage of pride 
 and humiliation. They marry their loves and stand amazed 
 ; at their own bliss, and are truly the happiest people upon 
 earth, and in the broad road to be the wisest. In my belief, 
 ' the happiest are ever so." 
 
 ' " Bless you for that, for Hesters sake ! And what of those 
 who are not thus released?" 
 
 " They get out of the abyss too ; but they have to struggle 
 out alone. Their condition must depend much on what they 
 were before the conflict befell them. Some are soured, and 
 live restlessly. Some are weak, and come out worldly, and 
 sacrifice themselves, in marriage or otherwise, for low objects. 
 Some strive to forget, and to become as like as possible to 
 what they were before ; and of this order are many of the 
 women whom we meet, whose minds are in a state of perpetual 
 and incurable infancy. It is difficult to see the purpose of 
 their suffering, from any effects it appears to have produced : 
 but then there is the hope that their griefs were not of the 
 deepest." 
 
 " And what of those whose griefs are of the deepest ? " 
 
 " They rise the highest above them. Some of these must 
 be content with having learned more or less of what life is, 
 and of what it is for, and with reconciling themselves to its 
 objects and conditions. 
 
 " In short, with being philosophical," said Margaret, with an 
 inquiring and affectionate glance at her friend. 
 
 "With being philosophical," Maria, smilingly agreed. 
 " Others, of a happier nature, to whom philosophy and reli- 
 gion come as one, and are welcomed by energies not wholly 
 destroyed, and affections not altogether crushed, are strong in 
 the new strength which they have found, with hearts as wide 
 as the universe, and spirits the gayest of the gay." 
 
 " You never told me anything of all this before," said Mar- 
 garet ; " yet it is plain that you must have thought much 
 about it — that it must have been long in your mind." 
 
 " It has ; and I tell it to you, that you may share what 1 
 have learned, instead of going without the knowledge, or, alas 1 
 gathering it up for yourself." 
 
 " Oh, then, it is so — it is from your own " 
 
 " It is from my own experience that I speak," said Maria, 
 
PEEIIBROOK. 165 
 
 without looking up. " And now, there is some one in the 
 world who knows it beside myself." 
 
 " I hope you do not — I hope you never will repent haying 
 told me," said Margaret, rising and taking her seat on the sofa, 
 beside her friend. 
 
 " I do not, and I shall not repent," said Maria. " You are 
 faithful : and it will be a relief to me to have sympathy — to 
 be able to speak sometimes, instead of having to deny and 
 repress my whole heart and soul. But I can tell you no more 
 — ^not one word." 
 
 " Do not. Only show me how I can comfort — ^how I cvm 
 gratify you." 
 
 " I need no special comfort now," said Maria, smiling. " 1 
 have sometimes grievously wanted a friend to love and speak 
 with — and if I could, to serve. Now I have a friend." And 
 the look with which she gazed at her companion brought the 
 tears into Margaret's eyes. 
 
 " Come, let us speak of something else," said Maria, cheer- 
 fully. " When do you expect your friend, Mr. Enderby, at 
 Deerbrook again ? " 
 
 " His sister says nobody knows ; and I do not think he caa 
 tell himself. You know he does not live at Deerbrook." 
 
 " I am aware of that ; but his last visit was such a long 
 one " 
 
 " Six days," said Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " Ah ! I did not mean his last week's appearance, or any of 
 his pop visits. I was thinking of his summer visitation. It 
 was so long, that some people began to look upon him as a 
 resident." 
 
 " If his mother does not grow much better soon, we shall 
 see him again," said Margaret. " It is always her illness that 
 brings him. — Do you not believe me, Maria V " 
 
 " I believe, as before, that you say what you think. Whether 
 you are mistaken is another question, which I cannot pretend 
 to answer." 
 
 " I hope, Maria, that as you have placed so much confidence 
 in me, you will not stop short at the very point which is of 
 the greatest importance to me." 
 
 "I will not, dear. What I think on the subject of 
 Mr. Enderby, in relation to you, is, that some of your friends 
 believe that you are the cause of his stay having been so long 
 in the summer, and of his coming so often since. I know no 
 more than this. How should 1 ? " 
 
16G DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Then I will tell you something more, that I might as well 
 have mentioned before. When Mrs. Rowland had an idea 
 that Mr. Enderby might think of Hester, she told Hester — 
 that miserable day in Dingleford woods — that his family 
 expected he would soon marry a young lady of family and 
 fortune, who was a great favourite with all his connections." 
 
 " Who may this young lady be ?" 
 
 <' Oh, she did not say ; some one too high for our acquaint- 
 ance, if we are to believe what Mrs. Rowland declared." 
 " And do you believe it ? " 
 
 "Why . Do you?'' 
 
 " I dare say Mrs. Rowland may believe it herself ; but she 
 may be mistaken." 
 
 *' That is exactly what Hester said," observed Margaret, 
 eagerly. " And that was more than five months ago, and we 
 have not heard a syllable of the matter since." 
 
 " And so intimate a friendship as yours and Mr. Enderby's 
 is," said Maria, smiling, — " it is scarcely probable that his 
 mind should be full of such an affair, and that he should be 
 able to conceal it so perfectly from you." 
 
 " I am glad you think so," said Margaret, ingenuously. 
 " You cannot imagine how strange it is to see Mrs. Grey and 
 others taking for granted that he is free, when Hester and I 
 could tell them in a moment what Mrs. Rowland said. But if 
 you think Mrs. Rowland is all wrong, what do you really 
 suppose about his coming so inuch to Deerbrook ?" 
 
 ^' I have little doubt that those friends of yours — Mrs. Grey 
 and the others — are right. But ." 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "Just this. If I might warn you by myself, I would 
 caution you, not only against dwelling much upon such a 
 fact, but against interpreting it to me^n more than it possibly 
 may. This is my reason for speaking to you upon the matter 
 at all. I do it because you will be pretty sure to hear how 
 the fact itself is viewed by others, while no one else would be 
 likely to give you the caution. Mr. Enderby ma^/ come, as 
 you suppose, entirely to see his mother. He may come to see 
 you : but, supposing he does, if he is like other men, he may 
 n©t know his own mind yet : and, there is another possible 
 thing — a thing which is possible, Margaret, though he is such 
 a dear and intimate friend — that he may not know yours — all 
 its strength of affection, all its fidelity, all its trust and power 
 of self-control." 
 
DEERBROOK. 167 
 
 "Oh, stop ; pray stop," said Margaret. " You frigliten me 
 -vvith the thoughts of all you have been saying this evening, 
 though I could so entirely satisfy you as to what our inter- 
 course has been — though I know Mr. Enderby so much better 
 than you do. You need warn me no more. I will think 
 of what you have said, if I find myself doubting whether 
 he comes to see his mother — if I find myself listening to 
 what others may suppose about his reasons. Indeed, I will 
 remember what you have said." 
 
 " Then I am glad I ventured to say it, particularly as you 
 are not angry with me this time." 
 
 " I am not at all angry : how could I be so ? But I do not 
 agree with you about the fact." 
 
 " I know it, and I may be mistaken." 
 
 " Now tell me," said Margaret, " what you suppose Morris 
 meant when she said what you heard about the pleasure ot 
 solitude depending on one's thoughts being happy or other- 
 wise. I know it is a common old idea enough ; but Morris 
 does not know that ; and I am sure she had some particular 
 instance in view. Morris does not make general propositions, 
 except with a particular case in her mind's eye ; and she is a 
 wise woman ; and we think her sayings are weighty." 
 
 " It struck me that she had a real probability in her mind; 
 but I did not think it related to Mr. Enderby, or to anything 
 so exclusively your own concern." 
 
 " No ; I hope not : but what then ?" 
 
 " I think that Morris knows more of life and the world than 
 you, and that she does not anticipate quite so much happiness 
 from Hester's marriage as you do. Do not be distressed or 
 alarmed. She means no mistrust of anybody, I imagine ; 
 but only that there is no perfect happiness in this life, that 
 nobody is faultless ; and no home, not even where her 
 young ladies live, is quite free from care and trouble. It 
 would not hurt you, surely, if she was to say this outright to 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, no; nor a good deal more of the same tendency. She 
 might come much nearer to the point, good soul ! without 
 hurting me. Suppose I ask her what it was she did mean, 
 to-night or to-morrow, when she and I are alone ? " 
 
 " Well ! if she is such a wise woman . But I doubt 
 
 whether you could get her nearer to the point without danger 
 of hurting her. Can she bring herself to own that either ot 
 you have faults ? " 
 
168 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 "Oil, yes : she lias never spared us, from the time we were 
 
 two feet high." 
 
 " What can make you so anxious as to what she meatit ?" 
 
 " I really hardly know, unless it be that where one loves 
 very much, one fears — Oh, so faithlessly ! I know I ought to 
 fear less for Hester than ever ; and yet ." 
 
 The door burst open, and the footboy entered with his 
 jingling tray, and news that the sedan for Miss Young was at 
 the door. What sedan ? Margaret had asked Mrs. Grey for 
 hers, as the snow had fallen heavily, and the streets were not 
 fit for Maria's walking. Maria was very thankful. 
 
 Here was an end of Maria's bright holiday, Mr. Grey's 
 porters must not be kept waiting. The friends assured each 
 other that they should never forget this day. It was little 
 likely that they should. 
 
 CHAPTER XVi. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Margaret had an unconcious expectation of seeing her sister 
 altered. This is an irresistible persuasion in almost every 
 case where an intimate friend is absent, and is under new 
 influences, and amidst new circumstances. These accessories 
 alter the image of the beloved one in our minds ; our fancy 
 Ibllows it, acting and being acted upon in ways in which we 
 have no share. Our sympathy is at fault, or we conceive it 
 to be so ; and doubt and trouble creep over us, we scarcely 
 know why. Though the letters which come may be natural 
 and hearty, as of old, breathing the very spirit of our friend, 
 we feel a sort of surprise at the hand-writing being quite 
 familiar. We look forward with a kind of timidity to meeting, 
 and fear there may be some restraint in it. When the hour 
 of meeting comes, there is the very same face, the line of the 
 cheek, the trick of the lip, the glance of the eye ; the rise and 
 fall of the voice are the same ; and the intense familiarity 
 makes our very spirit swim in joy. We are amazed at our 
 previous fancy — we laugh at the solemn stiffness in which our 
 friend stood before our mind's eye, and to relieve which we 
 had striven to recall the ludicrous situations and merry moods 
 in which that form and that face had been seen ; and perhaps 
 'tve have no peace tiU we have acknowledged to the beloved 
 
DEERBROOK. ] 69 
 
 one the ingenuity of our self-tormentings. Is there a girl 
 ■whose heart is with her brother at college, who does not feel 
 this regularly as the vacation comes round ? Is there a 
 parent whose child is reaping honours in the field of life, and 
 returning childlike from time to time, to rest in the old 
 country-home — is there such a parent who is not conscious of 
 the misgiving and the re-assurance, as often as the absence 
 and the re-union occur ? Is there even the most trustful of 
 wives, whose husband is on the other side of the globe, that is 
 wholly undisturbed by the transmutation of the idol in her 
 mind ? When the husband is returning, and her hungry 
 heart is feasting on the anticipation of his appearance, she 
 may revel in the thought — 
 
 "And will I see his face again. 
 And will I hear him speak ? " 
 
 But it is not till that vivid face and that piercing voice thrill 
 her sight and her ear again that"* all misgiving vanishes. There 
 is nothing in life that can compensate for long partings. There 
 ought to be few or no insurmountable obstacles to the frequent 
 meetings, however short, of those who love each other. No 
 duties and no privileges can be of more importance than the 
 preservation, in all their entireness, of domestic familiarity and 
 faith. 
 
 A very short separation will afford the experience of a long 
 one, if it be full of events, or if the image of the absent one be 
 dwelt upon, from hour to hour, with laborious strivings of the 
 fancy. It has been said that this week of Hester's absence 
 was the longest that Margaret had ever known. Besides this, 
 she felt that she had forgotten her sister further than she could 
 have supposed possible after a ten years' separation. On the 
 evening when she was expecting the travellers home, her heart 
 was sick with expectation ; and yet she was conscious of a 
 timidity which made her feel as if alone in the world. Again 
 and again she looked round her, to fancy what would be the 
 aspect of everything to Hester's eye. She wandered about the 
 house to see once more that all was in its right place, and 
 every arrangement in due order. She watched the bright 
 drawing-room fire nervously, and made herself anxious about 
 the tea-table, and sat upright on the sofa, listening for the 
 sound of horses' feet in the snowy street, as if it had been a 
 solemn stranger that she was expecting, instead of her own 
 sister Hester, with whom she had shared all her heart, and 
 
170 DEEIIBROOS:. 
 
 spent all her days. But a small part of this anxiety was given 
 to Mr. Hope : she retained her image of him unperplexed, as 
 a treasure of a brother, and a man with a mind so healthy 
 that he was sure to receive all things rightly, and be pleased 
 and satisfied, happen what might. 
 
 They came ; and Hester's spring from the carriage, and her 
 husband's w^ay of rubbing his hands over the fire, put all 
 Margaret's anxieties to flight. How sweet w^as the welcome 1 
 How delicious the contest about which was to give the wel- 
 come to this, the lasting home of the three — whether she who 
 had put all in order for them, or they who claimed to have 
 the charge of her ! Margaret's eyes overflowed when Hester 
 led her to Edward for his brotherly kiss. Mr. Hope's mind 
 was disturbed for one single moment that he had not given 
 this kiss with all the heartiness and simplicity of a brother ; 
 but the feeling was gone almost before he was Qonscious of it. 
 
 The fire crackled, the kettle sang, Hester took her own 
 place at once at the tea-board, and her husband threw him- 
 self on the sofa, after ascertaining that there were no family 
 letters for him. He knew that it was impossible that there 
 should be any in answer to the announcement of his marriage. 
 Even Anne's could not arrive these four or five days yet. 
 He desired Margaret not to tell him at present if there were 
 any messages for him ; for, if all Deerbrook had colds, he 
 had no inclination to go out to-night to cure them. There 
 was a long list of messages, Margaret said, but they were in 
 the surgery ; and the pupil there might bring them in, if he 
 thought proper : they should not be sent for. This one 
 evening might be stolen for home and comfort. Their journey 
 had been delightful. Oxford was more splendid than Hester 
 had had an idea of. Every facility had been afforded them for 
 seeing it, and Mr. Hope's acquaintances there had been as 
 kind as possible. The fall of snow had not put them in any 
 danger, and the inconveniences it had caused were rather 
 stimulating to people who had travelled but little. Hester 
 had had to get out of the carriage twice ; and once she had 
 walked a mile, when the driver had been uncertain about the 
 road ; but as Mrs. Grey had had the foresight to cause a pair 
 of snow boots to be put into the carriage at the last moment^ 
 no harm had happened, — not even to the wetting of feet ; only 
 enough inconvenience to make them glad to be now by their 
 snug fireside. Hester was full of mirth and anecdote. She 
 seemed, to have been pleased with everybody and awake to 
 
DEERBROOK. 17T 
 
 everything. As her sister looked upon her brow, now open 
 as a sleeping child's, upon the thick curl of glossy brown 
 hair, and upon the bright smile which lighted up her exquisite 
 face, she was amazed at herself for having perplexed such an 
 image with apprehensive fancies. 
 
 How had Margaret spent her week ? Above all, it was to 
 be hoped she had not fatigued herself in their service. There 
 were four days' grace yet for preparation, before they should 
 receive their company. Margaret should not have worked so 
 hard. Had Maria Young come yesterday? Dear Maria! 
 she must often come. Should not the Greys be asked to dine 
 in a quiet way, before any one else was admitted into the 
 house? Was it not due to them? But could the footboy 
 wait at table ? Would it be possible to bring him into such 
 training as would prevent Mrs. Grey's being too much shocked 
 at their way of getting through dinner ? Or was there any 
 one in Deerbrook who went out as a waiter ? Morris must 
 be consulted ; but they must have the Greys to dinner before 
 Monday. How was Mrs. Enderby? Was her illness really 
 thought serious, or was it only Mrs. Rowland's way of talking, 
 which was just the same, whether Mrs. Enderby had a twinge 
 of rheumatism or one of her frightful attacks? Was Mr. 
 Enderby coming ? — that was the chief point. If he did not 
 appear, it was certain that he could not be feeling uneasy 
 about his mother. Margaret blushed when she replied that 
 she had not heard of Mr. Enderby's being expected. She 
 could not but blush ; for the conversation with Maria came 
 full into her mind. Mr. Hope saw the blush, and painfully 
 wondered that it sent trouble through his soul. 
 
 How were Morris and the new maid likely to agree ? Did 
 Morris think the girl promising ? Surely it was time to take 
 some notice of the servants. Edward would ring the bell 
 twice, the signal for Morris ; and Morris should introduce the 
 other two into the parlour. They came, Morris in her best 
 gown, and with her wedding ribbon on. When she had 
 shaken hands with her master and mistress, and spoken a 
 good word for her fellow-servants, as she called them, the 
 ruddy-faced girl appeared, her cheeks many shades deeper 
 than usual, and her cap quillings standing off like the rays on 
 a sign-post picture of the sun. Following her came the boy, 
 feeling awkward in his new clothes, and scraping with his left 
 leg till the process was put a stop to by his master's entering 
 into conversation with him. Hester's beauty was really so 
 
172 DEERBKOOK. 
 
 striking, as with a blushing bashfulness, she for the first time 
 enacted the mistress before her husband's eyes, that it was 
 Impossible not to observe it. Margaret glanced towards her 
 brother, and they exchanged smiles. But the effect of 
 Margaret's smile was that Mr. Hope's died away, and left him 
 grave. 
 
 " Brother I " said Margaret ; " what is the true story belong- 
 ing to that great book about the Polar Sea, that you see lying 
 there?" 
 
 " How do you mean ? Is there atiy story belonging to it 
 at all?" 
 
 " Three at least ; and Deerbrook has been so hot about it 
 
 " You should send round the book to cool them. It is 
 enough to freeze one to look at the plates of those polar books." 
 
 " Sending round the book is exactly the thing I wanted to 
 do. and could not. Mrs. Rowland insists that Mrs. Enderby 
 ordered it in ; and Mrs. Grey demands to have it first ; and 
 Mr. Rowland is certain that you bespoke it before anybody 
 else. I was afraid of the responsibility of acting in so nice a 
 case. An everlasting quarrel might come out of it : so I 
 covered it, and put in the list, all ready to be sent at a 
 moment's warning ; and then I amused myself with it while 
 you were away. Now, brother, what will you do?'* 
 
 " The truth of the matter is, that I ordered it in myself, as 
 Mr. Rowland says. But Mrs. Enderby shall have it at once, 
 because she is ill. It is a fine large type for her ; and she 
 will pore over the plates, and forget Deerbrook and all her 
 own ailments, in wondering how the people will get out of 
 the ice.'* 
 
 " Do you remember, Margaret," said Hester, " how she 
 looked one summer day, — like a ghost from the grave, — when 
 she came down from her books, and had even forgotten her 
 shawl?" 
 
 " Oh, about the battle !" cried Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " What battle?" asked Hope. " An historical one, I sup- 
 pose, and not that of the Rowlands and Greys. Mrs. Enderby 
 is of a higher order than the rest of us Deerbrook people : she 
 gets most of her news, and all her battles, out of history." 
 
 " Yes : she alighted among us to tell us that such a great, 
 such a wonderful battle had been fought, at a place called 
 Blenheim, by the Duke of Marlborough, who really seemed a 
 surprisingly clever man : it was such a good thought of his to 
 
DEERBROOK. 173 
 
 have a swamp at one end of his line, and to put some of his 
 soldiers behind some bushes, so that the enemy could not get 
 lit them ! and he won the battle." 
 
 " This book will be the very thing for her," said Margaret. 
 "It is only a pity that it did not come in at Midsummer 
 instead of Christmas. I am afraid she will sympathise so 
 thoroughly that Phoebe will never be able to put on coals 
 enough to warm her." 
 
 " Nay," said Mr. Hope, " it is better as it is. She must be 
 cold now, at all events : whereas, if this book came to her at 
 Midsummer, it would chill her whole month of July. She 
 would start every time she looked out of her window, and saw 
 the meadows green." 
 
 " I hope she is not really very ill," said Hester. 
 
 " You were thinking the same thought that I was," said her 
 husband, starting up from the sofa. "It is certainly my 
 business to go and see her to-night, if she wishes it. I will 
 step down into the surgery, and learn if there is any message 
 from her." 
 
 " And if there is not from her, there will be from some one 
 else," said Hester, sorrowfully. " What a cold night for you 
 to go out, and leave this warm room !" 
 
 Mr. Hope laughed as he observed what an innocent speech 
 that was for a surgeon's wife. It was plain that her education 
 in that capacity had not begun. And down he went. 
 
 " Here are some things for you, cards and notes," said 
 Margaret to her sister, as she opened a drawer of the writing- 
 table : " one from Mrs. Grey, marked * Private.' I do not 
 suppose your husband may not see it ; but that is your affair. 
 My duty is to give it you privately." 
 
 " One of the Grey mysteries, I suppose," said Hester, 
 colouring, and tearing open the letter with some vehemence : 
 " These mysteries were foolish enough before ; they are 
 ridiculous now. So, you are going out ? " cried she, as her 
 husband came in with his hat on, 
 
 " Yes ; the old lady will be the easier for my seeing her 
 this evening ; and I shall carry her the Polar Sea. Where is 
 pen and ink, Margaret ? We do not know the ways of our 
 own house yet." 
 
 Margaret brought pen and ink ; and while Mr. Hope wrote 
 down the dates in the Book Society's list, Hester exclaimed 
 against Mrs. Grey for having sent her a letter marked 
 " Private," now that she was married. 
 
174 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " If you mean it not to be private, you shall tell me about it 
 when I come back," said her husband. " If I see Mrs. Enderby 
 to-night, I must be gone." 
 
 It was not twenty minutes before he was seated by his own 
 iireside again. His wife looked disturbed ; and was so ; she 
 even forgot to inquire after Mrs. Enderby. 
 
 ^< There is Mrs. Grey's precious letter!" said she. "She 
 may mean to be very kind to me : I dare say she does : but 
 she might know that it is not kindness to write so of my 
 husband." 
 
 "I do not see that she writes any harm of me, my dear," 
 said he, laying the letter open upon the table. " She only 
 wants to manage me a little : and that is her way, you know.'' 
 
 " So exceedingly impertinent !" cried Hester, turning to 
 Margaret. *' She wants me to use my influence, quietly, and 
 
 without betraying her, to make my husband ," she 
 
 glanced into her husband's face, and checked her commu- 
 nication. "In short," she said, "Mrs Grey wants to be 
 meddling between my husband and one of his patients." 
 
 " Well, what then ?" said Margaret. 
 
 " What then ? Why, if she is to be interfering already in 
 our affairs — if she is to be always fancying that she has any- 
 thing to do with Edward, — and we living so near, — I shall 
 never be able to bear it." 
 
 And Hester's eyes overflowed with tears. 
 
 "My dear! is it possible?" cried Edward. "Such a 
 trifle ." 
 
 " It is no trifle," said Hester, trying to command her voice ; 
 " it can never be a trifle to me that any one shows disrespect 
 to you. I shall never be able to keep terms with any one who 
 does." 
 
 Margaret believed that nothing would be easier than to put 
 a stop to any such attempts — if indeed they were serious. 
 Mrs. Grey was so fond of Hester that she would permit any- 
 thing from her ; and it would be easy for Hester to say that, 
 not wishing to receive any exclusively private letters, she had 
 shown Mrs. Grey's to her husband, though to no one else : 
 and that it was to be the principle of the family not to inter- 
 fere, more or less, with Mr. Hope's professional affairs. 
 
 " Or, better still, take no notice of the matter in any way 
 whatever, this time," said Mr. Hope. " We can let her have 
 her way while we keep our own, cannot we? So, let us put 
 the mysterious epistle into the fire — shall we? I wait your 
 
DEEEBROOK. 175 
 
 leave," said he, laughing, as he held the letter over the 
 flame. 
 
 " It is your property." 
 
 Hester signed to have it burned ; but she could not forget 
 it. She recurred to Mrs. Grey, again and again. " So near 
 as they lived," she said — " so much as they must be together." 
 
 " The nearer we all live, and the more we must be with 
 our neighbours," said her husband, " the more important it is 
 that we should allow each other our own ways. You will 
 soon find what it is to live in a village, my love; and then you 
 will not mind these little trifles." 
 
 "If they would meddle only with me," said Hester, "I 
 should not mind. I hope you do not think I should care so 
 much for anything they could say or do about me. If they 
 only would let you alone " 
 
 " That is the last thing we can expect," said Margaret. 
 *^ Do they let any public man alone ? Dr. Levitt, or 
 Mr. James?" 
 
 "Or the parish clerk?" added Mr. Hope. "It was 
 reported lately that steps were to be taken to intimate to Owen, 
 that it was a constant habit of his to cough as he took his 
 seat in the desk. I was told once myself, that it was remarked 
 throughout Deerbrook that I seemed to be half whistling as I 
 walked up the street in the mornings ; and that it was con- 
 sidered a practice too undignified for my profession." 
 
 Hester's colour rose again. Margaret laughed, and asked, 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 "I made my best bow, and thought no more about the 
 matter, till events brought it to mind again at this moment. 
 So, Hester, suppose we think no more of Mrs. Grey's hints ? " 
 Seeing that her brow did not entirely clear, he took his seat 
 by her, saying, 
 
 " Supposing, love, that her letter does not show enough 
 deference to my important self to satisfy you, still it remains 
 that we owe respect to Mrs. Grey. She is one of my oldest, 
 and most hospitable, and faithful friends here ; and I need say 
 nothing of her attachment to you. Cannot we overlook in her 
 one little error of judgment?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly," said Hester, cheerfully. " Then I will 
 say nothing to her unless she asks ; and then tell her, as 
 Jightly as I may, what Margaret proposed just now. So be it." 
 
 And aU was bright and smooth again — to all appearance. 
 But this little cloud did not pass away without leaving its 
 
176 DEERBROOK. 
 
 gloom in more hearts than one. As Margaret set down her 
 lamp on her own writing-table, and sank into the chair of 
 whose ease she had bidden Maria make trial, she might have 
 decided, if she had happened at the moment to remember the 
 conversation, that the pleasure of solitude does depend much 
 on the ease of the thoughts. She sat long, wondering how 
 she could have overlooked the obvious probability that Hester, 
 instead of finding the habit of mind of a lifetime altered by 
 the circumstances of love and marriage, would henceforth 
 suffer from jealousy for her husband in addition to the burden 
 she had borne for herself. Long did Margaret sit there, 
 turning her voluntary musings on the joy of their meeting, 
 and the perfect picture of comfort which their little party had 
 presented ; but perpetually recurring, against her will, to the 
 trouble which had succeeded, and following back the track of 
 this cloud, to see whether there were more in the wind — 
 whether it did not come from a hoi'izon of storih. 
 
 Yet hers was not the most troubled spirit in the house. 
 Hester's vexation had passed away, and she was unconscious, 
 as sufferers of her class usually are, of the disturbance she 
 had caused. She presently slept and was at peace. Not so 
 her husband. A strange trouble — a fearful suspicion had 
 seized upon him. He was amazed at the return of his feelings 
 about Margaret, and filled with horror when he thought of the 
 days, and months, and years of close domestic companionship 
 with her, from which there was no escape. There was no 
 escape. The peace of his wife, of Margaret — ^his own peace 
 intheirs— depended wholly on the deep secrecy in which he 
 should preserve the mistake he had made. It was a mistake. 
 He could scarcely endure the thought ; but it was so. For 
 some months, he had never had a doubt that he was absolutely 
 in the road of duty ; and, if some apprehension about his 
 entire happiness had chilled him, from time to time, he had 
 cast them off, as inconsistent with the resolution of his 
 conscience. Now he feared, he felt he had mistaken his duty. 
 As, in the stillness of the night, the apprehension assailed 
 him, that he had thrown away the opportunity and the 
 promise of his life — that he had desecrated his own home, 
 and doomed to withering the best affections of his nature, he 
 for the moment wished himself dead. But his was a soul 
 never long thrown off its balance. He convinced himself, 
 in the course of a long sleepless night, that whatever might 
 have been his errors, his way was now clear, though difficult. 
 
DEERBROOK. 177 
 
 He must devote himself wholly to her whose devotion to him 
 had caused him his present struggles ; and he must trust that, 
 if Margaret did not ere long remove from the daily com- 
 panionship which must be his sorest trial, he should grow 
 perpetually stronger in his self-command. Of one thing he 
 was certain — that no human being suspected the real state of 
 his mind. This was a comfort and support. Of something 
 else he felt nearly certain — that Margaret loved Philip. This 
 was another comfort, if he could only feel it so ; and he had 
 little doubt that Philip loved her. He had also a deep convic- 
 tion, which he now aroused for his support — that no conse- 
 cration of a home is so holy as that of a kindly, self-denying, 
 trustful spirit in him who is the head and life of his house. 
 If there was in himself a love which must be denied, there 
 was also one which might be indulged. Without trammelling 
 himself with vows, he cheered his soul with the image of the 
 life he might yet fulfil, shedding on all under his charge the 
 blessings of his activity, patience, and love ; and daily casting 
 oflf the burden of the day, leaving all care for the morrow to 
 such as, happier than himself, would have the future the image 
 of the present. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FIRST HOSPITALITY. 
 
 The Greys needed only to be asked to come and dine before 
 the rest of the world could have an opportunity of seeing the 
 bride and bridegroom. They had previously settled among 
 themselves that they should be invited, and the answer was 
 given on the instant. The only doubt was how far down in 
 the family the pleasure ought to extend. Sydney was full of 
 anxiety about it. His mother decided that he ought to be 
 asked, but that perhaps he had better not go, as he would be 
 in the way ; and Sophia was sure it would be very dull for 
 him ; a sentence which made Sydney rather sulky. But 
 Hester insisted on having him, and pleaded that William Levitt 
 would come and meet him, and if the lads should find the 
 drawing-room dull, there was the surgery, with some very 
 curious things in it, where they might be able to amuse 
 themselves. So Sydney was to take up his lot with the 
 elderly ones, and the little girls were to be somewhat dif- 
 ferently entertained another day. 
 
 II 
 
178 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Oh, the anxieties of a young wife's first dinner-party I If 
 remembered, they become laughable enough when looked 
 back upon from future years ; but they are no laughing 
 matter at the time. The terror lest there should be too little on 
 the table, and the consequent danger of there being too much : 
 the fear at once of worrying the cook with too many direc- 
 tions, and leaving any necessary thing unsaid : the trembling 
 doubt of any power of entertainment that may exist in the 
 house ; the anticipation of a yawn on the part of any guest, 
 or of such a silence as may make the creaking of the footboy's 
 shoes heard at dinner, or the striking of the hall clock in the 
 evening — these are the apprehensions which make the young 
 wife wish herself on the other side of her first dinner-party, 
 and render alluring the prospect of sitting down next day to 
 hash or cold fowl, followed by odd custards and tartlets, with 
 a, stray mince-pie. Where a guest so experienced and so 
 vigilant as Mrs. Grey is expected, the anxiety is redoubled, 
 and the servants are sure to discover it by some means or 
 other. Morris woke, this Saturday morning, with the feeling 
 that something great was to happen that day ; and Sally 
 began to be sharp with the footboy as early as ten o'clock. 
 Hester and Margaret were surprised to find how soon there 
 Avas nothing more left for them to do. The wine was 
 decanted, the dessert dished up in the little storeroom, and 
 even the cake cut for tea, soon enough to leave almost the 
 whole morning to be spent as usual. Margaret sat down to 
 study German, and Hester to read. She had just observed 
 that they could not expect to see Edward for some hours, as 
 he had been sent for to the almshouses, and meant to pay a 
 country visit which would cost him a circuit on his return. 
 These almshouses were six miles off ; and when Mr. Hope 
 was sent for by one of the inmates, nearly all the rest were 
 wont to discover that they ailed more or less ; so that their 
 medical guardian found it no easy matter to get away, and 
 his horse had learned, by practice, to stand longer there than 
 anywhere else without fidgetting. Knowing this, Margaret 
 fully agreed to her sister's proposition, that it must be 
 some hours before Edward could appear. In a little while, 
 however, Hester threw down her book, and took up 
 her work, laying her watch just under her eyes upon the 
 table. 
 
 " Do you mean to do that for life, when your husband 
 takes a country ride ? " said Margaret, laughing. 
 
DEERBROOK. 17^ 
 
 "I hate these everlasting country rides!" cried Hester. 
 " I do wish he would give up those almshouses." 
 
 ^'Give them up!" 
 
 " Yes : they are nothing but trouble and anxiety. The 
 old folks are never satisfied, and never would be, if he lived 
 among them, and attended to nobody else. And as often as 
 he goes there, he is sure to be more wanted here than at any 
 other time. There is another knock. There have been two 
 people wanting him within this hour ; and a country gentle- 
 man has left word that he shall call with his daughter at 
 one o'clock." 
 
 " Well, let them come. If he is home, well and good ; if 
 not, they must wait till he arrives." 
 
 Hester started up, and walked about the room. 
 
 " I know what is in your mind," said Margaret. " The 
 truth is, you are afraid of another accident. I do not wonder 
 at it ; but, dearest Hester, you must control this fear. Con- 
 sider ; supposing it to be Heaven's pleasure that you and he 
 should live for forty or fifty years together, what a world ol 
 anxiety you will inflict on yourself if you are to suffer in this 
 way every time he rides six miles out and back again ! " 
 
 " Perhaps I shall grow used to it : but I do wish he would 
 give up those alms-houses." 
 
 " Suppose we ask him to give up practice at once," said 
 Margaret, "that we may have him always with us. No, no, 
 Hester ; we must consider him first, and ourselves next, and 
 let him have his profession all to himself, and as much of it 
 as he likes." 
 
 " Ourselves ! " cried Hester, contemptuously. 
 
 " Well, yourself, then," said Margaret, smiling. " I only 
 put myself in that I might lecture myself at the same time 
 with you." 
 
 " Lecture away, dear," said Hester, " till you make me as 
 reasonable as if I had no husband to care for." 
 
 Margaret might have asked whether Hester had been 
 reasonable when she had had neither husband nor lover to 
 care for ; but, instead of this, she opened the piano, and 
 tempted her sister away from her watch to practise a duet. 
 
 "I will tell you what I am thinking of," cried Hester, 
 breaking off in the middle of a bar of the second page. 
 " Perhaps you thought me hasty just now ; but you do not 
 know what I had in my head. You remember how late 
 Edward was called out, the night before last ?" 
 
 N2 
 
180 dj:erbkook. 
 
 " To Mrs. Marsh's child ? Yes ; it was quite dark when he 
 went." 
 
 " There was no moon. Mr. Marsh wanted to send a servant 
 back with him as far as the high-road : but he was sure he 
 knew the way. He was riding very fast, when his horse 
 suddenly stopped, and almost threw him over its head. He 
 spurred in vain ; the animal only turned round and round, 
 till a voice called from somewhere near, * Stop there, for God's 
 sake ! Wait till I bring a light.' A man soon came with a 
 lantern, and where do you think Edward found himself ? On 
 the brink of a mill-dam ! Another step in the dark night, 
 and he might have been heard of no more !" 
 
 Margaret was not at all surprised that Hester covered her 
 iace with her hands at the end of this very disagreeable anec- 
 dote. 
 
 " It is clear," said she, " that Edward is the person who 
 wants lecturing. We must bid him not ride very fast on dark 
 nights, on roads that he does not know. But I have a high 
 opinion of this horse of his. One of the two is prudent ; and 
 that is a great comfort. And, for the present, there is the 
 consolation that there are no mill-dams in the way to the 
 almshouses, and that it is broad daylight. So let us go on 
 with our duet, — or shall we begin again ?" 
 
 Hester played through the duet, and then sighed over a new 
 apprehension — that some of those old invalids would certainly 
 be taking Mr. Hope away from home on the two mornings 
 when their neighbours were to pay the wedding visit. " And 
 what shall we do then ? " she inquired. 
 
 " We shall see when the time comes," replied Margaret. 
 " Meanwhile we are sure of one good thing, — that Edward 
 will not be called away from the dinner-table to-day by the 
 almshouse people. Come ! let us play this over once more, 
 that it may be ready for Mr. Grey in the evening." 
 
 Sooner than he was looked for — sooner than it was supposed 
 possible that he could have come — ^Edward appeared. 
 
 "Safe!" cried he, laughing: "what should prevent my 
 being safe ? What sort of a soldier's or sailor's wife would 
 you have made ? " he asked, looking in Hester's happy face. 
 
 " She would be crazed with every gale, and die at * rumours 
 of wars,' " said Margaret : " mill-dams are horror enough for 
 her — and, to say the truth, brother, for other people, too, while 
 you ride as you do." 
 
 " That was an accident which cannot recur," observed 
 
DKERBROOK. 181 
 
 Hope. " I am sorry Mr. Marsh's man mentioned it. But 
 Hester ." 
 
 *' I see what you would say," sighed Hester; "your mention 
 of soldiers' and sailors' wives reminds me. I have no faith, I 
 
 know: and I thought I should when . Oh, I wonder 
 
 how those old crusaders' wives endured their lives ! But, 
 perhaps, seven years' suspense was easier to bear than seven ' 
 hours'." 
 
 Hester joined in the laugh at this speech, and Edward went 
 to see his patients in a place where there was really no danger 
 — in the waiting-room. Yet Hester was a little ruffled when 
 the Greys appeared. So many messages had arrived for 
 Edward, that the country gentleman and his daughter had 
 been kept waiting, and a livery servant had called twice, as if 
 impatient. She was afraid that people would blame Edward 
 — that he would never manage to satisfy them all. Her colour 
 was raised, and her brow slightly bent, when her guests 
 entered ; but all was right when Edward followed, looking 
 perfectly at leisure, and stood talking before the fire, as if he 
 had been a man of no profession. 
 
 Mr. Hope had caused his feelings to be so well understood 
 on one important subject, that it was necessary to respect them ; 
 and no mention of the Rowlands was made, either before dinner 
 or in the presence of the servants. Nor was there any need of 
 the topic. There was abundance to be said, without having 
 recourse to doubtful subjects ; and Margaret became so far 
 relieved from all apprehension on this account, by the time 
 the cheese appeared, that she assured herself that the day 
 was passing off extremely well. There had not been a single 
 pause left to be filled up with the clatter of kilives and forks. 
 Mrs. Grey pronounced the room delightfully warm ; Sophia 
 protested that she liked having the fire at her back ; and 
 Mr. Grey inquired where Hope got his ale. The boys, who 
 had looked for the first half-hour as if they could not speak 
 for the stiffness of their collars, were now in a full career of 
 jokes, to judge by their stifled laughter. Hester blushed 
 beautifully at every little circumstance that occurred, and 
 played the hostess very gracefully. The day was going off 
 extremely well. 
 
 The approaching county election was the principal topic at 
 dinner, as it was probably at every dinner-table in Deerbrook. 
 Mrs. Grey first told Hope, at the bottom of the table, all 
 about her wonder at seeing seven or eight gentlemen on horse- 
 
182 DEERBROOK. 
 
 back entering their field. She was exceedingly surprised to 
 observe such a troop approaching the door : and she hardly 
 knew what to make of it when the servant came in to say 
 that the gentlemen wished to see her, as Mr. Grey was at a 
 distance — at market that day. It was strange that she should 
 so entirely forget that there was to be an election soon. To 
 be sure, it might have occurred to her that the party came to 
 canvass Mr. Grey : but she did not happen to remember at 
 first ; and she thought the gentleman who was spokesman 
 excessively complimentary, both about the place and about 
 some other things, till he mentioned his name, and that he 
 was candidate for the county. Such a highly complimentary 
 strain was not to her taste, she acknowledged ; and it lost all 
 its value when it was made so common as in this instance. 
 This gentleman had kissed the little Eowlands all round, she 
 had since been assured : — not that she wished to enlarge on 
 that subject; but it only showed what gentlemen will do when 
 they are canvassing. The other candidate, Mr. Lowry, seemed 
 a very high personage indeed. When he found Mr. Grey was 
 not at home, he and all his party rode straight on, without 
 inquiring for the ladies. Everyone seemed to think that 
 Mr. Lowry was not likely to carry his election, his manners 
 were so extremely high. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Grey was observing to his hostess that he 
 was sorry to find there was an election impending. People 
 in a small place like Deerbrook were quite apt enough to 
 quarrel, day by day ; — an election threw the place into an 
 uproar. 
 
 " * How delightful ! ' those boys are thinking," said Hester, 
 laughing. 
 
 ^' I am sure," said Sophia, " it is anything but delightful to 
 me. I remember, last time, Sydney brought some squibs into 
 the garden, and let them off while mamma and I were in the 
 shrubbery ; and we could none of us get to sleep till after 
 midnight for the light of the bonfire down the street." 
 
 " They should manage those things more quietly," observed 
 Mr. Grey. " This time, however, there will be only a little 
 effusion of joy, and then an end ; for they say Ballinger wiU 
 carry every vote in the place." 
 
 "Why, father!" cried Sydney, "are you going to vote for 
 Ballinger this time ? " 
 
 " No, my boy. I did not say so. I shall not vote at all," 
 he added, observing that he was expected to explain himself. 
 
DEEKBROOK. 183 
 
 No remark being made, he continued — " It will not be con- 
 venient to me to meddle in election matters this time ; and it 
 would be of no use, as Lowry has not the slightest chance. 
 One gets nothing but ill-will and trouble by meddling. So, 
 my dear," turning to Hester, "your husband and I will just 
 keep quiet, and let Deerbrook have its own way." 
 
 " I believe you may speak for yourself," replied Hester, her 
 eyes sparkling. "Edward has no idea ." Then, remem- 
 bering that she was speaking to a guest, she cut short her 
 assurance that Eward had no idea of neglecting his duty when 
 it was wanted most, for such a reason as that it was then most 
 irksome. 
 
 " There is no occasion in the world for your husband to 
 come forward," observed Mr. Grey, with kind anxiety. "I 
 was saying, Hope, that you are quite absolved from inter- 
 fering in politics. Nobody expects ifc from a medical man. 
 Everyone knows the disadvantage to a professional man, 
 circumstanced like you, of taking any side in a party matter. 
 You might find the consequences very serious, I assure you." 
 
 " And nobody expects it of a medical man," echoed 
 Mrs. Grey. 
 
 Mr. Hope did not reply, that he voted for other reasons than 
 that it was expected of him. He had argued the subject with 
 Mr. Grey before, and knew that they must agree to differ. 
 He quietly declared his intention of voting for Mr. Lowry, and 
 then asked Sophia to take wine. His manner left no resource 
 to Mrs. Grey but to express her feelings to his wife in the 
 drawing-room, after dinner. 
 
 She there drew Hester's arm within her own, and kindly 
 observed what pleasure it gave her to see her anticipations so 
 fulfilled. She had had this home, fitted up and inhabited as 
 it now was, in her mind's eye for a longer time than she 
 should choose to tell. Elderly folks might be allowed to look 
 forward, and Mr. Grey could bear witness that she had done 
 so. It was delightful to look round and see how all had come 
 to pass. 
 
 " Everybody is so interested ! " observed Sophia. " Mrs. 
 Howell says, some have observed to her what a pity it is that 
 you are dissenters, so that you will not be at church on 
 Sunday. Everybody would be sure to be there : and she says 
 she is of opinion that, considering how many friends wish to 
 see you make your first appearance, you ought to go, for once. 
 She cannot imagine what harm it could do you to go for once. 
 
1 Si DEERBROOK. 
 
 But, whatever you may think about that, it shows her interest, 
 and I thought you would like to know it. Have you seen 
 Mrs. Howell's window ? " 
 
 " My dear ! how should they ? " exclaimed her mother. 
 
 " I forgot they could not go out before Sunday. But, 
 Margaret you must look at Mrs. Howell's window the first 
 thing when you can get out. It is so festooned with purple 
 and white, that I told Miss Miskin I thought they would be 
 obliged to light up in the day-time, they have made the shop 
 go dark." 
 
 " And they have thrust all the green and orange into the 
 little side window, where nobody can see it ! " cried Sydney. 
 
 " You managed to see it, I perceive," said Hester ; Sydney 
 having at the moment mounted a cockade, and drawn out his 
 green and orange watch-ribbon into the fullest view. William 
 Levitt lost no time in going through the same j^rocess with his 
 purple and white. 
 
 " You will be the ornaments of Deerbrook," said Margaret, 
 " if you walk about in that gay style. I hope I shall have the 
 pleasure of meeting you both in the street, that I may judge of 
 the effect." 
 
 " They will have lost their finery by that time," said Sophia. 
 " We had a terrible snatching of cockades last time." 
 
 " Snatching ! let them try to snatch mine, and see what 
 they'll get by it ! " cried Sydney. 
 
 " What would they get but the ribbons ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 Sydney drew her to the light, opened the bows of his cock- 
 ade, and displayed a corking-pin stuck upright under each 
 bow. 
 
 " Isn't it horrid ? " said Sophia. 
 
 " Horrid ! It is not half so horrid as fish-hooks." 
 
 And Sydney related how fish-hooks had actually been used 
 during the last election, to detain with their barbs the fingers 
 of snatchers of cockades. " Which do you use ? " he asked of 
 William Levitt. 
 
 " Neither. My father won't let me do anything more than 
 just wear a cockade and watch-ribbon. I have got a watch- 
 guard too, you see, for fear of losing my watch. But you 
 won't get my cockade ofi* a bit the sooner for my having no 
 spikes under it. I have a particular way of fastening it on." 
 Only try, any day. I defy you to it." 
 
 " Hush,hush, boys ! don't talk of defiance," said Mrs. Grey. 
 " I am sure, I wish there were no such things as elections — in 
 
DEERBROOK. 135 
 
 country places, at least. They make nothing but mischief. 
 And, indeed, Hester, my dear, it is a great pity that those 
 should meddle who can keep out of them, as your husband 
 fairly may. Whichever way he might vote, a great many 
 disagreeable remarks would be made ; and if he votes as he 
 says, for Mr. Lowry, I really think, and so does Mr. Grey, that 
 it will be a serious injury to him in his profession." 
 
 Hester replied, with some gravity, that people could never 
 do their whole duty without causing disagreeable remarks ; 
 and seldom without suffering serious injury. 
 
 " But why should he vote ? " persisted Mrs. Grey. 
 
 " Because he considers it his duty, which is commonly his 
 reason for whatever he does." 
 
 " An excellent reason too : but I rather thought — I always 
 fancied he defended acting from impulse. But I beg your 
 pardon, my dear : " and she nodded and winked towards the 
 young people, who were trying the impression of a new seal at 
 the centre table, heeding nothing about either duty or impulse. 
 Margaret had fixed the attention of the boys upon this curious 
 seal of hers, in order to obviate a snatching of cockades, or 
 other political feud, upon the spot. 
 
 "It seems as if I could speak about nothing but your 
 husband, my dear," continued Mrs. Grey, in a whisper: " but 
 you know I feel towards him as towards a son, as I have told 
 him. Do you think he has quite, entirely, got over his 
 accident ? " 
 
 " Entirely, he thinks. He calls himself in perfect health." 
 
 ^* Well, he ought to know best ; but " 
 
 *' But what? " asked Hester, anxiously. 
 
 " It has occurred to us, that he may still want watching 
 and care. It has struck both Mr. Grey and me, that he is 
 not quite the same that he was before that accident. It is 
 natural enough. And yet I thought in the autumn that he 
 was entirely himself again : but there is still a little difference 
 — a little flatness of spirits sometimes — a little more gravity 
 than used to be natural to him." 
 
 " But you do not think he looks ill ? Tell me just what you 
 think." 
 
 " Oh, no, not ill ; rather delicate, perhaps ; but I am sure 
 it is wonderful that he is so well after such an accident. 
 He calls himself perfectly well, does he ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Oh, then, we may be quite easy ; for he must know best. 
 
^S^ DEEREROOK. 
 
 Do not let anything that I have said dwell upon your niind, 
 my dear. I only just thought I would ask." 
 
 How common it is for one's friends to drop a heavy weight 
 upon one's heart, and then desire one not to let it dwell there ! 
 Hester's spirits were irrecoverably damped for this evening. 
 Her husband seemed to be an altered man, flat in spirits, and 
 looking delicate, and she told not to be uneasy ! She was 
 most eager for the entrance of the gentlemen from the dining- 
 room, that she might -svatch him : and, till they came, she had 
 not a word of amusement to furnish to her guests. Margaret 
 perceived that something had gone wrong and talked indus- 
 triously till reinforced from the dining-room. 
 
 Sophia whispered a hint to her mother to inquire particularly 
 about Mrs. Enderby's health. At the mention of her name 
 Mr. Hope took his seat on the sofa beside Mrs. Grey, and 
 replied gravely and fully — that he thought^ Mrs. Enderby 
 really very unwell — more so than he had ever known her. 
 She was occasionally in a state of great suffering, and any 
 attention that her old friends could show her in the way of 
 a quiet call would be a true kindness. Had he alarmed her 
 family ? There was quite hint enough for alarm, he said, in 
 the state in which her relations saw her at times. But 
 Mrs. Kowland was always trying to make out that nothing 
 was the matter with her mother : was it not so ? Not exactly 
 so. Mrs. Eowland knew that there was no immediate danger 
 — ^that her mother might live many months, or even a few 
 years ; but Mr. Hope believed neither Mrs. Eowland, nor any 
 one else, could deny her suflferings. 
 
 ** They say Mr. Philip is coming," observed Mr. Grey. 
 . " Oh, I hope he is ! " cried Sydney, turning round to listen. 
 ^' Some people say that he is otherwise occupied," observed 
 
 Sophia, **If all accounts be true " She caught her 
 
 mother's eye, and stopped suddenly and awkwardly. 
 
 Mr. Hope involuntarily glanced at Margaret, as one or two 
 others were doing at the same time. Nothing was to be dis- 
 cerned, for she was stooping over the volume of engravings 
 that she was showing to William Levitt ; and she remained 
 stooping for a long while. 
 
 When the proper a,mount of playing and singing had been 
 gone through, and Mrs. Grey's sedan was announced, the 
 cloaked and muffled guest left behind a not very happy party. 
 Margaret's gaiety seemed exhausted, and she asked if it was 
 not late. Hester was gazing at her husband. She saw the 
 
DEERBROOK. 187 
 
 perspiration on his brow. She put her arm within his, and 
 anxiously inquired whether he was not unwell. She w^as 
 sure he had never fully recovered his strength : she had not 
 taken care enough of him : why did he not tell her when he 
 was weary and wanted nursing ? 
 
 Mr. Hope looked at her with an unaffected surprise, which 
 went far to console her, and assured her that he was perfectly 
 well ; and that, moreover, he was so fond of indulgence that 
 she would be sure to hear of it, if ever he could find a pretence 
 for getting upon the sofa. 
 
 Hester was comforted, but said that his spirits were not 
 always what they had been : and she appealed to Margaret. 
 Margaret declared that any failure of spirits in Edward was 
 such a new idea, that she must consider before she gave an 
 answer. She thought that he had been too busy to draw so 
 many caricatures as usual lately ; but she had observed no 
 deeper signs of despondency than that. 
 
 " Do not let us get into the habit of talking about spirits," 
 said Hope. " I hear quite enough about that away from 
 home ; and I can assure you, professionally, that it is a bad 
 subject to dwell upon. Every one who lives has variations 
 of spirits : they are like the sunshine, or like Dr. Levitt's last 
 sermon, of which Mrs. Enderby says every Sunday in the 
 church porch — * It is to be felt, not talked about.' " 
 
 " But, as a sign of health " said Hester. 
 
 *^As,a sign of health, my dear, the spirits of all this 
 household may be left to my professional discrimination. Will 
 you trust me, my dear ? " 
 
 " Oh,yes ! " she uttered, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 GRANDMAMMA IN RETREAT. 
 
 " I AM better now, Phoebe," said Mrs. Enderby, sinking back 
 faintly in her easy-chair, after one of her attacks of spasms. 
 " I am better now ; and if you will fan me for a minute or 
 two, I shall be quite fit to see the children — quite delighted to 
 have them." 
 
 " I declare," said the maid, " here are the drops standing 
 upon your face this cold day, as if it was August ! But if the 
 pain is gone, never mind anything else ! And I, for one. 
 
188 DEERBROOK. 
 
 won't say anything against your having the children in ; for 
 I'm sure the seeing your friends has done you no harm, and 
 nothing but good." 
 
 " Pray, draw up the blind Phoebe, and let me see something 
 of the sunshine. Bless me ! how frosty the field looks, while 
 I have been stifled with heat for this hour past ! I had better 
 not go to the window, however, for I begin to feel almost chilly 
 already. Thank you, Phoebe ; you have fanned me enough. 
 Now call the children, Phoebe." 
 
 Phoebe wrapped a cloak about her mistress's knees, pinned 
 her shawl up closer around her throat, and went to call the 
 children in from the parlour below. Matilda drew up her 
 head and flattened her back, and then asked her grandmamma 
 how she did. George looked up anxiously in the old lady's 
 face. 
 
 " Ah, George," said she, smiling ; " it is an odd face to look 
 at, is not it ? How would you like your face to look as mine 
 does?" 
 
 " Not at all," said George. 
 
 Mrs. Enderby laughed heartily, and then told him that her 
 face was not unlike his once — as round, and as red, and as 
 shining in frosty weather. 
 
 " Perhaps if you were to go out now into the frost, your 
 face would look as it used to do." 
 
 " I am afraid not. When my face looked like yours, it was 
 when I was a little girl, and used to slide and make snowballs 
 as you do. That was a long time ago. My face is wrinkled 
 now, because I am old ; and it is pale, because I am ill." 
 
 George heard nothing after the word " snowballs." " 1 
 wish some more snow would come," he observed. " We have 
 plenty of ice down in the meadows, but there has been only 
 one fall of snow, and that melted almost directly." 
 
 " Papa thinks there will be more snow very soon," observed 
 Matilda. 
 
 " If there is, you children can do something for me that I 
 should like very much," said grandmamma. " Shall I tell 
 you what it is?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You can make a snow-man in that field. I am sure 
 Mr. Grey will give you leave." 
 
 " What good will that do you ?" asked Matilda. 
 
 " I can sit here and watch you ; and I shall like that 
 exceedingly. I shall see you gathering the snow, and building 
 
DKERBROOK. 189 
 
 tip your man : and if you will turn about and shake your 
 hand this way now and then, I shall be sure to observe it, and 
 I shall think you are saying something kind to me." 
 
 " I wish the snow would come," cried George, stamping 
 with impatience. 
 
 " I do not believe mamma will let us," observed Matilda. 
 " She prohibits our going into Mr. Grey's field." 
 
 "But she shall let us, that one time," cried George. " I 
 will ask papa, and Mr. Grey, and Sydney, and Uncle Philip, 
 and all. When will Uncle Philip come again?" 
 
 " Some time soon, I dare say. But, George, we must do as 
 your mamma pleases about my plan, you know. If she does 
 not wish you to go into Mr. Grey's field, you can make your 
 snow-man somewhere else." 
 
 " But then you won't see us. But I know what I will do, 
 I will speak to Sydney, and he and Fanny and Mary shall 
 make you a snow-man yonder, where we should have made 
 him." 
 
 Mrs. Enderby pressed the boy to her, and laughed while 
 she thanked him, but said it was not the same thing seeing 
 the Greys make a snow-man. 
 
 " Why, George 1 " said Matilda, contemptuously. 
 
 " When will Uncle Philip come ?" asked the boy, who was 
 of opinion that Uncle Philip could bring all things to pass. 
 
 " Why, I will tell you how it is, my dear. Uncle Philip is 
 very busy learning his lessons." 
 
 The boy stared. 
 
 " Yes : grown-up people who mean to be great lawyers, as 
 I believe Uncle Philip does, have to learn lessons like little 
 boys, only much longer and much harder." 
 
 " When will he have done them ? " 
 
 " Not for a long while yet : but he will make a holiday 
 some time soon, and come to see us. I should like to get well 
 before that. Sometimes I think 1 shall, and sometimes I 
 think not." 
 
 " Does he expect you will ? " 
 
 " He expects nothing about it. He does not know that I 
 am ill. I do not wish that he should know it, my dears ; so, 
 when I feel particularly well, and when I have heard anything 
 that pleases me, I ask Phoebe to bring me the pen and ink, 
 and I write to Uncle Philip." 
 
 " And why does not mamma tell him how you are ?" 
 
 << Ah ! why, indeed?" muttered Phoebe. 
 
190 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " She knows that I do not wish it. Uncle Philip writes 
 charming long letters to me, as I will show you. Bring me 
 my reticule. Here — here is a large sheet of paper, quite full, 
 you see — ^under the seal and all. When will you write such 
 long letters, I wonder?" 
 
 "I shall when I am married, I suppose," said Matilda, 
 again drawing up her little head. 
 
 " You married, my love ! And pray when are you to be 
 married ? " 
 
 " Mamma often talks of the time when she shall lose me, 
 and of what things have to be done while she has me with 
 her." 
 
 " There is a great deal to be done indeed, love, before 
 that day, if it ever comes." 
 
 " There are more ways than one of losing a child," observed 
 Phoebe, in her straightforward way. " If Mrs. Eowland 
 thinks so long beforehand of the one way, it is to 'be hoped 
 she keeps Miss Matilda up to the thought of the other, which 
 must happen sooner or later, while marrying may not." 
 
 " Well, Phoebe," said the old lady, " we Aviil not put any 
 dismal thoughts into this little head : time enough for that : 
 we will leave all that to Miss Young." Then, stroking 
 Matilda's round cheek, she inquired, " My love, did you ever 
 in your life feel any pain ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes, grandmamma : to be sure I have ; twice. 
 Why, don't you remember, last spring, I had a dreadful pain 
 in my head for nearly two hours, on George's birth-day? 
 And last week, after I went to bed, I had ^such a pain in my 
 arm, I did not know how to bear it." 
 
 " And what became of it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I found at last I could bear it no longer, and I began 
 to think what I should do. I meant to ring the bell, but I 
 fell asleep." 
 
 Phoebe laughed with very little ceremony, and grand- 
 mamma could not help joining. She supposed Matilda hoped 
 it might be long enough before she had any more pain. In 
 the night-time, certainly, Matilda said. And not in the day- 
 time ? Is not pain as bad in the day-time ? Matilda 
 acknowledged that she should like to be ill in the day-time. 
 Mamma took her on her lap when she was ill ; and Miss Young 
 was so very sorry for her ; and she had something nice to 
 drink. 
 
 " Then I am afraid, my dear, you don't pity me at all," said 
 
DEERBROOK. 19^1 
 
 grandmamma. " Perhaps you think you would like to live 
 in a room like this, with a sofa and a screen, and Phoebe to 
 wait upon you, and whatever you might fancy to eat and 
 drink. Would you like to be ill as I am?" 
 
 " Not at present," said Matilda : " not till I am married. 
 I shall enjoy doing as I like when I am married." 
 
 "How the child's head runs upon being married!" said 
 Phoebe. " And to suppose that being ill is doing as one likes, 
 of all odd things!" 
 
 " I should often like to fly all over the world," said 
 Mrs. Enderby, " and to get anywhere out of this room — I am 
 so tired of it : but I know I cannot : so I get books, and read 
 about all the strange places, far off, that Mungo Park tells us 
 about, and Gulliver, and Captain Parry. And I should often 
 like to sleep at night when I cannot ; and then I get up softly, 
 without waking Phoebe, and look out at the bright stars, and 
 think over all we are told about them — about their being all 
 full of men and women. Did you know that George ? " asked 
 she — George being now at the window. 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Matilda for him, " we know all 
 about those things." 
 
 " Are falling stars all full of men and women?" asked George. 
 
 " There were none on a star that my father saw fall on the 
 Dingleford road," observed Phoebe. " It wasn't big enough 
 to hold men and women." 
 
 "Did it fall in the middle of the road?" asked George, 
 turning from the window. " What was it like ? " 
 
 " It was a round thing, as big as a house, and all bright 
 and crystal like," said Phoebe, with absolute confidence. " It 
 blocked up the road from the great oak that you may 
 remember, close by the second milestone, to the ditch on the 
 opposite side." 
 
 " Phoebe, are you sure of that ?" asked Mrs. Enderby, with 
 a face full of anxious doubt. 
 
 " Ma'am, my father came straight home after seeing it fall ; 
 and he let my brother John and me go the next morning 
 early, to bring home some of the splinters." 
 
 " Oh, well," said Mrs. Enderby, who always preferred 
 believing to doubting ; " I have heard of stones falling from 
 the moon." 
 
 " This was a falling star, ma'am." 
 
 " Can you show me any of the splinters?" asked George^ 
 eagerlyv 
 
192 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " There was nothing whatsoever left of them," said Phoebe, 
 " by the time John and I went. We could not find a piece of 
 crystal so big as my thimble. My father has often laughed 
 at John and me since, for not having been there in time, 
 before it was all gone." 
 
 " It is a good thing, my dears, depend upon it, as I was 
 saying," observed Mrs. Enderby, " to know all such things 
 about the stars, and so on, against the time when you cannot 
 Jo as you like, and go where you please. Matilda, my jewel, 
 when you are married, as you were talking about, and can 
 please yourself, you will take great care to be kind to your 
 mamma, my dear, if poor mamma should be old and ill. You 
 will always wish to be tender to your mother, love, I am sure ; 
 and that will do her more good than anything." 
 
 " Perhaps mamma won't be ill," replied Matilda. 
 
 " Then if she is never ill, she will certainly^ be old, some 
 day; and then you will be as kind to her as ever you can 
 be, — promise me, my love. Your mamma loves you dearly, 
 Matilda." 
 
 " She says I dance better than any girl in Miss Anderson's 
 school, grandmamma. I heard her tell Mrs. Levitt so, yes- 
 terday." 
 
 " Here comes mamma! " said George, from the window. 
 
 " Your mamma, my dear? Phoebe, sweep up the hearth. 
 Hang that curtain straight. Give me that letter, — no, not 
 that, — the large letter. There! now put it into my knitting- 
 basket. Make haste down, Phoebe, to be ready to open the 
 door for Mrs. Rowland. Don't keep her waiting a moment on 
 the steps." 
 
 " She has not got to the steps yet," said George. " She is 
 talking to Mrs. Grey. Mrs. Grey was coming here, and mamma 
 went and spoke to her. Oh, Matilda, come and look how they 
 are nodding their bonnets at each other ! I think Mrs. Grey 
 is very angry, she wags her head about so. There ! now she 
 is going away. There she goes across the road ! and mamma 
 is coming up the steps." 
 
 After a minute or two of silent expectation, Mrs. Rowland 
 entered her mother's room. She brought with her a draught 
 of wintry air, which, as she jerked aside her ample silk cloak, 
 on taking her seat on the sofa, seemed to chill the invalid, 
 though there was now a patch of colour on each withered 
 cheek. 
 
 " How much better you look, ma'am ! " was the daughter's 
 
DEERBROOK. 193 
 
 p:reeting. " I always thought it would be a pity to disturb 
 Philip about you: and now, if he were to see you, he would 
 not believe that you had been ill. Mr. Eowland would be 
 satisfied that I am right, I am sure, if he were to come in." 
 
 " My mistress is noways better," said Phoebe, bluntly. 
 *' She is not the better for that flush she has got now, but the 
 worse." 
 
 " Never mind, Phoebe ! I shall do very well, I dare say," 
 said Mrs. Enderby, with a sigh. " Well, my dear, how do you 
 all go on at home?" 
 
 *' Much as usual, ma'am, But that reminds me — Matilda, 
 my own love. Miss Young must be wanting you for your 
 lesson on objects. Go, my dear." 
 
 " I hoped Matilda was come for the day," said Mrs. En- 
 derby. " I quite expected she was to stay with me to-day. 
 Do let me have her, my dear : it will do me so much 
 good." 
 
 " You are very kind, ma'am, but it is quite impossible. It 
 is totally out of the question, I assure you. Matilda, my love, 
 go this instant. We make a great point of the lessons on 
 objects. Pray, Phoebe, tie Miss Rowland's bonnet, and make 
 haste." 
 
 Phoebe did so, taking leave to observe that little girls were 
 likely to live long enough to know plenty of things after they 
 had no grandmammas left to be a comfort to. 
 
 Mrs. Enderby struggled to say, " Hush, Phoebe ; " but she 
 found she could not speak. George was desired to go with 
 his sister, and was scarcely allowed time to kiss his grand- 
 mamma. While Phoebe was taking the children down stairs, 
 Mrs. Rowland wondered that some people allowed their ser- 
 vants to take such liberties as were taken ; and gave notice 
 that though she tolerated Phoebe, because Phoebe's mistress 
 had taken a fancy to her, she could not allow her family plans 
 to be made a subject of remark to her mother's domestics. 
 Mrs. Enderby had not quite decided upon her line of reply, 
 when Phoebe came back, and occupied herself in supplying 
 her mistress, first with a freshly-heated footstool, and then 
 with a cup of arrowroot. 
 
 " Where do you get your arrowroot, ma'am? " asked Mrs. 
 Rowland. "I want some extremely for my poor dear Anna; 
 and I can procure none that is at all to compare with yours." 
 
 "Mrs. Grey was so kind as to send me some, my dear; 
 and it really is excellent. Phoebe, how much of it is there 
 
 
 
194 DEERBROOK, 
 
 left? I dare say there may be enough for a cup or two for 
 dear little Anna." 
 
 Phoebe replied, that there was very little left — ^not any 
 more than her mistress would require before she could grow- 
 stronger. Mrs. Kowland would not take the rest of the 
 arrowroot on any account: she was only wondering where 
 Mrs. Grey got it, and how it was that the Greys always con- 
 trived to help themselves to the best of everything. Phoebe 
 was going to observe that they helped their neighbours to 
 good things as well as themselves; but a look from her 
 mistress stopped her. Mrs. Enderby remarked that she had 
 no doubt she could learn from Mrs. Grey or Sophia, the next 
 time she saw either of them, where they procured their 
 arrowroot. " It is a long time since I saw Mrs. Grey," she 
 observed, timidly. 
 
 " My dear ma'am, how can you think of seeing any one 
 in your present state?" inquired the daughter! "One need 
 but see the flush in your face, to know that it would be highly 
 improper for you to admit company. I could not take the 
 responsibility of allowing it." 
 
 " But Mrs. Grey is not company, my love." 
 
 " Any one is company to an invalid. I assure you I pre- 
 vented Mr. Rowland's coming for the reason I assign. He 
 was coming yesterday, but I would not let him." 
 
 " I should like to see him, however. And I should like to 
 see Mrs. Grey too." 
 
 Under pretence of arranging her mistress's shawl, Phoebe 
 touched the old lady's shoulder, in token of intelligence. Mrs. 
 Enderby was somewhat flurried at the liberty which she felt 
 her maid had taken with her daughter; but she could not 
 notice it now; and she introduced another subject. Had 
 everybody done calling on the Hopes? Were the wedding 
 visits all over? Oh, yes, Mrs. Eowland was thankful to say; 
 */hat fuss was at an end at last. One would think nobody had 
 ever been married before, by the noise that had been made in 
 Deerbrook about this young couple. 
 
 " Mr. Hope is such a favourite ! " observed Mrs. Enderby. 
 
 " He has been so; but it won't last. I never saw a young 
 man so gone off as he is. He has not been like the same man 
 since he connected himself with the Greys so decidedly. 
 Surely, ma'am, you must perceive that." 
 
 " It had not occured to me, my dear. He comes very often, 
 and he is always extremely kind and very entertaining. He 
 
DEERBROOK. 195 
 
 brought his bride with him yesterday, which I thought very 
 attentive, as I could not go and pay my respects to her. And 
 really, Priscilla, whether it was that I had not seen her for 
 some time, or that pretty young ladies look prettiest in an 
 old woman's sick-room, I thought she was more beautiful 
 than ever." 
 
 " She is handsome," admitted Mrs. Eowland. *^ Poor thing ! 
 it makes one sorry for her, when one thinks what is before her." 
 
 "What is before her?" ask Mrs. Enderby, alarmed. 
 
 " If she loves her husband at all, she must suffer cruelly 
 in seeing him act as he persists in doing; and she must 
 tremble in looking forward to the consequences. He is quite 
 obstinate about voting for Mr. Lowry, though there is not a 
 soul in Deerbrook to keep him in countenance ; and everybody 
 knows how strongly Sir William Hunter has expressed him- 
 self in favour of Mr. Ballinger. It is thought the consequences 
 will be very serious to Mr. Hope. There is his almshouse 
 practice at stake, at all events; and I fancy a good many 
 families will have no more to do with him if he defies the 
 Hunters, and goes against the opinions of all his neighbours. 
 His wife must see that he has nobody with him. I do pity 
 the poor young thing! " 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the old lady, " can nothing be done, I 
 wonder. I declare I am quite concerned. I should hope 
 something may be done. I would take the liberty of speak- 
 ing to him myself, rather than that any harm should happen 
 to him. He has always been so very kind to me, that I 
 think I could venture to say anything to him. I will turn it 
 over in my mind, and see what can be done." 
 
 " You will not prevail with him, ma'am, I am afraid. If 
 Mr. Grey speaks in vain (as I know he has done), it is not 
 likely that any one else will have any influence over him. No, 
 no ; the wilful must be left to their own devices. Whatever 
 you do, ma'am, do not speak to the bride about it, or there is 
 no knowing what you may bring upon yourself." 
 
 " What could I bring upon myself, my dear?" 
 
 " Oh, those who do not see the vixen in that pretty face of 
 hers, have not such good eyes as she has herself. For God's 
 sake, ma'am, do not offend her ! " 
 
 Mrs. Enderby was now full of concern ; and being as 
 unhappy as she could be made for the present, her daughter 
 took her leave. The old lady looked into the fire and sighed, 
 for some minutes after she was left alone. When Phcebe re- 
 
 o 2 
 
196 DEERBROOK. 
 
 entered, her mistress declared that she felt quite tired out. 
 and must lie down. Before she closed her eyes, she raised 
 her head again, and said — 
 
 " Phoebe, I am surprised at you " 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, you mean about my taking the liberty to 
 make a sign to you. But, ma'am, I trust you will excuse it, 
 because I am sure Mr. Hope would have no objection to your 
 seeing Mrs. Grey; and, to my thought, there is no occasion 
 to consult with anybody else ; and I have no doubt Mrs. Grey 
 will be calling again some day soon, just at a time when you 
 are fit to see her. Is not there any book, or anything, ma'am, 
 that I could be carrying over to Mrs. Grey's while you are 
 resting yourself, ma'am?" 
 
 " Ah ! do so, Phoebe. Carry that book, — it is not quite 
 due, but that does not signify ; carry that book over, and give 
 my regards, and beg to know how Mrs. Grey and all the 
 family are. And if Mrs. Grey should come in this evening," 
 she continued, in excuse to herself for her devices, " I shall 
 be able to find out, in a quiet way, where she gets her arrow- 
 root ; and Priscilla will be glad to know." 
 
 Whatever it might be that Phoebe said to Alice, and that 
 brought Mrs. Grey out into the hall to speak herself to 
 Phoebe, the result was that Mrs. Grey's lantern was ordered 
 as soon as it grew dark, and that she arrived in Mrs. Enderby's 
 apartment just as the old lady had waked from her doze, and 
 while the few tears that had escaped from under her eyelids 
 before she slept were yet scarcely dried upon her cheeks. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HOME AT "the HOPES'." 
 
 The evil consequences of Mr. Hope's voting for Lowry had 
 not been exaggerated in the anticipations of his friends and 
 vigilant neighbours ; and these consequences were rather 
 aggravated than alleviated by the circumstance that Mr. 
 Lowry won the election. First, the inhabitants of Deerbrook 
 were on the watch for any words which might fall from Sir 
 "William or Lady Hunter ; and when it was reported that Sir 
 William had frowned, and sworn an oath at Mr. Hope, on 
 hearing how he had voted, and that Lady Hunter had asked 
 whether it was possible that Mr. Hope had forgotten under 
 
BEERBROOK. 197 
 
 whose interest he held his appointment to attend the alms- 
 houses and the neighbouring hamlet, several persons deter- 
 mined to be beforehand with their great neighbours, and to 
 give the benefit of their family practice to some one of better 
 politics than Mr. Hope. In another set of minds, a real fear 
 of Mr. Hope, as a dangerous person, sprang up under the heat 
 of the displeasure of the influential members of society. Such 
 were slow to have recourse to another medical attendant, and 
 undertook the management of the health of their own families- 
 till they could find an adviser in whom they could perfectly 
 confide. When Mr. Lowry gained the contest, the population 
 of Deerbrook was electrified, and the unpleasantness of their 
 surprise was visited upon the only supporter of Mr. Lowry 
 whom the place contained. Wise folks were not wanting- 
 who talked of the skill which some persons had in keeping on 
 the winning side, — of reasons which time sometimes revealed 
 for persons choosing to be singular, — and some remarkable 
 incidents were reported of conversations between Mr. Lowry 
 and Mr. Hope in the lanes, and of certain w^onderful advan- 
 tages w^hich had lately fallen to one or another of Mr. Hope's 
 acquaintances, through some strong political interest. Mr. 
 Eowland doubted, at his own table, all the news he heard on 
 the subject, and said everywhere that he did not see why 
 a man should not vote as he pleased. Mr. Grey was very 
 sorry about the whole affair; he was sorry that there had 
 been any contest at all for the county, as it disturbed the- 
 peace of Deerbrook ; he was sorry that the candidate he pre- 
 ferred had won, as the fact exasperated the temper of Deer- 
 brook ; he was sorry that Hope had voted, to the detriment 
 of his name and rising fortunes ; and he was sorry that 
 he himself had been unable at last to vote for Lowry, to keep 
 his young friend in countenance: it was truly unlucky that 
 he should have passed his promise early to Sir William^ 
 Hunter not to vote. It was a sad business altogether. It 
 was only to be hoped that it would pass out of people's minds ; 
 that things would soon get into their usual train ; and that it 
 might be seven years before there was another election. 
 
 Hester complained to her husband and sister of the manner 
 in which she was treated by the tradespeople of the place. 
 She had desired to put herself on a footing of acquaintance-^- 
 ship with them, as neighbours, and persons with whom there^ 
 must be a constant transaction of business for life. She saw^ 
 at once the difference in the relation between tradespeople andi 
 
198 DEERBROOK. 
 
 their customers in a large town like Birmingham, and in a 
 village where there is but one baker, where the grocer and 
 hatter are the same personage, and where you cannot fly from 
 your butcher, be he ever so much your foe. Hester therefore 
 made it her business to transact herself all affairs with the 
 village tradesmen. She began her housekeeping energetically, 
 and might be seen in Mr. Jones's open shop in the coldest 
 morning of January, selecting her joint of meat; or deciding 
 among brown sugars at Tucker's, the grocer's. After the 
 election, she found some difference in the manner of most of 
 the shop-people towards her ; and she fancied more than there 
 was. With some of these persons, there was no more in 
 their minds than the consciousness of having discussed the 
 new family and Mr. Hope's vote, and come to a conclusion 
 against his " principles." With others, Mrs. Eowland's influ- 
 ence had done deeper mischief. A few woinis dropped by 
 herself, or reports of her sayings, circulated by her servants, 
 occasioned dislike or alarm which Hester's sensitiveness appre- 
 hended at once, and forthwith exaggerated. She complained 
 to her husband that she could not go to the shops with any 
 comfort, and that she thought she must turn over the house- 
 keeping to Morris. Margaret remonstrated against this ; and, 
 by being her sister's constant companion in her walks of 
 business as well as pleasure, hoped to be able to keep the 
 peace, and to preserve or restore, if need were, a good under- 
 standing between parties who could most materially promote 
 or injure each other's comfort. The leisure hours to which 
 she had looked forward with such transport were all chequered 
 with anxiety on this subject, in the intervals of speculation on 
 another matter, to which she found her mind constantly 
 recurring, in spite of her oft-repeated conviction that it was 
 no concern of hers, — where Mr. Enderby was, — what he was 
 doing, — and when he would come. Day by day, as she 
 spread her books before her, or began to write, she wondered 
 at her own listlessness about employments to which she had 
 looked forward with so much eagerness ; and when she detected 
 herself gazing into the fire by the half-hour together, or 
 allowing the ink to dry in her suspended pen, she found that 
 she was as far as ever from deciding whether Hester was not 
 now in the way to be less happy than ever, and how it was 
 that, with all her close friendship with Philip Enderby, of 
 which she had spoken so confidently to Maria, she was now 
 ift perfect ignorance of his movements and intentions. The 
 
DEERBROOK. lOD 
 
 whole was very strange, and, in the experience, somewhat 
 dreary. 
 
 Her great comfort was Edward : this was a new support 
 and a strong one : but even here she was compelled to own 
 herself somewhat disappointed. This brotherly relation, for 
 which she had longed all her life, did not bring the fulness of 
 satisfaction which she had anticipated. She had not a fault 
 to find with Edward : she was always called upon by his daily 
 conduct for admiration, esteem, and affection ; but all this was 
 not of the profit to her which she had expected. He seemed 
 altered: the flow of his spirits was much moderated; but 
 perhaps this was no loss, as his calmness, his gentle serious- 
 ness, and domestic benevolence were brought out more 
 strikingly than ever. Margaret's disappointment lay in the 
 intercourse between themselves. That Edward was reserved 
 — that beneath his remarkable frankness there lay an un- 
 communicativeness of disposition — no one could before his 
 marriage have made her believe: yet it certainly was so. 
 Though Hester and she never discussed Edward's character, 
 more or less — though Hester's love for him, and Margaret's 
 respect for that love, rendered all such conversation im- 
 possible, Margaret was perfectly well aware that Hester's 
 conviction on this particular point was the same as her own — 
 that Hester had discovered that she had not fully understood 
 her husband, and that there remained a region of his character 
 into which she had not yet penetrated. Margaret was obliged 
 to conclude that all this was natural and right, and that what 
 she had heard said of men generally was true even of Edward 
 Hope — that there are depths of character where there are not 
 regions of experience, which defy the sympathy and sagacity 
 of women. However natural and right all this might be, she 
 could not but be sorry for it. It brought disappointment to 
 herself, and, as she sadly suspected, to Hester. While con- 
 tinually and delightedly compelled to honour and regard him 
 more and more, and to rely upon him as she had never before 
 relied, she felt that he did not win, and even did not desire, 
 any intimate confidence. She found that she could still say 
 things to Maria which she could not say to him ; and that, 
 while their domestic conversation rarely flagged — while it 
 embraced a boundless range of fact, and all that they could 
 ascertain of morals, philosophy, and religion — the greatest 
 psychological events, the most interesting experiences of her 
 life might go forward without express recognition from 
 
200 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Edward. Such was her view of the case ; and this was the 
 disappointment which, in the early days of her new mode of 
 life, she had to acknowledge to herself, and to conceal from all 
 others. 
 
 One fine bright morning towards the end of January, the 
 sisters set out for their walk, willingly quitting the clear crack- 
 ling fire within for the sharp air and sparkling pathways 
 without. 
 
 '^ Which way shall we go ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 " Oh, I suppose along the high-road, as usual. How pro- 
 voking it is that we are prevented, day after day, from 
 getting to the woods by my snow-boots not having arrived ! 
 We will go by Mrs. Howell's for the chance of their having 
 eome." 
 
 Mrs. Howell had two expressions of countenance — the gra- 
 cious and the prim. Till lately, Hester had been favoured 
 with the first exclusively. She was now to be amused with 
 variety, and the prim was offered to her contemplation. Never 
 did Mrs. Howell look more inaccessible than to-day, when she 
 scarcely rose from her stool behind the counter, to learn what 
 was the errand of her customer. 
 
 *• You guess what I am come for, Mrs. Howell, I dare say. 
 Have my boots arrived yet ? " 
 
 " I am not aware of their having arrived, ma'am. But Miss 
 Miskin is now occupied in that department." 
 
 " Only consider how the winter is getting on, Mrs. Howell ! 
 and I can walk nowhere but in the high-road, for want of my 
 boots.'* 
 
 Mrs. Howell curtsied. 
 
 " Can you not hasten your agent, or help me to my boots, 
 one way or another ? Is there no one in Deerbrook whom 
 you could employ to make me a pair ? " 
 
 Mrs. Howell cast up her hands and eyes. 
 
 " How do other ladies manage to obtain their boots before 
 the snow comes, instead of after it has melted ? " 
 
 ^^ Perhaps you will ask them yourself, ma'am : I conceive 
 you know all the ladies in Deerbrook. You will find Miss 
 Miskin in that department, ladies, if you wish to investi- 
 
 Hester invaded the domain of Miss Miskin — the shoe-shop 
 behind the other counter — in the hope of finding something 
 to put on her feet, which should enable her to walk where 
 ehe pleased. While engaged in turning over the stock, with- 
 
DEERBROOK. 201 
 
 out any help from Miss Miskin, who was imitating Mrs. 
 Howell's distant manner with considerable success, a carriage 
 drove up to the door, which could be no other than Sir Wil- 
 liam Hunter's ; and Lady Hunter's voice was accordingly 
 heard, the next minute, asking for green sewing- silk. The 
 gentle drawl of Mrs. Howell's tone conveyed that her counte- 
 nance had resumed its primary expression. She observed 
 upon the horrors of the fire which had happened at Blickley 
 the night before. Lady Hunter had not heard of it; and the 
 relation therefore followed of the burning down of a house 
 and shop in Blickley, when a nursemaid and baby were lost in 
 the flames. 
 
 *' I should hope it is not true," observed Lady Hunter. 
 " Last night, did you say? — Early this morning? There has 
 scarcely been time for the news to arrive of a fire at Blickley 
 early this morning." 
 
 " It is certainly true, however, my lady. No doubt what- 
 ever of the catastrophe, I am grieved to say." And Mrs. 
 Howell's sighs were sympathetically responded to by Miss 
 Miskin in the back shop. 
 
 " But how did you hear it? " asked Lady Hunter. 
 
 There was no audible answer. There were probably signs 
 and intimations of something; for Lady Hunter made a cir- 
 cuit round the shop, on some pretence, and stared in at the 
 door of the shoe-parlour, just at the right moment for perceiv- 
 ing, if she so pleased, the beautiful smallness of Hester's foot. 
 Some low, murmuring, conversation then passed at Mrs. 
 Howell's counter, when the words " black servant " alone met 
 Margaret's ear. 
 
 Hester found nothing that she could wear. The more 
 she pressed for information and assistance about obtaining 
 boots, the more provokingly cool Miss Miskin grew. At last 
 Hester turned to her sister with a hasty inquiry what was to 
 be done. 
 
 " We must hope for better fortune before next winter, I 
 suppose," said Margaret, smiling. 
 
 ^* And wet my feet everyday this winter," said Hester; " for 
 I will not be confined to the high-road for any such reason 
 as this." 
 
 " Dear me, ma'am, you are warm! " simpered Miss Miskin. 
 
 " I warm! What do you mean, Miss Miskin ? " 
 
 " You are warm, ma'am: — not that it is of any consequence; 
 but you are a little warm at present." 
 
202 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Nobody can charge that upon you, Miss Miskin, I must 
 say," observed Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " No, ma'am, that they cannot, nor ever will. I am not 
 apt to be warm, and I hope I can excuse .... Good 
 morning, ladies." 
 
 Mrs. Howell treated her customers with a swimming curtsey 
 as they went out, glancing at her shop-woman the while. 
 Lady Hunter favoured them with a full stare. 
 
 " What excessive impertinence!" exclaimed Hester. " To 
 tell me that I was warm, and she hoped she could excuse I My 
 husband will hardly believe it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he will. He knows them for two ignorant, silly 
 women ; worth observing, perhaps, but not worth minding. 
 Have you any other shop to go to ? " 
 
 Yes, the tinman's, for a saucepan or two of a size not yet 
 supplied, for which Morris had petitioned. * 
 
 The tinman was either unable or not very anxious to 
 understand Hester's requisitions. He brought out everything 
 but what was wanted; and was so extremely interested in 
 observing something that was going on over the way, that he 
 v/as every moment casting glances abroad between the dutch- 
 ovens and fenders that half-darkened his window. The ladies 
 at last looked over the way too, and saw a gig containing a 
 black footman standing before the opposite house. 
 
 "A stranger in Deerbrook!" observed Margaret, as they 
 issued from the shop. " I do not wonder that Mr. Hill had 
 so little attention to spare for us." 
 
 The sisters had been so accustomed, during all the years of 
 their Birmingham life, to see faces that they did not know, 
 that they could not yet sympathise with the emotions caused 
 in Deerbrook by the appearance of a stranger. They walked 
 on, forgetting in conversation all about the gig and black 
 servant. Hester had not been pleased by the insufficient 
 attention she had met with in both the shops she had visited, 
 and she did not enjoy her walk as was her wont. As they 
 trod the crisp and glittering snow, Margaret hoped the little 
 Eowlands and Greys were happy in making the snow-man 
 which had been the vision of their imaginations since the 
 winter set in : but Hester cast longing eyes on the dark woods 
 which sprang from the sheeted meadows, and thought nothing 
 could be so delightful as to wander among them, and gather 
 icicles from the boughs, even though the paths should be 
 ancle-deep in snow. 
 
DEERBROOK. 203 
 
 Just when they were proposing to turn back, a horseman 
 appeared on the ridge of the rising ground over which the 
 road passed. "It is Edward!" cried Hester. "I had no 
 idea we should meet him on this road." And she quickened 
 her pace, and her countenance brightened as if she had not 
 seen him for a month. Before they met him, however, the 
 gig with the black footman, now containing also a gentleman 
 driving, overtook and slowly passed them — the gentleman 
 looking round him, as if in search of some dwelling here- 
 abouts. On approaching Hope, the stranger drew up, touched 
 his hat, and asked a question ; and on receiving the answer, 
 bowed, turned round, and repassed Hester and Margaret. 
 Hope joined his wife and sister, and walked his horse beside 
 the path. 
 
 " Who is that gentleman, Edward ? " 
 
 " I believe it is Mr. Foster, the surgeon at Blickley." 
 
 " What did he want with you ? " 
 
 " He wanted to know whether he was in the right road to 
 the Eussell Taylors." 
 
 " The Eussell Taylors ! Your patients I " 
 
 " Once my patients, but no longer so. It seems they are 
 Mr. Foster's patients now." 
 
 Hester made no reply. 
 
 " Can you see from your pathway what is going on below 
 there in the meadow? I see the skaters very busy on the 
 ponds. Why do not you go there, instead of walking here 
 every day ? " 
 
 Margaret had to explain the case about the snow-boots, for 
 Hester's face was bathed in tears. Edward rallied her gently; 
 but it would not do. She motioned to him to ride on, and he 
 thought it best to do so. The sisters proceeded in silence, 
 Hester's tears flowing faster and faster. Instead of walking 
 through Deerbrook, she took a back road homewards, and 
 drew down her veil. As ill luck would have it, however, 
 they met Sophia Grey and her sisters, and Sophia would stop. 
 She was about to turn back with them, when she saw that 
 something was the matter, and then she checked herself awk- 
 wardly, and wished her cousins good morning, while Fanny 
 and Mary were staring at Hester. 
 
 " One ought not to mind," said Margaret, half-laughing: 
 " there are so many causes for grown people's tears! but I 
 always feel now as I did when I was a child — a shame at being 
 
204 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Been in tears, and an excessive desire to tell people that I have 
 not been naughty." 
 
 " You could not have told Sophia so of me, I am sure," said 
 Hester. 
 
 " Yes, I could; you are not crying because you have been 
 naughty, but you are naughty because you cry; and that may 
 be cured presently." 
 
 It was not presently cured, however. During the whole of 
 dinner-time, Hester's tears continued to flow ; and she could 
 not eat, though she made efforts to do so. Edward and Mar- 
 garet talked a great deal about skating and snow-men, and 
 about the fire at Blickley; but they came to a stand at last. 
 The footboy went about on tiptoe, and shut the door as if he 
 had been in a sick-room ; and this made Hester's short sobs 
 only the more audible. It was a relief w^hen the oranges 
 were on the table at last, and the door closed behind the 
 dinner and the boy. Margaret began to peel an orange for her 
 sister, and Edward poured out a glass of wine ; he placed 
 it before her, and then drew his chair to her side, saying — 
 
 " Now, my dear, let us get to the bottom of all this distress." 
 
 " No, do not try, Edward. Never mind me ! I shall get the 
 better of this, by-and-by : only let me alone." 
 
 *' Thank you !" said Hope, smiling. *' I like to see people 
 reasonable ! I am to see you sorrowing in this way, and for 
 very sufficient cause, and I am neither to mind your troubles 
 nor my own, but to be as merry as if nothing had happened ! 
 Is not this reasonable, Margaret ? " 
 
 " For very sufficient cause !" said Hester, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; for very sufficient cause. It must be a 
 painful thing to you to find my neighbours beginning to 
 dislike me ; to have the tradespeople impertinent to you on 
 my account ; to see my patients leave me, and call in some- 
 body from a distance, in the face of all Deerbrook. It must 
 make you anxious to think what is to become of us, if the 
 discontent continues and spreads : and it must be a bitter 
 disappointment to you to find that to be my wife is not to be 
 so happy as we expected. Here is cause enough for tears." 
 
 In the midst of her grief, Hester looked up at her husband 
 with an expression of gratitude and tenderness which consoled 
 him for her. 
 
 " I will not answer for it," he continued, " but that we may 
 all three sit down to weep together, one of these days." 
 
BEERBROOK. 205 
 
 **And then," said Margaret, "Hester will be the first to 
 cheer up and comfort us." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," replied Hope. " Meantime, is 
 there anything that you would have had done otherwise by 
 me ? Was I right or not to vote ? and was there anything 
 wrong in my manner of doing it ? Is there any cause what- 
 ever for repentance?" 
 
 " None, none," cried Hester. ^' You have been right 
 throughout. I glory in all you do." 
 
 " To me it seems that you could not have done otherwise," 
 observed Margaret. " It was a simple, unavoidable act, done 
 with the simplicity of affairs Avhich happen in natural course. 
 I neither repent it for you, nor glory in it." 
 
 " That is just my view of it, Margaret. And it follows 
 that the consequences are to be taken as coming in natural 
 course too. Does not this again simplify the affair, Hester ? " 
 
 " It lights it up," replied Hester. " It reminds me how all 
 would have been if you had acted otherwise than as you did. 
 It is, to be sure, scarcely possible to conceive of such a thing, 
 — but if you had not voted, I should have — not despised you 
 in any degree, — but lost confidence in you a little." 
 
 " That is a very mild way of putting it," said Hope, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, we are spared that !" exclaimed Margaret. 
 " But, brother, tell us the worst that you think can come of 
 this displeasure against you. I rather suspect, however, that 
 we have suffered the worst already, in discovering that people 
 can be displeased with you." 
 
 " That being so extremely rare a lot in this world, and 
 especially in the world of a village," replied Hope, " I really 
 do not know what to expect as the last result of this affair, 
 nor am I anxious to foresee. I never liked the sort of attach- 
 ment that most of my neighbours have testified for me. It 
 "V was to their honour in as far as it showed kindness of heart , 
 but it was unreasonable : so unreasonable that I imagine the 
 opposite feelings which are now succeeding may be just as 
 much in excess. Suppose it should be so, HesteA?" 
 
 " Well, what then?" she asked, sighing. 
 
 " Suppose our neighbours should send me to Coventry, and 
 my patients should leave me so far as that we should not 
 have enough to live on ? " 
 
 " That would be persecution," cried Hester, brightening. 
 " I could bear persecution, — downright persecution " 
 
206 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " You could bear seeing your husband torn by lions in the 
 amphitheatre," said Margaret, smiling, " but . . . ." 
 
 " But a toss of Mrs. Howell's head is unendurable," said 
 Hope, with solemnity. 
 
 Hester looked down, blushing like a chidden child. 
 
 " But about this persecution," said she. " What made you 
 ask those questions just now ?" 
 
 <' I find my neighbours more angry with me than I could 
 have supposed possible, my dear. I have been treated with 
 great and growing rudeness for some days. In a place like 
 this, you know, offences seldom come alone. If you do a 
 thing which a village public does not approve, there will be 
 offence in whatever else you say and do for some time after. 
 And I suspect that is my case now. I may be mistaken, 
 however ; and whatever happens, I hope, my love, we shall 
 all be to the last degree careful not to see offencfe where it is 
 not intended." 
 
 " Not to do the very thing we are suffering under our- 
 selves," observed Margaret. 
 
 " We will not watch our neighbours, and canvass their 
 opinions of us by our own fireside," said Hope. " We will 
 conclude them all to be our friends till they give us clear 
 evidence to the contrary. Shall it not be so, love ? " 
 
 " I know what you mean," said Hester, with some resent- 
 ment in her voice and manner. " You cannot trust my 
 temper in your affairs : and you are perfectly right. My 
 temper is not to be trusted." 
 
 " Very few are, in the first agonies of unpopularity ; and 
 such faith in one's neighbours as shall supersede watching 
 them ought hardly to be looked for in the atmosphere of 
 Deerbrook. We must all look to ourselves." 
 
 " I understand you," said Hester. " I take the lesson home, 
 I assure you. It is clear to me through your cautious phrase, 
 — the * we,' and ^ all of us,' and ^ ourselves.' But remember 
 this, — that people are not made alike, and are not able, and 
 not intended to feel alike ; and if some have less power than 
 others over their sorrow, at least over their tears, it does not 
 follow that they cannot bear as well what they have to bear. 
 If I cannot sit looking as Margaret does, peeling oranges and 
 philosophising, it may not be that I have less strength at my 
 heart, but that I have more at stake, — more — " 
 
 Hope started from her side, and leaned against the mantel- 
 piece, covering his face with his hands. At this moment, the 
 
DEERBROOK. 207 
 
 boy entered witli a message from a patient in the next street, 
 who wanted Mr. Hope. 
 
 " Oh, do not leave me, Edward ! Do not leave me at this 
 moment !" cried Hester. " Come back for five minutes !" 
 
 Hope quietly said that he should return presently, and went 
 out. When the hall door was heard to close behind him, 
 Hester flung herself down on the sofa. Whatever momentary 
 resentment Margaret might have felt at her sister's words, it 
 vanished at the sight of Hester's attitude of wretchedness. 
 She sat on a footstool beside the sofa, and took her sister's 
 hand in hers. 
 
 " You are kinder to me than I deserve," murmured Hester: 
 ^* but, Margaret, mind what I say ! never marry, Margaret ! 
 Never love, and never marry, Margaret ! " 
 
 Margaret laid her hand on her sister's shoulder, saying, — 
 ** Stop here, Hester 1 While I was the only friend you had, 
 it was right and kind to tell me all that was in your heart. 
 But now that there is one nearer and dearer, and far, far 
 worthier than I, I can hear nothing like this. Nor are you 
 fit just now to speak of these serious things : you are dis- 
 composed " 
 
 " One would think you were echoing Miss Miskin, Margaret, 
 — * You are warm, ma'am.' But you must hear this much. 
 I insist upon it. If you would have heard me, you would 
 have found that I was not going to say a word about my 
 husband inconsistent with all the love and honour you would 
 have him enjoy. I assure you, you might trust me not to com- 
 plain of my husband. I have no words in which to say how^ 
 noble he is. But, oh ! it is all true about the wretchedness of 
 married life ! I am wretched, Margaret." 
 
 " So I see," said Margaret, in deep sorrow. 
 
 " Life is a blank to me. I have no hope left. I am neither 
 wiser, nor better, nor happier for God having given me all 
 that should make a woman what I meant to be. What can 
 God give me more than I have?" 
 
 " I was just thinking so," replied Margaret, mournfully. 
 
 " What foUows then?" 
 
 " Not that all married people are unhappy because you are." 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes! all who are capable of happiness: all who 
 can love. The truth is, there is no perfect confidence in the 
 w^orld : there is no rest for one's heart. I believed there was, 
 and I am disappointed : and if you believe there is, you will 
 be disappointed too, I warn you." 
 
208 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " I sliall not neglect your warning ; but I do believe there 
 is rest for rational affections — I am confident there is, if the 
 primary condition is fulfilled — if there is repose in God 
 together with human love." 
 
 " You think that trust in God is wanting in me?" 
 
 " Do let us speak of something else," said Margaret. "We 
 are wrong to think and talk of ourselves as we do. There is 
 something sickly about our state while we do so, and Ave 
 deserve to be suffering as we are. Come ! let us be up and 
 doing. Let me read to you ; or will you practise with me till 
 Edward comes back?" 
 
 " Not till you have answered my question, Margaret. Do 
 you believe that my wretchedness is from want of trust in 
 God?" 
 
 " I believe," said Margaret, seriously, " that all restless and 
 passionate suffering is from that cause. And nbw, Hester, no 
 more." 
 
 Hester allowed Margaret to read to her ; but it would not 
 do. She was too highly wrought up for common interests. 
 The reading was broken off by her hysterical sobs; and it 
 was clear that the best thing to be done was to get her to bed, 
 under Morris's care, that all agitating conversation might be 
 avoided. When Mr. Hope returned, he found Margaret 
 sitting alone at the tea-table. If she had had no greater 
 power of self-control than her sister, Edward might have been 
 made wretched enough, for her heart was full of dismay: but 
 she felt the importance of the duty of supporting him, and he 
 found her, though serious, apparently cheerful. 
 
 " I have sent Hester to bed," said she, as he entered. " She 
 was worn out. Yes : just go and speak to her ; but do not 
 give her the opportunity of any more conversation till she has 
 slept. Tell her that I am going to send her some tea ; and 
 by that time yours will be ready." 
 
 *' Just one word upon the events of to-day," said Hope, as 
 he took his seat at the tea-table, after having reported that 
 Hester was tolerably composed : — "just one word, and no more. 
 We must avoid bringing emotions to a point — giving occasion 
 for " 
 
 " I entirely agree with you," said Margaret. " She requires 
 to be drawn out of herself. She cannot bear that opening of 
 the sluices, which is a benefit and comfort to some people. 
 Let us keep them shut, and when it comes to acting, see how 
 she will act!" 
 
DEERBROOK. 209 
 
 "Bless you for that!" was on Hope's lips; but he did not 
 say it. Tea was soon dismissed, and he then took up the 
 newspaper; and when that was finished, he found he could 
 not read to Margaret — he must write; — ^lie had a case to 
 report for a medical journal. 
 
 " I hope I have not spoiled your evening," said Hester, 
 languidly, when her sister went to bid her good-night. " I 
 have been listening ; but I could not hear you either laugh- 
 ing or talking." 
 
 " Because we have been neither laughing nor talking. My 
 brother has been writing " 
 
 " Writing! To whom? To Emily, or to Anne? " 
 
 " To a far more redoubtable person than either: to the 
 editor of some one of those green and blue periodicals that he 
 devours, as if they were poetry. And I have been copying 
 music." 
 
 " How tired you look!" 
 
 " Well, then, good-night!" 
 
 Margaret might well look tired ; but she did not go to rest 
 for long. How should she rest, while her soul was sick with 
 dismay, her heart weighed down with disappointment, her 
 sister's sobs still sounding in her ear, her sister's agonized 
 countenance rising up from moment to moment, as often as 
 she closed her eyes? And all this within the sacred enclosure 
 of home, in the very sanctuary of peace! All this where 
 love had guided the suffering one to marriage — where there 
 was present neither sickness, nor calamity, nor guilt, but the 
 very opposites of all these! Could it then be true, that the 
 only sanctuary of peace is in the heart? that while love is the 
 master passion of humanity, the main-spring of human action, 
 the crowning interest of human life — while it is ordained, 
 natural, inevitable, it should issue as if it were discountenanced 
 by Providence, unnatural, and to be repelled? Could it be 
 so? Was Hester's warning against love, against marriage, 
 reasonable, and to be regarded? That warning Margaret 
 thought she could never put aside, so heavily had it sunk upon 
 her heart, crushing — she knew not what there. If it was not 
 a reasonable warning, whither should she turn for consolation 
 for Hester ? If this misery arose out of an incapacity in 
 Hester herself for happiness in domestic life, then farewell 
 sisterly comfort — farewell all the bright visions she had ever 
 indulged on behalf of the one who had always been her nearest 
 and dearest ? Instead of these, there must be struggle and 
 
 P 
 
210 DEERBROOK. 
 
 grief, far deeper than in the anxious years that were gone ; 
 struggle with an evil which must grow if it does not diminish, 
 and grief for an added sufferer — ^for one who deserved blessing 
 where he was destined to receive torture. This was not the 
 first time by a hundred that Hester had kept Margaret from 
 her pillow, and then driven rest from it ; but never had the 
 trial been so great as now. There had been anxiety formerly ; 
 now there was something like despair, after an interval of hope 
 and comparative ease. 
 
 Mankind are ignorant enough. Heaven knows, both in the 
 mass, about general interests, and individually, about the 
 things which belong to their peace : but of all mortals, none 
 perhaps are so awfully self-deluded as the unamiable. They 
 do not, any more than others, sin for the sake of sinning ; but 
 the amount of woe caused by their selfish unconsciousness is 
 such as may well make their weakness an equivalent for other 
 men's gravest crimes. There is a great diversity of hiding- 
 places for their consciences — many mansions in the dim prison 
 of discontent : but it may be doubted whether, in the hour 
 when all shall be uncovered to the eternal day, there will be 
 revealed a lower deep than the hell which they have made. 
 They, perhaps, are the only order of evil ones who suffer hell 
 without seeing and knowing that it is hell. But they are 
 under a heavier curse even than this ; they inflict torments, 
 second only to their own, with an unconsciousness almost 
 worthy of spirits of light. While they complacently con- 
 clude themselves the victims of others, or pronounce, inwardly 
 or aloud, that they are too singular, or too refined, for com- 
 mon appreciation, they are putting in motion an enginery of 
 torture whose aspect will one day blast their minds' sight. 
 The dumb groans of their victims will sooner or later return 
 upon their ears from the depths of the heaven to which the 
 sorrows of men daily ascend. The spirit sinks under the 
 prospect of the retribution of the unamiable, if all that happens 
 be indeed for eternity, if there be indeed a record — an impress 
 on some one or other human spirit — of every chilling frown, 
 of every querulous tone, of every bitter jest, of every insulting 
 word — of all abuses of that tremendous power which mind has 
 over mind. The throbbing pulses, the quivering nerves, the 
 wrung hearts, that surround the unamiable — what a cloud of 
 witnesses is here ! and what plea shall avail against them ? 
 The terror of innocents who should know no fear — the vin- 
 dictive emotions of dependants who dare not complain — the 
 
DEERBROOK. 211 
 
 faintness of heart of life-long companions — the anguish of 
 those who love — the unholy exultation of those who hate, — 
 what an array of judges is here ! and where can appeal be 
 lodged against their sentence? Is pride of singularity a 
 rational plea ? Is super-refinement, or circumstance of God, 
 or uncongeniality in man, a sufficient ground of appeal, when 
 the refinement of one is a grace granted for the luxury of all, 
 when circumstance is given to be conquered, and uncon- 
 geniality is appointed for discipline ? The sensualist has 
 brutified the seraphic nature with which he was endowed. 
 The depredator has intercepted the rewards of toil, and marred 
 the image of justice, and dimmed the lustre of faith in men's 
 minds. The imperial tyrant has invoked a whirlwind, to lay 
 waste, for an hour of God's eternal year, some region of society. 
 But the unamiable — the domestic torturer — has heaped wrong 
 upon wrong, and woe upon woe, through the whole portion of 
 time which was given into his power, till it would be rash to 
 say that any others are more guilty than he. If there be hope 
 or eolace for such, it is that there may have been tempers 
 about him the opposite of his own. It is matter of humiliating 
 gratitude that there were some which he could not ruin ; and 
 that he was the medium of discipline by which they were 
 exercised in forbearance, in divine forgiveness and love. If 
 there be solace in such an occasional result, let it be made the 
 most of by those who need it ; for it is the only possible 
 alleviation to their remorse. Let them accept it as the free 
 gift of a mercy which they have insulted, and a long-suffering 
 which they have defied. 
 
 Not thus, however, did Margaret regard the case of her 
 sister. She had but of late ceased to suppose herself in the 
 wrong when Hester was unhappy : and though she was now 
 relieved from the responsibility of her sister's peace, she was 
 slow to blame — ^reluctant to class the case lower than as one 
 of infirmity. Her last waking thoughts (and they were very 
 late) were of pity and of prayer. 
 
 As the door closed behind Margaret, Hope had flung down 
 his pen. In one moment she had returned for a book ; and 
 she found him by the fireside, leaning his head upon his arms 
 against the wall. There was something in his attitude which 
 startled her out of her wish for her book, and she quietly 
 withdrew without it. He turned, and spoke, but she was 
 gone. 
 
 " So this is home!" thought he, as he surveyed the room, 
 
 P 2 
 
212 DEERBROOK. 
 
 filled as it was with tokens of occupation, and appliances of 
 domestic life. " It is home to be more lonely than ever before 
 — and yet never to be alone with my secret! At my own 
 table, by my own hearth, I cannot look up into the faces 
 around me, nor say what I am thinking. In every act and 
 every word I am in danger of disturbing the innocent — even 
 of sullying the pure, and of breaking the bruised reed. 
 Would to God I had never seen them ! How have I abhorred 
 bondage all my life ! and I am in bondage every hour that I 
 sjDcnd at home. I have always insisted that there was no 
 bondage but in guilt. Is it so ? If it be so, then I am either 
 guilty, or in reality free. I have settled this before. I am 
 guilty ; or rather, I have been guilty ; and this is my retribu- 
 tion. Not guilty towards Margaret. Thank God, I have 
 done her no wrong ! Thank God, I have never been in her 
 eyes — what I must not think of! Nor could I ever have 
 been, if ... . She loves Enderby, I am certain, though she 
 does not know it herself. It is a blessing that she loves him, 
 if I could but always feel it so. I am not guilty towards her, 
 nor towards Hester, except in the weakness of declining to 
 inflict that suffering upon her which, fearful as it must have 
 been, might perhaps have proved less than, with all my care, 
 she must undergo now. There was my fault. I did not, I 
 declare, seek to attach her. I did nothing wrong so far. But 
 I dared to measure suffering — to calculate consequences pre- 
 sumptuously and vainly : and this is my retribution. How 
 would it have been, if I had allowed them to go back to 
 Birmingham, and had been haunted with the image of her 
 there ? But why go over this again, when my very soul is 
 weary of it all ? It lies behind, and let it be forgotten. The 
 present is what I have to do with, and it is quite enough. I 
 have injured, cruelly injured myself, and I must bear with 
 myself. Here I am, charged with the duty of not casting my 
 shadow over the innocent, and of strengthening the infirm. I 
 have a clear duty before me — that is one blessing. The inno- 
 cent will soon be taken from under my shadow — I trust so— 
 for my duty there is almost too hard. How she would con- 
 fide in me, and I must not let her, and must continually 
 disappoint her, and suffer in her affection. I cannot even be 
 to her what our relation warrants. And all the while her 
 tlioughts are my thoughts ; her .... But this will never do. 
 It is enough that she trusts me, and that I deserve that she 
 should. This is all that I can ever have or hope for ; but I 
 
DEERBROOK. 213 
 
 have won thus much ; and I shall keep it. Not a doubt or 
 fear, not a moment's ruffle of spirits, shall she ever experience 
 from me. As for my own poor sufferer — what months and 
 years are before us both ! What a discipline before she can 
 be at peace ! If she were to look forward as I do, her heart 
 would sink as mine does, and perhaps she would try .... 
 Brut we must not look forward : her heart must not sink. I 
 must keep it up. She has strength under her weakness, and 
 I must help her to bring it out and use it. There ought to 
 be, there must be, peace in store for such generosity of spirit 
 as lies under the jealousy, for such devotedness, for such 
 power. Margaret says, ' When it comes to acting, see how 
 she will act.' Oh, that it might please Heaven to send such 
 adversity as would prove to herself how nobly she can act ! 
 If some strong call on her power would come in aid of what I 
 would fain do for her, I care not what it is. If I can only 
 witness my own wrong repaired — if I can but see her blessed 
 from within, let all other things be as they may ! The very 
 thought frees me, and I breathe again ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ENDERBY NEWS. 
 
 "Mamma, what do you think Fanny and Mary Grey say ?" 
 asked Matilda of her mother. 
 
 " My dear, I wish you would not tease me with what the 
 Greys say. They say very little that is worth repeating." 
 
 " Well, but you must hear this, mamma. Fanny and Mary 
 were walking with Sophia yesterday, and they met Mrs. Hope 
 and Miss Ibbotson in Turn-stile Lane ; and Mrs. Hope was 
 crying so, you can't think." 
 
 " Indeed ! Crying ! What, in the middle of the day ?" 
 
 " Yes; just before dinner. She had her veil down, and she 
 did not want to stop, evidently, mamma. She ." 
 
 " I should wonder if she did," observed Mr. Rowland from 
 the other side of the newspaper he wap reading. " If Dr. and 
 Mrs. Levitt were to come in the next time you cry, Matilda, 
 you would not want to stay in the parlour, evidently, I should 
 think. For my part, I never show my face when I am 
 crying." 
 
 " You cry, papa ! " cried little Anna. " Do you ever cry ? " 
 
214 DEKRBROOK. 
 
 " Have you never found me behind the deals, or among the 
 sacks in the granary, with my finger in my eye ? " 
 
 " No, papa. Do show us how you look when you cry." 
 
 Mr. Eowland's face, all dolefulness, emerged from behind the 
 newspaper, and the children shouted. 
 
 " But," said Matilda, observing that her mother's brow 
 began to lower, " I think it is very odd that Mrs. Hope did 
 not stay at home if she wanted to cry. It is so very odd to 
 go crying about the streets ! " 
 
 " I dare say Deerbrook is very much obliged to her," said 
 papa. " It will be something to talk about for a week." 
 
 " But what could she be crying for, papa ? " 
 
 " Suppose you ask her, my dear ? Had you not better put 
 on your bonnet, and go directly to Mr. Hope's, and ask, with 
 our compliments, what Mrs. Hope was crying for at four 
 o'clock yesterday afternoon? Of course she can Hell better 
 than anybody else." 
 
 " Nonsense, Mr. Rowland," observed his lady. " Go, children, 
 it is very near school-time." 
 
 " No, mamma ; not by " 
 
 " Go, I insist upon it, Matilda. I will have you do as you 
 are bid. Go, George : go, Anna. — Now, my love, did I not 
 tell you so, long ago ? Do not you remember my observing 
 to you, how coldly Mr. Hope took our congratulations on his 
 engagement in the summer? I was sure there was some- 
 thing wrong. They are not happy, depend upon it." 
 
 ^* What a charming discovery that would be !" 
 
 *'You are very provoking, Mr. Rowland! I do believe 
 you try to imitate Mr. Grey's dry way of talking to his 
 wife." 
 
 " I thought I had heard you admire that way, my dear." 
 
 " For her, yes : it does very well for a woman like her : 
 but I beg you will not try it upon me, Mr. Rowland." 
 
 " Well, then, Mrs. Rowland, I am going to be as serious as 
 ever I was in my life, when I warn you how you breathe such 
 a suspicion as that the Hopes are not happy. Remember you 
 have no evidence whatever about the matter. When you 
 offered Mr. Hope your congratulations, he was feeble from 
 illness, and probably too much exhausted at the moment to 
 show any feeling, one way or another. And as for this crying 
 fit of Mrs. Hope's, no one is better able than you, my dear, to 
 tell how many causes thexe may be for ladies' tears besides 
 being unhappily married." 
 
DEERBROOK. 215 
 
 ^^Praj, Mr. Rowland, make yourself easy, I beg. Whom 
 do you suppose I should mention such a thing to ? " 
 
 '' You have already mentioned it to yourself and me, my 
 doar, which is just two persons too many. Not a word more 
 on the subject, if you please." 
 
 Mrs. Eowland saw that this was one of her husband's 
 authority days ; — rare days, when she could not have her 
 own way, and her quiet husband was really formidable. She 
 buckled on her armour, therefore, forthwith. That armour 
 was — silence. Mr. Rowland was sufficiently aware of the 
 process now to be gone through, to avoid speaking, when he 
 knew he should obtain no reply. He finished his newspaper 
 without further remark, looked out a book from the shelves, 
 half-whistling all the while, and left the room. 
 
 Meantime, the children had gone to the schoolroom, dis- 
 turbing Miss Young nearly an hour too soon. Miss Young 
 told them she was not at liberty ; and when she heard that 
 their mamma had sent them away from the drawing-room, 
 she asked why they could not play as usual. It was so cold I 
 How did George manage to play ? George had not come in 
 with the rest. If he could play, so could they. The little 
 girls had no doubt George would present himself soon ; they 
 did not know where he had run ; but he would soon have 
 enough of the cold abroad, or of the dulness of the nursery. 
 In another moment Miss Young was informed of the fact of 
 Hester's tears of yesterday; and, much as she wanted the 
 time she was deprived of, she was glad the children had come 
 to her, that this piece of gossip might be stopped. She went 
 somewhat at length with them into the subject of tears, 
 showing that it is very hasty to conclude that any one has 
 been doing wrong, even in the case of a child's weeping ; and 
 much more with regard to grown people. When they had 
 arrived at wondering whether some poor person had been 
 begging of Mrs. Hope, or whether one of Mr. Hope's patients 
 that she cared about was very ill, or whether anybody had 
 been telling her an affecting story. Miss Young brought them 
 to see that they ought not to wish to know ; — that they should 
 no more desire to read Mrs. Hope's thoughts than to look over 
 her shoulder while she was writing a letter. She was just 
 telling them a story of a friend of hers who called on an old 
 gentleman, and found him in very low spirits, with his eyes 
 all red and swollen ; and how her friend did not know whether 
 to take any notice ; and how the truth came out, — that the 
 
216 DEERBROOK. 
 
 old gentleman had been reading a touching story : — she was 
 just coming to the end of this anecdote, when the door opened, 
 and Margaret entered, holding George by the hand. Margaret 
 looked rather grave, and said — 
 
 *^ I thought I had better come to you first, Maria, for an 
 explanation which you may be able to give. Do you know 
 who sent little George with a message to my sister just now ? 
 I concluded you did not. George has been calling at my 
 brother's door, with his papa's and mamma's compliments, and 
 a request to know what Mrs. Hope was crying for yesterday, 
 at four o'clock." 
 
 Maria covered her face with her hands, with as much 
 shame as if she had been in fault, while "Oh,George!" was 
 reproachfully uttered by the little girls. 
 
 " Matilda," said Miss Young, " I trust you to go straight to 
 your papa, without saying a word of this to any one else, and 
 to ask him to come here this moment. I trust you, my dear." 
 
 Matilda discharged her trust. She peeped into the drawing- 
 room, and popped out again without speaking, when she saw 
 papa was no longer there. She found him in the office, and 
 brought him, without giving any hint of what had happened. 
 He was full of concern, of course ; said that he could not 
 blame George, though he was certainly much surprised ; that 
 it would be a lesson to him not to use irony with children, 
 since even the broadest might be thus misunderstood ; and that 
 a little family scene had thus been laid open, which he should 
 hardly regret if it duly impressed his children with the folly 
 and unkindness of village gossip. He declared he could not 
 be satisfied without apologizing, — well, then, without explaining, 
 to Mrs. Hope how it had happened ; and he would do it 
 through the medium of Mr. Hope ; for, to say the truth, he 
 was ashamed to face Mrs. Hope till his peace was made. 
 Margaret laughed at this, and begged him to go home with 
 her ; but he preferred stepping over to Mrs. Enderby's, where 
 Mr. Hope had just been seen to enter. Mr. Eowland con- 
 cluded by saying, that he should accept it as a favour in Miss 
 Ibbotson, as well as Miss Young, if she would steadily refuse 
 to gratify any impertinent curiosity shown by his children, in 
 whatever direction it might show itself. They were exposed 
 to great danger from example in Deerbrook, like most children 
 brought up in small villages, he supposed : and he owned he 
 dreaded the idea of his children growing up the scourges to 
 society that he considered foolish and malignant gossips to be. 
 
DEERBEOOK. 217 
 
 " Do sit down, Margaret," said Maria. " I shall feel uncom- 
 fortable when you are gone, if you do not stay a minute to 
 turn our thoughts to something pleasanter than this terrible 
 mistake of poor George's." 
 
 "I cannot stay now, hoAvever," said Margaret, smiling. 
 " You know I must go and turn my sister's thoughts to some- 
 thing pleasanter. There she is, sitting at home, waiting to 
 know how all this has happened." 
 
 ^'Whether she has not been insulted? You are right, 
 Margaret. Make haste back to her, and beg her pardon for us 
 all. Shall she not, children, if she will be so kind ?" 
 
 Margaret was overwhelmed with the petitions for pardon 
 she had to carry ; and not one of the children asked what 
 Mrs. Hope had been crying for, after all. 
 
 Hester looked up anxiously as Margaret entered the drawing- 
 room at home. 
 
 " It is all a trifle," said Margaret, gaily. 
 
 "How can it be a trifle?" 
 
 " The little Greys told what they saw yesterday, of course ; 
 and one of the little Rowlands wondered what was the reason ; 
 — (children can never understand what grown people, who 
 have no lessons to learn, can cry for, you know); and 
 Mr. Rowland, to make their gossip ridiculous to themselves, 
 told them they had better come and ask ; and poor George, 
 who cannot take a joke, came without any one knowing 
 where he was gone. They were all in great consternation 
 when I told them, and there is an ample apology coming to 
 you through Edward. That is the whole story, except that 
 Mr. Rowland would have come himself to you, instead of 
 going to your husband, but that he was ashamed of his joke. 
 So there is an end of that silly matter, unless it be to make 
 George always ask henceforth whether people are in joke or 
 in earnest." 
 
 " I think Mr. Rowland might have come to me," observed 
 Hester. "Are you sure Mrs. Rowland had nothing to do 
 with it?" 
 
 " I neither saw her nor heard of her. You had better not 
 go out to-day, it is so like snow. I shall be back soon ; but 
 as I have my bonnet on, I shall go and see Johnny Rye and 
 his mother. Can I do anything for you? " 
 
 " Oh, my snow-boots ! But I would not have you go to 
 Mrs. Howell's while she is in such a mood as she was in 
 yesterday. I would not go myself." 
 
218 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Oh ! I will go. I am not afraid of Mrs. Howell ; and we 
 shall have to encounter her again, sooner or later. I will buy 
 something, and then see what my diplomacy will effect about 
 the boots." 
 
 Mr. Hope presently came in, and found his wife prepared 
 for the apology he brought from Mr. Eowland. But it was 
 obvious that Hope's mind was far more occupied with some- 
 thing else. 
 
 " Where is Margaret ? " 
 
 " She is gone out to Widow Rye's, and to Mrs. HowelFs." 
 
 " No matter where, as long as she is^out. I want to consult 
 you about something. And he drew a chair to the fire, and 
 told that he had visited Mrs. Enderby, whom he found very 
 poorly, apparently from agitation of spirits. She had shed a 
 few tears on reporting her health, and had dropped something 
 which he could not understand, about this being almost the 
 last time she should be able to speak freely to him. Hester 
 anxiously hoped that the good old lady was not really going 
 to die. There was no near probability of this, her husband 
 assured her. He thought Mrs. Enderby referred to some 
 other change than dying ; but what, she did not explain. 
 She had gone on talking in rather an excited way, and at last 
 hinted that she supposed she should not see her son for some 
 time, as Mrs. Eowland had intimated that he was fully occupied 
 with the young lady he was going to be married to. Mrs. 
 Enderby plainly said that she had not heard this from Philip 
 himself ; but she seemed to entertain no doubt of the truth 
 of the information she had received. She appeared to be 
 struggling to be glad at the news ; but it was clear that the 
 uppermost feeling was disappointment at having no immediate 
 prospect of seeing her son. 
 
 " Now, what are we to think and do ? " said Hope. 
 
 " This agrees with what Mrs. Eowland told me in Dingleford 
 woods, six months ago," said Hester ; " and I suppose what 
 she then said may have been true all this time." 
 
 " How does that agree with his conduct to Margaret ? Or 
 am I mistaken in what I have told you I thought about that? 
 Seriously — very seriously — how do you suppose the case 
 stands with Margaret ? " 
 
 " I know no more than you. I think he went further than 
 he ought, if he was thinking of another ; and, but for his 
 conduct since, I should have quite concluded, from some 
 observations that I made, that he was attached to Margaret." 
 
DEERBROOK. 219 
 
 "And she ?" 
 
 *' And she certainly likes him very well ; but I can hardly 
 lancy her happiness at stake. I have thought her spirits 
 rather iiat of late." 
 
 Hope sighed deeply. 
 
 " Ah ! you may well sigh," said Hester, sighing herself, 
 and sinking back in her chair. "You know what I am 
 going to say. I thought I might be the cause of her being 
 less gay than she should be. I have disappointed her 
 expectations, I know. But let us talk only of her." 
 
 " Yes : let us talk only of her, till we have settled what is 
 our duty to her. Ought we to tell her of this or not ? " 
 
 Both considered long. At length Hester said — 
 
 " I think she ought to hear it quietly at home first (whether 
 it be true or not), to prepare her for anything that may be 
 reported abroad. Perhaps, if you were to drop, as we sit 
 together here, what Mrs. Enderby said " 
 
 " No, no ; not I," said Hope, quickly. He went on more 
 calmly : " Her sister and bosom friend is the only person to 
 do this — if, indeed, it ought to be done. But the news may be 
 untrue ; and then she need perhaps never hear it. Do not 
 let us be in a hurry." 
 
 Hester thought that if Margaret felt nothing more than 
 friendship for Enderby, she would still consider herself ill- 
 used ; for the friendship had been so close an one that she 
 might reasonably expect that she should not be left to learn 
 such an event as this from common report. But was it 
 certain, Hope asked, that she had anything new to learn? 
 "Was it certain that she was not in his confidence all this time 
 — that she had not known ten times as much as Mrs. Rowland 
 from the beginning? Certainly not from the beginning, 
 Hester said ; and she had a strong persuasion that Margaret 
 was as ignorant as themselves of Enderby's present proceedings 
 and intentions. 
 
 At this moment, a note was brought in. It was from 
 Mrs. Enderby to Mr. Hope, written hurriedly, and blistered 
 with tears. It told that she had been extremely wrong in 
 mentioning to him prematurely what was uppermost in her 
 mind about a certain family affair, and begged the great 
 favour of him to keep to himself what she had divulged, and, 
 if possible, to forget it. Once more, Mr. Hope unconsciously 
 sighed. It was at the idea that he could forget such a piece 
 of intelligence. 
 
220 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Poor old lady ! " said Hester ; " she has been taken to 
 task, I suppose, for relieving her mind to you. But, Edward, 
 this looks more and more as if the news were true. My 
 darling Margaret ! How will it be with her ? Does it not 
 look too like being true, love?" 
 
 " It looks as if Enderby^s family all believed it, certainly. 
 This note settles the matter of our duty, however. If the 
 affair is so private that Mrs. Enderby is to be punished for 
 telling me, it is hardly likely that Margaret will hear it by 
 out-door chance. You are spared the task for the present at 
 least, my dear 1" 
 
 " I should like to be sure that Margaret does not love — 
 that she might pass through life without loving," said Hester, 
 sighing, ^' But here she comes ! Burn the note !" 
 
 The note curled in the flames, was consumed, and, its ashes 
 fluttered up the chimney, and Margaret did not enter. She 
 had gone straight up-stairs. She did not come down till 
 dinner was on the table. She was then prepared with the 
 announcement that the snow-boots might be looked for very 
 soon. She told of her visit to Widow Rye's, and had something 
 to say of the probability of snow ; but she was rather absent, 
 and she took wine. These were all the circumstances that 
 her anxious sister could fix upon, during dinner, for silent 
 comment. After dinner, having eaten an orange with some- 
 thing like avidity, Margaret withdrew for a very few minutes. 
 As the door closed behind her, Hester whispered 
 
 " She has heard. She knows. Is it not so?" 
 
 " There is no question about it," replied Hope, examining 
 the screen he held in his hand. 
 
 " I wonder who can have told her." 
 
 " Tellers of bad news are never wanting, especially in 
 Deerbrook," said Hope, with a bitterness of tone which Hester 
 had never heard from him before. 
 
 Margaret took up the other screen when she returned, and 
 played with it till the table was cleared, so that she could 
 have the use of her work-box. It was Morris who removed 
 the dessert. 
 
 '' Morris," said Mr. Hope, as she was leaving the room, 
 " I want Charles : pray send him." 
 
 " Charles is out, sir." 
 
 " Out ! when will he be back ?" 
 
 "He will be back presently," said Margaret. " I sent him 
 with a note to Maria." 
 
DEERBROOK. 221 
 
 As she leant over her work again, Hester and her husband 
 exchanged glances. 
 
 An answer from Maria soon arrived. Margaret read it as 
 she sat, her brother and sister carefully withdrawing their 
 observation from her. Whatever else might be in the note, 
 she read aloud the latter part — two or three lines relating to 
 the incident of the morning. Her voice was husky, but her 
 manner was gay. During the whole evening she was gay. 
 She insisted on making tea, and was too quick with the kettle 
 for Edward to help her. She proposed music, and she sang 
 — song after song. Hester was completely relieved about 
 her ; and even Edward gave himself up to the hope that 
 all was well with her. From music they got to dancing. 
 Margaret had learned, by sitting with Maria during the 
 children's dancing-lesson, a new dance which had struck 
 her fancy, and they must be ready with it next week at 
 Dr. Levitt's. Alternately playing the dance and teaching 
 it, she ran from the piano to them, and from them to the piano, 
 till they were perfect, and her face was as flushed as it could 
 possibly be at Mrs. Levitt's dance next week. But in the 
 midst of this flush, Hope saw a shiver : and Hester remarked, 
 that during the teaching, Margaret had, evidently without 
 being aware of it, squeezed her hand with a force which 
 could not have been supposed to be in her. These things 
 made Hope still doubt. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 CONSCIOUSNESS TO THE UNCONSCIOUS. 
 
 Mr. Hope might well doubt. Margaret was not gay but 
 desperate. Yes, even the innocent may be desperate under 
 circumstances of education and custom, by which feelings 
 natural and inevitable are made occasions of shame ; while 
 others, which are wrong and against the better nature of man, 
 bask in daylight and impunity. There was not a famishing 
 wretch prowling about a baker's door, more despeig-te than 
 Margaret this day. There was not a gambler setting his 
 teeth while watching the last turn of the die, more desperate 
 than Margaret this day. If there was a criminal standing above 
 a sea of faces with the abominable executioner's hands about 
 his throat, Margaret was, for the time, as wretched as he. 
 
222 DEERBROOK. 
 
 If any asked why — ^whyit should be thus with one who has 
 done no wrong, the answer is — ^Why is there pride in the 
 human heart? — why is there a particular nurture of this 
 pride into womanly reserve ? — ^Why is it that love is the chief 
 experience, and almost the only object, of a woman's life? 
 Why is it that it is painful to beings who look before and 
 after to have the one hope of existence dashed away — the 
 generous faith outraged — all self-confidence overthrown — life 
 in one moment made dreary as the desert — Heaven itself 
 overclouded — and death all the while standing at such a 
 weary distance that there is no refuge within the horizon of 
 endurance ? Be these things right or wrong, they are : and 
 while they are, will the woman who loves, unrequited, feel 
 desperate on the discovery of her loneliness — and, the more 
 pure and proud, innocent and humble, the more lo^nely. 
 
 For some little time past, Margaret had been in a state of 
 great tranquillity about Philip — a tranquillity which she now 
 much wondered at — now that it was all over. She had had an 
 unconscious faith in him ; and, living in this faith, she had 
 forgotten herself, she had not thought of the future, she had 
 not felt impatient for any change. Often as she wished for 
 his presence, irksome as she had sometimes felt it to know 
 nothing of him from week to week, she had been tacitly 
 satisfied that she was in his thoughts as he was in hers ; and 
 this had been enough for the time. What an awakening from 
 this quiescent state was hers this day ! 
 
 It was from no other than Dr. Levitt that she had heard in 
 the morning that Mr. Enderby was shortly going to be married 
 to Miss Mary Bruce. Dr. Levitt was at Widow Eye's when 
 Margaret went, and had walked part of the way home with her. 
 During the walk, this piece of news had dropped out, while 
 they were talking of Mrs. Enderby's health. All that Dr. Levitt 
 knew of Miss Mary Bruce was, that she was of sufficiently 
 good family and fortune to make the Eowlands extremely well 
 satisfied with the match ; that Mrs. Enderby had never seen 
 her, and that it would be some time before she could see 
 her, as the whole family of the Bruces was at Eome for the 
 winter. When Dr. Levitt parted from Margaret at the gate 
 of the church-yard, these last words contained the hope she 
 clung to — a hope which might turn into the deepest reason 
 for despair. Philip had certainly not been abroad. Was it 
 likely that he should lately have become engaged to any young 
 lady who had been some time in Eome ? It was not hkely ; 
 
DEERBROOK. 223 
 
 but then, if it was true, he must hswre been long engaged : he 
 must have been engaged at the time of his last visit of six 
 days, when he had talked over his views of life with Margaret, 
 and been so anxious to obtain hers : — he must surely have 
 been engaged in the summer, when she found Tieck in the 
 desk, and when he used to spend so many evenings at the 
 Greys' — certainly not on Hester's account. At one moment 
 she was confident all this could not be ; she was relieved ; 
 she stepped lightly. The next moment, a misgiving came 
 that it was all too true ; the weight fell again upon her heart, 
 she lost breath, and it was intolerable to have to curtesy to 
 Mrs. James, and to answer the butcher's inquiry about the 
 meat that had been ordered. If these people would only go 
 on with their own business, and take no notice of her ! Then, 
 again, the thought occurred, that she knew Philip better than 
 any, — than even his own family ; and that, say what they 
 might, he was all her own. In these changes of mood, she 
 had got through dinner ; the dominant id^a was then that 
 she must, by some means or other, obtain certainty. She 
 thought of Maria. Maria was likely to know the facts, from 
 her constant intercourse with the Eowlands, and besides, there 
 was certainly a something in Maria's mind in relation to 
 Philip, — a keen insight, which might be owing to the philoso- 
 phical habit of her mind, or to something else, — but which 
 issued in information about him, which it was surprising that 
 she could obtain. She seldom spoke of him ; but when she 
 did, it was wonderfully to the purpose. Margaret thought 
 she could learn from Maria, in a very simple and natural way, 
 that which she so much wished to know : and when she left 
 the room after dinner, it was to write the note which might 
 bring certainty. 
 
 " Dear Friend, — I saw Dr. Levitt this morning while I was 
 out, and he told me, with all possible assurance, that Mr. 
 Enderby is going to be married very shortly to a young lady 
 at Kome, — Miss Mary Bruce. Now, this is true or it is not. 
 If true, you are as well aware as we are that we are entitled 
 to have known it otherwise and earlier than by common report. 
 If not true, the rumour should not be allowed to spread. If you 
 know anything certainly, one way or the other, pray tell us. 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 " Margaret Ibbotson." 
 
 The "we" and "us" were not quite honest ; but Margaret 
 
224 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 meant to make them as nearly so as possible by ex-post-facto 
 communication with her brother and sister : a resolution so 
 easily made, that it did not occur to her how difficult it might 
 be to execute. While her messenger was gone, she wrought 
 herself up to a resolution to bear the answer, whatever it 
 might be, with the same quietness with which she must bear 
 the whole of her future life, if Dr. Levitt's news should prove 
 to be founded in fact. The door opening seemed to prick the 
 nerves of her ears : her heart heaved to her throat at the sight 
 of the white paper : yet it was with neatness that she broke the 
 seal, and with a steady hand that she held the note to read it. 
 The hand-writing was only too distinct : it seemed to burn 
 itself in upon her brain. All was over. 
 
 " Dear Margaret, — I do not know where Dr. Levitt got 
 his news ; but I believe it is true. Mrs. Kowland pretends 
 to absolute certainty about her brother's engagement to Miss 
 Bruce ; and it is from this that others speak so positively 
 about it. Whatever are the grounds that Mrs. R. goes upon, 
 there are others which afford a strong presumption that she 
 is right. Some of these may be known to you. They leave 
 no doubt in my mind that the report is true. As to the failure 
 of confidence in his friends, — what can be said ? — unless by 
 way of reminder of the old truth that, by the blessing of 
 Heaven, wrongs — ^be they but deep enough — may chasten a 
 human temper into something divine. 
 
 " George has been very grave for the last three hours, pon- 
 dering, I fancy, what irony can be for. Your sister will not 
 grudge him his lesson, though afforded at her expense. 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 " Maria Young." 
 
 "Wrongs!" thought she; "Maria goes too far when she 
 speaks of wrongs. There was nothing in my note to bring 
 such an expression in answer. It is going too far." 
 
 This was but the irritability of a racked soul, needing to 
 spend its agony somewhere. The remembrance of the conver- 
 sation with Maria, held so lately, and of Maria's views of 
 Philip's relation to her, returned upon her, and her soul 
 melted within her. She felt that Maria had understood her 
 better than she did herself, and was justified in the words she 
 had used. Under severe calamity, to be endured alone, evil 
 thoughts sometimes come before good ones. Margaret was, 
 
DEERBROOK. 225 
 
 for an hour or two, possessed with the bad spirit of defiance. 
 Her mind sank back into what it had been in her childhood, 
 when she had hidden herself in the lumber-room, or behind 
 the water-tub, for many hours, to make the family uneasy, 
 because she had been punished, — in the days when she bore 
 every infliction that her father dared to try, with apparent 
 unconcern, rather than show to watchful eyes that she was 
 moved, — in the days when the slightest concession would 
 dissolve her stubbornness in an instant, but when, to get rid of 
 a life of contradiction, she had had serious thoughts of cutting 
 her throat, had gone to the kitchen door to get the carving- 
 knife, and had been much disappointed to find the servants at 
 dinner, and the knife-tray out of reach. This spirit, so long 
 ago driven out by the genial influences of family love, by the 
 religion of an expanding intellect, and the solace of appreciation, 
 now came back to inhabit the purified bosom which had been 
 kept carefully swept and garnished. It was the motion of this 
 spirit, uneasy in its unfit abode, that showed itself by the 
 shiver, the flushed cheek, the clenching hand, and the flashing 
 eye. It kept whispering wicked things, — " I will bafile and 
 deceive Maria : she shall withdraw her pity, and laugh at it 
 with me." " I defy Edward and Hester : they shall wonder 
 how it is that my fancy alone is free, that my heart alone is 
 untouched, that the storms of life pass high over my head, 
 and dare not lower." " I will humble Philip, and convince 
 him . . . " But, no ; it would not do. The abode was too 
 lowly and too pure for the evil spirit of defiance : the demon 
 did not wait to be cast out ; but as Margaret sat down in her 
 chamber, alone with her lot, to face it as she might, the 
 strange inmate escaped, and left her at least herself. 
 
 Margaret was in agonised amazement at the newness of the 
 misery she was suffering. She really fancied she had sympa- 
 thised with Hester that dreadful night of Hope's accident : 
 she had then actually believed that she was entering into her 
 sister's feelings. It had been as much like it as seeing a 
 picture of one on the rack is like being racked. But Hester 
 had not had so much cause for misery, for she never had to 
 believe Edward unworthy. Her pride had been wounded at 
 finding that her peace was no longer in her own power ; but 
 she had not been trifled with — duped. Here again Margaret 
 refused to believe. The fault was all her own. She had been 
 full of herself, full of vanity ; fancying, without cause, that she 
 was much to another when she was little. She was humbled 
 
226 DEERBROOK. 
 
 now, and she no doubt deserved it. But how ineiFably weak 
 and mean did she appear in her own eyes ! It was this which 
 clouded Heaven to her at the moment that earth had become 
 a desert. She felt so debased, that she durst not ask for 
 strength where she was wont to find it. If she had done one 
 single wrong thing, she thought she could bear the conse- 
 quences cheerfully, and seek support, and vigorously set about 
 repairing the causes of her fault ; but here it seemed to her 
 that her whole state of mind had been low and selfish. It 
 must be this sort of blindness which had led her so far in so 
 fearful a delusion. And if the whole condition of her mind 
 had been low and selfish, while her conscience had given her 
 no hint of anything being amiss, where was she to begin to 
 rectify her being ? She felt wholly degraded. 
 
 And then what a set of pictures rose up before her excited 
 fancy ! Philip going forth for a walk with her and Hester ^ 
 after having just sealed a letter to Miss Bruce, carrying the 
 consciousness of what he had been saying to the mistress of 
 his heart, while she, Margaret, had supposed herself the chief 
 object of his thought and care ! Again, Philip discussing 
 her mind and character with Miss Bruce, as those of a friend 
 for whom he had a regard ! or bestowing a passing imagination 
 on how she would receive the intelligence of his engagement I 
 Perhaps he reserved the news till he could come down to 
 Deerbrook, and call and tell her himself, as one whose friend- 
 ship deserved that he should be the bearer of his own tidings^ 
 That footstep, whose spring she had strangely considered her 
 own signal of joy, was not hers but another's. That laugh, 
 the recollection of which made her smile even in these dreadful 
 moments, was to echo in another's home. She was stripped 
 of all her heart's treasure, of his tones, his ways, his thoughts, 
 — a treasure which she had lived upon without knowing it ; 
 she was stripped of it all — cast out — left alone — and he and 
 all others would go on their ways, unaware that anything had 
 happened! Let them do so. It was hard to bear up in 
 solitude when self-respect was gone with all the rest ; but it 
 must be possible to live on — no matter how — if to live on was 
 appointed. If not, there was death, which was better. 
 
 These thoughts were not beneath one like Margaret — one 
 who was religious as she. It requires time for religion to 
 avail anything when self-respect is utterly broken down. A 
 devout sufferer may surmount the pangs of persecution at the 
 first onset, and wrestle with bodily pain, and calmly endure 
 
DEERBROOK. 227 
 
 bereavement by death ; but there is no power of faith by 
 which a woman can attain resignation under the agony of 
 unrequited passion otherwise than by conflict, long and 
 terrible. 
 
 Margaret laid down at last, because her eyes were weary of 
 seeing ; and she would fain have shut out all sounds. The 
 occasional flicker of a tiny blaze, however, and the fall of a 
 cinder in the hearth, served to lull her senses, and it was not 
 long before she slept. But, oh, the horrors of that sleep ! 
 The lines of Maria's note stared her in the face — glaring, 
 glowing, gigantic. Sometimes she was trying to read them, 
 and could not, though her life depended on them. Now 
 Mrs. Eowland had got hold of them ; and now they were 
 thrown into the flames, but would not burn, and the letters 
 grew red-hot. Then came the image of Philip ; and that 
 horror was mixed up with whatever was most ludicrous. 
 Once she was struggling for voice to speak to him, and he 
 mocked her useless efforts. Oh, how she struggled ! till some 
 strong arm raised her, and some other voice murmured gently 
 in her throbbing ear. 
 
 " Wake, my dear ! Wake up, Margaret ! Wliat is it, 
 dear? Wakel" 
 
 *' Mother ! is it you ? Oh, mother ! have you come at 
 last?" murmured Margaret, sinking her head on Morris' 
 shoulder. 
 
 It was some moments before Margaret felt a warm tear fall 
 upon her cheek, and heard Morris say, 
 
 " No, my dear : not yet. Your mother is in a better place 
 than this, where we shall all rest with her at last. Miss Mar- 
 garet." 
 
 " What is all this ? " said Margaret, raising herself, and 
 looking round her. ^^ What did I mean about my mother ? 
 Oh, Morris, my head is all confused, and I think I have been 
 frightened. They were laughing at me, and when somebody 
 came to help me, I thought it must be my mother. Oh, 
 Morris, it is a long while I wish I was with her." 
 
 Morris did not desire to hear what Margaret's dream had 
 been. The immediate cause of Margaret's distress she did 
 not know ; but she had for some time suspected that which 
 only one person in the world was aware of besides herself. 
 The terrible secret of this household was no secret to her. 
 She was experienced enough in love and its signs to know, 
 without being told, where love was absent, and where it rested. 
 
228 DEERBROOK. 
 
 She had not doubted, up to the return from the wedding-trip, 
 that all was right ; but she had never been quite happy since. 
 She had perceived no sign that either sister was aware of the 
 truth ; the continuance of their sisterly friendship was a proof 
 that neither of them was : but she wished to avoid hearing the 
 particulars of Margaret's dream, and all revelations which, in 
 the weakness and confusion of an hour like this, she might be 
 tempted to make. Morris withdrew from Margaret's clasp, 
 moved softly across the room, gently put the red embers 
 together in the grate , and lighted the lamp which stood on 
 the table. 
 
 " I hope," whispered Margaret, trying to still her shivering, 
 "that nobody heard me but you. How came you to think of 
 coming to me ? " 
 
 "My room being over this, you know, it was easy to 
 hear the voice of a person in an uneasy ^ sleep. 1 am 
 glad I happened to be awake : so I put on my cloak and 
 came." 
 
 Morris did not say that Edward had heard the stifled cry 
 also, and that she had met him on the stairs coming to beg 
 that she would see what could be done. Hester having slept 
 through it, Margaret need never know that other ears than 
 Morris' had heard her. Thus had Hope and Morris tacitly 
 agreed. 
 
 " Now, my dear, when I have warmed this flannel, to put 
 about your feet, you must go to sleep again. I will not leave 
 you till daylight — till the house is near being astir : so you 
 may sleep without being afraid of bad dreams. I will rouse 
 you if I see you disturbed. Now, no more talking, or we 
 shall have the house up ; and all this had better be between 
 you and me." 
 
 To satisfy Margaret, Morris lay down on the outside of the 
 bed, warmly covered ; and the nurse once more, as in old days, 
 felt her favourite child breathing quietly against her shoulder : 
 once more she wiped away the standing tears, and prayed in 
 her heart for the object of her care. If her prayer had had 
 words, it would have been this : — 
 
 " Thou hast been pleased to take to thyself the parents 
 of these dear children ; and surely thou wilt be therefore 
 pleased to be to them as father and mother, or to raise up or 
 spare to them such as may be so. This is what I would 
 ask for myself, that I may be that comfort to them. Thou 
 knowest that a strange trouble hath entered this house — 
 
' DEERBROOK. 229 
 
 thou knowest, for thine eye seeth beneath the face into the 
 heart, as the sun shines into a locked chamber at noon. 
 Thou knowest what these young creatures know not. Make 
 holy to them what thou knowest. Let thy silence rest upon 
 that which must not be spoken. Let thy strength be supplied 
 where temptation is hardest. Let the innocence which has 
 come forth from thine own hand be kept fit to appear in all the 
 light of thy countenance. Oh I let them never be seen sinking 
 with shame before thee. Father, if thou hast made thy 
 children to love one another for their good, let not love be a 
 grief and a snare to such as these. Thou canst turn the hearts 
 even of the wicked : turn the hearts of these thy dutiful 
 children to love, where love may be all honour and no shame^ 
 so that they may have no more mysteries from each other, as 
 I am sure they have none from thee. All who know them 
 have doubtless asked thy blessing on their house, their health, 
 their basket and store : let me ask it also on the workings 
 of their hearts, since, if their hearts be right, all is well — or 
 will be in thine own best time." 
 
 When Margaret entered the breakfast-room in the morning, 
 she found her brother sketching the skaters of Deerbrook, 
 while the tea was brewing. Hester was looking over his 
 shoulder, laughing, as she recognised one after another of her 
 neighbours in the act of skating — this one by the stoop — that 
 by the formality — and the other by the coat -flaps flying out 
 behind. No inquiries were made — not a word was said of 
 health or spirits. It seems strange that suiFerers have not yet 
 found means to stop the practice of such inquiries — a practice 
 begun in kindness, and carried on in the spirit of hospitality, 
 but productive of great annoyance to all but those who do 
 not need such inquiries — the healthful and the happy. 
 There are multitudes of invalids who can give no comfortable 
 answer respecting their health, and who are averse from giving 
 an uncomfortable one, and for whom nothing is therefore left 
 but evasion. There are only too many suiFerers to whom it 
 is irksome to be questioned about their hours of sleeplessness,, 
 or who do not choose to have it known that they have not 
 slept. The unpleasant old custom of pressing people to eat 
 has gone out : the sooner the other observance of hospitality 
 is allowed to follow it, ^the better. All who like to tell of 
 illness and sleeplessness can do so ; and those who have reasons 
 for reserve upon such points, as Margaret had this morning, 
 can keep their own counsel. 
 
280 DJSERBROOK. 
 
 At the earliest possible hour that the etiquette of Deerbrook 
 would allow, there was a knock at the door. 
 
 " That must be Mrs. Kowland," exclaimed Hester. " One 
 may know that woman's temper by her knock — so conse- 
 quential, and yet so sharp. Margaret, love, you can run up- 
 stairs — there is time yet — if you do not wish to see her." 
 
 a Why should I ? " said Margaret, looking up with a calm- 
 ness which perplexed Hester. 
 
 " This is either ignorance," thought she, ^' or such patience 
 as I wish I had." 
 
 It was Mrs. Eowland, and she was come to tell what Hester 
 feared Margaret might not be able to bear to hear. She was 
 attended only by the little fellow who was so fond of riding on 
 Uncle Philip's shoulder. It was rather lucky that Ned came, 
 as Margaret was furnished with something to do in taking off 
 his worsted gloves, and rubbing his little red hands between 
 her own. And then she could say a great many things to him 
 about learning to slide, and the difficulty of keeping on the 
 snow-man's nose, and about her wonder that they had not 
 thought of putting a pipe into his mouth. Before this subject 
 was finished, Mrs. Eowland turned full round to Margaret, and 
 said that the purpose of her visit was to explain fully some- 
 thing that her poor mother had let drop yesterday to Mr. Hope. 
 Her mother was not what she had been — though, indeed, she 
 had always been rather apt to let out things that she should 
 not. She found that Mr. Hope had been informed by her 
 mother of her brother Philip's engagement to a charming 
 young lady, who w^ould indeed be a great ornament to the 
 connexion. 
 
 " I assure you," said Margaret, " my brother is very careful, 
 and always remembers that he is upon honour as to what he 
 hears in a sick-room. He has not mentioned it." 
 
 ^* Oh ! then it is safe. We are much obliged to Mr. Hope, 
 I am sure. I said to my mother — ^ My dear ma'am,' " 
 
 "But I must mention," said Margaret, " that the news was 
 abroad before ... I must beg that you will not suppose my 
 brother has spoken of it, if you should find that everybody 
 knows it. I heard it from Dr. Levitt yesterday, about the 
 same time, I fancy, that Mr. Hope was hearing it from 
 Mrs. Enderby." 
 
 Hester sat perfectly still, to avoid all danger of showing 
 that this was news to her. 
 
 " How very strange ! " exclaimed the lady. " I often say 
 
DEERBROOK. 231 
 
 there is no keeping anything quiet in Deerbrook. Do you 
 know where Dr. Levitt got his information ? " 
 
 " No," said Margaret, smiling. " Dr. Levitt generally 
 knows what he is talking about. I dare say he had it from 
 some good authority. The young lady is at Rome, I find." 
 
 ** Are you acquainted with Miss Bruce?" asked Hester, 
 thinking it time to relieve Margaret of her share of the con- 
 versation. 
 
 Margaret started a little on finding that her sister had heard 
 the news. Was it possible that her brother and sister had 
 been afraid to tell her ? No : it was a piece of Edward's pro- 
 fessional discretion. His wife alone had a right to the news 
 he heard among his patients. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" replied Mrs. Rowland; "I have long loved 
 Mary as a sister. Their early attachment made a sister of 
 her to me an age ago." 
 
 " It has been a long engagement, then," said Hester, glad to 
 say anything which might occupy Mrs. Rowland, as Margaret's 
 lips were now turning very white. 
 
 " Not now, my dear," Margaret was heard to say to little 
 Ned, over whom she was bending her head as he stood by 
 her side. " Stand still here," she continued, with wonderful 
 cheerfulness of tone ; "I want to hear your mamma tell us 
 about Uncle Philip." "With the effort her strength rallied, 
 and the paleness was gone before Mrs. Rowland had turned 
 round. 
 
 " How long the engagement has existed," said the lady, " I 
 cannot venture to say. I speak only of the attachment. 
 Young people understand their own affairs, you know, and 
 have their little mysteries, and laugh behind our backs, I dare 
 say, at our ignorance of what they are about. Philip has 
 been sly enough as to this, I own : but I must say I had my 
 suspicions. I was pretty confident of his being engaged from 
 the day that he told me in the summer, that he fully agreed 
 with me that it was time he was settled." 
 
 "How differently some people understood that!" thought 
 Hester and Margaret at the same moment. 
 
 " Is Mr. Enderby at Rome now?" asked Hester. 
 
 " No : he is hard at work, studying law. He is really 
 going to apply to a profession now. Not that it would be 
 necessary, for Mary has a very good fortune. But Mary 
 wishes so much that he should — like a sensible girl as she is." 
 
232 DEERBROOK. 
 
 "It is what I urged when he consulted me," thought 
 Margaret. She had had little idea whose counsel she was 
 following up. 
 
 " We shall soon hear of his setting off for the Continent, 
 however, I have no doubt," said the lady. 
 
 " To bring home his bride," observed Margaret, calmly. 
 
 " Why, I do not know that. The Bruces will be returning 
 early in the spring ; and I should like the young people to 
 marry in town, that we may have them here for their wedding 
 trip." 
 
 " How you do hug me 1 " cried the laughing little boy, 
 around whom Margaret's arm was passed. 
 
 " Have I made you warm at last?" asked Margaret. " If 
 not, you may go and stand by the fire." 
 
 " No, indeed ; we must be going," said mamma. ^' As I find 
 this news is abroad, I must call on Mrs. Grey. She will take 
 offence at once, if she hears it from anybody but me. So 
 much for people's husbands being partners in business ! " 
 
 Margaret was now fully qualified to comprehend her sister's 
 irritability. Every trifle annoyed her. The rustle of Mrs. 
 Eowland's handsome cloak almost made her sick ; and she 
 thought the hall clock would never have done striking twelve. 
 When conscious of this, she put a strong check upon her- 
 self. 
 
 Hester stood by the mantel-piece, looking into the fire, and 
 taking no notice of their mutual silence upon this piece of 
 news. At last she muttered, in a soliloquizing tone — 
 
 " Do not know — but I am not sure this news is true, after 
 all." 
 
 After a moment's pause, Margaret replied — 
 
 "I think that is not very reasonable. What must one 
 suppose of everybody else, if it is not true ? " 
 
 Hester was going to say, " What must we think of him, if 
 it is ?" but she checked herself She should not have said 
 what she had ; she felt this, and only replied — 
 
 " Just so. Yes ; it must be true." 
 
 Margaret's heart once more sank within her at this corrobo- 
 ration of her own remark. 
 
DEERBROOK. 233 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 THE MEADOWS IN WINTER. 
 
 Hester was tired of her snow-boots before she saw them. 
 She had spent more trouble on them than they were worth ; 
 and it was three weeks yet before they came. It was now past 
 the middle of February — rather late in the season for snow- 
 boots to arrive : but then there was Margaret's consolatory 
 idea, that they would be ready for next year's snow. 
 
 *^ It is not too late yet," said Mr. Hope. " There is skating 
 every day in the meadow. It will soon be over ; so do not lose 
 your opportunity. Come ! let us go to-day." 
 
 " Not unless the sun shines out," said Hester, looking with 
 a shiver up at the windows. 
 
 " Yes, to-day," said Edward, " because I have time to-day 
 to go with you. You have seen me quiz other skaters : you 
 must go and see other skaters quiz me." 
 
 *^ What points of your skating do they get hold of to quiz ?'* 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 " Why, I hardly know. We shall see." 
 
 " Is it so very good, then ? " 
 
 " No. I believe the worst of my skating is, that it is totally 
 devoid of every sort of expression. That is just the true 
 account of it," he continued, as his wife laughed. ^* I do not 
 square my elbows, nor set my coat flying, nor stoop, nor rear ; 
 but neither is there any grace. I just go straight on ; and, as 
 far as I know, nobody ever bids any other body look at me." 
 
 " So you bid your own family come and look at you. But 
 how are your neighbours to quiz you if they do not observe 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, that was only a bit of antithesis for effect. My last 
 account is the true one, as you will see. I shall come in for 
 you at twelve." 
 
 By twelve the sun had shone out, and the ladies, booted, 
 furred, and veiled, were ready to encounter the risks and 
 rigours of the ice and snow. As they opened the hall door 
 they met on the steps a young woman, who was just raising 
 her hand to the knocker. Her errand was soon told. 
 
 " Please, ma'am, I heard that you wanted a servant." 
 
 " That is true," said Hester. " Where do you come from ? 
 —from any place near, so that you can call again?" 
 
234 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Surely," said Margaret, " it is Mrs. Enderby's Susan." 
 
 " Yes, miss, I have been living with Mrs. Enderby. Mrs. 
 Enderby will give me a good character, ma'am." 
 
 " Why are you leaving her, Susan?" 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, only because she is gone." 
 
 " Gone ! — where ? — what do you mean ? " 
 
 ''Gone to live at Mrs. Eowland's, ma'am. You didn't 
 know ? — it was very sudden. But she moved yesterday, 
 ma'am, and we were paid off — except Phoebe, who stays to 
 wait upon her. I am left in charge of the house, ma'am: so I 
 can step here again, if you wish it, some time when you are 
 not going out." 
 
 " Do so ; any time this evening, or before noon to-morrow." 
 
 "Did you know of this, Edward ?" said his wife, as they 
 turned the corner. « 
 
 '' Not I. I think Mrs. Kowland is mistaken in saying that 
 nothing can be kept secret in Deerbrook. I do not believe 
 anybody has dreamed of the poor old lady giving up her 
 house." 
 
 " Very likely Mrs. Eowland never dreamed of it herself, 
 till the day it was done," observed Margaret. 
 
 " Oh, yes, she did" said Mr. Hope. " I understand now the 
 old lady's agitation, and the expressions sh.e dropped about 
 ^ last times ' nearly a month ago." 
 
 " By-the-by, that was the last time you saw her — was it 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes ; the next day when I called I was told that she was 
 better, and that she would send when she wished to see me 
 again, to save me the trouble of calling when she might be 
 asleep." 
 
 " She has been asleep or engaged every time I have inquired 
 at the door of late," observed Margaret. " I hope she is doing 
 nothing but what she likes in this change of plan." 
 
 " I believe she finds most peace and quiet in doing what her 
 daughter likes," said Mr. Hope. " Here, Margaret, where are 
 you going ? This is the gate. I believe you have not learned 
 your way about yet." 
 
 " I will follow you immediately," said Margaret : " I will 
 only go a few steps to see if this can really be true." 
 
 Before the Hopes had half crossed the meadow, Margaret 
 joined them, perfectly convinced. The large bills in the closed 
 windows of Mrs. Enderby's house bore '' To be Let or Sold" 
 too plainly to leave any doubt. 
 
DEERBROOK. 235 
 
 As the skating season was nearly over, all tlie skaters in 
 Deerbrook were eager to make use of their remaining oppor- 
 tunities, and the banks of the brook and of the riyer were full 
 of their wives, sisters, and children. Sydney Grey was busy 
 cutting figures-of-eight before the eyes of his sisters, and in 
 defiance of his mother's careful warnings not to go here, and 
 not to venture there, and not to attempt to cross the river. 
 Mr. Hope begged his wife to engage Mrs. Grey in conversa- 
 tion, so that Sydney might be left free for a while, and 
 promised to keep near the boy for half an hour, during which 
 time Mrs. Grey might amuse herself with watching other and 
 better performers further on. As might have been foreseen, 
 however, Mrs. Grey could talk of nothing but Mrs. Enderby's 
 removal, of which she had not been informed till this morning, 
 and which she had intended to discuss in Hester's house, on 
 leaving the meadows. 
 
 It appeared that Mrs. Enderby had been in agitated and 
 variable spirits for some time, apparently wishing to say 
 something that she did not say, and expressing a stronger 
 regard than ever for her old friends — a regular sign that some 
 act of tyranny or rudeness might speedily be expected from 
 Mrs. Eowland. The Greys were in the midst of their specu- 
 lations as to what might be coming to pass, when Sydney 
 burst in, with the news that Mrs. Enderby's house was to be 
 " Let or Sold." Mrs. Grey had mounted her spectacles first, to 
 verify the fact, and then sent Alice over to inquire, and had 
 immediately put on her bonnet and cloak, and called on her 
 old friend at Mrs. Eowland's. She had been told at the door 
 that Mrs. Enderby was too much fatigued with her removal to 
 see any visitors. " So I shall try again to-morrow," concluded 
 Mrs. Grey. 
 
 " How does Mr. Hope think her spasms have been lately?" 
 asked Sophia. 
 
 " He has not seen her for nearly a month ; so I suppose they 
 are better." 
 
 " I fear that does not follow, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, 
 winking. " Some people are afraid of your husband's politics, 
 you are aware ; and I know Mrs. Eowland has been saying 
 and doing things on that score which you had better not hear 
 about. I have my reasons for thinking that the old lady's 
 spasms are far from being better. But Mrs. Eowland has 
 been so busy crying up those drops of hers, that cure every- 
 thing^ and praising her maid, that I have a great idea your 
 
236 DEERBROOK. 
 
 husband will not be admitted to see her till she is past cure, 
 and her daughter thoroughly frightened. Mr. Hope has never 
 been forgiven, you know, for marrying into our connection so 
 decidedly. And I really don't know what would have been 
 the consequence, if, as we once fancied likely, Mr. Philip and 
 Margaret had thought of each other." 
 
 Margaret was happily out of hearing. A fresh blow had 
 just been struck. She had looked to Mrs. Enderby for 
 information on the subject which for ever occupied her, and 
 on which she felt that she must know more or sink. She had 
 been much disappointed at being refused admission to the old 
 lady, time after time. Now all hope of free access and private 
 conversation was over. She had set it as an object before her 
 to see Mrs. Enderby, and learn as much of Philip's affair as 
 his mother chose to oflfer : now this object *was lost, and 
 nothing remained to be done or hoped — for it was too certain 
 that Mrs. Enderby's friends would not be allowed unrestrained 
 intercourse with her in her daughter's house. 
 
 For some little time Margaret had been practising the 
 device, so familiar to the unhappy, of carrying off mental 
 agitation by bodily exertion. She was now eager to be doing 
 something more active than walking by Mrs. Grey's side, 
 listening to ideas which she knew just as well without their 
 being spoken. Mrs. Grey's thoughts about Mrs. Eowland, 
 and Mrs. Eowland's ideas of Mrs. Grey, might always be 
 anticipated by those who knew the ladies. Hester and 
 Margaret had learned to think of something else, while this 
 sort of comment was proceeding, and to resume their attention 
 when it came to an end. Margaret had withdrawn from it 
 now, and was upon the ice with Sydney. 
 
 " Why, cousin Margaret, you don't mean that you are 
 afraid of walking on the ice?" cried Sydney, balancing 
 himself on his heels. " Mr. Hope, what do you think of 
 that ? " he called out, as Hope skimmed past them. " Cousin 
 Margaret is afraid of going on the ice ! " 
 
 "What does she think can happen to her?" asked 
 Mr. Hope, his last words vanishing in the distance. 
 
 " It looks so gray, and clear, and dark, Sydney." 
 
 " Pooh ! It is thick enough between you and the water. 
 You would have to get down a good way, I can tell you, before 
 you could get drowned." 
 
 " But it is so slippery !" 
 
 ^* What of that ? What else did you expect with ice ? If 
 
DEERBROOK. 237 
 
 you tumble, you can get up again. I have been down three 
 times this morning." 
 
 " Well, that is a great consolation, certainly. Which way 
 do you want me to walk ? " . 
 
 " Oh, any way. Across the river to the other bank, if you 
 like. You will remember next summer, when we come this 
 way in a boat, that you have walked across the very place." 
 
 " That is true," said Margaret. " I will go if Sophia will 
 go with me." 
 
 " There is no use in asking any of them," said Sydney. 
 " They stand dawdling and looking, till their lips and noses 
 are all blue and red, and they are never up to any fun." 
 
 " I will try as far as that pole first," said Margaret. " I 
 should not care if they had not swept away all the snow here, 
 so as to make the ice look so gray and slippery." 
 
 "That pole!" said Sydney. "Why, that pole is put up 
 on purpose to show that you must not go there. Don't you 
 see how the ice is broken all round it ? Oh, I know how it is 
 that you are so stupid and cowardly to-day. You Ve lived 
 in Birmingham all your winters, and you 've never been used 
 to walk on the ice." 
 
 " I am glad you have found that out at last. Now, look — 
 I am really going. What a horrid sensation ! " she cried, as 
 she cautiously put down one foot before the other on the 
 transparent floor. She did better when she reached the 
 middle of the river, where the ice had been ground by the 
 skates. 
 
 " Now, you would get on beautifully," said Sydney, " if 
 you would not look at your feet. Why can't you look at the 
 people, and the trees opposite ? " 
 
 " Suppose I should step into a hole." 
 
 " There are no holes. Trust me for the holes. What do 
 you flinch so for ? The ice always cracks so, in one part or 
 another. I thought you had been shot." 
 
 " So did I," said she, laughing. " But, Sydney, we are a 
 long way from both banks." 
 
 "To be sure : that is what we came for." 
 
 Margaret looked somewhat timidly about her. An indis- 
 tinct idea flitted through her mind — how glad she should be to 
 be accidentally, innocently drowned ; and scarcely recognising 
 it, she proceeded. 
 
 " You get on well," shouted Mr. Hope, as he flew past, on 
 his return up the river. 
 
2BB DEERBROOR. 
 
 " There, now," said Sydney, presently ; " it is a very little 
 way to the bank. I will just take a trip up and down, and 
 come for you again, to go back ; and then we will try whether 
 we can't get cousin Hester over, when she sees you have been 
 safe there and back." 
 
 This was a sight which Hester was not destined to behold. 
 Margaret had an ignorant partiality for the ice which was the 
 least gray ; and, when left to herself, she made for a part 
 which looked less like glass. Nobody particularly heeded 
 her. She slipped, and recovered herself : she slipped again, 
 and fell, hearing the ice crack under her. Every time she 
 attempted to rise, she found the place too slippery to keep her 
 feet ; next, there was a hole under her ; she felt the cold water 
 — she was sinking through ; she caught at the surrounding 
 edges — they broke away. There was a cry fr^m the bank, 
 just as the death-cold waters seemed to close all round her, 
 and she felt the ice like a heavy weight above her. One 
 thought of joy — "It will soon be all over now" — was the 
 only experience she was conscious of. 
 
 In two minutes more, she was breathing the air again, 
 sitting on the bank, and helping to wring out her clothes. 
 How much may pass in two minutes! Mr. Hope was coming 
 up the river again, when he saw a bustle on the bank, and 
 slipped off his skates, to be ready to be of service. He ran 
 as others ran, and arrived just when a dark-blue dress was 
 emerging from the water, and then a dripping fur tippet, and 
 then the bonnet, making the gradual revelation to him who it 
 was. For one instant he covered his face with his hands, 
 half-hiding an expression of agony so intense that a bystander 
 who saw it, said, *^ Take comfort, sir : she has been in but 
 a very short time. She '11 recover, I don't doubt." Hope 
 leaped to the bank, and received her from the arms of the men 
 who had drawn her out. The first thing she remembered 
 was hearing, in the lowest tone she could conceive of — " Oh, 
 God ! my Margaret ! " and a groan, which she felt rather than 
 heard. Then there were many warm and busy hands about her 
 head — removing her bonnet, shaking out her hair, and chafing 
 her temples. She sighed out, *' Oh, dear!" and she heard 
 that soft groan again. In another moment she roused herself, 
 sat up, saw Hope's convulsed countenance, and Sydney 
 standing motionless and deadly pale. 
 
 " I shall never forgive myself," she heard her brother 
 exclaim. 
 
DEERBROOK. 239 
 
 " Oh, I am very well," said she, remembering all about it. 
 " The air feels quite warm. Give me my bonnet. I can 
 walk home." 
 
 " Can you ? The sooner the better, then," said Hope, 
 raising her. 
 
 She could stand very well, but the water was everywhere 
 dripping from her clothes. Many bystanders employed them- 
 selves in wringing them out ; and in the meanwhile Margaret 
 inquired for her sister, and hoped she did not know of the 
 accident. Hester did not know of it, for Margaret happened 
 to be the first to think of any one but herself. 
 
 Sydney was flying oiF to report, when he was stopped and 
 recalled. 
 
 " You must go to her, Edward," said Margaret, " or she will 
 be frightened. You can do me no good. Sydney will go 
 home with me, or any one here, I am sure." Twenty people 
 stepped forward at the word. Margaret parted with her heavy 
 fur tippet, accepted a long cloth cloak from a poor woman, to 
 throw over her wet clothes, selected Mr. Jones, the butcher, 
 for her escort, sent Sydney forward with directions to Morris 
 to warm her bed, and then she set forth homeward. Mr. Hope 
 and half a dozen more would see her across the ice ; and by 
 the time she had reached the other bank, she was able to walk 
 very much as if nothing had happened. 
 
 Mr. Hope had perfectly recovered his composure before he 
 reached the somewhat distant pond where Hester and the 
 Greys were watching sliding as good as could be seen within 
 twenty miles. It had reached perfection, like everything else, 
 in Deerbrook. 
 
 "What! tired already?" said Hester to her husband. 
 " What have you done with your skates ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have left them somewhere there, I suppose." He 
 drew her arm within his own. " Come, my dear, let us go 
 home. Margaret is gone." 
 
 *'Gone ! Why ? Is not she well ? It is not so very cold." 
 
 " She has got wet, and she has gone home to w^arm herself." 
 
 Hester did not wait to speak again to the Greys when she 
 comprehended that her sister had been in the river. Her hus- 
 band w^as obliged to forbid her walking so fast, and assured 
 her all the way that the're was nothing to fear. Hester re- 
 proached him for his coolness. 
 
 " You need not reproach me," said he. "I shall never cease 
 to reproach myself for letting her go where she did." And yet 
 
240 DEERBROOK. 
 
 his heart told him that he had only acted according to his 
 deliberate design of keeping aloof from all Margaret's pursuits 
 and amusements that were not shared with her sister. And 
 as for the risk, he had seen fifty people walking across the ice 
 this very morning. Judging by the event, however, he very 
 sincerely declared that he should never forgive himself for 
 having left her. 
 
 When they reached home, Margaret was quite warm and 
 comfortable, and her hair drying rapidly under Morris's 
 hands. Hester was convinced that everybody might dine as 
 usual. Margaret herself came down-stairs to tea ; and the 
 only consequence of the accident seemed to be, that Charles 
 was kept very busy opening the door to inquirers how 
 Miss Ibbotson was this evening. 
 
 It made Hope uneasy to perceive how much Margaret 
 remembered of what had passed around her in the midst of 
 the bustle of the morning. If she was still aware of some 
 circumstances that she mentioned, might she not retain others 
 — the words extorted from him, the frantic action which he 
 now blushed to remember ? 
 
 " Brother," said she, " what was the meaning of something 
 that I heard some one say, just as I sat up on the bank ? 
 * There's a baulk for the doctor 1 He is baulked of a body in 
 his own house.'" 
 
 "Oh, Margaret," cried her sister, who sat looking at her all 
 the evening as if they had been parted for ten years, " you 
 dreamed that. It was a fancy. Think what a state your poor 
 head was in ! It may have a few strange imaginations left in 
 it still. May it not, Edward ? " 
 
 " This is not one," he replied. " She heard very accu- 
 rately." 
 
 " What did they mean ? " 
 
 "There, is a report abroad about me, arising out of the 
 old prejudice about dissection. Some of my neighbours think 
 that dissecting is the employment and the passion of my life, 
 and that I rob the churchyard as often as anybody is buried." 
 
 " Oh, Edward ! how frightful ! how ridiculous ! " 
 
 " It is very disagreeable, my dear. I am taunted with this 
 wherever I go." 
 
 " What is to be done ? " 
 
 " We must wait till the prejudices against me die out : but 
 I see that we shall have to wait some time ; for before one 
 suspicion is given up, another rises." 
 
DEERBROOK. 241 
 
 " Since that unhappy election," said Hester, sighing. " What 
 a strange thing it is that men like you should be no better 
 treated ! Here is Mrs. Enderby taken out of your hands, and 
 your neighbours suspecting and slandering you, whose com- 
 monest words they are not worthy to repeat." 
 
 " My dear Hester ! " said he, in atone of serious remonstrance. 
 
 " That is rather a wife-like way of putting the case, to be 
 sure," said Margaret, smiling : " but, in as far as it is true, 
 the matter surely ceases to be strange. Good men do not 
 come into the world to be what the world calls fortunate, but 
 to be something far better. The best men do not use the 
 means to be rich, to be praised by their neighbours, to be out 
 of the way of trouble ; and if they will not use the means, it 
 does not become them — nor their wives — ^to be discouraged at 
 losing their occupation, or being slandered, or suspected as 
 dangerous people." 
 
 Edward's smile thanked her, and so did her sister's kiss. 
 But Hester looked grave again when she said — 
 
 " I suppose we shall know, sooner or later, why it is that 
 good people are not to be happy here, and that the more they 
 love one another, the more struggles and sorrows they have to 
 undergo." 
 
 "Do we not know something of it already ?" said Hope, 
 after a pretty long pause. " Is it not to put us off from the 
 too vehement desire of being what we commonly call happy ? 
 By the time higher things become more interesting to us than 
 this, we begin to find that it is given to us to put our own 
 happiness under our feet, in reaching forward to something 
 better. We become, by natural consequence, practised in 
 this (forgetful of the things that are behind) ; and if the 
 practice be painful, what then ? We shall not quarrel with 
 it, surely, unless we are willing to exchange what we have 
 gained for money, and praise, and animal spirits, shutting in 
 an abject mind." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " said Hester ; " but yet there are trou- 
 bles " She stopped short on observing Margaret's 
 
 quivering lip. 
 
 " There are troubles, I own, which it is difficult to classify 
 and interpret," said her husband. " We can only struggle 
 through them, taking the closest heed to our innocence. But 
 these affairs of ours — ^these mistakes of my neighbours — are 
 not of that sort. They are intelligible enough, and need not 
 therefore trouble us much." 
 
242 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Hope was right in his suspicion of the accuracy of Margaret's 
 memory. His tones, his words, had sunk deep into her heart 
 — ^her innocent heart — in which everything that entered it 
 became safe and pure as itself *' Oh God ! my Margaret ! " 
 sounded there like music. 
 
 " What a heart he has ! " she thought. "• I was very selfish 
 to fancy him reserved ; and I am glad to know that my 
 brother loves me so. If it is such a blessing to be his sister, 
 how happy must Hester be — ^in spite of everything ! God has 
 preserved my life, and He has given these two to each other ! 
 And, oh, how He has shown me that they love me ! I will 
 rouse myself, and try to suffer less." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MOODS OF THE MIND. 
 
 Hester's sleeping as well as waking thoughts were this night 
 full of solicitude as to her feelings and conduct towards her 
 sister. A thousand times before the morning she had said to 
 herself, in dreams and in meditation, that she had failed in this 
 relation — the oldest, and, till of late, the dearest. She 
 shuddered to think how nearly she had lost Margaret ; and to 
 imagine what her state of mind would have been, if her sister 
 had now been beyond the reach of the voice, the eye, the 
 hand, which she was resolved should henceforth dispense to 
 her nothing but the love and the benefits she deserved. She 
 reflected that to few was granted such a warning of the death 
 of beloved ones : to few was it permitted to feel, while it was 
 yet not too late, the agony of remorse for pain inflicted, for 
 gratifications withheld ; for selfish neglect, for insufficient love. 
 She remembered vividly what her emotions had been as a 
 child, on finding her canary dead in its cage ; — how she had 
 wept all day, not so much for its loss as from the recollection 
 of the many times when she had failed to cheer it with sugar, 
 and groundsel, and play, and of the number of hours when 
 she had needlessly covered up its cage in impatience at its 
 song, shutting out its sunshine, and changing the brightest 
 seasons of its little life into dull night. If it had been thus 
 with her sister ! Many a hasty word, many an unjust thought, 
 came back now to wring her heart, when she imagined Margaret 
 sinking in the water, — the soft breathing on which our life so 
 
DEERBROOK. 
 
 marvellously hangs, stopped without struggle or crj. How 
 near — how very near, had Death, in his hovering, stooped 
 towards their home ! How strange, while treading thus pre- 
 cariously the film which covers the abyss into which all must 
 some day drop, and which may crack under the feet of any 
 one at any hour, — how strange to be engrossed with petty 
 jealousies, with selfish cares, and to be unmindful of the great 
 interests of existence, the exercises of mutual love and trust ! 
 Thank God ! it was not too late. Margaret lived to be 
 cherished, to be consoled for her private griefs, as far as 
 consolation might be possible ; to have her innocent affections 
 redeemed from the waste to which they now seemed doomed, 
 — gathered gradually up again, and knit into the interests of 
 the home life in which she was externally bearing her part. 
 Full of these thoughts, and forgetting how often her best 
 feelings had melted away beneath the transient heats kindled 
 by the little provocations of daily life, Hester now believed 
 that Margaret would never have to suffer from her more, — 
 that their love would be henceforth like that of angels, — like 
 that which it would have been if Margaret had really died 
 yesterday. It was yet early, when, in the full enjoyment of 
 these undoubting thoughts, Hester stood by her sister's bed- 
 side. 
 
 Margaret was still sleeping, but with that expression of 
 weariness in her face which had of late become too common. 
 Hester gazed long at the countenance, grieving at the languor 
 and anxiety which it revealed. She had not taken Margaret's 
 suffering to heart, — she had been unfeeling, — strangely for- 
 getful. She would minister to her now with reverent care. 
 As she thus resolved, she bent down, and kissed her forehead. 
 Margaret started, shook off sleep, felt quite well, would rise ; — 
 there was no reason why she should not rise at once. 
 
 Wlien she entered the breakfast-room, Hester was there,, 
 placing her chair by the fire, and inventing indulgences for 
 her, as if she had been an invalid. It was in vain that 
 Margaret protested that no effects of the accident remained, — 
 not a single sensation of chill : she was to be taken care of,, 
 and she submitted. She was touched by her sister's gentle 
 offices, and felt more like being free and at peace, more like 
 being lifted up out of her woe, than she had yet done since 
 the fatal hour which rendered her conscious and wretched. 
 Breakfast went on cheerfully. The fire blazed bright : the 
 rain pelting against the windows gave welcome promise of 
 
 R 2 
 
244 DEERBROOK. 
 
 exemption from inquiries in person, and from having to relate, 
 many times over, the particulars of the event of yesterday. 
 Hester was beautiful in all the glow of her sensibilities, and 
 Edward was for this morning in no hurry. No blue or yellow 
 backed pamphlet lay beside his plate ; and when his last cup 
 was empty, he still sat talking as if he forgot that he should 
 have to go out in the rain. In the midst of a laugh which 
 had prevented their hearing a premonitory knock, the door 
 opened, and Mrs. Grey's twin daughters entered, looking half- 
 shy, half-eager. Never before had they been known to come 
 out in heavy rain : but they were so very desirous to see 
 cousin Margaret after she had been in the water ! — and Sydney 
 had held the great gig umbrella over himself and them, as 
 papa would not hear of Sydney not coming : — he'was standing 
 outside the door now, under the large umbrella, for he said 
 nothing should make him come in and see cousin Margaret : — 
 he would never see her again if he could help it. Sydney 
 had said another thing, — such a wicked thing ! Mamma was 
 quite ashamed of him. Mr. Hope thought they had better 
 not repeat anything wicked that any one had said : but Hester 
 considered it possible that it might not appear so wicked if 
 spoken as if left to the imagination. What Sydney had said 
 was, that if cousin Margaret had been really drowned, he 
 would have drowned himself before dinner-time. Mary added 
 that she heard him mutter that he was almost ready to do it 
 now. Mr. Hope thought that must be the reason why he was 
 standing out at present, to catch all this rain, which was very 
 nearly enough to drown anybody ; and he went to bring him 
 in. But Sydney was not to be caught. He was on the 
 watch ; and the moment he saw Mr. Hope's coat instead of his 
 sisters' cloaks, he ran off with a speed which defied pursuit, 
 and was soon out of sight with the large umbrella. 
 
 His cousins were sorry that he felt the event so painfully, 
 and that he could not come in and confide his trouble of mind 
 to them. Hope resolved not to let the morning pass without 
 seeing him, and, if possible, bringing him home to dinner, with 
 William Levitt to take off the awkwardness. 
 
 "What are we to do?" exclaimed Sydney's little sisters. 
 ** He has carried off the great umbrella." 
 
 "I cannot conveniently send you, just at present," said 
 Hester ; " so you had better put off your cloaks, and amuse 
 yourselves here till the rain abates, or some one comes for 
 you. We will speak to Miss Young to excuse your not being 
 with her." 
 
DEERBROOK. 245 
 
 " Oh, cousin Margaret," said the children, " if you will speak 
 to Miss Young, she will give us any sort of a holiday. She 
 minds everything you say. She will let us stop all day, and 
 dine here, if you ask her." 
 
 Hester said she could not have them stay all day, — she did 
 not mean to have them to dinner : and the little girls both 
 looked up in her face at once, to find out what made her speak 
 so angrily. They saw cousin Margaret glancing the same 
 way too. 
 
 " Do you know, Mary," said Fanny, " you have not said a 
 word yet of what Miss Young bade you say ? " 
 
 Mary told cousin Margaret, that Miss Young was wishing 
 very much to see her, and would be pleased if Margaret would 
 mention what evening she would spend with her, — a nice long 
 evening, Mary added, to begin as soon as it grew dark, and 
 go on till — nobody knew when. 
 
 " Maria had better come here," observed Hester, quickly; 
 " and then some one else besides Llargaret may have the benefit 
 of her conversation. She seems to forget that anybody cares 
 for her besides Margaret. Tell Miss Young she had better fix 
 an evening to come here." 
 
 " I do not think she will do that," said both the little girls. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " She is very lame now," replied Mary, " and she cannot 
 walk further than just to school and back again." 
 
 " And, besides," remarked Fanny, " she wants to talk with 
 cousin Margaret alone, I am sure. They have such a great 
 deal of talk to do whenever they are together ! We watch 
 them sometimes in the schoolroom, through the window, when 
 we are at play in the garden ; and their heads nod at one 
 another in this way. I believe they never leave off for a 
 minute. We often wonder what it can be all about." 
 
 " Ah, my dears, you and I had better not ask," said 
 Hester. " I have no doubt it is better that we should not 
 know." 
 
 Margaret looked beseechingly at her sister. Hester replied 
 to her look, 
 
 " I mean what I say, Margaret. You cannot but be aware 
 how much more you have to communicate to Maria than to 
 me. Our conversation soon comes to a stand : and I must say 
 I have had much occasion to admire your great talent for 
 silence of late. Maria has still to learn your accomplishments 
 in that direction, I fancy." 
 
24t DEERBROOK. 
 
 Margaret qtiietly told tlie little girls that she wonld write a 
 note to Maria, with her answer. 
 
 " You must not do that," said Fanny. " Miss Young said 
 you must not. That was the reason why she sent you a 
 message instead of a note — that you might not have to write 
 back again, when a message would do as well." 
 
 Margaret, nevertheless, sat down at the writing-table. 
 
 ** You go to-day, of course," said Hester, in the voice of 
 forced calmness which Margaret knew so well. '' The little 
 girls may as well stay and dine, after all, as I shall otherwise 
 be alone in the evening." 
 
 " I shall not go to-day," said Margaret, without turning her 
 liead. 
 
 " You will not stay away on mj account, of c6urse." 
 
 " I have said that I shall go on Thursday." 
 
 " Thursday ! that is almost a week hence. Now, Margaret, 
 do not be pettish, and deny yourself what you know you like 
 best. Do not be a baby, and quarrel with your supper. I 
 had far rather you should go to-night, and have done with it, 
 than that you should wait till Thursday, thinking all day long 
 till then that you are obliging me by staying with me. I cannot 
 bear that." 
 
 " I wish I knew what you could bear," said Margaret, in a 
 voice which the children could not hear. " I wish I knew 
 how I could save you pain." 
 
 The moment the words were out, Margaret was sorry for 
 them. She was aware that the best kindness to her sister was 
 to take as little notice as possible of her discontents — to turn 
 the conversation — to avoid scenes, or any remarks which could 
 bring them on. It was hard — sometimes it seemed impossible 
 — to speak calmly and lightly, while every pulse was throbbing, 
 and every fibre trembling with fear and wretchedness ; but yet 
 it was best to assume such calmness and lightness. Margaret 
 now asked the little girls, while she sealed her note, how their 
 patchwork was getting on — thus far the handsomest patch- 
 work quilt she had ever seen. 
 
 " Oh, it will be far handsomer before it is done. Mrs. Howell 
 has found up some beautiful pieces of print for us — remnants 
 of her first morning-gown after she was married, and of her 
 poor dear Howell's last dressing-gown, as she says. We were 
 quite sorry to take those ; but she would put them up for us ; 
 and she is to see the quilt sometimes in return." 
 
 " But Miss Nares's parcel was the best, cousin Margaret. 
 
DEERBROOK. 247 
 
 Such a quantity of nankeen for the ground, and the loveliest 
 chintz for the centre medallion ! Is not it, Mary ? " 
 
 " Oh, lovely ! Do you know, cousin Margaret, Miss Nares 
 and Miss Flint both cried when they heard how nearly you 
 were drowned ! I am sure, I had no idea they would have 
 cared so much." 
 
 " Nor I, my dear. But I dare say they feel kindly towards 
 anyone saved from great danger." 
 
 " Not everybody," said Fanny; "only you, because you are 
 a great favourite. Everybody says you are a great favourite. 
 Papa cried last night — just a little tear or two, as gentlemen 
 do — when he told mamma how sorry everybody in Deerbrook 
 would have been if you had died." 
 
 " There ! that will do," said Hester, struggling between her 
 better and worse feelings — her remorse of this morning, and 
 her present jealousy — and losing her temper between the two. 
 " You have said quite enough about what you do not under- 
 stand, my dears. I cannot have you make so free with your 
 cousin's name, children." 
 
 The little girls looked at each other in wonder ; and Hester 
 thought she detected a lurking smile. 
 
 *' I see what you are thinking, children. Yes, look, the rain 
 is nearly over; and then you may go and tell Mrs. HoweU and 
 Miss Nares, and all the people you see on your way home, that 
 they had better attend to their own concerns than pretend to 
 understand what would have been felt if your cousin had been 
 drowned. I wonder at their impertinence." 
 
 " Are you in earnest, cousin Hester ? Shall we go and teU 
 them so ? " 
 
 " No ; she is not in earnest," said Margaret. '^ But before 
 you go, Morris shall give you some pieces for your quilt — 
 some very pretty ones, such as she knows I can spare." 
 
 Margaret rang, and Morris took the children up-stairs, to 
 choose for themselves out of Margaret's drawer of pieces. 
 When the door had closed behind them, Margaret said — 
 
 " Sister, do not make me wish that I had died under the ice 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Margaret, how dare you say anything so wicked ?" 
 
 " If it be wicked, God forgive me ! I was wretched enough 
 before — I would fain have never come to life again : and now 
 you almost make me believe that you would have been best 
 pleased if I never had." 
 
 At this moment Hope entered. He had left them in a far 
 
248 DEERBROOK. 
 
 different mood : it made him breathless to see his wife's face of 
 passion, and Margaret's of woe. 
 
 " Hear her !" exclaimed Hester. " She says I should have 
 been glad to have lost her yesterday ! " 
 
 " Have mercy upon me!" cried Margaret, in excessive agita- 
 tion. " You oppress me beyond what I can bear. I cannot 
 bear on as I used to do. My strength is gone, and you give 
 me none. You take away what I had! " 
 
 " Will you hear me spoken to in this way ? " cried Hester, 
 turning to her husband. 
 
 " I will." 
 
 Margaret's emotion prevented her hearing this, or caring 
 who was by. She went on — 
 
 " You leave me nothing — nothing but yourself — and you 
 abuse my love for you. You warn me against love — against 
 marriage — ^you chill my very soul with terror at it. I have 
 found a friend in Maria ; and you poison my comfort in my 
 friendship, and insult my friend. There is not an infant in a 
 neighbour's house but you become jealous of it the moment I 
 take it in my arms. There is not a flower in your garden, 
 not a book on my table, that you will let me love in peace. 
 How ungenerous — while you have one to cherish and who 
 cherishes you, that you will have me lonely! — that you 
 quarrel with all who show regard to me ! — that you refuse me 
 the least solace, when my heart is breaking with its loneli- 
 ness ! Oh, it is cruel !" 
 
 '' Will you hear this, Edward ? " 
 
 " I will, because it is the truth. For once, Hester, you 
 must hear another's mind ; you have often told your own." 
 
 " God knows why I was saved yesterday," murmured 
 Margaret ; <lfor a more desolate creature does not breathe." 
 
 Hope leaned against the wall. Hester relieved her torment 
 of mind with reproaches of Margaret. 
 
 " You do not trust me," she cried ; " it is you who make me 
 miserable. You go to others for the comfort you ought to 
 seek in me. You place that confidence in others which ought 
 to be mine alone. You are cheered when you learn that the 
 commonest gossips in Deerbrook care about you, and you set 
 no value on your *own sister's feelings for you. You have 
 faith and charity for people out of doors, and mistrust and 
 misconstruction for those at home. I am the injured one, 
 Margaret, not you." 
 
 " Margaret," said Hope, " your sister speaks for herself. I 
 
DEEKBROOK. 249 
 
 think that you are the injured one, as Hester herself will soon 
 agree. So far from having anything to reproach you with, I 
 honour your forbearance, — unremitting till this hour,— I 
 mourn that we cannot, if we would, console you in return. 
 But whatever I can do shall be done. Your friendships, your 
 pursuits, shall be protected. If we persecute your affections at 
 home, I will take care that you are allowed their exercise 
 abroad. Rely upon me, and do not think yourself utterly 
 lonely while you have a brother." 
 
 " I have been very selfish," said Margaret, recovering her- 
 self at the first word of kindness ; " wretchedness makes me 
 selfish, I think." 
 
 She raised herself up on the sofa, and timidly held out her 
 hand to her sister. Hester thrust it away. Margaret uttered 
 a cry of agony, such as had never been heard from her since 
 her childhood. Hope fell on the floor — he had fainted at the 
 sound. 
 
 Even now there was no one but Morris who understood it. 
 Margaret reproached herself bitterly for her selfishness — for 
 her loss of the power of self-control. Hester's remorse, how- 
 ever greater in degree, was of its usual kind, strong and brief. 
 She repeated, as she had done before, that she made her 
 husband wretched — that she should never have another 
 happy moment — that she wished he had never seen her. 
 For the rest of the day she was humbled, contrite, convinced 
 that she should give way to her temper no more. Her eyes 
 filled when her husband spoke tenderly to her, and her 
 conduct to Margaret was one act of supplication. But a 
 lesser degree of this same kind of penitence had produced no 
 permanent good effect before ; and there was no security that 
 the present paroxysm would have a different result. 
 
 Morris had seen that the children were engaged up-stairs 
 when she came down at Margaret's silent summons, to help to 
 revive her master. When she saw that there had been distress 
 before there was illness, she took her part. She resolved that 
 no one but herself should hear his first words, and sent the 
 ladies away when she saw that his consciousness was returning. 
 All the world might have heard his first words. He recovered 
 himself with a vigorous effort, swallowed a glass of wine, and 
 within a few minutes was examining a patient in the waiting- 
 room. There the little girls saw him as they passed the half- 
 open door, on their way out with their treasure of chintz and 
 print; and having heard some bustle below, they carried home 
 
250 DEEREROOK. 
 
 word that they believed Mr. Hope had been doing something 
 to somebody which had made somebody faint ; and Sophia, 
 shuddering, observed how horrid it must be to be a surgeon's 
 wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 WARNINGS. 
 
 Maria Young's lodging at the farrier's had one advantage 
 over many better dwellings; — it was pleasanter in winter 
 than in summer. There was little to find fault with in the 
 tiny sitting-room after candles were lighted. Tlje fire burned 
 clear in the grate ; and when the screen was up, there were 
 no draughts. This screen was quite a modern improvement 
 When Fanny and Mary Grey had experienced the pleasure of 
 surprising Sophia with a token of sisterly affection, in the 
 shape of a piece of India-rubber, and their mother with a 
 token of filial affection, in the form of a cotton-box, they were 
 unwilling to stop, and looked round to see whether they could 
 not present somebody with a token of some other sort of 
 affection. Sophia was taken into their counsels ; and she, 
 being aware of how Miss Young's candle flared when the wind 
 was high, devised this screen. The carpenter made the 
 frame ; Sydney covered it with canvas and black paper for a 
 ground ; and the little girls pasted on it all the drawings and 
 prints they could muster. Here was the Dargle, an ever- 
 lasting waterfall, that looked always the same in the sunny- 
 coloured print. There was Morland's Woodcutter, with his 
 tall figure, his pipe, his dog, and his faggot, with the snow 
 lying all around him. Two or three cathedrals were inter- 
 spersed ; and, in the midst of them, and larger than any of 
 them, a silhouette of Mr. Grey, with the eyelash wonderfully 
 like, and the wart upon his nose not to be mistaken. Then 
 there was Charles the First taking leave of his family ; and, 
 on either side of this, an evening primrose in water-colours, 
 by Mary, and a head of Terror, with a square mouth and 
 starting eyes, in crayon, by Fanny. Mrs. Grey produced 
 some gay border which the paper-hanger had left over when 
 the attics were last furnished ; and Sydney cut out in white 
 paper a huntsman with his whip in the air, a fox, a gate, and 
 two hounds. Mr. Grey pleaded, that* having contributed his 
 
DEERBROOK. 251 
 
 face, he had done all that could be expected of him : never- 
 theless, he brought home one day, on his return from market, 
 a beautiful Stream of Time, which made the children dance 
 round their screen. It was settled at first that this would 
 nobly ornament the whole of one side ; but it popped into 
 Sydney's head, just as he was falling asleep one night, how 
 pretty it would be to stick it round with the planets. So the 
 planets were cut out in white, and shaded with Indian ink. 
 There was no mistaking Saturn with his ring, or Jupiter with 
 his moons. At length, all w^as done, and the cook was glad 
 to hear that no more paste would be wanted, and the little 
 girls might soon leave off giggling when Miss Young asked 
 them, in the schoolroom, why they were jogging one another's 
 elbows. Mr. Grey spared one of his men to deposit the 
 precious piece of handiwork at Miss Young's lodging ; and 
 there, when she went home one cold afternoon, she found the 
 screen standing between the fire and the door, and, pinned 
 on it, a piece of paper, inscribed, " A Token of friendly 
 Affection." 
 
 This was not, however, the only, nor the first, gift with 
 which Maria's parlour was enriched. Amidst all the bustle 
 of furnishing the Hopes' house, Margaret had found time to 
 plan and execute a window-curtain for her friend's benefit ; 
 and another person — no other than Philip Enderby — had sent 
 in a chaise-longue, just the right size to stand between the 
 fire and the table. It had gone hard with Maria to accept 
 this last gift ; but his nephew and nieces were Philip's plea of 
 excuse for the act ; and this plea cut her off" from refusing : 
 though in her heart she believed that neither the children 
 nor ancient regard were in his thoughts when he did it, but 
 rather Margaret's affection for her. For some time, this 
 chaise-longue was a couch of thorns ; but now affairs had 
 put on a newer aspect still, and Maria forgot her own 
 perplexities and troubles in sympathy with her friend. 
 
 There was nothing to quarrel with in the look of the chaise- 
 longue, when Margaret entered Maria's room in the twilight, 
 in the afternoon of the appointed Thursday. 
 
 " Reading by fire-light?" said Margaret. 
 
 ^' I suppose I am : but it had not occurred to me — the day- 
 light went away so softly. Six o'clock, I declare ! The days 
 are lengthening, as we say every year. But we will have 
 something better than firelight, if you will be so kind as to 
 set those candles on the table." 
 
252 DEERBROOK. 
 
 The time was long past when Maria thought of apologizing 
 for asking her friend to do what her lameness rendered painful 
 to herself Margaret laid aside her bonnet and cloak behind 
 the screen, lighted the candles, put more coals on the fire, 
 and took her seat — not beside Maria, but in a goodly arm- 
 chair, which she drew forward from its recess. 
 
 " Now," said ehe, " we only want a cat to be purring on 
 the rug to make us a complete winter picture. The kettle 
 will be coming soon to sing on the hob : and that will do 
 nearly as well. But, Maria, I wonder you have no cat. We 
 have set up a cat. I think I will send you a kitten, some day, 
 as a token of neighbourly affection." 
 
 " Thank you. Do you know, I was positively assured 
 lately that I had a cat ? I said all I could in proof that I had 
 none ; but Mrs. Tucker persisted in her inquiries after its 
 health, notwithstanding." 
 
 "What did she mean?" 
 
 " She said she saw a kitten run into the passage, and that 
 it never came out again : so that it followed of course that it 
 must be here still. One day, when I was in school, she came 
 •over to satisfy herself ; and true enough, there had been a 
 kitten. The poor thing jumped from the passage window into 
 the yard, and went to see what they were about at the forge. 
 A hot horse-shoe fell upon its back, and it mewed so dolefully 
 that the people drowned it. So there you have the story of 
 my cat, as it was told to me." 
 
 " Thank you, it is a good thing to know. But what does 
 Mrs. Grey say to your setting up a cat ? " 
 
 " When she heard Mrs. Tucker's first inquiries, she took 
 them for an imputation, and was vexed accordingly. ^ Miss 
 Young ! ' said she. * You must be mistaken, Mrs. Tucker. 
 Miss Young cannot afford to keep a kitten !' " 
 
 " Oh, for shame !" said Margaret, laughing. " But what is 
 the annual expense of a kitten — can you tell us ? I am afraid 
 we never considered that." 
 
 " Why, there is the breast of a fowl, once a year or so, when 
 your cook forgets to shut the larder-door behind her. Cats 
 never take the drumsticks when there is a breast, you are 
 aware. You know best how Mr. Hope looks, when the drum- 
 sticks and side bones come to table, with an empty space in 
 the middle of the dish where the breast ought to have been." 
 
 " I will tell you, the first time it happens." And Margaret 
 sank into an absent fit, brought on by the bare suggestion of 
 
DEERBROOK. 253 
 
 discontent at home. Hester had made her uncomfortable, 
 the last thing before she left the house, by speaking sharply 
 of Maria, without any fresh provocation. Undisciplined still 
 by what had happened so lately, she had wished Maria Young 
 a hundred miles oiF. Margaret meditated and sighed. It 
 was some time before Maria spoke. When she did, she said, 
 
 " Margaret, do not you think people had better not per- 
 suade themselves and their very intimate friends that they 
 are happy when they are not ? " 
 
 " They had better not think, even in their own innermost 
 minds, whether they are happy or not, if they can help it." 
 
 *' True : but there are times when that is impossible — when 
 it is far better to avoid the effort. Come — I suspect we may 
 relieve each other just now, by allowing the truth. I will 
 own, if you will, that I am very unhappy to-night. Never 
 mind what it is about." 
 
 " I will, if you will," replied Margaret, faintly smiling. 
 
 " There now, that's right ! We shall be all the better for 
 it. We have quite enough of seeming happy, God knows, 
 beyond these doors. We can talk there about kittens and 
 cold fowl. Here we will not talk at all, unless we like; and 
 we will each groan as much as we please." 
 
 *^ I am sorry to hear you speak so," said Margaret, tenderly. 
 " Not that I do not agree with you. I think it is a terrible 
 mistake to fancy that it is religious to charm away grief, 
 which, after all, is rejecting it before it has done its work ; 
 and, as for concealing it, there must be very good reasons 
 indeed for that, to save it from being hypocrisy. But the 
 more I agree with you, the more sorry I am to hear you say 
 just what I was thinking. I am afraid you must be very 
 unhappy, Maria." 
 
 " I'm in great pain to-night ; and I do not find that pain 
 becomes less of an evil by one's being used to it. Indeed, I 
 think the reverse happens ; for the future comes into the 
 consideration." 
 
 " Do you expect to go on to suffer this same pain ? Can 
 nothing cure it ? Is there no help ? " 
 
 " None, but in patience. There are intermissions, happily, 
 and pretty long ones. I get through the summer very well ; 
 but the end of the winter — this same month of February — is 
 a sad aching time ; and so it must be for as many winters as 
 I may have to live. But I am better off than I was. Last 
 February I did not know you. Oh, Margaret, if they had 
 
:254 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 not brought you up from under the ice, the other day, how 
 different would all have been to-night !" 
 
 " How strange it seems to think of the difference that hung 
 on that one act ! " said Margaret, shivering again at the 
 remembrance of her icy prison. " What, and where, should 
 I have been now ? And what would have been the change in 
 this little world of ours? You would have missed me, I 
 know ; and on that account I am glad it ended as it did." 
 
 " And on no other ?" asked Maria, looking earnestly at her 
 friend. 
 
 " My sister would have grieved sadly at first — you do not 
 know what care she takes of me — how often she is thinking 
 of my comfort. And Edward is fond of me too : I know he 
 is ; but they live for each other, and could spf?.re every one 
 ^Ise. You and Morris would have been my mourners, and 
 jou two are enough to live for." 
 
 " To say nothing of others who may arise." 
 
 '' I hope nothing more will arise in my life, Maria. I want 
 no change. I have had enough of it." 
 
 '' You think so now. I understand your feeling very well. 
 But yet I can fancy that when you are twice as old as you 
 are — when a few grey hairs peep out among all that brown 
 — when this plump little hand grows thin, and that girlish 
 figure of yours looks dignified and middle-aged, and people 
 say that nobody thought when you were young that you would 
 turn out a handsome woman — I can fancy that when all this 
 has happened, you may be more disposed to look forward, and 
 less disinclined to change, than you feel at this moment. But 
 there is no use in saying so now. You shake your head, and 
 I nod mine. You say, * No,' and I say, * Yes ; ' and there is 
 an end of it." 
 
 " Where will you be then, I wonder?" 
 
 '' I do not wish to know, nor even to inquire of my own 
 judgment. My health is very bad — worse than you are 
 aware of I cannot expect to be able to work always : — 
 some of my present pupils are growing very tall ; and no 
 strangers will take me if I do not get much better ; which is, 
 I believe, impossible. The future, therefore, is all a mystery ; 
 and so let it remain. I am not anxious about that." 
 
 "But I am." 
 
 " Here comes tea. Now you will be doing a finer thing in 
 making us a good cup of tea, than in settling my future ever 
 so satisfactorily- — seeing that you cannot touch it with 
 
deerbrdok. 255 
 
 go mucli as your little finger. The tea is wholly in your 
 power." 
 
 " You look forward to other people's gray hair and. sedate- 
 ness of face, though you will not to your own." 
 
 "Mere gray hair is as certain as futurity itself; and I will 
 allow you to prophesy that much for me or for anybody." 
 
 "Why should we not prophesy about your pupils too? 
 They seem to be improving very much." 
 
 " They certainly are ; and I am glad you have lighted upon 
 the pleasantest subject 1 ever think about. Oh, Margaret^ 
 you do not know what encouragement I have about some of 
 those children ! Their lot is and will be a hard one, in many 
 respects. It will be difficult for them to grow kindly, and 
 liberal, and truthful, with such examples as they have before 
 their eyes. They advance like the snail on the wall, creeping 
 three inches on in the day, and falling back two at night. 
 They get out of a pretty mood of mind in the morning, and 
 expand and grow interested in things out of Deerbrook ; and 
 then, in the evening, the greater part of this is undone, and 
 they go to bed with their heads full of small, vile notions 
 about their neighbours." 
 
 " And when they grow too wise to have their heads so filled, 
 their hearts will be heavy for those who are not rising like 
 themselves." 
 
 " That is unavoidable, and they must bear the sorrow. We 
 must hope that they will disperse from Deerbrook, and find 
 their way into a more genial society than they can ever know 
 here. I must keep the confidence of my children sacred even 
 from you, Margaret : but you may believe me when I tell you, 
 that if you knew all that we have to say to one another, you 
 would find some of these children animated with really noble 
 thoughts, and capable of really generous acts." 
 
 " * Some of them.' Mary, in particular, I venture to con- 
 jecture to be in your thoughts." 
 
 " Yes : Mary in particular ; but she had always a more 
 gentle and generous temper than her sisters. Fanny, how- 
 ever, is improving remarkably." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it, and I had begun to suspect it. 
 Fanny, I observe, lays fewer informations than she did ; and 
 there is more of thought, and less of a prying expression, in 
 her face. She is really growing more like Mary in counte- 
 nance. The little Rowlands — the younger ones — seem simple 
 enough ; but Matilda, what a disagreeable child she is !" 
 
256 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " The most that can be done with her is to leave her only 
 a poor creature — to strip her of the conceit and malice with 
 which her mother would overlay her feeble intellect. This 
 sounds deplorably enough ; but, as parents will not speak the 
 plain truth to themselves about their charge, governesses must. 
 There is, perhaps, little better material in Fanny : but I trust 
 we may one day see her more lowly than she can at present 
 relish the idea of being, and with energy enough to improve 
 under the discipline of life, when she can no longer have that 
 of school. She and Mary have been acknowledging to-day a 
 fine piece of experience. Mr. Grey is pleased with their great 
 improvement in Latin. He finds they can read, with ease and 
 pleasure, some favourite classical scraps which he used to talk 
 about without exciting any interest in them. » They honestly 
 denied having devoted any more time to Latin than before, or 
 having taken any more pains ; and no new methods have been 
 tried. Here was a mystery. To-day they have solved it. 
 They find that all is owing to their getting up earlier in the 
 morning to teach those little orphans, the Woods, to read and 
 sew." 
 
 " Not a very circuitous process," said Margaret; " love and 
 kind interest, energy and improvement — ^whether in Latin or 
 anything else. But what did you mean just now about truth? 
 What should make the Greys otherwise than truthful ? " 
 
 "Oh, not the Greys ! I was thinking of the other family 
 when I said that. But that is a large subject : let us leave it 
 till after tea. Will you give me another cup ? " 
 
 " Now ; shall we begin upon our large subject?" said she, 
 as the door closed behind the tea-tray and kettle, and Margaret 
 handed her her work-bag. 
 
 " I am aware that I asked for it," replied Margaret ; " but 
 it is a disagreeable topic, and perhaps we had better avoid it." 
 
 " You will take me for a Deerbrook person, if I say we will 
 go into it, will not you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no : you have a reason, I see. So, why should not 
 the little Eowlands be truthful ? " 
 
 " Because they have so perpetual an example of falsehood 
 before them at home. I have made some painful discoveries 
 there lately." 
 
 " Is it possible you did not know that woman long ago ?" 
 
 " I knew her obvious qualities, which there is no need to 
 specify : but the depth of her untruth is a new fact to me." 
 
 " Are you sure of it, now ? " 
 
DEERBROOK. 257 
 
 *^ Quite sure of it in some particulars, and strongly suspecting 
 it in others. Do not tell your sister anything of what I am. 
 going to say, unless you find it necessary for the direction, of 
 her conduct. Let your disclosures be rather to Mr. Hope. 
 That is settled, is it? Well, Mrs. Kowland's ruling passion just 
 now is hatred to your household." 
 
 " I suspected as much. But — the untruth." 
 
 *^ Wait a little. She dislikes you, all and severally." 
 
 "What, my brother?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; for marrying into the Grey connection so 
 decidedly. Did you ever hear that before ? " 
 
 Margaret laughed ; and her friend went on — 
 
 " This capture and imprisonment of her mother (for the 
 poor old lady is not allowed to see whom she pleases) is chiefly 
 to get her from under Mr. Hope's care. I fancy, from her air, 
 and from some things she has dropped, that she has some grand 
 coup-de-thedtre in reserve about that matter ; but this is merely 
 suspicion : I will now speak only of what I know to exist. 
 She is injuring your brother to an extent that he is not, but 
 ought to be, aware of." 
 
 " What does she say ? She shudders at his politics, I know." 
 
 *^ Yes; that might be ignorance merely, and even conscien- 
 tious ignorance : so we will let that pass. She also hints, very 
 plainly and extensively, that your brother and sister are not 
 happy together." 
 
 " She is a wicked woman," said Margaret, with a deep sigh. 
 " I half suspected what you tell me, from poor George's errand 
 that unhappy day." 
 
 "Eight. Mr. Eowland's irony was intended to stop his 
 wife's insinuations before the children. She says the most 
 unwarrantable things about Mrs. Grey's having made th^ 
 match ; and she intimates that Hester has several times gone 
 to bed in hysterics, from Mr. Hope having upbraided her with 
 taking him in." 
 
 " What is to be done ? " cried Margaret, throwing down her 
 work. 
 
 " Your brother will decide for himself whether to speak to 
 Mr. Rowland, or to let the slander pass, and live it down. 
 Our duty is to give him information ; and I feel that it is a 
 duty. And now, have you been told anything about Mr. Hope's 
 practice of dissection ? " 
 
 Margaret related what she had heard on the bank of tho 
 river, and Hope's explanation of it. 
 
 S 
 
258 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " He knows more than he told you, I have no doubt," replied 
 Maria. " The beginning of it was, your brother's surgery -pupil 
 having sent a great toe, in a handsome -looking sealed packet, 
 to some lad in the village, who happened to open it at table. 
 You may imagine the conjectures as to where it came from, 
 and the revival of stories about robbing churchyards, and of 
 prejudices about dissection. Mrs. Kowland could not let such 
 an opportunity as this pass by ; and her neighbours have been 
 favoured with dark hints as to what has been heard under the 
 churchyard wall, and what she herself has seen from her 
 window in sleepless nights. Now, Mr. Hope must take notice 
 of this. It is too dangerous a subject to be left quietly to the 
 ignorance and superstitions of such a set of people as those 
 among whom his calling lies. No ignorance on earth exceeds 
 that of the country folks whom he attends." 
 
 " But they worship him," cried Margaret. 
 
 " They have worshipped him ; but you know, worship 
 easily gives place to hatred among the extremely ignorant ; 
 and nothing is so likely to quicken the process as to talk 
 about violating graves. Do not be frightened ; I tell you this 
 to prevent mischief, not to prophesy it. Mr. Hope will take 
 what measures he thinks fit : and I shall tell Mr. Eowland, to- 
 morrow morning, that I am the source of your information. 
 I was just going to warn him to-day that I meant to speak to 
 you in this way ; but I left it till to-morrow, that I might not 
 be prevented." 
 
 " Dear Maria, this will cost you your bread." 
 
 " I believe not; but this consideration belongs to that future 
 of time on which, as I was saying, w^e cannot lay our little 
 fingers. The present is clear enough — that Mr. Hope ought 
 to know his own case." 
 
 "He shall know it. But, Maria, do you mean that 
 Mrs. Rowland talks of all these affairs before her childi-en?"^ 
 
 " When Mr. Rowland is not present to check it. And this 
 brings me to something which I think ought to be said, though 
 I have no proof to bring. Having found of late what things 
 Mrs. Rowland can say for a purpose — ^how variously and how 
 monstrously untrue — and seeing that all her enterprises are at 
 present directed against the people who live in a pleasant little 
 corner-house ." 
 
 " But why ? You have not yet fully accounted for this 
 enmity." 
 
 " I have not, but I will now. I think she joins your name 
 
DEERBROOK. 259 
 
 •with her brother's, and that she accordingly hates you now as 
 she once hated Hester. But mind, I am not sure of this." 
 
 " But how ? Why ? " 
 
 '* You will divine that I have changed my opinion about 
 Mr. Enderby's being engaged to Miss Bruce, since you asked 
 me for my judgment upon it. I may very possibly be mis- 
 taken : but as Mr. Enderby lies under censure for forming and 
 <5arrying on such an arrangement in strange -concealment from 
 his most intimate friends, I think it due to him at least to put 
 the supposition that he may not be guilty." 
 
 Margaret could not speak, though a thousand questions 
 struggled in her heart. 
 
 "I am aware," continued Maria, "with what confidence 
 she has everywhere stated the fact of this engagement, and 
 that Mrs. Enderby fully believes it. But I have been struck 
 throughout with a failure of particularity in Mrs. Eowland's 
 knowledge. She cannot tell when her brother last saw 
 Miss Bruce, nor whether he has any intention of going to 
 Eome. She does not know, evidently, whether he was 
 engaged when he was last here ; and I cannot get rid of the 
 impression, that his being engaged now is a matter of infer- 
 ence from a small set of facts, which will bear more than one 
 interpretation." 
 
 *' Surely she would not dare ." Margaret paused. 
 
 " It is a bold stroke (supposing me right), but she would 
 strike boldly to make a quarrel between her brother and his 
 friends in the corner -house : and if the device should fail at 
 last, she has the intermediate satisfaction of making them 
 uncomfortable." 
 
 " Horrid creature ! " said Margaret, feeling, however, that 
 she would forgive all the horridness for the sake of finding 
 that Mrs. Rowland had done this horrid thing. 
 
 "We must not forget," said Maria, " that there is another 
 side to the question. Young men have been known to engage 
 themselves mysteriously, and without sufficient respect to the 
 confidence of intimate friends." 
 
 " This must be ascertained, Maria ; " and again Mar- 
 garet stopped short with a blush of shame. 
 
 "By time, Margaret; in no other way. I cannot, of 
 course, speak to Mr. Rowland, or any one, on so private an 
 affair of the family ; nor, under the circumstances, can 
 Mr. Hope stir in it. We must wait ; but it cannot be for 
 long. Some illumination must reach Deerbrook soon — either 
 
 32 
 
260 DEERBROOK. 
 
 from Mr. Enderby's going to Eome, or coming here to see 
 his mother." 
 
 " Mrs. Eowland said he would come here, she hoped, for his 
 wedding journey." 
 
 " She did say so, I know. And she has told plenty of 
 people that her brother is delighted that Mrs. Enderby is 
 settled with her ; whereas some beautiful plants arrived this 
 morning for Mrs. Enderby's conservatory, by his orders (the 
 Eowlands have no conservatory you know). The children 
 were desired not to mention the arrival of these plants to 
 grandmamma ; and Mrs. Eowland wrote by return of post — 
 I imagine to inform him for the first time of his mother's 
 removal." 
 
 Margaret thought these things were too bad ^o be true. 
 
 " I should have said so, too, some time ago : and as I cannot 
 too earnestly repeat, I may be wrong now. But I have done 
 my duty in giving you reason for suspending your judg- 
 ment of Mr. Enderby. This being done, we will talk of 
 something else. — ^Now, do not you think there may be some 
 difficulty in preserving my pupils from a habit of untruth ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 But the talking of something else did not operate so well 
 as it sounded. The pauses were long after what had passed. 
 At length, when Margaret detected herself in the midst of the 
 speculation, " if he is not engaged to Miss Bruce, it does not 
 follow ," she roused herself, and exclaimed — 
 
 *' How very good it is of you, Maria, to have laid all this 
 open to me ! " 
 
 Maria hung her head over her work, and thought within 
 herself that her friend could not judge of the deed. She 
 replied — 
 
 " Thank you ! I thought I should get some sympathy from 
 you in the end, to repay me for the irksomeness of exposing 
 such a piece of social vice as this poor lady's conduct." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I ought to have acknowledged it before, as I 
 feel it ; but you know there is so much to think over ! It is 
 so wonderful — so almost inconceivable ! " 
 
 " It is so." 
 
 " Is it quite necessary, Maria — ^yes, I see it is necessary — 
 that you should speak to Mr. Eowland to-morrow ? You are 
 bound in honesty to do so ; but it will be very painful. Can 
 "We not help you ? Can we not in some way spare you ? '* 
 
 " No, you cannot, thank you. For Mr. Eowland's sake, no 
 
DEERBROOK. 261 
 
 one must be by ; and none of you can testify to the facts. 
 No ; leave me alone. By this time to-morrow night it will be 
 done. What knock is that ? No one ever knocks on my 
 account. Surely it cannot be your servant already. It is only 
 now half-past eight." 
 
 ^' I promised Hester I would go home early." 
 
 ^' She cannot want you half so much as I do. Stay another 
 hour." 
 
 Margaret could not. Hester made a point of her returning 
 at this time. When the cloaking and final chat were done, 
 and Margaret was at the door, Maria called her. Margaret 
 came skipping back to hear her friend's whisper, 
 
 " How is your wretchedness, Margaret?" 
 
 ^^ How is yours ? " was Margaret's reply. 
 
 " Much better. The disburdening of it is a great comfort." 
 
 *^ And the pain — the aching ? " 
 
 *' Oh, never mind that ! " 
 
 Margaret shook her head ; she could not but mind it — but 
 wish that she could take it upon herself sometimes. She had 
 often thought lately, that she should rather enjoy a few weeks 
 of Maria's pain, as an alternative to the woe under which 
 she had been suffering ; but this, if she could have tried the 
 experiment, she would probably have found to be a mistake. 
 When she saw her friend cover her eyes with her hand, as if 
 for a listless hour of solitude, she felt that she had been wrong 
 in yielding to her sister's jealousy of her being so much with 
 Maria ; and she resolved that, next time, Maria should appoint 
 the hour for her return home. 
 
 When Maria was thus covering her eyes with her hand, she 
 was thinking — " Now, half this task is over. The other half 
 to-morrow — and then the consequences ! " 
 
 When Margaret entered the drawing-room at home, where 
 her brother was reading aloud to Hester, he exclaimed — 
 
 " We beat all Deerbrook for early visiting, I think. Here 
 are you home ; and I dare say Mr. Tucker has still another 
 pipe to smoke, and the wine is not mulled yet at the 
 Jameses." 
 
 " It is quite time Margaret was giving us a little of her 
 company, I am sure," said Hester. " You forget how early 
 she went. If it was not for the school, I think she and Maria 
 would spend all their time together. I have every wish not 
 to interfere : but I cannot think that this friendship has made 
 Maria less selfish." 
 
:262 DEEK BROOK. 
 
 " It would, I dare say, my dear, but that there was no 
 selfishness to begin upon. I am afraid she is very unwell, 
 Margaret ? " 
 
 " In much pain, I fear." 
 
 " I will go and see if I can do her any good. You can 
 glance over what we have read, and I shall be back in a 
 quarter of an hour, to go on with it." 
 
 " I wonder you left Maria, if she is so poorly." 
 
 " I determined that I would not, another time ; but this 
 time I had promised." 
 
 " Pray, do not make out that I am any restraint upon your 
 intercourse with Maria. And yet — it is not quite fair to say 
 that, either." 
 
 " I do not think it is quite fair." 
 
 " But you should warn me — you should telf me, if I ask 
 anything unreasonable. "When are you going again ? An 
 old patient of my husband's has sent us a quarter of a chest 
 of very fine oranges. We will carry Maria a basketful of 
 oranges to-morrow." 
 
 CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 LONG WALKS. 
 
 The unhappy are indisposed to employment : all active occu- 
 pations are wearisome and disgusting in prospect, at a time 
 when everything, life itself, is full of weariness and disgust. 
 Yet the unhappy must be employed, or they will go mad. 
 Comparatively blessed are they, if they are set in families, 
 where claims and duties abound, and cannot be escaped. In 
 the pressure of business there is present safety and ultimate 
 relief. Harder is the lot of those who have few necessary 
 occupations, enforced by other claims than their own 
 harmlessness and profitableness. Reading often fails. Now 
 and then it may beguile ; but much often er the attention is 
 languid, the thoughts wander, and associations with the 
 subject of grief are awakened. Women who find that reading 
 will not do, will obtain no relief from sewing. Sewing is 
 pleasant enough in moderation to those whose minds are 
 at ease the while ; but it is an employment which is trying 
 to the nerves when long continued, at the best ; and nothing 
 
DEERBROOK. 263 
 
 can be worse for the harassed, and for those who want to 
 escape from themselves. Writing is bad. The pen hangs 
 idly suspended over tlie paper, or the sad thoughts that are 
 alive within write themselves down. The safest and best of 
 all occupations for such sufferers as are fit for it, is intercourse 
 with young children. An infant might beguile Satan and his 
 peers the day after they were couched on the lake of fire, if 
 the love of children chanced to linger amidst the ruins of 
 their angelic nature. Next to this comes honest, genuine 
 acquaintanceship among the poor ; not mere charity-visiting, 
 grounded on soup-tickets and blankets, but intercourse of 
 mind, with real mutual interest between the parties. Garden- 
 ing is excellent, because it unites bodily exertion with a 
 sufficient engagement of the faculties, while sweet, compas- 
 sionate Nature is ministering cure in every sprouting leaf and 
 scented blossom, and beckoning sleep to draw nigh, and be 
 ready to follow up her benignant work. "Walking is good, — 
 not stepping from shop to shop, or from neighbour to 
 neighbour ; but stretching out far into the country, to the 
 freshest fields, and the highest ridges, and the quietest lanes. 
 However sullen the imagination may have been among its 
 griefs at home, here it cheers up and smiles. However listless 
 the limbs may have been when sustaining a too heavy heart, 
 here they are braced, and the lagging gait becomes buoyant 
 again. However perverse the memory may have been in pre- 
 senting all that was agonizing, and insisting only on what 
 cannot be retrieved, here it is first disregarded, and then 
 it sleeps ; and the sleep of the memory is the day in Paradise to 
 the unhappy. The mere breathing of the cool wind on the face 
 in the commonest highway, is rest and comfort which must 
 be felt at such times to be believed. It is disbelieved in the 
 shortest intervals between its seasons of enjoyment : and every 
 time the sufferer has resolution to go forth to meet it, it penetrates 
 to the very heart in glad surprise. The fields are better still ; 
 for there is the lark to fill up the hours with mirthful music ; 
 or, at worst, the robin and flocks of fieldfares, to show that 
 the hardest day has its life and hilarity. But the calmest 
 region is the upland, where human life is spread out beneath 
 the bodily eye, where the mind roves from the peasant's nest 
 to the spiry town, from the school-house to the churchyard, 
 from the diminished team in the patch of fallow, or the fisher- 
 man's boat in the cove, to the viaduct that spans the valley, 
 or the fleet that glides ghost-like on the horizon. This is the 
 
264 DEERBROOK. 
 
 perch wliere the spirit plumes its ruffled and drooping wings, 
 and makes ready to let itself down any wind that Heaven may 
 send. 
 
 No doubt Margaret found the benefit of exercise, and the 
 solitary enjoyment of the country ; for, during the last few 
 weeks, walking seemed to have become a passion with her. 
 Hester was almost out of patience about it, w^hen for a moment 
 she lost sight of what she well knew must be the cause of this 
 strong new interest. Every doubtful morning, Margaret w^as 
 at the window exploring the clouds. Every fine day she laid 
 her watch on the table before her, impatiently w^aiting the 
 approach of the hour when her brother was to come in for 
 Hester, and when she might set off by herself, not to return 
 till dinner-time. She became renowned in Deerbrook for the 
 length of her excursions. The grocer had met her far out in 
 one direction, when returning from making his purchases at 
 the market town. The butcher had seen her in the distant 
 fields, when he paid a visit to his grazier in the pastures. 
 Dr. Levitt had walked his horse beside her in the lane which 
 formed the limit of the longer of his two common rides ; and 
 many a neighbour or patient of Mr. Hope's had been surprised 
 at her declining a cast in a taxed-cart or gig, when there was 
 only a long stretch of plain road before her, and the lanes and 
 fields w^ere too miry to enable her to seek any variety in 
 them, in her way home. 
 
 These were, in fact, Margaret's times of refreshing — of 
 practical worship. These w^ere the times when she saw what 
 at other moments she only repeated to herself — that all things 
 are right, and that our personal trials derive their bitterness 
 from our ignorance and spiritual inexperience. At these 
 times she could not only pity all who suffered, but congra- 
 tulate all who enjoyed, and could afford feelings of disin- 
 terested regard to Philip, and of complacency to Miss Bruce. 
 She remembered that Miss Bruce was unconscious of having 
 injured her — was possibly unaware even of her existence; and 
 then she enjoyed the luxury of blessing her rival, and of 
 longing for an opportunity to serve her secretly and silently, 
 as the happy girl's innocence of all wrong towards her 
 deserved. 
 
 Margaret's desire for a long solitary walk was as strong as 
 ever, the day after she had visited Maria. No opportunity 
 had occurred of speaking to her brother without alarming 
 Hester ; and she had almost determined merely to refer him 
 
DEERBROOK. 265 
 
 to Maria, instead of telling the story herself. She should not 
 see him again till dinner. He was gone into the country ; 
 the day was gloomy and cold, and Hester was not disposed to 
 leave the fireside : so Margaret issued forth, with thick shoes, 
 umbrella, and muiF — guarded against everything that might 
 occur overhead and under foot. She had generally found 
 hope, or at least comfort, abroad ; to-day, when she ought to 
 have been much happier, she found anxiety and fear. The 
 thought, the very words, would incessantly recur, *If he is 
 not engaged to Miss Bruce, it does not follow . . .' 
 Then she seriously grieved for her brother, and the troubles 
 which she feared awaited him ; and then she reproached 
 herself with not grieving enough — not having attention 
 enough to spare from her own concerns. While she was 
 walking along on the dry causeway, looking straight before 
 her, but thinking of far other things than the high-road, she 
 was startled by the stroke of a horse's foot against a stone 
 close by her side, and a voice speaking almost in her ear. It 
 was only Edward. He was going a couple of miles forward, 
 and he brought his horse beside the raised causeway, so that 
 they could converse as if walking together. 
 
 " There is nobody to overhear us, I think," said Margaret, 
 looking round. " I have been wanting, since yesterday 
 evening, to speak to you alone — about something very 
 disagreeable, which I would not disturb Hester with. You, 
 of course, can do as you please about telling her." 
 
 She related to him the whole story of Mrs. Eowland's 
 imputations and proceedings — her reports of the hysterics 
 and their origin, the body-snatching, and the cause and mode 
 of Mrs. Enderby's removal. Margaret had always considered 
 her brother as a man of uncommon nerve ; and her surprise 
 was therefore great at seeing him change colour as he did. 
 
 ^* We shall agree," said she, " that the worst of all this is, 
 that there is some truth at the bottom part of it." 
 
 " Oh, Heavens!" thought Hope, "is it possible that Mrs. Grey 
 can have told the share she had in my marriage ? " It was 
 but a momentary fear. Margaret went on. 
 
 " I have never hoped — I never hoped at Birmingham, and 
 much less here — that Hester could escape the observation of 
 her neighbours — that her occasional agitation of spirits should 
 not excite remark and speculation. As we are not quite 
 whole and sound in our domestic peace — (I must speak plainly, 
 brother, at such a time as this) I should think it would be 
 
266 DEERBROOK. 
 
 better to take no notice of that set of imputations. I trust 
 we shall live them down." 
 
 " You gave me great comfort in a few words once," said 
 Hope. " Do you remember saying, * When the time for 
 acting comes, see how she will act !' You know her well, and 
 you judge her rightly : and you will, perhaps, be the less 
 sorry to hear that the time seems coming when we may all 
 have to act — I scarcely see how — but against adversity." 
 
 *^ She will come out nobly then. I fear nothing for her but 
 too much prosperity." 
 
 " There is no fear of that, I assure you," said Hope, smiling 
 Somewhat sadly. 
 
 " You find the effect of this woman's slanders ?" 
 
 *^ My situation has, from one cause or more, totally changed 
 since you first knew me. It would break Hester's heart to 
 hear what I am subjected to in the discharge of my daily 
 business. I tell her a trifle now and then, to prepare her for 
 what may happen ; but she and you do not know a tenth part 
 of what is inflicted upon me." 
 
 " And what may happen ? " 
 
 " I cannot see the extent of it myself : but I am losing my 
 practice every day. No ; not through any failure ; not through 
 any of the accidents which will happen in all medical practice. 
 There are reports of such abroad, I believe ; but nothing is 
 commoner than those reports. The truth is, no patient of 
 mine has died, or failed to do well, for an unusually long 
 space of time. The discontent with me is from other causes." 
 
 " From Mrs. Eowland's tongue, I doubt not, more than 
 from your politics." 
 
 " The ignorance of the people about us is the great evil. 
 Without this, neither Mrs. Rowland, nor any one else, could 
 persuade them that I rob the churchyard, and vaccinate 
 children to get patients, and draw good teeth to sell again." 
 
 " Oh, monstrous ! " said Margaret, who yet could not help 
 laughing. " You never draw teeth, do you ?" 
 
 " Sometimes ; but not when I can get people to go to the 
 dentist at Blickley. Mrs. Grey used to boast to you of my 
 popularity ; but I never liked it much. I had to be per- 
 petually on the watch to avoid confidences ; and you see how 
 fast the stream is at present running the contrary way. I 
 can hardly get on my horse now, without being insulted at 
 my own door." 
 
 " Must you submit to all this ? " 
 
DEEEBROOK. 2W 
 
 " By no means. I have called two or three men to account, 
 and shaken my whip over one or two more — with excellent 
 effect. If there were none but bullies among my enemies, I 
 could easily deal with them." 
 
 " But cannot we go away, and settle somewhere else ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! Wherever I might go, it would soon be under- 
 stood that I had been obliged to leave Deerbrook, from being 
 detected in body-snatching and the like. I owe it to myself 
 to stay. We must remain, and live down all imputations 
 whatever, if we can." 
 
 " And if we cannot ? " 
 
 " Then we shall see what to do when the time comes." 
 
 " And having managed the bullies, how do you propose to 
 manage Mrs. Eowland ? What do you think of speaking to 
 Mr. Grey?" 
 
 " I shall not do that. The Greys have no concern with it ; 
 but they will think they have. Then there will be a partisan 
 warfare, with me for the pretext, and the tw^o families have 
 had quite warfare enough for a lifetime already. No, I shall 
 not bring the Greys into it. I am sorry enough for Mr. Eowland, 
 for I am sure he has no part in all this. I shall go to him 
 to-day. I should confront the lady at once, and call her to 
 account, but that Miss Young must be considered. The more 
 courageous and disinterested she is, the more care we must 
 take of her." 
 
 " Perhaps she is at this moment telling Mr. Eowland what 
 -we talked about last night. How very painful I Do you 
 know she thinks — (it is right to tell the whole for other 
 people's sake) — she thinks that what Mrs. Eowland says is 
 not to be trusted, in any case where she feels enmity. Maria 
 even doubts whether Mr. Enderby has treated you and his 
 other friends so very negligently — whether he is engaged to 
 Miss Bruce, after all." 
 
 Mr. Hope was so much engaged about one of his stirrups 
 while Margaret said this, that he could not observe where and 
 how she was looking. 
 
 " Very likely," replied Hope, at length. " Hester has 
 thought all along that this was possible. We shall know the 
 truth from Enderby himself, one of these days, by act or word. 
 Meantime, I, for one, shall wait to hear his own story." 
 
 There was another pause, at the end of which Mr. Hope 
 clapped spurs to his horse, and said he must be riding on. 
 Margaret called him back for a moment, to ask what he 
 
268 DEERBROOK. 
 
 wished her to do about informing Hester of the state of affairs. 
 Mr. Hope was disposed to tell her the whole, if possible ; but 
 not till he should have come to some issue with Mr. Eowland. 
 He hated mysteries — any concealments in families ; and it was 
 due both to Hester and to himself that there should be no con- 
 cealment of important affairs from her. The only cautions to 
 be observed were, to save her from suspense, to avoid the 
 appearance of a formal telling of bad news, and to choose an 
 opportunity when she might have time, before seeing any of 
 the Eowlands, to consider the principles which should regulate 
 her conduct to them, that she might do herself honour by the 
 consistency and temper of which she was capable under any 
 circumstances, when she was only allowed time. 
 
 This was settled, and he rode off with almost his* usual gaiety 
 of air. 
 
 He saw Mr. Eowland before night. The next day but 
 one, a travelling-carriage from Blickley was seen standing at 
 Mr. Eowland's door; and before the clock struck nine, it was 
 loaded with trunks and bandboxes, and crowded with people. 
 As it drove down the village street, merry little faces appeared 
 at each carriage window. Mr. Eowland was on the box. He 
 was going to take his family to Cheltenham for the spring 
 months. Miss Eowland was rather delicate, and Deerbrook 
 was cold in March. Mrs. Enderby was left behind ; but there 
 was Phoebe to take care of her ; and Mr. Eowland was to 
 return as soon as he had settled his family. It seemed 
 rather a pity, to be sure, that the old lady had been moved 
 out of her own house just before she was to be left alone in 
 her new residence ; but, between Mr. Eowland and her maid, 
 she would be taken good care of; and the family would 
 return when the warm weather set in. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 DISCLOSURES. 
 
 The whole village seemed relieved by the departure of the 
 Rowlands. Mrs. Grey, who had always been refused admis- 
 sion to her old friend on one pretence or another, was joyfully 
 welcomed by Phoebe, and was plunged into all the delights of 
 neighbourly chat before the clock struck twelve, on the very 
 first morning. Fanny and Mary Grey voluntarily offered to 
 
DEERBROOK. 269 
 
 go to Miss Young, now that they were her only pupils, to 
 save her the trouble of the walk to the schoolroom. This 
 was a great relief to Maria, and her little parlour held the 
 three very nicely ; and when the girls had sufficiently admired 
 the screen over again, — their father's profile, the planets, and 
 the Dargle, they settled quite as well as at home. There was 
 still a comer left for cousin Margaret, when she chose to 
 come with her German books, or her work, and her useful 
 remarks on what they were doing. No immediate conse- 
 quences had happened to Maria from her plain-dealing with 
 Mr. Rowland ; and she was quite ready to enjoy the three 
 months of freedom, without looking too anxiously towards the 
 end of them. The very gardener at the Rowlands' seemed to 
 bestir himself with unusual alacrity to put the garden into 
 spring trim ; and the cook and housemaid might be seen over 
 the hedge, walking arm-in-arm on the gravel walks, smelling 
 at the mezereon, and admiring Miss Anna's border of yellow 
 crocuses, as the gardener said, as much as if they had been 
 fine plants out of a conservatory. The birds themselves 
 seemed to begin their twittering in the trees, and the cows 
 their lowing in the meadow, from the hour that Mrs. Rowland 
 went away. In other words, there were many whom that 
 event left free and at ease to observe the harmonies of nature, 
 who were usually compelled to observe only the lady, and the 
 discords of her household. 
 
 It was only the second day after the departure of the family 
 that Margaret took her seat in the offered corner of Maria's 
 parlour. She laid down her book, and took up her work, 
 when the question arose, which has probably interested all 
 intelligent school-girls for many a year — What made so many 
 Athenians, — so many, that there must have been some wise 
 and good men among them, — treat such a person as Socrates 
 in the way they did? Margaret was quite occupied in 
 admiring the sort of Socratic method with which Maria drew 
 out from the minds of her pupils some of the difficult 
 philosophy of Opinion, and the liberality with which she 
 allowed for the distress of heathen moralists at having the sanc- 
 tion of Custom broken up. Margaret was thus quite occupied 
 with the delight of seeing a great subject skilfully let down 
 into young minds, and the others were no less busy with the 
 subject itself, when Mary started, and said it made her jump 
 to see Sydney bring Fairy close up to the window. Fanny 
 imperiously bade her mind what she was about, and let 
 
270 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Sydney alone : but yet, in a minute or two, Fanny's own eyes 
 were detected wandering into the yard where Sydney still 
 remained. "He is getting Fairy shod," she said in a 
 soliloquizing tone. Every one laughed, — the idea of shoeing 
 a fairy was so ridiculous ! — and some witticisms, about Bottom 
 the Weaver, and his ass's head, were sported. It was evident 
 that Socrates had no more chance this day, and Maria changed 
 the subject, 
 
 " Sydney looks very much as if he wanted to come in,'* 
 observed Mary. 
 
 Sydney did particularly wish to come in ; but he saw that 
 cousin Margaret was there : and he had felt an unconquerable 
 awe of cousin Margaret ever since the day of his conveying 
 her over the ice. So he stood irresolutely watching, as nail 
 after nail was driven into Fairy's hoof, casting glances every 
 minute at the window. 
 
 " Shall I see what he wants?" asked Margaret, perceiving 
 that lessons would not go on till Sydney had got out what he , 
 wished to say. " May I open the window for a moment^ 
 Maria, to speak to him ? " 
 
 " What do you think ? " cried Sydney, taking instant 
 advantage of the movement, and carrying off his awkwardness 
 by whipping the window-sill while he spoke. " What do you 
 think ? Mr. Enderby is come by the coach this morning. I 
 saw him myself ; and you might have met our Ben carrying 
 his portmanteau home from where he was put down, half an 
 hour ago. We'll have rare sport, if he stays as long as he did 
 last summer. I do believe," he continued, leaning into the 
 room, and speaking with a touch of his mother's mystery,, 
 "he would have come long since if Mrs. Eowland had not 
 been here. I wish she had taken herself off two months ago, 
 and then I might have had a run with the harriers with him^ 
 as he promised I should." 
 
 " Now you have said just a little too much, Sydney ; so 
 you may go," said Maria. " Shut down the window, will 
 ■you?" 
 
 It was well for Margaret that there was the recess of the 
 window to lean in. There she stood, not speaking a word. 
 It was not in nature for Maria to refrain from casting a glance 
 at her, — which glance grew into a look of intelligence. 
 
 " You do not quite wink as mamma does," observed Fanny; 
 " but I know very well what you mean. Miss Young." 
 
 " So people always fancy when they observe upon nothing, 
 
DEERBROOK. 271 
 
 or upon what they know nothing about, Fanny. But I 
 thought you were convinced, some time ago, that you should 
 not watch people's countenances, to find out what they are 
 thinking, any more than " 
 
 "I should read a letter they are writing," interrupted 
 Fanny. " Well, I beg your pardon. Miss Young ; but I really 
 thought I saw you looking at cousin Margaret's face. How- 
 ever, I dare say everybody supposes the same, — that Mr. 
 Enderby would not have been here now if Mrs. Eowland had 
 not gone away. You need not mind Mary and me. Miss 
 Young ; you know we hear all about Mrs. Eowland at 
 home." 
 
 " I know you are apt to fancy that you understand all about 
 Mrs. Eowland, my dear ; but perhaps Mrs. Eowland herself 
 might happen to differ from you, if she could look into your 
 mind. It is for you to settle with yourself, whether you think 
 she would be satisfied that you have done by her as you would 
 have her do by you. This is your own affair, Fanny ; so 
 now, without any one trying to see in your face what you 
 think of yourself, we will go to our business." 
 
 The scratching of pens in the exercise-books, and the 
 turning over of the dictionary, now proceeded for some time 
 in profound silence, in the midst of which Margaret stole back 
 to her corner. 
 
 " There goes twelve ! " softly exclaimed Mary. " Mamma 
 said we might go with her to call at cousin Hester's, if we 
 were home and ready by half-past twelve. We shall not 
 have nearly done. Miss Young." 
 
 Miss Young did not take the hint. She only said — 
 
 "Is your mamma going to call on Mrs. Hope? Then, 
 Margaret, do not let us detain you here. You will wish to 
 be at home, I am sure." 
 
 Never, as Maria supposed, had Margaret more impatiently 
 desired to be at home. Though accustomed to go in and out 
 of Maria's abode, with or without reason assigned, she had not 
 now ventured to move, though the little room felt like a 
 prison. An awkward consciousness had fixed her to her seat. 
 Now, however, she made haste to depart, promising to visit 
 her friend again very soon. The little girls wanted her to 
 arrange to come every morning, and stay all the time of 
 lessons : but Margaret declined making any such engagement. 
 
 As she went home, she scarcely raised her eyes, for fear of 
 seeing him ; and yet she lingered for an instant at her 
 
272 DEERBROOK. 
 
 brother's door, from a feeling of disappointment at having met 
 no one she knew. 
 
 She had fully and undoubtingly intended to tell Hester of 
 Philip's arrival ; but when she had taken off her bonnet, and 
 settled herself beside her sister in the drawing-room, she 
 found that it was quite impossible to open the subject. While 
 she was meditating upon this, the entrance of the Greys 
 seemed to settle the matter. She supposed they would make 
 the disclosure for her : but she soon perceived that they had 
 not heard the news. Mrs. Grey went on quoting Mrs. Enderby 
 and Phoebe, and Sophia remarked on the forsaken condition 
 of the old lady, in a way which was quite incompatible with 
 any knowledge of the new aspect which affairs had assumed 
 this morning. It was a great relief to Margaret* to be spared 
 the discussion of a fact on which so much was to be said ; 
 but lo ! in the midst of a flow of talk about fomentations, and 
 the best kind of night-light for a sick room, there was a knock 
 at the door, every stroke of which was recognised to a 
 certainty by Margaret. Wliile the other ladies were pushing 
 back their chairs, to break up the appearance of a gossip, and 
 make room for another party of visitors, Margaret was wholly 
 occupied with contriving to sit upright, notwithstanding the 
 dimness that came over her sight. 
 
 It was he. He entered the room quickly, looked taller than 
 ever, as Sophia thought to herself, and more than ever like a 
 Polish Count, now that his blue great-coat was buttoned up to 
 the chin. He stopped for half a moment on seeing ladies in 
 cloaks and bonnets, and then came forward, and shook hands 
 with everybody. Hester observed that he looked full at 
 Margaret as he held out his hand to her ; but Margaret did 
 not see this, for, though she commanded herself wonderfully, 
 she could not meet his eye. Of course, he was asked when he 
 arrived, and had to answer the question, and also the remarks 
 which were made on the length of his absence, and on the 
 expectations of everybody in Deerbrook that he would have 
 visited the old place at Christmas or New Year. He was then 
 pitied on account of the state of his mother's health. To this 
 he made no reply whatever ; but when Mrs. Grey inquired 
 how he found Mrs. Enderby, he briefly — somewhat abruptly 
 — answered that he thought her very ill. It was equally 
 impossible for Margaret to sit totally silent while all this was 
 going on, and to address herself to him : she therefore kept 
 up some conversation with Sophia on the greenhouse, and the 
 
DEERBROOK. 273 
 
 fate of the evergreens in the shrubbery, in consequence of the 
 severity of the frost in January — which laurestinus had been 
 lost, and how the arbutus had suffered, and how long it would 
 be before the laurels on the grass could grow up to their 
 former size and beauty. While Sophia was telling that the 
 greenhouse occupied a great deal of time, and that she had 
 therefore turned over her interest in it to Sydney, and begged 
 the little girls to divide her garden between them, Mr. Enderby 
 was seen to take Hester into the window, and after remarking 
 upon the snowdrops beneath, to speak privately to her. 
 Margaret was afraid Mrs. Grey would take the hint, and go 
 away. Her presence now appeared a sort of protection, which 
 Margaret exerted herself to retain, by not allowing the con- 
 versation to flag. She need not have feared ; Mrs. Grey 
 was turning over in her mind how she might best introduce 
 her congratulations on Mr. Enderby's engagement, and her 
 inquiries after Miss Bruce's welfare — topics on which she 
 conceived that good manners required her to enter. Mean- 
 time, Mr. Enderby had been saying to Hester, 
 
 " You will excuse the offer of my good wishes on your 
 settlement here being briefly and hastily made ; but I am at 
 this moment in great anxiety. Is Hope at home ? " 
 
 " No : he is some miles off in the country." 
 
 *^ Then I must charge you with a message to him. I think 
 my mother very ill ; and I find it is some time since Hope has 
 seen her. Will you beg him to come to her without loss of 
 time, when he returns ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; he will be home within two or three hours, I 
 have no doubt." 
 
 " And then ask him whether he will not prescribe a visit 
 from you to my mother. It will do her good, I am confident. 
 You know she is all alone now with her maid." 
 
 ^^ I am aware of that. It is not from negligence or disinclina- 
 tion, I assure you, that we have seen so little of Mrs. Enderby 
 for some time past." 
 
 " I know it, I know it," said he, shaking his head. Then, 
 after a pause — " Shall you be at home this evening?" 
 
 ii Yes." 
 
 '^ And alone?" 
 
 "Yes. Will you come?" 
 
 " Thank you ; I will come m for an hour. I shall then hear 
 Hope's report of my mother ; and — between ourselves — I want 
 a few words with your sister. Can you manage this for me ? " 
 
 T 
 
274 DEERBROOK. 
 
 "No doubt." 
 
 He was gone in another moment, with a bow to the whole 
 party. 
 
 " Gone !" cried Mrs. Grey; "and I have not said a word to 
 him about his engagement and Miss Bruce ! How very odd 
 he must think us, Sophia !" 
 
 " There will be plenty of time for all we have to say," 
 observed Hester. " He is so uneasy about his mother, I see, 
 that he will not leave her yet awhile." 
 
 Margaret was sure she perceived in her sister's beautiful 
 eye and lip the subtle expression of amusement that they bore 
 when a gay thought was in her mind, or when her neigh- 
 bours were setting off in speculation on a wrong scent. 
 
 " But half the grace of one's good wishes is in 'their being 
 offered readily," said Mrs. Grey, "as I was saying to Sophia, 
 the other day, when we were considering whether Mr. Grey 
 should not write to Mr. Enderby with our congratulations. 
 We should not like to appear backward on such an occasion, 
 for many reasons. Well now, my dears ; one thing more. 
 You must come to tea with us this evening. It will be a 
 mild evening, I have no doubt ; and I have sent to Miss Young, 
 to say that my sedan will bring her at six o'clock. We have 
 quite set our hearts upon having you for a sociable evening." 
 
 " Thank you," said Hester : " we would come mth great 
 pleasure, but that we are engaged." 
 
 " Engaged, my dear ! Margaret has just told us that you 
 have no engagement." 
 
 " So Margaret thought : but we are engaged. A friend of 
 Mr. Hope's is coming to spend the evening, and I promised 
 that we would be at home." 
 
 "Dear!" said Sophia; "and we had quite set our hearts 
 upon your coming." 
 
 " Cannot you bring the gentleman with you, my dear? I am 
 sure Mr. Grey will be happy to see any friend of Mr. Hope's." 
 
 " Thank you; but he is coming on business." 
 
 " Oh, well I But Margaret can be spared, surely. I 
 suppose you must stay and make tea, my dear. It would 
 not do, I know, for you to appear to neglect your husband's 
 country patients — particularly in the present state of affairs. 
 But Margaret can come, surely. Sydney shall step for her, a 
 little before six." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Sophia ; " Margaret can come. The 
 gentleman can have no business with her, I suppose." 
 
DEERBEOOK. 275 
 
 Margaret was again puzzled with the fun that lurked in the 
 eye and lip. She had been passive till now ; but seeing Hester's 
 determination that she should not go, she said very decidedly 
 that she should much prefer coming some evening when her 
 brother and sister need not be left behind. 
 
 " Mrs. Grey is not very well pleased," observed Margaret, 
 when their visitors were gone. " Could not you have been a 
 little more explicit as to this gentleman, whoever he may be ? '* 
 
 "I thought it better not to say more," said Hester, now 
 unable to help stealing a glance at her sister. " Our visitor 
 is to be Mr. Enderby. He is so uneasy about his mother, that 
 my husband is to see her this afternoon ; and Mr. Enderby 
 offers to come in the evening, to discuss her case." After a 
 slight pause, Hester continued — " Sophia was very positive 
 about its being impossible that our visitor could have any 
 business with you — was not she ? " 
 
 "Oh, Hester!" said Margaret, imploringly, with her eyes 
 full of tears. 
 
 " Well, well," said Hester, remembering how cruel this 
 speech might appear to her sister, " I ought not to speak to 
 you from my own habitual disbelief of Mrs. Eowland's news. 
 I will go away, dear; only just saying, first, that I like Philip's 
 looks very well. He does not seem happier than he ought to 
 be, while his mother is so ill : nor does he act as if he felt he 
 had neglected us, his old friends. As my husband says, we 
 must hear his own story before we judge him." 
 
 When she left the room, Margaret could not have settled 
 with herself whether there was most pain or pleasure in the 
 prospect of this evening. Five minutes before, she had 
 believed that she should spend it at the Greys' — should hear 
 the monotonous hiss of the urn, which seemed to take up its 
 song, every time she went, where it had left off last — should 
 see Mrs. Grey's winks from behind it — should have the same 
 sort of cake, cut by Sophia into pieces of exactly the same 
 size — should hear Sydney told to be quiet, and the little girls 
 to go to bed — should have to play Mrs. Grey's favourite 
 waltz, and sing Mr. Grey's favourite song — and at last, to 
 refuse a glass of sherry three times over, and come away, after 
 hearing much wonder expressed that the evening was gone 
 already. Now, instead of this, there was to be the fear and 
 constraint of Philip's presence, so unlike what that had ever been 
 before ! — no longer gay, easy, and delightful, but all that was 
 awkward. No one would be sure of what the others were 
 
 T 2 
 
276 DEERBROOK. 
 
 feeling ; or whether there was any sufficient reason for their 
 mutual feelings being so changed. Who would find the con- 
 versation? ^Yhsit could be talked about which would not 
 bring one or another into collision with Mrs. Rowland or 
 Miss Bruce ? But yet, there would be his presence, and with 
 it, bliss. There would be his very voice ; and something of 
 his thoughts could not but come out. She was better pleased 
 than if his evening was to be spent anywhere else. 
 
 Dinner passed, she did not know how, except that her 
 brother thought Mrs. Enderby not materially worse than 
 when he saw her last. The tea-tray came and stood an hour 
 — Mr. Hope being evidently restless and on the watch. He 
 said at last that it would be better to get tea over before 
 Enderby came ; and Margaret repeated in her ow,n mind that 
 it was less awkward ; and yet she was disappointed. The 
 moment the table was cleared, his knock was heard. He 
 would not have tea: he had been making his mother's tea, 
 and had had a cup with her. And now, what was Hope's 
 judgment on her state of health ? 
 
 The gentlemen had scarcely entered upon the subject when 
 a note was brought in for Margaret. Everything made her 
 nervous ; but the purport of this note was merely to ask for a 
 book which she had promised to lend Mrs. Levitt. As she 
 went up to her room for it, she was vexed tiiat the interrup- 
 tion had occurred now ; and was heartily angry with herself 
 that she could command herself no better, and be no more like 
 other people than she fancied she had been this day. " There 
 is Hester," thought she, " looking nothing less than merry, 
 and talking about whatever occurs, as if nothing had happened 
 since we met him last ; while I sit, feeling like a fool, with not 
 a word to say, and no courage to say it if I had. I wonder 
 whether I have always been as insignificant and dull as I 
 have seen myself to be to-day. I do not believe I ever 
 thought about the matter before : I wish I could forget it 
 now." Notwithstanding her feeling of insignificance in the 
 drawing-room, however, she was so impatient to be there 
 again that her hands trembled with eagerness in doing up the 
 parcel for Mrs. Levitt. 
 
 When she re-entered the drawing-room, Philip was there 
 alone — standing by the fire. Margaret's first impulse was to 
 retreat; but her better judgment prevailed in time to intercept 
 the act. Philip said, 
 
 "Mr. and IVIrs. Hope have, at my desire, given me the 
 
DEERBROOK. 277 
 
 opportunity of speaking to you alone. You must not refuse 
 to hear what I have to say, because it is necessary to the 
 vindication of my honour; — and it is also due to another 
 person." 
 
 Of course, Margaret sat down. She seemed to intend to 
 speak, and Philip waited to hear her; but no words came, so 
 he went on. 
 
 " You have been told, I find, that I have been for some time 
 engaged to a lady who is now at Eome — Miss Bruce. How 
 such a notion originated, we need not inquire. The truth is, 
 that I am but slightly acquainted with Miss Bruce, and that 
 nothing has ever occurred which could warrant such a use 
 of that lady's name. I heard nothing of this till to-day, 
 and " 
 
 " Is it possible ? " breathed Margaret. 
 
 " I was shocked to hear of it from my poor mother; but 
 infinitely more shocked — grieved to the very soul, to find that 
 you, Margaret, believed it." 
 
 " How could we help it ? It was your sister who told us." 
 
 " What does my sister know of me compared with you? I 
 thought — ^I hoped — but I see now that I was presumptuous — 
 I thought that you knew me enough, and cared for me 
 enough, to understand my mind, and trust my conduct 
 through whatever you might hear of me from others. I have 
 been deceived — I mean I have deceived myself, as to the 
 relation in which we stand. I do not blame you, Margaret — 
 that is, I will not if I can help it — for what you have given 
 credit to about me ; but I did not think you would have 
 mortified me so deeply." 
 
 " You are partly wrong now ; you are unjust at this 
 moment," replied Margaret, looking up with some spirit. ^' I 
 do not wish to speak of Mrs. Kowland — ^but remember, your 
 mother never doubted what your sister said ; the information 
 was given in such a way as left almost an impossibility of 
 disbelief. There was nothing to set against the most positive 
 assurances — nothing from you — not a word to any of your 
 old friends " 
 
 " And there was I, working away on a new and good plan 
 of life, living for you, and counting the weeks and days 
 between me and the time when I might come and show you 
 what your power over me had enabled me to do — and you 
 were all the while despising or forgetting me, allowing me no 
 means of defending myself, yielding me up to dishonour with 
 
278 DEERBROOK, 
 
 a mere shake of the head, as if I had been an acquaintance of 
 two or three ball-nights. It is clear that you knew my 
 mind no better than I now find I knew yours." 
 
 "What would you have had me do?" asked Margaret, 
 with such voice as she had. 
 
 " I believe I had not thought of that," said Philip, half- 
 laughing. " I only felt that you ought to have trusted me — 
 that you must have known that I loved neither Miss Bruce, 
 nor any one but you; and that I could not be engaged to any 
 one while I loved you. — Tell me at once, Margaret — did I 
 not deserve this much from you ? " 
 
 " You did," said Margaret, distinctly. " But there is 
 another way of viewing the whole, which does not seem to 
 have occurred to you. I have been to blame, perhaps ; but. 
 if you had thought of the other possibility " 
 
 " What other ? Oh ! do speak plainly." 
 
 " I must, at such a time as this. If I could not think you 
 guilty, I might fancy myself to have been mistaken." 
 
 " And did you fancy so ? Did you suppose I neither loved 
 you, nor meant you to think that I did ? " 
 
 " I did conclude myself mistaken." 
 
 " Oh, Margaret ! I should say — if I dared — that such a 
 thought — such humility, such generosity — could come of 
 nothing but love." 
 
 Margaret made no reply. They imderstood one another 
 too completely for words. Even in the first gush of joy, there 
 was intense bitterness in the thought of what Margaret must 
 have suffered; and Philip vowed, in the bottom of his soul, 
 that his whole life should be devoted to make her forget it. 
 He could have cursed his sister with equal energy. 
 
 There was no end to what had to be said. Philip was 
 impatient to tell what he had been doing, and the reasons of 
 the whole of his conduct. Margaret's views had become his 
 own, as to the desultoriness of the life he had hitherto led. 
 He had applied himself diligently to the study of the law, 
 intending to prove to himself and to her, that he was capable 
 of toil, and of a steady aim at an object in life, before he 
 asked her to decide Avhat their relation to each other was 
 henceforth to be. 
 
 " Surely," said he, " you might have discovered this much 
 from my letters to my mother." 
 
 " And how were we to know what was in your letters to 
 your mother ? " 
 
DEERBROOK. 279 
 
 " Do you mean that you have not read or heard them all 
 this time?" 
 
 " Not a word for these three months. We have scarcely 
 seen her for many weeks past ; and then she merely showed 
 us what long letters you wrote her." 
 
 "And they were all written for you! She told me, the 
 last time I was here, that she could keep nothing from 
 you: and, relying upon her words, I have supposed this to be 
 a medium of communication between us throughout. I could 
 have no other, you know. When did my mother leave off 
 reading my letters to you?" 
 
 " From the week you went away last. Mrs. Eowland came 
 in while we were in the midst of one ; and the consequence 
 was " 
 
 " That you have been in the dark about me ever since. 
 You saw that I did write ? " 
 
 " Yes. I have seen most of the post-marks — and the inte- 
 riors — upside down. But Mrs. Kowland was always there 
 — or else Phoebe." 
 
 "And have you really known nothing about me what- 
 ever?" 
 
 " Little George told me that you had lessons to learn, very 
 hard and very long, and, if possible, more difficult than his." 
 
 " And did not you see then that I was acting upon your 
 views ? " 
 
 " I supposed Miss Bruce might have had them first." 
 
 " Miss Bruce !" he cried, in a tone of annoyance. " I know 
 nothing of Miss Bruce's views on any subject. I cannot 
 conceive how my sister got such a notion into her head — why 
 she selected her." 
 
 Margaret was going to mention the " sisterly affection " 
 which had long subsisted between Miss Bruce and Mrs. 
 Rowland, according to the latter ; but it occurred to her that 
 it was just possible that Philip might not be altogether so 
 indifferent to Miss Bruce as Miss Bruce was to him ; and 
 this thought sealed her lips. 
 
 " I wonder whether Rowland believed it all the time," said 
 Philip : " and Hope ? It was unworthy of Hope's judgment — 
 of his faith — to view the case so wrongly." 
 
 "I am glad you are beginning to be angry with somebody 
 else," said Margaret. " Your wrath seemed all to be for me : 
 but your old friends, even to your mother, appear to have 
 had no doubt about the matter." 
 
280 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " There is an excuse for them which I thought you had 
 not. I am an altered man, Margaret — ^you cannot conceive 
 how altered since I began to know you. They judged of me 
 by what I was once .... We will not say how lately." 
 
 "I assure you I do not forget the accounts you used to 
 give of yourself." 
 
 '<What accounts?" 
 
 " Of how you found life pleasant enough without philosophy 
 and without anything to do . • . • and other wise 
 sayings of the kind." 
 
 " It is by such things that those who knew me long ago 
 have judged me lately — a retribution which I ought not to com- 
 plain of. If they believed me fickle, idle, selfish, it is all 
 fair. Oh ! Margaret, men know nothing of morals till they 
 know women." 
 
 " Are you serious ?" 
 
 " I am solemnly persuaded of it. Happy they who grow 
 up beside mothers and sisters whom they can revere ! But 
 for this, almost all men would be without earnestness of heart 
 — without a moral purpose — without generosity, while they 
 are all the while talking of honour. It was so with me 
 before I knew you. I am feeble enough, and selfish enough 
 yet, God knows ! but I hope still to prove that you have 
 made a man of me, out of a light, selfish .... But 
 what right have I, you may think, to ask you to rely upon 
 me, when I have so lately been what I tell you. I did not 
 mean to ask you yet. This very morning, nothing could be 
 further from my intentions. I do not know how long I should 
 have waited before I should have dared. My sister has 
 rendered me an inestimable service amidst all the mischief 
 she did me. I thank her. Ah ! Margaret, you smile ! " 
 
 Margaret smiled again. The smile owned that she was 
 thinking the same thing about their obligations to Mrs. 
 Eowland. 
 
 " Whatever you might have said to me this evening," con- 
 tinued Philip, '* if your regard for me had proved to have 
 been quite overthrown — ^if you had continued to despise me, 
 as you must have done at times — I should still have blessed 
 you, all my life — I should have worshipped you, as the being 
 who opened a new world to me. You lifted me out of 
 a life of trifling — of trifling which I thought very elegant at 
 the time — ^trifling with my own time and faculties — trifling 
 "with other people's serious business — trifling with something 
 
DEERBROOK. 281 
 
 more serious still, I fear — with their feelings. As far as I 
 remember, I thought all this manly and refined enough : and 
 but for j'-ou, I should have thought so still. You early opened 
 my eyes to all the meanness and gross selfishness of such a 
 life : and if you were never to let me see you again, I believe 
 I could not fall back into the delusion. But if you will be 
 the guide of my life " 
 
 Margaret sighed deeply. Even at this moment of vital 
 happiness, her thoughts rested on her sister. She remembered 
 what Hester's anticipations had been, in prospect of having 
 Edward for the guide of her life. 
 
 ** I frighten you, I see," said Philip, " with my confessions ; 
 but, be the consequences what they may, I must speak, 
 Margaret. If you despise me, I must do you the justice, and 
 give myself the consolation, of acknowledging what I have 
 been, and what I owe to you." 
 
 " It is not that," said Margaret. '* Let the past go. Let it 
 be forgotten in reaching forward to better things. But do not 
 let us be confident about the future. I have seen too much of 
 that. We must not provide for disappointment. Let us leave 
 it till it comes. Surely," she added, with a gentle smile, " we 
 have enough for the present. I cannot look forward yet." 
 
 " How you must have suffered ! " cried Philip, in a tone of 
 grief. " You have lost some of your confidence, love. You 
 did not cling to the present, and shrink from the future when 
 . . . . Oh, it is bitter, even now, to think, that while I 
 was working on, in hope and resolution, you were suffering 
 here, making it a duty to extinguish your regard for me, I all 
 the time toiling to deserve it — and there was no one to set us 
 right, and the whole world in league to divide us. " 
 
 " That is all over now." 
 
 " But not the consequences, Margaret. They have shaken 
 you : they have made you know doubt and fear." 
 
 " We are both changed, Philip. We are older, and I trust 
 it will appear that we are wiser than we were. Yes, older. 
 There are times in one's life when days do the work of years : 
 and our days have been of that kind. You have discovered 
 a new life, and my wishes and expectations are much altered. 
 They may not be fewer, or less bright, but they 'are very 
 different." 
 
 " If they were pure from fears " 
 
 " They are pure from fears. At this moment I can fear 
 nothing. We have been brought together by the unquestion- 
 
2S2 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 able Providence which rules our lives; and this is enough. 
 The present is all right ; and the future, which is to come 
 out of it, will be all right in its way. I have no fear — but I 
 do not want to anticipate. This hour with its satisfactions, is 
 all that I can bear." 
 
 Notwithstanding this, and Philip's transport in learning it, 
 they did go back, again and again, into the past ; and many 
 a glance did they cast into the future. There was no end to 
 their revelations of the circumstances of the last two months, 
 and of the interior history which belonged to them. At last, 
 the burning out of one of the candles startled them into a 
 recollection of how long their conversation had lasted, and of 
 the suspense in which Edward and Hester had been kept. 
 Enderby offered to go and tell them the fact which they must 
 be anticipating : and, after having agreed that no one else 
 should know at present — that Miss Bruce's name should be 
 allowed to die out of Deerbrook speculations, for Mrs. Row- 
 land's sake, before any other was put in its place, Philip left 
 his Margaret, and went into the breakfast-room, where his 
 presence was not wholly unexpected. 
 
 In five minutes, Margaret heard the hall-door shut, and, in 
 another moment, her brother and sister came to her. Hester's 
 face was all smiles and tears : her mind all tumult with the 
 vivid recollection of her own first hours of happy hopeful 
 love, mingled with the griefs which alv/ays lay heavy within 
 her, and with that warm attachment to her sister which 
 circumstances occasionally exalted into a passion. 
 
 " We ought to rejoice with nothing but joy, Margaret," said 
 she : " but I cannot see how we are to spare you. I do not 
 believe I can live without you." 
 
 Her husband started at this echo of the thoughts for which 
 he was at the moment painfully rebuking himself. He had 
 nothing to say ; but gave his greeting in a brotherly kiss, 
 like that which he had offered on his marriage with her 
 sister, and on his entrance upon his home. 
 
 " How quiet, how very quiet she is ! " exclaimed Hester, as 
 Margaret left the room, after a few words on the events of the 
 evening, and a calm good-night. " I hope it is all right. I 
 hope she is quite satisfied." 
 
 " Satisfied is the word," said her husband. " People are 
 quiet when they are relieved — calm when they are satisfied : — 
 people like Margaret. It is only great minds, I believe, which 
 feel real satisfaction." 
 
DEERBROOK. 283 
 
 Hester gave him pain by a deep sigh. She was thinking 
 how seldom, and for how short a time, she had ever felt real 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " And how often, and for how long," she asked, " do great 
 minds find themselves in that heaven?" 
 
 '^ By the blessing of God, not seldom, I trust," replied he ; 
 " though not so often as, by obeying their nature, they might. 
 Intellectual satisfaction is perhaps not for this world, except 
 in a few of the inspired hours of the Newtons and the Bacons, 
 who are sent to teach what the human intellect is. But as 
 often as a great mind meets with full moral sympathy — as 
 often as it is loved in return for love — as often as it confides 
 itself unreservedly to the good Power which bestowed its 
 existence, and appointed all its attributes, I imagine it must 
 repose in satisfaction." 
 
 " Then satisfaction ought to be no new feeling to Margaret," 
 said Hester. " She always loves every one : she meets with 
 sympathy wherever she turns ; and I believe she has faith 
 enough for a martyr, without knowing it. Ought not she — 
 must not she, have often felt real satisfaction ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I wonder you dole out your words so sparingly about 
 such a being as Margaret," said Hester, resentfully. " I can 
 tell you, Edward, though you take so coolly the privilege of 
 having such a one so nearly connected with you, you might 
 search the world in vain for her equal. You little know the 
 wealth of her heart and soul, Edward. I ask you whether 
 she does not deserve to feel full satisfaction of conscience and 
 affections, and you just answer * Yes,' with as much languor 
 as if I had asked you whether the clock has struck eleven 
 yet ! I can tell you this — I have said in my own heart, and 
 just to Morris, for years, that the happiest man of his gene- 
 ration will be he who has Margaret for a wife : and here you, 
 who ought to know this, give me a grudging ^ Yes,' in answer 
 to the first question, arising out of my reverence for Margaret, 
 that I ever asked you ! " 
 
 " You mistake me," replied Hope, in a tone of gentleness 
 which touched her very soul. " One's words may be restrained 
 by reverence as well as by want of heart. I regard Margaret 
 with a reverence which I should not have thought it necessary 
 to put into words for your conviction." 
 
 " Oh, I am wrong — as I always am !" cried Hester. " You 
 must forgive me again, as you do far, far too often. But tell 
 
284 DEEREROOK. 
 
 me, Edward, ought not Margaret's husband to be the happiest 
 man living ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Edward, with a smile. *' Will that do this time? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes," replied she — the thought passing through 
 he; mind, that, whether or not her husband excepted himself 
 as a matter of course, she should not have asked a question 
 to which she could not bear all possible answers. Even if he 
 meant that Margaret's husband might be a happier man than 
 himself, it was only too true. As quick as lightning these 
 thoughts passed through her mind, and, apparently without 
 a pause, she went on, "And now, as to Enderby — is he worthy 
 to be this happy husband? Does he deserve her?" 
 
 Mr. Hope did pause before he replied, 
 
 " I think we had better dwell as little as we can on that 
 point of the story — not because I am afraid — (do not take 
 fright and suppose I mean more than I say) — not because I 
 am afraid, but because we can do nothing, discern nothing, 
 about it. Time must show what Enderby is — or rather, what 
 he has the power of becoming. Meanwhile, the thing is 
 settled. They love and have promised, and are happy. Let 
 us shun all comparison of the one with the other of them, 
 and hope everything from him." 
 
 ** There will be some amusement," said Hester, after a 
 smiling reverie, " in having this secret to ourselves for a time, 
 while all the rest of Deerbrook is so busy with a different 
 idea and expectation. How will Mrs. Eowland bear it ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Grey might have said that," said Hope, laughing. 
 
 " Well, but is it not true ? Will it not be very amusing to 
 see the circulation of stories about Miss Bruce, given ' from 
 the best authority ; ' and to have all manner of news told us 
 about Philip ; and to watch how Mrs. Rowland will get out 
 of the scrape she is in ? Surely, Edward, you are not above 
 being amused with all this ? " 
 
 " I shall be best pleased when it is all over. I have lived 
 some years longer than you in Deerbrook, and have had more 
 time to get tired of its mysteries and mistakes." ^ 
 
 " For your comfort, then, it cannot be long before all is 
 open and rightly understood. We need only leave Mrs. Row- 
 land time to extricate herself, I suppose. I Avonder how she 
 will manage it." 
 
 " We shall be taken by surprise with some clever device, I 
 dare say. It is a pity so much ingenuity should be wasted on 
 mischief." 
 
DEERBROOK. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A MORNING IN MARCH, 
 
 Margaret was as calm as she appeared to be. To a nature 
 like hers, blissful repose was congenial, and anxiety both 
 appeared and felt unnatural. In her there was no weak 
 wonder that Providence had blessed her as she felt she was 
 blessed. While she suffered, she concluded with certainty 
 that the suffering was for some good purpose ; but no degree 
 of happiness took her by surprise, or seemed other than a 
 natural influence shed by the great Parent into the souls of 
 his children. She had of late been fearfully shaken, — not in 
 her faith, but in her serenity. In a moment this experience 
 appeared like a sick dream, and her present certainty of being 
 beloved spread its calm over her lately-troubled spirit, some- 
 what as her nightly devotions had done from her childhood 
 upwards. Even now, it was little that she thought of herself : 
 her recovered Philip filled her mind — he who had been a 
 stranger — who had been living in a world of which she could 
 conceive nothing — who had suddenly vanished from her com- 
 panionship, as if an earthquake had swallowed him up — and 
 who was now all her own again, by her side, and to be lived 
 for. Amidst this security, this natural and delightful state of 
 things, that restless uneasiness — now jealousy, and now self- 
 abasement — which she had called her own vanity and selfish- 
 ness, disappeared, and she felt like one who has escaped from 
 the horrors of a feverish bed into the cool fragrant airs and 
 mild sunshine of the early morning. Anxieties soon arose — 
 gentle doubts expressing themselves in soft sighs, which were 
 so endeared by the love from which they sprang that she 
 would not have banished them if she could — anxieties lest 
 she should be insufficient for Philip's happiness, lest he should 
 overrate the peace of home, which she now knew was not to 
 be looked for in full measure there, any more than in other 
 scenes of human probation. Gentle questionings like these 
 there were; but they tended rather to preserve than to dis- 
 turb her calmness of spirit. Misery had broken her sleep by 
 night, and constrained her conduct by day. Happy love 
 restored her at once to her natural mood, lulling her to the 
 deepest rest when she rested, and rendering her free and self- 
 possessed in all the employments and intercourses of life. 
 
DEERBROOK. 
 
 There was one person who must not be kept waiting for 
 this intelligence till Mrs. Rowland's return — as Margaret told 
 Philip — and that was Maria. Philip's heart was now over- 
 flowing with kindness towards all whom Margaret loved ; and 
 he spoke with strong interest of Maria, of her virtues, her 
 misfortunes, and the grace and promise which once bloomed 
 in her. 
 
 " You knew her before her misfortunes then ? " 
 
 "To be sure I did: — that was the time when I did know 
 her; for, as you may perceive, there is not much opportunity 
 now. And, besides, she is so totally changed, that I do not 
 feel sure that I understand her feelings — I am too much in 
 awe of them to approach her very nearly. Oh yes, I knew 
 Maria Young once, mu.ch better than I know her now." 
 
 " She never told me so. How very strange ! " 
 
 " Does she ever speak of any other circumstance of her 
 prosperous days ? " 
 
 " That is true, only incidentally." 
 
 " Time was," said Philip, " when some boyish dreams con- 
 nected themselves with Maria Young — only transiently, and 
 quite at the bottom of my own fancy. I never spoke of them 
 to any one before, nor fully acknowledged them to myself. 
 She was the first sensible woman I ever knew — the first who 
 conveyed to me any conception of what the moral nature of a 
 woman may be, under favourable circumstances. For this I 
 am under great obligations to her ; and this is all the feeling 
 that I brought out of our intercourse. It might possibly have 
 come to more, but that I disliked her father excessively, and 
 left off going there on that account. What a selfish wretch I 
 was in those days ! 1 can hardly believe it now ; but I dis- 
 tinctly remember rejoicing, on hearing of her accident, that 
 my esteem for her had not passed into a warmer feeling, as I 
 should then have suffered so much on her account." 
 
 " Is it possible?" cried Margaret, who, in the midst of the 
 unpleasant feeling excited by this fact, did not fail to remark 
 to herself that there could have been no love in such a case. 
 
 " I ought, for my own sake, however, Margaret, to say that 
 Maria Young had not the slightest knowledge of her influence 
 over me — superficial and transient as it was. I never con- 
 veyed it to her by word or act ; and I am thankful I did not 
 — for this reason among many — that I am now perfectly free 
 to show her all the kindness she deserves, both from her own 
 merits, and from her being a beloved friend of yours." 
 
DEERBROOK. 287 
 
 Margaret had no doubt of Philip's full conviction of what 
 he was saying ; but she was far from certain that he was not 
 mistaken — that looks and tones might not have communicated 
 what words and acts had been forbidden to convey. She 
 thought of Maria's silence about her former acquaintance with 
 Phihp, of her surprising knowledge of his thoughts and ways, 
 betraying itself to a vigilant observer through the most trivial 
 conversation, and of her confession that there had been an 
 attachment to some one : and, thinking of these things, her 
 heart melted within her for her friend. She silently resolved 
 upon the only method she could think of, to spare her feel- 
 ings. She would write the news of this engagement, instead 
 of going to tell it, as she had intended. She was confident 
 that it would be no surprise to Maria; but Maria should 
 have time and solitude in which to reconcile herself to it. 
 
 What was to be done about Mrs. Enderby ? She had been 
 told at once, on Philip's arrival, that it was all a mistake 
 about Miss Bruce ; and she had appeared relieved when freed 
 from the image of an unkno\vn daughter-in-law. Philip and 
 Margaret agreed that they must deny themselves the pleasure 
 of revealing the rest of the truth to her, till it had been in- 
 flicted upon Mrs. Kowland. Mrs. Enderby would never be 
 able to keep it from the Greys ; and she would be disturbed 
 and alarmed in the expectation of the scenes which might 
 ensue, when Mrs. Kowland should discover that her brother 
 meant to choose his wife for himself, instead of taking one of 
 her selection. Margaret must go and see his mother as often 
 as possible, but her new interest in her old friend must be 
 concealed for the present. How Margaret — motherless for so 
 many long years — felt her heart yearn towards the old lady^ 
 who seemed to be everybody's charge, but whom she felt now 
 to be a sacred object of her care ! 
 
 The lovers immediately experienced some of the evils 
 attendant on concealment, in the difficulty of meeting as freely 
 as they wished. There was the breakfast-room at Mr. Hope's 
 for them; and, by a little management on the part of brother 
 and sister, a branching off in country walks, out of sight of 
 the good people of Deerbrook. In company, too, they were 
 always together, and without awkwardness. True lovers do 
 not want to talk together in company; they had rather not. 
 It is enough to be in mutual presence; and they have nothing 
 to say at such times, and prefer joining in what everybody 
 else is saying. When Philip had once put a stop to all con- 
 
288 DEERBROOK. 
 
 gratulations about Miss Bruce, by earnestly and most respect- 
 fully, though gaily, releasing that lady's name from all con- 
 nection with his own, no further awkwardness remained. He 
 treated the affair as one of the false reports which are 
 circulating every day, and left it for his sister to explain how 
 she had been misled by it. It was amusing to the corner- 
 house family to see that Mrs. Grey and Sophia insisted on 
 believing that either Mr. Enderby was a rejected lover of 
 Miss Bruce's, or that it had been an engagement which was 
 now broken off, or that it would soon be an engagement. 
 The gay state of Enderby's spirits accorded best with the 
 latter supposition ; but this gaiety might be assumed, to cover 
 his mortification. Margaret was daily made a listener to one 
 or other of these suppositions. 
 
 One bright, mild, March day, Hester and Margaret were 
 accompanying Philip to Mr. Eowland's to call on Mrs. Enderby, 
 when they met Mr. Kowland in the street, — returned the 
 evening before from Cheltenham. 
 
 " Ladies, your most obedient ! " said he, stopping up th^ 
 path before them. " I was on my way to call on you ; but if 
 you will step in to see Mrs. Enderby, we can have our chat 
 there." And he at once offered his arm to Margaret, bestow- 
 ing a meaning smile on Hester. As soon as they were fairly 
 on their way, he entered at once on the compliments it had 
 been his errand to pay, but spoke for himself alone. 
 
 " I did not write," said he, " because I expected to deliver 
 my good wishes in person so soon; but they are not the less 
 hearty for being a little delayed. I find, however, that I am 
 still beforehand with my neighbours — that even Mrs. Enderby 
 does not know, nor my partner's family. All in good time : 
 but I am sorry for this mistake about the lady. It is rather 
 awkward. I do not know where Mrs. Kowland got her in- 
 formation, or what induced her to rely so implicitly upon it. 
 All I can say is, that I duly warned her to be sure of her 
 news before she regularly announced it. But I believe such 
 reports — oftener unfounded than true — ^liave been the annoy- 
 ance of young people ever since there has been marriage and 
 giving in marriage. We have all suffered in our turn, I dare 
 say, though the case is not always so broad an one as this. — • 
 Come, Mr. Philip, what are you about ? Standing there, and 
 keeping the ladies standing ! and I do believe you have^ not 
 knocked. Our doors do not open of themselves, though it be 
 to let in the most welcome guests in the world. Now, ladies, 
 
DEERBROOK. 289 
 
 will you walk in ? Philip will prepare Mrs. Enderby to 
 expect you up-stairs ; and, meanwhile, let me show you what 
 a splendid jonquil we have in blow here." 
 
 The day was so mild, and the sun shone into the house so 
 pleasantly, that Mrs. Enderby had been permitted to leave her 
 chamber, and establish herself for the day in the drawing- 
 room. There she was found in a flutter of pleasure at the 
 change of scene. Matilda's canary sang in the sunshine; 
 Philip had filled the window with flowering plants for his 
 mother, and the whole room was fragrant with his hyacinths. 
 The little Greys had sent Mrs. Enderby a bunch of violets ; 
 Phoebe had made bold, while the gardener was at breakfast, 
 to abstract a bough from the almond tree on the grass ; and 
 its pink blossoms now decked the mantel-piece. These things 
 were almost too much for the old lady. Her black eyes 
 looked rather too bright, and her pale thin face twitched when 
 she spoke. She talked a great deal about the goodness of 
 everybody to her, and said it was almost worth while being 
 ever so ill to find one's-self so kindly regarded. It rejoiced 
 her to see her friends around her again in this way. It was 
 quite a meeting of friends again. If only her dear PrisciUa, and 
 the sweet children, had been here ! — it was a great drawback, 
 certainly, their being away, but she hoped they would soon 
 be back ; if they had been here, there would have been nothing 
 left to wish. Hester asked if Mr. Hope had visited her this 
 morning. She had rather expected to meet him here, and had 
 brought something for him which he had wished very much 
 to have — a letter from his brother in India. She was impa- 
 tient till it was in his hands. Had he made his call, or might 
 she expect him presently ? Mrs. Enderby seemed to find 
 difficulty in comprehending the question ; and then she could 
 not recollect whether Mr. Hope had paid his visit this morn- 
 ing or not. She grew nervous at her own confusion of mind 
 — talked faster than ever; and, at last, when the canary sang 
 out a sudden loud strain, she burst into tears. 
 
 " We are too much for her," said Hester; "let us go, we 
 have been very wrong." 
 
 " Yes, go," said Philip, " and send Phoebe. You will find 
 your way into the garden, and I will join you there presently. 
 Eowland, you will go with them." 
 
 Margaret cast a beseeching look at Philip, and he gratefully 
 permitted her to stay. Hester carried off the canary. Mar- 
 garet drew down the blinds, and then kneeled by Mrs. 
 
 u 
 
290 DEEEBROCK. 
 
 Enderby, soothing and speaking cheerfully to her, while tears, 
 called up by a strange mixture of emotions, were raining 
 down her cheeks. Philip stood by the mantel-piece, weeping 
 without restraint; the first time that Margaret had ever seen 
 tears from him. 
 
 " I am a silly old woman," said Mrs. Enderby, half-laughing 
 in the midst of her sobs. " Here comes Phoebe — Phoebe, I 
 have been very silly, and I hardly know what about, I declare. 
 My dear ! " she exclaimed as she felt tears drop upon the 
 hand which Margaret was chafing — *'my dear Miss Ib- 
 botson — " 
 
 " Oh ! call me Margaret ! " 
 
 " But, my dear, I am afraid there is something the matter, 
 after all. Something has happened." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no, ma'am !" said Phoebe. " Only we don't like 
 to see you in this way." 
 
 " There is nothing the matter, I assure you," said Margaret. 
 *^ We were too much for you; we tired you; and we are very 
 sorry — that is all. But the room will be kept quite quiet now, 
 and you will soon feel better." 
 
 " I am better, my dear, thank you. How are you sitting so 
 low? Bless me! you are kneeling. Pray, my dear, rise. To 
 think of your kneeling to take care of me ! " 
 
 " Give me one kiss, and I will rise," said Margaret, bending 
 over her. It was a hearty kiss which Mrs. Enderby gave her, 
 for the old lady put all her energy into it. Margaret rose 
 satisfied ; she felt as if she had been accepted for a daughter. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Enderby appeared disposed to shut her 
 eyes and lie quiet, Philip and Margaret withdrew, leaving 
 her to Phoebe's care. Arm-in-arm they sauntered about the 
 walks, till they came upon Hester and Mr. Rowland, who 
 were sitting in the sun, under the shelter of an evergreen 
 hedge. 
 
 " Have you heard nothing of my husband yet ? " asked 
 Hester. " I do wish he would come, and read this letter from 
 Prank." 
 
 " Her anxiety is purely disinterested," said Margaret to 
 Philip. " There can be nothing about her in that letter. His 
 greetings to her will come in the next." 
 
 *' Edward enjoys Frank's letters above everything," observed 
 Hester. 
 
 " Suppose you go in next door, and we will send Hope to you 
 when he comes," said Philip, intending thus to set Mr. Row- 
 
DEERBROOK. 291 
 
 land free, to dismiss Hester, and have Margaret to himself for 
 a garden walk. 
 
 •' The Greys are all out for the day," observed Mr. Kowland ; 
 *^ my partner and all ; and this must be my excuse to you, 
 ladies, for wishing you a good morning. There is a lighter at 
 the wharf down there, whose lading waits for me." 
 
 " Ay, go," said Philip : " we have detained you long enough. 
 We will find our way by some means into the Greys' grounds, 
 and amuse ourselves there. If you will bid one of your people 
 call us when Hope comes, we shall hear." 
 
 By the help of an overturned Avheelbarrow, and some 
 activity, and at the expense of a very little detriment to the 
 hedge, the ladies were presently landed on Mr. Grey's terri- 
 tories. By common consent, the three directed their steps 
 towards the end of the green walk, whence might be seen the 
 prospect of which the sisters were never tired. A purple and 
 golden crocus peeped up here and there from the turf of this 
 walk ; there was a wilderness of daffodils on either side, the 
 blossoms just bursting from their green sheaths; the peri- 
 winkle, with its starry flowers and dark shining sprays, over- 
 ran the borders ; and the hedge which bounded the walk was 
 red with swollen buds. As the gazers leaned on this close- 
 clipped, compact hedge, they overlooked a wide extent of 
 country. They stood on a sort of terrace, and below them 
 was the field where the Greys' pet animals were wont to 
 range. The old pony trotted towards the terrace, as if ex- 
 pecting notice. Fanny's and Mary's lambs approached and 
 looked up, as awaiting something good. Philip amused him- 
 self and them with odd noises, but had nothing better for 
 them ; and so they soon scampered off, the pony throwing out 
 his hind legs as if in indignation at his bad entertainment. 
 Beyond this field, a few w^hite cottages, in the rear of the 
 village, peeped out from the lanes, and seemed to sit down 
 to rest in the meadows, so profound was the repose which they 
 seemed to express. The river wound quietly through the 
 green level, filling its channel, and looking pearly under the 
 light spring sky ; and behind it the woods uprose, their 
 softened masses and outlines prophesying of leafy summer 
 shades. Near at hand the air was alive with twitterings : 
 afar off, nature seemed asleep, and nothing was seen to move 
 *?:^ut the broad sail of a wherry, and a diminished figure 
 of a man beside his horse, bush-harrowing in a distant green 
 field. 
 
 u 2 
 
292 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Hester judged rightly that the lovers would like to have this 
 scene to themselves ; and having surveyed it with that sigh of 
 ■ delight with which Spring causes the heart to swell, she softly 
 stole away, and sauntered down the green walk. She proceeded 
 till she reached a bench, whence she could gaze upon the gray 
 ' old church tower, rising between the intervening trees, and at 
 the same time overlook Mr. Eowland's garden. She had not 
 sat many minutes before her husband leaped the hedge, and 
 bounded over the grass towards her. 
 
 " What news ? " cried he. " There is good news in your 
 face." 
 
 " There is good news in my bag, I trust." And she produced 
 the large square epistle, marked " Ship letter" in those red cha- 
 racters which have a peculiar power of making the heart beat. 
 She did not wonder that her husband changed colour as she held 
 up the letter. She knew that the arrival of news from Frank 
 was a great event in life to Edward. She gloried in being, for 
 the first time, the medium through which this rare pleasure 
 reached him ; and she longed to share, for the first time, the 
 confidence of a brother. Margaret had for some months 
 reposed upon the possession of a brother : she was now to 
 have the same privilege. She made room upon the bench for 
 her husband, and proposed to lose no time in reading the 
 letter together. But Hope did not sit down, though, from his 
 agitation, she would have supposed him glad of a seat. He 
 said he would read in the shrubbery, and walked slowly 
 away, breaking the seal as he went. Hester was rather dis- 
 concerted ; but she suppressed her disappointment, begged 
 him to take advantage of the bench, and herself retired into 
 the orchard while he read his epistle. There, as she stood 
 apparently amusing herself by the pond, wiping away a tear 
 or two which w^ould have way, she little imagined what agony 
 her husband was enduring from this letter, which she was 
 supposing must make his heart overflow with pleasure. The 
 letter was half full of reply to Edward's account of Margaret, 
 in his epistle of last June — of raillery about her, of intreaty 
 that Edward would give him such a sister-in-law, and of 
 intimations that nothing could be more apparent than that 
 the whole rich treasure of his heart's love was Margaret's 
 own. Hope's soul sickened as he read, wdth that deadly 
 sickness which he had believed was past : but last June, with 
 its delights and opening love, was too suddenly, and too 
 ■vividly, re-awakened in his memory and imagination. The 
 
DEERBROOK. 293 
 
 Margaret of yesterday, of last month, he trusted he had 
 arrived at regarding as a sister : not so the Margaret of last 
 summer. In vain he repeated, again and again, to himself, 
 that he had expected this — that he always knew it must 
 come — that this was the very thing, and no more, that he had 
 been dreading for half a year past — that it was over now — 
 that he ought to rejoice that he held in his hand the last 
 witness and reminder of the mistake of his life. In vain did 
 he repeat to himself these reasonable things — these satisfac- 
 tory truths. They did not still the throbbing of his brain, 
 or relieve the agony of his spirit ; — an agony under which he 
 could almost have cursed the hilarity of his brother as levity, 
 and his hearty affection as cruel mockery. He recovered 
 some breath and composure when he read the latter half of 
 Frank's volume of communication ; and, before he had 
 finished it, the sound of distant footsteps fell upon his excited 
 ear. He knew they were coming — the three who would be 
 full of expectation as to what he should have to tell them 
 from India. It was they, walking very slowly, as if waiting 
 for the news. 
 
 "Come!" said he, starting up, and going to meet them. 
 "Now, to the green walk — we shall be quiet there — and I 
 will read you all about Frank." 
 
 He did read them all about Frank — all the last half of the 
 letter — Hester hanging on his arm, and Philip and Margaret 
 listening, as if they were taking in their share of family news. 
 When it was done, and some one said it was time to be turning 
 homewards, Hope disengaged his arm from Hester, and ran 
 off, saying that he would report of Mrs. Enderby to Mr. 
 Eowland in the office, and meet them before they should be 
 out of the shrubbery. He did so : but he first took his way 
 round by a fence which was undergoing the operation of 
 tarring, thrust Frank's letter into the fire over which the tar 
 was heating, and saw every inch of it consumed before he 
 proceeded. When he regained his party, Hester took his arm, 
 and turned once more towards the shrubbery, saying — 
 
 " We have plenty of time, and I am not at all tired : so 
 now read me the rest.'* 
 
 " My love, I have read you all I can." 
 
 Hester stopped short, and with flashing eyes, whose fire 
 was scarcely dimmed by her tears, cried — 
 
 " Do you mean to give me no more of your confidence than 
 others ? Is your wife — — •' 
 
294 DEEKBROOK. 
 
 " My dear, it is not my confidence : it is Frank's." 
 
 " And is not Frank my brother ? He is nothing to them.'* 
 
 " He was not your brother when this letter was written, 
 nor did he know that he should ever be so. Consider this 
 letter as one of old time — as belonging to the antiquity of 
 our separate lives. I hope there will never be another letter 
 IVom Frank, or anybody else (out of the range of my pro- 
 fessional affairs) whose contents will not be as much yours as 
 mine. This must satisfy you now, Hester ; for I can tell you 
 no more. This ought to satisfy you." 
 
 '^ It does not satisfy me. I never will be satisfied with 
 giving all, and having nothing in return. I have given you 
 all. Not a thought has there been in my heart about Mar- 
 garet, from the day we married, that I have not imparted to 
 you. Has it not been so ? " 
 
 '' I believe it, and I thank you for it." 
 
 " And what is it to you to have a sister — you who have 
 always had sisters — what is it to you, in comparison with my 
 longing to have a brother? And now you make him no 
 more mine than he is Margaret's and Philip's. He himself, 
 if he has the heart of a brother, would cry out upon you for 
 disappointing me." 
 
 " I can allow for your feelings, Hester. I have known too 
 well what disappointment is, not to feel for you. But here 
 the fault is not mine." 
 
 " Whose is it then ? It is to be charged upon Providence, 
 I suppose, like most of our evils." 
 
 '' No, Hester ; I charge it upon you. The disappointment 
 was unavoidable ; but the sting of it lies in yourself. You 
 are unreasonable. It is at your own request that I remind 
 you to be reasonable." 
 
 " And when was that request made ? When I believed 
 that you would hold me your friend — that no others were to 
 come near my place in your confidence — that all you cared 
 for was to be equally mine — that your brother himself was to 
 be my brother. It was when you promised me these things 
 that I put my conscience and my feelings into your charge. 
 But now all that is over. You are as much alone in your 
 own soul as ever, and I am thrust out from it as if you were 
 like other men. . . Oh ! " she cried, covering her face 
 with her hands, " call me your housekeeper at once — for I 
 am not your wife — and breathe not upon my conscience — 
 look not into my heart — for what are they to you ? I reclaim 
 
DEERBROOK. 295 
 
 from you J as your servant, the power I gave you over my soul, 
 when I supposed I was to be your wife." 
 
 '' Now you must hear me, Hester. Sit down ; for you 
 cannot stand under the tempest of your own feelings. Now, 
 what are the facts out of which all this has arisen ? I have 
 had a letter, written before we were known to be engaged, 
 containing something which is confided to my honour. We 
 had both rather that such had not been the case. Would 
 you now have me violate my honour? Let us have done. 
 The supposition is too ridiculous." 
 
 " But the manner," pleaded Hester. ^^ It is not curiosity 
 about the letter. I care nothing if it contained the affairs of 
 twenty nations. But, oh ! your manner was cruel. If you 
 loved me as you once did, you could not treat me exactly as 
 you treat Margaret and Philip. You do not love me as you 
 once did. . . You do not answer me," she continued iii 
 a tone of wretchedness. " Nay, do not answer me now. It 
 will not satisfy me to hear you say upon compulsion that you 
 love me. Ah ! I had Margaret once ; and once I had you. 
 Philip has taken my Margaret from me ; and if you despise 
 me, I will lie down and die." 
 
 "Fear not!" said Hope, with great solemnity. ''While I 
 live you shall be honoured, and have such rest as you will 
 allow to your own heart. But do you not see that you have 
 now been distrusting me — not I you? Shall I begin to 
 question whether you love me? Could you complain of 
 injustice if I did, when you have been tempting my honour, 
 insulting my trust in you, and wounding my soul ? Is this 
 the love you imagine I cannot estimate and return ? This is 
 madness, Hester. Eouse yourself from it. Waken up the most 
 generous part of yourself. We shall both have need of it all." 
 
 " Oh, God ! what do you intend ? Consider again, before 
 you break my heart, if you mean to say that we must . . 
 Edward ! forgive me, Edward ! " 
 
 " I mean to say that we must support each other under 
 troubles of God's sending, instead of creating woes of our own." 
 
 " Support each other ! Thank Heaven ! " 
 
 " I see how your spirit rouses itself at the first sound of 
 threatening from without. I knew it would. Eough and 
 trying times are coming, love, and I must have your support. 
 Trouble is coming — daily and hourly annoyance, and no end 
 of it that I can see: and poverty, perhaps, instead of the ease 
 to which we looked forward when you married me. I do not 
 
296 DEEKBROOK. 
 
 ask you whether you can bear these things, for I know you 
 can. I shall look to you to help me to keep my temper." 
 
 " Are you not mocking me ? " doubtfully whispered Hester. 
 
 " No, my love," her husband replied, looking calmly in her 
 face. " I know you to be a friend made for adversity." 
 
 " Let it come, then ! " exclaimed she. And she felt herself 
 on the threshold of a new life, in which all the past might yet 
 be redeemed. 
 
 They soon rejoined Margaret, and went home to relate and 
 to hear what new threats the day had disclosed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYin. 
 
 DEERBROOK COMMOTIONS. 
 
 Among many vague threats, there was one pretty definite 
 menace which had encountered Hope from various quarters of 
 late. By whose agency, and by what means, he did not know, 
 but he apprehended a design to supplant him in his practice. 
 There was something more meant than that Mr. Foster from 
 Blickley appeared from time to time in the village. Hope 
 imagined that there was a looking forward to somebody else, 
 who was to cure all maladies as soon as they appeared, and 
 keep death at a distance from Deerbrook. It seemed to be 
 among the poor people chiefly that such an expectation 
 prevailed. Philip was sure that Mr. Rowland knew nothing 
 of it, nor Mrs. Enderby. Mr. G-rey, when spoken to, did not 
 believe it, but would quietly and discreetly inquire. Mrs. Grey 
 was sure that the Deerbrook people would not venture to 
 discountenance altogether any one who had married into their 
 connection so decidedly. Her young folks were to hear 
 nothing of the matter, as it would not do to propagate an idea 
 which might bring about its own accomplishment. 
 
 At the almshouses to-day, the threat had been spoken 
 plainly enough ; and Hope had found his visit there a very 
 impleasant one. It had been wholly disagreeable. When 
 within a mile and a half of the houses, a stone had been 
 thrown at him from behind a hedge. It narrowly missed 
 him. A little farther on, there was another, from the 
 opposite side of the road. This indication was not to be 
 mistaken. Hoj)e leaped his horse over a gate, and rode about 
 the field, to discover who had attacked him. For some time 
 he could see no one ; but, on looking more closely to the fence, 
 
DEERBROOK. 297 
 
 he saw signs in one part that hedging was going on. As he 
 approached the spot, a labourer rose up from the ditch, and 
 was suddenly very busy at his work. He looked stupid, and 
 denied having thrown any stones, but admitted that there was 
 nobody else in the field that he knew of. Further on, more 
 stones were thrown : it was evidently a conspiracy ; but 
 Hope could find no one to call to account for it but an old 
 woman in one case, and two boys in another. — As he rode up 
 to the almshouses, the aged inmates came out to their doors, 
 or looked from their fanciful Gothic windows, with every 
 indication of displeasure in their faces and manner. The old 
 women shook their heads at him, and some their fists ; the old 
 men shook their sticks at him. He stopped to speak to one 
 man of eighty-three, who was sitting in the sun at his door ; 
 but he could get no answer out of him, nothing but growls 
 about the doctor being a pretty doctor not to have mended his 
 patient's eye-sight yet. Not a bit better could he see now 
 than he could a year ago, with all the doctoring he had had : 
 and now the gentleman would not try anything more ! A 
 pretty doctor, indeed ! But it would not be long before there 
 would be another who would cure poor people's eyes as if they 
 were rich: and poor people's eyes were as precious to them as 
 rich people's. — He next went into a house where an aged 
 woman was confined to bed with rheumatism ; but her gossips 
 stopped him in the middle of the room, and would not let him 
 approach her, for fear he should be her death. As she had 
 been lying awake the night before, she had heard her deceased 
 husband's shoes dance of their own accord in the closet ; and 
 this was a sign that something was going to happen to 
 somebody. She thought of the doctor at the time, and prayed 
 that he might be kept from coming near her ; for she knew 
 he would be the death of her, somehow, as he had been of 
 other folks. So Hope was obliged to leave her and her 
 rheumatism to the gossips. The particular object of his visit 
 to the place to-day, however, was a little girl, a grandchild of 
 one of the pensioners, admitted by sjDecial favour into the 
 establishment. This girl had small-pox, and her case was a 
 severe one. Hope was admitted with unwillingness even to 
 her, and was obliged to assume his ultimate degree of peremp- 
 toriness of manner with her nurses. He found her mufSed 
 up about the head with flannel, and with, a slice of fat bacon, 
 folded in flannel, tied about her throat, — a means considered 
 a specific for small-pox in some regions. The discarding of 
 
298 DEEiiBnuoK. 
 
 the flannel and bacon, of course, caused great offence; and 
 there was but too much reason to fear that all his directions 
 as to the management of the girl would be observed by con- 
 traries, the moment his back Avas turned. He had long ago 
 found explanation and argument to be useless. All that he 
 could do was, to declare authoritatively, that if his directions 
 were not followed, the girl would die, and her death would 
 lie at the door of her nurses ; that, in that case, he expected 
 some of the people about her would be ill after her ; but that 
 if he was obeyed, he trusted she might get through, and 
 nobody else be the worse. Almost before he was out of the 
 house, another slice of fat bacon was cut, and the flannels put 
 to the fire to heat again. 
 
 Hope mounted his horse to depart, just at the 'hour when 
 the labourers were at their dinners in all the cottages around. 
 They poured out to stare at him, some shouting that they 
 should not have him long to look at, as they would get a better 
 doctor soon. Some sent their dogs yelping at his horse's 
 heels, and others vented wrath or jokes about churchyards. 
 Soon after he had left the noise behind him, he met Sir 
 William Hunter, riding, attended by his groom. Hope stopped 
 him, making it his apology that Sir William might aid in 
 saving the life of a patient in whom he was much interested. 
 He told the story of the small-pox, of the rural method of 
 treating it with which he had to contend, and proposed that 
 Sir William should use his influence in securing for the 
 patient a fair chance of her life. Sir William listened coolly, 
 would certainly call at the almshouses and make inquiry; 
 but did not like to interfere with the notions of the people 
 there : made a point indeed of leaving them pretty much to 
 their own ways ; owned that it would be a pity the girl should 
 die, if she really might be got through; would call, therefore, 
 and inquire, and see whether Lady Hunter could not send 
 down anything from the Hall. He smiled rather incredu- 
 lously when assured that it was not anything that could be 
 sent down from the Hall that was wanted by the patient, but 
 only the use of the fresh air that was about her, and the 
 observance of her doctor's simple directions. Sir W^illiam 
 next began to make his horse fidget, and Hope took the hint. 
 
 " This has been my business with you at present," said he. 
 " At some more convenient time, I should be glad of a little 
 conversation with you on other matters connected with these 
 almshouses." 
 
DEEliBROOK. i99» 
 
 Sir William Hunter bowed, put spurs to his horse, and 
 gallopped off, as if life or death depended on his reaching the 
 Hall in three minutes and a half. 
 
 These hints of ^' another doctor" — "a better doctor" — *' a 
 new man" — met Hope in other directions. Mrs. Howell was 
 once quoted as a whisperer of the fact ; and the milliner's 
 young lady was known to have speculated on whether the 
 new doctor would prove to be a single man. No one turned 
 away from such gossip with more indifference than Hope ; but ~ 
 it came to him in the form of inquiries which he was sup- 
 posed best able to answer. He now told Hester of them all ; 
 warned her of the probable advent of a rival practitioner ; and 
 at the same time urged upon her a close economy in the 
 management of the house, as his funds were rapidly failing. 
 If his practice continued to fall off as it was now doing, he 
 scarcely saw how they were to keep up their present mode of 
 living. It grieved him extremely to have to say this to his 
 wife in the very first year of their marriage. He had hoped 
 to have put larger means in her power, from year to year; 
 but at present he owned his way was far from being clear. 
 They had already descended to having no prospect at all. 
 
 For all this Hester cared little. She had never known the 
 pinchings of poverty, any more than the embarrassments of 
 wealth. She could not conceive of such a thing as being very 
 anxious about what they should eat, and what they should 
 drink, and wherewith they should be clothed ; though, if she 
 had looked more narrowly at her own imaginations of poverty, 
 she would perhaps have discovered on the visionary table 
 always a delicate dish for her husband — in the wardrobe, 
 always a sleek black coat — and in his waiting-room, a clear 
 fire in winter; while the rest of the picture was made up of 
 bread and vegetables, and shabby gowns for herself, and 
 devices to keep herself warm without burning fuel. Her 
 imagination was rather amused than alarmed with anticipa- 
 tions of this sort of poverty. It was certainly not poverty 
 that she dreaded. A more serious question was, how she 
 could bear to see her husband supplanted, and, in the eyes of 
 others, disgraced. This question the husband and wife now 
 often asked each other, and always concluded by agreeing that 
 time must show. 
 
 The girl at the almshouses died in a fortnight. Some 
 pains were taken to conceal from the doctor the time and the 
 precise spot of her burial — points which the doctor never 
 
300 DEERBROOK. 
 
 thought of inquiring about, and of which it was therefore 
 easy to keep him in ignorance. A few of the neighbouring 
 cottagers agreed to watch the grave for ten nights, to save 
 the body from the designs of evil surgeons. One of the 
 watchers reported, after the seventh night, that he had plainly 
 heard a horse coming along the road, and that he rather 
 thought it stopped opposite the churchyard. He had raised 
 himself up, and coughed aloud, and that was no doubt the 
 reason why nobody came : the horse must have turned back 
 and gone away, whoever might be with it. This put people 
 on the watch ; and on the eighth night two men walked about 
 the churchyard. They had to tell that they once thought 
 they had caught the doctor in the fact. They had both 
 heard a loud whistle, and had stood to see what w^uld come 
 of it (they could see very well, for it had dawned some time). 
 A person came through the turnstile with a sack, which 
 seemed to leave his intentions in no doubt. They hid them- 
 selves behind two opposite trees, and both sprang out upon 
 him at once : but it was only the miller's boy on his way to 
 the mill, On the ninth and tenth nights nothing happened ; 
 the neighbours began to feel the want of their regular sleep ; 
 and the querulous grandmother, who seemed more angry that 
 they meant to leave the poor girl's body to itself now, than 
 pleased that it had been watched at all, was compelled to put 
 up with assurances that doctors were considered to wish to 
 cut up bodies within the first ten days, if at all, and were not 
 apt to meddle with them afterwards. 
 
 It was full three weeks from this time when Hope was sent 
 for to the almshouses, after a longer interval than he had 
 ever known to elapse without the old folks having some com- 
 plaint to make. The inmate who was now ill was the least 
 aged, and the least ignorant and unreasonable person, in the 
 establishment. He was grateful to Hope for having restored 
 him from a former illness; and, though now much shaken in 
 confidence, had enough remaining to desire extremely to see 
 his old friend, when he found himself ill and in pain. His 
 neighbours wondered at him for wishing to court destruction 
 by putting himself again into the hands of the suspicious 
 doctor : but he said he could have no ease in his mind, and 
 was sure he should never get well till he saw the gentleman's 
 face again ; and he engaged an acquaintance to go to Deer- 
 brook and summon him. This acquaintance spread the fact 
 of his errand along the road as he went ; and therefore. 
 
DEERBROOK. 301 
 
 though Hope took care to choose his time, so as not to ride 
 past the cottage-doors while the labourers were at dinner, his 
 visit was not more private or agreeable than on the preceding 
 occasion. 
 
 The first symptom of his being expected on the road was, 
 that Sir William Hunter, riding, as before, with his groom 
 behind him, fell in with Hope, evidently by design. 
 
 Sir William Hunter's visit to the almshouses had produced 
 the effect of making him acquainted with the discontents of 
 the people, and had afforded him a good opportunity of 
 listening to their complaints of their surgeon, without being 
 troubled with the answers. Since the election, he had been 
 eager to hear whatever could be said against Hope, whose 
 vote, given contrary to Sir William's example and influence, 
 was regarded by the baronet as an unpardonable impertinence. 
 
 "So you lost your patient down there, I find," said Sir 
 William, rudely. " The girl slipped through your fingers, 
 after all. However, I did my duty by you. I told the people 
 they ought to allow you a fair chance." 
 
 " I requested your interference on the girl's account, and 
 not on my own," said Hope. *^But as you allude to my 
 position among these people, you will allow me to ask, as I 
 have for some time intended, whether you are aware of the 
 treatment to which I am subjected, in your neighbourhood, 
 and among your dependants ? " 
 
 " I find you are not very popular hereabouts, indeed, sir," 
 replied the baronet, with a half- smile, which was immediately 
 reflected in the face of the groom. 
 
 " With your leave, we will have our conversation to our- 
 selves," said Hope. 
 
 The baronet directed his groom to ride on slowly. Hope 
 continued, — 
 
 " The extreme ignorance of the country people has caused 
 some absurd stories against me to be circulated and believed. 
 If those who are not in this state of extreme ignorance will 
 do me justice, and give me, as you say, a fair chance, I have 
 no fear but that I shall live down calumnies, and, by perse- 
 verance in my professional duty, recover the station I lately 
 held here. This justice, this fair chance, I claim. Sir William, 
 from all who have the intelligence to understand the case, and 
 rightly observe my conduct. I have done my best in the 
 service of these pensioners of yours ; and excuse my saying 
 that I must be protected in the discharge of my duty." 
 
S02 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 " Ay, there 's the thing, Mr. Hope. That can't be done^ 
 you see. If the people do not like you, why then the only 
 thing is for you to stay away." 
 
 " Then what is to become of the sick ? " 
 
 " Ay, there 's the thing, Mr. Hope. If they do not like 
 one, you see, why then they must try another. That is what 
 we have been thinking. Now, if you take my advice, you 
 will not go forward to-day. You will repent it if you do, 
 depend upon it. They do not like you, Mr. Hope." 
 
 " I need no convincing of that. You do not seem disposed 
 to stir, Sir William, to improve the state of things ; so I will 
 go and try what I can do by myself." 
 
 " I advise you not, sir. — Mr. Hope !" shouted Sir William^ 
 as Hope rode rapidly forward, " take care what you' are about* 
 They do not want to see you again. The consequences may 
 be serious." 
 
 " And this man is a magistrate, and he fancies himself my 
 patron!" thought Hope, as he rode on. "He w^ants me to 
 throw up the appointment ; but I will not, till I see that the 
 poor old creatures can be consigned to care as good as my 
 own. If he chooses to dismiss me, he may, though we can 
 ill afford the loss just now." 
 
 For one moment he had thought of turning back, as Sir 
 William's caution had seemed to foretell some personal risk in 
 proceeding ; but the remembrance of Hester's parting look 
 inspired him afresh. Instead of the querulous anxiety which 
 had formerly harassed him from its groundlessness and appa- 
 rent selfishness, it was now an anxiety worthy of the occasion 
 that flushed her cheek. So far from entreating him to remain 
 with her, she had bidden him go where his duty led him. 
 She had calculated the probable length of his absence, and 
 the watch was laid on the table as formerly : but she had 
 used the utmost expedition in sewing on the ring of his 
 umbrella, and had kissed her hand to him from the window 
 with a smile. He w^ould not return to her without having 
 fully discharged his errand. " She might be a soldier's or 
 sailor's wife, after all," thought he. 
 
 The hours of his absence were indeed very anxious ones to 
 the family at home. For nearly two hours, the sisters amused 
 themselves and one another as well as they could : but it was 
 a great relief when Philip came in. He would not believe 
 anything they said, however, about their reasons for fear. It 
 was nonsense — it was Deerbrook talk. What harm could a 
 
DEERBROOK. 303 
 
 dozen old men and women, at almost a hundred years apiece, 
 do to Hope ? — and the country people, the labourers round, 
 they had their own business to attend to : they would just 
 swear an oath at him, and let him pass ; and if they ventured 
 to lay a finger on his bridle, Hope knew how to use his whip. 
 He would come home, and get his dinner, and be very dull, 
 they would see, from having nothing to tell. — Before Philip 
 had finished his picture of the dull dining they might expect, 
 Morris entered, and shut the door before she came forward to 
 the table and spoke. She said she did not like to make 
 mysteries, out of fear of frightening people ; and she hoped 
 there would be nothing to be really afraid of now : but if Mr. 
 Enderby thought he could contrive to meet her master out on 
 the road, and get him to leave his horse somewhere, and come 
 walking home by Turnstile Lane, she thought it w^ould be 
 best, and save some bad language, at least. Charles had 
 brought in word that people — angry people — were gathering 
 at the other end of the street, and her master could quite dis- 
 appoint them by coming home on foot the back way. — How 
 many angry people were there ! — and what sort of people ? — 
 They were mostly countrymen out of the places round — more 
 of those than of Deerbrook folks. There were a good many 
 of them — so many as nearly to block up the street at one 
 part. If the ladies would step up into the boy's attic, they 
 would see something of what was going on, from the little 
 window there, without being seen. 
 
 Philip snatched his hat, and said he would soon bring 
 them news. He hoped they would go up to the attic, and 
 amuse themselves with the show : for a mere show it would 
 end in being, he Avas confident. He observed, however, that 
 it would be as well to keep Charles at home, in case, as was 
 possible, of a messenger being wanted. He himself would 
 soon be back. 
 
 Charles was called up into the drawing-room, and ques- 
 tioned. Never before having been of so much importance, he 
 was very grand in his statements, and made the most of all he 
 had to say. Still, however, it was a story which no telling 
 could have made other than an unpleasant one. Some of the 
 people who had come in from the country had pitchforks. 
 Two or three of the shopkeepers had put up their shutters. 
 Many strangers were in the churchyard, peeping about the 
 new graves: and others had set scouts on the road, to give 
 notice when master was coming. Mrs. Plumstead was v^ry 
 
304 DEEEBROOK. 
 
 busy scolding the people all round; but it did not do any 
 good, for they only laughed at her. 
 
 ^*You may go, Charles; but do not set foot out of the 
 house till you are bid," said Hester, when she found the boy 
 had told all he knew, and perhaps something more. Morris 
 left the room with him, in order to keep her eye upon him. 
 
 " O, Margaret, this is very terrible !" said Hester. 
 
 " Most disagreeable. We must allow something for Charles's 
 
 way of telling the story. But yet is there anything we 
 
 can do, Hester?" 
 
 " Mr. Grey will surely be here, presently. Do not you 
 think so?" 
 
 " Either he or Mr. Eowland, no doubt." 
 
 " Dr. Levitt is a magistrate : but this is Saturday, and he 
 is so deep in his sermon, he could not be made to understand 
 and believe till it would be too late. — Do you go up to the 
 attic, Margaret, and I will keep the hall-door. I shall hear 
 his horse sooner than any one, and I shall stand ready to open 
 to him in an instant. Hark now ! " 
 
 It was only the boy with the post-bags, trotting slowly to 
 Mrs. Plumstead's, amusing himself by the way with observa- 
 tions on the unusual animation of Deerbrook. 
 
 *' It is too soon yet, by half an hour," said Margaret- " He 
 cannot possibly be here for this half-hour, I think. Do not 
 wear yourself out with standing in the hall so long. I must 
 just say one thing, love, I fear all kinds of danger less for 
 Edward than for almost any one else in the world: he does 
 always what is most simple and right ; and I think he could 
 melt anybody's heart if he tried." 
 
 " Thank you," said Hester, gratefully. " I agree and trust 
 with you : but what hearts have these people? or, how can 
 you get at them, through such heads? But yet he will 
 triumph, I feel." 
 
 When Margaret went up-stairs to the attic window, Hester 
 moved a chair into the hall, softly opened the window a little, 
 to facilitate her hearing whatever passed outside, and took 
 her seat by it, listening intently. There was soon but too 
 much to listen to. Shuffling feet multiplied about the door; 
 and some of the grumbling voices seemed to come from men 
 who had stationed themselves on the steps. Hester rose, and, 
 with the utmost care to avoid noise, put up the chain of the 
 house door. While she was doing this, Morris came from the 
 kitchen, for the same purpose. She feared there was an 
 
DEERBROOK. 305 
 
 intention to surround the house: she wished her master would 
 keep away, for a few hours at least; she could not think 
 where all the gentlemen of the place were, that they did not 
 come and see after her young ladies. Before the words were 
 uttered, there was a loud rap at the door. Morris made her 
 mistress keep back, while she found out who it was, before 
 letting down the chain, Hester knew it was not her husband's 
 knock ; and it turned out to be Mr. Grey's. Margaret came 
 flying down, and they all exclaimed how glad they were to 
 see him. 
 
 "I wish I could do you any good," said he; " but this is 
 really a sad business, my dears." 
 
 " Have you heard anything, sir?" 
 
 " Nothing about your husband. Enderby bade me tell 
 you that he is gone out to meet him, and to stir up Sir 
 William Hunter, who may be said to be the cause of all this, 
 inasmuch as he never attempted to stop the discontent when 
 he might. But that unlucky vote, my dear, that was much 
 to be deplored." 
 
 " No use casting that up now, surely," observed Morris. 
 
 " Yes, Morris, there is," said her mistress; *' it gives me an 
 opportunity of saying that I glory in the vote; and I would 
 have my husband give it again to-day, if he had to pass 
 through yonder crowd to go up to the poll." 
 
 ^* My dear," remonstrated Mr. Grey, " be prudent. Do not 
 urge your husband on into danger : he has quite enthusiasm 
 enough without ; and you see what comes of it. — But I am 
 here to say that my wife hopes you and Margaret will retire 
 to our house, if you can get round without bringing any of 
 these troublesome people with you. We think you might 
 slip out from the surgery, and along the lane, and through 
 the Rowlands' garden-door, and over the hedge which they 
 tell me you managed to climb one day lately for pleasure. 
 By this way, you might reach our house without any one 
 being the wiser." 
 
 " On no account whatever," said Hester. " I shall not 
 leave home, under any circumstances." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Margaret; " but we are expect- 
 ing my brother every moment." 
 
 " But he will follow you by the same road." 
 
 Both wife and sister were sure he would do no such thing. 
 They thought the kindest thing Mr. Grey could do would be 
 to go out the back way, and see that the constable was kept 
 
 X 
 
306 DEERBIiOOE:. 
 
 up to his duty. He promised to do so ; and that lie would 
 speak to Dr. Levitt, to have some of Grey and Kowland's 
 men sworn in as special constables, if such a measure should 
 appear to be desirable. 
 
 " I do not know how to believe all this now," said Margaret ; 
 ^^it seems so causeless and ridiculous! In Birmingham we 
 •could never have given credit to the story of such a riot about 
 nothing." 
 
 Morris was not sure of this. In large towns there were 
 riots sometimes for very small matters, or on account of entire 
 miistakes. She had always heard that one of the worst things 
 about living in a village is, that when the people once get a 
 wrong idea into their heads, there is no getting it out again ; 
 and that they will even be violent upon it against all reason ; 
 but such things she knew to happen occasionally in towns. 
 
 Another knock. It was Mr. Eowland, and Hester's heart 
 turned sick at there being no news of her husband. Mr. 
 Eowland had every expectation, of course, that Mr. Hope 
 would be quite safe, and that this would turn oiit a disturb- 
 ance of very slight consequence : but he would just ask 
 whether it would not be advisable to close the window- 
 shutters. If stones should find their way into the parlours, 
 it might be disagreeable to the ladies. — There was no doubt 
 of that : but would not closing the shutters be a hint to 
 the people outside to throw stones ? — Well, perhaps so. He 
 only thought he would offer the suggestion, and see if he 
 could be of any service to the ladies. 
 
 " Morris, go up to the attic and watch ; and Margaret, do 
 you stay here. Yes, Mr. Eowland," said Hester, fixing her 
 glorious eyes full on him ; " you can be of service to us, if my 
 husband outlives this day. You ought to pray that he may ; 
 for if not, it is your wife who has murdered him.^' 
 
 Mr. Eowland turned as pale as ashes. 
 
 " We know well that you have no share in all this injury : 
 we believe that you respect my husband, and have friendly 
 feelings towards us all. I will spare you what I might say — 
 Avhat Mrs. Eowland should sink to the earth to hear, if she 
 were standing where you stand. I look upon you as no 
 enemy " 
 
 " You do me only justice," said Mr. Eowland, leaning upon 
 the chair which Hester had brought for herself. 
 
 " I wish to do you justice ; and therefore I Avarn you that 
 if you do not procure complete protection for my husband — 
 
DEERBROOK. 307 
 
 not only for this day — but for tlie future; — if you do not 
 cause your wife to retract her slanders " 
 
 " Stop, Mrs. Hope ! this is going too far," said Mr. Row- 
 land, drawing himself up, and putting on an air of offended 
 dignity. 
 
 "It is not going too far. You cannot, you dare not, 
 pretend to be offended with what I say, when you know that 
 my noble husband has been injured in his character and his 
 prospects, attacked in his domestic peace, and now exposed to 
 peril of his life, by the falsehoods your wife has told. I tell 
 you that we do not impute her crimes to you. If this is justice, 
 you will prove it by doing your full duty to my husband. If 
 you decline any part of this duty — if you countenance her 
 slanders — if you shrink from my husband's side in what- 
 ever w^e may have to go through — if you do not either 
 compel your wife to do us right, or do it yourself in oppo- 
 sition to her — ^you are her partner in guilt, as well as in life 
 and lot." 
 
 " Consider what a situation you place me in ! — But what 
 would you have me do ? " 
 
 *^ I would have you see that every false charge she has 
 brought is retracted — every vile insinuation recanted. You 
 must make her say everywhere that my husband has not 
 stolen dead bodies ; that he is not a plotter against the peace 
 and order of society; that he has not poisoned a child by 
 mistake, or cut off a sound limb for the sake of practice and 
 amusement. Your wife has said these things, and you know 
 it ; and you must make her contradict them all." 
 
 " Consider what a situation you place me in ! " said Mr. 
 Eowland again. 
 
 " Be generous, Hester !" said Margaret. 
 
 " Do not trample on a wretched man ! " cried Mr. Rowland^ 
 covering his face with his hands. 
 
 " * Consider ! ' * Be generous ! ' " exclaimed Hester in a 
 softened tone. " I might well say. Consider what a situation 
 my husband is placed in ! and that I must see justice done to 
 him before I can be generous to others ; but I have such a 
 husband that I can afford to spare the wretched, and be 
 generous to the humbled. Go now and do your duty by us : 
 and the next time you hear your wife say that we do not love 
 and are not happy, tell her that if we forbear to crush her, 
 it is because we are too strong for her — too strong in heart, 
 however weak in fortunes : — ^because we are strong in a peace 
 
 X 2 
 
308 DEERBROOK. 
 
 which she cannot poison, and a love which she will never 
 understand." 
 
 Even at a moment like this, and while feeling that she 
 could not have said the things that Hester said, Margaret's 
 eyes swam in tears of joy. Here was her sister, in a moment 
 of that high excitement when nothing but truth ventures upon 
 utterance, acknowledging herself blessed in peace which could 
 not be poisoned, and love which the vile could not understand. 
 The day, whatever might be its events, was worth enduring 
 for this. 
 
 Mr. Eowland walked once or twice up and down the hall, 
 wiped his brows, and then, evidently unable to endure Hester's 
 presence, said he would let himself out, and there await Mr. 
 Hope's arrival, or anything else that might occur.' 
 
 Oh ! would he ever come ? It seemed to Hester like a 
 week since she had given him his umbrella, and seen him 
 ride away. 
 
 Hark ! Surely this must be — it certainly was his horse 
 this time. Yes — there was Morris calling from the stairs 
 that her master was fighting his way down the street ! There 
 was Charles giving notice that the crowd was running round 
 from the back to the front of the house ! There was the 
 noise among the people outside, the groaning, the cries ! 
 
 " Now, ma'am ! " said Morris, breathless with the haste she 
 had made down stairs. Morris supposed her mistress would 
 softly let down the chain, open the door just wide enough for 
 Hope to slip in, and shut, bolt, and chain it again. This was 
 what Hester had intended ; but her mood was changed. She 
 bade the servants all step out of sight, and then threw the 
 door wide open, going forth herself upon the steps. The 
 people had closed round Hope's horse ; but Philip was pushing 
 his in between the mob and their object, and riding round 
 and round him with a sort of ludicrous gravity, which 
 lowered the tone of the whole affair to Margaret's mind, and 
 gave her great relief. Mr. Eowland was shaking hands with 
 Hope with one hand, and holding the bridle of the uneasy 
 horse with the other. Hope himself was bespattered with 
 mud from head to foot, and his umbrella was broken to pieces. 
 He nodded cheerfully to Hester when she threw open the 
 door. When she held out her hand to him with a smile as 
 he ascended the steps, the noise of the crowd was suddenly 
 hushed. They understood rather more of what they saw 
 than of anything that could be said to them. They allowed 
 
DEERBROOK. 309 
 
 Charles to come out, and lead the horse away round the 
 corner to the stable. They stood stock-still, gaping and 
 staring, while Hope invited Mr. Kowlandin, and Mr. Eowland 
 declined entering; while that gentleman shook hands with 
 the ladies, spoke with Mr. Enderby, mounted Mr. Enderby's 
 horse, and rode off. They saw Philip turn slowly into the 
 house with the family party, and the door closed, before they 
 thought of giving another groan. 
 
 " Well, love ! " said Hester, looking anxiously at her 
 husband. 
 
 " You made good battle," said Philip. 
 
 " Yes, I had a pretty hard fight of it, from the toll-bar 
 hither," said Hope, stretching vigorously. " They wrenched 
 my whip out of my hand — five hands to one ; but then I had 
 my umbrella. I broke it to pieces with rapping their 
 knuckles." 
 
 "Which are as hard as their pates," observed Philip. 
 " What are we to do next ? " 
 
 " If they do not disperse presently, I will go and speak to 
 them ; but I dare say they have had enough of the show for 
 to-day : Mrs. Plumstead must have satisfied them with oratory. 
 That poor woman's face and voice Avill haunt me when I have 
 forgotten all the rest. One had almost rather have her 
 against one, than that such screaming should be on one's 
 behalf. Now, my love, how has the morning gone with 
 you ? " 
 
 " Very pleasantly, I would answer for it from her looks," 
 said Philip. And Hester's face was certainly full of the 
 beauty of happiness. 
 
 " Thank God, the morning is over ! That is all I have to 
 say about it," replied she. 
 
 " Surely those people outside are growing more noisy ! " 
 observed Margaret. 
 
 " I must change my clothes, in case of its being necessary 
 to speak to them," said Hope. " I look too like a victim at 
 present." 
 
 While he and Hester were out of the room, Philip told 
 Margaret how her brother had been treated at the alms- 
 houses. He had narrowly escaped being pulled from his 
 horse and thrown into the pond. He had been followed half- 
 way to Deerbrook by a crowd, throwing stones and shrieking ; 
 and just when he had got beyond their reach, he had met 
 Philip, and learned that he had the same thing to go through, 
 
310 DEEIiBROOK. 
 
 at the other extremity of his journey. Finding that botl* 
 his doors were surrounded, he had judged it best to make for 
 the front, coming home as nearly as possible in his usual man- 
 ner. He had kept his temper admirably, joking with his de- 
 tainers, while dealing his blows upon their hands. 
 
 " Where will all this end ? " cried Margaret. 
 
 *' With some going to dinner, and others to supper, I ima- 
 gine," replied Philip, stepping to the window. " From what 
 I see, that seems likely to be the upshot ; for here is Sir Wil- 
 liam Hunter talking to the people. I had rather he should do 
 it than Hope ; and, Margaret, I had rather set my mischievous 
 sister to do it than either. This uproar is all of her making, 
 I am afraid." 
 
 " Hester has been telling Mr. Rowland so, this *morning." 
 
 " I am glad of it. He must help me to work upon her fears, 
 if there is nothing better left to operate upon." 
 
 " You will not succeed," said Margaret. ^' Your sister is as 
 strong a heroine in one direction as mine is in another." 
 
 " She shall yield, however. She may be thankful that 
 she is not here to-day. If she was, I would have her out 
 upon the steps, and make her retract everything; and if she 
 should not be able to speak, I would stand by her and say it 
 for her." 
 
 " Oh, Philip !what a hon^ible idea ! " 
 
 " Not half so horrible as the mischief she has done. Why, 
 Margaret, if you were one-tenth part as guilty as Priscilla is, I 
 should require you to make reparation," 
 
 " Indeed, I hope you would: or rather, that " 
 
 " But do not let us conjure up such dreadful images, my 
 Margaret. You never wronged any one, and you never 
 will." 
 
 " Edward never did, I am sure," said Margaret. 
 
 *' Not even by poisoning children, nor cutting oft limbs for 
 sport? Are you quite sure, love? What is Sir William 
 doing here, with only his groom ? He and the people look 
 in high good-humour with each other, with all this shaking 
 of hands, and nodding and laughing. I cannot conceive what 
 he can be saying to them, for there aie not three faces among 
 the whole array that look as if they belonged to rational 
 creatures." 
 
 " Never mind," said Margaret. *' If what he says sends them 
 away, I care for nothing else about it." 
 
 ** Oh, but I do. One would like to be favoured with a spcci- 
 
DEERBROOK. 311 
 
 men of this kind of rural oratory. I ought to benefit by all 
 the oratory that comes in my way, you know: so I shall just 
 open the window an inch or two, now he is drawing hitherward, 
 and take a lesson." 
 
 It seemed as if Sir William Hunter desired that his powers 
 of persuasion should be expended on none but the immediate 
 objects of them: for whatever he said was spoken as he bent 
 from his horse, and with the air of a mystery. Many a 
 plump red face was thrust close up to his — many a pair of 
 round staring eyes was puckered up with mirth as he spoke : 
 the teamster in his olive-coloured smock, the hedger in his 
 shirt-sleeves, and the little bumpkins who had snatched a 
 holiday from scaring the crows, all seemed, by their delight, 
 to be capable of entering into the baronet's method of argu- 
 mentation, xill this stimulated Philip's curiosity to learn 
 what the speechifying tended to. He could catch only a few 
 words, and those were about " a new man," — " teach him to 
 take himself off," — " all bad things come to an end," — '^ new 
 state of things, soon." Philip was afraid there was treachery 
 here. Margaret had no other expectation from the man — the 
 tyrannical politician, who bore a grudge against a neighbour 
 for having used his constitutional liberty according to his 
 conscience. 
 
 Some spectacle now drew the attention of the crowd another 
 way. It was Lady Hunter, in her chariot and grays, statelily 
 pacing through the village. She had heard that there was 
 some commotion in Deerbrook ; and, as sights are rare in the 
 country, she thought she would venture to come to the village 
 to shop, rather than wait for Sir William's account of the 
 affair in the evening, over their wine and oranges, and before 
 he dropped off into his nap. She rightly confided in the 
 people, that they would respect her chariot and grays, and 
 allow her to pass amidst them in safety and honour. She 
 had never seen a person mobbed. Here was a good oppor- 
 tunity. It was even possible that she might catch a glimpse 
 of the ladies in their terrors. At all events, she should be a 
 great person, and see and hear a great deal : so she would 
 go. Orders were given that she should be driven quickly up 
 to the milestone beyond the toll-bar, and then very slowly 
 through Deerbrook to Mrs. Howell's. Her servants were 
 prompt, for they, too, longed to see what was going forward ; 
 and thus they arrived, finding a nice little mob ready-made 
 to their expectations, and no cause of regret but that they 
 
312 DEERBROOK. 
 
 arrived too late to see Mr. Hope get home. There were no 
 ladies in terror within sight : but then there was the affecting 
 spectacle of Sir William's popularity. In full view of all the 
 mob, Lady Hunter put a corner of her embroidered handker- 
 chief to each eye, on witnessing the affection of his neighbours 
 to her husband, shown by the final shaking of hands which 
 was now gone through. Sir William then rode slowly up to 
 the carriage-door, followed by his groom, who touched his 
 hat. Orders were given to drive on ; and then Lady Hunter's 
 servants touched their hats. The carriage resumed its slow 
 motion, and Sir William rode beside it, his hand on the door, 
 aod his countenance solemn as if he was on the bench, instead 
 of on horseback. The great blessing of the arrangement was 
 that everybody followed. Lady Hunter having come to see 
 the mob, the mob now, in return, went to see Lady Hunter : 
 and while they were cherishing their mutual interest, the 
 family in the corner-honse were left in peace to prosecute 
 their dinners. Philip threw up the window which looked 
 into the garden, and then ran down to bring Margaret some 
 flowers to refresh her senses after the hurry of the morning. 
 Margaret let down the chain of the hall-door; and Morris laid 
 the cloth, as she had sent Charles to sweep down the steps and 
 pavement before the house, that all things might wear as much 
 as possible their usual appearance. Hester ordered up a 
 bottle of her husband's best ale, and the servants went about 
 with something of the air peculiar to a day of frolic. 
 
 " Dear heart I Lady Hunter ! Can it be your ladyship? " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Howell, venturing to show her face at the door 
 of her darkened shop, and to make free entrance for her most 
 exalted customer. 
 
 " Good heavens ! your ladyship ! Who would have thought 
 of seeing your ladyship here on such a day ? " cried Miss 
 Miskin. 
 
 " Where's Bob, Miss Miskin ? Do, Miss Miskin, send Bob 
 to take down the shutters : — that is, if your ladyship thinks 
 that Sir William would recommend it. If Sir William thinks 
 it safe, — that is my criterion." 
 
 " I hope we are all safe, now, Mrs. Howell," rej)lied the 
 lady. " Sir William's popularity is a most fortunate circum- 
 stance for us all, and for the place at large." 
 
 " Oh dear, your ladyship ! what should we be, not to esti- 
 mate Sir William ? We have our faults, like other people : 
 but really, if we did not know how to value Sir WiUiam " 
 
DEERBROOK. 313 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! '* said Miss Miskin, " we have not fallen 
 so low as that. Now your ladyship can see a little of our 
 goings on — now the shutters are down : but, dear heart ! your 
 ladyship would not have wondered at our putting them up. 
 I am sure I thought for my part, that that middle shutter 
 never would have gone up. It stuck, your ladyship " 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Mrs. Howell, putting her hands before her 
 face, as if the recollection was even now too much for her, 
 " the middle shutter stuck — Bob had got it awry, and jammed 
 it between the other two, and there, nothing that Bob could 
 do would move it ! And there we heard the noise at a distance 
 — the cries, your ladyship — and the shutter would not go up ! 
 And Miss Miskin ran out, and so did I " 
 
 " Did you really ? Well, I must say I admire your courage, 
 Mrs. Howell." 
 
 "Oh, your ladyship, in a moment of desperation, you know 
 ... If anybody had seen Miss Miskin's face, I 'm sure, as she 
 tugged at the shutter — it was as red . . . really scarlet ! " 
 
 " And I 'm sure so was yours, Mrs. Howell, downright 
 crimson." 
 
 " And after all," resumed Mrs. HoweU, " we should never 
 have got the shutter up, if Mr. Tucker had not had the polite- 
 ness to come and help us. But we are talking all this time, 
 and perhaps your ladyship may be almost fainting with the 
 fright. Would not your ladyship step into my parlour, and 
 have a little drop of something ? Let me have the honour — 
 a glass of mulled port wine, or a drop of cherry-bounce. 
 Miss Miskin — you will oblige us — the cherry-bounce, you 
 know." 
 
 Miss Miskin received the keys from the girdle with a smile 
 of readiness ; but Lady Hunter declined refreshment. She 
 explained that she felt more collected than she might other- 
 wise have done, from her not having been taken by surprise. 
 She had been partly aware, before she left the Hall, of what 
 she should have to encounter. 
 
 " Dear heart ! what courage ! " 
 
 " Goodness ! how brave I " 
 
 " I could not be satisfied to remain safe at the Hall, you 
 know, when I did not know what might be happening to Sir 
 William ; so I ordered the carriage, and came. It was a very 
 anxious ride, I assure you, Mrs. Howell. But I found, when 
 I got here, that I need not have been under any alarm for Sir 
 William. He has made himself so beloved, that I believe we 
 
314 DEEREHOOi:. 
 
 have nothing to fear for him under any circumstances. But 
 what can we think, Mrs. Howell, of those who try to create 
 such danger ? " 
 
 " What, indeed, ma'am ! Any one, I 'm sure, who would 
 so much as dream of hurting a hair of Sir William's head 
 . . . As I said to Miss Miskin, when Mr. Tucker told us 
 Sir William was come among them — * that 's the criterion,' 
 said I." 
 
 "As it happens, Sir William is in no danger, I believe ; 
 but no thanks to those who are at the bottom of this disturb- 
 ance. It is no merit of theirs that Sir William is so popular." 
 
 " No, indeed, your ladyship. We may thank Heaven for 
 that, not them. But what is to be done, your ladyship ? I 
 declare it is not safe to go on in this way. It makes one 
 think of being burnt in one's bed." And all the three 
 shuddered. 
 
 " Sir William will take the right measures, you need not 
 doubt, Mrs. Howell. Sir William looks forward — Sir William 
 is very cautious, though, from his intrepidity, some might 
 doubt it. The safety of Deerbrook may very well be left to 
 Sir William." 
 
 " No doubt, your ladyship, no doubt ! We should be really 
 afraid to go to our beds, if we had not Sir William to rely on, 
 as Miss Miskin said to me only this morning. But, dear 
 heart ! what can Sir William, or an angel from heaven do, in 
 some sorts of dangers ? If one might ask, for one's confiden- 
 tial satisfaction, what does Sir William think of this affair of 
 the church-door ? " 
 
 Amidst shrugs and sighs, Miss Miskin drew quite near, to 
 hear the fate of Deerbrook revealed by Lady Hunter. But 
 Lady Hunter did not know the facts about the church-door, 
 on which the inquiry was based. This only showed how 
 secret some people could be in their designs. There was no 
 saying what Lady Hunter might think of it ; it really seemed 
 as if Deerbrook, that had had such a good character hitherto, 
 was going to be on a level with Popish places — a place of 
 devastation and conflagration. Lady Hunter looked exces- 
 sively grave when she heard this ; and, if possible, graver 
 than ever, when she was told that not only had a lantern 
 been found in the churchyard with a bit of candle left in the 
 socket, but that a piece of charred stick, full three inches 
 long, had been picked up close by the church-door. After 
 hearing this. Lady Hunter would not commit herself any 
 
DEERBROOK. 315 
 
 further. She asked for some hair-pins, with a dignified and 
 melancholy air. While she was selecting the article, she let 
 Mrs. Howell talk on about the lantern and the stick — that no 
 one wondered about the lantern, knowing what practices 
 went on in the churchyard when quiet people were asleep ; 
 but that the charred stick was too alarming : only that, to 
 be sure, anybody might be aware that those who would go 
 into churchyards for one bad purpose would be ready enough 
 for another; and that Heaven only knew how long the 
 churches of the land would be safe while Lowrys were sent 
 to Parliament, and those that sent them there were all abroad. 
 Lady Hunter sighed emphatically, whispered her desire that 
 the hair-pins should be set down in her account, and went 
 away, amidst deep and mournful curtseys from those whom 
 she left behind. 
 
 Under certain circumstances, the mind becomes so rapidly 
 possessed of an idea, is enabled to assimilate it so com- 
 pletely and speedily, that the possessor becomes unaware how 
 very recently the notion was received, and deals with it as an 
 old-established thought. This must be Lady Hunter's excuse 
 (for no other can be found) for speaking of the plot for burning 
 Deer brook church as one of the signs of the times which had 
 alarmed Sir William and herself ©f late. She had so digested 
 Mrs. Howell's fact by the time she had reached Mr. Tucker's 
 shop, that she thus represented the case of the charred stick to 
 Mr. Tucker without any immediate sting of conscience for 
 telling a lie. She felt rather uncomfortable when Mr. Jones, 
 the butcher, who had stepped in at Tucker's to discuss the event 
 of the morning, observed, with deference, but with much 
 decision, that he was sorry to hear Sir William was made 
 uneasy by the circumstance of the charred stick having been 
 found, as it seemed to him a very simple matter to account 
 for. Several of the boys of the village — his own son John for 
 one — had lately taken to the old sport of whirling round a 
 lighted stick at the end of a string, to make a circle of fire 
 in the dark. Sometimes it happened that a spark caught the 
 string ; and then the stick was apt to fly off, nobody knew 
 where. It was an unsafe sport, certainly ; and as such he 
 had forbidden it to his son John : but there was no doubt 
 in his mind (without defending the sport), that the stick in 
 question had jerked itself over the churchyard wall, and had 
 not been put there by anybody ; — to say nothing of its having 
 lain so far from the door (and in the grass, too), that it was 
 
316 DEERBROOK. 
 
 difficult to see what could be expected to catch fire from it. 
 Jones took up his hat from the counter, saying, that as Sir 
 William was close at hand, he would step and tell him what 
 he thought would ease his mind about this affair. This 
 movement laid open to Lady Hunter's mind the enormity of 
 her fib : and remembering that, as far as she knew, her hus- 
 band had never heard of the charred stick, she vigorously 
 interfered to keep Mr. Jones where he was, averring that Sir 
 William had rather hear the explanation from her than from 
 any person actually resident in Deerbrook. He had his 
 reasons, and she must insist. Mr. Jones bowed; her alarm 
 ceased, and her compunction gradually died away. 
 
 When Mr. Tucker had received his orders about the fire- 
 guard (which occasioned his whispering that th(^re had never 
 been so much need in Deerbrook of guards against fire as 
 now), Lady Hunter's footman came into the shop to say that 
 his master was in the carriage. Sir William had sent his 
 horse home, and would return in the chariot with his lady. 
 She hastened away, to prevent any chat between Sir William 
 and Mr. Jones. But, once in the carriage, in all the glory of 
 being surrounded and watched by a number of gaping clowns 
 and shouting boys, she could not resolve to bury herself in 
 the seclusion of the Hall, without enjoying the bustle a little 
 longer. She therefore suddenly discovered that she wanted 
 to order a morning cap at Miss Nares' ; and the carriage drew 
 up in state before the milliner's door. Miss Flint, whose hair 
 had come out of curl, from her having leaned out of an upper 
 window to watch the commotion, now flew to the glass to pull 
 off her curl-papers ; Miss Nares herself hastily drew out of 
 drawers and cupboards the smart things which had been 
 huddled away under the alarm about the sacking of Deer- 
 brook ; and then threw a silk handkerchief over the tray, on 
 which stood the elder wine and toast with which she and her 
 assistant had been comforting themselves after the panic of the 
 morning. All the caps were tried on with mysterious melan- 
 choly, but with some haste. Sir William must not be kept 
 long waiting : in times like these, a magistrate's moments were 
 valuable. Sir William was reading the newspaper, in order 
 to convey the impression that he considered the affair of this 
 morning a trifling one ; but 
 
 " These are strange times. Miss Nares." 
 
 *' Very alarming, my lady. I am sure I don't know when 
 we shall recover from the fright. And no further back 
 
DEERBROOK, ol7 
 
 than six weeks, I had that person in, my lady, to attend 
 Miss Flint in a sore throat. So little were we aware ! " 
 
 "I am thankful enough it was not for a broken arm," 
 observed Miss Flint, in accents of devout gratitude. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, my dear," observed Miss Nares, " it would 
 have ruined all your prospects in life if he had done by you 
 as he did by the Russell Taylors' nursemaid. Have you never 
 heard that, my lady ? Well ! I am astonished ! I find the 
 story is in everybody's mouth. Mrs. Russell Taylor's nurse- 
 maid was crossing the court, with the baby in her arms, when 
 she tripped over the string of Master Hampden Taylor's kite. 
 Well, my lady, she fell ; and her first thought, you know, 
 was to save the baby ; so she let all her weight go on the 
 other arm — the right — and, as you may suppose, broke it. 
 It snapped below the elbow. The gentleman in the corner- 
 house was sent for immediately, to set it. Now they say (you, 
 my lady, know all about it, of course,) that there are two 
 bones in that part of one's arm, below the elbow." 
 
 " There are so. Quite correct. There are two bones." 
 
 " Well, my lady, all the story depends upon that. The 
 gentleman in question did set the bones ; but he set them 
 across, you see, — as it might be so." And Miss Nares 
 arranged four pieces of whalebone on the table in the shape of 
 a long, narroAv letter X ; there could not have been a better 
 exemplification. " The consequence was, my lady, that the 
 poor girl's hand was found, when she had got well, to be 
 turned completely round : and, in fact, it is all but useless." 
 
 " When her hands are in her lap," observed Miss Flint, " the 
 palm of the right lies uppermost. Ugh ! " 
 
 " When she beckons the children with that hand," observed 
 Miss Nares, " they think she means them to go further off. 
 A girl who has to earn her bread, my lady ! It is in every- 
 body's mouth, I assure you." 
 
 " What has become of the girl ? " asked Lady Hunter. 
 
 "Oh, she was got rid of — sent away — to save the credit of 
 the gentleman in the corner-house. But these things will 
 come out, my lady. You are aware that the Russell Taylors 
 have for some time been employing Mr. Foster, from 
 Blickley?" 
 
 " Ah, true ! I had heard of that." 
 
 With unrelaxed gravity. Lady Hunter returned to her 
 equipage, carrying with her Miss Nares's newest cap and 
 story. 
 
318 DEERBROOK. 
 
 As the carriage drew near the corner-house, the driver, as 
 if sympathising with his lady's thoughts, made his horses go 
 their very slowest. Lady Hunter raised herself, and leaned 
 forward, that she might see what she could see in this danger- 
 ous abode. The spring evening sunshine was streaming in at 
 the garden window at the back of the house ; so that the party 
 in the room was perfectly visible, in the thorough light, to 
 any one who could surmount the obstacle of the blind. Lady 
 Hunter saw four people sitting at dinner, and somebody was 
 waiting on them. She could scarcely have told what it was 
 that surprised her ; but she exclaimed to Sir William — 
 
 " Good heavens ! they are at dinner ! " 
 
 Sir William called out angrily to the coachman to drive 
 faster, and asked whether he meant to keep everybody out till 
 midnight. 
 
 The Hopes were far less moved by seeing the baronet and 
 his lady driving by, than the baronet and his lady were by 
 seeing the Hopes dining. They had not the slightest objec- 
 tion to the great folks from the Hall deriving all the excite- 
 ment and amusement they could from an airing through the 
 village ; and they were happily ignorant of the most atrocious 
 stories about Hope which were now circulating from mouth to 
 mouth, all round Deerbrook. 
 
 It was not long, however, before they found that they had 
 been indebted to the great folks from the Hall for a certain 
 degree of protection, partly from the equipage having drawn 
 off the attention of some of the idlers, and partly from the 
 people having been unwilling to indulge all their anger and 
 impertinence in the presence of a magistrate. Scarcely half 
 an hour had elapsed after the sound of the carriage wheels had 
 died away, before a face was seen surmounting the blind of 
 the windows towards the street. Presently another appeared, 
 and another. Men below were hoisting up boys, to make 
 grimaces at the family, and see what was going on. The 
 shutters were closed rather earlier than usual. Philip went 
 out to make a survey. He and Mr. Grey soon returned, to 
 advise that the ladies should quit the house, and that a guard 
 should enter it. The first proposition was refused ; the 
 second accepted. Mr. Grey carried off all the money 
 and small valuables. Hester and Margaret bestirred them- 
 selves to provide refreshments for Messrs. Grey and Eowland's 
 men, who were to be ready to act in their defence. They 
 scarcelyknew what to expect ; but they resolved to remain where 
 
DEERBROOK. 319 
 
 Edward was, and to fear nothing from which he did not 
 shrink. 
 
 There was much noise round the house — a multitude of 
 feet and of voices. Messengers were sent off to the Hall and 
 to Dr. Levitt, who must now be disturbed, whatever might 
 become of his sermon. Philip brought in Mr. Eowland's men^ 
 and declared he should not leave the premises again if the 
 ladies would not be persuaded to go. He took up his station 
 in the hall, whence he thought he could learn most of what it 
 was that the people had intended to do, and be most ready to 
 act as occasion might require. No one could imagine what was 
 designed, or whether there w^as any design at all on foot. The 
 only fact at present apparent was, that the crowd was every 
 moment increasing. 
 
 Hester was stooping over the cellaret in the room where 
 they had dined, when a tremendous crash startled her, and a 
 stone struck down the light which stood beside her, leaving 
 her in total darkness. Philip came to her in a moment. No 
 one had thought of closing the shutters of the back windows ; 
 and now the garden was full of people. The house was 
 besieged back and front ; and, in ten minutes from the 
 entrance of this first stone, not a pane of glass was left un- 
 broken in any of the lower windows. Hope ran out, his 
 spirit thoroughly roused by these insults ; and he was the first 
 to seize and detain one of the oifenders ; but the feat was rather 
 too dangerous to bear repetition. He was recognised, 
 surrounded, and had some heavy blow^s inflicted upon 
 him. He succeeded in bringing oiF his man ; but it was by 
 the help of a sally of his friends from the house ; and having 
 locked up his prisoner in his dressing-room, he found it best 
 to await the arrival of a magistrate before he went forth again. 
 
 The surgery was the most open to attack ; and this being 
 the place w^here the people expected to find the greatest 
 number of dead bodies, their energies were directed towards 
 the professional part of the premises. The pupil took flight, 
 and left the intruders to work their pleasure. They found 
 no bodies, and were angry accordingly. When the crashing 
 of all the glass was over, the shelves and cases were torn down, 
 and, with the table and chairs, carried out into the street, and 
 cast into a heap. Other wood was brought ; and it was owing 
 to the pertinacity of the mob in front of the house, in attack- 
 ing the shutters, that the rioters met with no opposition in the 
 surgery. Hope, Enderby, and their assistants, had more on 
 
320 DEERBBOOK, 
 
 their hands than they could well manage, in beating off the 
 assailants in front. If the shutters were destroyed, the whole 
 furniture of the house would go, and no protection would 
 remain to anybody in it. The surgery must be left to take 
 its chance, rather than this barrier between the women and 
 the mob be thrown down. Whatever offensive warfare was 
 offered from the house was from the servants, from the upper 
 window. The women poured down a quick succession of 
 pails of water ; and Charles returned, with good aim, such 
 stones as had found their way in. The gentlemen were little 
 aware, for some time, that the cries of vexation or ridicule, 
 which were uttered now and then, were caused by the feats of 
 their own coadjutors overhead : and it was in consequence of 
 seeing Hester and Margaret laughing in the i;nidst of their 
 panic that the fact became known to them. 
 
 Soon after, a bright light was visible between the crevices 
 of the shutters, and a prodigious shout arose outside. The 
 bonfire was kindled. Hester and Margaret went to the upper 
 windows to see it ; and when the attacks upon the shutters 
 seemed to have ceased, Enderby joined them. There were 
 very few faces among the crowd that were known even to 
 Charles, whose business it was, in his own opinion, to know 
 everybody. Mr. Tucker was evidently only looking on from 
 a distance. Mrs. Plumstead had been on the spot, but was 
 gone — terrified into quietness by the fire, into which the 
 rioters had threatened to throw her, if she disturbed their pro- 
 ceedings. She had professed to despise the idea of a ducking 
 in the brook ; but a scorching in the fire was not to be braved ; 
 so no more was heard of her this night. Three or four of the 
 frequenters of the public-house were on the spot ; but though 
 they lent a hand to throw fresh loads of fuel on the fire, they 
 did not take their pipes from their mouths, nor seem to be 
 prime movers in the riot. The yellow blaze lighted up a 
 hundred faces, scowling with anger or grinning with mirth, 
 but they were all strange — strange as the incidents of the day. 
 A little retired from the glare of the fire, was a figure, 
 revealed only when the flame shot up from being freshly fed 
 — Sir William Hunter on horseback with his immovable groom 
 behind him. How long he had been there, nobody in the 
 house could tell ; nor whether he had attempted to do any- 
 thing in behalf of peace and quiet. There he sat, as if looking 
 on for his amusement, and forgetting that he had any business 
 with the scene. 
 
BEERBROOK. 321 
 
 It was no wonder that Dr. Levitt was not yet visible. If 
 he should arrive by dawn, that was all that could be expected. 
 But where were Mr. Grey and Sydney? Where was Mr. 
 Kowland ? Like some of Mr. Hope's other neighbours, who 
 ought to have come to his aid on such an occasion, these 
 gentlemen were detained at home by the emotions of their 
 families. Sydney Grey was locked up by his tender mother 
 as securely as Mr. Hope's prisoner ; and all the boy's efforts 
 to break the door availed only to bruise him full as seriously 
 as the mob would have done. His father was detained by 
 the tremours of his wife, the palpitations of Sophia, and the 
 tears and sobs of the twins, all of which began with the 
 certainty of the first stone having been thrown, and were by 
 no means abated by the sight of the reflection of the flames 
 on the sky. Mr. Grey found it really impossible to leave his 
 family, as he afterwards said. He consoled himself with the 
 thought that he had done the best he could, by sending his 
 men. These things were exactly what his partner said. He, 
 too, had done the best he could, in sending his men. He, 
 too, found it impossible to leave his family. In the dusk of 
 the evening, when the first stones had begun to fly, the 
 carriage which was heard, in the intervals of the crashes, to 
 roll by, contained Mrs. Rowland and her children, and some one 
 else. It may easily be imagined that it was made impossible 
 to Mr. Eowland to leave his family, to go to the assistance of 
 the people in the corner -house. 
 
 A fresh shout soon announced some new device. A kind 
 of procession appeared to be advancing up the street, and 
 some notes of rude music were heard. A party was bringing 
 an effigy of Mr. Hope to burn on the pile. There was the 
 odious thing — plain enough in the light of the fire — mth the 
 halter round its neck, a knife in the right hand, and a phial 
 — a real phial out of Hope's own surgery, in the left ! 
 
 " This is too bad to be borne," cried Enderby ; while Hope, 
 who had come up to see what others were seeing, laughed 
 heartily at the representative of himself " This is not to be 
 endured. Morris, quick ! Fetch me half a dozen candles." 
 
 "Candles, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, candles. I will put this rabble to flight. I wish I 
 had thought of it before." 
 
 " Oh, Philip !" said Margaret, apprehensively. 
 
 "Fear nothing, Margaret. I am going to do something 
 most eminently safe, as you will see." 
 
 -:^ 
 
322 BEERBROOK. 
 
 He would not let any one go with him but Charles and 
 Morris. It was some minutes before any effect from his 
 absence was perceived ; but, at length, just when the efUgy 
 had been sufficiently insulted, and was about to be cast into 
 the flames, and Hester had begged her husband not to laugh 
 at it any more, a roar of anguish and terror was heard from 
 the crowd, which began to disperse in all directions. The 
 ladies ventured to lean out of the window, to see what was 
 the cause of the uproar. They understood it in a moment. 
 Mr. Enderby had possessed himself of the skeleton which 
 hung in the mahogany case in the waiting-room, had lighted 
 it up behind the eyes and the ribs, and was carrying it aloft 
 before him, approaching round the corner, and thus confront- 
 ing the efB.gy. The spectre moved steadily on, while the 
 people fled. It made straight for Sir William Hunter, who now 
 seemed for the first time disposed to shift his place. He did 
 so with as much slowness and dignity as were compatible with 
 the urgency of the circumstances, edging his horse further 
 and further into the shade. When he found, however, that 
 the spectre continued to light its own path towards him, there 
 was something rather piteous in the tone of his appeal : — 
 " I am Sir William Hunter ! I am — I am Sir William 
 Hunter!" The spectre disregarding even this information^ 
 there was nothing for the baronet to do but to gallop off — his 
 groom for once in advance of him. When they were out of 
 sight, the spectre turned sharp round, and encountered 
 Dr. Levitt, who was now arriving just when every one else 
 was departing. He started, as might have been expected ^ 
 spoke angrily to the *^ idle boy" whom he supposed to be 
 behind the case of bones, and laughed heartily when he 
 learned who was the perpetrator, and what the purpose of 
 the joke. He entered Hope's house, to learn the particulars 
 of the outrage, and order off the prisoner into confinement 
 elsewhere, his ideas being too extensively discomposed to 
 admit of any more sermon-writing this night. Charles had 
 already captured the e^gj, and set it up in the hall : a few 
 more pailsful of water extinguished the fire in the street ; and 
 in a quarter of an hour the neighbourhood seemed to be as 
 quiet as usual. 
 
 " Where are you to sleep after all this fatigue ? " said Hope 
 to his wife and sister, when Dr. Levitt and Philip were gone, 
 and the men were at their supper below. '' I do not believe 
 they have left you a room which is not open to the night air. 
 
DEERBIIOOK. S23 
 
 What a strange home to have put you in ! Who would have 
 thought it a year ago ? " 
 
 Hester smiled, and said she was never less sleepy. Morris 
 believed that not a pane of glass was broken in the attics, and 
 her ladies could sleep there, if they preferred remaining at 
 home to stepping to Mr. Grey's. They much preferred 
 remaining where they were : and, on examination, it was 
 found that Margaret's room was also entire. Hope proposed 
 to take possession of Charles's attic, for once ; and Charles 
 enjoyed the novelty of having a mattrass laid down for him 
 in a corner of the upper landing. Morris tempted the ladies 
 and her master to refresh themselves with tea. She piled up 
 the fire to a Christmas height, to compensate for the draughts 
 which blew in from the broken windows. Hope soon grew 
 discontented with her plan. 
 
 " This will never do," said he, shivering. " You will all 
 be ill : and nobody must be ill now, for I have no medicines 
 left." 
 
 Morris murmured a wish that the physic had been forced 
 down the people's throats. 
 
 "It is better where it is, Morris," said her master; *'and 
 we will forgive these poor people ; shall we not? They are 
 lamentably ignorant, you see." 
 
 Morris thought forgiveness was always pretty sure to come 
 in time : but it was not very easy at the moment. She 
 thought she could get over their robbing her master of any 
 amount of property ; but she could not excuse their making 
 him ridiculous before his lady's own eyes. 
 
 " They cannot make him ridiculous, Morris," said Hester, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " People who are persecuted are considered great, you know, 
 Morris," said Margaret. 
 
 " Bravo, ladies ! " cried Hope. "You keep up your own 
 spirits, and my complacency, bravely. But seriously, Morris," 
 he continued, perceiving that the vulgarity of the present 
 affliction weighed down the good woman's heart ; " is it not 
 true that few of our trials — none of those which are most 
 truly trials — seem dignified at the time? If they did, 
 patience would be easier than it is. The death of martyrs to 
 their faith is grand to look back upon ; but it did not appear 
 so to the best of the martyrs at the time. This little trial of 
 ours looks provoking, and foolish, and mean, to us to-night ; 
 but whether it reaUy is so, will depend on how we bear it ; 
 
 y2 
 
324 DEERBROOK. 
 
 and whatever it may bring after it, grand or mean, all we 
 have to do is to be goodhumoured with it, Morris." 
 
 Morris curtsied low. 
 
 " And now, to your rooms," resumed Hope : " this place is 
 growing too chilly for you, notwithstanding Morris's capital 
 fire." 
 
 " One thing more," said Margaret. " I am a little uneasy 
 about Maria. Has any one thought of her ? She must be 
 anxious about us." 
 
 " I will go this moment," said Hope. " Nay, my love, it is 
 early yet ; no one in Deerbrook is gone to rest yet, but the 
 children. I can be back in ten minutes, and the street is 
 empty." 
 
 " Let him go," said Margaret. " It will be a great kind- 
 ness ; and surely there is no danger now." 
 
 Hope was gone. He did not come back in ten minutes, nor 
 in half an hour. Even Margaret heartily repented having 
 urged him to leave home. During his absence she thus 
 repented, but no longer when he returned. He brought news 
 which made her hasten to dress herself for the open air, when 
 she was quite ready to retire to rest. It was well that her 
 brother had gone. Maria had been thrown down by the 
 crowd, which had overtaken her as she was walking homewards, 
 and she had broken her leg. The limb was set, the case was 
 a simple and promising one ; but she was in pain, and 
 Margaret must go and pass the night with her. How thankful 
 were they all now, that some one had thought of Maria ! She 
 had been in extreme anxiety for them ; and she would not 
 certainly have sent for aid before the morning. It was indeed 
 a blessing that some one had thought of Maria. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 Mr. Enderby was too angry with his sister to see her that 
 night. He went straight to his room, at his mother's old 
 house, and did not breakfast with the Rowlands. He knocked 
 at their door when breakfast was finished, and sent to request 
 Mrs. Rowland's presence in the drawing-room. All this had 
 given the lady time to prepare her mood, and some very clever 
 and bold sayings ; but when the interview was over, she was 
 
CEERBROOK. 325 
 
 surprised to find how some of these sayings had gone out of 
 her mind, and how others had remained there, for want of 
 opportunity to speak them ; so that she had not made nearly 
 so good a figure as she had intended. 
 
 There was all due politeness in Enderby's way of inducing 
 his sister to sit down, and of asking after the health of herself 
 and her children. 
 
 ''We are all wonderfully improved, thank you, brother. 
 Indeed I have hopes that we shall all enjoy better health 
 henceforward than we have ever known. Mr. Walcot's care 
 will be new life to us." 
 
 "Whose care?" 
 
 " Mr. Walcot's. We brought him with us last night ; and 
 he is to go at once into my mother's house. He is a surgeon 
 of the first degree of eminence. I think myself extremely 
 fortunate in having secured him. The chief reason, however, 
 of my inviting him here was, that my poor mother might be 
 properly taken care of. Now I shall be at peace on her 
 account, which I really never was before. Now that she will 
 be in good hands, I shall feel that I have done my duty." 
 
 " And, pray, does Rowland know of your having brought 
 this stranger here ? " 
 
 " Of course. Mr. Walcot is our guest till his own house 
 can be prepared for him. As I tell you, he arrived with me, 
 last night." 
 
 " And now let me tell you, sister, that either Mr. Walcot is 
 not a man of honour, or you have misinformed him of the 
 true state of affairs here : I suspect the latter to be the case. 
 It is of a piece with the whole of your conduct, towards 
 Mr. Hope — conduct unpardonable for its untruthfulness, and 
 hateful for its malice." 
 
 Not one of Mrs. Rowland's prepared answers would suit in 
 this place. Before she could think of anything to say, Enderby 
 proceeded : — 
 
 " It is a dreadful thing for a brother to have to speak to a 
 sister as I now speak to you ; but it is your own doing. 
 Mr. Hope must have justice ; and you have no one to blame 
 but yourself that justice must be done at your expense. I 
 give you fair notice that I shall discharge my duty fully, in 
 the painful circumstances in Avhich you have contrived to 
 place all your fiimily." 
 
 ** Do what you will, Philip. My first duty is to take care 
 of the health of my parent and my children ; and if, by the 
 
326 DEElxSPvOOK. 
 
 same means, Deerbrook is provided with a medical man 
 worthy of its confidence, all Deerbrook will thank me." 
 
 " Ignorant and stupid as Deerbrook is about many things, 
 Priscilla, it is not so wicked as to thank any one for waging a 
 cowardly war against the good, for disparaging the able and 
 accomj)lished, and fabricating and circulating injurious 
 stories against people too magnanimous for the slanderer to 
 understand." 
 
 " I do not know what you mean, Philip." 
 
 " I mean that you have done all this towards the Hopes. 
 You do not know that he and his wife are not happy. You 
 know that Hope is an able and most humane man in his 
 profession, and that he does not steal dead bodies. You know 
 the falsehood of the whole set of vulgar stories tliat you have 
 put into circulation against him. You know, also, that my 
 mother has entire confidence in him, and that it Avill go near 
 to break her heart to have him dismissed for any one else. 
 This is the meaning of what I say. As for what I mean to 
 do — it is this. I shall speak to Mr. Walcot at once, before 
 his intention to settle here is known." 
 
 " You are too late, my dear sir. Every one in Deerbrook 
 knows it as well as if Dr. Levitt was to give notice of it from 
 the pulpit to-day." 
 
 '' So much the worse for you, Priscilla. I shall explain 
 the whole of Hope's case to Mr. Walcot, avoiding, if possible, 
 
 all exposure of you ." 
 
 • " Oh, pray do not disturb yourself about that. Mr. Walcot 
 knows me very w^ell. I am not afraid." 
 
 "Avoiding, if possible, all exposure of you," resumed 
 Enderby, " but not shrinking from the full statement of the 
 facts, if that should prove necessary to Hope's justification. 
 If this gentleman be honourable, he will decline attending my 
 mother, and go away more willingly than he came. I shall 
 bear testimony to my friend with equal freedom everywhere 
 else ; and I wall never rest till the wrongs you have done 
 him are repaired — as far as reparation is possible.'^ 
 
 " You take the tone of defiance, I see, Philip. I have not 
 the slightest objection. We defy each other, then." 
 
 **I cannot but take that tone for a purpose which, I 
 conceive, is the kindest which, under the circumstances, can 
 be entertained towards you, sister. I do it in the hope that, 
 before it is too late, you will yourself do the justice which I 
 vow shall be done. I give you peremptory warning, leaving 
 
DEERBROOK. 327 
 
 you opportunity to retrieve yourself, to repair the mischief 
 you have done, and to alleviate the misery which I see is 
 coming upon you." 
 
 •* You are very good: but I know what I am about, and I 
 shall proceed in my own way. I mean to get rid of these 
 Hopes ; and, perhaps, you may be surprised to see how soon 
 I succeed." 
 
 " The Hopes shall remain as long as they wish to stay, if 
 truth can prevail against falsehood. I am sorry for you, if 
 you cannot endure the presence of neighbours whose Avhole 
 minds and conduct are noble and humane, and known by you 
 to be so. This desire to get rid of them is a bad symptom, 
 Priscilla — a symptom of a malady which neither Hope nor 
 Mr. Walcot, nor any one but yourself, can cure. I would 
 have you look to it." 
 
 " Is your sermon ended ? It is time I was getting ready to 
 hear Dr. Levitt's." 
 
 " What I have to say is not finished. I desire to know 
 what you mean by telling everybody that I am engaged to 
 Miss Mary Bruce." 
 
 '' I said so, because it is true." 
 
 The cool assurance with which she said this was too much 
 for Enderby's gravity. He burst out a laughing. 
 
 " If not precisely true when I said it, it was sure to be so 
 soon ; which is just the same thing. I mean that it shall be 
 true. I have set my heart upon your marrying, and upon your 
 marrying Mary Bruce. I know she would like it, and " 
 
 " Stop there ! Not another word about Miss Bruce ! I 
 will not have you take liberties with her name to me ; and 
 this is not the first time I have told you so. It is not true 
 that she would like it — no more true than many other things 
 that you have said : and if you were to repeat it till night, it 
 would make no sort of impression upon me. Miss Bruce 
 knows little, and cares less, about me ; and beware how you 
 say to the contrary! — And now for the plain fact. I am 
 engaged elsewhere." 
 
 " No ; you are not." 
 
 "Yes; lam." 
 
 " You will marry no one but Mary Bruce at last, you will 
 see, whatever you may think now." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Priscilla, if you have any of the 
 regard you profess to have for Miss Bruce, treat her name 
 with some respect ! — I am accepted by Margaret Ibbotson ! " 
 
328 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 " I dare say you are ! Margaret Ibbotson ! So this is at 
 the bottom of all your energy about the Hopes ! " 
 
 " I admired Hope before I ever saw Margaret, with sufficient 
 energy to prompt me to anything I mean to do in his support. 
 But Margaret has certainly exalted my feelings towards him, 
 as she has towards everything morally great and beautiful." 
 
 " I hope you will all make yourselves happy with your 
 greatness and your beauty : for these friends of yours seem 
 likely to have little else left to comfort themselves with." 
 
 " They will be happy with their greatness and loveliness, 
 sister ; for it is Heaven's decree that they should. Why will 
 you not let yourself be happy in witnessing it, Priscilla ? Why 
 will you not throw oiF the restraint of bad feelings, and do 
 magnanimous justice to this family, and, having thus opened 
 and freed your mind, glory in their goodness — the next best 
 thing to being as good as they ? You have power of mind to 
 do this : the very force with which you persist in persecuting 
 them shows that you have power for better things. Believe me, 
 they are full of the spirit of forgiveness. Do but try " 
 
 " Thank you. I am glad you are aware of my power. If 
 they forgive me for anything, it shall be for my power." 
 
 " That is not for you to determine, happily. To what 
 extent they forgive is between God and themselves. You lie 
 under their forgiveness, whether you will or not. I own, 
 Priscilla, I would fain bestow on Margaret a sister whom she 
 might respect rather than forgive." 
 
 " Pray how many persons have you persuaded that 
 Margaret Ibbotson is to be my sister-in-law ? " 
 
 " Very few ; for your sake, scarcely any. We have been 
 willing to allow you your own time and methods for 
 extricating yourself from the difficulties you have made for 
 yourself, by your inconsiderate talk about Miss Bruce. I 
 own I cannot conceive how you could originate and carry on 
 such a device. You must now get out of the scrape in your 
 own way." 
 
 " I am glad you have told so few people of your entangle- 
 ment. It makes it an easier matter to help you. I shall deny 
 the engagement everywhere." 
 
 " That will hardly avail against my testimony." 
 
 "It will, when you are gone. The Deerbrook people 
 always attend to the last speaker. Indeed, I think I have the 
 majority with me now, as the events of last night pretty 
 plainly show." 
 
DEERBROOK. 329 
 
 " Hope is not the first good man who has been slandered 
 and suffered violence. Oh, Priscilla, I am unwilling to give 
 you up ! Let me hope, that the pride, the insane pride of 
 this morning, is but the re-action of your internal suiFering 
 from witnessing the results of your influence in the outrages 
 of last night. ^ Confide this to me now, and give yourself 
 such ease as you yet can." 
 
 " Thank you: but you are quite mistaken. I was extremely 
 glad to arrive when I did. It satisfied me as to the necessity 
 of getting rid of these people ; and it proved to Mr. Walcot, 
 as I observed to him at the time, how much he was Avanted 
 here. Now, if you have nothing more to say to me, I must 
 go. I shall deny your engagement everywhere." 
 
 Philip fixed his eyes upon her with an earnestness from 
 which, for one moment, she shrank ; but she instantly rallied, 
 and returned him a stare which lasted till she reached the 
 door. 
 
 " There is something almost sublime in audacity like this," 
 thought he. " But it cannot last. It comes from internal 
 torture — a thing as necessarily temporary as faith (the source 
 of the other kind of strength) is durable. Not the slightest 
 compunction has she for having caused the misery she knows 
 of ; and not a whit would she relent if she could become 
 aware (which she never shall) of what she made Margaret 
 suffer. I fear my Margaret has still much to endure from 
 her. I will watch and struggle to ward off from her every 
 evil word and thought. This is the only comfort under the 
 misery of her being exposed to the malice of any one belonging 
 to me. No ; not the only comfort. She does not suffer from 
 these things as she did. She says she has a new strength ; 
 and, thank God! I believe it. Now for Mr. Walcot! I 
 must catch him as he comes out of church, and see what I 
 can make of him. If he is an honourable man, all may turn 
 out well. If not — Rowland and I must see what can be done 
 next." 
 
330 DEEUBROOIC. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 CONDOLENCE. 
 
 The family in the corner-lioTise thought this the strangest 
 Sunday morning they had ever looked upon. Outside their 
 premises, all was like a May sabbath. The gardens sent up 
 their fragrance into the warm, still air : the cottage windows 
 were open, and early roses and late hyacinths appeared within 
 the casements. The swallows were skimming and dipping 
 about the meadows ; and the swans steered their majestic 
 course along the river, rippling its otherwise unbroken sur- 
 face. The men of the village sat on the thresholds of their 
 doors, smoking an early pipe ! and their tidy children, the 
 boys with hair combed straight, and the girls with clean 
 pinafores, came abroad ; some to carry the Sunday dinner 
 to the baker's, and others to nurse the baby in the sunshine, 
 or to snatch a bit of play behind a neighbour's dwelling. 
 The contrast within the corner-house was strange. Morris 
 and the boy had been up early to gather the stones, and 
 sweep up the fragments of glass from the floors, to put the 
 efB.gy out of sight, and efface the marks of feet in the hall 
 and parlours. The supper had been cleared away in the 
 kitchen, and the smell of spirits and tobacco got rid of : but 
 this was all that the most zealous servants could do. The 
 front shutters must remain closed, and the garden windows 
 empty of glass. The garden itself was a mournful spectacle, 
 — the pretty garden, which had been the pride and pleasure 
 of the family all this spring; part of the wall was thrown 
 down; the ivy trailed on the earth. Of the shrubs, some 
 were pulled up, and others cut off at the roots. The beds 
 were trodden into clay, and the grass, so green and sunny 
 yesterday, was now trampled black where it was not hidden 
 with fragments of the wood-work of the surgery, and with 
 the refuse of the broken glasses and spilled drugs. Hope had 
 also risen early. He had found his scared pupil returned, 
 and wandering about the ruins of his abode, — the surgery. 
 They set to work together, to put out of sight whatever was 
 least seemly of the scattered contents of the professional 
 apartment ; but, with all their pains, the garden looked 
 forlorn and disagreeable enough when Hester came down, 
 shawled, to make breakfast in the open air of the parlour-, . 
 
DEERBROOK. 381 
 
 and lier husband thought it time ifb go and see how Maria 
 had passed the night, and to bring Margaret home. 
 
 Hester received from her husband and sister a favourable 
 report of Maria. She had slept, and Margaret had slept 
 beside her. Maria carried her philosophy into all the cir- 
 cumstances of her lot, and she had been long used to pain 
 and interruption of her plans. These things, and the hurry 
 of an accident in the street, might dismay one inexperienced 
 in suffering, but not her. When not kept awake by actual pain,, 
 she slept ; and when assured that her case was perfectly simple, 
 and that there was every probability of her being as well as 
 usual in a few weeks, all her anxieties were for the Hopes. 
 No report of them could have satisfied her so well as Mr. Hope's 
 early visit, — as his serene countenance and cheerful voice. 
 She saw that he was not sad at heart ; and warmly as she 
 honoured his temper, she could hardly understand this. No 
 wonder ; for she did not know what his sufferings had pre- 
 viously been from other causes, nor how vivid was his delight 
 at the spirit in which Hester received their present misfor- 
 tunes. Margaret saw at once that all was well at home, and 
 made no inquiries about her sister. 
 
 " Here is a letter for you, with a magnificent seal," said 
 Hester, as they entered. " And here is tea as hot, I believe, 
 as if we were still blessed with glass windows." 
 
 The letter had just been left by Sir William Hunter's 
 groom. It was from the Baronet, and its contents iitformed 
 Mr. Hope that his attendance would not be required at the 
 almshouses in future, as their inmates were placed under the 
 medical superintendence of Mr. Walcot. 
 
 "I am glad," said Hester. "No more danger and insult 
 from that quarter ! " 
 
 " Nor funds either, my dear. It is pleasant enough to have 
 no insult and danger to apprehend ; but what will you say to 
 having no funds ?" 
 
 " We shall see when that time comes, love. Meantime, 
 here is breakfast, and the sweet Sunday all before us ? " 
 
 The pressure of her hand by her husband effaced all woes, 
 present and future. 
 
 '^ Who is Mr. Walcot?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " Somebody from Blickley, I suppose," said Hester. 
 
 " No," replied Hope. " Mr. Walcot is a surgeon, last from 
 
 Cheltenham, who settled in Deerbrook at seven o'clock 
 
 X yesterday evening, and who has already swept the greater 
 
332 DEERBROOK. 
 
 part of the practice of the place, I suspect. He is, no doubt, 
 the * better doctor,' * the new man,' of whom we have heard 
 so much of late." 
 
 Hester changed colour, and Margaret too, while Hope 
 related the arrival of Mrs. Kowland and her party, as he had 
 heard it from his pupil early this morning. — What sort of 
 man was Mr. Walcot? Time must show. His coming to 
 settle in this manner, at such a conjuncture of circumstances, 
 did not look very well, Hope said ; but it should be remem- 
 bered that he must necessarily be extremely prejudiced 
 against the family in the corner-house, if his information 
 about Deerbrook was derived from Mrs. Eowland. He ought 
 not to be judged till he had had time and opportunity to 
 learn for himself what was the real state of affairs in the 
 place. He must have fair play ; and it was very possible 
 that he might turn out a man who would give others fair 
 play. 
 
 At the next knock, Hester started, thereby showing that 
 she was moved. Mr. Jones had called to know how the 
 family were ; and, after satisfying himself on this point, had 
 left a delicate sweetbread, with his respects, and wishes that 
 Mrs. Hope might relish it after her fright. This incident 
 gave the little family more pleasure than Mr. Walcot had yet 
 caused them pain. Here was sympathy, — the most acceptable 
 offering they could receive. 
 
 Next came a message of inquiry from Dr. and Mrs. Levitt, 
 with an intimation that they would call, if not inconvenient 
 to the family, after church. This was pleasant too. 
 
 While it was being agreed that a nurse must be found 
 immediately for Maria, and that the glazier at Blickley.must 
 have notice to send people to mend the windows as early as 
 possible to-morrow morning, a letter was brought in, which 
 looked longer, but less grand, than Sir William Hunter's. It 
 was from Mr. Kowland. 
 
 " (Private.) 
 
 " My dear Sir, Sunday Morning, 7 d'clocJc. 
 
 " During the greater part of an anxious night, my mind 
 was full of the intention of calling on you this morning, for 
 some conversation on a topic which must be discussed between 
 us ; but the more I dwell upon what must be said, the more 
 I shrink from an interview which cannot but be extremely 
 painful to each party; and I have at length come to the 
 
DEERBROOK. 333 
 
 conclusion that, for both our sakes, it is best to write what I 
 have to say. It is painful enough, God knows, to write it ! 
 
 " Your position here, my dear sir, must have been anything 
 but pleasant for some time past. I regret that its uneasiness 
 should have been augmented, as I fear it has, by the influence 
 of any one connected with myself. My respect for you has 
 been as undeviating as it is sincere; and I have not to 
 reproach myself with having uttered a word concerning you 
 or your family which I should be unwilling to repeat to 
 yourselves : but I am aware that the same cannot be said 
 with regard to every one for whom I am in a manner answer- 
 able. In relation to this unpleasant fact 1 can only say, that 
 I entreat you to accept the assurance of my deep regret and 
 mortification. 
 
 " A new aspect of affairs has presented itself, — to me very 
 suddenly, as I trust you will believe, on my word of honour. 
 A gentleman of your profession, named Walcot, arrived last 
 night, with a view to settling in Deerbrook. The first 
 inducement held out to him was the medical charge of 
 Mrs. Enderby, and of the whole of my family : but, of course, 
 it is not probable that his expectations of practice among 
 your patients stop here ; and the present unfortunate state of 
 the public mind of Deerbrook regarding yourself, makes it 
 too probable that his most sanguine expectations will be 
 realized. I write this with extreme pain ; but I owe it to 
 you not to disguise the truth, however distasteful may be its 
 nature. 
 
 " These being the circumstances of the case, it appears to 
 me hopeless to press the departure of Mr. Walcot. And if 
 he went away to-day, I should fear that some one would 
 arrive to-morrow to occupy his position. Yet, my dear sir, 
 justice must be done to you. After protracted and anxious 
 consideration, one mode of action has occurred to me by 
 which atonement may be made to you for what has passed. 
 Let me recommend it to your earnest and favourable consi- 
 deration. 
 
 " Some other place of residence would, I should hope, yield 
 you and your family the consideration and comfort of which 
 you have here been most unjustly deprived. Elsewhere you 
 might ensure the due reward of that professional ability and 
 humanity which we have shown ourselves unworthy to appre- 
 ciate. If you could reconcile yourself to removing, with 
 your family, I believe that the peace of our society v/ould be 
 
334 DEERBROOK* 
 
 promoted, that unpleasant collisions of opinions and interests 
 would be avoided, and that that reparation would be made to 
 you which I fear would be impracticable here. All difficulty 
 about the process of removal might and should be obviated. 
 To speak frankly, I should, in that case, consider myself your 
 debtor to such an amount as, by a comparison of your losses 
 and my means, should appear to us both to be just. I believe 
 I might venture to make myself answerable for so much as 
 would settle you in some more favourable locality, and enable 
 you to wait a moderate time for that appreciation of your 
 professional merits which would be certain to ensue. 
 
 ''I need not add that, in case of your acceding to my 
 proposition, all idea of obligation would be misplaced. I offer 
 no more than I consider actually your due.^ The circum- 
 stance of the father of a large and rising family offering to 
 become responsible to such an extent, indicates that my sense 
 of your claim upon me is very strong. I should be glad to 
 be relieved from it : and I therefore, once more, beseech your 
 best attention to my proposal, — the latter particulars of which 
 have been confided to no person whatever^ — nor shall they be, 
 under any circumstances, unless you desire it. 
 
 " I shall await your reply with anxiety — yet with patience, 
 as I am aware that such a step as I propose cannot be decided 
 on without some reflection. 
 
 " I rejoice to find that your family have not suffered 
 materially from the outrages of last night. It was matter 
 of sincere regret to me that the unexpected arrival of my 
 family at the very time prevented my hastening to offer my 
 best services to you and yours. The magistracy will, of 
 course, repair all damages ; and then I trust no evil conse- 
 quences will survive. 
 
 " I beg my best compliments to Mrs. Hope and Miss Ibbotson, 
 and entreat you to believe me, my dear sir, 
 ^' With the highest respect, 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 "H. KOWLAND.' 
 
 For one moment Hester looked up in her husband's face, as 
 he read thia letter in a subdued voice — for one moment she 
 hoped he would make haste to live elsewhere — in some place 
 where he would again be honoured as he once was here, and 
 where all might be bright and promising as ever : but that 
 moment's gaze at her husband changed her thoughts and 
 
DEERBROOK. 335 
 
 wishes. Her colour rose witli the same feelings which drew 
 a deep seriousness over his countenance. 
 
 " Mr. Rowland means well," said Margaret ; " but surely 
 this will never do." 
 
 " I hardly know what you Avould consider meaning well," 
 replied Hope. " Eowland would buy himself out of an affair 
 which he has not the courage to manage by nobler means 
 He would give hush-money fbr the concealment of his wife's 
 offences. He would bribe me from the assertion of my own 
 character, and would, for his private ends, stop the working 
 out of the question between Deerbrook and me. This is, to 
 my mind, the real aspect of his proposal, however persuaded 
 he himself may be that he intends peace to his neighbours, 
 and justice to me. This letter," he continued, waving it 
 before him, " is worthy only of the fire, where I would put it 
 this moment, but that I suppose prudence requires that we 
 should retain in our own hands all evidence whatever relating 
 to the present state of our affairs." 
 
 " I do not exactly see what is to become of us," said Hester, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " Nor do I, love : but is not all the world in the same con- 
 dition ? How much does the millionaire know of what is to 
 intervene between to-day and his death ? " 
 
 " And the labouring classes," observed Margaret — '' that 
 prodigious multitude of toiling, thinking, loving, trusting, 
 beings ! How many of them see further than the week which 
 is coming round? And who spends life to more purpose than 
 some of them ? They toil, they think, they love, they obey, 
 they trust ; and who will say that the most secure in worldly 
 fortune are making a better start for eternity than they? 
 They see duty around them and God above them ; and what 
 more need they see?" 
 
 "You are right," said Hester. " What I said was cowardly. 
 I wish I had your faith." 
 
 " You have it," said her husband. " There was faith in 
 your voice, and nothing faithless in what you said. It is a 
 simple truth, that we cannot see our way before us. We must 
 be satisfied to discern the duty of the day, and for the future 
 to do what we ought always to be doing — * to walk by faith 
 and not by sight.' Now, as to this present duty, it seems to 
 me very clear. It is my duty to offer moral resistance to 
 oppression, and to make a stand for my reputation. When it. 
 pleases God that men should be overwhelmed by calumny, it 
 
(3S6 DEERBROOK. 
 
 is a dreadful evil ivhicli must be borne as well as it may; but 
 not without a struggle. We must not too hastily conclude 
 that this is to be the issue in our case. We must stay and 
 struggle for right and justice — struggle for it, by living on 
 with firm, patient, and gentle minds. This is surely what we 
 ought to do, rather than go away for the sake of ease, leaving 
 the prejudices of our neighbours in all their virulence, because 
 we have not strength to combat them, and letting the right 
 succumb to the wrong, for want of faith and constancy to 
 vindicate it." 
 
 "Oh, we will stay!" cried Hester. *' I will try to bear 
 everything, and be thankful to have to bear, for such reasons. 
 It is all easy, love, when you lay open your views of our life — 
 when you give us your insight into the providence of it. I 
 believe I should have looked at it in this way before, if you 
 had been suffering in any great cause — any cause manifestly 
 great, because the welfare of many others was involved in it. 
 I see now that the principle of endurance and the duty of 
 
 steadfastness are the same, though ." And yet she 
 
 paused, and bit her lip. 
 
 " Though the occasion looks insignificant enough," said her 
 husband. " True. Some might laugh at our having to appeal 
 to our faith because we have been mobbed on pretences which 
 make us blush to think what nonsense they are, and because 
 a rival has come to supplant me in my profession. But with 
 all this we have nothing to do. The truth to us is, that we 
 are living in the midst of malice and hatred, and that poverty 
 stares us in the face. If these things are quite enough for our 
 strength (and I imagine we shall find they are so), we have no 
 business to quarrel with our trial because it is not of a grander 
 kind. Well ! wife and sister, we stay. Is it not so ? Then 
 I will go and write to Mr. Eowland." 
 
 The sisters were silent for some moments after he had left 
 them. Margaret was refreshing her flowers — the flowers which 
 Philip had brought in from the garden the day before. How 
 precious were they now, even above other flowers brought by 
 the same hand — for not another blossom was left in the desolate 
 garden! Margaret was resolving silently that she would keep 
 these alive as long as she could, and then dry them in memory 
 of the place they came from, in its wedding trim. Hester pre- 
 sently showed the direction her thoughts had taken, by saying — 
 
 " I should think that it must be always possible for able and 
 industrious people, in health, to obtain bread." 
 
DEERBHOOK. 337 
 
 "Almost always possible, provided they can cast pride 
 behind them." 
 
 " Ah ! I suspect that pride is the real evil of poverty — of 
 gentlefolks' poverty. I could not promise for my own part, 
 to cast pride behind me : but then, you know, it has pleased 
 God to give me something to be proud of, far different from 
 rank and money. I could go to jail or the workhouse with 
 my husband without a blush. The agony of it would not be 
 from pride." 
 
 " Happily, we are sure of bread, mere bread," said Margaret, 
 ^^ for the present, and for what we call certainty. What you 
 and I have is enough for bread." 
 
 " What I have can hardly be called sufficient for even that," 
 said Hester : " and you — I must speak my thankfulness for 
 that — you will soon be out of the reach of such considera- 
 tions." 
 
 " Not soon : and I cannot separate my life from yours — I 
 cannot fancy it. Do not let us fancy it just now." 
 
 " Well, we will not. I am glad Susan has warning from me 
 to go. It is well that we began retrenching so soon. We must 
 come to some full explanation with Morris, that we may see 
 what can best be done for her." 
 
 " She will never leave you while you will let her stay." 
 
 " It may be necessary to dismiss Charles. But we will wait 
 to talk that over with my husband. He will tell us what we 
 ought to do. Was that a knock at the door ? " 
 
 " I rather think it was a feeble knock." 
 
 It was Mrs. Grey, accompanied by Sydney. Mrs. Grey's 
 countenance wore an expression of solemn misery, with a little 
 of the complacency of excitement under it. The occasion was 
 too great for winks : mute grief was the mood of the hour. 
 Sydney was evidently full of awe. He seemed hardly to like 
 to come into the parlour. Margaret had to go to the door, 
 and laugh at him for his shyness. His mother's ideas were as 
 much deranged as his own by the gaiety with which Hester 
 received them, boasting of the thorough ventilation of the 
 room, and asking whether Sophia did not think their bonfire 
 surpassed the famous one at the last election but one. Sophia 
 had not seen anything of the fire of last night. She had been 
 so much agitated, that the whole family, Mr. Grey and all, 
 had been obliged to exert themselves to compose her spirits. 
 Much as she had wished to come this morning, to make her 
 inquiries in person, she had been unable to summon courage 
 
 z 
 
338 DEERBROOK. 
 
 to appear in the streets ; and indeed her parents could not 
 press it — she had been so extremely agitated ! She was now 
 left in Alice's charge. 
 
 Hester and Margaret hoped that when Sophia found there 
 was nothing more to fear, and that her cousins were perfectly 
 well, she would be able to spare Alice for some hours, to wait 
 upon Miss Young. Maria's hostess was with her now, and 
 Margaret would spend the night with her again, if a nurse 
 could not be procured before that time. Mrs. Grey had not 
 neglected Maria in her anxiety for her cousins. She was just 
 going to propose that Alice should be the nurse to-night, and 
 had left word at Miss Young's door that she herself would 
 visit her for the hour and half that people were in church. 
 Her time this morning was therefore short. Sh^ was rejoiced 
 to see her young friends look so much like themselves — so 
 differently from what she had dared to expect. And Mr. Hope 
 — it was not fair perhaps to ask where he was ; — he had pro- 
 bably rather not have it known where he might be found: 
 (and here the countenance relaxed into a winking frame). 
 Not afraid to show himself abroad! Had been out twice! and 
 without any bad consequences! It w^ould be a cordial to 
 Sophia to hear this, and a great relief to Mr. Grey. But what 
 courage! It was a fine lesson for Sydney. If Mr. Hope was 
 really only writing, and could spare a minute, it would be a 
 comfort to see him. Hester went for him. He had just 
 finished his letter. She read and approved it, and sat down 
 to take a copy of it while her husband occupied her seat 
 beside Mrs. Grey. 
 
 The wife let fall a few tears — tears of gentle sorrow and 
 proud love, not on her husband's letter (for not for the world 
 would she have had that letter bear a trace of tears), but on 
 the paper on which she wrote. The letter appeared to her 
 very touching ; but others might not think so : there was so 
 much in it which she alone could see ! It took her only a few 
 minutes to copy it ; but the copying gave her strength for all 
 the day. The letter was as follows : — 
 
 " My dear Sir — Your letter expresses, both in its matter 
 and phrase, the personal regard which I have always believed 
 you to entertain towards me and mine. I cannot agree with 
 you, however, in thinking that the proceeding you propose 
 involves real good to any of the parties concerned in it. The 
 peace of society in Deerbrook is not likely to be permanently 
 
DEERBROOK. 339 
 
 secured by such deference to ignorant prejudice as would be 
 expressed by the act of my departure ; nor would my wrongs 
 be repaired by my merely leaving them behind me. I cannot 
 take money from your hands as the price of your tranquillity, 
 and as a commutation for my good name, and the just rewards 
 of my professional labours. My wife and I will not remove 
 from Deerbrook. We shall stay, and endeavour to discharge 
 our duty, and to bear our wrongs, till our neighbours learn 
 to understand us better than they do. 
 
 " You will permit to say, with the respect which I feel, 
 that we sympathize fully in the distress of mind which you 
 must be experiencing. If you should find comfort in doing 
 us manful justice, we shall congratulate you yet more than 
 ourselves : if not, we shall grieve for you only the more 
 deeply. 
 
 " My wife joins me in what I have said, and in kindly 
 regards. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "Edward Hope." 
 
 Edward had left his seal with Hester. She sealed the 
 letter, rang for Charles, and charged him to deliver it into 
 Mr. Rowland's own hands, placed the copy in her bosom to 
 show to Margaret, and returned to the parlour. Mrs. Grey, who 
 was alone with Hope, stopped short in what she was saying. 
 
 " Go on," said Hope. " We have no secrets here, and no 
 fears of being frightened — for one another any more than for 
 ourselves. Mrs. Grey was saying, my dear, that Mr. Walcot 
 is very popular here already; and that everybody is going to 
 church to see him." 
 
 Mrs. Grey had half-a-dozen faults or oddities of Mr. 
 Walcot's to tell of already ; but she was quietly checked in 
 the middle of her list by Mr. Hope, who observed that he was 
 bound to exercise the same justice towards Mr. Walcot that 
 he hoped to receive from him — to listen to no evil of him 
 which could not be substantiated : and it was certainly too 
 early yet for anything to be known about him by strangers, 
 beyond what he looked like. 
 
 " To go no deeper than his looks, then," continued Mrs. 
 Grey, |* nobody can pretend to admire them. He is extremely 
 short. Have you heard how short he is ? " 
 
 " Yes : that inspired me with some respect for him, to 
 begin with. I have heard so much of my being too tall, all 
 
 z 2 
 
340 DEERBROOK. 
 
 my life, that I am apt to feel a profound veneration for men 
 who have made the furthest escape from that evil. By the 
 way, my dear, I should not wonder if Enderby is disposed in 
 Walcot's favour by this, for he is even taller than I." 
 
 " I am surprised that you can joke on such a subject, Mr. 
 Hope, I assure you, you are not the only suiFerers by this 
 extraordinary circumstance — of Mr. Walcot's arrival. It is 
 very hard upon us, that we are to have him for an opposite 
 neighbour — in Mrs. Enderby's house, you know. Sophia 
 and I have been in the habit of observing that house, for the 
 old lady's sake, many times in a da}^ We scarcely ever 
 looked out, but we saw her cap over the blind, or some one or 
 another was at the door, about one little affair or another. It 
 has been a great blank since she was removed — the shutters 
 shut, and the bills up, and nobody going and coming. But 
 now we can never look that way." 
 
 "I am afraid you will have to get Paxton to put up a 
 weathercock for you on his barn, so that you may look in the 
 opposite direction for the wind." 
 
 " Nay, Edward, it is really an evil," said Hester, " to have 
 an unwelcome stranger settled in an opposite house, where an 
 old friend has long lived. I can sympathize with Mrs. Grey." 
 
 " So can I, my dear. It is an evil : but I should, under 
 any circumstances, hold myself free to look out of my mndow 
 in any direction — that is all. Do, Mrs. Grey, indulge your- 
 self so far." 
 
 " We cannot possibly notice him, you know. It must be 
 distinctly understood, that we can have nothing to say to au 
 interloper like Mr. Walcot. Mr. Grey is quite of my opinion. 
 You will have our support in every way, my dear sir ; for it 
 is perfectly plain to our minds, that all this would not have 
 happened but for your having married into our connection 
 so decidedly. But this intruder has been thought, and talked 
 about, by us more than he is worth. I want to hear all you 
 can tell me about the riot, Hester, love. Your husband has 
 been giving me some idea of it, but . . . Bless me ! 
 there is the first beU for church ; and I ought to have 
 been at Miss Young's by this time. We must have the 
 whole story, some day soon ; and, indeed, Sophia would 
 quarrel with me for hearing it when she is not by. Where 
 is Sydney?" 
 
 Sydney and Margaret were in the garden, consulting about 
 its restoration. Sydney declared he would come and work at 
 
DEERBKOOK. 341 
 
 it every day till it was cleared and planted. He would begin 
 to-morrow with the cairn for the rock-plants 
 
 *' I am glad the Levitts are to call after church," observed 
 Mrs. Grey. " They always do what is proper, I must say ; 
 and not less towards dissenters than their own people. I 
 suppose Dr. Levitt will consult with you about the damages." 
 
 " Sooner or later, I have no doubt." 
 
 " Come, Sydney, ^ve must be gone. You hear the bell. 
 Sophia will be quite revived by what I shall tell her, my 
 dears. No — do not come out to the door — I will not allow 
 it, on my account. There is no knowing what I might have 
 to answer for, if you let yourself be seen at the door on my 
 account. I am sorry you will not come in this evening. Are 
 you quite determined ? Well, perhaps Mr. Grey will say 
 you are right not to leave your premises in the evening, at 
 present. No ; you must not say anything about our coming 
 just now. We have not courage, really, for that. Now hold 
 your tongue, Sydney. It is out of the question — ^your being 
 out of our sight after dark. Good morning, my love." 
 
 As soon as Charles returned home, after having delivered 
 the letter into Mr. Rowland's own hands, Mr. Hope gathered 
 his family together, for their Sunday worship. The servants 
 entered the room with countenances full of the melancholy 
 which they concluded, notwithstanding all evidence to the 
 contrary, that their master and mistress must be experiencing : 
 but, when service was over, they retired with the feeling that 
 the family-worship had never been more gladsome. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 KEEPING SUNDAY. 
 
 Mr. Enderby was in the churchyard when the congregation 
 poured out from the porch. Group after group walked away, 
 and he saw no signs of the party he was waiting for. Mrs. 
 Rowland lingered in the aisle, with the intention of allowing 
 all Deerbrook time to look at Mr. Walcot. When none but 
 the Levitts remained, the lady issued forth from the porch, 
 leaning on Mr. Walcot's arm, and followed by four of her 
 children, who were walking two and two, holding up their 
 heads, and glancing round to see how many people were 
 observing the new gentleman they had brought with them 
 
342 DEERBROOK. 
 
 from Cheltenham. Mr. Enderby approached the family party, 
 and said — 
 
 " Sister, will you introduce me to Mr. Walcot?" 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure, my dear brother. Mr. 
 Walcot, my brother, Mr. Enderby. Brother, my friend, Mr. 
 Walcot." 
 
 Mr. Walcot blushed with delight, looked as if he longed to 
 shake hands if he dared, and said something of his joy at 
 becoming acquainted with the brother of so kind a friend as 
 Mrs. Rowland. 
 
 " There is not much to be apprehended here,*' thought Mr. 
 Enderby. " How perfectly unlike what I had fancied ! This 
 dragon, which was to devour the Hopes, seems a pretty harm- 
 less creature. Why he looks a mere boy, and with hair so 
 light, one can't see it without spectacles. What will he do 
 with himself in my mother's good house ? Fanny Grey's 
 bird-cage would suit him better ; — and then he might hang 
 in Rowland's hall, and be always ready for use when the 
 children are ill. I must have out what I mean to say to him, 
 however ; and, from his looks, I should fancy I may do what 
 I please with him. He will go away before dinner, if I ask 
 him, I have little doubt. I wonder that, while she w^as about 
 it, Priscilla did not find out somebody who had the outside of 
 a professional man at least. This youth looks as if he would 
 not draw one's tooth for the world, because it would hurt one 
 so ! How he admires the rooks and the green grass on the 
 graves, because the children do ! — Sister," he continued aloud, 
 " I am sorry to deprive you of your companion ; but it is 
 absolutely necessary that Mr. Walcot and I should have some 
 conversation together immediately. The children will go home 
 with you ; and we will follow presently." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland looked thunder and lightning at her brother ; 
 but Mr. Walcot appeared so highly pleased, that she con- 
 sidered it safest to acquiesce in the present arrangement, 
 trusting to undo Philip's work in the course of the afternoon. 
 So she sailed away with the children. 
 
 " This is no time for ceremony," observed Enderby, as he 
 led the way to the walk under the trees. " I have used 
 none with my sister, as you perceive ; and I shall use none 
 \vith you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. My dear parents have always taught 
 me that there could be no occasion for ceremony where 
 people feel kindly and mean only what is right. They will 
 
DEERBROOK. 343 
 
 be pleased to hear that you do not think ceremony necessary 
 ]>etween us." 
 
 " The circumstances are too urgent for it in the present 
 case ; — that is what I mean," said Philip. " I am confident, 
 Mr. Walcot, from what you say about feeling kindly and 
 meaning rightly, that you cannot be aware what is the real 
 state of affairs in Deerbrook, or you could not have been 
 induced to think of settling here." 
 
 " Oh, I assure you, sir, you are mistaken. Mrs. Rowland 
 herself was the person who told me all about it ; and I 
 repeated all she said to my parents. They strongly advised 
 my coming ; and I am sure they would never recommend me 
 to do anything that was not right." 
 
 " Then, if I tell you what I know to be the true state of the 
 case here, will you represent it fully to your parents, and see 
 what they will say then ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I can have no objection to that. They will be 
 very sorry, however, if any difficulty should arise. I had a 
 letter from them this very morning, in which they say that 
 they consider me a fortunate youth to have fallen in with such 
 a friend as Mrs. Eowland, who promises she will be a mother, 
 or rather, I should say, a sister to me, and to have stepped at 
 once into such practice as Mrs. Eowland says I shall certainly 
 have here. They say what is very true, that it is a singular 
 and happy chance to befall a youth who has only just finished 
 his education." 
 
 " That is so true, that you ought not to be surprised if it 
 should turn out that there is something wrong at the bottom 
 of the affair. I am going to show you what this wrong is, 
 that you may take warning in time, and not discover, when it 
 is too late, that you have been injuring an honourable man, 
 who has been too hardly treated already." 
 
 " I should be sorry to do that: but I cannot think what you 
 can mean." 
 
 " I dare say not. Pray have you been told of a Mr. Hope 
 who lives here ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; we saw the people breaking his windows as we 
 drove past, yesterday evening. He must be a very improper, 
 disagreeable man. And it is very hard upon the ladies and 
 gentlemen here to have no one to attend them but that sort of 
 person." 
 
 " That is one account of Mr. Hope : now you must hear the. 
 other." And Mr. Enderby gave a full statement of Hope's- 
 
344 DEERBROOK. 
 
 character, past services, and present position, in terms which 
 he conceived to be level with the capacity of the young man. 
 He kept his sister out of the story, as far as it was possible, 
 but did not soften the statement of her calumnies, though 
 refraining from exhibiting their origin. " Now," said he, at 
 the end of his story, " have I not shown cause for consideration, 
 as to whether you should settle here or not ? " 
 
 " For consideration, certainly. But, you see, it is so difficult 
 to know what to think. Here is Mrs. Rowland telling me one 
 set of things about Mr. Hope, and you tell me something 
 quite diiFerent." 
 
 " Well, what do you propose to do?" 
 
 " I shall consult my parents, of course." 
 
 "Had not you better set oiF by the coach to-morrow 
 morning, and tell your parents all about it before you commit 
 yourself?" 
 
 " I do not see how I could do that very well, as I have 
 engaged to go over and see these people in Sir William 
 Hunter's almshouses, that I am to have the charge of. No ; 
 I think my best way will be this. I will write fully to my 
 parents first. I will do that this afternoon. Then, considering 
 that I have said I shall stay here, and that the house is going to 
 be got ready for me, — and considering how hard it is upon the 
 ladies and gentlemen here to have nobody to attend them but 
 a person they do not like, — and considering, too, that I cannot 
 tell for myself what Mr. Hope really is, while people differ so 
 about him, I think I had better wait here (just as I should 
 have done if you had not told me all this) till Mrs. Eowland, 
 and you, and Sir William Hunter, and everybody, have settled 
 whether Mr. Hope is really a good man or not : and then, you 
 know, I can go away, after all, if I please." 
 
 Philip thought that Dr. Levitt must have been preaching to 
 his new parishioner to join the wisdom of the serpent with 
 the harmlessness of the dove. Mr. Walcot himself seemed 
 quietly satisfied with his own decision, for he adhered to it, 
 repeating it in answer to every appeal that Philip could devise. 
 
 " I think it right to warn you," said Philip, " that if the 
 prospect of being my mother's medical attendant has been part 
 of your inducement to settle here, you have been misled in 
 relying on it. My mother is much attached to Mr. Hope and 
 his family ; she prefers him to every other medical attendant ; 
 and I shall take care that she has her own way in this par- 
 ticular." 
 
DEERBROOK. 345 
 
 " While I am in Mrs. Eowland's house, I shall, of course, 
 attend Mrs. Eowland's family," replied Mr. Walcot. 
 
 " Her children, if she pleases ; but not necessarily her 
 mother." 
 
 " Yes ; her mother too, as I dare say you will see." 
 
 " You will allow Mrs. Enderby to choose her own medical 
 attendant, I presume?" 
 
 "Oh, yes : and I have no doubt she will choose me. Mrs. 
 Rowland says so." 
 
 " Here comes a gentleman with whom I want to speak," 
 said Philip, seeing Mr. Grey approaching from a distance. 
 " He is as warm a friend and admirer of Mr. Hope as I 
 am ; and " 
 
 " Mr. Hope married into his family, — did not he ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but Mr. Grey and Mr. Hope were friends long 
 before either of them was acquainted with Mrs. Hope. The 
 friendship between the gentlemen was more likely to have 
 caused the marriage than the marriage the friendship." 
 
 " Ah ! that does happen sometimes, I know." 
 
 " What I was going to say is this, Mr. Walcot, that Mr. 
 Hope's friends have determined to see justice done him ; and 
 that if, in the prosecution of this design, you should imagine that 
 you are remarkably coolly treated, — by myself, for instance, — 
 you must remember that I fairly warned you from the begin- 
 ning that I shall give no countenance to any one who comes 
 knowingly to establish himself on the ruins of a traduced 
 man's reputation. You will remember this, Mr. Walcot." 
 
 "Oh, certainly. I am sure I shall expect nothing from any- 
 body ; for nobody here knows me. It is only through Mrs. 
 Rowland's kindness that I have any prospect here at all." 
 
 " I will just give you one more warning, as you seem a very 
 young man. The Deerbrook people are apt to be extremely 
 angry when they are angry at all. What would you think of 
 it, if they should break your windows, as they broke Mr. 
 Hope's last night, when they find that you have been thriving 
 upon his practice, while they were under a mistake concerning 
 him which you were fully informed of?" 
 
 " I do not think I should mind it. I might get over it, you 
 know, as Mr. Hope would then have done. Or I might go 
 aw^ay, after all, if I pleased. But you want to speak to .that 
 gentleman ; so I will wish you good morning." 
 
 " You will represent to your parents all I have said ? Then, 
 pray, do not omit the last, — about what dreadful people the 
 
B4S DEERBROOK. 
 
 Deerbrook people are when they are angry ; and how likely it 
 is that they may be very angry with you some day. I advise 
 you by all means to mention this." 
 
 '' Yes, certainly; thank you. I shall write this afternoon." 
 
 '^ I wish Mrs. Rowland joy of her fledgling," said Enderby, 
 as he joined Mr. Grey. 
 
 " I was just thinking, as you and he came up, that a few 
 lessons from the drill-sergeant at Blickley would do him no 
 harm. Perhaps, however, ^^our sister will teach him to hold 
 up his head better. I rather think he is a little scared with 
 the rooks, is not he ? What in the world is your sister to do 
 with him, now she has got him here ?" 
 
 "I hope little Anna will lend him her cup ^ and ball on 
 rainy days." 
 
 " Do you find him a simpleton ? " 
 
 " I hardly know. One must see him more than once to be 
 quite sure. But enough of him for the present. I have just 
 come from the corner-house ; but I am not going to talk 
 about the Hopes either : and yet I have something out of the 
 common way to say to you, my good friend." 
 
 " I am glad you call me by that name," observed Mr. Grey, 
 kindly. " I never could see, for the life of me, why men 
 should look askance upon one another, because their relations 
 (no matter on which side, or perhaps on both,) happen to be 
 more or less in the wrong." 
 
 " And there are other reasons why you and I should 
 beware of being affected by the faults and weaknesses of our 
 connections, Mr. Grey, — and that is what I have now to say. 
 I mean, because w^e may become connected ourselves. How 
 will you like me for a relation, I wonder." 
 
 "It is so, then?" 
 
 " It is so : and it is by Margaret's desire that I inform you 
 of it now, before the circumstance becomes generally known. 
 If you think Mrs. Grey will be gratified by early information, 
 I believe I must beg that you will go home and tell her 
 directly. We are as fully aware as you can be, of the absurdity 
 of this way of talking : but circumstances compel us to r-" 
 
 " I know, I understand. People here have been persuaded 
 that you were engaged to some other lady ; and you will have 
 no h^lp in contradicting this from your own family, who may 
 not like your marrying into our connection so decidedly — as I 
 have heard the ladies say about our friend Hope." 
 
 "Just so." 
 
DEERBROOK. 347 
 
 " Well, my opinion is, that it is of little consequence what 
 your friends may say now, when time is so sure to justify 
 your choice. There is no need for me to tell you that you 
 are a happy man, Mr. Enderby. There is not a more amiable 
 girl living than that cousin Margaret of mine. I charge you 
 to make her happy, Enderby. I do not mean that I have any 
 doubt of it : but I charge you to make her happy." 
 
 Philip did not like to speak (any more than to do other 
 things) without being pretty sure of doing it well. He was 
 silent now because he could not well speak. He was anything 
 but ashamed of his attachment to Margaret ; but he could not 
 open his lips upon it. 
 
 " I trust there is the better chance of her being happy," 
 continued Mr. Grey, " that she is going to marry a man of 
 somewhat less enthusiasm than her sister has chosen, Mr. 
 Enderby." 
 
 " Do not speak of that Mr. Grey. We might not agree. I 
 can only say that I am so fully sensible of my immeasurable 
 inferiority to Hope . . I know I am hardly worthy to appre- 
 ciate him . . I cannot give you an idea of my sense of 
 his superiority . . And to hear him set below me " 
 
 " Do not mistake me, my dear friend. No one can value 
 Mr. Hope more than I do, as indeed I have every reason to 
 do. Only you see the effects of that unfortunate vote of his. 
 That is just what I mean, now. If you had been in his place, 
 I rather think you would have done what w^as prudent — you 
 would not have run into anything so useless as giving that 
 vote, when there was not another person in Deerbrook to vote 
 the same way. You would not, Enderby." 
 
 *' I trust I should, if I had had Margaret to keep me up to 
 my duty." 
 
 " Well, well ; I may be wrong ; but it vexes me to see 
 anxiety and sorrow in my cousin Hester's beautiful face ; 
 and that is the truth of it. But, indeed, her husband is a fine 
 fellow, and I respect him from the bottom of my soul ; and it 
 makes me extremely happy to hear that Margaret has met 
 with one whom I can as cordially approve. You have my 
 hearty good wishes, I assure you. Now, when may I see my 
 cousin, to wish her joy ? I must go home now, and let my 
 family know about it, you say ? " 
 
 " If you please ; for I must tell Margaret how kindly you 
 have received what I had to communicate. She will be wait- 
 ing anxiously." 
 
348 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Why, she conld not doubt my good will, surely ? How 
 should I be otherwise than pleased ? Nor have I any doubt 
 of my wife's feeling. You stand very high in her good graces, 
 Enderby, I can assure you. I was not fully aware of this 
 myself, till I saw how vexed she was at hearing that you were 
 engaged to that lady abroad. She never could make out what 
 Margaret was feeling about that ; but she used to say to me 
 when we were by ourselves, that if Margaret was not hurt and 
 angry, she was. But I suppose the little gipsy was laughing 
 at us and all Deerbrook all the time ; though she kept her 
 gravity wonderfully." 
 
 Philip was not disposed to throw any light on this part of 
 the affair ; and the gentlemen parted at the turnstile. After a 
 few steps, Philip heard himself called. Mr. Grey was hastening 
 after him, to know whether this matter was to be spoken of or 
 to remain quiet, after Mrs Grey had been informed. He had 
 perfectly understood that all Deerbrook was soon to know it ; 
 but it was a different question whether his family were to be 
 authorised to tell it. Mr. Enderby desired they would follow 
 their own inclinations entirely. Margaret's only wish was, 
 that her kind relations should be informed directly from her- 
 self, before anybody else but her friend, Miss Young : and his 
 own only desire was, that, on Margaret's account, every one 
 should understand that his engagement was to her, and not to 
 any lady at Eome or elsewhere. Virtual provision having 
 thus been made for the enlightenment of all Deerbrook in the 
 course of the day, the gentlemen once more went their 
 respective ways. 
 
 In her present mood of amiability, Mrs. Eowland determined 
 on giving the Greys the pleasure of a call from Mr. Walcot. 
 In the afternoon, when Fanny was saying her catechism to 
 her mamma, and Mary was repeating a hymn to Sophia, 
 Mrs. Rowland's well-known knock was heard, and any religious 
 feelings which might have been aroused in the minds of the 
 little girls were put to flight by the sound. Sophia turned 
 her feet off the sofa, where she had been lying all day, that 
 Mrs. Eowland might not suspect that she had suffered from 
 the mobbing of the Hopes. The children were enjoined not 
 to refer to it, and were recommended to avoid the subject of 
 Miss Young also, if possible. 
 
 The amazement and wrath of the party at hearing 
 Mr. Walcot announced was beyond expression. Mrs. Grey 
 was sufficiently afraid of her neighbour to confine herself to 
 
DEERBROOK. 349 
 
 negative rudeness. She did the most she dared in not look- 
 ing at Mr. Walcot, or asking him to sit down. He did not 
 appear to miss her attentions, but seated himself beside her 
 daughter, and offered remarks on the difference between 
 Deerbrook and Cheltenham. Sophia made no intelligible 
 replies, and looked impenetrably reserved ; he therefore tried 
 another subject, enlarged upon Mrs. Eowland's extreme kind- 
 ness to him, and said that his parents wrote that they con- 
 sidered him a fortunate youth in having met with a friend 
 who would be a mother or sister to him, now that he was no 
 longer under the parental wing. Sophia had intended to be 
 quite distant and silent, but his long-winded praises of all 
 the Rowlands were too much for her. She observed that it was 
 generally considered that there was nobody in Deerbrook to 
 compare with the family in the corner-house — the Hopes and 
 Miss Ibbotson. From this moment, the tete-a tete became 
 animated ; the speakers alternated rapidly and regularly ; for 
 every virtue in a Rowland there was a noble quality in a 
 Hope ; for every accomplishment in Matilda and Anna, there 
 was a grace in " our dear Mr. Hope " or " our sweet Hester." 
 Fanny and Mary listened with some amusement to what 
 they heard on either side of their pair of low stools. As sure 
 as they were desired particularly to avoid any subject with the 
 Rowlands, they knew that their mother would presently be 
 in the midst of it. The prohibition showed that her mind was 
 full of it : and whatever her mind was full of was poured out 
 upon Mrs. Rowland. The two ladies were presently deep in 
 the riot, and almost at high words about Miss Young. The 
 girls looked at each other, and strove to keep the corners of 
 their mouths in order. In the midst of the conflict of senti- 
 ment on these two subjects, Mrs. Rowland's ear caught what 
 Sophia was saying — that there w^as one person in the same 
 house with Mr. Walcot who properly estimated the Hopes — 
 Mr. Enderby, who was engaged to Margaret Ibbotson. While 
 Mr. Walcot was carefully explaining that Mr. Enderby was 
 not in the same house, Mr. Enderby having a bed at his 
 mother's house still, though that house was already preparing 
 for the reception of himself, its new tenant, Mrs. Rowland 
 leaned forward with her most satirical air, and begged to 
 assure Miss Grey that she had been misinformed — that what 
 she had just been saying was a mistake. 
 
 Sophia looked at her mother in absolute terror, lest they 
 should have adopted a joke of her father's for earnest. But 
 
350 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Mrs. Grey was positive. Mrs. Rowland laughed more and 
 more provokingly : Mrs. Grey grew more and more angry ; 
 and at last sent the little girls to see whether their father was 
 at home, that he might bear his testimony. He came ; and 
 in reply to his astonishment about what she could mean, 
 Mrs. Rowland said that she did not deny that there was some 
 present entanglement ; but that she warned Margaret's con- 
 nections not to suppose that her brother would ever be married 
 to Miss Ibbotson. Mr. Grey observed that time would show, 
 and inquired after Mrs. Enderby. The report of her was 
 very flattering indeed. She was to be quite well now soon. 
 Mr. Walcot's opinion of her case was precisely what 
 Mrs. Rowland had always held. Mrs. Enderby's complaints 
 were nervous — nervous altogether. With retirement from 
 common acquaintances, and the society of the dear children, 
 and the attendance of a servant (most highly recommended) 
 who would not humour her fancies as Phoebe had done ; and, 
 above all, with a medical attendant under the same roof for the 
 present, she was to be quite well immediately. Mr. "Walcot's 
 countenance wore an expression of perfect delight at the 
 prospect, and Mr. Grey's of the blackest displeasure. 
 
 When the visitors were gone, Mr. Walcot being allowed to 
 find his way out as he could, the little girls heard them dis- 
 cussed in the way which might be expected, and were then 
 desired to finish their catechism and hymn. Mamma and 
 Sophia were still flushed and agitated with what they had 
 been hearing and saying, when the low serious voices of 
 Fanny and Mary recited — the one an abjuration of all envy, 
 malice, hatred, and uncharitableness ; and the other — 
 
 " Teach me to feel for others' woe, 
 To hide the faults I see ; 
 The mercy I to others show, 
 That mercy show to me." 
 
 " You have a warning, my dear," said Mrs. Grey to Fanny, 
 ^'in the lady who was here just now — a terrible warning 
 against malice and all those faults. You see how unhappy 
 she makes every one about her, by her having indulged her 
 temper to such a degree. You see 
 
 " Mary, my darling," said Mr. Grey, " repeat that hymn to 
 me again — 
 
 ' Teach me to feel for others' woe, 
 To hide the faults I see.' 
 
 Let us have that hymn over again, my dear child." 
 
DEERBROOK. 351 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 GOING TO REST. 
 
 Mr. Walcot had arrived nearly at the end of his letter to his 
 parents, when summoned to attend Mrs. Rowland to call on 
 the Greys. He was afterwards glad that he had left room to 
 put in that perhaps what Mr. Enderby had said about Deer- 
 brook ought to be the less regarded, from its having come out 
 that he was in an entanglement with the sister-in-law of this 
 Mr. Hope, when he had rather have been engaged to another 
 person — being actually, indeed, attached to a lady now 
 abroad. He represented that Mrs. Rowland evidently 
 paid very little regard to her brother's views of Deerbrook 
 
 % affairs, now that his mind was in a state of distraction between 
 his proper attachment and his new entanglement. So 
 Mr. Enderby's opinion ought not to go for more than it was 
 worth. 
 
 The letter was still not quite finished when he was called 
 to Mrs. Enderby. She was very ill, and Mr. Rowland and 
 Phoebe were alarmed. Philip was at the corner-house. 
 Mrs. Rowland was gone to see Miss Young, to convince her 
 that she must put herself into Mr. Walcot's hands imme- 
 diately — to declare, indeed, that she should send her own 
 medical man to attend her dear children's governess. The 
 argument occupied some time, and Mrs. Rowland's absence 
 was protracted. Mrs. Enderby had been extremely terrified, 
 the evening before, at the noises she had heard, and the 
 light of the bonfire upon the sky. The children were per- 
 mitted to carry to her all the extravagant reports that were 
 afloat about Mr. Hope being roasted in the fire, the ladies 
 being in the hands of the mob, and so forth ; and though 
 her son-in-law had seen her before she settled for the night, 
 and had assured her that everybody was safe, she could not 
 be tranquillized. She thought he was deceiving her for her 
 good, and that the children were probably nearest the truth. 
 She was unable to close her eyes, and in the middle of the 
 night told Phoebe that she could not be satisfied — she should 
 not have a moment's peace — till she had seen some one of 
 the dear people from the corner-house, to know from them- 
 selves that they were quite safe. Phoebe had found it difiicult 
 
 \ to persuade her that it was now two o'clock in the morning, 
 
352 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 and that they were all, no doubt, sleeping in their beds. 
 She passed a wretched night ; and the next day after Philip 
 had succeeded in composing her, a strange gentleman was 
 brought to her to prescribe for her. This revived her terrors. 
 She said she would ask no more questions, for all were in 
 league to deceive her. Then she cried because she had said 
 so harsh a thing, and begged that Phoebe would not expose 
 it. Her weeping continued till Phoebe's heart was almost 
 broken. The infallible drops failed ; arrow-root was in 
 vain ; the children were sent away as soon as they came in, 
 as it would hurt their spirits, their mother thought, to see 
 distress of this kind. In the afternoon quiet was prescribed 
 by the authorities, and the old lady was left alorje with Phoebe. 
 To the weeping succeeded the spasms, so violent that little 
 George was despatched with all speed to summon his uncle, 
 and Mr. Walcot was called away from crossing the ends of ^ 
 his letter. No one but he proposed sending for Mrs. Row- 
 land ; and his hint to that effect was not taken. 
 
 Philip arrived in a shorter time than could have been 
 supposed possible. Mr. Rowland then immediately disap- 
 peared. He had formed the heroic resolution of bringing 
 Margaret into the house, on his own responsibility, for 
 Mrs. Enderby's relief and gratification ; and he was gone to 
 tell Margaret that he considered her now as Mrs. Enderby's 
 daughter, and was come to summon her to the sick bed. 
 Philip presently discovered that the presence of some one 
 from the Hopes would be the best cordial that could be 
 administered ; and he set forth on the same errand — to bring 
 Margaret, that she might have his protection in case of his 
 sister returning before her arrival. Mrs. Rowland did return : 
 and the two gentlemen, having taken different roads to the 
 corner-house (it being a matter of old dispute which was the 
 shortest) missed each other. Margaret was gone with Mr. 
 Rowland before Philip arrived. 
 
 " Here I will leave you," said Mr. Rowland to Margaret, 
 on the steps of his own house. " You will find Philip and 
 Phoebe up-stairs, and Mr. Walcot. I must go in search of 
 Mr. Hope, and beg the favour of him to tell me whether we 
 are proceeding rightly with our patient. She is too ill for 
 ceremony." 
 
 Margaret wondered why, if this was the case, Mr. Rowland 
 did not bring Edward to the patient at once ; but she had 
 her wonder to herself, for her escort was gone. The servant 
 
DEERBROOK. 353 
 
 did not more than half open the door, and seemed unwilling 
 to let Margaret enter ; but she passed in, saying that she 
 must see Phoebe for a moment. She soon found that she was 
 to be left standing on the mat ; for no person appeared, 
 though she thought she heard whispers upstairs. Ned 
 coming to peep from the study-door, she beckoned him to 
 her, and asked to be shown to where Phoebe was. The child 
 took her hand, and led her upstairs. At the top of the first 
 flight she met the lady of the house, who asked her, with 
 an air of astonishment, what she wanted there ? Margaret 
 replied that Mr. Rowland had brought her to see Mrs. Enderby. 
 That was impossible, the lady replied. Mr. Rowland knew 
 that Mrs. Enderby was too ill to receive visitors. She herself 
 would send for Miss Ibbotson whenever it should be proper 
 for Mrs. Enderby to admit strangers. Margaret replied that 
 she must see Phoebe — that she should not retire till she had 
 spoken to her, or till Mr. Rowland's return. Mrs. Rowland 
 sent Ned to desire the servant to open the door for Miss 
 Ibbotson ; and Margaret took her seat on a chair on the 
 landing, saying that, relying on her title to be admitted to 
 Mrs. Enderby, at the desire of her old friend herself, and of 
 all the family but Mrs. Rowland, she should wait till she 
 could obtain admittance. 
 
 How rejoiced was she, at this moment, to hear the house- 
 door open, to hear the step she knew so well, to see Philip., 
 and to have her arm drawn within his ! 
 
 " Let us pass," said he to his sister, who stopped the way. 
 
 " Rest a moment," said Margaret. " Recover your breath 
 a little, or we shall flurry her." 
 
 " She is flurried to death already," said Philip, in his deepest 
 tone of emotion. " Priscilla, our mother is dying ; it is my 
 belief that she is dying. If you have any humanity, — if you 
 have any regard for your own future peace of mind, conduct 
 yourself decently now. Govern your own family as you will, 
 when you have lost your mother ; but hold off your hand 
 from her last hours." 
 
 " Your own last hours are to come," said Margaret. *^ As 
 you would have Matilda be to you then, be you to your 
 mother now." 
 
 " I must ascertain one thing, Philip," said Mrs. Rowland. 
 " Does my mother know of what you call your engagement to 
 Miss Ibbotson?" 
 
 " She does not ; and the sole reason is, that I would not 
 
 A A 
 
354 DEERBROOK. 
 
 subject her to what you might say and do. I wished, for her 
 own sake, to keep the whole affair out of her thoughts, when 
 once I had removed the false impressions you had given her. 
 But Margaret and I may see fit to tell her now. I may see 
 fit to give her the comfort of a daughter who will be to her 
 what you ought to have been." 
 
 He gently drew his sister aside, to make way for Margaret 
 to pass. 
 
 " In my own house !" exclaimed Mrs. Eowland, in a tone of 
 subdued rage. 
 
 " We should have been in the house over the way," replied 
 her brother ; " and we act as if we were there. Come, my 
 Margaret, we are doing right." 
 
 " We are," replied Margaret ; but yet she trembled. 
 
 " I must go in first, and tell her that I have brought you," 
 said Philip. " And yet I do not like to leave you, even for a 
 moment." 
 
 " Oh, never mind ! I am not to be shaken now." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland did not appear during the two long minutes 
 that Margaret was left by herself in the dressing-room. 
 When Philip came for her, he said, 
 
 " You must not leave her again. You will stay, will not 
 you ? You shall be protected : but you must stay. I shall 
 tell her how we stand to each other, — we will tell her, — 
 carefully, for she cannot bear much emotion. — You are tired, 
 — you must be tired," he continued, looking at her with 
 anxiety : " but " 
 
 " Do not speak of it. I did sleep last night, and there will 
 be time enough for sleep when duty is done, — the duty for 
 which I have longed ever since I knew what duty was." And 
 her eyes swam in tears. 
 
 Phoebe's face was a dismal sight, — too dismal for the sick- 
 room, for so many hours had she been in tears. She was 
 dismissed to refresh herself with a turn in the garden. It 
 was Philip's doing that she was at hand at all. Mrs. Row- 
 land had ordained that she should go ; but Philip had sup- 
 ported the girl in her resolution to bear anything, rather than 
 leave her mistress while it was essential to her mistress's 
 comfort that she should stay. 
 
 Mrs. Enderby was in great pain ; but yet not suffering too 
 much to be comforted by finding that all were safe and well 
 in the corner-house. She even smiled when the others 
 laughed at the ridiculous stories with which the children had 
 
DEERBROOK. 355 
 
 assaulted her imagination. She thought it was very wrong 
 for people to fabricate such things, and tell them to children : 
 — they might chance to put some extremely old babies into 
 a terrible fright. — She was soothed in the very midst of a 
 spasm, by hearing that Margaret would stay with her as long 
 as she liked, if it would be of any comfort to her. In answer 
 to her surprise and almost alarm at such a blessing, Philip 
 said that Margaret wished it as a pleasure, and asked it 
 as a sort of right. Now, could she not guess a,ny reason 
 why it was a sort of right of Margaret's to attend upon her 
 like a daughter ? Yes, — it was so indeed ! Margaret was 
 to be her daughter — some time or other, — when her big 
 boy should have learned all his lessons, as little George 
 would say. 
 
 " I am thankful ! Indeed I am thankful, my dears, to hear 
 this. But, my loves, that will be too late for me. I rejoice 
 indeed ; but it will be too late for me." 
 
 " Well, then, let me be your daughter now." 
 
 The old lady clasped her arms about Margaret, and endured 
 her next paroxysm with her head upon her young friend's 
 shoulder. 
 
 *'I have a daughter already," said she, when she revived 
 a little : " but I have room in my heart for another : and I 
 always had you in my heart, my love, from the first moment 
 I saw you." 
 
 " You hold all the world in your heart, I think." 
 
 " Ah ! my love, you flatter me. I mean I took to you 
 particularly from the very hour I saw you. You have always 
 been so kind and gentle with me ! " 
 
 Margaret's heart swelled at the thought that any one could 
 ever have been otherwise than kind and gentle to one so 
 lowly and so loving. 
 
 Nothing more could be done than was done for the sufferer. 
 Hope saw her, at Mr. Rowland's desire, and said this. He 
 left directions with Margaret, and then declined staying where 
 his presence could be of no use, and caused much annoyance. 
 Mrs. Enderby was sinking rapidly. The probability was, 
 that a few hours would end the struggle. Mrs. Rowland was 
 much alarmed and shocked. She went and came between 
 the drawing-room and her mother's chamber, but talked of 
 the claims of her children at such a time, and persuaded 
 herself that her duty lay chiefly with them. Others wanted 
 no persuasion about the matter. They were too glad to have 
 
 A A 2 
 
556 DEEilBROOK. 
 
 her dispose herself where she would be out of her mother's 
 way. Mrs. Enderby looked round now and then, and seemed 
 as if on the point of asking for her, but that her courage 
 failed. At last, about eight in the evening, when Mrs. Row- 
 land had come in softly, and Phoebe had met her at the door, 
 to say something very unceremonious, Mrs. Enderby's voice 
 was heard. 
 
 " Phoebe, I hope you are not preventing any person from 
 coming in. I should wish to see my daughter. Priscilla, 
 my dear, let me see you. Come to me, my dear." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland's face was very pale, and her brow told of a 
 dreadful headache. There w^as a dark expression in her 
 countenance, but the traces of irritability were gone. She 
 was subdued for the hour. 
 
 " My dear daughter," said Mrs. Enderby, " I may not be 
 able at another time to thank you as I should like for all the 
 care you have taken of me : — nor can I now do it as I could 
 wish : but I thank you, my love." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland involuntarily cast a glance at her brother 
 and Margaret, to see how they took this : but their eyes were 
 ■fixed on her mother. 
 
 " And I can only say," continued Mrs. Enderby, " that I 
 am aware that you must have had many things to bear from 
 me. I must have been much in your way, and often " 
 
 Margaret and Philip implored her to say nothing of this 
 kind ; they could not bear it from one who was all patience 
 herself, and gave no cause for forbearance in others. 
 Mrs. Rowland did not speak — perhaps because she could 
 not. 
 
 " Well, well ; I will not dwell upon these things. You are 
 all very kind. I only wanted to say that I was sensible of 
 of many things. Priscilla " 
 
 " Mother !" said she, starting. 
 
 " This dear young friend of ours, — she calls herself my 
 daughter, bless her ! — is to be your sister, my love. Philip 
 
 has been telling me . Let me see . Give me the 
 
 pleasure of seeing " 
 
 Margaret could have opened her arms to any spectre from 
 the pale kingdoms at a moment like this, and under the 
 imploring eye of Mrs. Enderby. She disengaged her hand 
 from that of her old friend, and took Mrs. Rowland's, offering 
 to kiss her cheek. Mrs. Rowland returned the kiss, witli 
 some little visible aoritation. 
 
DEERBROOK. 357 
 
 " Thank you, my dears ! " said Mrs. Enderby, in a strong 
 voice of satisfaction. She had made a great effort. Her 
 speech now failed her ; but they thought she would have said 
 something about the children. 
 
 " The children " said Mrs. Kowland, rather eagerly. 
 
 She turned, and went slowly out of the room. The moment 
 the door was shut,there was a heavy fall. She had fainted on 
 the outside. 
 
 Her mother heard it not. When Mrs. Rowland was found 
 to be reviving, the children were brought to their grand- 
 mamma's room. They quietly visited the bed, one by one, 
 and with solemnity kissed the wasted cheek, — ^the first time 
 they had ever kissed grandmamma without return. The 
 baby made its remark upon this in its own way. As it had 
 often done before, it patted the cheek rather roughly : several 
 hands were instantly stretched out to stop its play ; it set up 
 a cry, and was hurried out of the room. 
 
 By the middle of the night, Margaret was longing to be at 
 home and alone. It was all over. She was ashamed to 
 think of her own share of the loss while witnessing Philip's 
 manly grief, or even while seeing how Phoebe lamented, and 
 hoAv Mr. Eowland himself was broken down ; but not the 
 less for this was her heart repeating, till it was sick of itself, 
 " I have lost another mother." 
 
 She did not see Mrs. Rowland again. 
 
 In the earliest gray of the morning, Mr. Rowland took 
 Margaret home. As they stood on the steps, waiting to be 
 let in, she observed that the morning star was yellow and 
 bright in the sky. As soon as the sun had risen, the toll of 
 the church-bell conveyed to every ear in Deerbrook the news 
 that Mrs. Enderby was dead. Perhaps there might have been 
 compunction in the breasts of some who had been abroad on 
 Saturday night, on hearing the universal remark that it must 
 have been rather sudden at last. 
 
358 DEERBROOK, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 MOVING ONWARD. 
 
 The world rolls on, let what may be happening to the indi- 
 viduals who occupy it. The sun rises and sets, seed-time 
 and harvest come and go, generations arise and pass away, 
 law and authority hold on their course, while hundreds of 
 millions of human hearts have stirring within them struggles 
 and emotions eternally new, — an experience so diversified as 
 that no two days appear alike to any one, and to no two does 
 any one day appear the same. There is something so striking 
 in this perpetual contrast between the external uniformity 
 and internal variety of the procedure of existence, that it is 
 no wonder that multitudes have formed a conception of Fate, 
 — of a mighty unchanging power, blind to the differences of 
 spirits, and deaf to the appeals of human delight and misery ; 
 a huge insensible force, beneath which all that is spiritual is 
 sooner or later wounded, and is ever liable to be crushed. 
 This conception of Fate is grand, is natural, and fully war- 
 ranted to minds too lofty to be satisfied with the details of 
 human life, but which have not risen to the far higher con- 
 ception of a Providence to whom this uniformity and variety 
 are but means to a higher end than they apparently involve. 
 There is infinite blessing in having reached the nobler con- 
 ception ; the feeling of helplessness is relieved ; the craving 
 for sympathy from the ruling power is satisfied ; there is a 
 hold for veneration ; there is room for hope : there is, above 
 all, the stimulus and support of an end perceived or antici- 
 pated ; a purpose which steeps in sanctity all human expe- 
 rience. Yet even where this blessing is the most fully felt 
 and recognised, the spirit cannot but be at times overwhelmed 
 by the vast regularity of aggregate existence, — thrown back 
 upon its faith for support, when it reflects how all things go 
 on as they did before it became conscious of existence, and 
 how all would go on as now, if it were to die to-day. On it 
 rolls, — not only the great globe itself, but the life which stirs 
 and hums on its surface, enveloping it like an atmosphere ; — 
 on it rolls ; and the vastest tumult that may take place among 
 its inhabitants can no more make itself seen and heard above 
 the general stir and hum of life, than Chimborazo or the 
 loftiest Himalaya can lift its peak into space above the atmo- 
 
DEERBROOK. 359 
 
 sphere. On, on it rolls ; and the strong arm of the united 
 race could not turn from its course one planetary mote of the 
 myriads that swim in space : no shriek of passion nor shrill 
 song of joy, sent up from a group of nations on a continent, 
 could attain the ear of the eternal Silence, as she sits throned 
 among the stars. Death is less dreary than life in this view 
 — a view which at times, perhaps, presents itself to every 
 mind, but which speedily vanishes before the faith of those 
 who, with the heart, believe that they are not the accidents 
 of Fate, but the children of a Father. In the house of every 
 wise parent may then be seen an epitome of life, — a sight 
 whose consolation is needed at times, perhaps, by all. Which 
 of the little children of a virtuous household can conceive of 
 his entering into his parent's pursuits, or interfering with 
 them? How sacred are the study and the office, the ap- 
 paratus of a knowledge and a power which he can only 
 venerate ! Which of these little ones dreams of disturbing 
 the course of his parent's thought or achievement ? Which 
 of them conceives of the daily routine of the household — its 
 going forth and coming in, its rising and its rest — having 
 been different before his birth, or that it would be altered by 
 his absence ? It is even a matter of surprise to him when it 
 now and then occurs to him that there is anything set apart 
 for him, — that he has clothes and couch, and that his mother 
 thinks and cares for him. If he lags behind in a walk, or 
 finds himself alone among the trees, he does not dream of 
 being missed ; but home rises up before him as he has always 
 seen it — his father thoughtful, his mother occupied, and the 
 rest gay, with the one difference of his not being there. 
 Thus he believes, and has no other trust than in his shrieks 
 of terror, for being ever remembered more. Yet, all the 
 while, from day to day, from year to year, without one 
 moment's intermission, is the providence of his parent around 
 him, brooding over the workings of his infant spirit, chasten- 
 ing its passions, nourishing its affections, — now troubling it 
 with salutary pain, now animating it with even more whole- 
 some delight. All the while is the order of household affairs 
 regulated for the comfort and profit of these lowly little ones, 
 though they regard it reverently because they cannot com- 
 prehend it. They may not know of all this, — how their 
 guardian bends over their pillow nightly, and lets no word of 
 their careless talk drop unheeded, hails every brightening 
 gleam of reason, and records every sob of infant grief, and 
 
860 DEERBROOK. 
 
 every chirp of childisli glee, — they may not know this, 
 because they could not understand it aright, and each little 
 heart would be inflated with pride, each little mind would 
 lose the grace and purity of its unconsciousness : but the 
 guardianship is not the less real, constant, and tender, for its 
 being unrecognised by its objects. As the spirit expands, 
 and perceives that it is one of an innumerable family, it ^ 
 would be in danger of sinking into the despair of loneliness if 
 it were not capable of 
 
 "belief 
 In mercy carried infinite degrees 
 Beyond the tenderness of human hearts," 
 
 while the very circumstance of multitude obviates the danger 
 of undue elation. But, though it is good to be lowly, it 
 behoves every one to be sensible of the guardianship of which 
 so many evidences are around all who breathe. While the 
 world and life roll on and on, the feeble reason of the child of 
 Providence may be at times overpowered with the vastness of 
 the system amidst which he lives ; but his faith will smile 
 upon his fear, rebuke him for averting his eyes, and inspire 
 him with the thought, ' Nothing can crush me, for I am made 
 for eternity. I will do, suffer and enjoy, as my Father wills : 
 and let the world and life roll on ! ' 
 
 Such is the faith which supports, which alone can support, 
 the many who, having been whirled in the eddying stream of 
 social affairs, are withdrawn, by one cause or another, to 
 abide, in some still little creek, the passage of the mighty 
 tide. The broken-down statesman, who knows himself to be 
 spoken of as politically dead, and sees his successors at work 
 building on his foundations, without more than a passing 
 thought on who had laboured before them, has need of this 
 faith. The aged who find affairs proceeding at the will of the 
 young and hardy, whatever the gray-haired may think and 
 say, have need of this faith. So have the sick, when they 
 find none but themselves disposed to look on life in the light 
 which comes from beyond the grave. So have the perse- 
 cuted, when, with or without cause, they see themselves 
 pointed at in the streets ; and the despised, who find them- 
 selves neglected, whichever way they turn. So have the 
 prosperous, during those moments which must occur to all, 
 when sympathy fails, and means to much desired ends are 
 wanting, or when satiety makes the spirit roam abroad in 
 search of something better than it has found. This universal, 
 
DEERBROOK. 361 
 
 eternal, filial relation is the only universal and eternal refuge. 
 It is the solace of royalty weeping in the inner chambers of 
 its palaces, and of poverty drooping beside its cold hearth. 
 It is the glad tidings preached to the poor, and in which all 
 must be poor in spirit to have part. If they be poor in spirit, 
 it matters little what is their external state, or whether the 
 world which rolls on beside or over them be the world of a 
 solar system, or of a conquering empire, or of a small-souled 
 village. 
 
 It now and then seemed strange to Hope, his wife 
 and sister — now and then, and for a passing moment — that 
 while their hearts were full of motion and their hands 
 occupied with the vicissitudes of their lot, the little world 
 around them, which was wont to busy itself so strenuously 
 with their affairs, should work its yearly round as if it heeded 
 them not. As often as they detected themselves in this 
 thought, they smiled at it ; for might not each neighbour say 
 the same of them as constituting a part of the surrounding 
 world? Was there a cottage where some engrossing interest 
 did not defy sympathy ; where there was not some secret joy, 
 some heart-sore, hidden from every eye ; some important 
 change, while all looked as familiar as the thatch and paling, 
 and the faces which appeared within them ? Yet there 
 seemed something wonderful in the regularity with which 
 affairs proceeded. The hawthorn hedges blossomed, and the 
 corn was green in the furrows : the saw of the carpenter was 
 heard from day to day, and the anvil of the blacksmith rang. 
 The letter-carrier blew his horn as the times came round ; 
 the children shouted in the road ; and their parents bought and 
 sold, planted and delved, ate and slept, as they had ever done, 
 and as if existence were as mechanical as the clock which 
 told the hours without fail from the gray steeple. Amidst 
 all this, how great were the changes in the corner-house ! 
 
 In the early spring, the hearts of the dwellers in that house 
 had been, though far less dreary than in the winter, still 
 heavy at times with care. Hester thought that she should 
 never again look upon the palm boughs of the willow, swelling 
 with sap, and full of the hum of the early bees, or upon the 
 bright green sprouts of the gooseberry in the cottage gardens, 
 or upon the earliest primrose of the season on its moist bank, 
 without a vivid recollection of the anxieties of this first 
 spring season of her married life. The balmy month of May, 
 rich in its tulips, and lilacs, and guelder roses, was sacred to 
 
362 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Margaret, from the sorrow which it brought in the death of 
 Mrs. Enderby. She wandered under the hedgerows with 
 Philip, during the short remainder of his stay, and alone 
 when he was gone ; and grew into better acquaintance with 
 her own state of heart and mind, and into higher hope for the 
 future of all whom she loved most. When the mowers were 
 in the field, and the chirping fledgelings had become birds of 
 the air, and the days were at the longest, her country rambles 
 became more precious, for they must henceforth be restricted ; 
 — they must be scarcer and shorter. In the place of the 
 leisure and solitude for books in her own room and for medi- 
 tation in the field — leisure and solitude which had been to 
 this day more dreamed of than enjoyed, she must now betake 
 herself to more active duty. The maid Susan was discharged 
 at Midsummer : and not only Susan. After ample consulta- 
 tion with Morris, it was decided that Charles must go too, his 
 place being in part supplied by a boy of yet humbler preten- 
 sions out of the house, who should carry out the medicines 
 from the surgery, and do the errands of the family. Morris 
 spoke cheerfully enough of these changes, smiled as if amused 
 at the idea of her leaving her young ladies ; and did not 
 doubt but that, if Miss Margaret would lend her a helping 
 hand sometimes, she should be able to preserve the credit of 
 the family. 
 
 There was something more to be done than to lend this 
 helping hand in the lighter domestic offices. Their Midsummer 
 remittance had been eagerly looked for by the sisters, not only 
 because it was exceedingly wanted for the current expenses of 
 the household, but because it was high time that preparations 
 were begun for the great event of the autumn — the birth of 
 Hester's little one. During this summer, Margaret was up 
 early and was busy as Morris herself about the house till 
 breakfast, and for some time after Hope had gone forth on his 
 daily round — now so small that he soon returned to his books 
 and his pen in the study. The morning hours passed 
 pleasantly away, while Hester and Margaret sat at work by 
 the window which looked into their garden, now, by Sydney's 
 care, trimmed up into a state of promise once more. Hester 
 was so much happier, so reasonable, so brave, amidst her 
 sinking fortunes, that Margaret could scarcely have been 
 gayer than in plying her needle by her side. Their cares lay 
 chiefly out of doors now : the villagers behaved rudely to 
 Edward, and cherished Mr. Walcot ; Mrs. Rowland took every 
 
DEERBROOK. ^ 36^ 
 
 opportunity of insulting Margaret, and throwing discredit 
 on her engagement ; and the Greys caused their cousins much 
 uneasiness by the spirit in which they conducted their share 
 of the great controversy of the place. These troubles 
 awaited the corner-house family abroad ; but their peace was 
 perpetually on the increase at home. Morris and they were 
 so completely in one interest, Edward was so easily pleased, 
 and they were so free from jealous dependants, that they could 
 carry their economy to any extent that suited their conscience 
 and convenience. One superfluity after another vanished 
 from the table ; every day something which had always been 
 a want was discovered to be a fancy ; and with every new act 
 of frugality, each fresh exertion of industry, their spirits rose 
 with a sense of achievement, and the complacency proper to 
 cheerful sacrifice. In the evenings of their busy days, the 
 sisters w^ent out with Edward into their garden, or into the 
 meadows, or spent an hour in the Greys' pretty shrubbery. 
 Maria often saw them thus, and thought how happy are they 
 who can ramble abroad, and find their cares dispersed by the 
 breeze, or dissolved in the sunshine of the fields. The little 
 Eowlands sometimes met them in the lanes : and the younger 
 ones would thrust upon them the wild - flowers which 
 Mr. Walcot had helped them to gather, while Mrs. Eowland 
 and Matilda would draw down their black crape veils, and 
 walk on with scarcely a passing salutation. Every such 
 meeting with the lady, every civil bow from Mr. Walcot, 
 every tale which Mrs. Grey and Sophia had to tell against the 
 new surgeon, seemed to do Hester good, and make her 
 happier. These things were appeals to her magnanimity ; 
 and she could bear for Edward's sake many a trial which she 
 could not otherwise have endured. All this told upon the 
 intercourse at home ; and Morris's heart was often cheered, as 
 she pursued her labours in kitchen or chamber, with the 
 sound of such merry laughter as had seldom been heard in 
 the family, during the anxious winter that had gone by. It 
 seemed as if nothing depressed her young ladies now. There 
 was frequent intelligence of the going over of another patient 
 to Mr. Walcot ; the summer was not a favourable one, and 
 everybody else was complaining of unseasonable weather, of 
 the certainty of storms in the autumn, of blight, and the 
 prospect of scarcity; yet, though Mr. Grey shook his head, 
 and the parish-clerk could never be seen but with a doleful 
 prophecy in his mouth, Morris's young master and mistresses 
 
364 DEERBROOK. 
 
 were gay as she could desire. She was piously thankful for 
 Margaret's engagement ; for she concluded that it was by 
 means of this that other hearts were working round into their 
 true relation, and into a peace which the world, with all its 
 wealth and favours, can neither make nor mar. 
 
 In one of Margaret's hedgerow rambles with Philip, a few 
 days after his mother's funeral, she had been strongly urged 
 to leave Deerbrook and its troubles behind her — to maiTy at 
 once, and be free from the trials from which he could not 
 protect her, if she remained in the same place with 
 Mrs. Eowland. But Margaret steadily refused. 
 
 " You will be wretched," said Philip ; " you will be 
 wretched — I know you will — the moment I am gone." 
 
 " I never was less likely to be wretched. Mrs. Rowland 
 cannot make me so, and other people will not. I have every 
 expectation of a happy summer, which I mention for your 
 sake ; for I do not like to indulge in that sort of anticipation 
 without some such good reason as comforting you." 
 
 " You cannot be happy here. Priscilla will never let you 
 have an easy day, while she fancies she can separate us. 
 Wien I think of the pertinacity with which she disowns you, 
 the scorn with which she speaks about you, even in my 
 presence, I see that nothing will do but your being mine at 
 once.'^ 
 
 " That would not mend the matter. Our haste and 
 imprudence would go to countenance the scandal she spreads. 
 Why cannot we rather live it down ? " 
 
 " Because your spirit will be broken in the mean time. 
 Margaret, I must be your guardian. This is my first duty, 
 and an absolute necessity. If you will not go with me, I will 
 not leave this place : and if my plan of life is broken up, you 
 will be answerable for it. It was your plan, and you may 
 demolish it if you choose." 
 
 *^ I have a plan of life, too," said Margaret. " It is to do 
 the duty that lies nearest at hand ; and the duty that lies 
 nearest at hand is, to keep you up to yours. After this, there 
 is one which lies almost as close, I cannot leave Hester and 
 Edward till this crisis in their fortunes is past. I am bound 
 to them for the present." 
 
 " What are their claims to mine ? " 
 
 " Nothing, if they were fortunate, as I trust they yet may 
 be ; — nothing, if you had followed your plan of life up to the 
 point when we may carry it out together. We are wrong, 
 
DEERBROOK. 365 
 
 Philip, in even thinking of what you say. You must go and 
 study law, and you must go without me. Indeed, I could not 
 be happy to join you yet. Your good name would suiFer 
 from what Mrs. Rowland might then say. Your future 
 prospects would suffer from the interruption of your pre- 
 paration for your profession. I should feel that I had injured 
 you, and deserted my own duty. Indeed, Philip, I could not 
 be happy." 
 
 " And how happy do you imagine we shall be apart?" 
 Margaret gave him a look which said what words could not 
 — ^^vhat it was to be assured of his love. What, it seemed to 
 ask, could all the evil tongues in the world do to poison this 
 
 *' Besides," said she, " I have the idea that I could not be 
 spared ; and there is great pleasure in that vanity. Edward 
 and Hester cannot do without me at present." 
 
 " You may say so at any future time." 
 
 " No : when the right time comes, they will not want me. 
 Oh, Philip ! you are grieved for them, and you long to see 
 them prosperous. Do not tempt me to desert them now. 
 They want my help ; they want the little money I have ; they 
 want my hands and head. Let this be your share of the 
 penalty Mrs. Rowland imposes upon us all — to spare me to 
 them while their adversity lasts." 
 
 " I would not be selfish, Margaret — ^I would not trespass 
 upon your wishes and your duty, but the truth is, I sometimes 
 fear that I may have some heavier penalty even than this to 
 pay for Priscilla's temper. All ! you wonder what can be 
 heavier. Remember she has put misunderstanding between 
 us before." 
 
 " But she never can again. Ours was then merely a tacit 
 understanding. Now, supposing me ever to hear what she 
 may hint or say, do you imagine I should give the slightest 
 heed to it ? I would not believe her news of a person I had 
 never seen ; and do you think she can make the slightest 
 impression on me with regard to you." 
 
 "It seems unreasonable at this moment ; but yet, I have a 
 superstitious dread of the power of spirits of evil." 
 
 " Superstitious, indeed ! I defy them all, now that we have 
 once understood each other. If she were able to do far more 
 than she can — if she could load the winds with accusations 
 against you — if she could haunt my dreams, and raise you up 
 in visions mocking at me — I believe she could not move me 
 
366 DEERBROOK. 
 
 now. Before, I blamed myself — I thought I was lost in vanity 
 and error : now that I have once had certainty, we are safe." 
 
 " You are right, I trust — I believe it. But there is a long 
 hard battle to be fought yet. It fills me with shame to think 
 how she treats you in every relation you have. She is cruel 
 to Maria Young. She hopes to reach you through her. Ah! 
 you will hear nothing of it from Maria, I dare say ; but she 
 spoke infamously to her this morning, before Mrs. Levitt. 
 Mrs. Levitt happened to be sitting with Maria, when Priscilla 
 and one or two of the children went in. Mrs. Levitt spoke of 
 us : Priscilla denied our engagement : Maria asserted it — very 
 gently, but quite decidedly. Priscilla reminded her of her 
 poverty and infirmities, spoke of the gratitude she owed to those 
 from whom she derived her subsistence, and reproached her 
 with having purposes of her own to answer, in making 
 matches in the families of her employers." 
 
 "And Maria?" 
 
 " Maria trembled excessively, the children say, weak and 
 reduced by pain as she is. One can hardly conceive of temper 
 carrying any woman into such cruelty ! Mrs. Levitt rose, in 
 great concern and displeasure, to go : but Maria begged her to 
 sit down again, sent one of the children for me, and appealed 
 to me to declare what share she had had in my engagement 
 with you. I set her right with Mrs. Levitt, who, I am con- 
 vinced, sees how the matter stands. But it was really a dis- 
 tressing scene." 
 
 " And before the children, too ! " 
 
 " That was the worst part of it. They stood looking from 
 the furthest corner of the room in utter dismay. It would 
 have moved any one but Priscilla to see the torrent of tears 
 Maria shed over them, when they came timidly to wish her 
 good morning, after Mrs. Levitt was gone. She said she could 
 do nothing more for them : they had been taught to despise 
 her, and her relation to them was at an end." 
 
 " It is ; it must be," exclaimed Margaret. " Is there no way 
 of stopping a career of vice like this? While Mrs. Plumstead 
 gets a parish boy whipped for picking up her hens' eggs from 
 among the nettles, is Maria to have no redress for slander 
 which takes away her peace and her bread?" 
 
 " She shall have redress. For the children's sake, as well 
 as her own, her connection with them must go on. I do not 
 exactly see how ; but the thing must be done. I dread speaking 
 to poor Rowland about any of these things ; I know it makes 
 
DEERBROOK. BBt 
 
 him SO wretched : but the good and the innocent must not be 
 sacrificed. If these poor children must despise somebody, their 
 contempt must be made to fall in the right place, even though 
 it be upon their mother." 
 
 " Let us go and see Maria," said Margaret, turning back. 
 " If there is a just and merciful way of proceeding in this case, 
 she will point it out. I wish you had told me all this before. 
 Here have we been rambling over the grass and among the 
 wild-flowers, where, at the best, Maria can never go ; and she 
 lies weeping all alone, looking for me, I dare say, every 
 moment! Let us make haste." 
 
 Philip made all the haste that was compatible with gathering 
 a handful of wild hyacinth and meadow narcissus for poor 
 Maria. He found himself farther from success than ever, when 
 he would have again urged Margaret to marry at once. A new 
 duty seemed to have sprung up to keep her at Deerbrook. 
 Maria wanted her. Her summer work lay clear before her. 
 She must nurse and cheer Maria, she must ply her needle for 
 Hester, and play the housewife, spending many of her hours 
 in the business of living ; a business which is often supposed 
 to transact itself, but which in reality requires all the faculties 
 which can be brought to it, and all the good moral habits 
 which conscience can originate. The most that Philip could 
 obtain was, permission to come when his duties would fairly 
 allow it, and a promise that he should be summoned, if Mar- 
 garet found herself placed in any difficulty by Mrs. Kowland. 
 
 Maria was not now literally alone ; nor did she depend on 
 her hostess or on Margaret for nursing and companionship. 
 It occurred to all the kindest of her friends, immediately after 
 Mrs. Enderby's death, that Phoebe might be her attendant. 
 Phoebe was not, just then, the most cheerful of nurses, so truly 
 did she mourn her good old mistress ; but she was glad of 
 occupation, glad to be out of Mrs. Rowland's way, glad to be 
 useful : and she was an inestimable comfort to Maria. 
 
 Nothing could be done about placing the children again 
 under Maria's care, when she had recovered. Mr. Eowland 
 was naturally unwilling to stir in the business, and saw that 
 the best chance for his children was to send them to school at 
 a distance from Deerbrook : and Maria had been too grossly 
 insulted in the presence of her pupils to choose to resume her 
 authority. The Greys took her up with double zeal, as the 
 Eowlands let her down. They assured her that her little 
 income should not suffer for her being able to devote all her 
 
368'. DEEIIBEOOK. 
 
 time to Fanny and Mary. The money, indeed, was nothing 
 to Mrs. Grey, in comparison with the pleasure it procured her. 
 It put her upon equal terms with Mrs. Eowland, at last. She 
 did not know how it was, but it was very difficult to patronise 
 Mr. Hope. He always contrived to baffle her piaise. But 
 here was an unconnected person thrown upon her care : and if 
 Mrs. Eowland had a young surgeon to push, Mrs. Grey had 
 an incomparable governess, now all to herself. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 OLD AND YOUNG. 
 
 One of the characteristics of this summer at Deerbrook Avas 
 the rival parties of pleasure with which the village was enter- 
 tained. There had been rival parties of pleasure the preceding 
 year ; but from what a different cause ! Then, all were anxious 
 to do honour to Hester and Margaret, or to show off in their 
 eyes : now, the efforts made were, on the one hand, to mortify, 
 and on the other, to sustain them. The Eowlands had a 
 carriage party to the woods one week, and the Greys a caval- 
 cade to the flower-show at Blickley the next. The Eowlands 
 gave a dinner to introduce Mr. Walcot to more and more of 
 their country neighbours ; and the Greys had a dance in the 
 green walk for the young people of the village. The Eowlands 
 went to a strawberry gathering at Sir William Hunter's ; and 
 the Greys, with all their faction, as Mrs. Eowland called it, 
 were invited to a syllabub under the cow, at the Miss Andersons' 
 breaking-up for the holidays. 
 
 All pretence of a good understanding between the two 
 families was now at an end. They ceased to invite each 
 other, and scrambled for their mutual acquaintances. Tlie 
 best of their mutual acquaintances saw no reason for taking 
 part in the quarrel, and preserved a strict neutrality ; and the 
 worst enjoyed being scrambled for. The Levitts visited both 
 families, and entertained everybody in return, as if nothing 
 was happening. Sir William and Lady Hunter ate their 
 annual dinner with each, and condescended to pay two or 
 three extra visits to Mrs. Eowland, without making a point of 
 a full moon. Every circumstance that happened afforded 
 occasion for comment, of course. Mrs. Grey thought it very 
 improper in the Eowlands to indulge in all this gaiety whik^ 
 
DEERBROOK. 369 
 
 they were in deep mourning. It was painful to her feelings, 
 she owned, to hear the children shouting with laughter, while 
 they were all bombazine and crape from head to foot : she had 
 hoped to see the memory of her dear old friend treated with 
 more respect. In vain did Mr. Hope plead Mrs. Enderby's 
 delight in the mirth of children, and that their innocent gaiety 
 would cheer her in her grave, if it could reach her there. In 
 vain did Hester urge the danger and sin of training the little 
 creatures to hypocrisy — a probable result, if they were to be 
 kept solemn and unamused to the day when they might put off 
 their mourning. Mrs. Grey felt herself only the more called 
 upon by all this to furnish the amount of sighs and tears which 
 she believed to be due to Mrs. Enderby's memory. Margaret 
 rather sided with her — it was so sweet to her to hear Philip's 
 mother mourned. 
 
 Mrs. Grey's tears were, however, interspersed with smiles. 
 On the day of the Rowlands' great dinner-party, when all was 
 to be so stately for the Hunters, when the new dessert service 
 was procured from Staffordshire, the fish had not arrived from 
 London. This was certainly a fact ^ the fish had come by the 
 coach the next morning. And what was still more remarkable, 
 it had not occurred to Mrs. Eowland that such an accident 
 might happen — was very likely to happen ; and, as if she had 
 been an inexperienced housekeeper, she had not any dish in 
 reserve, in case of the non-arrival of the fish. It was said 
 that Mrs. Eowland had sat down to table with a face perfectly 
 crimson with anxiety and vexation. To such a temper as 
 hers, what a vexation it must have been! There was a 
 counterpart to this story for Mrs. Rowland. She fancied that 
 Mrs. Grey's friends, the Andersons, must have looked rather 
 foolish on occasion of their great syllabub party. She hoped 
 the Miss Andersons trained their pupils better than their 
 cows : they had a sad obstreperous cow, she understood. 
 Some of the young ladies had lured it up the lawn with a 
 potato, and got it to stand still to be milked ; but, when 
 somebody began to sing (she had no doubt it was Miss 
 Ibbotson who sang) the poor animal found the music was not 
 to its taste, and, of course, it kicked away the china bowl, and 
 pranced down the lawn again. There was a dirge sung over 
 the syllabub, no doubt. The poor Miss Andersons must have 
 been terribly annoyed. 
 
 The good understanding of the gentlemen seemed all this 
 time to be uninterrupted. They had much to put up with at 
 
 B B 
 
370 • DEERBROOK. 
 
 home on this account ; but their good-humour towards each 
 other remained unbroken. Mr. Rowland's anxious face, and 
 his retirement within the enclosure of his own business, told 
 his neighbours something of what he had to go through at 
 home. Mrs. Grey was vexed with her husband that he did 
 not visit Hope's misfortunes upon Mr. Eowland, and call the 
 husband to account for the mischief the wife had caused ; and 
 Hester more than once expressed some resentment against her 
 relation for not espousing Edward's cause more warmly. Hope 
 told her this was not reasonable. 
 
 " Remember," said he, as they sauntered in their garden, 
 one evening, " that these gentlemen must be mor^ weary than 
 ^Mwe are (which is saying a great deal) of these perpetual 
 squabbles ; and they must earnestly desire to have peace in 
 the counting-house. God forbid that their dominions should 
 be invaded for our sake ! " 
 
 " Not for our sake only, but for the sake of justice," 
 
 " Everything depends on the sort of men you have to deal 
 with, in such cases as this. You must not expect too much. 
 Here are two kind-hearted men, bound to each other by mutual 
 good will and mutual interest. There is no other resemblance 
 between them, except that they are both overpowered — made 
 rather cowardly by the circumstances of their environment. 
 Once departing from their plan of keeping the peace, they 
 would be plunged into quarrel. They view things so differ- 
 ently, from the differences of their minds, that their only safety 
 is in avoiding altogether all subjects of Deerbrook contention. 
 If you expect the heroism of devoted friendship, or of an 
 enthusiastic sense of justice from such men, you will not find 
 it. We must take them as they are." 
 
 " And humbly accept such countenance as they choose to 
 bestow?" 
 
 " Take it or leave it, as you will. There is no use in 
 quarrelling with them for not being what they are not — that 
 is all. Be generous with them ; and do not expect from them 
 the conduct which they have a right to expect from you." 
 
 " I rather wonder," observed Margaret, " that they have 
 had the courage to go so far as they do, in bearing testimony 
 in your favour." 
 
 *' They have been very handsome in their conduct on the 
 whole ; and it would grieve me sincerely if they were to suffer 
 further than they have already done on my account. I am 
 afraid Mr. Rowland is wretched now, because I will accept no 
 
DEEEBROOK. 371 
 
 assistance from him. He told me, the other day, that he 
 should receive no rent for this house while Walcot occupies 
 the other. He was beyond measure mortified when I posi- 
 tively declined being under any such obligation to any land- 
 lord. If Mr. Rowland steadily refuses to turn us out of our 
 house, and goes on oiFering favours that I cannot accept, that 
 is all that we can expect from him." 
 
 " It never occurred to me that he can turn us out," said 
 Hester, " that we are tenants at will. Oh ! how sorry I should 
 be to go!" she continued, as she surveyed the place. "I 
 should grieve to quit our first home." 
 
 " There is no danger I believe : Mr. Rowland will be firm 
 on that head." 
 
 " And there is no danger, I should think," said Margaret, 
 " but that the Greys would find us something better the next 
 day. Oh, I do not know where or how ; but it would be such 
 a splendid opportunity for patronage, that they would work 
 miracles rather than let it slip. How far this ivy has trailed 
 over the wall already ! I should be sorry to leave this garden 
 now that it promises to look like itself so soon again. Sydney 
 despises me for my admiration of it at present. He looks 
 melancholy about the blight. It is a pity certainly. Look at 
 this rose-bush, how curled and withered it is ! " 
 
 " Sydney is doing like every one else in looking grave about 
 the blight," observed Hope. " So bad a season has not been 
 known since I came to Deerbrook. I see care in the face of 
 many an one who does not stand anything like our chance of 
 want. Here comes Sydney, with news of every ill-looking 
 field for five miles round, I doubt not." 
 
 " And Mr. and Mrs. Grey, and Sophia," said Hester, quitting 
 her husband's arm, and hastening to meet her friends. 
 
 The Greys pronounced it so pleasant an evening, that they 
 had no wish to sit down within doors ; they preferred walking 
 in the garden. They seemed to come for two purposes — to 
 offer an invitation, and to relate that Mr. Walcot was gone to 
 dine at Sir William Hunter's to-day, and that Sir William had 
 sent the carriage for him. Mr. Walcot had not been ready for 
 full five minutes after the carriage had driven up to the door. 
 This delay was no doubt intended to give all Deerbrook time 
 to observe the peculiar consideration with which Mr. Walcot 
 was treated by Sir William and Lady Hunter, who were by 
 no means in the habit of sending their carriage for their 
 Deerbrook guests. 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 DEEKBROOK. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of such a thing/' said Sophia, " as 
 sending a carriage for a young man ? I have no doubt it is 
 because he cannot ride." 
 
 " There you are out, Sophy," cried Sydney. *' Mr. Walcot 
 rides as well as Mr. Hope, every bit." 
 
 " I cannot think what has happened to Sydney," observed 
 his mother. " He does nothing but stand up for Mr. Walcot 
 in the most unaccountable way ! I hope you Avill forgive it, 
 Mr. Hope. Boys take strange fancies, you know. You must 
 forgive it, my dears, in consideration of the rest of us." 
 
 " Instead of forgiving it," said Hope, " I shall take leave 
 rather to admire it. There is a fine chivalrous spirit shown 
 in fighting Mr. Walcot's battles with our frien'ds and rela- 
 tions." 
 
 " There, now ! " cried Sydney, triumphantly. " But I can't 
 help it, you see. Mr. Walcot can ride, and he does ride well; 
 and he is very civil to me, and asks me to go fishing with 
 him ; and I am sure he always inquires very respectfully after 
 the rest of them. I never said any more than that in praise 
 of him ; and I can't say less, can I, when they are all abusing 
 him for whatever he does ? " 
 
 "I think not. I believe we may spare him that much 
 credit without grudging." 
 
 " But, Sydney, you know it is not pleasant to us to hear 
 you speak in praise of Mr. Walcot under present circum- 
 stances ; and you should have a little consideration for us." 
 
 *' Well, mother, if you will not speak of him at all, no more 
 will I." And he glanced up into his mother's face, to see how 
 the proposition was taken. "That is fair, is not it?" he 
 inquired of Mr. Hope. 
 
 " Excellent in theory, Sydney ; but who likes to be tied 
 down not to speak on any subject, especially one which is 
 turning up every hour ? Your plan will not answer." 
 
 " I will ask you because I said I would — and all the more 
 because you are not cross about Mr. Walcot " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Sydney !" said the mother. 
 
 " Do not be ridiculous, Sydney," advised the sister. 
 
 " Mr. Hope will say whether it is ridiculous, Sophy. Now, 
 Mr. Hope, would not you, and cousin Hester, and Margaret, 
 go down the water with us to the abbey, just the same if 
 Mr. Walcot was with us ? " 
 
 " With any guest of your father's and mother's, Sydney. 
 We have no quarrel with Mr. Walcot. The truth is, we feel, 
 
DEERBROOK. 373 
 
 after all wo have heard, that we know very little about him. 
 We have not the slightest objection to meet Mr. Walcot." 
 
 " Neither wish nor objection," said Hester, calmly. " We 
 are perfectly indifferent about him." 
 
 Sydney vehemently beckoned his father, who left the 
 apricot he and Margaret were examining by the surgery wall, 
 and came to see what he was wanted for. 
 
 " You see," said he to Hope, when the matter was explained, 
 " I have naturally been rather anxious to bring this about — 
 this meeting between you and the young man. In a small 
 place like this, it is painful to have everybody quarrelling, and 
 not to be able to get one's friends about one, for fear they 
 should brawl in one's very drawing-room. Mr. Kowland is of 
 my mind there ; and I know it would gratify him if I were to take 
 some notice of this young man. I really could hardly refuse, 
 knowing how handsomely Mr. Eowland always speaks of you 
 and yours, and believing Mr. Walcot to be a very respectable, 
 harmless young man. If I thought it would injure your 
 interests in the least, I would see him at Cape Horn before I 
 would invite him, of course : you must be aware of that. 
 And I should not think of asking you to meet Mrs. Rowland ; 
 •that would be going too far. But Mrs. Grey wishes that your 
 wife and Margaret should visit these ruins that we were 
 always prevented from getting to last year : and Mr. Walcot 
 is anxious to see them too ; and he has been civil to Sydney ; 
 and, in short, I believe that Sydney half promised that he 
 should go with us." 
 
 " Say no more," replied Hope. " You will have no diffi- 
 culty with us. I really know nothing against Mr. Walcot. 
 He had a perfect right to settle where he pleased. Whether 
 the manner of doing it was handsome or otherwise, is of far 
 more consequence to himself than to me, or to any one else." 
 
 " I wish we all viewed the matter as you do. If the ladies 
 had your temper, we should have a heaven upon earth. But 
 they take things up so warmly, you see, when their feelings 
 are interested for anybody ; Mrs. Eowland for one, and my 
 wife for another. I hardly know what she will say to the 
 idea of our having Walcot with us. Let us go and see." 
 
 " I have a word to say to you first. Do you know of any 
 one who wants a horse ? I am going to dispose of mine." 
 
 " Mr. Walcot wants a horse," said Sydney, delighted at the 
 idea of solving a difficulty. 
 
 Hope smiled, and told Mr. Grey that he had rather sell his 
 
374 DEERBROOK. 
 
 horse at a distance. Mr. Walcot had already hired the boy 
 Charles, whom Hope had just dismissed ; and if he obtained 
 the horse too, the old servant who knew his way to every 
 patient's door, all the country round — it really would look too 
 like the unpopular man patronising his opponent. Besides, it 
 would be needlessly publishing in Deerbrook that the horse 
 was given up. 
 
 " What is the fault of your horse ?" asked Mr. Grey, rousing 
 himself from an absent fit. 
 
 " Merely that he eats, and therefore is expensive. I cannot 
 afford now to keep a horse," he declared, in answer to 
 Mr. Grey's stare of amazement. " I have so few patients now 
 out of walking reach, that I have no right to keep a horse. 
 I can always hire, you know, from Keeves." 
 
 " Upon my soul, I am sorry to hear this — extremely sorry 
 to hear it. Matters must have gone further than I had any 
 idea of. My dear fellow, we must see how we can serve you. 
 You must let me accommodate you — indeed you must — rather 
 than give up your horse." 
 
 " Do not speak of it. You are very kind ; but we need no 
 help, I do assure you. My mind is quite made up about the 
 horse. It would only be an incumbrance now. And, to satisfy 
 you, I will mention that I have declined repeated offers of 
 accommodation — offers very strongly urged. All I need ask 
 of you is, to help me to dispose of my horse, somewhere out of 
 Deerbrook." 
 
 " I will manage that for you, the next time I go to market ; 
 
 and " In the emotion of the moment, Mr. Grey was on 
 
 the point of offering the use of his own horse when it should 
 be at home : but he stopped short on the verge of his rash 
 generosity. He was very particular about no one riding his 
 horse but himself, and the man who groomed it : he remem- 
 bered his friend Hope's rapid riding and ^ enthusiasm,' and 
 suspected that he should sooner or later repent the offer : so 
 he changed it into, " I will get your horse disposed of to the 
 best advantage, you may depend upon it. But I am very 
 sorry — very sorry, indeed." 
 
 It is probable that nothing could have reconciled the ladies 
 of Mr. Grey's family to the idea of admitting Mr. Walcot into 
 their party, but the fact that they had of late cut rather a poor 
 figure in contrast to Mrs. Eowland. That lady had the 
 advantage of novelty in the person of Mr. Walcot, and her 
 * faction' was by far the larger of the two. The Greys found 
 
DEERBROOK. 375 
 
 fault with all its elements ; but there was no denying its 
 superiority of numbers. It was a great hardship to have 
 Mr. Walcot forced upon them ; but they reflected that his 
 presence might bring a reinforcement — that some neighbours 
 would perhaps come to meet him who would be otherwise 
 engaged to the Kowlands for the very day on which they were 
 wanted ; for Mrs. Rowland had the art of pre-engaging just 
 the people the Greys intended to have. Sophia observed that 
 Mr. Walcot's presence would be less of a restraint in a boat, 
 and at tea among the ruins, than in the drawing-room : there 
 was always something to be said about the banks and the 
 woods ; and there was singing ; and in a boat people were not 
 obliged to talk unless they liked. She should not wonder it 
 he would rather relish a little neglect; he had been made 
 much of lately at such a ridiculous rate. 
 
 " If we do our part, my love," said Mrs. Grey to Hester, in 
 a mysterious low voice, " I think you should exert yourselves 
 a little. Nothing can be done without a little exertion in this 
 world, you know. Sophia and I were agreeing that it is a 
 long time since you had any of your friends about you." 
 
 " Very few since your wedding company," observed Sophia. 
 
 " We remember you had all your acquaintance in the 
 winter, my dear. It was very pr6per, I am sure, all you did 
 then : but it is now the middle of July, you know ; and our 
 neighbours in Deerbrook always expect to be invited twice a 
 year." 
 
 "I should be happy to see them, I assure you," said 
 Hester, " but it happens to be not convenient." 
 
 *' Not convenient, my dear !" 
 
 " Just so. We shall always be glad to see you and yours ; 
 but we have no hospitality to spare for the common world 
 just now. We have no servants, you know, but Morris ; and 
 we are spending as little as we can." 
 
 " Tea company costs so very little ! " said Sophia. " At this 
 time of the year, when you need not light candles till people' 
 are going away, and when fruit is cheap and plentiful " 
 
 " And we will take care of the cake," interposed Mrs. Grey. 
 ^^ Sophia will make you some of her vicarage-cake, and a batch 
 of almond biscuits ; and Alice shall come and wait. We can 
 manage it very easily." 
 
 " You are extremely kind : but if our acquaintance are to 
 eat your cake, it had better be at your house. It does not 
 suit our present circumstances to entertain company." 
 
S76 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " But it costs so very little ! " persisted Sophia. *^ Mr. 
 Eussell Taylor's father used to give a general invitation to all 
 his friends to come to tea in the summer, because, as he said, 
 they then cost him only twopence-halfpenny a-head." 
 
 " I am afraid we are not such good managers as Mr. Russell 
 Taylor's father," replied Hester, laughing. " And if we were, 
 it is not convenient to spend even twopence-halfpenny a-head 
 upon our common acquaintance at present. If we grow richer, 
 we will get our friends about us, without counting the cost so 
 closely as that." 
 
 " That time will soon come, Sophia, my dear," said her 
 mother, winking at Hester. " In every profession, you know, 
 there are little ups and downs, and particularly in the medical. 
 I dare say, if the truth were told, there is scarcely any pro- 
 fessional man, without private fortune, who has not, at some 
 time of his life, broken into his last guinea without knowing 
 where he is to get another. But professional people generally 
 keep their difficulties to themselves, I fancy, Hester : they are 
 not often so frank as you. Mind that, Sophia. You will be 
 discreet, Sophia." 
 
 " We have no intention of proclaiming in the streets that 
 we are poor," said Hester. "But we owe it to you, dear 
 Mrs. Grey, to give our reasons for not doing all that we and 
 you might wish. We are not dissatisfied : we want no 
 help or pity : but we must live as we think right — that 
 is all." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear, I must say you do not look as if anything 
 was amiss. You look charmingly, indeed." 
 
 " Charmingly, indeed," echoed Sophia. " And Mrs. Levitt 
 was saying, that Margaret seems to have grown quite hand- 
 some, this summer. I fancy Mrs. Rowland gets very few to 
 agree with her as to Margaret being so very plain." 
 
 " No, indeed. Margaret's countenance is so intelligent and 
 pleasant that I always said, from the beginning, that nobody 
 but Mrs. Rowland could call her plain. I suppose we shall 
 soon be losing her, Hester." 
 
 " Oh, no ; not soon. She has no thought of leaving us at 
 present. She would not go in the spring, and sit beside Philip 
 while he was learning his lessons ; and now, they will wait, 
 I believe, till the lessons are finished." 
 
 " She would not ! Well, that shows what love will do. 
 That shows what her power over Mr. Enderby is. We used 
 to think — indeed, everybody used to say it of Mr. Enderby, 
 
DEERBROOK, 377 
 
 that he always managed to do as he liked — he carried all his 
 points. Yet even he is obliged to yield." 
 
 " Margaret has a way of carrying her points too," said 
 Hester : " the best way in the world — by being always right." 
 
 " Mind that, Sophia. But, my dear Hester, I am really 
 
 anxious about you. I had no idea, I am sure . I hope 
 
 you get your natural rest." 
 
 " Perfectly, I assure you. Mrs. Howell might envy me, if 
 she still ' cannot sleep for matching of worsteds.' The simple 
 truth is, Mrs. Grey, we never were so happy in our lives. 
 This may seem rather perverse ; but so it is." 
 
 Mrs. G-rey sighed that Mrs. Eowland could not be aware of 
 this. Hester thought it was no business of Mrs. Eowland*s ; 
 but Mrs. Grey could not but feel that it would be a great 
 satisfaction that she should know that those whom she hated, 
 slept. She heard Margaret and Sydney saying something in 
 the middle of the grass-plot about the Milky Way : looking 
 up, she was surprised to perceive how plain it was, and how 
 many stars were twinkling in the sky. She was sure Hester 
 must be dreadfully tired wdth sauntering about so long. They 
 had been very inconsiderate, and must go away directly. 
 Sydney must call his father. 
 
 " They are delightful young people, really," observed 
 Mrs. Grey to her husband, during their walk home. " One 
 never knows how to get away. Lady Hunter little sup- 
 poses what she loses in not cultivating them. Go on before 
 us, Sophia. Make haste home with your sister, Sydney. 
 But, my dear, they speak in a very poor way of their 
 affairs." 
 
 "Oh, Hester spoke to you, did she ? Hope told me he 
 must part with his horse. So Hester spoke to you?" 
 
 " Yes : not at all in a melancholy way, however. She 
 keeps up her spirits wonderfully, poor girl ! We really must 
 push them, Mr. Grey. I see nothing but ruin before them, if 
 we do not push them." 
 
 *'Ah! there is the difficulty: that is where that little 
 enthusiasm of Hope's comes in. I have a great respect for 
 him ; but I own I should like to see him a little more prac- 
 tical." 
 
 " I really am pleased to hear you say so. It is just what I 
 think ; and I always fancied you did not agree with me. It 
 r(ially puts me almost out of patience to hear him speak of 
 Mr. Walcot — encouraging Sydney in his notions! It is un- 
 
378 DEERBROOK. 
 
 natural : it looks a little like affectation — all that sort of 
 feeling about Mr. Walcot." 
 
 " I do not object to that, I confess. His thinking fairly of 
 Walcot can do no harm, and may save mischief, and it looks 
 honourable and well. I do not regret that, I own. But I 
 think he is clearly wrong in selling his horse in such a hurry. 
 All Deerbrook will know it directly, and it will not look well. 
 I offered him such accommodation as would enable him to 
 keep it ; but he is quite obstinate. Some enthusiastic notion 
 
 of honour, I suppose . But I told them that there is no 
 
 profession or business in the world that has not its ups and 
 downs." 
 
 " Exactly what I told Hester, when she declined having any 
 parties at present — in the very crisis, in my opinion, when it 
 is of great consequence that they should get their friends about 
 them. Sophia would have made the cake, and Alice would 
 have waited at tea. But the fact is, Mr. Hope has put some 
 of his spirit into his wife, and they must take their own way, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "He gave me his reasons, however," observed Mr. Grey. 
 " He regards this as something more than one of the slack 
 times common in his profession. He will not accept obliga- 
 tion, while he sees no clear prospect of being able to discharge 
 it. I could not prevail upon him. However, they must have 
 enough : they cannot be actually pinched. I never saw him 
 in better spirits. There can be no occasion for our doing 
 anything more than just being on the look-out to serve them." 
 
 " We must push them — that is all we can do. They cannot 
 really be wanting anything, as you say, such fine spirits as 
 they are in. Hester looks sweetly. The first game that we 
 have to spare this season shall go to them : and I shall bear 
 them in mind when we gather our apples." 
 
 " If you find we have any apples to gather, my dear. I 
 doubt it." 
 
 " Do you really ? It will be unfortunate for our young 
 friends, if prices rise next winter, as you seem to expect. 
 There goes ten o'clock, I declare ; and there are the children 
 looking out for us, as well they may. But those are really 
 delightful young people. There is no getting away from 
 them." 
 
DEERBROOK. 379 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 BOATING. 
 
 Mr. Walcot was delighted with the invitation to the water- 
 party, but was fully engaged for the next three weeks. 
 Mr. Grey decreed that he was to be waited for. Then the 
 lady moon had to be waited for another ten days ; so that it 
 was past the middle of August before Mrs. Grey and Sophia 
 were called upon to endure Mr. Walcot's society for six hours. 
 The weather was somewhat dubious when the day arrived: 
 but in so bad a season as the present, it would never do to let 
 a doubt put a stop to an excursion which had been planned 
 above a month. One of Mr. Grey's men was sent round 
 among the ladies in the morning, to request to be the bearer 
 of their cloaks, as it was thought they would be cold on the 
 water without all the wraps they had. Hester sent as many 
 warm things as she thought Margaret could possibly wear. 
 She was not going herself. She wished it much ; but it was 
 decided on all hands that it would be imprudent, as there was 
 no calculating the amount of fatigue which each might have to 
 incur. 
 
 At three o'clock the party assembled on the wharf on 
 Messrs. Grey and Rowland's premises, everyone having dined 
 at home. Mrs. Rowland had tried to persuade Mr. Walcot 
 that he ought not to be out of the way, after what Lady 
 Hunter had said in a note about her terrible headache of 
 yesterday. It might be the beginning of a feverish attack; 
 and it would be unfortunate if he should be six miles down 
 the river — not expected home till nine or ten at night, when a 
 messenger should arrive from the Hall. But Mr. Walcot had 
 seen few water-parties in the course of his life, and he was 
 resolved to go. 
 
 Margaret and her brother repaired in gay spirits to the 
 water-side. In the days of poverty, trifles become great 
 events, and ease is luxury. Hope felt himself clear of the 
 world to-day. He had received the money from the sale of 
 his horse ; and after paying for its corn, there was fifteen 
 pounds left to be put by for his rent. Hester had bidden 
 adieu to the horse with a sort of glee, as she had never been 
 able to overcome her panic during her husband's long country 
 rides : and Hope found that he hung more and more upon 
 
380 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Hester's smiles: they cheered him, from whatever cause 
 they arose. Margaret was gay from discourse with Philip. 
 She had just despatched a letter to him — a letter which had 
 acknowledged that it was, indeed, long since they had met 
 — that it was almost time that he was coming to Deerbrook 
 again. 
 
 The party they joined looked less merry than themselves. 
 The two boats which lay at the wharf were gay enough — the 
 one with crimson cushions, and the other with blue. A servant- 
 maid was to go in each, to take care , of the provisions, and 
 provide tea at the ruins ; and Alice and her companion were 
 alert and smiling. But Mrs. Grey wore a countenance of 
 extraordinary anxiety ; and the twitching of her face showed 
 that something had gone very seriously wrong. Sophia nearly 
 turned her back upon Mr. Walcot, who continued to address 
 her with patient diligence. Maria was sitting on some deals, 
 waiting to be called to enter the boat ; and some of the people 
 of the village were staring at her from a little distance. 
 Margaret immediately joined her. 
 
 " What are those people looking at you for?" 
 
 " I cannot conceive. I fancied that while I was sitting I 
 looked pretty much like other people." 
 
 "To be sure you do. I will ask Mr. Grey. I am sure 
 there is some meaning in their gaze — so ridiculously compas- 
 sionate." 
 
 " Do not you know ? " said Mr. Grey. " Do not you know 
 the story they have got up about Miss Young's case. They 
 say Mr. Hope set her limb so badly that he had to break it 
 again twice. I have been asked several times whether he did 
 not get me to help him : and they will not believe me when I 
 deny the whole." 
 
 Maria laughed ; and Margaret observed that they would 
 presently see how much better Maria could walk now than 
 she did before her last accident, such being the effect of 
 the long and complete rest which had been enforced upon 
 her. 
 
 " Nothing like seeing for themselves," observed Mr. Grey, 
 surveying the company. " All come but Dr. Levitt now, I 
 think. It really goes to my heart not to take some of my 
 partner's children. There they are, peeping at us, one head 
 behind another, from that gate. There is room for two or 
 three, from the Jameses failing us at the last. The little 
 things might as well go ; but I suppose there would be 
 
DEEIiBROOK. 381 
 
 no use in saying anything about it. I must have a word 
 with my daughter before we embark. Sophia, my dear ! 
 Sophia!" 
 
 Sophia came, and Margaret overheard her father say to 
 her, that every person present was his guest, and to be treated 
 with the civility and attention due to him as such. Sophia 
 looked rather sulky at hearing this, and walked far away from 
 Mr. Walcot to devote herself to Miss Anderson. 
 
 By dint of sending a messenger to Dr. Levitt's a quarter of 
 an hour before the time, his presence was secured a quarter of 
 an hour after it. He made his usual approach — looking bland 
 and gentlemanly, and fearing he was late. 
 
 The party were ordered into the boats as if they had been 
 going to dinner. Mr. Walcot was appointed to hand Margaret 
 in ; but he showed, amidst great simplicity, an entire deter- 
 mination to be Sophia's companion. Hope was approaching 
 Maria's seat, to give her his arm, when some bustle was heard 
 at the gate where the little Rowlands were clustered. 
 
 " There is my partner ! He will go with us, after all," said 
 Mr. Grey. " Come, my dear sir, we have plenty of room." 
 
 " So much the iDetter for my brother-in-law. You have 
 room for Enderby, have you ? He will be delighted to join 
 you, I have no doubt. Room for me too? I really think I 
 must indulge myself Yes ; Enderby took us quite by surprise 
 this morning : but that is his way, you know." 
 
 Philip here, and without notice! Margaret thought she 
 was dreaming the words she heard. She felt much oppressed 
 — as if there must be something Avrong in so sudden and 
 strange a proceeding. At the very moment of suspense, she 
 caught Mrs. Grey's eye fixed upon her with the saddest 
 expression she thought she had ever seen. 
 
 Philip was come — it was no dream. He was presently in 
 the midst of the party, making his compliments — compliments 
 paid to Margaret in a manner scarcely different in the eyes of 
 others from those which were shared by all : but to her, a 
 world of wonder and of horror was revealed by the glance of 
 the eye and the quiver of the lip, too slight to be detected by 
 any eye less intently fixed than hers. Margaret stood alone, 
 as the others were stepping into the boats ; but Philip did not 
 approach her. He interfered between Hope and Maria Young. 
 Maria looked agitated and uncertain ; but she thought she 
 had no right to cause any delay or difiiculty ; and she took 
 his arm, though she felt herself unable to conceal her 
 
382 DEERBROOK. 
 
 trembling. Hope saw that Margaret was scarcely able to 
 support herself. 
 
 " I cannot go," she said, as he drew her arm within his. 
 <' Leave me behind. They will not miss me. Nobody will 
 miss me." 
 
 The agonized tone of these last words brought back the 
 colour which Hope had lost in the tempest of emotions, in 
 which anger was uppermost. He was no longer deadly pale 
 when he said, 
 
 "Impossible. I cannot leave you. You must not stay 
 behind. It is of the utmost consequence that you should go. 
 Cannot you? Do try. I will place you beside Mrs. Grey. 
 Cannot you make the effort ? " 
 
 She did make the effort. With desperate steadiness she 
 stepped into the boat where Mrs. Grey was seated. She was 
 conscious that Philip watched to see what she would do, and 
 then seated Maria and himself in the other boat. Hope fol- 
 lowed Margaret. If he had been in the same boat with 
 Enderby, the temptation to throw him overboard would have 
 been too strong. 
 
 Till they were past the weir and the lock, and all the 
 erections belonging to the village, and to the great firm which 
 dignified it, the boats were rowed. Conversation went on. 
 The gray church steeple was pronounced picturesque, as it 
 rose above the trees ; and the children looked up at Dr. Levitt, 
 as if the credit of it by some means belonged to him, the 
 rector. Sydney desired his younger sisters not to trail their 
 hands through the water, as it retarded the passage of the 
 boat. The precise distance of the ruins from Deerbrook ferry 
 was argued, and Dr. Levitt gave some curious traditions about 
 the old abbey they were going to see. Then towing took the 
 place of rowing, and the party became very quiet. The boat 
 cut steadily through the still waters, the slight ripple at the 
 bows being the only sound which marked its progress. 
 Dr. Levitt pointed with his stick to the " verdurous wall" 
 which sprang up from the brink of the river, every spray of the 
 beech, every pyramid of the larch, every leaf of the oak, and 
 the tall column of the occasional poplar, reflected true as the 
 natural magic of light and waters could make them. Some 
 then wished the sun would come out, without which it could 
 scarcely be called seeing the woods. Others tried to recognise 
 the person who stood fishing under the great ash ; and it took 
 a minute or two to settle whether it was a man or a boy; and 
 
DEERBROOK. 383 
 
 two minutes more to decide that it was nobody belonging to 
 Deerbrook. Margaret almost wondered that Edward could talk 
 on about these things as he did — so much in his common 
 tone and manner. But for his ease and steadiness in small 
 talk, she should suppose he was striving to have her left 
 unnoticed, to look down into the water as strenuously as she 
 pleased. She little knew what a training he had had in 
 wearing his usual manner while his heart was wretched. 
 
 " There, now !" cried Fanny, " we have passed the place — 
 the place where cousin Margaret fell in last winter. We 
 wanted to have gone directly over it." 
 
 Margaret looked up, and caught Sydney's awe-struck 
 glance. He had not yet recovered from that day. 
 
 *^ If you had mentioned it sooner," said Margaret, " I could 
 have shown you the very place. We did pass directly over it." 
 
 " Oh, why did you not tell us ? You should have told us." 
 
 Dr. Levitt smiled as he remarked that he thought Miss 
 Ibbotson was likely to be the last person to point out that spot 
 to other people, as well as to forget it herself. Margaret had 
 indeed been far from forgetting it. She had looked down 
 into its depths, and had brought thence something that had 
 been useful to her — something on which she was meditating 
 when Fanny spoke. She had been saved, and doubtless for a 
 purpose. If it was only to suffer for her own part, and to find 
 no rest and peace but in devoting herself to others — this was 
 a high purpose. Maria could live, and was thankful to live, 
 without home, or family, or prospect. But it was not certain 
 that this was all that was to be done and enjoyed in life. 
 Something dreadful had happened : but Philip loved her : he 
 still loved her — ^for nothing but agonized love could have 
 inspired the glance which yet thrilled through her. There 
 was some mistake — some fearful mistake ; and the want of 
 confidence in her which it revealed — the fault of temper in 
 him — opened a long perspective of misery ; but yet, he loved 
 her, and all was not over. At times she felt certain that 
 Mrs. Eowland was at the bottom of this new injury : but it 
 was inconceivable that Philip should be deluded by her, after 
 his warnings, and his jealous fears lest his Margaret should 
 give heed to any of his sister's misrepresentations. No light 
 shone upon the question, from the cloudy sky above, or the 
 clear waters beneath ; but both yielded comfort through that 
 gentle law by which things eminently real — Providence, the 
 mercy of death, and the blessing of godlike life, are presented 
 
884 DEERBROOK. 
 
 or prophesied to the spirit by the shadows amidst which we 
 live. When Margaret spoke, there was a calmness in her 
 voice, so like an echo of comfort in her heart, that it almost 
 made Edward start. 
 
 The party in the other boat were noisier, whether or not 
 they were happier, than those in whose wake they followed. 
 Mr. Walcot had begun to be inspired as soon as the oars had 
 made their first splash, and was now reciting to Sophia some 
 " Lines to the Setting Sun," which he had learned when a 
 little boy, and had never forgotten. He asked her whether it 
 was not a sweet idea — that of the declining sun being like a 
 good man going to his rest, to rise again to-morrow morning. 
 Sophia was fond of poetry that was not too di|Ecult ; and she 
 found little disinclination in herself now to observe her father's 
 directions about being civil to Mr. Walcot. The gentleman 
 perceived that he had won some advantage ; and he perse- 
 vered. He next spoke of the amiable poet, Cowper, and was 
 delighted to find that Miss Grey was acquainted with some of 
 his writings ; that she had at one time been able to repeat his 
 piece on a Poplar Field, and those sweet lines beginning — 
 
 " The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower." 
 
 But she had never heard the passage about " the twanging 
 horn o'er yonder bridge," and " the wheeling the sofa round," 
 and " the cups that cheer but not inebriate ;" so Mr. Walcot 
 repeated them, not, as before, in a high key, and with his face 
 turned up towards the sky, but almost in a whisper, and 
 inclining towards her ear. Sophia sighed, and thought it 
 very beautiful, and was sorry for people who were not 
 fond of poetry. A pause of excited feeling followed, during 
 which they found that the gentlemen were questioning a 
 boatman, who was awaiting his turn to tow, about the swans 
 in the river. 
 
 " The swans have much increased in number this season, 
 surely. Those are all of one family, I suppose — those about 
 the island," observed Mr. Grey. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; they can't abide neighbours. They won't 
 suffer a nest within a mile.'* 
 
 " They fight it out, if they approach too near, eh ? " said 
 Enderby. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; they leave one another for dead. I have lost 
 some of the finest swans under my charge in that way." 
 
 " Do you not part them when they fight ?" asked Walcot. 
 
DEERBROOK. 885 
 
 *^ I would. I always part little boys whom I see fighting in 
 the streets, and tell them they shoiild not quarrel.'* 
 
 " You would repent meddling with the swans, sir, if you 
 tried. "When I knew no better, I meddled once, and I thought 
 I should hardly get away alive. One of the creatures flapped 
 my arm so hard, that I thought more than once it was broken. 
 I would advise you, sir, never to go near swans when they are 
 angry." 
 
 " You will find ample emplo}Tnent for your peace-making 
 talents among the Deerbrook people, Mr. Walcot," said 
 Philip. " They may break your windows, and perhaps your 
 heart ; but they will leave you your eyes and your right arm. 
 For my part, I do not know but I had rather do battle with 
 the swans." 
 
 " Better not, sir," said the boatman. " I would advise you 
 never to go near swans when they are angry." 
 
 *' Look ! " said Sophia, anxiously. *^Is not this one angry ? 
 Yes, it is : I am sure it is ! Did you ever see anything like 
 its feathers ? and it is coming this way . . . it is just 
 upon us ! Oh, Mr. Walcot ! " 
 
 Sophia threw herself over to the other side of the boat, and 
 ]\Ir. Walcot started up, looking very pale, 
 
 " Sit down ! " cried Mr. Grey, in his loudest voice. 
 Mr. Walcot sat down as if shot ; and Sophia crept back to 
 her place, with an anxious glance at the retreating bird. Of 
 course, the two young people were plentifully lectured about 
 shifting their places in a boat without leave, and were asked 
 the question, more easily put than answered, how they should 
 have felt if they had been the means of precipitating the 
 whole party into the water. Then there was a calling out 
 from the other boat to know what was the matter, and an 
 explanation ; so that Sophia and Mr. Walcot had to take 
 refuge in mutual sympathy from universal censure. 
 
 " The birds always quarrel with the boats — boats of this 
 make," explained the boatman ; " because their enemies go out 
 in skifis to take them. They let a lighter pass without taking 
 any notice, while they always scour the water near a skiff ; 
 but I never heard of their flying at a pleasure party in any 
 sort of boat." 
 
 " Where are the black swans that a sea-captain brought to 
 Lady Hunter ? " asked Philip. " I see nothing of them." 
 
 " The male died ; choked, sir, with a crust of bread a 
 stranger gave him. But for that, he would have been now 
 
 c c 
 
286 DEERBROOK. 
 
 in sight, I don't doubt ; for he prospered very well till that 
 day." 
 
 " Of a crust of bread ! What a death ! " exclaimed Philip. 
 ^^ And the other?" 
 
 " She died, sir, by the visitation of God," replied the boat- 
 man, solemnly. 
 
 It was obviously so far from the man's intention that any 
 one should laugh, that nobody did laugh. Maria observed to 
 her next neighbour that, to a keeper of swans, his birds were 
 more companionable, and quite as important, as their human 
 charge to coroners and jurymen. 
 
 The boat got aground amongst the flags, at a point where the 
 tov/-rope had to be carried over a foot-bridge at some little 
 distance inland. One of the men, in attempting to leap the 
 ditch, had fallen in, and emerged dripping with mud. Ben 
 jumped ashore to take his turn at the rope, and Enderby 
 pushed the boat off again with an oar, with some little effort. 
 Mr. Walcot had squeezed Sophia's parasol so hard, during the 
 crisis, as to break its ivory ring. The accident, mortifying 
 as it was to him, did not prevent his exclaiming in a fervour 
 of gratitude, when the vibration of the boat was over, and they 
 were once more afloat — 
 
 " What an exceedingly clever man Mr. Enderby is ! " 
 
 "Extremely clever. I really think he can do every- 
 thing." 
 
 " Ah ! he would not have managed to break the ring of 
 your parasol, as I have been so awkward as to do. But I 
 will see about getting it mended to-morrow. If I were as 
 clever as Mr. Enderby now, I might be able to mend it 
 myself." 
 
 " You will not be able to get another ring in Deerbrook. 
 But never mind. I beg you will not feel uncomfortable about 
 it. I can fasten it with a loop of green ribbon and a button 
 till the next time I go to Blickley. Pray do not feel uncom- 
 fortable." 
 
 " How can I help it ? You say there is no ring in Deerbrook^ 
 Not any sort of ring ? My dear Miss Grey, if I cannot repair 
 this sort of ring " 
 
 Sophia was a good deal flurried. She begged he would 
 think no more of the parasol ; it was no manner of conse- 
 quence. 
 
 " Do not be too good to me," whispered he. " I trust I 
 know my duty better than to take you at your word. From 
 
DEERBROOK. 387 
 
 iny earliest years, my parents have instilled into me the duty 
 of making reparation for the injuries we cause to others." 
 
 Sophia gave him an affecting look of approbation, and asked 
 with much interest where his parents lived, and how many 
 brothers and sisters he had ; and assured him, at last, that she 
 saw he belonged to a charming family. 
 
 " It does not become me to speak proudly of such near rela- 
 tions," said he ; " and one who has so lately left the parental 
 roof is, perhaps, scarcely to be trusted to be impartial ; but I 
 will say for my family tliat, though not perhaps so clever as 
 Mrs. Rowland and Mr. Enderby " 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's sake, do not name them together ! " 
 
 Mr. Walcot saw that he had broken the charm : he 
 hastened to repair the mischief which one unhappy name had 
 <;aused. 
 
 "It is natural, I know, that you should take the most 
 interest in that member of the family who is to be your rela- 
 tion. You consider him in that light, I believe ? " 
 
 " Of course. He is to be our cousin." 
 
 " The parties wish it to be kept a secret, I conclude," said 
 he, glancing at Enderby, and then stretching back as far as 
 he thought safe, to look at the other boat. 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! There is no secret about the matter." 
 
 " I should not have supposed them to be engaged, by their 
 manner to each other. Perhaps it is off," said he, quickly, 
 fixing his eyes upon her. 
 
 " Off! What an odd idea ! Who ever thought of such a 
 thing?" 
 
 " Such things have been heard of as engagements going off, 
 you know." 
 
 Both had raised their voices during the last few eager 
 sentences. Sophia became aware that they had been over- 
 heard, by seeing the deep flush which overspread Miss Young's 
 pale face. Philip looked at Mr. Walcot as if he would have 
 knocked him down, if they had only been on land. The 
 young man took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his 
 white hair, for the sake of something to do : replaced his hat, 
 and shook his head manfully, as if to settle his heart in his 
 breast, as well as his beaver on his crown. He glanced down 
 the river, in hopes that the abbey was not yet too near. It 
 was important to him that the wrath of so extremely clever a 
 man as Mr. Enderby should have subsided before the party 
 went on shoie. 
 
 C C 2 
 
388 DEERBROOK. 
 
 It would have been a strange thing to have known how 
 many of that company were dreading to reach the object of 
 their excursion. A thrill passed through many hearts when 
 the ruins, with their overshadowing ivy, were at length dis- 
 cerned, seated in the meadow to which the boats seemed 
 approaching far too rapidly. In the bustle of landing, how- 
 ever, it was easy for those who wished to avoid one another 
 to do so. 
 
 Most of the guests walked straight up to the abbey 
 walls, to examine all that was left of them. Mrs. Grey 
 and her maids went to the little farm-house which was at 
 one corner of the old building, and chiefly constructed out 
 of its ruins ; and while the parties on whom the cares of 
 hospitality devolved were consulting with the farmer's wife 
 about preparations for tea, any stray guest might search for 
 wood-plants in the skirts of the copse on the hill behind, 
 or talk with the children who were jumping in and out of 
 an old saw-pit in the wood, or if contemplative, might watch 
 the minnows in the brook, which was here running parallel 
 with the river. 
 
 Mrs. Grey obviously considered that Margaret was her 
 peculiar charge. She spoke little to her ; but when Philip 
 was off somewhere, she took her arm, and seemed to insist on 
 her company when she proceeded to her treaty with the dame 
 of the farm. Margaret stood for some time patiently, while 
 they discussed whether it should be tea in the farm-house 
 parlour, which was too small — or tea in the meadow, which 
 might be damp — or tea in the ruins, where there might be 
 draughts, and the water could not be supplied hot. Before 
 this matter was settled, Margaret saw that her friend 
 Maria was seated on a log beside the brook, and gazing 
 wistfully at her. Margaret tried to disengage her arm from 
 Mrs. Grey ; Mrs. Grey objected. 
 
 ^* Wait a moment, my dear. I will not detain you five 
 minute?. You must not go anywhere without me, my dear 
 child." 
 
 Never before had Mrs. Grey spoken to Margaret with 
 tenderness like this. Margaret was resolved to know why 
 now ; but she would first speak to Maria. She said she would 
 return presently : she wished to return : but she must speak 
 to Maria. 
 
 *^ Margaret, what is all this ? " said Maria, in a voice 
 whose agitation she could not control. " Have I been doing 
 
DEERBROOK. 389 
 
 wrong? Am I now thinking what is wrong? I did not 
 know whether to be angry with him or not. I was afraid to 
 speak to him, and afraid not to speak to him. How is it ? 
 tell me, Margaret." 
 
 " I wish I could," said Margaret, in a tone calmer than her 
 friend's. " I am in a miserable dream. I wrote to him this 
 morning." 
 
 "To London?" 
 
 " Yes, to London. He must have been in Deerbrook while 
 I was writing it. I heard from him, as usual, three days ago;, 
 and since then, I have never had a line or a word to prepare 
 me for this. There is some dreadful mistake." 
 
 " The mistake is not his, I fear," said Maria, her eyes 
 filling as she spoke. " The mistake is yours, Margaret, and 
 mine, and everybody's who took a selfish man of the world 
 for a being with a heart and a conscience." 
 
 " You are wrong, Maria. You go too far. You will find 
 that you are unjust. He is as wretched as I am. There is 
 some mistake which may be explained : for he 
 he loves me, I am certain. But I wish I was anywhere but 
 here — it is so wretched ! '* 
 
 " I am afraid I have done wrong in speaking with him at 
 all," said Maria. " I longed for three words with you ; for I 
 did not know what I ought to do. We must learn something 
 before we return. Your friends must act for you. Where is 
 Mr. Hope?" 
 
 " I do not know. Everybody deserts me, I think." 
 
 " I will not. It is little I can do ; but stay by me : do not 
 leave me. I will watch for you." 
 
 Margaret fell into the common error of the wretched, when 
 she said these last words. Her brother was at work on her 
 behalf. Hope had gone towards the ruins with the rest of 
 the party, to keep his eye on Enderby. Sophia hung on his 
 arm, which she had taken that she might relieve herself of 
 some thoughts which she could not so well speak to any one 
 of the strangers of the party. 
 
 ^^ Oh, Mr. Hope!" cried she, " how very much mistaken 
 we have been in Mr. Walcot all this time ! He is a most 
 delightful young man — so refined ! and so domestic ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! You will trust Sydney's judgment more readily 
 another time." 
 
 " Yes, indeed. But I could not help telling you. I know 
 you will not be ofiended ; though some people, perhaps, 
 
390 DEEKBROOK. 
 
 would not venture to speak so to you ; but I know you will 
 excuse it, and not be offended." 
 
 "So far from being offended, I like what you now say far 
 better than the way I have heard you sometimes speak of 
 Mr. Walcot. I have thought before that you did not allow 
 him fair play. Now, in my turn, I must ask you not to be 
 offended with me." 
 
 "Oh, I never could be offended with you ; you are always 
 so good and amiable. Mamma seemed a little vexed when 
 you encouraged Sydney to praise Mr. Walcot : but she will 
 be delighted at your opinion of him, when she finds how 
 accomplished he is — and so refined!" 
 
 " You speak of my opinion. I have no opinion about 
 Mr. Walcot yet, because I do not know him. You must 
 remember that, though all Deerbrook has been busy about 
 him since May, I have scarcely heard him say five words. I 
 do not speak as having any opinion of him, one way or another. 
 How dark this place looks to-day ! — that aisle — how gloomy!" 
 
 " I think it is the weather. There is no sun ; and the ivy 
 tosses about strangely. What do you think of the weather ? " 
 
 " I think we shall have the least possible benefit of the 
 moon. How like a solid wall those clouds look, low down in 
 the sky ! — Here comes Mr. Walcot. Suppose you let him 
 take you after the rest of the party? You will not like the 
 gloom of that aisle where I am going." 
 
 Both Sophia and Mr. Walcot much preferred each other's 
 company to the damp and shadow of the interior of the abbey. 
 They walked off together, and gathered meadow flowers, and 
 admired poetry and poets till all were summoned, and they 
 were compelled to join the groups who were converging from 
 copse, brook, poultry-yard, and cloister, towards the green 
 before the farm-house, where, after all, the long tea-table was 
 spread. i 
 
 The reason of Hope's anxiety to consign Sophia to I 
 Mr. Walcot's charge was, that he saw Enderby pacing the 
 aisle alone with rapid steps, his face hung with gloom as deep 
 as darkened the walls about him. 
 
 " Enderby, are you mad ? " cried Hope, hastening in to 
 him. 
 
 " I believe I am. As you are aware, no man has better 
 cause." 
 
 " I wait your explanation. Till I have it, your conduct is 
 a perfect mystery. To Margaret, or to me for her, you must 
 
DEERBROOK. 39i 
 
 explain yourself, and that immediately. In tlie mean time, I 
 do not know how to address you — how to judge you." 
 
 " Then Mrs. Grey has not told you of our conversation of 
 this morning ? " 
 
 " No," said Hope, his heart suddenly failing him. 
 
 " The whole dreadful story has become known to me ; and 
 I am thankful that it is revealed before it is too late. My 
 sister is sometimes right, however she may be often wrong. 
 She has done me a cruel kindness now. I know all, Hope ; 
 — how you loved Margaret ; — ^liow, when it was too late, you 
 discovered that Margaret loved you ; — how, when I burst in 
 upon you and her, she was (Oh, why did I ever see her 
 again?) she was learning from you the absurd resolution 
 which Mrs. Grey had been urging upon you, by working 
 upon your false sense of honour — a sense of honour of which 
 I am to have none of the benefit, since, after marrying the one 
 sister out of compassion and to please Mrs. Grey, you turn 
 the other over to me — innocent in soul and conscience, I 
 know, but no longer with virgin affections — you give her to 
 me for your mutual security and consolation." 
 
 " Enderby! you are mad," cried Hope, his strength being 
 roused by this extent of accusation from the depression caused 
 by the mixture of truth in the dreadful words Philip had just 
 spoken. " But mad, deluded, or wicked — however you may 
 have been wrought into this state of mind, there are two 
 things which must be said on the instant, and regarded by you 
 in all coming time. These charges, as they relate to myself, 
 had better be spoken of at another opportunity, and when 
 you are in a calmer state of mind : but meanwhile I, as a 
 husband, forbid you to speak lightly of my beloved and 
 honoured wife : and I also charge you, as you revere the 
 purity of Margaret's soul — of the innocent soul and conscience 
 of which you speak — ^that you do not convey to her, by the 
 remotest intimation, any conception of the horrible tale with 
 which some wretch has been deluding you. She never loved 
 any one but you. If you pollute and agonize her imagination 
 with these vile fancies of your sister's, (for from whom else 
 can such inventions come?) remember that you peril the 
 peace of an innocent family ; you poison the friendship of 
 sisters whom bereavement has bound to each other ; and 
 deprive Margaret of all that life contains for her. You will 
 not impair my wife's faith in me, I am confident ; but you 
 may turn Margaret's brain, if you say to her anything like 
 
3^2 DEERBROOK, 
 
 what passed your lips just now. It seems but a short time, 
 Enderby, since we committed Margaret's happiness to your 
 care ; and now I have to appeal on her behalf to your honour 
 and conscience." 
 
 " Mrs. Grey, Mrs. Grey," Enderby repeated, fixing his eyes 
 upon Hope's countenance. 
 
 " The quarrel between you and me shall be attended to in 
 its turn, Enderby. I must first secure my wife and Margaret 
 from any rashness on your part. If you put distrust between 
 them, and pollute their home by the wildest of fancies, it 
 would be better for you that these walls should fall upon us, 
 and bury us both." , 
 
 "Oh, that they would!" cried Philip. "I am sick of 
 living in the midst of treachery. Life is a waste to a man 
 treated as I have been." 
 
 "Answer me, Enderby — answer me this instant," Hope 
 cried, advancing to place himself between Enderby and 
 Margaret, whom he saw now entering the ruin, and rapidly 
 approaching them. 
 
 " You are right," said Enderby, aloud. " You may trust 
 me." 
 
 "Philip, what am I to think?" said Margaret, walking 
 quite up to him, and looking intently in his face. " I hardly 
 know whether we are living, and in our common world." 
 Hope shuddered to see the glance she cast round the dreary 
 place. Philip half turned away and did not speak. 
 
 " Why will not you speak? What reason can there be for 
 this silence ? When you last left me, you feared your sister 
 might make mischief between us ; and then I promised that if 
 such a thing could happen as that I should doubt you, I 
 would tell you my doubt as soon as I was aware of it myself ; 
 and now you are angry with me — you would strike me dead 
 this moment, if you dared — and you will not speak." 
 
 " Go now, Margaret," said Hope, gently. " He cannot 
 speak to you now : take my word for it that he cannot." 
 
 " I will not go. I will take nobody's word. What are 
 you, Edward, between me and him ? It is my right to know 
 how I have offended him. I require no more than my right. 
 I do not ask him to love me ; nor need I, for he loves me 
 still — I know it and feel it." 
 
 *'It is true," said Enderby, mournfully gazing upon her 
 Jigitated countenance, but retreating as he gazed. 
 
 " I do not ask to be yours, any further than I am now — 
 
DEERBROOK. 393 
 
 now when our affections are true, and our word is broken. 
 But I do insist upon your esteem, as far as I have ever 
 possessed it. I have done nothing to forfeit it ; and I demand 
 your reasons for supposing that I have." 
 
 " Not now," said Philip, faintly, shrinking in the presence 
 of the two concerning whom he entertained so painful a 
 complexity of feelings. There stood Hope, firm as the pillar 
 behind him. There stood Margaret, agitated, but unabashed 
 as the angels that come in dreams. Was it possible that 
 these two had loved? Could they then stand before him 
 thus? But Mrs. Grey — what she admitted! — this, in con- 
 firmation with other evidence, could not be cast aside. Yet 
 PhiHp dared not speak, fearing to injure beyond reparation. 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, not now!" he faintly repeated. "My 
 heart is almost broken ! Give me time." 
 
 " You have given me none. Let that pass, however. But 
 I cannot give you time. I cannot hold out — who can hold 
 out, under injurious secrecy — under mocking injustice — 
 under torturing doubt from the one who is pledged to the 
 extreme of confidence? Let us once understand one another, 
 and we will never meet more, and I will endure whatever 
 must be endured, and we shall have time — Oh, what a weary 
 time ! — to learn to submit. But not till you have given me 
 the confidence you owe — the last I shall ever ask from you — 
 will I endure one moment's suspense. I will not give you 
 time." 
 
 " Yes, Margaret, you will — you must," said Hope. "It is 
 hard, very hard ; but Enderby is so far right." 
 
 " God help me, for every one is against me ! " cried 
 Margaret, sinking down among the long grass, and laying her 
 throbbing head upon the cold stone. " He comes without 
 notice to terrify me by his anger — me whom he loves above 
 all the world ; he leaves my heart to break with his unkind- 
 ness in the midst of all these indifferent people ; he denies me 
 the explanation I demand ; and you — you of all others, tell 
 me he is right ! I will do without protection, since the two 
 who owe it forsake me : but God is my witness how you 
 wrong me." 
 
 "Enderby, why do not you go?" said Hope, sternly. 
 Almost before the words were spoken, Enderby had disap- 
 peared at the further end of the aisle. 
 
 " Patience, Margaret ! A little patience, my dear sister. 
 All may be well ; all must be well for such as you ; but I 
 
394 DEERBROOK. 
 
 mean that I trust all may be repaired. He has been wrought 
 upon by some bad influence -." 
 
 " Then all is over. If, knowing me as he did . But, 
 
 Edward, do not speak to me. Go : leave me ! I cannot speak 
 another word now ." 
 
 " I cannot leave you here. This is no place for you. Think 
 of your sister, Margaret. You will do nothing to alarm her. 
 If she were to see you now ." 
 
 Margaret raised herself, took her brother's arm, and went 
 out into the air. No one was near. 
 
 " Now leave me, brother. I must be alone. I will walk 
 here, and think what I must do. But how cai^ I know, when 
 all is made such a mystery ? Oh, brother, tell me what I 
 ought to do ! " 
 
 " Calm yourself now. Command yourself, for this day. 
 You, innocent as you are, may well do so. If I had such a 
 conscience as yours — if I were only in your place, Margaret — 
 if I had nothing to bear but wrongs, I would thank Heaven 
 as Heaven was never yet thanked." 
 
 "You, Edward!" 
 
 " If the universe heaped injuries upon me, they should not 
 crush me. If I had a self-respect like yours, I would lift my 
 head to the stars." 
 
 "You, Edward 1" 
 
 " Margaret, wretched as you are, your misery is nothing to 
 mine. Have pity upon me, and command yourself. For my 
 sake and your sister's, look and act like yourself, and hope 
 peacefully, trust steadily, that all will yet be right." 
 
 " It cannot be that you have w^ronged me, brother. You 
 sent him from me, I know ; and that was unkind : but you 
 could never really wrong any one." 
 
 " I never meant it. I honour you, and would protect you 
 — I will protect you as a brother should. Only do not say 
 again that you are forsaken. It would break our hearts to 
 hear you say that again." 
 
 " I will not. And I will try to be for to-day as if nothing 
 had happened : but I promise no more than to endeavour — 
 I am so bewildered !" 
 
 " Then I will leave you. I shall not be far off. No one 
 shall come to disturb you." 
 
 There is, perhaps, no mood of mind in which it is impossible 
 for the sweet ministrations of nature to be accepted. Even 
 now, as Margaret stood on the river-bank, the influences of 
 
DEEKBROOK. B9& 
 
 the scene flowed m upoi^ her. The operations of thought 
 were quickened, and she was presently convinced that the 
 next time she saw Philip she should learn all — she might even 
 find him repentant for having been weak and credulous. 
 Edward's self-reproach was the most inexplicable mystery of 
 all. In his brotherly grief he had no doubt exaggerated some 
 slight carelessness of speech, some deficiency of watchfulness 
 and zeal. Hester must never know of these sorrowful things 
 that Edward had said. There was substantial comfort in 
 other of his words. It was true that she was only wronged. 
 In her former season of wretchedness, it had been far worse : 
 there was not only disappointment, but humiliation ; loss, not 
 only of hope, but of self-respect. Now, she was innocent of 
 any wrong towards Philip and herself ; and, in this conscious- 
 ness, any lot must be supportable. While thus musing, ^he 
 walked slowly along, sighing away some of her oppression. 
 Her heart and head throbbed less. Her eye was caught by 
 the little fish that leaped out of the water after the evening 
 flies : she stood to watch them. The splash of a water-rat 
 roused her ear, and she turned to track him across the stream. 
 Then she saw a fine yellow iris, growing among the flags on 
 the very brink, and she must have it for Maria. To reach it 
 without a wetting required some skill and time. She tried 
 this way — she tried that ; but the flower was just out of 
 reach. She went to the next alder-bush for a bough, which 
 answered her purpose ; and she had drawn the tuft of flags 
 towards her, and laid hold of the iris, when Sydney shouted 
 her name from a distance, and summoned her to tea. 
 
 Maria was seated at the table, amidst the greater proportion 
 of the party, when Margaret arrived, escorted by Sydney, and 
 followed at a little distance by Mr. Hope. Never had flower 
 teen more welcome to Maria than this iris, offered to her with 
 a smile. Pale as the face was, and heavy as were the eyes, 
 there was a genuine smile. Maria had kept a place for 
 Margaret, which she took, though Mrs. Grey kept gazing at 
 her, and assured her that she must sit beside her. Mr. 
 Enderby was not to be seen. Frequent proclamation was 
 made for him ; but he did not appear ; and it was settled that 
 if he preferred wood-ranging to good cheer, he must have his 
 own way. 
 
 Tea passed off* well enough. Dr. Levitt and Mr. Hope went 
 over the subject of the abbey again, for the benefit of the 
 rearward portion of the company, who had not heard it before. 
 
396 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Mr. Rowland and the farmer discussed the bad crops. Sophia 
 spilled her tea, from Mr. Walcot having made her laugh when 
 she was carrying the cup to her lips ; and Sydney collected a 
 portion of every good thing that was on the table for Mr. 
 Enderby to enjoy on his return. 
 
 Mr. Enderby did not return till it was quite time to be 
 gone. Mr. Grey had long been hurrying the servants in their 
 business of packing up plates and spoons. He even offered 
 help, and repeated his cautions to his guests not to stray 
 beyond call. The farmer shook his head as he looked up at 
 the leaden-coloured sky, across which black masses of cloud, 
 like condensed smoke, were whirled, and prophesied a stormy 
 night. There was no time to be lost. The boatmen came 
 bustling out of the farm-kitchen, still munching ; and they 
 put the boats in trim with all speed, while the ladies stood on 
 the bank quite ready to step in. Mrs. Grey assorted the two 
 parties, still claiming Margaret for her own boat, but allowing 
 Maria to enter instead of Sydney. Hope chose to remain 
 with them ; so Dr. Levitt exchanged with Sophia. Mr. 
 Walcot thought there was a lion in his path either way — 
 Mr. Hope, his professional rival, in one boat, and Mr. Enderby, 
 whom he fancied he had offended, in the other. He adhered 
 to Sophia, as a sure ally. 
 
 " Mr. Enderby ! Where can he be ?" was the exclamation, 
 when all were seated, and the boatmen stood ready to start, 
 with the tow-rope about their shoulders ; when the dame of 
 the farm had made her parting curtsey, and had stepped a few 
 paces backward, after her swimming obeisance. The farmer 
 was running over the meadow towards the copse in search of 
 the missing gentleman, and Sydney would have sprung out of 
 the boat to join in the chase, when his father laid a strong 
 hand on him, and said that one stray member of a party on a 
 threatening evening was enough. He could not have i)eople 
 running after one another till the storm came on. Mr. Rowland 
 was full of concern, and would have had Sydney throw away 
 the basketful of good things he had hoarded for his friend. 
 If Enderby chose to absent himself for his own enjoyments, 
 Mr. Rowland said, he could not expect to share other people's. 
 Plope was standing up in the first boat, gazing anxiously 
 round, and Margaret's eyes were fixed on his face, when every- 
 body cried out at once, " Here he is ! here he comes !" and 
 Enderby was seen leaping through a gap in the farthest hedge, 
 and bounding over the meadow. He sprang into the boat 
 
DEERBROOK. 397 
 
 with a force which set it rocking, and made the ladies catch 
 at whatever could be grasped. 
 
 " Your hat !" exclaimed several voices. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Enderby, where is your hat?" cried Sydney, 
 laughing. Enderby clapped his hand on the top of his head, 
 and declared he did not know. He had not missed his hat 
 till this moment. 
 
 Hope called from the first boat to the farmer, and asked 
 him to look in the aisle of the abbey for the gentleman's hat. 
 It was brought thence ; and Fanny and Mary laughed at 
 Mr. Hope for being such a good guesser as to fancy where 
 Mr. Enderby's hat might be, when Mr. Enderby did not know 
 himself. The moment the hat was tossed into the lap of its 
 o^vner, Mr. Grey's voice was heard shouting to the men — 
 
 " Start off, and get us home as soon as you can." 
 
 The men gave a glance at the sky, and set forth at a smart 
 pace. Mr. Grey saw that the umbrellas lay at his hand, 
 ready for distribution, and advised each lady to draw her 
 cloak about her, as the air felt to him damp and chill. 
 
 A general flatness being perceptible, some one proposed 
 that somebody else should sing. All declined at first, how- 
 ever, except Maria, whose voice was always most ready when 
 it was most difficult to sing — when the party was dull, or 
 when no one else would begin. She wanted to prevent 
 Margaret's being applied to, and she sang, once and again, on 
 the slightest hint. Sophia had no music-books, and could not 
 sing without the piano, as every one knew beforehand she 
 would say. Mrs. Grey dropped a tear to the memory of 
 Mrs. Enderby, whose ballad was never wanting on such 
 occasions as these. Sydney concluded that it was the same 
 thought which made Mr. Enderby bury his head in his hat 
 between his knees while Miss Young was singing. It could 
 not surely be all from shame at having kept the party waiting. 
 It was with some uncertainty and awe that he whispered in 
 his friend's ear — 
 
 " Don't you think you could sing your new song that cousin 
 Margaret is so fond of ? Do : we are all as flat as flounders, 
 and everybody will be asleep presently if we don't do some- 
 thing. Can't you get over a thing or two, and sing for us ? 
 I am sure I would if I only could." 
 
 Enderby shook his head without raising it from his 
 knees. 
 
 Mr. Walcot had no idea of refusing when he was asked. 
 
898 DEERBROOK. 
 
 He could sing the Canadian Boat Song ; but lie was afraid 
 they might have heard it before. 
 
 " Never mind that. Let us have it," said everybody. 
 
 " But there should be two : it is a duet, properly, you 
 know." 
 
 Sophia believed she could sing that — just that — without the 
 piano. She would try the first part, if he would take the 
 second. Mr. Grey thought to himself that his daughter seemed 
 to have adopted his hint about civility to his guests very 
 dutifully. But Mr. Walcot could sing only the first party 
 because he had a brother at home who always took the 
 second. He could soon learn it, he had no dqubt, but he did 
 not know it at present : so he had the duet all to himself, up- 
 lifting a slender voice in a very odd key, which Fanny and 
 Mary did not quite know what to make of. They looked 
 round into all the faces in their boat to see whether anyone 
 was going to laugh : but everybody was immoveable, except 
 that Sophia whispered softly to Miss Young, that Mr. Walcot 
 was a most delightful young man, after all — so accomplished 
 and so refined! 
 
 Mr. Walcot's song ended with a quaver, from a large, coldy 
 startling drop of rain falling on his nose, as he closed his eyes 
 to draw out his last note. He blushed at having started and 
 flinched from a drop of rain, and so spoiled his conclusion. 
 Some of his hearers supposed he had broken down, till assured 
 by others that he had finished. Then everybody thanked him, 
 and agreed that the rain was really coming on. 
 
 There were now odd fleeces of white cloud between the lead 
 colour and the black. They were hurried about in the sky, 
 evidently by counter currents. The river was almost inky in 
 its hue, and every large drop made its own splash and circle. 
 Up went the umbrellas in both boats ; but almost before they 
 were raised, some were turned inside out, and all were dragged 
 down again. The gust had come, and brought with it a pelt 
 of hail — large hailstones, which fell in at Fanny's collar 
 behind, while she put down her head to save her face, and 
 which almost took away Mary's breath, by coming sharp and 
 fast against her cheeks. Then somebody descried a gleam of 
 lightning quivering in the grey roof of the sky ; and next, 
 ^very one saw the tremendous flash which blazed over the 
 surface of the water, all round about. How Mr. Walcot 
 would have quavered if he had been singing still! But a 
 very different voice was now to be heard — the hoarse thunder 
 
DEERBROOK. o99 
 
 rolling up, like advancing artillery ; first growling, then 
 roaring, and presently crashing and rattling overhead. The 
 boatmen's thoughts were for the ladies, exposed as they were, 
 without the possibility of putting up umbrellas. It felt 
 almost dark to those in the boats, as they cut rapidly — more 
 and more rapidly — through the water which seethed about 
 the bows. The men were trotting, running. Presently it 
 was darker still : the bent heads were raised, and it appeared 
 that the boats w^ere brought to, under the wide branches of 
 two oaks which overhung the water. The woods were reached 
 already. 
 
 " Shelter for the ladies, sir," said the panting boatmen, 
 touching their hats, and then taking them off to wipe their 
 brows. Mr. Grey looked doubtful, stood up to survey, and 
 then asked if there was no farm, no sort of house anywhere 
 near. None nearer than yon village where the spire was, and 
 that was very little nearer than Deerbrook itself. The ladies 
 who were disposed to say anything observed that they were 
 very well as they were : the tree kept off a great deal of the 
 hail, and the wind was not felt quite so much as on the open 
 river. Should they sit still, or step on shore ? Sit still, by 
 all means. Packed closely as they were, they would be 
 warmer and drier than standing on shore ; and they were now 
 ready to start homewards as soon as the storm should abate. 
 It did not appear that there was any abatement of the storm 
 in five minutes, nor in a quarter of an hour. The young 
 people looked up at the elder ones, as if asking what to expect. 
 Several of the party happened to be glancing in the same 
 direction with the boatmen, when they saw a shaft of lightning 
 strike perpendicularly from the upper range of cloud upon the 
 village spire, and light it up. 
 
 "Lord bless us!" exclaimed Mr. Grey, as the spire sent its 
 smoke up like a little volcano. 
 
 Fanny burst out a crying, but was called a silly child, and 
 desired not to make a noise. Everyone was silent enough 
 now ; most hiding their faces, that they might not see what 
 happened next. Half way between the river and the smoking 
 church, in the farther part of the opposite meadow, was a fine 
 spreading oak, under which, as might just be seen, a flock of 
 sheep were huddled together for shelter. Another fiery dart 
 shot down from the dark canopy, upon the crown of this oak. 
 The tree quivered and fell asunder, its fragments lying in a 
 circle. There was a rush forth of such of the sheep as escaped, 
 
400 ■ DEERBROOK. 
 
 and a rattle of thunder which would have overpowered any 
 ordinary voices, but in the midst of which a scream was heard 
 from the first boat. It was a singular thing that, in talking 
 over this storm in after-days at home, no lady would own this 
 scream. 
 
 <' I'm thinking, sir," said Ben, as soon as he could make 
 himself heard, " we are in a bad place here, as the storm 
 seems thickening this way. We had best get from under the 
 trees, for all the hail." 
 
 " Do so, Ben; and make haste." 
 
 When the first boat was brought a little out into the stream, 
 in order to clear it of the flags, Margaret became aware that 
 Philip was gazing earnestly at her from the other boat. She 
 alone of the ladies had sat with face up-raised, watching the 
 advance of the storm. She alone, perhaps, of all the company, 
 had enjoyed it with pure relish. It had animated her mind, 
 and restored her to herself When she saw Philip leaning 
 back on his elbow, almost over the edge of the boat, to con- 
 template her, she returned his gaze with such an expression of 
 mournful wonder and composed sorrow, as moved him to draw 
 his hat over his eyes, and resolve to look no more. 
 
 The storm abated, but did not cease. Eain succeeded to 
 hail, lightning still hovered in the air, and thunder continued 
 to growl afar off. But the umbrellas could now be kept up, 
 and the ladies escaped with a slight wetting. 
 
 Before the party dispersed from the wharf, Hope sought 
 Philip, and had a few moments' conversation with him, the 
 object of which was to agree upon further discourse on the 
 morrow. Hope and Margaret then accompanied Maria to her 
 lodging, and walked thence silently home. 
 
 Hester was on the watch for them — a little anxious lest they 
 should have suffered from the storm, and ready with some 
 reflections on the liabilities of parties of pleasure ; but yet 
 blithe and beaming. Her countenance fell when she saw her 
 sister's pale face. 
 
 " Margaret ! how you look ! " cried she. " Cold, wet, and 
 weary : and ill, too, I am sure." 
 
 " Cold, wet, and weary," Margaret admitted. " Let me 
 make haste to bed. And do you make tea for Edward, and 
 send some up to me. Good night ! I cannot talk now. 
 Edward will tell you." 
 
 "Tell me what?" Hester asked her husband, when she 
 found that Margaret had really rather have no attendance. 
 
DEERBROOK. 401 
 
 " That Margaret is unhappy, love, from some misunder- 
 standing with Enderby. Some busy devil — I have no doubt 
 \ the same that has caused so much mischief already — has 
 Icome between him and Margaret." 
 
 He then told the story of Philip's sudden appearance, and 
 bis conduct throughout the day, omitting all hint that any 
 conversation with himself had taken place. He hoped, in 
 conclusion, that all would be cleared up, and the mutual 
 faith of the lovers restored. 
 
 Hester thought this impossible. If Philip could be preju- 
 diced against Margaret by any man or woman on earth, or 
 any devil in hell, there must be an instability in his character 
 to which Margaret's happiness must not be committed. Hope 
 was not sure of this. There were circumstances of tempta- 
 tion, modes of delusion, under which the faith of a seraph 
 might sink. But worse still, Hester said, was his conduct of 
 to-day, torturing Margaret's affection, wounding her pride, 
 insulting her cruelly, in the presence of all those among whom 
 she lived. Hope was disposed to suspend his judgment even 
 upon this. Enderby was evidently half- frantic. His love 
 was undiminished, it was clear. It was the soul of all the 
 madness of to-day. Margaret had conducted herself nobly. 
 Her innocence, her faith, must triumph at last. They 
 might bring her lover to her side again, Hester had little 
 doubt: but she did not see what could now render Philip 
 worthy of Margaret. This had always been her apprehen- 
 sion. How, after the passions of this day, could they ever 
 again be as they had been? And tears, as gentle and 
 sorrowful as Margaret had ever shed for her, now rained 
 from Hester's eyes. 
 
 " Be comforted, my Hester — my generous wife, be com- 
 forted. You live for us — you are our best blessing, my love, 
 and we can never bear to see you suffer for her. Be com- 
 forted, and wait. Trust that the retribution of this will fall 
 where it ought ; and that will never be upon our Margaret. 
 Pray that the retribution may fall where it ought, and that 
 its bitterness may be intense as the joy which Margaret and 
 you deserve." 
 
 " I never knew you so revengeful, Edward," said his wife, 
 taking the hand he held before his eyes. " Shall I admonish 
 you for once ? Shall I give you a reproof for wishing woe to 
 our enemies ? Shall I remind you to forgive — fully, freely, as 
 you hope to be forgiven ? " 
 
 D D 
 
402 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Yes, love ; anything for the hope of being forgiven.'* 
 " Ah ! how deep your sorrow for Margaret is ! Grief 
 always humbles us in our own eyes. Such humiliation is the 
 test of sorrow. Bless you, love, that you grieve so for 
 Margaret!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE NEXT DAY. 
 
 The hours of a sleepless night were not too long for Hope to 
 revolve what he must say and do on the morrow. He must 
 meet Enderby ; and the day would probably decide Mar- 
 garet's fate. That this decision would implicate his own 
 happiness or misery was a subordinate thought. It was not 
 till after he had viewed Margaret's case in every light in which 
 apprehension could place it, that he dwelt upon what the suffer- 
 ing to himself must be of seeing Margaret, day by day, living 
 on, in meek patience, amidst the destruction of hope and 
 happiness which his attachment had caused. When he did 
 dwell upon it, his heart sank within him. All that had made 
 him unhappy seemed of late to have passed away. For many 
 months he had seen Margaret satisfied in her attachment to 
 another ; he had seen Hester coming out nobly from the 
 trial of adversity, in which all her fine qualities had been 
 exercised, and her weaknesses almost subdued. She had been 
 not only the devoted wife, but patient and generous towards 
 her foes, full of faith and cheerfulness in her temper, and 
 capable of any degree of self-denial in the conduct of her 
 daily life. She had been of late all that in the days of their 
 engagement — in the days when he had dealt falsely with his 
 own mind — ^he had trusted she would be. A friendship, 
 whose tenderness was life enough for them both, had grown 
 up in his soul, and he had been at peace. It had been a 
 subject of incessant thankfulness to him, that the evil of what 
 he could now hardly consider as a false step had been con- 
 fined to himself — that his struggles, his strivings, the dreadful 
 solitary conflicts of a few months, had not been in vain ; that 
 he had fulfilled the claims of both relations, and marred no 
 one's peace. Now, he was plunged into the struggle again. 
 The cause was at an end ; but consequences, of perhaps end- 
 less wretchedness, remained to be borne. His secret was 
 
DEERBKOOK. 403" 
 
 known, and made the basis of untruths to which the whole 
 happiness of his household, so victoriously struggled for, so 
 caretLilly cherished by him, and so lately secured, must be 
 sacrificed. Again and again he turned from the fearful visions 
 of Margaret cast off, of the estrangement of the sisters, of the 
 possible loss of some of their fair fame — from these harrowing 
 thoughts he turned again and again to consider what must be 
 done. — The most certain thing was, that he must not byword, 
 look, pause, or admission, countenance to Enderby himself 
 the supposition that he had not preferred Hester at the time 
 she became his wife. In the present state of their attachment^ 
 this was the merest justice to her. Nothing that it was in 
 Mrs. Grey's power to reveal bore a relation to any time later 
 than his early, and it might be assumed superficial, intercourse 
 with the sisters : and, as far as he knew, no one else, unless 
 it were Frank (by this time in possession of the facts), had 
 ever conceived of the true state of the case. He must decline 
 all question about his domestic relations, except as far as 
 Margaret was concerned. Beyond this, he would allow of no 
 inquisition, and would forbid all speculation. For Margaret's 
 sake, no less than Hester's, this was necessary. If she should 
 ever be Enderby's wife, it was of the utmost importance that 
 Enderby should not, in his most secret soul, hold this infor- 
 mation, however strongly he might be convinced that Mar- 
 garet was in ignorance of it, and had never loved any but 
 himself. There must be no admission to Enderby of that 
 which had been truth, but which would become untruth by 
 being first admitted now. There must be entire silence upon 
 the whole subject of himself. — As to Margaret, he did not 
 see what could be done, but to declare his true and perfect 
 belief that she had never loved any but Enderby. But alas I 
 what chance was there of this testimony being received ; the 
 very point of Enderby's accusation being, that they both 
 looked, perhaps in self-delusion, at the connection with him as 
 their security from the consequences of Hope's weakness in. 
 marrying Hester? It was all confused — all wretched — aU 
 nearly hopeless. Margaret would be sacrificed without know- 
 ing why — would have her heart wrung with the sense of in- 
 jury in addition to her woe. 
 
 From reflections and anticipations, Hope rose early to the 
 great duty of the day. He told Hester that he was going to 
 meet Enderby in the meadows, to receive a full explanation 
 of his conduct of the preceding day ; and that it was probable 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 DEERBROOK. 
 
 that he should bring home whatever tidings it might be Mar- 
 garet's lot to hear. 
 
 He found, during the long and anxious conversation in the 
 meadow, that he had need of all the courage, calmness, and 
 discretion he could command. It was a cruel trial to one 
 whose wont it had been from his childhood to converse in 
 '^ simplicity and godly sincerity," — it was a cruel trial to hear 
 evidence upon evidence brought of what he knew to have been 
 fact, and to find connected with this, revolting falsehoods, 
 against which he could only utter the indignation of his soul. 
 When he afterwards reflected how artfully the facts and false- 
 hoods were connected, he could no longer wonder at Enderby's 
 convictions, nor at the conduct which proceeded from them. 
 There was in Enderby this morning no undue anger, no con- 
 tempt which could excite anger in another ; — no doubt cast 
 by him upon Hope's honour, or Margaret's purity of mind, as 
 the world esteems purity. However this might have been 
 before their meeting of yesterday, it was now clear that, 
 though immoveably convinced of their mutual attachment, he 
 supposed it to have been entertained as innocently as it was 
 formed ; — that Hope had been wrought upon by Mrs. Grey, 
 and by a consciousness of Hester's love ; that he had married 
 from a false sense of honour, and then discovered his mistake ; 
 — that he had striven naturally, and with success, to persuade 
 himself that Margaret loved his friend, while Margaret had made 
 the same effort, and would have married that friend for security 
 and with the hope of rest in a home of her own, with one 
 whom she might possibly love and to whom she was bound by 
 his love of herself. 
 
 As for the evidence on which his belief was founded, there 
 seemed to be no end to it. Hope could do little but listen to 
 the detail. If he had been sitting in judgment on the conduct 
 of an imputed criminal, he would have wrestled with the 
 evidence obstinately and long ; but what could he do, when it 
 was the lover of his sister-in-law who was declaring why his 
 confidence in her was gone, and he must resume his plighted 
 faith? None but those who had done the mischief could 
 repair it ; and least of all, Hope himself. He could only make 
 one single, solemn protestation of his belief that Margaret 
 had loved none but Enderby, and deny the truth of every 
 statement that was inconsistent with this. 
 
 The exhibition of the evidence showed how penetrating, how 
 sagacious, as well as how industrious, malice can be. There 
 
DEERBROOIC. 405 
 
 seemed to be no circumstance connected with the sisters and 
 their relation to Mr. Hope, that Mrs. Rowland had not laid 
 hold of. Mrs. Grey's visit to Hope during his convalescence ; 
 his subsequent seclusion, and his depression when he re- 
 appeared — all these were noted ; and it was these which sent 
 Enderby to Mrs. Grey for an explanation, Avhich she had not 
 had courage or judgment to withhold — which, indeed, she had 
 been hurried into giving. She had admitted all that had 
 passed between herself and Mr. Hope — his consternation at 
 finding that it was Hester who loved him, and whom he must 
 marry, and the force with which Mrs. Grey had felt herself 
 obliged to urge that duty upon him. Enderby connected with 
 this his own observations and feelings at the time ; his last 
 summer's conviction that it was Margaret whom Hope loved ; 
 his rapturous surprise on hearing of the engagement being to 
 Hester ; and his wonder at the coldness with which his friend 
 received his congratulations. He now thought that he must have 
 been doomed to blindness not to have discerned the truth through 
 all this. — Then there was his own intrusion during the interview 
 which Hope had with Margaret ; — their countenances had 
 haunted him ever since. Hope's was full of constraint and 
 anxiety ; — he was telling his intentions : — Margaret's face was 
 downcast, and her attitude motionless ; she was hearing her 
 doom. — Then, after Hope was married, all Deerbrook was aware 
 of his failure of spirits ; and of Margaret's no less. It was a 
 matter of common remark, that there must be something amiss 
 • — that all was not right at home. They had, then, doubtless dis- 
 covered that the attachment was mutual ; and they might well 
 be wretched. — Those who ought to know best had been con- 
 vinced of this at an earlier stage of the intercourse. 
 Mrs. Rowland had met at Cheltenham a young officer, an 
 intimate friend of Mr. Hope's family, who would not be 
 persuaded that it was not to the younger sister that Mr. Hope 
 was married. He declared that he knew, from the highest 
 authority, that Hope was attached to Margaret, and that the 
 attachment was returned. It was not till Mrs. Rowland had 
 shown him the announcement of the marriage in an old 
 Blickley newspaper, which she happened to have used in 
 packing her trunk, that he would believe that it was the elder 
 sister who was Hope's wife. — There was one person, however, 
 who had known the whole, Enderby said ; perhaps she was the 
 only person who had been aware of it all : and that was his mother. 
 In answer to Hope's exclamations upon the absurdity of this, 
 
406 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Enderby said, that a thousand circumstances rose up to con- 
 firm Mrs. Eowland's statement that her mother had known all, 
 and had learned it from Margaret herself. Margaret had con- 
 fided in her old friend as in a mother ; and nothing could be 
 more natural — nothing probably more necessary to an over- 
 burdened heart. This explained his mother's never having 
 shown his letters to Margaret — the person for whom, ^s she 
 knew, they were chiefly written. This explained the words 
 of concern about the domestic troubles of the Hopes, which ^ 
 now and then during her long confinement, she had dropped 
 in Phoebe's hearing, and even in her letters to her son. She 
 had repeatedly regretted that Margaret would, not leave her 
 sister's house, and return to Birmingham — saying that income 
 and convenience were not to be thought of for a moment, in 
 comparison with some other considerations. In fact she had 
 — it was weakness, perhaps, but one not to be too hardly 
 judged under the circumstances — she had revealed the whole 
 to her daughter under injunctions to secrecy, which had been 
 strictly observed while she lived, and broken now only for a 
 brother's sake, and after a long conflict between obligations 
 apparently contradictory. When, from her death-bed, she had 
 welcomed Margaret as a daughter-in-law, it was in the grati- 
 tude which it was natural for a mother to feel, on finding the 
 attachment of an only son at length appreciated and rewarded. 
 When she had implored Mrs. Kowland to receive Margaret 
 as a sister, and had seen them embrace, her generous spirit 
 had rejoiced in her young friend's conquest of an unhappy 
 passion ; and she had meant to convey to Priscilla an admonition 
 to bury in oblivion what had become known to her, and to for- 
 give Margaret for having loved any one but Philip. Priscilla 
 could not make a difficulty at such a time, and in such a 
 presence ; she had submitted to the embrace, but her soul 
 had recoiled from it ; she had actually fainted under the 
 shock : and ever since, she had declared to her brother, with 
 a pertinacity which he had been unable to understand — 
 which, indeed, had looked like sheer audacity, that he would 
 never marry Margaret Ibbotson. Philip was now convinced 
 that he had done his sister much wrong. Her temper and 
 conduct were in some instances indefensible ; but since he 
 had learned all this, and become aware how much of what he 
 had censured had been said and done out of affection for 
 himself, he had been disposed rather to blame her for the 
 lateness of her explanations, than for any excess of zeal on his 
 
DEERBROOK. 407 
 
 account — zeal which he admitted had carried her a point or 
 two beyond the truth in some of her aims. These state- 
 ments about the condition of Margaret's mind were borne out 
 by circumstances known to others. When Margaret had 
 been rescued from drowning, Hope was heard to breathe, as he 
 bent over her, " Oh God ! my Margaret ! " and it was observed 
 that she rallied instantly on hearing the exclamation, and 
 repaid him with a look worthy of his words. This had been 
 admitted to Enderby himself by the one who heard it, and 
 who might be trusted to speak of it to no one else. Then, it 
 was known that when Margaret was in the habit of taking 
 long walks alone, towards the end of the winter, she was met 
 occasionally by her brother-in-law in his rides — naturally 
 enough. Their conversation had been overheard, once at 
 least, when they consulted about the peace of their home — 
 how much of a certain set of circumstances they should 
 communicate to Mrs. Hope, and whether or not Mr. Enderby 
 was engaged to a lady abroad. Without these testimonies, 
 Enderby felt that he had only to recur to his own experience 
 to be convinced that Margaret had never loved him, though 
 striving to persuade herself, as well as him, that she did. 
 The calmness with which she had received his avowals that 
 first evening last winter, struck him with admiration at the 
 time : he now understood it better. He wondered he had 
 felt so little till now the coldness of the tone of her corre- 
 spondence. The first thing which awakened him to an 
 admission of it, was her refusal to marry him in the spring. 
 She shrank, as she avowed, from leaving her present residence 
 — she might have said, from quitting those she loved best. 
 It was clear that in marrying she was to make a sacrifice to 
 duty — to secure innocence and safety for herself and those 
 who were dearest to her ; and that, when the time drew near, 
 she recoiled from the effort. Enderby was thankful that all 
 had become clear in time for her release and his own. 
 
 The horror with which Hope listened to this was beyond 
 what he had prepared himself for — beyond all that he had yet 
 endured. Enderby seemed quite willing to hear him ; but 
 what could be said ? Only that which he had planned. His 
 protest against the truth of certain of the statements, and the 
 justice of some of the constructions of facts, was strong. He 
 declared that, in his perfect satisfaction with his domestic 
 state, his happiness with his beloved and honoured wife, he 
 would admit of no question aboiit his family affairs, as far as 
 
408 DEERBROOK. 
 
 he and Hester were concerned. He denied at once and for 
 ever, all that went to show that Margaret had for a moment 
 regarded him otherwise than as a friend and a brother ; and 
 declared that the bare mention to her of the idea which was 
 uppermost in Enderby's mind would be a cruelty and insult 
 which could never be retrieved. He was not going to plead 
 for her. Bitterly as she must suffer, it was from a cause 
 which lay too deep for cure — from a want of faith in her in 
 one who ought to know her best, but from whom she would 
 be henceforth best separated, if what he had been saying was 
 his deliberate belief and judgment. — Enderby declaring that 
 it was so, and that it was his intention to release Margaret 
 from her engagement, gently and carefully, without useless 
 explanation and without reproach, there was nothing more to 
 be said or done. Hope prophesied, in parting, that, of all the 
 days of Enderby's life, this was perhaps that of wdiich he 
 would one day most heartily repent ; and while he sjDoke, he 
 felt that this same day was the one which he might himself 
 find the most difficult to endure. He left Enderby still pacing 
 the meadow, and walked homewards with a heart weighed 
 down with grief — a grief which yet he would fain have in- 
 creased to any degree of intensity by taking Margaret's upon 
 himself. 
 
 Margaret was at the breakfast-table with her sister when he 
 entered. Her eyes were swollen, but her manner was gentle 
 and composed. She looked up at Edward, when he appeared, 
 with an expression of timid expectation in her face, which 
 went to his soul. A few words passed — a very few, and then 
 no more was said. 
 
 " Yes ; I have seen him. He is very wretched. He will 
 not come, but we shall hear something, I have no doubt. A 
 strange persuasion which I cannot remove, of a prior attach- 
 ment — of a want of frankness and confidence. He will explain 
 himself presently. But his persuasion is irremoveable." 
 
 Hester had much to say of him out of her throbbing heart ; 
 but she looked at Margaret, and restrained herself. What 
 must there be in that heart ? To utter one word would be 
 irreverent. The breakfast passed in an almost unbroken 
 silence. 
 
 It had not been long over when the expected letter came. 
 Hope never saw it ; but there was no need : he perfectly 
 anticipated its contents, while to her for whom they were 
 written they were incomprehensible. 
 
DEERBROOK. 409 
 
 " I spare you and myself the misery of an interview. It 
 must be agonizing to you, and there would be dishonour as 
 well as pain to me, in witnessing that agony. If, as I fully 
 believe, you have been hitherto blind to the injustice of your 
 connecting yourself with me, from a sense of duty and expe- 
 diency, when you had not a first genuine love to give, I think 
 you will see it now ; and I pity your suffering in the discovery. 
 There is only one point on which I wish or intend to hang 
 any reproach. Why did you not, when I had become entitled 
 to your confidence, lay your heart fully open to me ? Did I 
 not do so by you ? Did I not reveal to you even the transient 
 fancy which I entertained long ago, and which I showed my 
 faith in you, her friend, by revealing ? If you had only done 
 the same — if you had only let me know, without a hint as to 
 the object, that you had been attached, and that you believed 
 I might succeed to your affections in time — ^if you had done 
 this, I do not say that we should then have been what I so 
 lately trusted we were to be, for my soul is jealous — has been 
 made so by what I thought you — and will bear none but a first, 
 and an entire, and an exclusive love : but in that case I should 
 have cherished you in my inmost heart, as all that I have 
 believed you to be, though not destined for me. 
 
 " But I do not blame you. You have done what you meant 
 to be right ; though, from too great regard to one set of con- 
 siderations, you have mistaken the right, and have sacrificed 
 me. I make allowance for your difficulty, and, for my own 
 part, pardon you, and testify most sincerely and earnestly to 
 the purity of your mind and intentions. Do not reject this 
 parting testimony. I offer it because I would not have you 
 think me harsh, or suppose that passion has made me unjust. 
 I love you too deeply to do more than mourn. I have no 
 heart to blame, except for your want of confidence. Of that 
 I have a right to complain : but, for the rest, spare yourself 
 the effort of self-justification. It is not needed. I do not 
 accuse you. You were right in saying yesterday that I love 
 you still. I shall ever love you, be our separate lives what 
 they may. God bless you I 
 
 " P. E." 
 
 " Will you not wait, my dearest Margaret ? " said Hester, 
 when, within half an hour of the arrival of Enderby's letter, 
 she met her sister on the stairs, with the reply in her hand, 
 sealed, and ready to be sent. " Why such haste ? The 
 
410 DEERBROOK. 
 
 events of your life may hang on this day, on this one letter. 
 Can it be right to be so rapid in what you think and do ? " 
 
 " The event of my life is decided," she replied, "unless 
 
 No— -the event of my life is decided. I have nothing more to 
 wait for. I have written what I think, and it must go." 
 
 It was as follows : — 
 
 ^' I have nothing to say in reply to your letter, for I cannot 
 understand it. Yet I wonder less at your letter than at your 
 having written it instead of coming to me, to say all that is in 
 your mind. At some moments I still think that you will — I 
 feel that you are on your way hither, and I fancy that this 
 dreadful dream of your displeasure will pass away. It is the 
 first time in my life that any one has been seriously and 
 lastingly displeased with me ; and, though I feel that I have 
 not deserved it, I am very wretched that you, of all others, 
 should blame me, and cease to trust me. There ought to be 
 some comfort in the thought that your anger is without 
 cause : but I cannot find such comfort ; for I feel that though 
 I could endure your loss by long absence or death, I cannot 
 live in the spirit in which I should wish to live, without your 
 esteem. 
 
 " It is useless, alas ! to entreat of you to come and explain 
 yourself, or in some other way to put me in possession of the 
 cause of your anger. If you could resist the claims I had 
 upon you for confidence before I knew what was going to befall 
 me — if you could resist the demand I made yesterday, I fear 
 there is little use in imploring you to do me justice. If I 
 thought there was any chance, I would submit to entreat, 
 though I would not have you, any more than myself, forget 
 that I have a right to demand. But indeed I would yield 
 everything that I dare forego, to have you awakened from this 
 strange delusion which makes us both wretched. It is no 
 time for pride now. I care not how fully you know what I 
 feel. I only wish that you could see into my soul as 
 into your own ; for then you would not misjudge me 
 as you do. I care not what any one may think of my 
 throwing myself upon the love which I am certain you feel 
 for me, if I can only persuade you to tell me what you mean, 
 and to hear what I shall then have to say. What can I now 
 say ? I will not reproach you, for I know you must be even, 
 if possible, more miserable than I : but yet, how can I help 
 feeling that you have been unjust and harsh with me? Yes,* 
 
DEERBROOK. 411 
 
 though the tone of your letter seems to be gentle, and you 
 <;learly mean it to be so, I feel that you have been very harsh 
 to me. Nothing that you can do shall ever make me so cruel 
 to you. You may rest satisfied that, if we should not meet 
 again, I will never be unjust to you. To every one about me 
 it will appear that you are fickle and dishonourable — that you 
 have acted towards me as it is in the nature of some men to 
 act towards the women whose affections they possess ; in the 
 nature of some men, but not in yours. I know you to be 
 incapable of anything worse than error and mistrust (and, 
 till yesterday, I could not have believed you capable of this 
 much wrong) : and you may trust me to impute to you 
 nothing worse than this. Suffering as I now am, as we both 
 are, under this error and mistrust, mry I not implore you, for 
 jour own sake (for mine it is too late), to nourish the weak 
 part of yourself, to question your own unworthy doubts, and 
 to study the best parts of the minds you meet, till you grow 
 assured (as a religious man ought to be) that there can be no 
 self-interest, and much less falsehood, mixed up with any 
 real affection — ^with any such affection as has existed between 
 us two ? 
 
 *^ I must not write more ; for I do not know, I cannot con- 
 jecture, how you may receive what I have written, thinking 
 of me as you now do. It seems strange to remember that at 
 this time yesterday, in this very chair, I was writing to you. 
 Oh how differently ! Is it possible that it was only yesterday — 
 such a world of misery as we have lived through since ? But 
 I can write no more. It may be that you will despise me in 
 every line as you read : after what has happened, I cannot 
 tell. Notwithstanding all I have said about trusting, I feel at 
 this moment as if I could never depend on anything in this 
 world again. If you should come within this hour and explain 
 all, how could I be sure that the same thing might not happen 
 again? But do not let this weigh a moment with you, if 
 indeed you think of coming. If I do not see you to-day, I shall 
 never see you. I will then bear in mind, as you desire, and 
 as I cannot help, that you love me still ; but how little com- 
 fort is there in such love, when trust is gone ! God comfort 
 us both ! " Margaret Ibbotson." 
 
 Mrs. Eowland was crossing the hall at the moment that her 
 maid :Betsy opened the door to Mr. Hope's errand-boy, and 
 took in this letter. 
 
412 DEERBROOK. 
 
 *^ Where are you carrying that letter ?" said she, as Betsy 
 passed her. 
 
 "To the study, ma'am, against Mr. Enderby comes in. It 
 is for Mr. Enderby, ma'am." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 The letter was placed on the study mantelpiece ; the place 
 of deposit for letters for absent members of the family. Mrs. 
 Eowland meantime resumed her seat in the drawing-room, where 
 the nurse-maid was amusing the baby. Mamma took the baby, 
 and sent the maid away. She had a strong belief that her brother 
 might be found somewhere in the shrubbery, though some 
 feeling had prevented her telling the servant so when the letter 
 was taken in. She went, with the baby in her arms, into the 
 study, to see whether Philip was visible in any part of the 
 garden that could be seen thence. But she stopped short of 
 the window. The hand-writing on the address of the letter 
 troubled her sight. More than half-persuaded, as she was, of 
 the truth of much that she had told her brother, strenuously 
 as she had nourished the few facts she was in possession of, 
 till she had made them yield a double crop of inferences, she 
 was yet conscious of large exaggerations of what she knew, 
 and of huge additions to what she believed to be probabilities, 
 and had delivered as facts. There was in that hand -writing 
 a prophecy of detection : and, like other cowards, she began 
 to tamper with her reason and conscience. 
 
 " There is great mischief in letters at such times," she 
 thought. '^ They are so difficult to answer ! and it is so 
 possible to produce any effect that may be wished by them ! 
 As my husband was reading the other day — * It is so easy to 
 be virtuous, to be perfect, upon paper!' Nothing that the 
 girl can say ought to alter the state of the case : it C^n only 
 harass Philip's feelings, and perhaps cause all the work to be 
 gone over again. His letter was meant to be final, I am 
 confident, from his intending to go away this evening. There 
 should have been no answer. This letter is a pure imperti- 
 nence, and ought to be treated as such. It is a sort of duty 
 to use it as it deserves. Many parents (at least I know old 
 Mr. Boyle did) burn letters which they know to contain offers 
 to daughters whom they do not wish to part with. Mr. Boyle 
 had no scruple ; and I am sure this is a stronger case. Better 
 end the whole affair at once ; and then Philip will be free to 
 form a better connection. He will thank me one day for having 
 broken off this." 
 
DEERBROOK. 413 
 
 She carried the letter into the drawing-room, slowly con- 
 templating it as she went. She thought, for one fleeting 
 instant, of reading it. She was not withheld by honour, but 
 by fear. She shrank from encountering its contents. She 
 glanced over the mantelpiece, and saw that the lucifer-matches 
 were at hand. To make the letter burn quickly, it was 
 necessary to unfold it. She put the child down upon the 
 rug — a favourite play-place, for the sake of the gay pink and 
 green shavings which, at this time of the year, curtained the 
 grate. While baby crawled, and gazed quietly and contentedly 
 there, Mrs. Rowland broke the seal of Margaret's letter, turning 
 her eyes from the writing, laid the blistered sheet in the 
 hearth, and set fire to it. The child set up a loud crow of 
 delight at the flame. At that moment, even this simple and 
 familiar sound startled its mother out of all power of self- 
 control. She snatched up the child with a vehemence which 
 frightened it into a shrill cry. She feared the nurse-maid 
 would come before all the sparks were out ; and she tried to 
 quiet the baby by dancing it before the mirror over the 
 mantelpiece. She met her own face there, white as ashes ; 
 and the child saw nothing that could amuse it, while its eyes 
 were blinded with tears. She opened the window to let it 
 hearken to the church-clock ; and the device was eflectual. 
 Baby composed its face to serious listening, before the long 
 succession of strokes was finished, and allowed the tears to be 
 wiped from its cheeks. 
 
 One thing more remained to be done. Mrs. Eowland 
 heard a step in the hall, and looked out : it was Betsy's. 
 
 " I thought it was you. Pray desire cook to send up a cup 
 of broth for Miss Rowland's lunch ; and be sure and let 
 Miss Rowland know, the moment it is ready. Mr. Enderby 
 is in the shrubbery, I think." 
 
 *^ Yes, ma'am ; seeing he was there, I was coming to ask 
 about the letter, ma'am, to carry it to him." 
 
 " Oh, that letter — I sent it to him. He has got it. Tell 
 cook directly about the broth." 
 
 At lunch -time, one of the children was desired to summon 
 Uncle Philip. Mrs. Rowland took care to meet him at the 
 garden door. She saw him cast a wistful eye towards the 
 study mantelpiece, as he passed the open door. His sister 
 observed that she believed it was past post time for this half- 
 week. He sighed deeply ; and she felt that no sigh of his had 
 ever so gone to her heart before. 
 
414 DEEKEROOK. 
 
 ^'Why, mamma! do look!" cried George, as well as a 
 mouthful of bread would allow. "Look at the chimney! 
 Where are all the shavings gone? There is the knot at the 
 top that they were tied together with, but not a bit of shaving 
 left. Have they blown up the chimney ?" 
 
 "What will poor baby say?" exclaimed Matilda. "All 
 the pretty pink and green gone ! " 
 
 " There is some tinder blowing about," observed George. 
 ^^ I do believe they have been burnt." 
 
 " Shut the window, George, will you ? There is no bearing 
 this draught. There is no bearing Betsy's waste either. She 
 has burned those shavings somehow in cleaning the grate. 
 Her carelessness is past endurance." 
 
 " Make her buy some new shavings, mamma, for baby's 
 sake." 
 
 " Do be quiet, and get your lunch. Hand your uncle the 
 dish of currants." 
 
 Philip languidly picked a few bunches. He had noticed 
 nothing that had passed, as his sister was glad to observe. 
 Besides being too much accustomed to hear complaints of the 
 servants to give any heed to them, he was now engrossed with 
 his own wretched thoughts. Every five minutes that passed 
 without bringing a reply from Margaret, went to confirm his 
 most painful impressions. 
 
 Margaret meantime was sitting alone in her chamber, 
 enduring the long morning as she best might. Now plying 
 her needle as if life depended on her industry, and now 
 throwing up her employment in disgust, she listened for the 
 one sound she needed to hear, till her soul was sick of every 
 other. " I must live wholly within myself now," she thought, 
 ^' as far as he is concerned. I can never speak of him, or 
 ^llow Hester and Maria to speak of him to me ; for they will 
 blame him. Every one will blame him : Maria did yesterday. 
 No one will do him justice. I cannot ask Mrs. Grey, as I 
 intended, anything of what she may have seen and heard 
 about all this. I have had my joy to myself : I have carried 
 about my solitary glory and bliss in his being mine ; and now 
 I must live alone upon my grief for him ; for no one person 
 in the world will pity and justify him but myself He has 
 done me no wrong that he could help. His staying away 
 to-day is to save me pain, as he thinks. I wish I had not 
 said in my letter that he has been harsh to me. Perhaps he 
 would have been here by this time if I had not said that. 
 
DEERBROOK. 415 
 
 How afraid he was, that day in the spring when he urged me 
 so to marry at once — (Oh ! if I had, all this would have been 
 saved ! and yet I thought, and I still think, I was right.) But 
 how afraid he was of our parting, lest evil should come 
 between us I I promised him it should not, for my own part : 
 but who could have thought that the mistrust would be on 
 his side? He had a superstitious feeling, he said, that 
 something would happen — that we should be parted : and I 
 would not hear of it. How presumptuous I was I How did 
 I dare to make so light of what has come so dreadfully true ? 
 — Oh ! why are we so made that we cannot see into one 
 another's hearts ? If we are made to depend on one another 
 so absolutely as we are, so that we hold one another's peace 
 to cherish or to crush, why is it such a blind dependence? 
 Why are we left so helpless? Why, with so many powers as 
 are given us, have we not that one other, worth all the rest, of 
 mutual insight ? If God would bestow this power for this 
 one day, I would give up aU else for it for ever after. Philip 
 would trust me again then, and I should understand him; 
 and I could rest afterwards, happen what might — though 
 then nothing would happen but what was good. But now, 
 shut in, each into ourselves, with anger and sorrow all about 
 us, from some mistake which a moment's insight might 
 remove — it is the dreariest, the most tormenting state I 
 What are all the locks, and bars, and fetters in the world to 
 it ? So near each other too I When one look, one tone, 
 might perhaps lead to the clearing up of it all ! There 
 is no occasion to bear this, however. So near as we are, 
 nothing should prevent our meeting — nothing shall pre- 
 vent it." 
 
 She started up, and hastily put on her bonnet and gloves : 
 but when her hand was on the lock of her door, her heart 
 misgave her. " If it should fail !" she thought. " If he should 
 neither look at me nor speak to me — if he should leave me 
 as he did yesterday ! I should never get over the shame. I 
 dare not store up such a wretched remembrance, to make me 
 miserable as often as I think of it, for as long as I live. If 
 he will not come after reading my letter, neither would he 
 hear me if I went to him. Oh ! he is very unjust ! After all 
 his fears of my being influenced against him, he might have 
 distrusted himself. After making me promise to write, on the 
 first doubt that any one might try to put into my mind, 
 he might have remembered to do the same by me, instead of 
 
416 DEERBROOK. 
 
 coming down in this way, not to explain, but to overwhelm 
 me with his displeasure, without giving me a moment's time 
 to justify myself. Edward seems strangely unkind too," she 
 sighed, as she slowly untied her bonnet and put it away, as if 
 to avoid tempting herself with the sight of it again. " I never 
 knew Edward unjust or unkind before ; but I heard him ask 
 Philip why he staid to hear me in the abbey yesterday ; and 
 though he has been with Philip this morning, he does not 
 seem to have made the slightest attempt to bring us together. 
 When such as Edward and Philip do so wrong, one does not 
 know where to trust, or what to hope. There is nothing to 
 trust, but God and the right. I will live for these, and no one 
 shall henceforth hear me complain, or see mo droop, or know 
 anything of what lies deepest in my heart. This must be 
 possible ; it has been done. Many nuns in their convents 
 have carried it through : and missionaries in heathen countries, 
 and all the wisest who have been before their age ; and some 
 say — Maria would say — almost every person who has loved 
 as I have : but I do not believe this : I do not believe that 
 many — that any can have felt as I do now. It is not natural 
 and right that any should live as I mean to do. We are made 
 for confidence, not for such solitude and concealment. But it 
 may be done when circumstances press as they do upon me ; 
 and, if God gives me strength, I will do it. I will live for Him 
 and his ; and my heart, let it suffer as it may, shall never 
 complain to human ear. It shall be as silent as the 
 grave." 
 
 The resolution held for some hours. Margaret was quiet 
 and composed through dinner, though her expectation, instead 
 of dying out, grew more intense with every hour. After 
 dinner, Hope urged his wife to walk with him. It had been 
 a fine day, and she had not been out. There was still another 
 hour before dark. Would not Margaret go too ? No ; 
 Margaret could not leave home. 
 
 When Hester came down, equipped for her walk, she sat 
 beside her sister on the sofa for a minute or two, while 
 waiting for Edward. 
 
 " Margaret," said she, " will you let me say one word to 
 you?" 
 
 . " Anything, Hester, if you will not be hard upon any one 
 whom you cannot fully understand." 
 
 " I would not for the world be hard, love. But there was 
 once a time, above a year ago, when you warned me, kindly 
 
DEERBROOK. 417 
 
 warned me, though I did not receive it kindly, against pride 
 as a support. You said it could not support me ; and you 
 said truly. May I say the same to you now ? " 
 
 " Thank you. It is kind of you. I will consider ; but I 
 do not think that I have any pride in me to-day. I feel 
 humbled enough." 
 
 "It is not for you to feel humbled, love. Eeverence 
 yourself ; for you may. Nothing has happened to impair 
 your self-respect. Admit freely to your own mind, and to us, 
 that you have been cruelly injured, and that you suffer as you 
 must and ought. Admit this freely, and then rely on yourself 
 and us." 
 
 Margaret shook her head. She did not say it, but she felt 
 that she could not rely on Edward, while he seemed to stand 
 between her and Philip. He came in at the moment, and she 
 averted her eyes from him. He felt her displeasure in his 
 heart's core. 
 
 When they returned, sooner than she had expected, from 
 their walk, they had bad news for her, which they had agreed 
 it was most merciful not to delay. They had seen Enderby 
 in Mr. Rowland's gig on the Blickley road. He had his 
 carpet-bag with him ; and Mr. Rowland's man was un- 
 doubtedly driving him to Blickley, to meet the night coach 
 for London. 
 
 " It is better to save you all further useless expectation," 
 observed Edward. " We keep nothing from you." 
 
 " You keep nothing from me ! " said Margaret, now fixing 
 her eyes upon him. " Then what is your reason for not having 
 brought us together, if indeed you have not kept us apart V 
 Do you suppose I did not hear you send him from me yester- 
 day ? And how do I know that you have not kept him away 
 to-day?" 
 
 " My dear Margaret!" exclaimed Hester: but a look from 
 her husband, and the recollection of Margaret's misery, silenced 
 her. For the first time Hester forgave on the instant the act 
 of blaming her husband. 
 
 " Wliatever I have done, whether it appears clear to you or 
 not," repHed Hope, " it is from the most tender respect for your 
 feelings. I shall always respect them most tenderly ; and not 
 the less for their being hurt with me." 
 
 " I have no doubt of your meaning all that is kind, Edward: 
 but surely when two people misunderstand each other, it is 
 best that they should meet. If you have acted from a regard 
 
 E E 
 
418 DEERBROOK. 
 
 to what you consider my dignity, I could Avisli that you had 
 left the charge of it to myself." 
 
 " You are right: quite right." 
 
 " Then why . Oh ! Edward, if you repent what you 
 
 have done, it may not yet be too late I" 
 
 "I do not repent. I have done you no wrong to-day, 
 Margaret. I grieve for you, but I could not have helped 
 you." 
 
 " Let us never speak on this subject again," said Margaret ^ 
 stung by the consciousness of having so soon broken the resolu- 
 tion of the morning, that her suffering heart should be as silent 
 as the grave. " It is not from pride, Hester, that I say so ; but 
 let us never again speak of all this." 
 
 " Let us know but one thing, Margaret," said Edward ; — 
 '■'• that yours is the generous silence of forgiveness. I do not 
 mean with regard to him — for I fear you will forgive him 
 sooner than we can do. I do not mean him particularly, nor 
 those who have poisoned his ear ; but all. Only tell us that 
 your silence is the oblivion of mercy, so mourning for the 
 erring that, for its own sake, it remembers their transgressions 
 no more." 
 
 Margaret looked up at them both. Though her eyes swam 
 in tears, there was a smile upon her lips as she held out her 
 hand to her brother, and yielded herself to Hester's kiss. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVn. 
 
 THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 Mrs. Eowland did not find herself much the happier for being 
 borne out by the whole world in her assertions, that Philip 
 and Margaret were not engaged. She knew that, with regard 
 to this, she now stood justified in the eyes of all Deerbrook — 
 that almost everyone there now believed that it had been an 
 entanglement from which she had released her brother. From 
 selfish fear, from dread of the consequences of going so far as 
 to be again sent by her husband to Cheltenham, or by the 
 Levitts to Coventry ; from foresight of the results which would 
 ensue from her provoking an inquiry into the domestic con- 
 cerns of the Hopes — an inquiry which might end in the recon- 
 ciliation of Philip and Margaret, and in some unpleasant 
 
DEERBROOK. 419 
 
 discoveries about herself — slie was very guarded respecting 
 tiie grand accusation by which she had wrought on hei 
 brother. No hint of it got abroad in Deerbrook : nothing 
 was added to the ancient gossip about the Hopes not being 
 very happy together. Mrs. Eowland knew that affairs stood 
 in this satisfactory state. She knew that Margaret was 
 exposed to as much observation and inquiry as a country 
 village affords, respecting her disappointed attachment — that 
 the Greys were very angry, and praised Margaret to every 
 person they met — that Mr. Walcot eulogised Mrs. Kowland's 
 discernment to all Mrs. Rowland's party — that Mrs. Howell 
 and Miss Miskin lifted up their eyes in thankfulness at 
 Mr. Enderby's escape from such a connection — ^that Mr. Hope 
 was reported to be rather flat in spirits — and that Margaret 
 was certainly looking thin : she knew of all this success, and 
 yet she was not happier than six months ago. The drawback 
 on such successes is, that they are never complete. There is 
 always some Mordecai sitting at the gate to mar the enjoy- 
 ment. Mrs. Rowland was aware of Mrs. James having 
 dropped that she and her husband had nothing to do with 
 anybody's family quarrels ; that there was always a great deal 
 to be said on both sides in such cases; and that they had 
 never seen anything but what was amiable and pleasant in 
 Miss Ibbotson and her connections. She knew that Dr. Levitt 
 called on the Hopes full as often as at any house in Deerbrook; 
 and that Mrs. Levitt had offered to take some of Margaret's 
 plants into her greenhouse, to be nursed through the winter. 
 She was always hearing that Miss Young and Margaret were 
 much together, and that they were happy in each other's 
 society ; and she alternately fancied them talking about her, 
 exposing to each other the injuries she had wrought to both, 
 and enjo}7ing an oblivion of their cares in her despite. 
 She could never see Maria taking an airing in the Greys' 
 shrubbery, leaning on Margaret's arm, or Margaret turning in 
 at the farrier's gate, without feeling her colour rise. She knew 
 that Mr. Jones was apt to accommodate Miss Ibbotson with 
 a choice of meat, in preference to his other customers ; and 
 that Mrs. Jones had spoken indignantly to a neighbour about 
 fine gentlemen from London that think Httle of breaking one 
 young heart after another, to please their own vanity, and 
 never come back to look upon the eyes that they have made 
 dim, and the cheeks that grow pale for them. 
 
 All these things Mrs. Rowland knew ; and they ate into her 
 
 E E 2 
 
i 
 
 420 DEERBROOK. 
 
 heart. In these days of her triumph she moved about in fear, 
 and no hour passed without troubling her victory. She felt 
 that she could not rest till the corner-house family was got 
 rid of. They did not seem disposed to move of their own 
 accord. She incessantly expressed her scorn of the want of 
 * spirit of a professional man who would live on in a place where 
 he had lost his practice, and where a rival was daily rising 
 upon his ruins : but the Hopes staid on still. Week after 
 week they were to be met in the lanes and meadows — now 
 gleaning in the wake of the harvest-wain, with Fanny and 
 Mary, for the benefit of widow Eye ; now blackberry gathering 
 in the fields ; now nutting in the hedgerows. The quarterly 
 term came round, and no notice that he might look out for 
 another tenant reached Mr. Eowland. If they would not go 
 of their own accord, they must be dislodged ; for she felt, 
 though she did not fully admit the truth to herself, that she 
 could not much longer endure their presence. She looked out 
 for an opportunity of opening the subject advantageously with 
 Mr. Eowland. 
 
 The wine and walnuts were on the table, and the gentleman 
 and lady were amusing themselves with letting Anna and Ned 
 try to crack walnuts (the three elder children being by this 
 time at school at Blickley), when Mrs. Eowland began her 
 attack. 
 
 " My dear," said she, "is the corner-house in perfectly good 
 repair at present ? " 
 
 " I believe so. It was thoroughly set to rights when 
 Mr. Hope went into it, and again after the riot ; and I have 
 heard no complaint since." 
 
 ** Ah ! after the riot; that is what I wanted to know. The 
 surgery is well fitted up, is it ? " 
 
 " No doubt. The magistrates took care that everything 
 should be done handsomely. Mr. Hope was fully satisfied." 
 
 " He was : then there seems no doubt that Mr. Walcot 
 had better remove to the corner-house when the Hopes go 
 away. It is made to be a surgeon's residence: and I own I 
 do not like to see those blinds of Mr. Walcot's, with that 
 staring word * Surgery,' upon them, in the windows of my 
 poor mother's breakfast-room." 
 
 " Nor I: but the Hopes are not going to remove." 
 
 " I believe they will be leaving Deerbrook before long." 
 
 " I believe not." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Eowland, I have reason for what I say." 
 
BEEREROOK. 421 
 
 " So have I. Take care of that little thumb of yours, my 
 darling, or you will be cracking it instead of the walnut." 
 
 " What is your reason for thinking that the Hopes will not 
 leave Deerbrook, Mr. Eowland?" 
 
 " Mr. Hope told me so himself." 
 
 " Ah ! that is nothing. You will be about the last person 
 he will inform of his plans. Mr. Walcot^s nearest friends will 
 be the last to know, of course." 
 
 " Pray, do not make me out one of Mr. Walcot's nearest 
 friends, my dear. I have a very slight acquaintance with the 
 young gentleman, and do not intend to have more." 
 
 " You say so now to annoy me, my love : but you may 
 change your mind. If you should see Mr. Walcot your son- 
 in-law at some future day, you will not go on to call him a 
 slight acquaintance, I suppose?" 
 
 " My son-in-law ! Have you been asking him to marry 
 Matilda?" 
 
 " I wait, Mr. Eowland, till he asks it himself; which I fore- 
 see he will do as soon as our dear girl is old enough to warrant 
 his introducing the subject. Her accomplishments are not 
 lost upon him. He has the prophetic eye which sees what a 
 wonderful creature she must become. And if we are per- 
 mitted to witness such an attachment as theirs will be, and 
 our dear girl settled beside us here, we shall have nothing left 
 to wish." 
 
 " To speak of something more nearly at hand, I beg, my 
 dear, that you will hold out no expectation of the corner-house 
 to Mr. Walcot, as it is not likely to be vacated." 
 
 " Has the rent been regularly paid, so far ? " 
 
 " To be sure it has." 
 
 " By Mr. Grey's help, I have no doubt. My dear, I know 
 what I am saying. The Hopes are as poor as the rats in your 
 granary ; and it is not to be supposed that Mr. Grey will 
 long go on paying their rent for them, just for the frolic of 
 sustaining Mr. Hope against Mr. Walcot. It is paying too 
 dear for the fancy. The Hopes are wretchedly pinched for 
 money. They have dropped their subscription to the book- 
 club." 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear it. I would give half I am worth 
 that it were otherwise." 
 
 *^ Give it them at once, then, and it will be otherwise." 
 
 ** I would, gladly ; but they will not take it." 
 
 " I advise you to try, however ; it would make such a 
 
422 DEERBEOOK. 
 
 pretty romantic story ! — Well, Mr. Grey is extremely mortified 
 at their withdrawing from the book-club. He remonstrated 
 Tery strongly indeed." 
 
 '^ That does not agree very well with his paying their rent 
 for them." 
 
 *^Perfectly well. He thinks that if he undertakes the 
 large thing, for the sake of their credit, tliey might have 
 managed the small. This is his way of viewing the matter, 
 no doubt. He sees how their credit will suiFer by their 
 giviaag up the book-club. He sees how everybody will remark 
 upon it." 
 
 "So do they, I have no doubt." 
 
 " And the matter will not be mended b^ Sophia Grey's 
 nonsense. What absurd things that girl does ! I wonder her 
 mother allows it, — only that, to be sure, she is not much 
 wiser herself. Sophia has told some of her acquaintance, and 
 all Deerbrook will hear it before long, that her cousins have 
 withdrawn from the book-club on account of Hester's situation ; 
 that they are to be so busy with the baby that is coming, that 
 they will have no time to read." 
 
 " As long as the Hopes are above false pretences, they need 
 not care for such as are made for them. There ! show mamma 
 what a nice plump walnut you have cracked for her." 
 
 " Nicely done, my pet. But, Mr. Rowland, the Hopes 
 cannot hold out. They cannot possibly stay here. You will 
 not get their rent at Christmas, depend upon it." 
 
 " I shall not press them for it, I assure you." 
 
 " Then you will be unjust to your family. You owe it to 
 your children, to say nothing of myself, to look after your 
 property." 
 
 " I owe it to them not to show myself a harsh landlord to 
 excellent tenants. But we need not trouble ourselves about 
 what will happen at Christmas. It may be that the rent will 
 make its appearance on the morning of quarter-day." 
 
 " Then, if not, you will give them notice that the house is 
 let from the next quarter, will you not ? " 
 
 " By no means, my dear." 
 
 " If you do not like to undertake the office yourself, perhaps 
 you will let me do it. I have a good deal of courage about 
 doing disagreeable things, on occasion." 
 
 " You have, my dear ; but I do not wish that this should 
 be done. I mean, I desire that it be not done. The Hopes 
 shall live in that hoiise of mine as long as they please. And 
 
DEERBROOK. 423 
 
 if," continued Mr. Eowland, not liking the expression of his 
 lady's eye, — " if any one disturbs them in their present abode, 
 the consequence will be that I shall be compelled to invite 
 them here. I shall establish them in this very house, sooner 
 than that they shall be obliged to leave Deerbrook against 
 their will ; and then, my dear, you will have to be off to 
 Cheltenham again." 
 
 " What nonsense you talk, Mr. Eowland ! Who should 
 disturb them, if you won't be open to reason, so as to do it 
 yourself? I thought you knew enough of what it is to be 
 ridden by poor tenants, to wish to avoid the plague, if warned 
 in time. But some people can never take warning." 
 
 " Let us see that you can, my love. You will remember 
 what I have said about the Hopes being disturbed, I have no 
 doubt. And now we have done with that, I want to tell 
 you " 
 
 " Presently, when we have really done with this subject, 
 my dear. I have other reasons " 
 
 " Which you will spare me the hearing. My dear Priscilla, 
 there are no reasons on earth which can justify me in turning 
 this family out of their house, or you in asking me to do it. 
 Let us hear no more about it." 
 
 " But you must hear. I will be heard on a subject in which 
 I have such an interest, Mr. Rowland." 
 
 " Ring the bell, my little fellow. Pull hard. That 's it- 
 Candles in the office immediately." 
 
 And Mr. Rowland tossed off the last half of his glass of 
 port, kissed the little ones, and was gone. The lady remained 
 to compassionate herself, which she did very deeply, that she 
 could find no means of ridding herself of the great plague of 
 her life. These people were always in her way, and no one 
 would help her to dislodge them. Her own husband was 
 against her — quite unmanageable and perverse. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYHI. 
 
 THE VICTIMS. 
 
 If Mrs. Rowland was dissatisfied with her success, while 
 seeing that some resources of comfort remained to the Hopes 
 and Margaret, a view of the interior of the corner-house would 
 probably have affected her deeply, and set her moralizing on 
 
424 DEERBROOK. 
 
 the incompleteness of all human triumphs. There was peace 
 there which even she could not invade — could only, if she 
 had known it, envy. Her power was now exhausted, and 
 her work was unfinished. For many weeks, she had made 
 Margaret as miserable as she had intended to make her. 
 Margaret had suffered from an exasperating sense of injury; 
 but that was only for a few hours. Hers was not a nature 
 which could retain personal resentment for any length of time. 
 She needed the relief of compassionate and forgiving feelings ; 
 and she cast herself into them for solace, as the traveller, 
 emerging from the glaring desert, throws himself down beside 
 the gushing spring in the shade. From the paoment that she 
 did this, it became her chief trouble that Philip was blamed 
 by others. Her friends said as little as they could in reference 
 to him, out of regard for her feelings ; but she could not help 
 seeing that Maria's indignation was strong, and that Hester 
 considered that her sister had had a happy escape from a man 
 capable of treating her as Philip had done. If it had been 
 possible to undertake his defence, Margaret would have done 
 so. As there were no means of working upon others to forgive 
 her wrongs, she made it her consolation to forgive them 
 doubly herself ; to cheer up under them ; to live for the aim 
 of being more worthy of Philip's love, the less he believed 
 her to be so. Her lot was far easier now than it had been in 
 the winter. She had been his ; and she believed that she 
 still occupied his whole soul. She was not now the solitary, 
 self-despising being she had felt herself before. Though cut 
 off from intercourse with him as if the grave lay between 
 them, she knew that sympathy with her heart and mind 
 existed. She experienced the struggles, the moaning efforts, 
 of affections doomed to solitude and silence ; the shrinking 
 from a whole long life of self-reliance, of exclusion from 
 domestic life ; the occasional horror of contemplating the 
 waste and withering of some of the noblest parts of the 
 immortal nature, — a waste and withering which are the almost 
 certain consequence of violence done to its instincts and its 
 laws. From these pains and terrors she suffered ; and from 
 some of smaller account, — from the petty insults or specula- 
 tions of the more coarse-minded of her neighbours, and the 
 being too suddenly reminded by passing circumstances of the 
 change which had come over her expectations and prospects : 
 but her love, her forgiveness, her conviction of being beloved, 
 bore her through all these, and saved her from that fever of 
 
DEERBROOK. 425 
 
 the heart, in the paroxysms of which she had, in hor former 
 and severer trial, longed for death, even for non-existence. 
 
 She could enjoy but little of what had been her favourite 
 solace at that time. She had but few opportunities now for 
 long solitary walks. She saw the autumn fading away, melt- 
 ing in rain and cold fog, without its having been made use of. 
 It had been as unfavourable a season as the summer, — dreary, 
 unproductive, disappointing in every way ; but there had 
 been days in the latter autumn when the sun had shown his 
 dim face, when the dank hedges had looked fresh, and the 
 fallen leaves in the wood-paths had rustled under the tread 
 of the squirrel ; and Margaret would on such days have liked 
 to spend the whole morning in rambles by herself. But there 
 were reasons why she should not. Almost before the chilli- 
 ness of the coming season began to be felt, hardship was 
 complained of throughout the country. The prices of pro- 
 visions were inordinately high ; and the evil consequences 
 which, in the rural districts, follow upon a scarcity, began to 
 make themselves felt. The poachers were daring beyond 
 belief; and deep was the enmity between the large proprietors 
 and the labourers around them. The oldest men and women, 
 and children scarcely able to walk, were found trespassing 
 day by day in all plantations, with bags, aprons, or pinafores, 
 full of fir-cones, and wood snapped off from the trees, or 
 plucked out of the hedges. There was no end to repairing 
 the fences. There were unpleasant rumours, too, of its being 
 no longer safe to walk singly in the more retired places. No 
 such thing as highway robbery had ever before been heard of 
 at Deerbrook, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant ; 
 the oldest of the inhabitants being Jim Bird, the man of a 
 hundred years. But there was reason now for the caution. 
 Mr. Jones's meat-cart had been stopped on the high-road, by 
 two men who came out of the hedge, and helped themselves 
 to what the cart contained. An ill-looking fellow had crossed 
 the path of Mrs. James and her young sister in the Verdon 
 woods, evidently with the intention of stopping the ladies ; 
 but luckily the jingling of a timber-wain was heard below, 
 and the man had retreated. Mr. Grey had desired that the 
 ladies of his family would not go further without his escort 
 than a mile out and back again on the high-road. They were 
 not to attempt the lanes. The Miss Andersons no longer 
 came into Deerbrook in their pony-chaise ; and Mrs. Howell 
 reported to all her customers that Lady Hunter never walked 
 
426 DEERBROOK. 
 
 in her own grounds without a footman behind her, two dogs 
 before her, and the game-keeper within hearing of a scream. 
 Mr. Walcot was advised to leave his watch and purse at home 
 when he set forth to visit his country patients ; and it did not 
 comfort him much to perceive that his neighbours were always 
 vigilant to note the hour and minute of his setting forth, and 
 to learn the precise time when he might be looked for at 
 home again. It was observed, that he was generally back 
 half-an-hour sooner than he was expected, with a very red 
 face, and his horse all in a foam. 
 
 In addition to these grounds of objection to solitary walks, 
 Margaret had strong domestic reasons for denying herself the 
 rambles she delighted in. As the months rolled on, poverty 
 pressed closer and closer. When the rent was secured, and 
 some of the comforts provided which Hester must have in 
 her confinement, so little was left that it became necessary to 
 limit the weely expenses of the family to a sum small enough 
 to require the nicest management and the most strenuous 
 domestic industry to make it suffice. Hope would not pledge 
 his credit while he saw so little prospect of redeeming it. 
 His family were of one mind as to purchasing nothing which 
 they were not certainly able to pay for. This being his 
 principle, he made every effort to increase his funds. A 
 guinea or two dropped in now and then, in return for con- 
 tributions to medical periodicals. Money was due to him 
 from some of his patients. To these he sent in his bills 
 again, and even made personal application. From several he 
 obtained promises ; from two or three the -amount of whose 
 debt was very small, he got his money, disgraced by smiles 
 of wonder and contempt. From the greater number he 
 received nothing but excuses on account of the pressure of 
 the times. The small sums he did recover were of a value 
 which none of the three had ever imagined that money could 
 be to them. Every little extra comfort thus obtained, — the 
 dinner of meat once oftener in the week, the fire in the 
 evening, the new gloves for Hope, when the old ones coxdd 
 no longer, by any mending, be made to look fit for him, — 
 what a luxury it was ! And all the more for being secretly 
 enjoyed. No one out of the house had a suspicion how far 
 their poverty had gone. Mr. Grey had really been vexed at 
 them for withdrawing from the book-club; had attributed 
 this instance of economy to the " enthusiasm" which was, in 
 his eyes, the fault of the family ; and never dreamed of tbek 
 
DEERRROOK. 427 
 
 not dining on meat, Tegetables, and pudding, with their glass 
 of Avine, every day. The Greys little knew what a blessing 
 they were confening on their cousins, when they insisted on 
 having them for a long day once more before Hester's con- 
 finement, and set them down to steaming soup, and a plentiful 
 joint, and accompaniments without stint. The guests laughed, 
 when they were at home again, over the new sort of pleasure 
 they had felt, the delight at the sight of a good dinner, to 
 which nothing was wanting but that Morris should have had 
 her share. Morris, for her part^ had been very happy at 
 home. She had put aside for her mistressV luncheon next 
 day, the broth which she had been told was for her, and had 
 feasted on potatoes and water, and the idea of the good dinner 
 her young ladies were to enjoy. While their affairs were in 
 this state, it was a great luxury in the family to have any 
 unusual comfort which betokened that Hope had been suc- 
 cessful in some of his errands, — had received a fee, or 
 recovered the amount of a bill. One day, Morris brought in 
 a goose and giblets, which had been bought and paid for by 
 Mr. Hope, the messenger said. Another morning, came a 
 sack of apples, from the orchard of a country patient who 
 was willing to pay in kind. At another time Edward emptied 
 his pockets of knitted worsted stockings and mittens, the 
 handiwork of a farmer's dame, who was flattered by his 
 taking the produce of her evening industry instead of money, 
 which she could not well spare at the present season. There 
 was more mirth, more real gladness in the house, on the 
 arrival of windfalls like these, than if Hope had daily 
 exhibited a purse full of gold. There was no sting in their 
 poverty ; no adventitious misery belonging to it. They 
 suffered its genuine force, and that was all. 
 
 What is Poverty ? Not destitution, but poverty ? It has 
 many shapes, — aspects almost as various as the minds and 
 circumstances of those whom it visits. It is famine to the 
 savage in the wilds ; it is hardship to the labourer in the 
 cottage ; it is disgrace to the proud ; and to the miser despair. 
 It is a spectre which " with dread of change perplexes " him 
 who lives at ease. Such are its aspects: but what is it? 
 It is a deficiency of the comforts of life, — a deficiency present 
 and to come. It involves many other things ; but this is 
 what it is. Is it then worth all the apprehension and grief 
 it occasions ? Is it an adequate cause for the gloom of the 
 merchant, the discontent of the artisan, the foreboding sighs 
 
128 DEERBROOK. 
 
 of the mother, the ghastly dreams which haunt the avaricious, 
 the conscious debasement of the subservient, the humiliation 
 of the proud ? These are severe suiFerings ; are they 
 authorised by the nature of poverty? Certainly not, if 
 poverty induced no adventitious evils, involved nothing but 
 a deficiency of the comforts of life, leaving life itself unim- 
 paired. " The life is more than food, and the body than 
 raiment ; " and the untimely extinction of the life itself 
 would not be worth the pangs which apprehended poverty 
 excites. But poverty involves woes which, in their sum, are 
 far greater than itself. To a multitude it is the loss of a 
 pursuit which they have yet to learn will be certainly 
 supplied. For such, alleviation or compensation is in store, 
 in the rising up of objects new, and the creation of fresh 
 hopes. The impoverished merchant, who may no longer 
 look out for his argosies, may yet be in glee when he finds 
 it "a rare dropping morning for the early colewort." To 
 another multitude, poverty involves loss of rank, — a letting 
 down among strangers whose manners are ungenial, and 
 their thoughts unfamiliar. For these there may be solace 
 in retirement, or the evil may fall short of its threats. The 
 reduced gentlewoman may live in patient solitude, or may 
 grow into sympathy with her neighbours, by raising some 
 of them up to herself, and by warming her heart at the 
 great central fire of Humanity, which burns on under the 
 crust of manners as rough as the storms of the tropics, or as 
 frigid as polar snows. The avaricious are out of the pale 
 of peace already, and at all events. Poverty is most seriously 
 an evil to sons and daughters, who see their parents stripped 
 of comfort, at an age when comfort is almost one with life 
 itself: and to parents who watch the narrowing of the 
 capacities of their children by the pressure of poverty, — ^the 
 impairing of their promise, the blotting out of their prospects. 
 To such mourning children there is little comfort, but in 
 contemplating the easier life which lies behind, and (it ma}- 
 be hoped) the happier one which stretches before their 
 parents, on the other side the postern of life. If there is sun- 
 shine on the two grand reaches of their path, the shadow 
 which lies in the midst is necessarily but a temporary gloom. 
 To grieving parents it should be a consoling truth, that as 
 the life is more than food, so is the soul more than instruction 
 and opportunity, and such accomplishments as man can 
 administer : that as the fowls are fed and the lilies clothed 
 
DEERBROOK. 429 
 
 by Him whose hand made the air musical with the one, and 
 dressed the fields with the other, so is the human spirit 
 nourished and adorned by airs from heaven, which blow over 
 the whole earth, and light from the skies, which no hand is 
 permitted to intercept. Parents know not but that Provi- 
 dence may be substituting the noblest education for the 
 misteaching of intermediate guardians. It may possibly be 
 so ; but if not, still there is appointed to every human being 
 much training, many privileges, which capricious fortune 
 can neither give nor take away. The father may sigh to see 
 his boy condemned to the toil of the loom, or the gossip and 
 drudgery of the shop, when he would fain have beheld him 
 the ornament of a university ; but he knows not whether a 
 more simple integrity, a loftier disinterestedness, may not 
 come out of the humbler discipline than the higher privilege. 
 The mother's eyes may swim as she hears her little daughter 
 sing her baby brother to sleep on the cottage threshold, — her 
 eyes may swim at the thought how those wild and moving 
 tones might have been exalted by art. Such art would have 
 been in itself a good ; but would this child then have been, 
 as now, about her Father's business, which, in ministering to 
 one of his little ones, she is as surely as the archangel who 
 suspends new systems of worlds in the furthest void ? Her 
 occupation is now earnest and holy ; and what need the true 
 mother wish for more ? 
 
 What is poverty to those who are not thus set in families ? 
 What is it to the solitary, or to the husband and wife who 
 have faith in each other's strength ? If they have the higher 
 faith which usually originates mutual trust, mere poverty 
 is scarcely worth a passing fear. If they have plucked out 
 the stings of pride and selfishness, and purified their vision 
 by faith, what is there to dread ? What is their case ? They 
 have life, without certainty how it is to be nourished. They 
 do without certainty, like " the young ravens which cry,'' 
 and work for and enjoy the subsistence of the day, leaving 
 the morrow to take care of what concerns it. If living in 
 the dreariest abodes of a town, the light from within shines 
 in the dark place, and, dispelling the. mists of worldly care, 
 guides to the blessing of tending the sick, and sharing the 
 food of to-day with the orphan, and him who has no help 
 but in them. K the philosopher goes into such retreats with 
 his lantern, there may he best find the generous and the 
 brave. If, instead of the alleys of a city, they live under 
 
430 DEERBROOK. 
 
 the open sky, they are yet lighter under their poverty. 
 There, however blank the future may lie before them, they 
 have to-day the living reality of lawns and woods, and flocks 
 in *' the green pasture and beside the still waters," which 
 silently remind them of the Shepherd, under whom they shall 
 not want any real good thing. The quiet of the shady lane 
 is theirs, and the beauty of the blossoming thorn above the 
 pool. Delight steals through them with the scent of the 
 violet, or the new mown hay. If they have hushed the voices 
 of complaint and fear within them, there is the music of the 
 merry lark for them, or of the leaping waterfall, or of a whole 
 orchestra of harps, when the breeze sweeps through a grove 
 of pines. While it is not for fortune to " rob them of free 
 nature's grace," and while she leaves them life and strength 
 of limb and soul, the certainty of a future, though they cannot 
 see what, and the assurance of progression, though they cannot 
 see how, — is poverty worth, for themselves, more than a 
 passing doubt ? Can it ever be worth the torment of fear, 
 the bondage of subservience? — the compromise of free 
 thought, — ^the sacrifice of free speech, — the bending of the 
 erect head, the vailing of the open brow, the repression of 
 the salient soul ? If, instead of this, poverty should act as 
 the liberator of the spirit, awakening it to trust in God and 
 sympathy for man, and placing it aloft, fresh and free, like 
 morning on the hill-top, to survey the expanse of life, and 
 recognise its realities from beneath its mists, it should be 
 greeted with that holy joy before which all sorrow and sigh- 
 ing flee away. 
 
 Their poverty, which had never afflicted them very 
 grievously, was almost lost sight of by the corner-house 
 family, when Hester's infant was born. They were all happy 
 and satisfied then, though there were people in Deexbrook 
 who found fault with their arrangements, and were extremely 
 scandalised when it was found that no nurse had arrived from 
 Blickley, and that Morris took the charge of her mistress upon 
 herself. The Greys pronounced by their own fireside that it 
 was a strange fancy — carrying an affection for an old servant 
 to a rather romantic extreme — that it was a fresh instance of 
 the " enthusiasm " which adversity had not yet moderated in 
 their cousins, as might have been wished. Out-of-doors,, 
 however, Sophia vaunted the attachment of Morris to her 
 young mistress — an attachment so strong, as that she would 
 have been, really hurt if any one else had been allowed to sit 
 
DEERBROOK* 431 
 
 up with Hester ; and indeed no one could have filled her place 
 half so much to the satisfaction of the family — Morris had 
 had so much experience, and was as fond of her charge as a 
 mother could be. No one knew what a treasure her cousins 
 had in Morris. All of which was true in its separate 
 particulars, though altogether it did not constitute the reason 
 why Hester had no nurse from Blickley. 
 
 They were happy and satisfied. Yes, even Margaret. This 
 infant opened up a spring of consolation in her heart, which 
 she could not have believed existed there. On this child she 
 could pour out some of her repressed affections, and on him 
 did she rest her baffled hopes. He beguiled her into the 
 future, from which she had hitherto recoiled. That helpless, 
 unconscious little creature, cradled on her arm, and knowing 
 nothing of its resting place, was more powerful than sister, 
 brotiier, or friend — than self-interest, philosophy, or religion, 
 in luring her imagination onward into future years of honour 
 and peace. Holy and sweet was the calm of her mind, as, 
 forgetting herself and her griefs, she watched the first efibrts 
 of this infant to acquaint himself with his own powers, and 
 with the world about him ; when she smiled at the ungainly 
 stretching of the little limbs, and the unpractised movement 
 of his eyes seeking the light. Holy and sweet were the tears 
 which swelled into her eyes when she saw him at his mother's 
 breast, and could not but gaze at the fresh and divine beauty 
 now mantling on that mother's face, amidst the joy of this 
 new relation. It was a delicious moment when Hope came in, 
 the first day that Hester sat by the fireside, when he stopped 
 short for a brief instant, as if arrested by the beauty of what 
 he saw ; and then glanced towards Margaret for sympathy. 
 It was a delicious moment to her — the moment of that full, 
 free, unembarrassed glance, which she had scarcely met since 
 the first days of their acquaintance. 
 
 It was a pleasure to them all to see Hester well provided 
 with luxuries. Maria, knowing that her surgeon would not 
 accept money from her, took this opportunity of sending in 
 wine. Oh, the pleasure of finding the neglected corkscrew, 
 and making Morris take a glass with them ! The Greys 
 brought game, and Hester's little table was well served every 
 day. With what zeal did Margaret apply herself, under 
 Morris's teaching, to cook Hester's choice little dinners ! Yes 
 to cook them. Margaret was learning all Morris's arts from 
 her 9 for, of two troubles which somewhat disturbed this seasoa 
 
432 DEERBROOK. 
 
 of comfort, one was that it appeared too certain that Morris 
 must go, as Susan and Charles had gone before her. No one 
 had expressly declared this : it was left undiscussed, apparently 
 by common consent, till it should be ascertained that baby 
 was healthy and Hester getting strong ; but the thought was 
 in the minds of them all, and their plans involved preparation 
 for this. 
 
 The other trouble was, that with peace and comfort, some 
 slight, very slight symptoms recurred of Hester's propensity 
 to self-torment. It could not be otherwise. The wonder was, 
 that for weeks and months she had been relieved from her old 
 enemy to the extent she had been. The reverence with which 
 her husband and sister regarded the temper in 'which she had 
 borne unbounded provocation and most unmerited adversity, 
 sometimes beguiled them into a hope that her troubles from 
 within were over for ever ; but a little reflection, and some 
 slight experience, taught them that this was unreasonable* 
 They remembered that the infirmity of a life-time was not to 
 be wholly cured in half-a-year ; and that they must expect 
 some recurrence of her old malady at times when there was 
 no immediate appeal to her magnanimity, and no present 
 cause for anxiety for those in whom she forgot herself. 
 
 The first time that Hester was in the drawing-room for the 
 whole day, Morris was laying the cloth for dinner, and Mar- 
 garet was walking up and down the room with the baby on 
 her arm, when Hope came in. Hester forgot everybody and 
 everything else when her husband appeared — a fact which 
 Morris's benevolence was never weary of noting and com- 
 menting upon to herself. She often wondered if ever lady loved 
 her husband as her young mistress did ; and she smiled to 
 herself to see the welcome that beamed upon Hester's whole 
 face when Hope came to take his seat beside her on the sofa. 
 This was in her mind to-day, when her master presently said, 
 
 " Where is my boy ? I have not seen him for hours. Why 
 do you put him out of his father's way ? Oh, Margaret has 
 him ! Come, Margaret, yield him up. You can have him 
 all the hours that I am away. You do not grudge him to me, 
 dp you?" 
 
 " My master won't have to complain, as many gentlemen 
 do," said Morris, " or as many gentlemen feel, if they don't 
 complain, that he is neglected for the sake of his baby." 
 
 " If you enjoy your dinner to-day, love," said Hester, " you 
 must not give me the credit of it. You and I are to sit down 
 
DEERBROOK. 433 
 
 to our pheasant together, they tell me. Margaret and Morris 
 will have it that they have both dined." 
 
 " There is little in getting a comfortable dinner ready," 
 said Morris, " whether it is the lady herself, or another, that 
 looks to a trifle like that. It is the seeing his wife so full of 
 care and thought about her baby as to have none to spare for 
 him, that frets many an one who does not like to say anything 
 about it. Fathers cannot be so taken with a very young baby 
 as the mothers are, and it is mortifying to feel themselves 
 neglected for a new-comer. I have often seen that, my dears ; 
 but I shall never see it here, I find." 
 
 -" I do not know how you should, Morris," said Hester, in 
 something of the old tone, which made her sister's heart throb 
 almost before it reached her ear. " Margaret will save me 
 from any such danger. Margaret takes care that nobody shall 
 be engrossed with the baby but herself. She has not a thought 
 to spare for any of us while she has baby in her arms. The 
 little fellow has cut us all out." 
 
 Margaret quickly transferred the infant to her brother's 
 arm, and left the room. She thought it best ; for her heart 
 was very full, and she could not speak. She restrained her 
 tears, and went into the kitchen to busy herself about the 
 dinner she had cooked. 
 
 " 'Tis a fine pheasant, indeed, Miss Margaret, my dear, and 
 beautifully roasted, I am sure : and I hope you will go up and 
 see them enjoy it. I am so sorry, my dear, for what I said just 
 now. I merely spoke what came up in my mind when I felt 
 pleased, and never thought of its bringing on any remark. 
 Nor was anything intended, I am sure, that should make you 
 look so sad : so do you go up, and take the baby again, when 
 they sit down to dinner, as if nothing had been said. Do, my 
 dear, if I may venture to say so. I will follow you with the 
 dinner in a minute." 
 
 " I wonder how it is, my love," said Hope, in a voice which 
 spoke all the tenderness of his heart ; " I wonder how it is 
 that you can endure wrong so nobly, and that you cannot 
 bear the natural course of events. Tell me how it is, Hester, 
 that you have sustained magnanimously all the injuries and 
 misfortunes of many months, and that you now quarrel with 
 Margaret's affection for our child." 
 
 " Ah ! why, indeed, Edward ? " shcreplied, humbly. " Why, 
 but that I am unworthy that such an one as Margaret should 
 love me and my child." 
 
 r F 
 
434 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Encmgh, enough. I only want to show you how I regard 
 the case about this new love of Margaret's. Do you not see 
 how much happier she has been since this little fellow was 
 bom?" 
 
 « Oh, yes." 
 
 " One may now fancy that she may be gay again. Let us 
 remember what an oppressed heart she had, and what it must 
 be to her to have a new object, so innocent and unconscious 
 as this child, to lavish her affection upon. Do not let us 
 grudge her the consolation, or poison the pleasure of this 
 fresh interest." 
 
 " I am afraid it is done," cried Hester, in great distress. 
 ^* I was wicked — ^I was more cruel than any of our enemies, 
 when I said what I did. I may well bear with them ; for, 
 God knows, I am at times no better than they. I have robbed 
 my Margaret of her only comfort — spoiled her only pleasure." 
 
 " No, no. Here she comes. Look at her." 
 
 Margaret's face was indeed serene, and she made as light of 
 the matter as she could, when Hester implored that she would 
 pardon her hasty and cruel words, and that she would show 
 her forgiveness by continuing to cherish the child. He must 
 not begin to suffer already for his mother's faults, Hester said. 
 There could be no doubt of Margaret's forgiveness, nor of her 
 forgetfulness of what had been said, as far as forgetfulness 
 was possible. But the worst of such sayings is, that they carry 
 in them that which prevents their being ever quite forgotten. 
 Hester had effectually established a constraint in her sister's 
 intercourse with the baby, and imposed upon Margaret the 
 incessant care of scrupulously adjusting the claims of the 
 mother and the child. The evils arising from faulty temper 
 may be borne, may be concealed, but can never be fully 
 repaired. Happy they whose part it is to endure and to con- 
 ceal, rather than to inflict, and to strive uselessly to repair ! 
 
 Margaret's part was the easiest of the three, as they sat at 
 the table — she with the baby in her arms, and all agreeing 
 that the time was come for an explanation with Morris — for 
 depending on themselves for almost all the work of the house. 
 
 " Come, Morris," said Hester, when the cloth was removed ; 
 " you must spare us half-an-hour. We want to consult with 
 you. Come and sit down." 
 
 Morris came, with a foreboding heart. 
 
 " It will be no news to you," said Hope, ** that we are very 
 poor. You know nearly as much of our afl^irs as we do our- 
 
DEEEBROC«:. 4:^5t 
 
 selves, as it is right that you should. We have not wished to 
 make any further change in our domestic plans till this little 
 fellow was born. But now that he is beginning to make his 
 way in the world, and that his mother is well and strong, we 
 feel that we must consider of some further effort to spend still 
 less than we do now." 
 
 " There are two ways in which this may be done, we think, 
 Morris," said Hester. " We may either keep the comfort of 
 having you with us, and pinch ourselves more as to dress and 
 the table " 
 
 " Oh ! ma'am, I hope you will not carry that any farther." 
 
 ^^ Well, if we do not carry that any further, the only thing 
 to be done, I fear, is to part with you." 
 
 " Is there no other way, I wonder," said Morris, as if think- 
 ing aloud. "If it must be one of these way&, it certainly 
 seems to me to be better for ladies to work hard with good 
 food, than to have a servant, and stint themselves in health 
 and strength. But who would have thought of my young 
 ladies coming to this ? " 
 
 "It is a situation in which hundreds and thousands are 
 placed, Morris ; and why not we, as well as they ? " 
 
 " May be so, ma'am : but it grieves one, too." 
 
 " Do not grieve. I believe we all think that this parting 
 with you is the first real grief that our change of fortune has 
 caused us. Somehow or other, we have been exceedingly 
 comfortable in our poverty. If that had been all, we should 
 have had a very happy year of it." 
 
 " One would desire to say nothing against what is God's 
 wiU, ma'am ; but one may be allowed, perhaps, to hope that 
 better times will come." 
 
 " I do hope it, and believe it," said her master. 
 
 " And if better times come, Morris, you will return to us; 
 Will you not?" 
 
 " My dear, you know nothing would make me leave you 
 now (as you say I am a comfort to you) if I had any right to 
 say I would stay. I could live upon as little as anybody, and 
 could do almost without any wages. But there is my poor 
 sister, you know, ladies. She depends upon me for everything, 
 now that she cannot work herself : and I must earn money 
 for her." 
 
 " We are quite aware of that," said Margaret. " It is for 
 your sake and hers, quite as much as for our own, that we think 
 we must part J' 
 
 F F 2 
 
 i 
 
436 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " We wish to know what you would like to do," said Hester. 
 " Shall we try to find a situation for you near us, or would 
 you be happier to go down among your old friends ? " 
 
 " I had better go where I am sure of employment, ma'am. 
 Better go down to Birmingham at once. I should never have 
 left it but for my young ladies' sakes. But I should be right 
 glad, my dears, to leave it again for you, if you can at any 
 time write to say you wish for me back. There is another 
 way I have thought of sometimes ; but, of course, you cannot 
 have overlooked anything that could occur to me. If you 
 would all go to Birmingham, you have so many friends there, 
 and my master would be valued as he ought to be ; which 
 there is no sign of his being in this place. I do not like this 
 place, my dears. It is not good enough for you." 
 
 " We think any place good enough for us where there are 
 men and women living," said Hope, kindly but gravely. 
 *' Others have thought as you do, Morris, and have offered us 
 temptations to go away ; but we do not think it right. If we 
 go, we shall leave behind us a bad character, which we do not 
 deserve. If we stay, I have very little doubt of recovering my 
 professional character, and winning over our neighbours to 
 think better of us, and be kind to us again. We mean to try 
 for it, if I should have to hire myself out as a porter in Mr. 
 Grey's yards." 
 
 " Pray, don't say that, sir. But, indeed, I believe you are so 
 far right as that the good always conquers at last." 
 
 " Just so, Morris : that is what we trust. And for the sake 
 of this little fellow, if for nothing else, we must stand by our 
 good name. Who knows but that I may leave him a fine 
 flourishing practice in this very place, when I retire or 
 die ? — always supposing he means to follow his father's pro- 
 fession." 
 
 " Sir, that is looking forward very far." 
 
 " So it is, Morris. But however people may disapprove of 
 looking forward too far, it is difficult to help it when they 
 become parents. Your mistress could tell you, if she would 
 own the truth, that she sees her son's manly beauty already 
 under that little wry mouth, and that odd button of a nose. 
 Why may not I just as weU fancy him a young surgeon ?" 
 
 "Morris would say, as she once said to me," observed 
 Margaret, " * Remember death, my dear ; remember death.' " 
 
 "We will remember it," said Morris, "but we must re- 
 member at the same time God's mercy in giving life. He 
 
DEERBROOK. 437 
 
 who gave life can preserve it : and this shall be my trust for 
 you all, my dears, when I am far away from you. There is 
 a knock! I must go. Oh! Miss Margaret, who will there be 
 to go to the door when I am gone, but you?" 
 
 Mr. Jones had knocked at the door, and left a letter. These 
 were its contents : — 
 
 '' Sir, — ^I hope you will excuse the liberty I take in applying 
 to you for my own satisfaction. My wife and I have perceived 
 with much concern that we have lost much of your custom of 
 late. We mind little the mere falling off of custom in any 
 quarter, in comparison with failing to give satisfaction. We 
 have always tried, I am sure, to give satisfaction in our 
 dealings with your family, sir ; and if there has been any 
 offence, I can assure you it is unintentional, and shall feel 
 obliged by knowing what it is. We cannot conceive, sir, 
 where you get your meat, if not from us ; and if you have the 
 trouble of buying it from a distance, I can only say we should 
 be happy to save you the trouble, if we knew how to serve 
 you to your liking ; for, sir, we have a great respect for you 
 and yours. 
 
 " Your obedient servants, 
 
 " John Jones, 
 " Mary Jones." 
 
 " The kind souls !" cried Hester. *^ What must we say to 
 them?" 
 
 " We must set their minds at ease about our good-will to 
 them. How that little fellow stares about him, like a child of 
 double his age ! I do believe I could make him look wise at 
 my watch already. Yes, we must set the Joneses at ease, at 
 all events." 
 
 " But how ? We must not tell them that we cannot afford 
 to buy of them as we did." 
 
 " No ; that would be begging. We must trust to their 
 delicacy not to press too closely for a reason, when once 
 assured that we respect them as highly as they possibly can 
 us." 
 
 " You may trust them," said Margaret, " I am convinced. 
 They will look in your face, and be satisfied without further 
 question ; and my advice, therefore, is, that you do not write, 
 but go." 
 
 " I will ; and now. They shall not suffer a moment's paia 
 
438 DEERBR00K. 
 
 that I can save tfaem. Good nigKt, my boy ! What ! you 
 have not learned to kiss yet. Well, among us all, you will 
 soon know how, if teaching will do it. What a spirit he has! 
 I fancy he will turn out like Frank." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE LONG NIGHTS^. 
 
 Almost as soon as Hope had left the house, Sydney Grey 
 arrived, looking full of importance. He took care to shut the 
 door before he would tell his errand. His mother had been 
 obliged to trust him for want of another messenger ; and he 
 delivered his message with a little of the parade of mystery 
 he had derived from her. Mr. Grey's family had become 
 uneasy about his returning from the markets in the evening, 
 since robberies had become so frequent as they now were, and 
 the days so short ; and had at length persuaded him to sleep 
 at the more distant market-towns he had to visit, and return 
 the next morning. From Blickley he could get home before 
 the evening closed in; but on two days in the week he was to 
 remain out all night. When he had agreed to this, his family 
 had applauded him and felt satisfied : but as the evening drew 
 on, on occasion of this his first absence, Mrs. Grey and Sophia 
 had grown nervous on their own account. They recalled story 
 after story, which they had lately heard, of robberies at several 
 solitary houses in the country round ; and, though their house 
 was not solitary, they could not reconcile themselves to going 
 to rest without the comfort of knowing that there was, as 
 usual, a strong man on their premises. If they had been 
 aware how many strong men there were sometimes on their 
 premises at night, they would not. have been satisfied with 
 having one within their walls. Not having been informed, 
 however, how cleverly their dogs were silenced, how much 
 poached game was divided under the shelter of their stacks of 
 deals, and what dextrous abstractions were at such times made 
 from the store of corn in their granaries, and coal in their 
 lighters, they proposed nothing further than to beg the favour 
 of Mr. Hope that he would take a bed in their house for this 
 one night. They dared not engage any of the men from the 
 yards to defend them ; they had not Mr. Grey's leave, and he 
 might not ba pleased if they showed any fear to their own 
 
MIERBROOK. 439 
 
 servants : but it would be the greatest comfort if Mr. Hope 
 would come, as if to supper, and stay the night. The spare 
 room was ready ; and Mrs. Grey hoped he would not object 
 to leaving his family just for once. Mr. Grey intended to do 
 the same thing twice a week, till the days should lengthen, 
 and the roads become safer. 
 
 Though Sydney made the most of his message, he declared 
 himself not thoroughly pleased with it. 
 
 " They might have trusted me to take care of them," said 
 he. " If they had just let me have my father's pistols ." 
 
 " Oome, come, Sydney, do not talk of pistols," said Hester, 
 who did not relish any part of the affair. 
 
 " He would not talk of them if he thought they were likely 
 to be wanted," observed Margaret. 
 
 " Likely! when were they ever more likely to be wanted, I 
 should like to know! Did you hear what happened at the 
 Russell Taylors' last night ?" 
 
 " No ; and we do not wish to hear. Do not tell us any 
 horrible stories, unless you mean my husband to stay at home 
 to-night." 
 
 " Oh, you must just hear this, because it ended well ; that 
 is, nobody was killed. Mr. Walcot told Sophia all about it 
 this morning ; and it was partly that which made her so 
 anxious to have some one sleep in the house to-night." 
 
 " Well, then, do not tell us, or you will make us anxious 
 for the same thing." 
 
 " What would your mother say if you were to carry home 
 word that Mr. Hope could not come — that his family dare not 
 part with him ? " 
 
 " Oh, then she must let me have my father's pistols, and 
 watch for the fellows. If they came about our windows as 
 they did about the Russell Taylors', how I would let ily 
 among them ! They came rapping at the shutters, at two this 
 morning ; and when Mr. Taylor looked out from his bedroom 
 above, they said they would not trouble themselves to get in, 
 if he would throw out his money ! " 
 
 "And did he?" 
 
 " Yes. They raised a hat upon a pole, and he put in four 
 or five pounds — all he had in the house, he told them. So 
 they went away ; but none of the family thought of going to 
 bed again." 
 
 " I dare say not. And what sort of thieves are these sup- 
 posed to be ? They set about their business very oddly." 
 
440 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Not like London thieves," said Sydney, consequentially, as 
 if he knew all about London thieves. " They are the dis- 
 tressed country people, no doubt — such as would no more 
 think of standing a second shot from my pistol, than of 
 keeping the straits of Thermopylae. Look here," he con- 
 tinued, showing the end of a pistol, which peeped from a 
 pocket inside his coat ; " here 's a thing that will put such 
 gentry into a fine taking." 
 
 " Pray, is that pistol loaded ? " inquired Hester, pressing her 
 infant to her. 
 
 "To be sure. What is the use of a pistol if it is not 
 loaded? It might as well be in the shop as in my pocket, 
 then. Look at her, cousin Margaret ! If she is not in as 
 great a fright as the cowardly thieves ! Why, cousin Hester, 
 don't you see, if this pistol went off, it Would not shoot you or 
 the baby. It would go straight through me." 
 
 " That is a great comfort. But I had rather you would go 
 away, you and your pistol. Pray, does your mother know 
 that you carry one ? " 
 
 " No. Mind you don't tell her. I trust you not to tell her. 
 Remember, I would not have told you if I had not felt sure of 
 
 you." 
 
 " You had better not have felt sure of us. However, we 
 will not teU your mother ; but my husband wiU tell Mr. Grey 
 to-morrow, when he comes home. If he chooses that you 
 should carry loaded pistols about, there wiU be no harm 
 done." 
 
 " I have a great mind to say I will shoot you if you tell," 
 cried Sydney, presenting the pistol with a grand air. But he 
 saw that he made his cousins really uneasy, and he laid it 
 down on the table, offering to leave it with them for the night, 
 if they thought it would make them feel any safer. There 
 were plenty more at home. 
 
 " Thank you," said Margaret, " but I believe we are more 
 afraid of loaded pistols than of thieves. The sooner you take 
 it away the better. You can go now, presently, for here 
 comes my brother." 
 
 Sydney quickly pocketed his pistol. Hope agreed to go, 
 and promised to be at Mr. Grey's to supper by nine o'clock. 
 
 Margaret was incessantly thinking of Maria in these long 
 evenings, when alarms of one kind or another were all abroad. 
 She now thought she would go with Sydney, and spend an 
 hour or two with Maria, returning by the time her brother 
 
DEERBROOK. 441 
 
 would be going to the Greys\ Maria's landlord would see 
 her home, no doubt. 
 
 She found her friend busy with book and needle, and as 
 well in health as usual, but obviously somewhat moved by 
 the dismal stories which had travelled from mouth to mouth 
 through Deerbrook during the day. It seemed hardly right 
 that any person in delicate health should be lonely at such a 
 time ; and it occurred to Margaret that her friend might like 
 to go home with her, and occupy the bed which was this 
 night to spare. Maria thankfully accepted the offer, and let 
 Margaret put up her little bundle for her. The farrier 
 escorted them to the steps of the comer-house, and then left 
 them. 
 
 The door was half-open, as Morris was talking with some 
 one on the mat in the hall. An extremely taU woman, with 
 a crying baby in her arms, made way for the ladies, not 
 by going out of the house, but by stepping further into the 
 hall. 
 
 " Morris, had you not better shut the door? " said Margaret ; 
 " the wind blows in so, it is enough to chill the whole house." 
 
 But Morris held the door open, rather wider than before. 
 
 " So the gentleman is not at home," said the tall woman, 
 gruffly. " If I come again in an hour with my poor baby, 
 wiU he be at home then ? " 
 
 " Is my brother gone, Morris?" 
 
 " Yes, Miss : three minutes ago." 
 
 " Then he will not be back in an hour. We do not expect 
 him ." 
 
 " This good woman had better go to Mr. Walcot, ma'am, as 
 I have been telling her. There's no doubt he is at home." 
 
 " I could wait here till the gentleman comes home," said 
 the tall woman ; " and so get the first advice for my poor 
 baby. 'Tis very ill, ma'am." 
 
 " Better go to Mr. Walcot," persisted Morris. 
 
 " Or to my brother at Mr. Grey's," said Margaret, unwill- 
 ing to lose the chance of a new patient for Edward, and 
 thinking his advice better, for the child's sake, than Mr. 
 Walcot's. 
 
 " It is far the readiest way to go to Mr. Walcot's," declared 
 Maria, whose arm Margaret felt to tremble within her own. 
 
 "I believe you are right," said Margaret. " You had better 
 not waste any more time here, good woman. It may make all 
 the difference to your child.'* 
 
442 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " If you would let me wait till tlie gentleman comes home," 
 said the tall woman. 
 
 " Impossible. It is too late to-night for patients to wait. 
 This lady's landlord, without there, will show you the way to 
 Mr. Walcot's. Call him, Morris." 
 
 Morris went out upon the steps, but the tall woman passed 
 her, and was gone. Morris stepped in briskly, and put up 
 the chain. 
 
 " You were very ready to send a new patient to Mr. Walcot, 
 Morris," said Margaret, smiling. 
 
 " I had a fancy that it was a sort of patient that my master 
 would not be the better for," replied Morris. ," I did not like 
 the looks of the person." 
 
 " Nor I," said Maria. 
 
 The drawing-room door was heard to open, and Morris put 
 her finger on her lips. Hester had been alone nearly ten 
 minutes ; she was growing nervous, and wanted to know what 
 all this talking in the hall was about. She was told that 
 Mr. Hope had been inquired for, about a sick baby ; and the 
 rest of the discourse went to the account of Maria's unexpected 
 arrival. Hester welcomed Maria kindly, ordered up the cold 
 pheasant and the wine, and then, leaving the friends to enjoy 
 themselves over the fire, retired to rest. Morris was desired 
 to go too, as she still slept in her mistress's room, and ought 
 to keep early hours, since, in addition to her labours of the 
 day, she was at the baby's call in the night. Margaret would 
 see her friend to her room. Morris must not remain up on 
 their account. 
 
 " How comfortable this is !" cried Maria, in a gleeful tone, 
 as she looked round upon the crackling fire, the tray, the wine, 
 and her companion. " How unlooked for, to pass a whole 
 evening and night without being afraid of anything ! " 
 
 " What an admission from you ! — that you are afraid of 
 something every night." 
 
 " That is just the plain truth. When I used to read about 
 the horrors of living in a solitary house in the country, I 
 little thought how much of the same terror I should feel 
 from living solitary in a house in a village. You wonder 
 what could happen to me, I dare say ; and perhaps it would 
 not be very easy to suppose any peril which would stand 
 examination. 
 
 ** I was going to say that you and we are particularly safe, 
 from being so poor that there is no inducement to rob us. 
 
DEERBROOK. 443 
 
 We and you have neither money nor jewels, nor plate, that 
 can tempt thieves ! — for our few forks and spoons are hardly 
 worth breaking into a house for." 
 
 " People who want bread, however, may think it worth 
 while to break in for that: and while our thieves are this sort 
 of people, and not the London gentry whom Sydney is so fond 
 of talking of, it may be enough that gentlemen and ladies live 
 in houses to make the starving suppose that they shall find 
 something valuable there." 
 
 " They would soon learn better if they came here. I doubt 
 whether, when you and I have done our supper, they would 
 find anything to eat. But how do you show your terrors, I 
 should like to know ? Do you scream ? " 
 
 " I never screamed in my life, as far as I remember. 
 Screaming appears to me the most unnatural of human sounds. 
 I never felt the slightest inclination to express myself in that 
 manner." 
 
 " Nor I : but I never said so, because I thought no one 
 would believe me." 
 
 ** No : the true mood for these doleful winter nights is, to 
 sit trying to read, but never able to fix your attention for ^ve 
 minutes, for some odd noise or another. And yet it is almost 
 worse to hear nothing but a cinder falling on the hearth now 
 and then, startling you like a pistol-shot. Then it seems as if 
 somebody was opening the shutter outside, and then tapping 
 at the window. I have got so into the habit of looking at the 
 window at night, expecting to see a face squeezed flat against 
 the pane, that I have yielded up my credit to myself, and 
 actually have the blinds drawn down when the outside 
 shutters are closed." 
 
 " How glad I am to find you are no braver than the rest of 
 usl" 
 
 " No ; do not be glad. It is very painful, night after night. 
 Every step clinks or craunches in the farrier's yard, you know. 
 This ought to be a comfort : but sometimes I cannot clearly 
 tell where the sound comes from. More than once lately I 
 have fancied it was behind me, and have turned round in a 
 greater hurry than you would think I could use. My rooms 
 are a good way from the rest of the house ; you remember 
 the length of the passage between. I do not like disturbing 
 the family in the evenings ; but I have been selfish enough to 
 ring, once or twice this week, "without any sufficient reason, 
 just for the sake of a sight of my landlady." 
 
444 DEERBROOK. 
 
 *^ A very sufficient reason. But I had no idea of all this 
 from you." 
 
 " You have heard me say some fine things about the value 
 of time to me — about the blessings of my long evenings. For 
 all that (true as it is), I have got into the way of going to bed 
 soon after ten, just because I know every one else in the house 
 is in bed, and I do not like to be the only person up." 
 
 " That is the reason why you are looking so well, not- 
 withstanding all these terrors. But, Maria, what has become 
 of your bravery ? " 
 
 " It is just where it was. I am no more afraid than I used 
 to be of evils which may be met with a mature mind : and 
 just as much afraid as ever of those which terrified my child- 
 hood." 
 
 " Our baby shall never be afraid of anything,*' asserted 
 Margaret. " But Maria, something must be done for your 
 relief." 
 
 " That is just what I hoped and expected you would say, 
 and the reason why I exposed myself to you." 
 
 " Why do not the Greys offer you a room there for the 
 winter ? That seems the simplest and most obvious plan." 
 
 " It is not convenient." 
 
 *^How should that be?" 
 
 ** The bed would have to be uncovered, you know ; and the 
 mahogany wash-stand might be splashed." 
 
 " They can get a room ready for a guest, to relieve their 
 own fears, but not yours. Can nothing be done about it?" 
 
 "Not unless the Rowlands should take in Mr. Walcot, 
 because he is afraid to live alone: in such case, the Greys 
 would take me in for the same reason. But that will not be : 
 so, Margaret, I will ask you plainly, and you will answer as 
 plainly — could you, without too much pain, trouble, and 
 inconvenience, spend an evening or two a week with me, just 
 till this panic is passed ? If you could put it in my power to 
 be always looking forward to an evening of relief, it would 
 break the sense of solitude, and make all the dijSerence to me. 
 I see the selfishness of this ; but I really think it is better to 
 own my weakness than to struggle uselessly against it any 
 longer." 
 
 " I could do that — snould like of all things to do it till 
 Morris goes : but that will be so soon ." 
 
 " Morris ! where is she going?" 
 
 Margaret related this piece of domestic news, too private to 
 
DEERBROOK. 445 
 
 be told to any one else till the last moment. Maria forgot 
 her own troubles, or despised them as she listened, so grieved 
 was she for her friends, including Morris. Margaret was not 
 very sorry on Morris's own account. Morris wanted rest — an 
 easier place. She had had too much upon her for some time 
 past. 
 
 " What then will you have, when she is gone?" 
 
 "If I have work enough to drive all thought out of my 
 head, I shall be thankful. Meantime, I will bestow my best 
 wit upon your case." 
 
 " I am ashamed of my case already. While sitting in all 
 this comfort here, I can hardly believe in my own tremors, of 
 no earlier date than last night. Come, let us draw to the fire. 
 I hope we shall not end with sitting up all night; but I feel as 
 if I should like it very much." 
 
 Margaret stirred up a blaze, and put out the candles. No 
 economy was now beneath her care. As she took her seat 
 beside her friend, she said, 
 
 " Maria, did you ever know any place so dull and dismal 
 as Deerbrook is now ? Is it not enough to make any heart as 
 heavy as the fortunes of the place ? " 
 
 " Even the little that I see of it, in going to and from the 
 Greys, looks sad enough. You see the outskirts, which I 
 suppose are worse still." 
 
 " The very air feels too heavy to breathe. The cottages, 
 and even the better houses, appear to my eyes damp and 
 weather-stained on the outside, and silent within. The children 
 sit shivering on the thresholds — do not they? — instead of 
 shouting at their play as they did. Every one looks dis- 
 contented, and complains — the poor of want of bread, and 
 every one else of hard times, and all manner of woes, that one 
 never hears of in prosperous seasons. Mr. James says the 
 actions for trespass are beyond all example ; Mr. Tucker 
 declares his dog, that died the other day, was poisoned ; and 
 I never pass the Green but the women are even quarrelling 
 for precedence at the pump." 
 
 " I have witnessed some of this, but not all : and neither, I 
 suspect, have you, Margaret, though you think you have. 
 We see the affairs of the world in shadow, you know, when 
 our own hearts aire sad." 
 
 " My heart is not so sad as you think. You do not believe 
 me : but that is because you do not believe what I am sure 
 of — that he is not to blame for anything that has happened, — 
 
446 DEERBROOK. 
 
 that, at least, he has only been mistaken, — that there has 
 been no fickleness, no selfishness, in him. I could not speak 
 of this, even to you, Maria, if it were not a duty to him. 
 You must not be left to suppose from my silence that he is 
 to blame, as you think he is. I suffer from no sense of 
 injury from him. I got over that, long ago." 
 
 Maria would not say, as she thought, " You had to get 
 over it, then?" 
 
 " It makes me very unhappy to think how he is suffering, 
 — how much more he has to bear than I ; so much more than 
 the separation and the blank. He cannot trust me as I 
 trusted him ; and that is, indeed, to be without consolation." 
 
 " Do men ever trust as women do ?" ' 
 
 " Yes, Edward does. If he were to go to India for twenty 
 years, he would know, as certainly as I should, that Hester 
 would be widowed in every thought till his return. And the 
 time will come when Philip will know this as certainly of 
 me. It is but a little while yet that I have waited, Maria ; 
 but it does sometimes seem a weary waiting." 
 
 Maria took her friend's hand, in token of the sympathy she 
 could not speak, — so much of hopelessness was there mingled 
 with it. 
 
 " I know you and others think that this waiting is to go on 
 for ever." 
 
 ^^ No, love ; not so." 
 
 ^^ Or that a certainty which is even worse wiU come some 
 day. But it will be otherwise. His love can no more be 
 quenched or alienated by the slanders of a wicked woman, 
 than the sun can be put out by an eclipse, or sent to enlighten 
 another world, leaving us mourning." 
 
 " Yon judge by your own soul, Margaret ; and that should 
 be a faithful guide. You judge him by your own soul, — 
 and how much by this?" she added, with a smile, fixing 
 her eyes on tlie turquoise ring, which was Philip's gift, 
 and which, safely guarded, was on a finger of the hand she 
 held. 
 
 Margaret blushed. She could not have denied, if closely 
 pressed, that some little tinge of the Eastern superstition had 
 entered into this sacred ring, and lay there, Hke the fire in 
 the opal. She could not have denied, that, when she drew it 
 on every morning, she noted with satisfaction that its blue 
 was as clear and bright as ever. 
 
 ** How is it that this ring is still here?" asked Maria. " Is 
 
DEERBROOK. 447 
 
 it possible that he retains gifts of yours ? Yet, I think, if 
 he did not, this ring would not be on your finger." 
 
 '* He does keep whatever I gave him. Thank God! he 
 keeps them. This is one of my greatest comforts : it is the 
 only way I have left of speaking to him. But if it were not 
 so, this ring would still be where it is. I would not give it 
 up. I am not altered. I am not angry with him. His love 
 is as precious to me as it ever was, and I will not give up the 
 tokens of it. Why, Maria, you surely cannot suppose that 
 these things have any other value or use but as given by 
 him ! You cannot suppose that I dread the imputation of 
 keeping them for their own sakes ! " 
 
 " No ; but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " Is any proof of his former regard of value now ? That is 
 the question. It has only very lately become a question with 
 me. I have only lately learned to think him in fault. I 
 excused him before .... I excused him as long as I 
 could." 
 
 " You will imleam your present opinion of him. Yes ; 
 everything that was ever valuable from him is more precious- 
 than ever now, — now that he is under a spell, and cannot 
 speak his soul. If it were, as you think, if he loved me no 
 longer, they would be still more precious, as a relic of the 
 dead. But it is not so." 
 
 " If faith can remove mountains, we may have to rejoice 
 for you stiU, Margaret ; for there can be no mass of calumnies 
 between you and him which you have not faith enough to 
 overthrow." 
 
 " Thank you for that. It is the best word of comfort that 
 has come to me from without for many a day. Now there is 
 one thing more in which you can perhaps help me. I have 
 heard nothing about him for so long ! You see Mr. Kowland 
 sometimes (I know he feels a great friendship for you) ; and 
 you meet the younger children. Do you hear nothing what- 
 ever about him .^" 
 
 " Nothing : nor do they. Mr. Rowland told me, a fortnight 
 ago, that Mrs. Eowland and he are seriously uneasy at obtain- 
 ing no answers to their repeated letters to Mr. Enderby. 
 Mrs. Rowland is more disturbed, I believe, than she chooses 
 to show. She must feel herself responsible. She has tried 
 various means of accounting for his silence, all the autumn. 
 Now she gives that up, and is silent in her turn. If it were 
 
448 DEERBROOK. 
 
 not for the impossibility of leaving home at such a time as 
 this, Mr. Kowland would go to London to satisfy himself. 
 Margaret, I believe you are the only person who has smiled 
 at this." 
 
 " Perhaps I am the only one who understands him. I had 
 rather know of this silence than of all the letters he could 
 have written to Mrs. Kowland. If he had been ill, they would 
 certainly have heard." 
 
 "Yes; they say so." 
 
 " Then that is enough. Let us say no more now." 
 
 " You have said that which has cheered me for you, 
 Margaret, though, as we poor irreligious human beings often 
 say to each other, ^ I wish I had your faith.' You have given 
 me more than I had, however. But are we to say no more 
 about anything ? Must we leave this comfortable fire, and go 
 to sleep ? " 
 
 " Not unless you wish it. I have more to ask, if you are 
 not tired." 
 
 " Come, ask me." 
 
 " Cannot you tell me of some way in which a woman may 
 earn money ? " 
 
 '' A woman ? What rate of woman ? Do you mean your- 
 self ? That question is easily answered. A woman from the 
 uneducated classes can get a subsistence by washing and 
 cooking,* by milking cows and going to service, and, in some 
 parts of the kingdom, by working in a cotton mill, or burnish- 
 ing plate, as you have no doubt seen for yourself at 
 Birmingham. But, for an educated woman, a woman with 
 the powers which God gave her, religiously improved, with 
 a reason which lays life open before her, an understanding 
 which surveys science as its appropriate task, and a conscience 
 which would make every species of responsibility safe, — for 
 such a woman there is in all England no chance of subsistence 
 but by teaching — that almost ineiFectual teaching, which can 
 never countervail the education of circumstances, and for 
 which not one in a thousand is fit — or by being a superior 
 Miss Nares — the feminine gender of the tailor and the 
 hatter." 
 
 '' The tutor, the tailor, and the hatter. Is this all?" 
 
 " All ; except that there are departments of art and litera- 
 ture from which it is impossible to shut women out. These 
 are not, however, to be regarded as resources for bread. 
 Besides the number who succeed in art and Literature being 
 
DEERBROOK. 449 
 
 necessarily extremely small, it seems pretty certain that no 
 great achievements, in the domains of art and imagination, 
 can be looked for from either men or women who labour 
 there to supply their lower wants, or for any other reason 
 than the pure love of their work. While they toil in any one 
 of the arts of expression, if they are not engrossed by some 
 loftier meaning, the highest which they will end with express- 
 ing will be, the need of bread." 
 
 " True — quite true. I must not think of any of those 
 higher departments of labour, because, even if I were qualified, 
 what I want is not employment, but money. I am anxious 
 to earn some money, Maria. We are very poor. Edward 
 is trying, one way and another, to earn money to live upon, 
 till his practice comes back to him, as he is for ever trusting 
 it will. I wish to earn something too, if it be ever so little. 
 Can you tell me of no way?" 
 
 " I believe I should not if I could. Why ? Because I think 
 you have quite enough to do already, and will soon have too 
 much. Just consider. When Morris goes, what hour of the 
 day will you have to spare ? Let us see ; — do you mean to 
 sweep the rooms with your own hands ? '* 
 
 *^ Yes," said Margaret, smiling. 
 
 ** And to scour them too ? " 
 
 " No ; not quite that. We shall hire a neighbour to come 
 two or three times a week to do the rougher parts of the 
 work. But I mean to light the fire in the morning (and we 
 shall have but one), and get breakfast ready; and Hester will 
 help me to make the beds. That is nearly all I shall let her 
 do besides the sewing ; for baby will give her employment 
 enough." 
 
 " Indeed, I think so ; and that will leave you too much. 
 Do not think, dear, of earning money. You are doing all you 
 ought in saving it." 
 
 *' I must think about it, because earning is so much nobler 
 and more effectual than saving. I cannot help seeing that 
 it would be far better to earn the amount of Morris's 
 maintenance, than to save it by doing her work badly myself. 
 Not that I shrink from the labour : I am rather enjoying 
 the prospect of it, as I told you. Hark ! what footstep is 
 that?" 
 
 " I heard it a minute or two ago," whispered Maria, " but 
 I did not like to mention it." 
 
 They listened in the deepest silence for a while. At first 
 
 G O 
 
450 DEEllBROOK. 
 
 they were not sure wlietlier they heard anything above the 
 beating of their own hearts ; but they were soon certain that 
 there were feet moving outside the room door. 
 
 " The church-clock has but lately gone twelve," said Maria, 
 in the faint hope that it might be some one of the household 
 yet stirring. 
 
 Margaret shook her head. She rose softly from her seat, 
 and took a candle from the table to light it, saying she would 
 go and see. Her hand trembled a little as she held the match, 
 and the candle would not immediately light. Meantime, the 
 door opened without noise, and some one walked in and quite 
 up to the gazing ladies. It was the tall woman. Maria made 
 an eiFort to reach the bell, but the tall worn ah seized her arm, 
 and made her sit down. A capricious jet of flame from a coal 
 in the Are at this moment lighted up the face of the stranger 
 for a moment, and enabled Maria to " spy a creat peard under 
 the muffler." 
 
 " What do you want at this time ? " said Margaret. 
 
 " I want money, and what else I can get," said the intruder, 
 in the no longer disguised voice of a man. *' I have been into 
 your larder, but you seem to have nothing there." 
 
 " That is true," said Margaret, firmly*, " nor have we any 
 money. We are very poor. You could not have come to a 
 worse place, if you are in want." 
 
 " Here is something, however," said the man, turning to 
 the tray. " With your leave, I'll see what you have left us 
 to eat." 
 
 He thrust one of the candles between the bars of the grate 
 to light it, telling the ladies they had better start no difficulty, 
 lest they should have reason to repent it. There were others 
 with him in the house, who would show themselves in an 
 instant, if any noise were made. 
 
 *' Then do you make none — I beg it as a favour," said 
 Margaret. " There is a lady asleep up-stairs, with a very 
 young infant. If you respect her life you will be quiet." 
 
 The man did not answer, but he was quiet. He cut slices 
 from the loaf, and carried them to the door, and they were 
 taken by somebody outside. He quickly devoured the remains 
 of the pheasant, tearing the meat from the bones with his 
 teeth. He drank from the decanter of wine, and then carried 
 it where he had taken the bread. Two men put their heads 
 in at the door, nodded to the ladies before they drank, and 
 again withdrew. The girls cast a look at each other — a glance 
 
DEERBROOK, 451 
 
 of agreement that resistance was not to be tliouglit of: yet 
 each was conscious of a feeling of rather pleasant surprise that 
 she was not more alarmed. 
 
 " Now for it ! " said the man, striding oddly about in his 
 petticoats, and evidently out of patience with them. " Now 
 for your money ! " As he spoke, he put the spoons from the 
 tray into the bosom of his gown, proceeding to murmur at his 
 deficiency of pockets. 
 
 Margaret held out her purse to him. It contained one 
 single shilling. 
 
 " You don't mean this is all you are going to give me ?" 
 
 " It is all I have : and I believe there is not another shilling 
 in the house. I told you we have no money." 
 
 " And you ? " said he, turning to Maria. 
 
 " I have not my purse about me ; and if I had there is 
 nothing in it worth your taking. I assure you I have not got 
 my purse. I am only a visitor here for this one night — and 
 an odd night it is to have chosen, as it turns out." 
 
 " Give me your watches." 
 
 " I have no watch. I have not had a watch these five years," 
 said Maria. 
 
 " I have no watch," said Margaret. " I sold mine a month 
 ago. I told you we were very poor." 
 
 The man muttered something about the plague of gentle- 
 folks being so poor, and about wondering that gentlefolks were 
 not ashamed of being so poor. " You have got something, 
 however," he continued, fixing his eye on the riug on 
 Margaret's finger. " Give me that ring. Give it me, or else 
 I'll take it." 
 
 Margaret's heart sank with a self-reproach worse than her 
 grief, when she remembered how easily she might have saved 
 this ring — how easily she might have thrust it under the 
 fender, or dropped it into her shoe, into her hair, anywhere, 
 while the intruder was gone to the room-door to his companions. 
 She felt that she could never forgive herself for this neglect of 
 the most precious thing she had in the world — of that which 
 most belonged to Philip. 
 
 "She cannot part with that ring," said Maria. "Look! 
 you may see she had rather part with any money she is ever 
 likely to have than with that ring." 
 
 She pointed to Margaret, who was sitting with her hands 
 clasped as if they were never to be disjoined, and with a face 
 of the deepest distress. 
 
 G G 2 
 
452 DEERBROOE. 
 
 " I can't help that," said the man. " I must have what I 
 can get." 
 
 He seized her hands, and, with one gripe of his, made hers 
 fly open. Margaret could no longer endure to expose any of 
 her feelings to the notice of a stranger of this character. *' Be 
 patient a moment," said she ; and she drew off the ring after 
 its guard, made of Hester's hair, and put them into the large 
 hand which was held out to receive them ; feeling, at the 
 moment, as if her heart was breaking. The man threw the 
 hair ring back into her lap, and tied the turquoise in the corner 
 of the shawl he wore. 
 
 " The lady up-stairs has got a watch, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, she has : let me go and fetch it. Do let me go. I 
 am afraid of nothing so much as her being terrified. If you 
 have any humanity, let me go. Indeed I will bring the 
 watch." 
 
 " Well, there is no man in the house, I know, for you to 
 call. You may go, Miss : but I must step behind you to the 
 room-door ; no further — she shan't see me, nor know any one 
 is there, unless you tell her. This young lady will sit as still 
 as a mouse till we come back." 
 
 " Never mind me," said Maria, to her friend. While they 
 were gone, she sat as she was desired, as still as a mouse, 
 enforced thereto by the certainty that a man stood in the 
 shadow by the door, with his eye upon her the whole time, 
 
 Margaret lighted a chamber candle, in order, as she said, to 
 look as usual if her sister should see her. The robber did 
 tread very softly on the stairs, and stop outside the chamber- 
 door. Morris was sitting up in her truckle-bed, evidently . 
 listening, and was on the point of starting out of it on seeing 
 that Margaret's face was pale, when Margaret put her finger 
 on her lips, and motioned to her to lie down. Hester was 
 asleep, with her sleeping infant on her arm. Margaret set 
 down the light, and leaned over her, to take the watch from its 
 hook at the head of the bed. 
 
 " Are you still up ? " said Hester, drowsily, and just open- 
 ing her eyes. " What do you want ? It must be very late." 
 
 " Nearly half-past twelve, by your watch. I am sorry I 
 disturbed you. Good night." 
 
 As she withdrew with the watch in her hand, she whispered 
 to Morris, 
 
 " Lie still. Don't be uneasy. I will come again presently." 
 
 In a few minutes, as seemed to intently listening ears, the 
 
DEERBROOK. 453 
 
 house was clear of the intruders. Within a quarter of an 
 hour Margaret had beckoned Morris out of Hester's room, 
 and had explained the case to her. They went round the 
 house, and found that all the little plate they had was gone, 
 and the cheese from the pantry. Morris's cloth cloak was 
 left hanging on its pin, and even Edward's old hat. From 
 these circumstances, and from the dialect of the only speaker, 
 Margaret thought the thieves must be country people from 
 the neighbourhood, who could not wear the old clothes of the 
 gentry without danger of detection. They had come in from 
 the surgery, whose outer door was sufficiently distant from 
 the inhabited rooms of the house to be forced without the 
 noise being heard. Morris and Margaret barricaded this door 
 as well as they could, with such chests and benches as they 
 were able to move without making themselves heard up-stairs : 
 and then Morris, at Margaret's earnest desire, stole back to 
 bed. Anything rather than alarm Hester. 
 
 While they were below, Maria had put on more coals, and 
 restored some order and comfort to the table and the fireside. 
 She concluded that sleep was out of the question for this night. 
 Eor some momente after Margaret came and sat down by 
 her, neither of them spoke. At length Margaret said, half- 
 laughing, 
 
 " That you should have come here for rest this night, of all 
 nights in the year 1" 
 
 " I am glad it happened so. Yes; indeed, I am. I know it 
 must have been a comfort to you to have some one with you, 
 though only poor lame me. And I am glad on my own 
 account too, I assure you. Such a visitation is not half so 
 dreadful as I had fancied — not worth half the fear I have 
 spent upon it all my life. I am sure you felt as I did while 
 he was here ; you felt quite yourself, did not you ? If it had 
 not been for the woman's clothes, it would really have been 
 scarcely terrifying at all. There is something much more 
 human about a housebreaker than I had fancied. But yet it 
 was very inhuman of him to take your ring." 
 
 Margaret wept more bitterly than any one had seen her 
 weep since her unhappy days began, and her friend could not 
 comfort her. It was a case in which there was no comfort to 
 be given, unless in the very faint and unreasonable hope that 
 the ring might be offered for sale to some jeweller in some 
 market town in the county ; a hope sadly faint and unreason- 
 able ; since country people who would take plate and orna- 
 
454 DEERBROOK. 
 
 inents must, in all probability, be in communication with 
 London rogues, who would turn the property into money in 
 the great city. Still, there was a possibility of recovering 
 the lost treasure ; and on this possibility Maria dwelt per- 
 severingly. 
 
 " But, Margaret," she went on to ask, " what is this about 
 your watch ? Have you indeed sold it ? " 
 
 " Yes. Morris managed that for me while Hester was 
 confined. I am glad now that I parted with it as I did. It 
 has paid some bills which I know made Edward anxious ; and 
 that is far better than its being in a housebreaker's hands." 
 
 " Yes, indeed : but I am sorry you all have such a struggle 
 to live. Not a shilling in the house but the one you gave 
 up!" 
 
 " So much for Edward's being out. It happened very well ; 
 for he could not have helped us, if he had been here. You 
 saw there were three of them. What I meant was, that 
 Edward has about him the little money that is to last us till 
 Christmas. The rent is safe enough. It is in Mr. Grey's 
 strong box or the bank at Blickley. The rent is too impor- 
 tant a matter to be put to any hazard, considering that Mr. 
 Rowland is our landlord. It is all ready and safe." 
 
 ^^ That is well. Now, Margaret, could you swear to this 
 visitor of ours ? " 
 
 " No," said Margaret, softly, looking round, as if to con- 
 vince herself that he was not there still. ^'■No: his bonnet 
 was so large, and he kept the shadow of it so carefully upon 
 his face, that I should not know him again — at least, not in 
 any other dress ; and we shall never see him again in this. It 
 is very disagreeable," she continued, shuddering slightly, " to 
 think that we may pass him any day or every day, and that he 
 may say to himself as we go by, * There go the ladies that sat 
 with their feet on the fender so comfortably when I went in, 
 without leave ! ' " 
 
 " Poor wretch ! he will rather say, * There goes the young 
 lady that I made so unhappy about her ring. I wish I had 
 choked with the wine I drank, before I took that ring!* The 
 first man you meet that cannot look you in the face is the 
 thief, depend upon it, Margaret." 
 
 "I must not depend upon that. But, Maria, could you 
 swear to him ? " 
 
 " I am not quite sure at this moment, but I believe I could. 
 The light from the fire shone brightly upon his black chin, 
 
DEERBROOK. 455 
 
 and a bit of lank Kair tliat came from under his mob cap. I 
 could swear to the shawl." 
 
 " So could I : but that will be burned to-morrow morning. 
 Now, Maria, do go to bed." 
 
 "Well, if you had rather . Cannot we be together? 
 
 Must I be treated as a guest, and have a room to myself?" 
 
 " Not if you think we can make room in mine. We shall 
 be most comfortable there, shall not we — near to Morris and 
 Hester?" 
 
 Rather than separate, they both betook themselves to the 
 bed in Margaret's room. Maria lay still, as if asleep, but 
 wide awake and listening. Margaret mourned her turquoise 
 with silent tears all the rest of the nipjht. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 LIGHTSOME DAYS. 
 
 Before he returned home in the morning, Hope went to 
 Dr. Levitt's, to report of what he had seen and heard on 
 Mr. Grey's premises in the course of the night. He was 
 persuaded that several persons had been about the yards ; and 
 he had seen a light appearing and disappearing among the 
 shrubs which grew thick in the rear of the house. Sydney 
 and he had examined the premises this morning, in company 
 with Mr. Grey's clerk; and they had found the flower-beds 
 trampled, and drops of tallow from a candle which had pro- 
 bably been taken out of a lantern, and ashes from tobacco- 
 pipes, scattered under the lee of a pile of logs.. Nothing was 
 missed from the yards : it was probable that they were the 
 resort of persons who had been plundering elsewhere : but the 
 danger from fire was so great, and the unpleasantness of 
 having such night neighbours so extreme, that the gentlemen 
 agreed that no time must be lost in providing a watch, w^hich 
 would keep the premises clear of intruders. The dog, which 
 had by some means been cajoled out of his duty, must be 
 replaced by a more faithful one ; and Dr. Levitt was disposed 
 to establish a patrol in the village. 
 
 The astonishment of both was great when Margaret ap- 
 peared, early as it was, with her story. It was the faint hope 
 of recovering her ring which brought her thus early to the 
 magistrate's. Her brother was satisfied to stay and listen, 
 
456 DEERBROOK. 
 
 when he found that Hester knew as yet nothing of the matter. 
 It was a clear case that the Greys must find some other 
 guardian for the nights that Mr. Grey spent from home ; and 
 Dr Levitt said that no man was justified in leaving his family 
 unprotected for a single night in such times as these. He 
 spoke with the deepest concern of the state of the neighbour- 
 hood this winter, and of his own inability to preserve security, 
 by his influence either as clergyman or magistrate. The fact 
 was, he said, that neither law nor gospel could deter men from 
 crime, when pressed by want, and hardened against all other 
 claims by those of their starving families. Such times had 
 never been known within his remembrance ; and the guardians 
 of the public peace and safety were almost as* much at their 
 wits' end as the sickly and savage population they had to 
 control. He must to-day consult with as many of his brother 
 magistrates as he could reach, as to what could be done for 
 the general security and relief. 
 
 As Hope and Margaret returned home to breakfast, they 
 agreed that their little household was more free to discharge 
 the duties of such a time than most of their neighbours of their 
 own rank could possibly be. They had now little or nothing 
 of which they could be robbed. It was diflScult to conceive 
 how they could be further injured. They might now, wholly 
 free from fear and self-regards, devote themselves to forgive 
 and serve their neighbours. Such emancipation from care 
 as is the blessing of poverty, even more than of wealth, was 
 theirs ; and, as a great blessing in the midst of very tolerable 
 evil, they felt it. Margaret laughed, as she asked Edward if 
 he could spare a few pence to buy horn spoons in the village, 
 as all the silver ones were gone. 
 
 Hester was not at all too much alarmed or disturbed, when 
 she missed her watch, and heard what had happened. She 
 was chiefly vexed that she had slept through it all. It 
 seemed so ridiculous that the master of the house should be 
 safe at a distance, and the mistress comfortably asleep, during 
 ,. such an event, leaving it to sister, maid, and guest, to bear all 
 the terror of itl 
 
 Dr. Levitt's absence of mind did not interfere with the 
 activity of his heart, or with his penetration in cases where the 
 hearts of others were concerned. He perceived that the lost 
 turquoise was, from some cause, inestimable to Margaret, and 
 he spared no pains to recover it : but weeks passed on with- 
 out any tidings of it. Margaret told herself that she must 
 
DEERBROOK. 457 
 
 give up this, as slie liad given up so much else, with as much 
 cheerfulness as she could; but she missed her ring every hour 
 of the day. 
 
 Christmas came ; and the expected contest took place about 
 the rent of the corner-house. Mr. Rowland showed his lady 
 the bank-notes on the morning of quarter-day, and then 
 immediately and secretly sent them back. Mrs. Rowdand had 
 never been so sorry to see bank-notes: yet she would have 
 been so angry at their being returned, that her husband con- 
 cealed the fact from her. Within an hour the money was in 
 Mr. Rowland's hands again, with a request that he would 
 desist from pressing favours upon those who could not but 
 consider them as pecuniary obligation, and not as justice. 
 Mr. Rowland sighed, turned the key of his desk upon the 
 money, and set forth to the corner-house, to see whether no 
 repairs were wanted — whether there was nothing that he could 
 do as landlord to promote the comfort and security of his 
 excellent tenants. 
 
 Christmas came ; and Morris found she could not leave her 
 young ladies while the days were so very short. She would 
 receive no wages after Christmas, and she would take care 
 that she cost them next to nothing; but she could not be easy 
 to go till brighter days — days externally brighter, at least — 
 were at hand, nor till the baby was a little less tender, and 
 had shown beyond dispute that he was likely to be a stout 
 little fellow. She could not think of Miss Margaret getting 
 up quite in the dark, to light the fire ; it was a dismal time to 
 begin such a new sort of work. Margaret privately explained 
 to her that these little circumstances brought no discourage- 
 ment to persons who undertake such labour with sufficient 
 motive; and Morris admitted this. She saw the difference 
 between the case of a poor girl first going to service, who 
 trembles half the night at the idea of her mistress's displeasure 
 if she should not happen to wake in time; such poor girl 
 undertaking service for a maintenance, and by no means from 
 love in either party towards the other — Morris saw the differ- 
 ence between the morning waking to such a service and 
 Margaret's being called from her bed by love of those whom she 
 was going to serve through the day, and by an exhilarating sense 
 of honour and duty. Morris saw that, while to the solitary 
 dependant every accessory of cheerfulness is necessary to make 
 her willingly leave her rest — the early sunshine through her 
 window, and the morning song of birds — it mattered little to 
 
458 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Margaret under what circumstances she went about her busi- 
 ness — whether in darkness or in light, in keen frost or genial 
 warmth. She had the strength of will, in whose glow all the 
 disgust, all the meanness, all the hardship of the most sordid 
 occupations is consumed, leaving unimpaired the dignity and 
 delight of toil. Morris saw and fully admitted all this ; and 
 yet she stayed on till the end of January. 
 
 By that time her friends were not satisfied to have her 
 remain any longer. It was necessary that she should earn 
 money ; and she had an opportunity now of earning what she 
 needed at Birmingham. The time was come when Morris 
 must go. 
 
 The family had their sorrow all to themselves that dismal 
 evening ; for not a soul in Deerbrook, except Maria, knew 
 that Morris was going at all. Maria had known all along; 
 and it had been settled that Maria should occupy Morris's 
 room, after it was vacated, as often as she felt nervous and 
 lonely in her lodging. But she was not aware of the precise 
 day when the separation of these old and dear friends was to 
 take place. So they mourned Morris as privately as she had 
 long grieved over their adversity. 
 
 Mr. Hope meant to drive Morris to Blickley himself, and to 
 see her into the coach for Birmingham ; and he had borrowed 
 Mr. Grey's gig for the purpose. He had been urged by 
 Mr. Grey not to think of returning that night, had desired his 
 wife and sister not to expect him, and had engaged a neigh- 
 bour to sleep in the house. The sisters might well look 
 forward to a sad evening ; and their hearts were heavy when 
 the gig came to the door, when they were fortifying Morris 
 with a parting glass of wine, and wrapping her up with warm 
 things which were to come back with her master, and ex- 
 pressing their heart-sorrow by the tenderness with which 
 they melted the very soul of poor Morris. She could not 
 speak; she could resist nothing. She took all they offered 
 her to comfort herself with, from having neither heart nor 
 voice to refuse. Morris never gave way to tears ; but she was 
 as solemn as if she were going to execution. The baby alone 
 was insensible to her gravity ; he laughed in her face when 
 she took him into her arms for the last time ; — a seasonable 
 laugh it was, for it relieved his mother of some slight super- 
 stitious dread which was stealing upon her, as she witnessed 
 the solemnity of Morris's farewell to him. They all spoke 
 of her return to them ; but no one felt that there was any 
 
DEERBROOK. 459 
 
 comfort in so vague a hope, amidst the sadness of the present 
 certainty. 
 
 As Hester and Margaret stood out on the steps to watch 
 the gig till the last moment, a few flakes of snow were driven 
 against their faces. They feared Morris would have a dreary 
 journey ; and this was not the pleasantest thought to carry 
 with them into the house. 
 
 While Hester nursed her infant by the fire, Margaret went 
 round the house, to see what there was for her to do to-night. 
 It moved her to find how thoughtfully everything was done. 
 Busy as Morris had been with a thousand little affairs and 
 preparations, every part of the house was left in the com- 
 pletest order. The very blinds of the chambers were drawn 
 down, and a fire was laid in every grate, in case of its being 
 wanted. The tea-tray was set in the pantry, and not a plate 
 left from dinner unwashed. Margaret felt and said how badly 
 she should supply the place of Morris's hands, to say nothing 
 of their loss of her head and heart. She sighed her thankful- 
 ness to her old friend, that she was already at liberty to sit 
 down beside her sister, with actually nothing on her hands to 
 be done before tea-time. 
 
 It was always a holiday to Margaret when she could sit by 
 at leisure, as the morning and evening dressing and undressing 
 of the baby went on. Hester would never entrust the business 
 to her or to any one : but it was the next best thing to watch 
 the pranks of the little fellow, and the play between him and his 
 mother ; and then to see the fun subside into drowsiness, and be 
 lost in that exquisite spectacle, the quiet sleep of an infant. When 
 he was this evening laid in his basket, and all was unusually 
 still, from there being no one but themselves in the house, and 
 the snow having by this time fallen thickly outside, Margaret 
 said to her sister — 
 
 " If I remember rightly, it is just a twelvemonth since you 
 warned me how wretched marriage was. Just a year, is it 
 not?" 
 
 " Is it possible ? " said Hester, withdrawing her eyes from 
 her infant. 
 
 " I wish I could have foreseen then how soon I might 
 *remind you of this." 
 
 " Is it possible that I said so ? — and of all marriage ?" 
 
 " Of all love, and all marriage. I remember it distinctly." 
 
 "You have but too much reason to remember it, love. 
 But how thankless, how wicked of me ever to say so 1" 
 
460 DEERBROOK. 
 
 " We all, perhaps, say some wretched things which dwell 
 on other people's minds long after we have forgotten them 
 ourselves. It is one of the acts we shall waken up to as sins 
 —perhaps every one of us — whenever we become qualified to 
 review our lives dispassionately ; — as sins, no doubt, for the 
 pain does not die with the utterance ; and to give pain need- 
 lessly, and to give lasting pain, is surely a sin. We are none 
 of us guiltless ; but I am glad you said this particular thing 
 — dreadful as it was to hear it. It has caused me a great 
 deal of thought within the year ; and it now makes us both 
 aware how much happier we are than we were then." 
 
 "We!" 
 
 " Yes ; all of us. I rather shrink from measuring states of 
 fortune and of mind, as they are at one time against those of 
 another ; but it is impossible to recall that warning of yours, 
 and be unaware how differently we have cause to think and 
 speak now. I felt at the time that it was too late for us to com- 
 plain of love and of marriage. The die was then cast for us all. 
 It is much better to feel now that those complaints were the 
 expression of passing pain, long since over." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear you say this for yourself, Margaret ; 
 though I own I should scarcely have expected it. And yet 
 no one is more aware than I that it is a blessing to love — a 
 blessing still, whatever may be the woe that must come with 
 the love. It is a blessing to live for another, to feel far 
 more deeply than the most selfish being on earth ever felt for 
 himself. I know that it is better to have felt this disinterested 
 attachment to another, even in the midst of storms of passion 
 hidden in the heart, and of pangs from disappointment, than 
 to live on in the very best peace of those who have never 
 loved. Yet, knowing this, I have been cowardly for you, 
 Margaret, and at one time sank under my own troubles. 
 Any one who loved as I did should have been braver. I 
 should have been more willing, both for you and for myself, 
 to meet the suffering which belongs to the exercise of all the 
 highest and best part of our nature : but I was unworthy then 
 of the benignant discipline appointed to me : and at the 
 moment, I doubt not I should have preferred, if the choice had 
 been offered to me, the safety and quiet of a passionless 
 existence to the glorious exercise which has been graciously 
 appointed me against my will. I do try now, Margaret, to be 
 thankful that you have had some of this exercise and disci- 
 pline ; but I have not faith enough. My thanks are all 
 
DEERBROOK. 461 
 
 swallowed np in grief before I have done — grief that you have 
 the struggle and the sorrow, without the support and the full 
 return which have been granted to me." 
 
 " You need not grieve much for me. I have not only had 
 the full return you speak of, but I have it still. It cannot be 
 spoken, or written, or even indulged ; but I know it exists ; 
 and therefore am I happier than I was last year. How foolish 
 it is," she continued, as if thinking aloud, " how perfectly 
 childish to set our hearts on what we call happiness, — on any 
 arrangement of circumstances, either in our minds or our 
 fortunes — so little as we know ! How you and I should have 
 dreaded this night and to-morrow, if they could have been 
 foreshown to us a while ago ! How we should have shrunk 
 from sitting down under the cloud of sorrow which appears to 
 have settled upon this house ! And now this evening has 
 come " 
 
 " The evening of Morris's going away, and everything else 
 so dreary ! No servant, no money, no prospect ! Careful 
 economy at home, ill-will abroad ; the times bad, the future 
 all blank — we two sitting here alone, with the snow falling 
 without!" 
 
 "And our hearts aching with parting with Morris (we 
 must come back to that principal grief). How dismal all this 
 would have looked, if we could have seen it in a fairy-glass at 
 Birmingham long ago ! — and yet I would not change this very 
 evening for any we ever spent in Birmingham, when we were 
 exceedingly proud of being very happy." 
 
 " Nor I. This is life : and to live — to live with the 
 whole soul, and mind, and strength, is enough. It is not often 
 that I have strength to feel this, and courage to say it ; but 
 to-night I have both." 
 
 " And in time we may be strong enough to pray that this 
 child may truly and wholly live — may live in every capacity 
 of his being, whatever suffering may be the condition of such 
 life : but it requires some courage to pray so for him, he looks 
 so unfit for anything but ease at present ! " 
 
 " For anything but feeding and sleeping, and laughing in 
 our faces. Did you ever see an infant sleep so softly ? Are 
 not those wheels passing ? Yes ; surely I heard wheels rolling 
 over the snow." 
 
 She was right. In ^ve minutes more, Margaret had to 
 open the door to her brother. 
 
 Hope had arrived at Blickley only just in time to drive 
 
462 DEERBROOK. 
 
 Morris up to the door of the Birmingham coach, and put her 
 in as the guard was bloAving his horn. Mr. Grey's horse 
 had gone badly, and they had been full late in setting off. He 
 had not liked the prospect of staying where he was till 
 morning, and had resolved to bid defiance to footpads, and 
 return : so he stepped into the coffee-room, and read the 
 papers while the horse was feeding, and came home as quickly 
 after as he could. As he was safe, all the three were glad he 
 had done so ; and the more that, for once, Edward seemed 
 sad. They made a bright fire, and gave him tea ; but their 
 household offices did not seem to cheer him as usual. 
 Hester asked, at length, whether he had heard any bad ncAvs. 
 
 " Only public news. The papers are full' of everything 
 that is dismal. The epidemic is spreading frightfully. It is 
 a most serious affair. The people you meet in the streets at 
 Blickley look as if they had the plague raging in the town. 
 They say the funerals have never ceased passing through the 
 streets, all this week ; and really the churchyard I saw seemed 
 full of new graves. I believe the case is little better in any 
 town in the kingdom." 
 
 "And in the villages?" 
 
 " The villages follow, of course, with differences according 
 to their circumstances. None will be worse than this place, 
 when once the fever appears among us. I would not say so 
 anywhere but by our own fireside, because everything should 
 be done to encourage the people instead of frightening them ; 
 but indeed it is difficult to imagine a place better prepared for 
 destruction than our pretty village is just now, frord the extreme 
 poverty of most of the people, and their ignorance, which 
 renders them unfit to take any rational care of themselves." 
 
 " You say, ^ whenever the fever comes.' Do you think it 
 must certainly come ? " 
 
 " Yes : and I have had some suspicions, within a day or 
 two, that it is here already. I must see Walcot to-morrow ; 
 and learn what he has discovered in his practice." 
 
 " Mr. Walcot ! Will not Dr. Levitt do as well ? " 
 
 " I must see Dr. Levitt too, to consult about some means 
 of cleansing and drying the worst of the houses in the 
 tillage. But it is* quite necessary that I should have some 
 conversation with Walcot about the methods of treatment of 
 this dreadful disease. If he is not glad of an opportunity 
 of consulting with a brother in the profession, he ought to 
 be : and I have no doubt he will be ; for he will very soon 
 
DEERBROOK. 463 
 
 have as mucli upon him as any head and hands in the world 
 could manage." 
 
 " Cannot you let him come to you for advice and assistance 
 when he wants it ? " 
 
 " I must not wait for that. He is young, and, as we all 
 imagine, not over wise : and a dozen of our poor neighbours 
 might die before he became aware of as much as I know 
 to-night about this epidemic. No, love ; my dignity must 
 give way to the safety of our neighbours. Depend upon it, 
 Walcot will be glad enough to hear what I have to say — ^if 
 not to-morrow, by next week at furthest." 
 
 " So soon? What makes you say next week ?" 
 
 " I judge partly from the rate of progress of the fever 
 elsewhere, and partly from the present state of health in 
 Deerbrook. There are other reasons too. I have seen some 
 birds of ill omen on the wing hitherward this evening. 
 
 " What can you mean ? " 
 
 "I mean fortune-tellers. Are you not aware that in 
 seasons of plague — of the epidemics of our times, as well as 
 the plagues of former days — conjurors, and fortune-tellers, 
 and quacks appear, as a sort of heralds of the disease ? They 
 are not really so, for the disease in fact precedes them ; but 
 they show themselves so immediately on its arrival, and 
 usually before its presence is acknowledged, that they have 
 often been thought to bring it. They have early information 
 of its existence in any place ; and they come to take advan- 
 tage of the first panic of the inhabitants, where there are 
 enough who are ignorant to make the speculation a good one. 
 I saw two parties of these people trooping hither ; and we 
 shall have heard something of their prophecies, and of a fever 
 case or two, before this time to-morrow, I have little doubt." 
 
 " It is this prospect which has made you sad," said Hester. 
 
 " No, my dear — not that alone. But do not let us talk 
 about being sad. What does it matter ? " 
 
 " Yes ; do let us talk about it," said Margaret, " if, as I 
 suspect, you are sad for us. It is about Morris's going away, 
 is it not?" 
 
 *^ About many things. It is impossible to be at all times 
 unaffected by such changes as have come upon us ; I cannot 
 always forget what my profession once was to me, for honour, 
 for occupation, and for income. I confidently reckoned on 
 bringing you both to a home full of comfort. Never were 
 women so cherished as I meant that you should be. And 
 
«JL64 DEERBROOK, 
 
 HOW it has ended in your little incomes being almost our only 
 resource, and in your being deprived of your old friend 
 Morris, some years before her time. I can hardly endure to 
 think of to-morrow." 
 
 <* And do you really call this the end?" asked Margaret. 
 " Do you consider our destiny fixed for evermore ? " 
 
 ** As far as you and I are concerned, love," said Hester to 
 him, " I could almost wish that this were the end. I feel as 
 if almost any change would be for the worse ; I mean 
 supposing you not to look as you do now, but as you have 
 always been till now. Oh, Edward, I am so happy !" 
 
 Her husband could not speak for astonishment and delight. 
 
 " You remember that evening in Verdon wc«ods, Edward— 
 the evening before we were married ? " 
 
 " Eemember it!" 
 
 " Well. How infinitely happier are we now than then* 
 Oh ! that fear — that mistrust of myself ! You reproved me 
 for my fear and mistrust then ; and I must beg leave to 
 remind you of what you then said. It is not often that I can 
 have the honour of preaching to you, my dear husband, as it 
 IS rather difficult to find an occasion ; but now I have caught 
 you tripping. What is there for you to be uneasy about now, 
 that can at all be compared with what I troubled myself about 
 then ? — Since that time I have caused you much misery, I 
 know — misery which I partly foresaw I should cause you : 
 but that is over, I trust. It is over at least for the time that 
 ■we are poor and persecuted. I dare not and do not wish for 
 anything otherwise than as we have it now. Persecution 
 seems to have made us wiser, and poverty happier ; and how, 
 if only Margaret were altogether as we would see her, how 
 could we be better than we are ? " 
 
 " You are right, my dear wife." These few tender words, 
 and her husband's brightened looks, sufficed — Hester had no 
 cares. She forgot even the fever, in seeing Edward look as 
 gay as usual again, and in feeling that she was everything to 
 him — that feeling, that conviction, for which she had sighed 
 in vain, for long after her marriage. She had then fancied 
 that his profession, his family, his own thoughts, were as 
 important to him as herself. She now knew that she was 
 supreme; and this was supreme satisfaction. 
 
 When Margaret sprang up to her new labours in the chill 
 dusk of the next morning, she flattered herself that she was 
 the first awake ; but it was not so. When she went down, 
 
DEERBKOOK. 465 
 
 she found her brother busy shovelling the snow away, and 
 making a clear 3)ath from the kitchen door to the coal-house. 
 He declared it delightfully warm work, by the time he had 
 brought in coals enough for the day, and wanted more 
 employment of the same sort. He went round to the front of 
 the house, and cleared the steps and pavement there ; caring 
 nothing for the fact, that two or three neighbours gazed from 
 their doors, and that some children stood blowing upon their 
 fingers, and stamping with their feet, enduring the cold, for 
 the sake of seeing the gentleman clearing his own steps. 
 
 " What would the Greys say ? " asked Margaret, laughing ; 
 as, duster in hand, she looked from the open window, and 
 spoke to her brother outside. 
 
 " I am sure they ought to say I have done my work well.' 
 
 " That is just what Hester is observing within here. You 
 are almost ready for breakfast, are you not ? She is setting 
 the table." 
 
 " Quite ready. Wliat warm work this is ! Eeally I do not 
 believe there is such a bit of pavement in all Deerbrook as 
 this of ours." 
 
 " Come — come in to breakfast. You have admired your 
 work quite enough for this morning." 
 
 The three who sat down to breakfast were as reasonable 
 and philosophical as most people ; but even they were taken 
 by surprise with the sweetness of comforts provided by their 
 own immediate toil. There was something in the novelty, 
 perhaps ; but Hope threw on the fire Avith remarkable energy 
 the coals he had himself brought in from the coal-house, and 
 ate with great relish the toast toasted by his wife's own 
 hands. Margaret, too, looked round the room more than 
 once, with a new sort of pride in there being not a particle 
 of dust on table, chair, or book. It was scarcely possible to 
 persuade Edward that there was nothing more for him to do 
 about the house till the next morning ; that the errand-boy 
 would come in an hour, and clean the shoes ; and that the 
 only assistance the master of the house could render, would 
 be to take charge of the baby for a quarter of an hour, while 
 Hester helped her sister to make the beds. 
 
 After breakfast, when Hester was dressing her infant, and 
 Margaret washing up the tea-cups and saucers, the postman's 
 knock was heard. Margaret went to the door, and paid for 
 the letter from the " emergency purse," as they called the 
 little sum of money they had put aside for unforeseen 
 
 H H 
 
4.66 DEERBROOK. 
 
 expenses. The letter was for Edward, and so brief that it 
 must be on business. 
 
 It was on business. It was from the lawyer of Mr. Hope's 
 aged grandfather; and it told that the old gentleman had at 
 last sunk rather suddenly under his many infirmities. 
 Mr. Hope was invited to go — not to the funeral, for it must be 
 over before he could arrive, but to see the will, in which he 
 had a large beneficial interest, the property being divided 
 between himself and his brother, subject to legacies of one 
 himdred pounds to each of his sisters, and a few smaller 
 bequests to the servants. 
 
 " This is as you always feared," said Hester to her husband, 
 observing the expression of concern in his face,' on reading the 
 letter. 
 
 " Indeed, I always feared it would be so," he replied. " I 
 did what I could to prevent this act of posthumous injustice; 
 and I am grieved that I failed ; for nothing can repair it. My 
 sisters will have their money — the same in amount, but how 
 different in value ! They will receive it as a gift from their 
 brothers, instead of as their due from their grandfather. I 
 am very sorry his last act was of this character." 
 
 " Will you go ? Must you go ?" 
 
 ** No, I shall not go — at least, not at present. The funeral 
 would be over, you see, before I could get there ; and I doubt 
 not the rest of the business may be managed quietly and 
 easily by letter. I have no inclination to travel just now, 
 and no money to do it with, and strong reasons of another 
 kind for staying at home. No, I shall not go." 
 
 " I am very glad. Now, the first duty is to write to Emily 
 and Anne, I suppose : and to Frank ? " 
 
 " Not to Frank just yet. He knows what I meant to do, 
 in case of my grandfather recurring to this disposition of his 
 property; and, further than this, I must not influence Frank. ' 
 He must be left entirely free to do as he thinks proper, and 
 I shall not communicate with him till he has had ample time 
 to decide on his course. I shall write to Emily and Anne 
 to-day." 
 
 " I am sorry for them." 
 
 " So am I. What a pity it is, when the aged, whom one 
 would wish to honour after they are gone to their graves, 
 impair one's respect, by an unjust arrangement of their 
 affairs ! How easily might my grandfather have satisfied us 
 all, and secured our due reverence at the last, by merely 
 
DEEflBROOK. 4'67 
 
 being just ! Now, after admitting what was just, he has 
 gone back into his prejudices, and placed us all in a painful 
 position, from which it will be difficult to every one of us to 
 regard his memory as we should wish." 
 
 " He little thought you would look upon his rich legacy 
 in this way," said Margaret, smiling. 
 
 " I gave him warning that I should. It was impossible to 
 refuse it more peremptorily than I did." 
 
 " That must be your satisfaction now, love. You have 
 done everything that was right; so we will not discompose 
 ourselves because another has done a wrong which you can 
 partly repair." 
 
 " My dear wife, what comfort you give ! What a blessing 
 it is, that you think, and feel, and will act, with me — making 
 my duty easy instead of difficult ! " 
 
 " I was going to ask," observed Margaret, ^' whether you 
 have no misgiving — no doubt whatever that you are right in 
 refusing all this money." 
 
 ^' Not the slightest doubt, Margaret. The case is not in 
 any degree altered by my change of fortune. The facts re- 
 main, that my sisters have received nothing yet from the 
 property, while I have had my professional education out of 
 it. That my profession does not at present supply us with 
 bread does not affect the question at all : nor can you think 
 that it does, I am sure. But Hester, my love, what think you 
 of our prospect of a hundred pounds ? " 
 
 " A hundred pounds !" 
 
 " Yes ; that is the sum set down for me when the honest 
 will was made ; and that sum I shall of course retain." 
 
 " Oh, delightful ! What a quantity of comfort we may get 
 out of a hundred pounds ! How rich we shall be ! " 
 
 " She is thinking already," said Margaret, " what sort of a 
 pretty cloak baby is to have for the summer." 
 
 " And Margaret must have something out of it, must not 
 she, love ? " asked Hester. 
 
 " We will all enjoy it, with many thanks to my poor grand- 
 father. Surely this hundred pounds will set us on through 
 the year." 
 
 " That will be very pleasant, really," observed Margaret. 
 " To be sure of bread for all the rest of the year ! Oh, the 
 value of a hundred pounds to some people !" 
 
 " What a pity that Morris did not stay this one other day !" 
 exclaimed Hester. " And yet, perhaps, not so. It might 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 DEERBROOK. 
 
 liave perplexed her mind about leaving us, and induced her to ' 
 give up her new place ; and there is nothing in a chance 
 hundred pounds to justify that. It is better as it is." 
 
 " All things are very v/ell as they are," said Hope, " as 
 long as we think so. Now, I am going to call on Walcot. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 " Stop, stop one moment ! Stay, and see what I have 
 found!" cried his wife, in a tone of glee. "Look! Feel! 
 Tell me — is not this our boy's first tooth ? " 
 
 " It is — it certainly is. I give you joy, my little fellow !" 
 
 " Worth all the hundreds of pounds in the world," observed 
 Margaret, coming in her turn to see and feel the little pearly 
 edge, whose value its owner was far from appreciating, while 
 worried with the inquisition which was made into the mysteries 
 of his mouth. " Now it is a pity that Morris is not here !" 
 all exclaimed. 
 
 " We must write to her. Perhaps we might have found it 
 yesterday, if we had had any idea it would come so soon." 
 
 No : Hester was quite positive there was no tooth to be 
 seen or felt last night. 
 
 " Well, we must write to Morris." 
 
 " You must leave me a corner," said Hope. *^ We must all 
 try our skill in describing a first tooth. I v/ill consider my 
 part as I walk. Bite my finger once more before I go, my 
 boy." 
 
 The sisters busied themselves in putting the parlour in 
 order, for the reception of any visitors who might chance to 
 call, though the streets were so deep in snow as to render the 
 chance a remote one. Margaret believed that, when the time 
 ^ihould come, she might set the potatoes over the parlour fire 
 to boil, and thus, without detection, save the lighting another 
 fire. But before she had taken off her apron, while she was 
 in the act of sweeping up the hearth, there was a loud knock, 
 which she recognised as proceeding from the hand of a Grey. 
 The family resemblance extended to their knocks at the door. 
 
 As if no snow had fallen, Mrs. Grey and Sophia entered. 
 
 " You are surprised to see us, my dears, I have no doubt. 
 But I could not be satisfied without knowing what Mr. Hope 
 thinks of this epidemic, this terrible fever, which every one is 
 speaking about so frightfully." 
 
 '' Why, what can he think?" 
 
 " I mean, my dear, does he suppose that it will come here ? 
 Are we likely to have it?" 
 
DEEKBROOK. 469 
 
 " He tells us, what I suppose you hear from Mr. Grey, that 
 the fever seems to be spreading everywhere, and is just now 
 very destructive at Blickley. Does not Mr. Grey tell you so ? " 
 
 ** No, indeed ; there is no learning anything from Mr. Grey 
 that he does not like to tell. Sophia, I think we must take in 
 a newspaper again, that we may stand a chance of knowing 
 something." 
 
 Sophia agreed. 
 
 ^^ Sophia and I found that we really had no time to read the 
 newspaper. There it lay, and nobody touched it ; for Mr. 
 Grey reads the news in the office always. I told Mr. Grey 
 it was just paying so much a-week for no good to anybody, 
 and I begged he would countermand the paper. But we must 
 take it in again, really, to know how this fever goes on. Does 
 Mr. Hope think, my dears, as many people are saying here 
 this morning, that it is a sort of plague ? " 
 
 " Oh, mamma," exclaimed Sophia, " how^ can you say any- 
 thing so dreadful ? " 
 
 " I have not heard my husband speak of it so," said Hester. 
 ^^ He thinks it a very serious affair, happening as it does in 
 the midst of a scarcity, when the poor are already depressed 
 and sickly." 
 
 ^* Ah ! that is always the way, Mr. Grey tells me. After a 
 scarcity comes the fever, he says. The poor are much to be 
 pitied indeed. But what should those do w^ho are not poor, 
 have you heard Mr. Hope say ? " 
 
 " He thinks they should help their poor neighbours to the 
 very utmost." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; of course : but what I mean is, what precautions 
 would he advise ? " 
 
 " We will ask him. I have not heard him speak particu- 
 larly of this on the present occasion." 
 
 " Then he has not established any regulations in his own 
 family?" 
 
 " No. But I know his opinion on such cases in general to 
 be, that the safest way is to go on as usual, taking rational 
 care of health, and avoiding all unnecessary terror. This 
 common way of living, and a particularly diligent care of those 
 who want the good offices of the rich, are what he would 
 recommend, I believe, at this time : but wdien he comes in, we 
 will ask him. You had better stay till he returns. He may 
 bring some news. Meantime, I am sorry my baby is asle^ p. 
 I should like to show you his first tooth," 
 
470 DEEllBROOK. 
 
 " His first tooth ? Indeed ! He is a forward little fellow. 
 But, Hester, do you happen to have heard your husband say 
 what sort of fumigation he would recommend in case of such 
 a fever as this showing itself in the house ? " 
 
 " Indeed I have not heard him speak of fumigations at all. 
 Have you, Margaret?" 
 • " No." 
 
 '' I should just like to know ; for Mrs. Jones told me of a 
 very good one ; and Mrs. Howell thinks ill of it. Mrs. Jones 
 recommended me to pour some sulphuric acid upon salt — 
 common salt — in a saucer ; but Mrs. Howell says there is 
 nothing half so good as hot vinegar." , 
 
 " Somebody has come and put up a stall," said Sophia, 
 " where he sells fumigating powders, and some pills, which he 
 says are an infallible remedy against the fever." 
 
 " Preventive, my dear." 
 
 " Well, mamma, 'tis just the same thing. Does Mr. Hope 
 know anything of the people who have set up that stall ? " 
 
 Hester thought she might venture to answer that question 
 without waiting for her husband's return. She laughed as 
 she said, that medical men avoided acquaintance with quacks. 
 
 " Does Mr. Hope think that medical men are in any parti- 
 cular danger?" asked Sophia, bashfully, but with great 
 anxiety. ".I think they must be, going among so many people 
 who are iU, . . If there is a whole family in the fever in a 
 cottage at Crossly End, as Mrs. Howell says there is, how very 
 dangerous it must be to attend them 1" 
 
 Sophia was checked by a wink from her mother, and then 
 first remembered that she was speaking to a surgeon's wife. 
 She tried to explain away what she had said ; but there was 
 no need. Hester calmly remarked that it was the duty of 
 manjT" to" expose themselves at such times in an equal degree 
 with thef medical men ; and that she believed that few were 
 more secure than those who did so without selfish thoughts 
 and ignorant panic. Sophia believed that every one did not 
 think so. Some of Mr. Walcot's friends had been remonstrating 
 with him about going so much among the poor sick people, 
 just at this time ; and Mr. Walcot had been consulting her as 
 to whether his duty to his parents did not require that he 
 should have some regard to his own safety. He had not 
 known what to do about going to a house in Turnstile-lane, 
 where some people were ill. 
 
 A dead silence followed this explanation. Mrs. Grey broke 
 
DEERBKOOK. 471 
 
 it by asking Margaret if she might speak plainly to her^ — the 
 common preface to a lecture. As usual, Margaret replied, 
 " Oh ! certainly." 
 
 " I would only just hint, my dear, that it would be as well 
 if you did not open the door yourself. You cannot think how 
 strangely it looks : and some very unpleasant remarks might 
 be made upon it. It is of no consequence such a thing hap- 
 pening when Sophia and I come to your door. I would not 
 have you think we regard it for ourselves in the least — the not 
 being properly shown in by a servant." 
 
 " Oh ! not in the least," protested Sophia. 
 
 " But you know it might have been the Levitts. I supJ)ose 
 it would have been just the same if the Levitts had called;?" 
 
 " It certainly would." ' 
 
 " It might have been the Levitts certainly," observed H^^ter : 
 " but I must just explain that it was to oblige me that Margaret 
 went to the door." 
 
 " Then, my dear, I hope you will point out some other way 
 in which Margaret may oblige you ; for really you have no idea 
 how oddly it looks for young ladies to answer knocks at the 
 door. It is not proper self-respect, proper regard to appear- 
 ance. And was it to oblige you that Slargaret carried a bas^ket 
 all through Deerbrook on Wednesday, with the small end of a 
 carrot peeping out from under the lid ? Fie, my dears ! I 
 must say fie ! It grieves me to find fault with you : but really 
 this is folly. It is really neglecting appearances too far." 
 
 Mr. Hope did not return in time to see Mrs. Grey. When 
 she could wait no longer, Hester promised to send her husband 
 to solve Mrs. Grey's difficulties. 
 
 " What would she have said," exclaimed Hester, " if she 
 had seen my husband's doings of this morning ? " 
 
 "Ah! what indeed?" 
 
 ^' Actually shovelling snow from his own steps !" 
 
 "Oh, I thought you meant giving away a competence. 
 Which act would she have thought the least self-respect- 
 ful?" 
 
 " She would have had a great deal to say on his duty to his 
 family in both cases. But it is all out of kindness that she 
 grieves so much over his ^ enthusiasm,' and lectures us for our 
 disregard of appearances. If she loved us less, we should 
 hear less of her concern, and it would be told to others behind 
 our backs. So we wiU not mind it. You do not mind it, 
 Margaret?" 
 
472 DEERBIiOOK. 
 
 " I rather enjoy it." 
 
 " That is right. Now I wish my husband would come in. 
 He has been gone very long; and I want to hear the whole 
 truth about this fever." 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 DEEKBROOK IN SHADOW. 
 
 It was some hours before Hope appeared at home again ; and 
 when he did, he was very grave. Mr. Walcot had been 
 truly glad to see him, and, it was plain, would have applied 
 to him for aid and co-operation some days before, if Mrs. 
 Rowland had not interfered, to prevent any consultation of 
 tlie kind. The state of health of Deerbrook was bad, — mucli 
 worse than Hope had had any suspicion of Whole families 
 were prostrated by the fever in the labourers' cottages, and 
 it was creeping into the better sort of houses. Mr. Walcot 
 had requested Hope to visit some of his patients with him : 
 and what he had seen had convinced him that the disease 
 was of a most formidable character, and that a great mortality 
 must be expected in Deerbrook. Walcot appeared to be 
 doing his duty with more energy than might have been 
 expected : and it seemed as if whatever talent he had, was 
 exercised in his profession. Hope's opinion of him was raised 
 by what he had seen this morning. Walcot had complained 
 that his skill and knowledge could have no fair play among a 
 set of people so ignorant as the families of his Deerbrook 
 patients. 'J'hey put more faith in charms than in medicines 
 or care ; and were running out in the cold and damp to have 
 their fortunes told by night, or in the gray of the morning. 
 If a fortune-teller promised long life, all the warnings of the 
 doctor went for nothing. Then, again, the people mistook 
 the oppression which was one of the first symptoms of the 
 fever, for debility ; and before the doctor was sent for, or in 
 defiance of his directions, the patient was plied with strong 
 drinks, and his case rendered desperate from the beginning. 
 Mr. Walcot had complained that the odds were really too 
 much against him, and that he believed himself likely to lose 
 almost every fever patient he had. It may be imagined how 
 welcome to him were Mr. Hope's countenance, suggestions, 
 
DEERBROOK. 473 
 
 and influence, — such as the prejudices of the people had 
 left it. 
 
 Dr. Levitt's influence was of little more avail than Mr. 
 Hope's. From this day, he was as busily engaged among the 
 sick as the medical gentlemen themselves ; laying aside his 
 books, and spending all his time among his parishioners ; not 
 neglecting the rich, but especially devoting himself to the, 
 poor. He co-operated with Hope in every way; raising 
 money to cleanse, air, and dry the most cheerless of the 
 cottages, and to supply the indigent sick with warmth and 
 food. But all appeared to be of little avail. The diseaise 
 stole on through the village, as if it had been left to work its 
 own way ; from day to day tidings came abroad of another 
 and another who was down in the fever, — the Tuckers' maid- 
 servant, Mr. Hill's shop'boy, poor Mrs. Paxton, always sure 
 to be ill when anybody else was, and all John EingWorth's 
 five children. In a fortnight, the church-bell began to give 
 token how fatal the sickness was becoming. It tolled till those 
 who lived very near the church were weary of hearing it. 
 
 On the afternoon of a day when its sound had scarcely 
 ceased since sunrise. Dr. Levitt and Hope met at the door of 
 the corner-house. 
 
 " You are the man I wanted to meet," said Dr. Levitt. *' I 
 have been inquiring for you, but your household could give 
 me no account of you. Could you just step home with me ? 
 Or come to me in the evening, will you ? But stay ! Therii 
 is no time like the present, after all ; so, if you will allow me, 
 r. will walk in with you now ; and, if you are going to dinner, 
 I will make one. I have nobody to sit down with me at home 
 at present, you know, — or perhaps you do not know." 
 
 " Indeed I was not aware of the absence of your family," . 
 said Hope, leading the way into the parlour, where Margaret 
 at the moment was laying the cloth. 
 
 " You must have wondered that you had seen nothing of 
 my wife all this week, if you did not know where she was. \ 
 thought it best, all things considered, to send them every one 
 away. I hope we have done right. I find I am more free 
 for the discharge of my own duty, now that I am unchecked 
 by their fears for me, and untroubled by my own anxiety for 
 them. I have sent them all abroad, and shall go for them 
 when this epidemic has run its course ; and not till then. I 
 little thought what satisfaction I could feel in walking about 
 my own house, to see how deserted it looks. I never hear 
 
474 DEERBROOK. 
 
 thai bell but I rejoice that all that belong to me are so 
 far off." 
 
 "I wanted to ask you about that bell," said Hope. ^' My 
 question may seem to you to savour strongly of dissent ; but 
 I must inquire whether it is absolutely necessary for bad 
 news to be announced to all Deerbrook every day, and almost 
 all day long. However far we may be from objecting to hear 
 it in ordinary times, should not our first consideration now be 
 for the living ? Is not the case altered by the number of 
 deaths that takes place at a season like this?" 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion, Mr. Hope ; and I have talked 
 with Owen, and many others, about that matter, ^within this 
 week. I have proposed to dispense, for the present, with a 
 custom which I own myself to be attached to in ordinary 
 times, but which I now see may be pernicious. But it cannot 
 be done. We must yield the point." 
 
 " I will not engage to cure any sick, or to keep any well, 
 who live within sound of that bell." 
 
 " I am not surprised to hear you say so. But this practice 
 has so become a part of people's religion, that it seems as if 
 worse effects would follow from discontinuing it than from 
 pursuing the usual course. Owen says there is scarcely a 
 person in Deerbrook who would not talk of a heathen death 
 and burial if the bell were silenced ; and, if once the people's 
 repose in their religion is shaken, I really know not what will 
 become of them." 
 
 " I agree with you there. Their religious feelings must be 
 left untouched, or all is over ; but I am sorry that this 
 particular observance is implicated with them so completely 
 as you say. It will be well if it does not soon become an 
 impossibility to toll the bell for all who die." 
 
 "It would be well, too," said Dr. Levitt, ^' if this were the 
 only superstition the people entertained. They are more 
 terrified with some others than with this bell. I am afraid 
 they are more depressed by their superstitions than sustained 
 by their religion. Have you observed, Hope, how many of 
 them stand looking at the sky every night ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and we hear, wherever we go, of fiery swords, and 
 dreadful angels, seen in the clouds ; and the old prophecies 
 have all come up again — at least, all of them that are dismal. 
 As for the death-watches, they are out of number; and there 
 is: never a fire lighted but a coffin flies out." 
 
 •" And this story of a ghost of a coffin, with -four ghosts to 
 
DEERBROOK. 475 
 
 bear it, that goes up and down in the village all night long," 
 said Hester, " I really do not wonder that it shakes the nerves 
 of the sick to hear of it. They say that no one can stop those 
 bearers, or get any answer from them : but on they glide, let 
 what will be in their way." 
 
 " Come, tell me," said Dr. Levitt, " have not you yourself 
 looked out for that sight ? " 
 
 Hester acknoAvledged that she had seen a real substantial 
 coffin, carried by human bearers, pass down the middle of the 
 street, at an hour past midnight ; the removal of a body from 
 a house where it had died, she supposed, to another whence it 
 was to be buried. This coffin and the ghostly one she took 
 to be one and the same. 
 
 Dr. Levitt mentioned instances of superstition, which could 
 scarcely have been believed by him, if related by another. 
 
 '' Do you know the Platts ? " he inquired of Hope. " Have 
 you seen the poor woman that lies ill there with her child ? " 
 
 " Yes : what a state of destitution they are in ! " 
 
 "At the very time that that woman and her child are lying 
 on shavings, begged from the carpenter's yard, her mother 
 finds means to fee the fortune-teller in the lane for reading 
 a dream. The fortune-teller dooms the child, and speaks 
 doubtfully of the mother." 
 
 " I could not conceive the reason why no one of the family 
 would do anything for the boy. I used what authority I 
 could, while I was there; but I fear he has been left to his 
 fate since. The neighbours will not enter the house." 
 
 " What neighbours ? " said Margaret. " You have never 
 so much as asked me." 
 
 " You are our main stay at home, Margaret. I could ask 
 no more of you than you do here." 
 
 Margaret was now putting the dinner on the table. It 
 consisted of a bowl of potatoes, salt, the loaf and butter, and 
 a pitcher of water. Dr. Levitt said grace, and they sat down, 
 without one word of apology from host or hostess. Though 
 Dr. Levitt had not been prepared for an evidence like this 
 of the state of affairs in the family, he had known enough 
 of their adversity to understand the case now at a glance. 
 No one ate more heartily than he; and the conversation went 
 on as if a sumptuous feast had been spread before the party. 
 
 " I own myself disappointed," said Hope, " in finding among 
 our neighbours so little disposition to help each other. I 
 hardly understand it, trusting as I have ever done in the 
 
476 BEERBKOOK. 
 
 generosity of the poor, and having always before seen my 
 faith justified. The apathy of some, and the selfish terrors of 
 others, are worse to witness than the disease itself." 
 
 *' How can you wonder," said Dr. Levitt, "when they have 
 such an example before their eyes in certain of their neigh- 
 bours, to whom they are accustomed to look up? Sir William 
 Hunter and his lady are enough to paralyse the morals of the 
 whole parish at a time like this. Do not you know the plan 
 they go upon? They keep their outer gates locked, lest any 
 one from the village should set foot within their grounds; 
 i'very article left at the lodge for the use of the family is 
 fumigated before it is admitted into the house : and it is 
 generally understood that neither the gentleman iior the lady 
 will leave the estate, in any emergency whatever, till the 
 disease has entirely passed away. Our poor are not to have 
 the solace of their presence even in church, during this time 
 of peril, when the face of the prosperous is like light in a dark 
 place. Sir William makes it no secret that they Avould have 
 left home altogether, if they could have hoped to be safer 
 .Muy where else — if they could have gone anywhere without 
 danger of meeting the fever." 
 
 " If the fact had not been," said Hester, " as Mrs. Howell 
 states it, that * the epidemic prevails partially everywhere.' " 
 
 " There is a case where Lady Hunter's example imme- 
 diately operates," observed Dr. Levitt. " If Lady Hunter had 
 not forgotten herself in her duty, Mrs. How^ell would have given 
 the benefit of her good ofiaces to some whom she might have 
 served ; for she is really a kind-hearted woman : but she is 
 struck with, a panic because Lady Hunter is, and one cannot 
 get a w^ord with her or Miss Miskin." 
 
 "I saw that her shutters were nearly closed," observed 
 Margaret. "' I supposed she had lost some relation." 
 
 *' No : she is only trying to shut out the fever. She and 
 Miss Miskin are afraid of the milkman, and each tries to put 
 upon the other the peril of serving a customer. This panic 
 will destroy us if it spreads." 
 
 The sisters looked at each other, and in one glance ex- 
 changed agreement that the time was fully come for them to 
 act abroad, let what would become of their home comforts. 
 
 " I ought to add, however," said Dr. Levitt, ** that Sir 
 William Hunter has supplied my poor's purse wdth money 
 very liberally. I spend his money as freely as my own at a 
 time like this ; but I tell him that one hour of his presence 
 
DEilKBROOK, 477 
 
 among us would do more good than all the gold he can send. 
 His answer comes in the shape of a handsome draft on his 
 banker, smelling strongly of aromatic vinegar. They fumi- 
 gate even their blotting-paper, it seems to me. I did hope 
 my last letter would have brought him to call." 
 
 " Our friends are very ready with their money," said Hope. 
 *' 1 should have begged of you before this, but that Mr. Grey 
 has been liberal in that way. He concludes it to be impossible 
 that he should look himself into the wants of the village; but 
 he permits me to use his purse pretty freely. Is there any- 
 thing that you can suggest that can be done by me. Dr. Levitt? 
 is there any case unknown to me where I can be of service ? " 
 
 "Or I?" said Margaret. "My brother and sister will 
 spare me, and put up with some hardship at home, I know, if 
 you can point out any place where I can be more useful." 
 
 " To be sure I can. Much as I like to come to your house, 
 to witness and feel the thorough comfort which I always find 
 in it, I own I shall care little to see everything at sixes and 
 sevens here for a few weeks, if you will give me your time 
 and talents for such services as we gentlemen cannot perform, 
 and as we cannot at present hire persons to undertake. You 
 see I take you at your word, my dear young lady. If you 
 had not offered, I should not have asked you : as you have, I 
 snatch at the good you hold out. I mean to preach a very 
 plain sermon next Sunday on the duties of neighbours in a 
 season of distress like this : and I shall do it with the better 
 hope, if I have, meanwhile, a fellow-labourer of your sex, no 
 less valuable in her way than my friend Hope in his." 
 
 " I shall come and hear your sermon," said Hester, " if 
 Margaret will take charge of my boy for the hour. I want to 
 see clearly what is my duty at a time when claims conflict as 
 they do now." 
 
 There was at present no time for the conscientious and 
 charitable to lose in daylight loiterings over the table, or chat 
 by the fireside. In a few minutes the table was cleared, and 
 Margaret ready to proceed with Dr. Levitt to the Platts' 
 cottage. 
 
 As soon as Margaret saw what was the real state of affairs 
 in the cottage, she sent away Dr. Levitt, who could be of no 
 use till some degree of decency was instituted in the miserable 
 abode. What to set about first was Margaret's difficulty. 
 There was no one to help her but Mrs. Piatt's mother, who 
 was sitting down to wait the result of the fortune-teller's pre- 
 
478 DEERBROOK. 
 
 dictions. Her daughter lay moaning on a bedstead spread 
 with shavings only, and she had no covering whatever but a 
 blanket worn into a large hole in the middle. The poor 
 woman's long hair, unconfined by any cap, strayed about her 
 bare and emaciated shoulders, and her shrunken hands picked 
 at the blanket incessantly, everything appearing to her diseased 
 vision covered with black spots. Never before had so squalid 
 an object met Margaret's eyes. The husband sat by the 
 empty grate, stooping and shrinking, and looking at the floor 
 with an idiotic expression of countenance, as appeared through 
 the handkerchief which was tied over his head. He was just 
 sinking into the fever. His boy lay on a heap of rags in the 
 corner, his head also tied up, but the handkerchief stiff with 
 the black blood which was still oozing from his nose, ears, 
 and mouth. It was inconceivable to Margaret that her 
 brother, with Mr. Grey's money in his pocket, could have 
 left the family in this state. He had not. There were 
 cinders in the hearth which showed that there had been a 
 fire ; and the old woman acknowledged that a pair of sheets 
 and a rug had been pawned to the fortune-teller in the lane 
 since the morning. There had been food ; but nobody had 
 any appetite but herself, and she had eaten it up. The 
 fortune-teller had charmed the pail of fresh water that stood 
 under the bed, and had promised a new spell in the morning. 
 In a case of such extremity, Margaret had no fears. She 
 set forth alone for the fortune-teller's, not far off, and re- 
 deemed the sheets and blanket, which were quite cleai;i. As 
 she went, she was sorry she had dismissed Dr. Levitt so soon. 
 As a magistrate, he could have immediately compelled the 
 restoration of the bedding. The use of his name, however, 
 answered the purpose, and the conjurer even offered to carry 
 the articles for her to Piatt's house. She so earnestly desired 
 to keep him and her charge apart, that she preferred loading 
 herself with the package. Then the shavings were found to 
 be in such a state that every shred of them must be removed 
 before the sick man could be allowed to lie down. No time 
 was to be lost. In the face of the old woman's protestations 
 that her daughter should not stir, Margaret spread the bedding 
 on the floor, wrapped the sick woman in a sheet, and laid her 
 upon it, finding the poor creature so light from emaciation 
 that she was as easy to lift as a child. The only thing that 
 the old woman would consent to do, was to go with a pencil 
 note to Mr. Grey, and bring back the clean dry straw which 
 
DEERBP.OOK. i79i 
 
 would be given her in his yard. She went, in hopes of 
 receiving something else with the straw ; and while she was 
 gone, Margaret was quite alone with the sick family. 
 
 Struggling to surmount her disgust at the task, she resolved 
 to employ the interval in removing the shavings. The pail 
 containing the charmed water was the only thing in the 
 cottage which would hold them ; and she made bold to empty 
 it in the ditch close at hand. Piatt was capable of watching 
 all she did ; and he made a frightful gesture of rage at her as 
 she re-entered. She saw in the shadow of the handkerchief 
 his quivering lips move in the act of speaking, and her ear 
 caught the words of an oath. Her situation now was far from 
 pleasant ; but it was still a relief that no one was by to witness 
 what she saw and was doing. She conveyed pailful after 
 pailful of the noisome shavings to the dunghill at the back of 
 the cottage, wondering the while that the inhabitants of the 
 dwelling were not all dead of the fever long ago. She almost 
 gave over her task when a huge toad crawled upon her foot 
 from its resting-place among the shavings. She shrunk from 
 it, and was glad to see it make for the door of its own accord. 
 Piatt again growled, and clenched his fist at her. He pro- 
 bably thought that she had again broken a charm for which 
 he had paid money. She spoke kindly and cheerfully, again 
 and again ; but he was either deaf or too ill to understand. 
 To relieve the sense of dreariness, she went to work again. 
 She thoroughly cleansed the pail, and filled it afresh from the 
 brook, looking anxiously down the lane for the approach of 
 some human creature, and then applied herself to rubbing the 
 bedstead as dry and clean as she could, with an apron of the 
 old woman's. 
 
 In due time her messenger returned ; and with her Ben, 
 carrying a truss of straw. His face was the face of a friend. 
 
 ^^ We must have some warm water, Ben, to clean these poor 
 creatures ; and here seems to be nothing to make a fire with." 
 
 " And it would take a long time, Miss, to get the coals, and 
 heat the water ; and the poor soul lying there all the time. 
 Could not I bring you a pail of hot water from the ^ Bonnet- 
 so-Blue ' quicker than that ? " 
 
 " Do ; and soap and towels from home." 
 
 Ben was gone with the pail. During the whole time of 
 spreading the straw on the bedstead, the old woman remon- 
 strated against anything being done to her daughter, beyond 
 laying her where she was before, and giving her a little warm 
 
480 DEERBROOK. 
 
 spirits ; but when she discovered that the charmed water had 
 been thrown out into the ditch, all to her seemed over. Her 
 last hope was gone ; and she sat down in sulky silence, eyeing 
 Margaret's proceedings without any offer to help. 
 
 When the warm water arrived, and the sick woman seemed 
 to like the sponging and drying of her fevered limbs, the 
 mother began to relent, and at last approached to give her 
 assistance, holding her poor daughter in her arms while 
 Margaret spread the blanket and sheet on the straw, and then 
 lifting the patient into the now clean bed. She was still un- 
 willing to waste any time and trouble on the child in the 
 corner ; but Margaret w^as peremptory. She saw' that he was 
 dying ; but not the less for this must he be made as com- 
 fortable as circumstances would permit. In half an hour he, 
 too, was laid on his bed of clean straw ; and the filthy rags 
 with which he had been surrounded were deposited out of 
 doors till some one w^ho would wash them could come for 
 them. By a promise of fire and food, Margaret bribed the 
 old woman to let things remain as they were while she went 
 for her brother, whose skill and care she hoped might now 
 have some chance of saving his patients. She recommended 
 that Piatt himself should not attempt to sit up any longer, and 
 engaged to return in half an hour. 
 
 She paused on the threshold a minute, to see how far Piatt 
 was able to walk ; so great seemed to be the difficulty with 
 w^hich he raised himself from his chair, with the old woman's 
 assistance. Once he stumbled, and would have fallen, if 
 Margaret had not sprung to his side. On recovering himself, 
 he wrenched his arm from her, and pushed her backwards 
 with more force than she had supposed he possessed. There 
 was a half-smile on the old woman's face as he did this, which 
 made Margaret shudder ; but she was more troubled by a 
 look from the man, which she caught from beneath the 
 handkerchief that bound his head ; a look which she could 
 not but fancy she had met before with the same feeling of 
 uneasiness. 
 
 When she had seen him safely seated on the bed-side, she 
 hastened away for her brother. They lost no more time in 
 returning than just to step to Widow Rye's, to ask whether 
 she would sit up with this miserable family this night. The 
 widow would have done anything else in the world for Mr. 
 Hope ; and she did not positively refuse to do this ; but the 
 fears of her neighbours had so infected her, and her terror of 
 
DEERBROOK. 481 
 
 a sick-room was so extreme, that it was evident her presence 
 there would do more harm than good. She was glad to 
 compound for a less hazardous service, and agreed to wash for 
 the sick with all diligence, if she was not required to enter the 
 houses, but might fetch the linen from tubs of water placed 
 outside the doors. After setting on plenty of water to heat, 
 she now followed Hope and Margaret to the cottage in the lane. 
 
 it was nearly dark, and they walked rapidly, Margaret 
 describing as they went what she had done, and what slie 
 thought remained to be done, to give Mrs. Piatt a chance of 
 recovery. 
 
 " What now ? Why do you start so ? " cried Hope, as she 
 stopped short in the middle of a sentence. 
 
 Margaret even stood still for one moment. Hope looked the 
 way she was looking, and saw, in the little twilight that 
 remained, the figure of some one who had been walking on 
 the opposite side of the road, but whose walk was now 
 quickened to a run. 
 
 " It is — it is he," said Hope, as Philip disappeared in the 
 darkness. Answering to what he knew must be in Margaret's 
 thoughts, he continued — 
 
 " He knows the state the village is in — the danger that we 
 are all in, and he cannot stay away." 
 
 "*We!' ^iUl?'" 
 
 " When I say * we,' I mean you particularly.'* 
 
 " If you think so " murmured Margaret, and stopped 
 
 for breath. 
 
 " I think so ; but it does not follow that there is any change. 
 He has always loved you. Margaret, do not deceive yourself. 
 Do not afflict yourself with expectations " 
 
 " Do not speak to me, brother. I cannot bear a word from 
 you about him." 
 
 Hope sighed deeply, but he could not remonstrate. He 
 knew that Margaret had only too much reason for saying this. 
 They walked on in entire silence to the lane. 
 
 A fire was now kindled, and a light dimly burned in Piatt's 
 cottage. As Margaret stood by the bedside, watching her 
 brother's examination of his patient, and anxious to under- 
 stand rightly the directions he was giving, the poor woman 
 half raised her head from her pillow, and fixed her dull eyes 
 on Margaret's face, saying, as if thinking aloud, 
 
 " The lady has heard some good news, sure. She looks 
 cheerful-like." 
 
 I I 
 
482 DEERBROOK. 
 
 The mother herself turned round to stare, and, for the first 
 time, dropped a curtsey. 
 
 " I hope we shall see you look cheerful too, one day soon, if 
 we nurse you well," said Margaret. 
 
 " Then, Miss, don't let them move me, to take the blankets 
 away again." 
 
 " You shall not be moved unless you wish it. I am going 
 to stay with you to-night." 
 
 Her brother did not oppose this, for he did not know of the 
 unpleasant glances and mutterings with which Piatt rewarded 
 all Margaret's good offices. Hope believed he should himself 
 be out all night among his patients. He would come early in 
 the morning, and now fairly warned Margaret that it was 
 very possible that the child might die in the course of the 
 night. She was not deterred by this, nor by her dread of the 
 sick man. She had gained a new strength of soul, and this 
 night she feared nothing. During the long hours there was 
 much to do — three sufferers at once requiring her cares ; and 
 amidst all that she did, she was sustained by the thought that 
 she had seen Philip, and that he was near. The abyss of 
 nothingness was passed, and she now trod the ground of 
 certainty of his existence, and of his remembrance. When 
 her brother entered, letting in the first gray of the morning as 
 he opened the cottage door, he found her almost untired, 
 almost gay. Piatt was worse, his wife much the same, and 
 the child still living. The old woman's heart was so far 
 touched with the unwonted comfort of the past night, and 
 with her having been allowed, and even encouraged, to take 
 her rest, that she now offered her bundle of clothes for the 
 lady to lie down upon ; and when that favour was declined, 
 readily promised not to part with any article to the fortune- 
 teller, till she should see some of Mr. Hope's family again. 
 
 Hope thought Mrs. Piatt might possibly get through : and 
 this was all that was said on the way home. Margaret lay 
 down to rest, to sweet sleep, for a couple of hours : and when 
 she appeared below, her brother and sister had half done 
 breakfast, and Mr. Grey and his twin daughters were with 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Grey came to say that he and all his family were to 
 leave Deerbrook in two hours. Where they should settle for 
 the present, they had not yet made up their minds. The first 
 object was to get away, the epidemic being now really too 
 frightful to be encountered any longer. They should proceed 
 
DEERBROOK. 483 
 
 immediately to Brighton, and there determine whether to go 
 to the Continent, or seek some healthy place nearer home, to 
 stay in, till Deerbrook should again be habitable. They were 
 extremely anxious to carry Hester, Margaret, and the baby^ 
 with them. They knew Mr. Hope could not desert his post : 
 but they thought he would feel as Dr. Levitt did, far happier 
 to know that his family were out of danger, than to have them 
 with him. Hester had firmly refused to go, from the first 
 nifention of the plan ; and now Margaret was equally decided 
 in expressing her determination to stay. Mr. Grey urged the 
 extreme danger : Fanny and Mary hung about her, and 
 implored her to go, and to carry the baby with her. They 
 should so like to have the baby with them for a great many 
 weeks ! and they would take care of him, and play with him 
 all day long. Their father once more interposed for the 
 child's sake. Hester might go to Brighton, there wean her 
 infant, and return to her husband ; so that the little helpless 
 creature might at least be safe. Mr. Grey would not conceal 
 that he considered this a positive duty — that the parents would 
 have much to answer for, if anything should happen to the 
 boy at home. The parents' hearts swelled. They looked at 
 each other, and felt that this was not a moment in which to 
 perplex themselves with calculations of incalculable things — 
 with comparisons of the dangers which threatened their infant 
 abroad and at home. This was a decision for their hearts to 
 make. Their hearts decided that their child's right place was 
 in his parents' arms ; and that their best hope now, as at all 
 other times, was to live and die together. 
 
 Hester had heard from her husband of the apparition of 
 the preceding evening, and she therefore knew that there was 
 less of * enthusiasm,' as Mr. Grey called what some others 
 would have named virtue, in Margaret's determination to stay, 
 than might appear. If Philip was here, how vain must be all 
 attempts to remove her ! Mr. Grey might as well set about 
 persuading the old church tower to go with him : and so he 
 found. 
 
 "Oh, cousin Margaret," said Mary, in a whisper, with a 
 face of much sorrow, " mamma will not ask Miss Young to 
 go with us ! If she should be ill while we are gone I If she 
 should die!" 
 
 " Nonsense, Mary," cried Fanny, partly overhearing, and 
 partly guessing what her sister had said ; " you know mamma 
 says it is not convenient : and Miss Young is not like my 
 
 I I 2 
 
484 DEERBPwOOK. 
 
 cousins, as mamnica says, a member of a family, with people 
 depending upon her. It is quite a different case, Marj, as 
 vou must know very well. Only think, cousin Margaret ! 
 what an odd thing it will be, to be so many weeks without 
 saying any lessons ! How we shall enjoy ourselves !" 
 
 "^^ But if Miss Young should be ill, and die !" persisted Mary. 
 
 " Pooh ! why should she be ill and die, more than Dr. 
 Levitt, and Ben, and our cook, and my cousins, and all that 
 are going to stay behind ? Margaret, I do wish cousin Hester 
 would let us carry the baby with us. We shall have no 
 lessons to do, you know ; and we could play with him all day 
 long." , 
 
 " Yes, I wish he might go," said Mary. " But, Margaret, 
 do you not think, if you spoke a word to papa and mamma, 
 they would let me stay with Miss Young ? I know she would 
 make room for me ; for she did for Phoebe, when Phoebe 
 nursed her ; and I should like to stay and help her, and read 
 to her, even if she should not be ill. I think papa and mamma 
 might let me stay, if you asked them." 
 
 " I do not think they would, Mary : and I had rather not 
 ask them. But I promise you that we will all take the best 
 care we can of Maria. We will try to help and amuse her as 
 well as you could wish." 
 
 " Gome, Mary, we must go!" cried Fanny. " Ther6 is papa 
 giving Mr. Hope some money for the poor ; people always go 
 away quick after giving money. Good bye, cousin Margaret. 
 We shall bring yoti some shells, or something, I dare say, when 
 we come back. Now let me kiss the baby once more. I 
 can't think why you won't let him go with us : we should like 
 so to have him ! " 
 
 "So do we," said Hester, laughing. 
 
 As the door closed behind the Greys, the three looked in 
 each other's faces. That glance assured each other that they 
 had done right. In that glance was a mutual promise of 
 cheerful fidelity through whatever might be impending. 
 There was no sadness in the tone of their conversation ; and 
 when, within two hours, the Greys went by, driven slowly, 
 l)ecause there was a funeral train on each side of the way, 
 there was full as much happiness in the faces that smiled a 
 farewell from the windows, as in the gestures of the young 
 people, who started up in the carriage to kiss their hands, 
 and who were being borne away from the abode of danger 
 and death, to spend several weeks without doing any lessons. 
 
DSERBROOK. 485 
 
 Often, during this day, was the voice of mirth even heard in 
 this dwelling. It was not like the mirth of the well-known 
 company of prisoners in the first French revolution — men 
 who knew that they should leave their prison only to lose 
 their heads, and who, once mutually acknowledging this, 
 agreed vainly and pusillanimously to banish from that hour 
 all sad, all grave thoughts, and laugh till they died. It was 
 not this mirth of despair ; nor yet that of carelessness ; nor 
 yet that of defiance. Nor were theirs the spirits of the 
 patriot in the hour of struggle, nor of the hero in the crisis of 
 danger. In a peril like theirs, there is nothing imposing tc> 
 the imagination, or flattering to the pride, or immediately 
 appealing to the energies of the soul. There were no 
 resources for them in emotions of valour or patriotism. 
 Theirs was the gaiety of simple faith and innocence. They 
 had acted from pure inclination, from affection, unconscious 
 of pride, of difficulty, of merit ; and they w*ere satisfied, and 
 gay as the innocent ought to be, enjoying what there was to 
 enjoy, and questioning and fearing nothing beyond. 
 
 From a distant point of time or place, such a state of 
 spirits in the midst of a pestilence may appear imnatural and 
 wrong ; but experience proves that it is neither. Whatever 
 observers may think, it is natural and it is right that minds 
 strong enough to be settled, either in a good or evil frame, 
 should preserve their usual character amidst any changes of 
 circumstance. To those involved in new events, they appear 
 less strange than in prospect or in review. Habitual thoughts 
 are present, familiarizing wonderful incidents ; and the fears 
 of the selfish, the repose of the religious, the speculations of 
 the thoughtful, and the gaiety of the innocent, perv^ade the 
 life of each, let what will be happening. 
 
 Yet to the prevailing mood the circumstances of the tim(; 
 will interpose an occasional check. This very evening, when 
 Margaret was absent at the cottage in the lane, and Hope, 
 wearied with his toils among the sick all the night, and all 
 this day, was apparently sleeping for an hour on the sofa, 
 Hester's heart grew heavy, as she lulled her infant to rest by 
 the fire. As she thought on what was passing in the houses 
 of her neighbours, death seemed to close around the little 
 being she held in her arms. As she gazed in his face, 
 watching the slumber stealing on, she murmured over him — 
 
 " Oh, my child, my child ! if I should lose you, what 
 should I do?" 
 
4^ DEERBROOK. 
 
 " Hester ! my love !" said her husband, in a tone of tender 
 remonstrance, " what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I did not think you would hear me, love ; but I thank 
 you. What did I mean ? Not exactly what I said ; for 
 God knows, I would strive to part willingly with whatever he 
 might see fit to take away. But, oh, Edward! what a 
 struggle it would be ! and how near it comes to us ! How 
 many mothers are now parting from their children ! " 
 
 "God's will be done!" cried Hope, starting up, and 
 standing over his babe. 
 
 " Are you sure, Edward — may we feel quite certain that 
 we have done rightly by our boy in keeping him here ? " 
 
 " I am satisfied, my love." 
 
 " Then I am prepared. How still he is now ! How like 
 death it looks ! " 
 
 " What, that warm, breathing sleep ! No more like death 
 than his laugh is like sin." 
 
 And Hope looked about him for pencil and paper, and 
 hastily sketched his boy in all the beauty of repose, before he 
 went forth again among the sick and wretched. It was very 
 like ; and Hester placed it before her as she plied her needle^ 
 all that long solitary evening. 
 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 CHURCH-GOING. 
 
 Hester went to church the next Sunday, as she wished, to 
 hear Dr. Levitt's promised plain sermon on the duties of the 
 times. Margaret gladly staid at home with the baby, thankful 
 for the relief from the sight of sickness, and for the quiet of 
 solitude while the infant slept. Edward was busy among those 
 who wanted his good offices, as he now was, almost without 
 intermission. Hester had to go alone. 
 
 Everything abroad looked very strange— quite unlike the 
 common Sunday aspect of the place. The streets were empty, 
 except that a party of mourners were returning from a funeral. 
 Either people were already all in church, or nobody was going. 
 She quickened her pace in the fear that she might be late, 
 though the bell seemed to assure her that she was not. Widow 
 Rye's little garden-plot was all covered with linen put out to 
 dry, and Mrs. ^je might be seen through the window, at the 
 wash-tub. The want of fresh linen was so pressing, that the 
 
DEERBROOK. 487 
 
 sick must not be kept waiting, though it was Sunday. Miss 
 Nares and Miss Flint were in curl-papers, plying their needles. 
 They had been up all night, and were now putting the last 
 stitches to a suit of family mourning, which was to enable the 
 bereaved to attend afternoon church. Miss Nares looked 
 quite haggard, as she well might, having scarcely left her 
 seat for the last fortnight, except to take orders for mourning, 
 and to snatch a scanty portion of rest. She had endeavoured 
 to procure an additional workwoman or two from among her 
 neighbours, and then from Blickley : but her neighbours were, 
 busy with their domestic troubles, and the Blickley people 
 wanted more mourning than the hands there could supply ; 
 so Miss Nares and Miss Flint had been compelled to work 
 night and day, till they both looked as if they had had the 
 sickness, and were justified in saying that no money could 
 pay them for what they were undergoing. They began 
 earnestly to wish what they had till now deprecated — that 
 Dr. Levitt might succeed in inducing some of his flock to 
 forego the practice of wearing mourning. But of this there 
 was little prospect : the people were as determined upon 
 wearing black, as upon having the bell tolled for the dead ; 
 and Miss Nares's heart sank at the prospect before her, if the 
 epidemic should continue, and she should be able to get no 
 help. 
 
 Almost every second house in the place was shut up. The 
 blank windows of the cottages, where plants or smiling faces 
 were usually to be seen on a Sunday morning, looked dreary. 
 The inhabitants of many of the better dwellings were absent. 
 There were no voices of children about the little courts ; no 
 groups of boys under the churchyard wall. Of those who 
 had frequented this spot, several were under the sod ; some 
 were laid low in fever within the houses ; and others were 
 with their parents, forming a larger congregation round the 
 fortune-tellers' tents in the lanes, than Dr. Levitt could 
 assemble in the church. 
 
 Hester heard the strokes of the hammer and the saw as she 
 passed the closed shop of the carpenter, who was also the 
 undertaker. She knew that people were making coffins by 
 candlelight within. Happening to look round after she had 
 passed, she saw a woman come out, wan in countenance, and 
 carrying under her cloak something which a puff of wind 
 showed to be an infant's coffin — a sight from which every 
 yoTmg mother averts her eyes. As Hester approached a 
 
488 DEERBROOK. 
 
 cottage whose thatch had not been weeded for long, she was 
 startled by a howl and whine from within ; and a dog, emaciated 
 to the last degree, sprang upon the sill of an open window. 
 A neighbour who perceived her shrink back, and hesitate to 
 pass, assured her that she need not be afraid of the dog. The 
 poor animal would not leave the place, whose inmates were all 
 dead of the fever. The window was left open for the dog's 
 escape; but he never came out, though he looked famished. 
 Some persons had thrown in food at first ; but now no one 
 had time or thought to spare for dogs. 
 
 Mr. Walcot issued from a house near the church as Hester 
 passed, and he stopped her. He was roused or frightened out 
 of his usual simplicity of manner, and observed, with an air 
 of deep anxiety, that he trusted Mr. Hope had better success 
 with his patients than he could boast of The disease was 
 most terrific : and the saving of a life was a chance now 
 seemingly too rare to be reckoned on. It really required 
 more strength than most men had to stand by their duty at 
 such a time, when they could do little more than see their 
 patients die. Hester thought him so much moved, that he 
 was at this moment hardly fit for business. She said, 
 
 " We all have need of all our strength. I do not know 
 whether worship gives it to you as it does to me. Will it not 
 be an hour, or even half an hour, well spent, if you go with 
 me there?" pointing to the church. '^ You will say you are 
 wanted elsewhere ; but will you not be stronger and calmer 
 for the comfort you may find there ? " 
 
 " I should like it .... I have always been in the 
 habit of going to church .... It would do me good, 
 I know. But, Mrs. Hope, how is this ? I thought you had 
 been a dissenter. I always said so. I have been very wrong 
 — very ill-natured." 
 
 " I am a dissenter," said Hester, smiling, " but you are not; 
 and therefore I may urge you to go to church. As for the 
 rest of the mystery, I will explain it when we have more 
 time. Meanwhile, I hope you do not suppose that dissenters 
 do not worship and need and love worship as other people do ! " 
 
 Mr. Walcot replied by timidly offering his arm, which 
 Hester accepted, and they entered the church together. 
 
 The Rowlands were already in their pew. There was a 
 general commotion among the children when they saw Mrs. 
 Hope and Mr. Walcot walking up the aisle arm-in-arm. 
 Matilda called her mother's attention to the remarkable fact, 
 
DEERBROOK. 489 
 
 and the little heads all whispered together. The church 
 looked really almost empty. There were no Hunters, with 
 their train of servants : there were no Levitts. The Miss 
 Andersons had not entered Deerbrook for weeks ; and Maria 
 Young sat alone in the large double pew commonly occupied 
 by her scholars. There was a sprinkling of poor ; but 
 Hester observed that every one in the church was in mourning 
 but Maria and herself. It looked sadly chill and dreary. The 
 sights and sounds she had met, and the aspect of the place 
 she was in, disposed her to welcome every thought of comfort 
 that the voice of the preacher could convey. 
 
 There were others to whom consolation appeared even more 
 necessary than to herself. Philip Enderby had certainly seen 
 her, and was distressed at it. He could not have expected to 
 meet her here ; and his discomposure was obvious. He looked 
 thin, and grave, — not to say subdued. Hester was surprised 
 to find how she relented towards him, the moment she saw he 
 was not gay and careless, and how her feelings grew softer 
 and softer under the religious emotions of the hour. She was 
 so near forgiving him, that she was very glad Margaret was 
 not by her side. If she could forgive, how would it be with 
 Margaret ? 
 
 The next most melancholy person present, perhaps, was 
 Mr. Walcot. He knew that the whole family of the Row- 
 lands remained in Deerbrook from Mrs. Rowland's ostentation 
 of confidence in his skill. He knew that Mr. Rowland would 
 have removed his family when the Greys departed, but that 
 the lady had refused to go ; and he felt how groundless was 
 her confidence : not that he had pretended to more professional 
 merit than he had believed himself to possess ; but that, 
 amidst this disease, he was like a willow-twig in the stream. 
 He became so impressed with his responsibilities now, in the 
 presence of the small and sad-faced congregation, that he 
 could not refrain from whispering to Hester, that he could 
 never be thankful enough that Mr. Hope had not left Deer- 
 brook long ago, and that he hoped they should be friends 
 henceforth, — that Mr. Hope would take his proper place 
 again, and forgive and forget all that had passed. He thought 
 he might trust Mr. Hope not to desert him and Deerbrook 
 now. Hester smiled gently, but made no reply, and did not 
 appear to notice the proffered hand. It was no time and 
 place to ratify a compact for her husband in his absence. 
 Ail this time, Mr. Walcot's countenance and manner were 
 
490 DEERBROOE. 
 
 sufficiently subdued : but his agitation increased when the 
 solemn voice of Dr. Levitt uttered the prayer — 
 
 "Have pity upon us, miserable sinners, who now are 
 visited with great sickness and mortality." 
 
 Here the voice of weeping became so audible from the 
 lower part of the church, that the preacher stopped for a 
 moment, to give other people, and possibly himself, time to 
 recover composure. He then went on — 
 
 " That, like as Thou didst then accept of an atonement, and 
 didst command the destroying angel to cease from punishing, 
 so it may now please thee to withdraw from us this plague 
 and grievous sickness ; through Jesus Christ, our Lord." 
 
 Every voice in the church uttered * Amen,' except Mr. 
 Walcot's. He was struggling with his sobs. Unexpected 
 and excessive as were the tokens of his grief, Hester could 
 not but respect it. It was so much better than gross selfish- 
 ness and carelessness, that she could pity and almost honour 
 it. She felt that Mr. Walcot was as far superior to the 
 quacks who were making a market of the credulity of the 
 suffering people, as her husband, with his professional decision, 
 his manly composure, and his forgetfulness of the injuries of 
 his foes in their hour of suffering, was above Mr. Walcot. 
 The poor young man drank in, as if they were direct from 
 Heaven, the suggestions contained in the preacher's plain 
 sermon on the duties of the time. Plain it was indeed, — 
 familiarly practical to an unexampled degree ; so that most 
 of his hearers quitted the chvirch with a far clearer notion of 
 their business as nurses and neighbours than they had ever 
 before had. The effect was visible as they left their seats, in 
 the brightening of their countenances, and the increased 
 activity of their step as they walked. 
 
 " There, go," said Hester, kindly, to her companion. 
 " Many must be wanting you : but you have lost no time by 
 coming here." 
 
 " No, indeed. But Mr. Hope " 
 
 " Rely upon him. He will do his duty. Go and do yours." 
 
 " God bless you ! " cried Walcot, squeezing her hand affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 Mrs. Eowland saw this, as she always saw everything. She 
 beckoned to Mr. Walcot, with her most engaging smile, and 
 whispered him with an air of the most intimate confidence, 
 till she saw that her presence was wanted elsewhere, when 
 she let him 2;o. 
 
DEERBROOK. 491 
 
 Mr. Kowland, followed by Philip, slipped out of his pew 
 as Hester passed, and walked down the aisle with her. He 
 was glad to see her there ; he hoped it was a proof that all 
 her household were well in this sickly time. Philip bent 
 forward to hear the answer. Mr. Rowland went on to say 
 how still and dull the village was. The shutters up, or the 
 blinds down, at all the Greys' windows, looked quite sad ; and 
 he never saw any of his friends from the corner-house in the 
 shrubbery now\ They had too many painful duties, he feared, 
 to allow of their permitting themselves such pleasures: but 
 his friends must take care not to overstrain their powers. 
 They and he must be very thankful that their respective 
 households were thus far unvisited by the disease ; and they 
 should all, in his opinion, favour their health by the indul- 
 gence of a little rational cheerfulness. Hester smiled, aware 
 that never had their household been more cheerful than now. 
 
 Whether it was that Hester's smile was irresistible, or that 
 other influences were combined with it, it had an extraordinary 
 effect upon Philip. He started forwaa:d in front of her, and 
 offered his hand, saying, so as to be heard by her alone — 
 
 " Will you not ? — -I have no quarrel with you." 
 
 "And can you suppose," she replied, in a tone more of 
 compassion than of anger, " that I have none with you ? — 
 How strangely you must forget!" she added, as he precipi- 
 tately withdrew his offered hand, and turned from her. 
 
 " Forget ! I forget ! " he murmured, turning his face of 
 woe towards her for one instant. " How little you know 
 me!" 
 
 " How little we all know each other ! " said Hester, for the 
 moment careless what construction might be put upon her 
 words. 
 
 " Even in this place," said Dr. Levitt, who had now joined 
 them, and had heard the last words : " even in this place, 
 where all hearts should be open, and all resentments forgotten. 
 Are there any here who refuse to shake hands — at such a 
 time as this?" 
 
 " It is not for myself," said Hester, distressed : " but how 
 can I?" 
 
 " It is true ; she cannot. Do not blame her. Dr. Levitt," 
 said Philip ; and he was gone. 
 
 It was this meeting which had cut short Mrs. Rowland's 
 whispers with Mr. Walcot, and brought her down the aisle in 
 all her stateHness, with her train of children behind her. 
 
492 ^ DEEKBROOK. 
 
 When Hester went home, she thought it right to tell 
 Margaret exactly what had happened. 
 
 " I knew it," was all that Margaret said ; but her heightened 
 colour during the day told what unspeakable things were in 
 her heart. 
 
 Hester was occupied with speculations as to what might 
 have been the event if Margaret had been to church instead 
 of herself. Her husband would only shake his head, and look 
 hopeless : but she still thought all might have come right, 
 under the influences of the hour. Whether it were to be 
 wished that Philip and Margaret should understand each other 
 again, was another question. Yesterday Hester would have 
 earnestly desired that Margaret should never see Enderby 
 again. To-day she did not know what to wish. She and 
 Margaret came silently to the same conclusion ; — " there is 
 nothing for it but waiting." If he had heard this, Hope 
 would have shaken his head again. 
 
 CHAPTER XLin. 
 
 WORKING ROUND. 
 
 Several days passed, and there was no direct news of Enderby. 
 Maria never spoke of him, though many little intervals in Mar- 
 garet's busy life occurred when the friends were together, and 
 Maria might have taken occasion to say anything she wished. 
 It was clear that she chose to avoid the subject. Her talk was 
 almost entirely about the sick, for whom she laboured as 
 strenuously as her strength would permit. She could not go 
 about among them, nor sit up with the sufi'erers : but she 
 cooked good things over her fire for them, all day long ; and 
 she took to her home many children who were too young to 
 be useful, and old enough to be troublesome in a sick house. 
 Between her cooking, teaching, and playing with the children, 
 she was as fully occupied as her friends in the corner-house, 
 and perhaps might not really know anything about Mr. 
 Enderby. 
 
 Each one of the family had caught glimpses of him at one 
 time or another. There was reason to think that he was active 
 among Mr. Walcot's poor patients ; and Hope had encountered 
 him more than once in the course of his rounds, when a few 
 words on the business of the moment were exchanged, and 
 
DEEKBROOK, 493 
 
 nothing more happened. Margaret saw him twice : once on 
 horseback, when he turned suddenly down a lane to avoid her; 
 and at the Rowlands' dining-room window, with Ned in his 
 arms. She never now passed that house when she could help 
 it : but this once it was necessary ; and she was glad that Philip 
 had certainly not seen her. His back was half-turned to the 
 windoAv at the moment, as if some one within was speaking to 
 him. Each time, his image was so stamped in upon her mind, 
 that, amidst all the trials of such near neighbourhood without 
 intercourse, his presence in Deerbrook was, on the whole, cer- 
 tainly a luxury. She had gained something to compensate 
 for all her restlessness, in the three glimpses of him with which 
 slie had now been favoured. A thought sometimes occurred 
 to her, of which she was so ashamed that she made every 
 (>ndeavour to banish it. She asked herself now and then, 
 Avhether, if she had been able to sit at home, or take her 
 accustomed walks, she should not have beheld Philip oftener : 
 — whether she was not sadly out of the way of seeing him at 
 the cottage in the lane, and the other sordid places where her 
 presence was necessary. Not for this occasional question did 
 she stay away one moment longer than she would otherwise 
 have done from the cottage in the lane ; but while she was 
 there, it was apt to recur. 
 
 There she sat one afternoon, somewhat weary, but not 
 dreaming of going home. There lay the three sick creatures 
 still. The woman was likely to recover; the boy lingered, 
 and seemed waiting for his father to go with him. Piatt had 
 sunk very rapidly, and this day had made a great change- 
 Margaret had taken the moaning and restless child on her 
 lap, for the ease of change of posture; and she was now 
 shading from his eyes with her shawl, the last level rays of 
 the sun which shone in upon her from the window. She was 
 unwilling to change her seat, for it seemed as if the slightest 
 movement would quench the lingeri;ng life of the child : and 
 there was no one to draw the window-curtain, the old woman 
 having gone to buy food in the village. Mrs. Piatt slept 
 almost all the day and night through, and she was asleep 
 now : so Margaret sat quite still, holding up her shawl before 
 the pallid face which looked already dead. Nothing broke 
 the silence but the twitter of the young birds in the thatch, 
 and the mutterings of the sick man, whom Margaret imagined 
 to be somewhat disturbed by the unusual light that was in 
 the room. It had not been the custom of the sun to shine 
 
494 DEERBROOK. 
 
 into any houses of late ; and the place full of yellow light, 
 did not look like itself. She knew that in a few minutes the 
 sun would have set; and she hoped that then poor Piatt 
 would be still. Meantime she appeared to take no notice, 
 but sat with her eyes fixed on the boy's face, marking that 
 each sigh was fainter than the last. At length a louder sound 
 than she had yet heard from the sick man, made her look 
 towards him ; and the instant throb of her heart seemed to be 
 felt by the child, for he moved his head slightly. Piatt was 
 trying to support himself upon his elbow, while in the other 
 shaking hand, he held towards her her turquois ring. She 
 remembered her charge, and did not spring to seize it ; but 
 there was something in her countenance that strongly excited 
 the sick man. He struggled to rise from his bed, and his 
 face was fierce. Margaret spoke gently — as calmly as she 
 could — told him she would come presently — that there was 
 no hurry, and urged him to lie down till she could put the 
 child off her lap ; but her voice failed her, in spite of herself; 
 for now, at last, she recognised in Piatt the tall woman. This 
 was the look which had perplexed her more than once. 
 
 " Patience ! a little further patience ! " she said to herself, 
 as she saw the ring still trembling in the sick man's hand, 
 and felt one more sigh from the little fellow on her lap. No 
 more patience was needed. This was the boy's last breath. 
 His head fell back, and the sunlight, which streamed in upon 
 his half-closed eyes, could now disturb them no more. Mar- 
 garet gently closed them and laid the body on its little bed in 
 the corner, straightening and covering the limbs before she 
 turned away. 
 
 She then gently approached the bed, and took her ring into a 
 hand which trembled little less than the sick man's own. She 
 spoke calmly, however. She strove earnestly to learn some- 
 thing of the facts : she tried to understand the mutterings 
 amidst which only a word here and there sounded like speech. 
 She thought, from the earnestness with which Piatt seized 
 and pressed her hand, that he was seeking pardon from her ; 
 and she spoke as if it were so. It grew very distressing — the 
 earnestness of the man, and the uncertainty whether his mind 
 was wandering or not. She wished the old woman would 
 come back. She went to the door to look for her. The old 
 woman was coming down the lane. Margaret put on her 
 ring, and drew on her gloves, and determined to say nothing 
 about it at present. 
 
DEERBROOK. 495 
 
 " Mr. Piatt has been talking almost ever since yon went,'^ 
 said Margaret; " and I can make out nothing that he says. 
 Do try if you can understand him. I am sure there is some- 
 thing he wishes me to hear. There is no time to lose, I am 
 afraid. Do try." 
 
 The woman coaxed him to lie down, and then turning 
 round, said she thought he wanted to know what o'clock it 
 was. 
 
 " Is that all ? Tell him that the sun is now setting. But 
 if you have a watch, that will show more exactly. Are you 
 sure you have no watch in the house ? " 
 
 The old woman looked suspiciously at her, and asked her 
 what made her suppose that poor folks had watches, when 
 some gentlefolks had none ? Margaret inquired whether a 
 watch was not a possession handed down from father to son, 
 and sometimes found in the poorest cottages. She believed 
 she had seen such at Deerbrook. The old woman replied by 
 saying, she believed Margaret might have understood some 
 few things among the many the poor sick creature had been 
 saying. Not one, Margaret declared; but it was so plain 
 that she was not believed, that she had little doubt of Hester's 
 watch having been harboured in this very house, if it was not 
 there still. 
 
 The poor boy, who had had little care from his natural 
 guardians while alive from the hour of his being doomed by 
 the fortune-teller, was now loudly mourned as dead. Yet the 
 mourning was strangely mixed with exultation at the fortune- 
 teller having been right in the end. The mother, suddenly 
 awakened, groaned and screamed, so that it was fearful to 
 hear her. All efforts to restore quiet were in vain. Mar- 
 garet was moved, shocked, terrified. She could not keep her 
 own calmness in such a scene of confusion : but, while her 
 cheeks were covered with tears, while her voice trembled as 
 she implored silence, she never took off her glove. In the 
 midst of the tumult, Platt sank back and died. The renewed 
 cries had the effect of bringing some neighbours from the end 
 of the lane. While they were there, Margaret could be of no 
 further use. She promised to send coffins immediately — that 
 stage of pestilence being now reached when coffins were the 
 first consideration — and then slipped out from the door into 
 the darkness, and ran till she had turned the corner of the 
 long lane. She usually considered herself safe abroad, even 
 in times like these, as she carried no property of value about 
 
'i96 ©EERBROOK. 
 
 with her : but now that she was wearing her precious ring 
 again, she felt too rich to be walking alone in the daric. 
 
 She did not slacken her pace till she approached lights and 
 people ; and then she was glad to stop for breath. She could 
 not resist going first to Maria, to show her the recovered 
 treasure; and this caused her to direct her steps through the 
 churchyard. It was there that she came in view of lights and 
 people; and under the limes it was that she stopped for 
 breath. The churchyard was now the most frequented spot 
 in the village. The path by the turnstile was indeed grown 
 over with grass : but the great gate was almost always open, 
 and the ground near it was trodden bare by the feet of many 
 mourners. Funeral trains — trains which daily 'grew shorter, 
 till each coffin was now followed only by two or by three — 
 were passing in from early morning, at intervals, till sunset, 
 and now might be often seen by torchlight far into the night. 
 The villager passing the churchyard wall might hear, in the 
 night air, the deep voice of the clergyman announcing the 
 farewell to some brother or sister, committing " ashes to ashes, 
 and dust to dust." There was no disturbance now from boys 
 leaping over the graves, or from little children, eager to renew 
 their noisy play. Such of the young villagers as remained 
 above ground appeared to be silenced and subdued by the 
 privation, the dreariness, the neglect, of these awful days : 
 they looked on from afar, or avoided the spot. Instead of 
 such, the observer of the two funerals which were now in the 
 churchyard, was a person quite at the other extremity of life. 
 Margaret saw the man of a hundred years, Jem Bird, the 
 pride of the village in his way, seated on the bench under the 
 spreading tree, which was youthful in comparison with him- 
 self. He was listlessly watching the black figures which 
 moved about in the light of a solitary torch, by an open 
 grave, while waiting for the clergyman who was engaged with 
 the group beyond. 
 
 " You are late abroad, Mr. Bird," said Margaret. " I 
 should not have looked for you here so far on in the eve- 
 ning." 
 
 *' Wliat 's your will ? " said the old man. 
 
 "Grandfather won't go home ever, till they have done 
 here," said a great-grandchild of the old man, running up 
 from his amusement of hooting to the owls in the church - 
 tower. " They '11 soon have done with these tAvo, and then 
 grandfather and I shall go home. Won't we, granny ? " 
 
DEEIiBROOK. 497 
 
 " Does it not make you sad to see so many funerals ? '* said 
 Margaret, sitting down on the bencli beside him. 
 
 " Ay." 
 
 " Had you not better stay at home than see so many 
 that you knew laid in the ground ? " 
 
 " Ay." 
 
 " Does he understand ? " she asked aside of the boy. 
 " Does he never answer but in this way ? " 
 
 " Oh ! he talks fast enough sometimes. It is just as you 
 happen to take him." 
 
 Margaret was curious to know what were the meditations 
 among the tombs of one so aged as this man : so she spoke 
 again. 
 
 " I have heard that you knew this place before anybody 
 lived in it : and now you seem likely to see it empty again." 
 
 " It was a wild place enough in my young time," said Jem, 
 speaking now very fluently. " There was nothing of it but 
 the church ; and that was never used, because it had had its 
 roof pulled off in the wars. There was only a footpath to it 
 through the fields then, and few people went nigh it — 
 except a few gentry that came a-pleasuring here, into 
 the woods. The owls and I knew it as well then as w^e 
 do to-day, and nobody else that is now living. The owls 
 and I." 
 
 And the old man laughed the chuckling laugh which 
 was all he had strength for. 
 
 "The woods!" said Margaret. "Did the Verdon woods 
 spread as far as this church in those days ? And were they 
 not private property then ? " 
 
 " It was all forest hereabouts, except a clear space round 
 the church tower. It might be thin sprinkled, but it was 
 called forest. The place where I was born had thorns all 
 about it; and when I could scarce walk alone, I used to 
 scramble among the blossoms that made the ground white aU 
 under those thorns. The birds that lived by the haws in winter 
 were prodigious. That cottage stood, as near as I can tell, 
 where Grey and Eowland's great granary is now. There 
 used to be much swine in the woods then; and many's the 
 time they have thrown me down when I was a young thing 
 getting acorns. That was about the time of my hearing the 
 first music I ever heard — ^unless you call the singing of the 
 birds music (we had plenty of that), and the bells on the 
 breeze from a distance, when the wind was south. The first 
 
498 I>EERBROOK. 
 
 music (so to call it) that I heard was from a blind fiddler 
 that came to us. What brought him, I don't know — whether 
 he lost his way, or what; but he lost his way after he left us. 
 His dog seems to have been in fault: but he got into a 
 pool in the middle of the wood, and there he lay drowned, 
 with one foot up on the bank, when I went to see what the 
 barking of the dog could be about. He clutched his fiddle 
 in drowning ; and I remember I tried to get the music out of 
 it as it lay wet and broken on the bank, while father was 
 saying the poor soul must have been under the water now 
 two days. So I have reason to remember the first music I 
 heard." 
 
 ''You have got him talking now," said the grandchild, 
 running off; and presently the owls were heard hooting 
 again. 
 
 " Whereabouts was this pool ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 '' It is a deep part of the brook, that in hot summers is left 
 a pond. It is there that the chief of the sliding goes on in 
 winter now, in the meadow. It is meadow now ; but then 
 the deer used to come down through the wood to drink at the 
 brook there. That is how the village got its name." 
 
 " So you remember the time when the deer came down to 
 drink at the brook ! How many things have happened 
 since then ! You have heard a great deal of music since 
 those days." 
 
 " Ay, there has been a good deal of fiddling at our 
 weddings since that. And we have had recruiting parties 
 through in war times." 
 
 '' And many a mother singing to her baby; and the psalm 
 in the church for so many years ! Yes, the place has been 
 full of music for long ; but it seems likely to be silent enough 
 now." 
 
 '* I began to think I should be left the last, as I was the 
 first," said the old man : " but they say the sickness is abating 
 now, and that several are beginning to recover. Pray God it 
 may be so ! First, after the wood was somewhat cleared, 
 there was a labourer's cottage or two — now standing empty, 
 and the folk that lived in them lying yonder. Then there 
 was the farm-house; and then a carpenter came, and a 
 wheeler. Then there was a shop wanted; and the church 
 was roofed in and used : and some gentry came and sat down 
 by the river side, and the place grew to what it is. They 
 say now, it is not near its end yet: but it is strange to me to 
 
DEERBROOK. 49^ 
 
 see the churchyard the fullest place near, so that I have to 
 come here for company." 
 
 And the old man chuckled again. As she rose to go, Mar- 
 garet asked whether he knew the Platts, who lived in the 
 cottage in the lane. 
 
 ^' I know him to see to. Is he down ? " 
 
 " He is dead and his child : but his wife is recovering." 
 
 " Ay, there 's many recovering now, they say." 
 
 "Indeed! who?" 
 
 " Why, a many. But the fever has got into Eowland^s 
 house, they say." Margaret's heart turned sick at hearing 
 these words, and she hastily pursued her way. It was not 
 Philip, however, who was seized. He was in the churchyard 
 at this moment. She saw him walking quickly along the 
 turnstile path, slackening his pace only for a moment, as he 
 passed the funeral group. The light from the torch shone 
 full upon his face — the face settled and composed, as she knew 
 it would not be if he were aware who was within a few paces 
 of him. She felt the strongest impulse to show him her ring 
 — the strongest desire for his sympathy in its recovery : but 
 an instant showed her the absurdity of the thought, and she 
 hung down her blushing head in the darkness. 
 
 From Maria she had sympathy, such as it was — sympathy 
 without any faith in Philip. She had from her also good 
 news of the state of the village. There were recoveries talked 
 of; and there would be more, now that those who were seized 
 would no longer consider death inevitable. Mrs. Howell was 
 ill ; and poor Miss Nares was down with the fever, which no 
 one could wonder at : but Mr. Jones and his son John were 
 both out of danger, and the little Tuckers were likely to do 
 well. Mr. James was already talking of sending for his wife 
 and sister-in-law home again, as the worst days of the disease 
 seemed to be past, and so many families had not been 
 attacked at all. It was too true that Matilda Rowland was 
 unwell to-day; but Mr. Walcot hoped it was only a slight 
 feverish attack, which would be thought nothing of under any 
 other circumstances. On the whole, Maria thought the 
 neighbours she had seen to-day in better spirits than at any 
 time since the fever made its appearance. 
 
 Margaret found more good news at home. In the first 
 place, the door was opened to her by Morris. Hester stood 
 behind to witness the meeting. She had her bonnet on : she 
 was going with her husband to see Mrs. Howell, and make 
 
 K K 2 
 
500 DEERBROOK. 
 
 some provision for her comfort : but she had waited a little 
 while, in hoipes that Margaret would return, and be duly 
 astonished to see Morris. 
 
 " You must make tea for each other, and be comfortable 
 while we are away," said Hester. " We will go now directly, 
 that we may be back as early as we can." 
 
 " I have several things to tell you," said Margaret, " when 
 you return : and one now, brother, which must not be 
 delayed. Piatt and his child are dead, and coffins must be 
 sent. The sooner the better, or we shall lose the poor 
 woman too." 
 
 Hope promised to speak to the undertaker as he went by. 
 
 *' We have become very familiar with ddath, Morris, 
 since you went away," said Margaret, as she obliged her 
 old friend to sit down by the fire, and prepared to make tea for 
 both. 
 
 *'That is why you see me here, Miss Margaret. Every 
 piece of news I could get of this place was worse than the 
 last; and I could perceive from your last letter, that you had 
 sickness all about you ; and I could not persuade myself but 
 that it was my duty to come and be useful, and to take care of 
 you, my dear, if I may say so." 
 
 " And now you are here, I trust you may stay — I trust we 
 may be justified in keeping you. We have meat every day 
 now, Morris, — at least when we have time to cook it. Since 
 my brother has been attending so many of Mr. Jones's family, 
 we have had meat almost every day." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear, I don't know how you could keep up 
 without it, so busy as I find you are among the sick ; — busy 
 night and day, my mistress tells me, till the people have got 
 to call you * the good lady.' You do not look as if you had 
 lost much of your natural rest : but I know how the mind 
 keeps the body up. Yours is an earnest mind, Margaret, 
 that will always keep you up : but, my dear, I do hope it has 
 been an easy mind too. You will excuse my saying so." 
 
 Margaret more than excused it, but she could not imme- 
 diately answer.* The tears trembled in her eyes, and her lip 
 quivered when she would have spoken. Morris stroked her 
 hair, and kissed her forehead, as if she had been still a child, 
 and whispered that all things ended well in God's own time. 
 
 "Oh, yes ! I know," said Margaret. " Has Hester told you 
 how prosperous we are growing ? I do not mean only about 
 money. We are likely to have enough of that too, for my 
 
DEERBROOK. 501 
 
 brother's old patients have almost all sent for him again : but 
 Ave care the less about that from having discovered that we 
 were as happy with little money as with much. But it is a 
 satisfaction and pleasure to find my brother regarded more 
 and more as he ought to be : and yet greater to see how 
 nobly he deserves the best that can be thought of him." 
 
 " He forgives his enemies, no doubt, heaping coals of fire 
 on their heads." 
 
 " You will witness it Morris. You will see him among 
 them, and it will make your heart glow. Poor creatures ! I 
 have heard some of them own to him, from their sick beds, 
 with dread and tears, that they broke his windows, and 
 slandered his name. Then you should see him smile when 
 he tells them that is all over now, and that they will not 
 mistake him so much again." 
 
 " No, never. He has shown himself now what he is." 
 
 "He sat up two nights with one poor boy who is now 
 likely to get through ; and in the middle of the second night, 
 the boy's father got up from his sick bed in the next room, 
 and came to my brother, to say that he felt that ill luck would 
 be upon them all, if he did not confess that he put that very 
 boy behind the hedge, with stones in his hand, to throw at 
 Edward, the day he was mobbed at the almshouses. He was 
 deluded by the neighbours, he said, into thinking that my 
 brother meant ill by the poor." 
 
 " They have learned to the contrary now, my dear. And 
 what does Sir William Hunter say of my master, now-a-days? 
 Do you know ? " 
 
 " There is very little heard of Sir William and Lady 
 Hunter at present — shut up at home as they are. But Dr. 
 Levitt, who loves to make peace, you know, and tell what is 
 pleasant, declares that Sir William Hunter has certainly said 
 that, after all, it does not so much signify which way a man 
 votes at an election, if he shows a kind heart to his neighbours 
 in troublesome times." 
 
 " Sir William Hunter has learned his lesson then, it seems, 
 from this affliction. I suppose he sees that one who does his 
 duty as my master does at a season like this, is just the one 
 to vote according to his conscience at an election. But, my 
 dear, what sort of a heart have these Hunters got, that they 
 shut themselves up as you say ? " 
 
 *'They give their money freely: and that is all that we can 
 expect from them. If they have always been brought up and 
 
^02 DEERBROOK. 
 
 accustomed to fear sickness, and danger, and death, we cannot 
 expect that they should lose their fear at a time like this. We 
 must be thankful for what they give; and their money has 
 been of great service, though there is no doubt that their 
 example would have been of more." 
 
 " One would like to look into their minds, and see how they 
 regard my master tliere." 
 
 '' They regard him, no doubt, so far rightly as to consider 
 him quite a different sort of person from themselves, and no 
 rule for them. So far they are right. They do not com- 
 prehend his satisfactions and ease of mind; and it is very 
 likely that they have pleasures of their own which we do not 
 understand." ' 
 
 '' And they are quite welcome, I am su-re, my dear, as long 
 as they do not meddle with my master's name. That is, as he 
 says, all over now. After this, however, the people in Deer- 
 brook will be more ready to trust in my master's skill and 
 kindness than in Sir William Hunter's grandeur and money, 
 which can do little to save them in time of need." 
 
 Margaret explained how ignorantly the poor in the neigh- 
 bourhood had relied on the fortune-tellers, who had only duped 
 them ; how that which would have been religion in them if 
 they had been early taught, and which would have enabled 
 them to rely on the only power which really can save, had 
 been degraded by ignorance into a foolish and pernicious 
 superstition. Morris hoped that this also was over now. She 
 had met some of these conjurors on the Blickley road; and 
 seen others breaking up their establishment in the lanes, and 
 turning their backs upon Deerbrook. Whether they were 
 scared away by the mortality of the place, or had found the 
 tide of fortune-telling beginning to turn, mattered nothing as 
 long as they were gone. 
 
 The tea-table was cleared, and Morris and Margaret Avere 
 admiring the baby as he slept, when Hester and her husband 
 returned. Mrs. Howell was very unwell, and likely to be 
 worse. All attempts to bring Miss Miskin to reason, and 
 induce her to enter her friend's room, were in vain. She 
 bestowed abundance of tears, tremors, and foreboding on 
 Mrs. Howell's state and prospects, but shut herself up in a 
 fumigated apartment, where she promised to pray for a good 
 result, and to await it. The maid was a hearty lass, who 
 would sit up willingly, under Hester's promise that she should 
 be relieved in the morning. The girl's fear was of not being 
 
DEERBROOK. 503 
 
 able to sriisfy her mistress, whom it was not so easy to mirse 
 as it might have been, from her insisting on having everything 
 arranged precisely as it was in her poor dear Howell's last 
 illness. As Miss Miskin had refused to enter the chamber, 
 Hester had been obliged to search a chest of drawers for Mr. 
 Howell's last dressing-gown, which Miss Miskin had promised 
 should be mended and aired, and ready for wear by the 
 morning. 
 
 " Margaret ! " cried Hester, as her sister was lighting her 
 candle. The exclamation made Edward turn round, and 
 brought back Morris into the parlour after saying * Good 
 night.' " Margaret ! your ring ? " 
 
 There was as much joy as shame in Margaret's crimson 
 blush. She let her sister examine the turquoise, and said, 
 
 " Yes, this is the boon of to-day." 
 
 "Edward's hundred pounds has come," said Hester: "but 
 that is nothing to this." 
 
 Margaret's eyes thanked her. She just explained that poor 
 Piatt had been the thief, and had restored it to her before he 
 died, and that she could get no explanation, no tidings of 
 Hester's watch ; and she was gone. 
 
 " Dr. Levitt's early stir about this ring prevented its being 
 disposed of, I have no doubt," said Edward. " If so, it is yet 
 possible that we may recover your watch. I will speak to 
 Dr. Levitt in the morning." 
 
 " Dear Margaret !" said Hester. " She is now drinking in 
 the hue of that turquoise, and blessing it for being unchanged. 
 She regards this recovery of it as a good omen, I see ; and 
 far be it from us to mock at such a superstition ! " 
 
 As usual, when she was upon this subject, Hester looked 
 up into her husband's face : and as usual, when she spoke on 
 this subject, he made no reply. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 LATE RELIGION. 
 
 A FEW days after Morris's return, she told Margaret that the 
 tidings in the village of Miss Rowland's illness were not good. 
 Mrs. Rowland was quite as sure as ever that, if anybody could 
 cure Matilda, it was Mr. Walcot ; but Mr. Walcot himself 
 looked anxious ; and a bed had been put up for him in the 
 room next to the sick child. Margaret wondered why Mrs. 
 
504 DEERBliOOK. 
 
 Eowland did not send to Blickley for further advice : but 
 Morris thought that Mrs. Eowland would not give up her 
 perfect faith in Mr. Walcot, if all her children should die 
 before her face. 
 
 When Morris had left the room, Margaret was absorbed in 
 speculations, as she played with her sister's infant — speculations 
 on the little life of children, and on their death. Her memory 
 followed Matilda through every circumstance in which she 
 had seen her. The poor little girl's very attitude, voice, and 
 words — words full, alas ! of folly and vanity — rose again upon 
 her eye and ear, in immediate contrast with the image of death, 
 and the solemnity of the life to come. In the midst of these 
 thoughts came tears of shame and self-reproach ; for another 
 thought (how low ! how selfish !) thrust itself in among them — 
 that she was secure for the present from Philip's departure — 
 that he would not leave Deerbrook while Matilda was in a 
 critical state. As these tears rolled down her cheeks, the 
 baby looked full in her face, and caught the infection of grief. 
 He hung his little lip, and looked so woe-begone, that Margaret 
 dashed away the signs of her sorrow, and spoke gaily to him ; 
 and, as the sun shone in at the moment upon the lustres on 
 the mantel-piece, she set the glass-drops in motion, and let the 
 baby try to catch the bright colours that danced upon the 
 walls and ceiling. At this moment, Hester burst in with a 
 countenance of dismay. 
 
 *' Margaret, my husband has a headache !" 
 
 A headache was no trifle in these days. 
 
 " Anything more than a headache ? " asked Margaret. " No 
 other feeling of illness ? There is nothing to wonder at in a 
 mere headache. It is very surprising that he has not had it 
 before, with all his toil and want of sleep." 
 
 ^' He declares it is a trifle," said Hester : '' but I see he can 
 hardly hold up. What shall I do ? " 
 
 " Make him lie down and rest, and let me go to Mrs. Howell 
 instead of you. She will be a little disappointed ; but that 
 cannot be helped. She must put up with my services to-day. 
 Now, do not frighten yourself, as if no one ever had a head- 
 ax3he without having a fever." 
 
 " I shall desire Morris to let no one in ; and to bring no 
 messages to her master while his headache lasts." 
 
 ^' Very right. I will tell her as I go for my bonnet. One 
 more kiss before I go, baby. Do not wait tea for me, Hester. 
 I cannot say when I shall be back." 
 
DEERBROOK. 505 
 
 Margaret had been gone to Mrs. Howell's about an hour 
 and a half, when there was a loud and hasty knock at the 
 door of the corner house. It roused Hope from a doze into 
 which he had just fallen, and provoked Hester accordingly. 
 There was a parley between Morris and somebody in the hall ; 
 and presently a voice was heard calling loudly upon Mr. Hope. 
 Hester could not prevent her husband from springing from 
 the bed, and going out upon the stairs. Mr. Eowland was 
 already half-way up, looking almost beside himself with grief. 
 
 " You must excuse me, Mr. Hope — you must not judge me 
 hardly ; — if you are ill, I am sorry, sir ; but sir, my child is 
 dying. We fear she is dying, sir ; and you must come, and 
 see if anything can save her. I shall never forgive myself 
 for going on as we have been doing. She has been sacrificed — 
 fairly sacrificed, I fear." 
 
 " Nay, Mr. Rowland, I must comfort you there," said Hope, 
 as they walked rapidly along the street. " I have had occasion 
 to see a great deal of Mr. Walcot and his professional conduct, 
 in the course of the last few weeks ; and I am certain that he 
 has a very competent knowledge of his business. I assure you 
 he shows more talent, more power altogether, in his professional 
 than his unprofessional conduct ; and in this particular disease 
 he has now had much experience." 
 
 " God bless you for saying so, my dear sir ! It is like you — 
 always generous, always just and kind ! You must forgive 
 us, Mr. Hope. At a time like this, you must overlook all 
 causes of offence. They are very great, I know ; but you 
 will not visit them upon us now." 
 
 " We have only to do with the present now," said Hope. 
 *' Not a word about the past, I entreat you." 
 
 Mrs. Rowland, to-day reckless of everything but her child, 
 was standing out on the steps, watching, as for the last hope 
 for her Matilda. 
 
 " She is much worse, Mr. Hope ; suddenly and alarmingly 
 worse. This way : follow me." 
 
 Hope would speak with Mr. Walcot first. As he entered 
 the study, to await Mr. Walcot, Philip passed out. They did 
 not speak. 
 
 " Oh, Philip ! speak to Mr. Hope ! " cried Mrs. Rowland. 
 ** For God's sake do not do anything to ofiend him now !" 
 
 " I will do everything in my power, madam, to save your 
 child," said Hope. " Do not fear that the conduct of her 
 relations will be allowed to injure her." 
 
pOQ DEEKBROOK. 
 
 " Mj love," said Mr. Rowland, ^' Mr. Hope Came froiKi a 
 sick bed to help us. Do not distrust him. Indeed he deserves 
 iDetter from us." 
 
 ^* Pray forgive me," said the miserable mother. " I do not 
 well know what I am saying. But I will atone for all if you 
 save my child." 
 
 "Priscilla!" cried her brother, from the door- way, against 
 which he was leaning. His tone of wonder was lost as ^Yalcoi: 
 entered, and the study was left for the conference of the medical 
 pien. 
 
 . As the gentlemen went upstairs to Matilda's room, they saw- 
 one child here, and another there, peeping about, in silence and 
 dismay. As Hope put his hand on the head of one in passing, 
 Mr. Eowland said, 
 
 " There is a carriage coming for them presently, to take 
 them away. Anna and George are now with Miss Young, and 
 she will take them all away. She is very good ; but I knew 
 we might depend upon her — upon her heart, and her forgive- 
 ness. Ah ! you hear the poor child's voice. That shows you 
 the way." 
 
 Matilda was wandering, and, for the moment, talking very 
 loud. Something about grandmamma seeing her dance, and 
 " When I am married," struck the ear as Hope entered her 
 chamber, and entirely overset the mother. Matilda was soon 
 in a stupor again. 
 
 It was impossible to hold out much prospect of hei reco- 
 covery. It was painful to every one to hear how Mrs. Row- 
 land attempted to bribe Mr. Hope, by promises of doing him 
 justice, to exert himself to the utmost in Matilda's behalf He 
 turned away from her, again and again, with a disgust which 
 his compassion could scarcely restrain. Philip was so far 
 roused by the few words which had been let drop below-stairs, 
 as to choose to hear what passed now, in the antechamber to 
 the patient's room. It was he who decidedly interposed at last. 
 He sent his brother-in-law to Matilda's bedside, dismissed 
 Mr. Walcot from the room, and then said — 
 
 " A very few minutes will suffice, I believe, sister, to relieve 
 your mind : and they will be well spent. Tell us what you 
 mean by what you have been saying so often within this 
 quarter of an hour. As you hope in Heaven — as you dare to 
 ask God to spare your child, tell us the extent to which you 
 feel that you have injured Mr. Hope." 
 
 Hope sank down into the window-seat by which he had been 
 
DEERBROOK. 507 
 
 standing. He thought the whole story of his love was now 
 coming out. He waited for the first words as for a thunder- 
 clap. The first words were — 
 
 " Oh, Philip ! I am the most wretched woman living ! I 
 never saw it so strongly before ; I believe I did it with an idea 
 of good to you ; but I burned a letter of Margaret's to you." 
 
 "What letter? When?" 
 
 " The day you left us last — the day you were in the shrub- 
 bery all the morning — the day the children found the shavings 
 burnt." 
 
 " What was in the letter ? Did you read it ? " 
 
 *^ No ; I dared not." 
 
 " What made you burn it ? " 
 
 " I was afraid you would go to her, and that your engage- 
 ment would come on again." 
 
 *^ Then what you told me — what made me break it off — 
 could not have been true." 
 
 " No, it was not — not all true." 
 
 " What was true, and what was not ?" 
 
 Mrs. Rowland did not answer, but looked timidly at 
 Mr. Hope. Now was the moment for him to speak. 
 
 ** It was true," said he, " that, at the very beginning of my 
 acquaintance with Hester and Margaret, I preferred Margaret 
 — and that my family discerned that I did — as true as that 
 Hester has long been the beloved of my heart — beloved as — 
 but I cannot speak of my wife, of my home, in the hearing of 
 one who has endeavoured to profane both. All I need say is 
 that neither Hester nor Margaret ever knew where my first 
 transient fancy lighted, while they both know — know as they 
 know their own hearts — where it has fixed. It is not true 
 that Margaret ever loved any one but you, Enderby ; and 
 Mrs. Rowland cannot truly say that she ever did." 
 
 " What was it then that Margaret confided to my mother ? " 
 asked Enderby, turning to his sister. 
 
 " I cannot tell what possessed me at the time to say so, 
 but that I thought I was doing the best for your happiness — 
 but — but, Phillip, I really believe now, that Margaret never 
 did love any one but you. I know nothing to the contrary." 
 
 "But my mother?" 
 
 " She knew very little of any troubles in Mr. Hope's 
 family ; and — and what she did hear was all from me." 
 
 " Do you mean that all you told me of Margaret's con- 
 fidences to my mother was false ? " 
 
508 DEERBROOK. 
 
 There was no answer ; but Mrs Eowland's pale cheeks 
 grew paler. 
 
 " Oh God ! what can Margaret have thought of me all this 
 time ? " cried Philip. 
 
 "I can tell you what she has thought, I believe," said 
 Hope. " Her brother and sister have read her innocent mind, 
 as you yourself might have done, if your faith in her had 
 been what she deserved. She has believed that you loved 
 her, and that you love her still. She has believed that some 
 one — that Mrs. Eowland traduced her to you : and in her 
 generosity, she blames you for nothing but that you would 
 not see and hear her — that you went away qu the receipt 
 of her letter — of that letter which it now appears you never 
 saw." 
 
 " Where is she ? " cried Enderby, striding to the door. 
 
 " She is not at home. You cannot find her at this moment : 
 and if you could, you must hear me first. You remember 
 the caution I gave you when we last conversed — in the abbey, 
 and again in the meadows." 
 
 " I do ; and I will observe it now." 
 
 " You remember that she is unaware " 
 
 *' That you ever that that interview with Mrs. Grey 
 
 ever took place ? She shall never learn it from me. It is 
 one of those facts which have ceased to exist — which is abso- 
 lutely dead, and should be buried in oblivion. You hear, 
 Priscilla?" 
 
 She bowed her head. 
 
 " You believe that " 
 
 " Say no more, brother. Do not humble me further. I 
 will make what reparation I can — indeed I will — and then 
 perhaps God will spare my child." 
 
 Hope's passing reflection was, " How alike is the supersti- 
 tion of the ignorant and of the wicked ! My poor neighbours 
 stealing to the conjuror's tent in the lane, and this wretched 
 lady, hope alike to bribe Heaven in their extremity — they by 
 gifts and rites, she by remorse and reparation. How diifer- 
 ent from the faith which says, * Not as I will, but as thou 
 wilt!'" 
 
 " Where is Margaret ? Will you tell me ? " asked Enderby, 
 impatiently. " But before I see her, I ought to ask forgive- 
 ness from you, Hope. You find how cruelly I have been 
 
 deceived — by what incredible falsehood . But," glancing 
 
 at his pale sister, " we will speak no more of that. If, in the 
 
DEERBROOK* 509 
 
 midst of all this error and wretchedness, I have hurt your 
 feelings more than my false persuasions rendered necessary, I 
 hope you will forgive me." 
 
 " And me ! Will you forgive me ? " asked Mrs. Eowland, 
 faintly. 
 
 " There is nothing to pardon in you," said Hope to Philip. 
 " Your belief in what your own sister told you in so much 
 detail can scarcely be called a weakness ; and you did and 
 said nothing to me that was not warranted by what you 
 believed. — And I forgive you, madam. I will do what I can 
 to relieve your present affliction ; and, as long as you attempt 
 no further injustice towards my family, no words shall be 
 spoken by any of us to remind you of what is past." 
 
 " You are very good, Mr. Hope." 
 
 " I tell you plainly," he resumed, " that you cannot injure 
 us beyond a certain point. You cannot make it goodness in 
 us to forget what is past. It is of far less consequence to us 
 what you and others think of us than what we think of our 
 neighbours. Our chief sorrow has been the spectacle of 
 yourself in your dealings with us. We shall be thankful to 
 be reminded of it no more. And now enough of this." 
 '^ Where is Margaret ?" again asked Enderby, as if in despair 
 of an answer. 
 
 " She is nursing Mrs. Howell. As soon as I have seen 
 this poor child again, I will go home, and take care that 
 Margaret is prepared to see you. Eemember how great the 
 surprise, the mystery, must be to her." 
 
 " If the surprise were all " said Philip. — " But will 
 
 she hear me ? Will she forgive me ? Will she trust me ? " 
 
 " Was there ever a woman who really loved who would not 
 hear, would not forgive, would not trust ? " said Hope, smiling. 
 " I must not answer for Margaret ; but I think I may answer 
 for woman in the abstract. 
 
 " I will follow you in an hour, Hope." 
 
 " Do so. Now, madam." 
 
 And Hope followed Mrs. Rowland again to the bedside of 
 her dying child. 
 
510 DEERBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 REST OF THE PLACABLE. 
 
 Margaret was not at Mrs. Howell's at the moment that her 
 brother believed and said she was. She had been there just 
 in time to witness the poor woman's departure ; and she was 
 soon home again and relating the circumstances to Hester, by 
 the fireside. Even the news that Edward was now in the 
 same house with Philip, could not efface from her mind what 
 she had seen ; nor could Hester help listening, thpugh full of 
 anxiety about her husband. 
 
 ** Miss Miskin was prevailed upon to leave her room at the 
 last, I suppose ? " 
 
 '* Scarcely. Poor Nanny was supporting her mistress's 
 head when I went in ; and she said, with tears, that there was 
 no depending on any one but us. They both looked glad 
 enough to see me : but then, nothing would satisfy 
 Mrs. Howell but that I should warm myself, and be seated." 
 
 *' To the last ! and she offered you some cherry-bounce, I 
 suppose.'* 
 
 " Yes ; just as usual. Then she told me that it would be 
 as well to mention now, in case she should grow worse, and 
 be in any danger, that she should be gratified if you and I 
 would select each a rug or screen pattern from her stock, and 
 worsteds to work it with: and she gave a broad hint that 
 there was one with a mausoleum and two weeping willows, 
 which she hoped one of us would choose ; and that perhaps 
 her name might fill up the space on the tomb. Poor Nanny 
 began to cry ; and this affected Mrs. Howell ; and she begged 
 earnestly to see Miss Miskin." 
 
 " And then she came, I suppose." 
 
 " Not she ! She would not come till her friend sent a message 
 threatening to haunt her if she did not." 
 
 ** Did you carry the message ? " 
 
 " No ; but Nanny did ; and, I thought, with hearty good 
 will ; Miss Miskin came trembling, but too much frightened to 
 cry. She would not approach nearer than the doorway, and 
 there fell down on her knees, and so remained the whole time 
 she was receiving directions about the shop and the stock, — 
 * in case,' as the poor soul again said, * of my getting worse, so 
 as to be in any danger.' And yet Dr. Levitt thought he had 
 
DEERBROOK. 511 
 
 told her, plainly enough, what he thought of her state this 
 morning." 
 
 ** And was she aware at last? or did she go off uncon- 
 sciouslj?" 
 
 " I think she was aware ; I think so from her last words — 
 ^ Oh, my poor dear Howell !' I sat behind the curtain while 
 she was speaking to Miss Miskin — sometimes so faintly that 
 Nanny had to repeat her words, to make them heard as far as 
 the door." 
 
 " That selfish wretch — Miss Miskin!" 
 
 " It was very moving, I assure you, to hear not one word 
 of reproach, or even notice of Miss Miskin's desertion in this 
 illness. What was said was common-place enough ; but every 
 word was kind. I have it all. I took it down with my 
 pencil, behind the curtain ; for I was sure Miss Miskin would 
 never remember ifc. Mrs. Howell went on till she came to 
 directions about the bullfinch that her poor dear Howell used 
 to laugh to see perched upon her nightcap of a morning ; and 
 then she grew unintelligible. I thought she was only fainting ; 
 but while we were trying to revive her, Nanny said she was 
 going. Miss Miskin drew back into the passage, shut the 
 door, and made her escape. Her friend looked that way once 
 more, and said that we had all been very good to her. She 
 mentioned her husband, as I told you, and then died very 
 quietly." 
 
 " Miss Miskin knows, of course ?" 
 
 " I told her, and did not pretend to feel much sympathy in 
 her lamentations. I told her she had lost a friend who would 
 have watched over her, I believed, till her last breath, if she 
 had been the one attacked by the fever." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 " She exclaimed a great deal about how good we all were, 
 and wondered what Deerbrook would have done without us ; 
 and said she was sure I was too kind to think of leaving her 
 in the house with the corpse, with only Nanny. When I 
 declined passing the night there, she comforted herself with 
 thinking aloud that her friend would not haunt her — certainly 
 would not haunt her — as she had gone to her room at last. 
 Her final question was, how soon I thought it likely that she 
 should feel the fever coming on, in case of her having 
 caught it, after all, by going into the room." 
 
 " What an end to a sentimental friendship of so many years !" 
 
 *' I rather expect to hear in the morning that i^he has taken 
 
512 DEERBROOK. 
 
 refuge in some neighbour's house, and left Nanny alone with 
 the corpse to-night." 
 
 " My husband's knock !" cried Hester, starting up. *^ How 
 is your headache, love?" asked she anxiously, as she met 
 him at the room-door. 
 
 " Gone, quite gone," he replied. ^' I must step down into 
 the surgery for a minute, about this poor little girl's medicine ; 
 and then I have a great deal to tell you." 
 
 The sisters sat in perfect silence till his return. 
 
 " Matilda?" said Margaret, looking up at her brother. 
 
 " She is very ill ; — not likely to be better." 
 
 "And poor Mrs. Howell is gone," said Hester, ^' What a 
 sweep it is ! Did you hear, love ? Mrs. Howell is dead." 
 
 " I hear. It is a terrible destruction that we have witnessed. 
 But I trust it is nearly over. I know of only one or two cases 
 of danger now, besides this little girl's. Poor Matilda ! But 
 we have little thought to spare, even for her, to-night. If I 
 did not know that Margaret is ready for whatever may betide," 
 he continued, fixing his benevolent gaze upon her, *' and if, 
 moreover, I were not afraid that some one would be coming 
 to tell my news if I do not get it out at once, I should hesitate 
 about saying what I have to say." 
 
 " Philip has been explaining He is coming," said 
 
 Margaret, with such calmness as she could command. 
 
 " Enderby is coming ; and some one else, whose explana- 
 tions are more to the purpose, has been explaining. Mrs. 
 Eowland, alarmed and shaken by her misery, has been acknow- 
 ledging the whole series of falsehoods by which she persuaded, 
 convinced her brother that you did not love him — that you 
 were, in fact, attached elsewhere. I see how angry you are, 
 Hester. I see you asking in your own mind how Enderby 
 could be thus deluded — ^how he could trust his sister rather 
 than Margaret — how I can speak of him as deserving to have 
 her after all this. Your questions are reasonable enough, 
 love, and yet they cannot be answered. Your doubts of 
 Enderby are reasonable enough ; and yet I declare to you 
 that he is in my eyes almost, if not quite, blameless." 
 
 "Thank you, brother!" said Margaret, looking up with 
 swimming eyes. 
 
 " There is one great point to be settled," resumed Hope : 
 " and that is, whether you will both be content to bury in 
 silence the subject of this quarrel, from this hour, relying upon 
 my testimony and Mrs. Rowland's." 
 
DEERBROOK. 513 
 
 *' Oh, Edward, do not put your name and hers together !" 
 
 " For Enderby's justification, and for Margaret's sake, my 
 name shall be joined with the arch-fiend's, if necessary, my 
 love. You must, as I was saying, rely upon the testimony of 
 those who know the whole, that Enderby's conduct throughout 
 has been, if not the very wisest and best, perfectly natural, and 
 consistent with the love for Margaret which he has cherished 
 to this hour." 
 
 " I knew it," murmured Margaret. 
 
 " He will himself disclose as much as he thinks proper, 
 when he comes : but he comes full of fear and doubt about 
 his reception." 
 
 Margaret hung her head, feeling that it was well she was 
 reminded what reason there was for his coming with doubt 
 and trembling in his heart. 
 
 " As he comes full of fear and doubt," resumed Hope, " I 
 must tell you first that he never received your last letter, 
 Margaret. He thought you would not answer his. He thought 
 you took him at his word about not attempting explanation." 
 
 " What an unhappy accident ! " cried Hester. " Who carried 
 that letter ? How did it happen ? " 
 
 " It was no accident, my dear. Mrs. Rowland burned that 
 letter." 
 
 Margaret covered her face with her hands ; then, suddenly 
 looking up, she cried, 
 
 "Did she read it?" 
 
 " No* She says she dared not. Why, Margaret, you seem 
 sorry that she did not ! You think it would have cleared 
 you. I have no doubt she thought so too ; and that that was 
 the reason why she averted her eyes from it. Yes, it was a 
 cruel injury, Margaret. Can you forgive it, do you think ? " 
 
 ^' Not to-night," said Hester. " Do not ask it of her to- 
 night." 
 
 " I believe I may ask it at this very moment. The happy 
 can forgive. Is it not so, Margaret ? " 
 
 " For myself I could and I do, brother. I would go now 
 and nurse her child, and comfort her. But " 
 
 " But you cannot forgive the wretchedness she has caused 
 to Philip. Well, if you each forgive her for your own part, 
 there is a chance that she may yet lift up her humbled head." 
 
 " What possessed her to hate us so ? " said Hester. 
 
 " Her hatred to us is the result of long habits of ill-will, of 
 selfish pride, and of low pertinacity about small objects. That 
 
 L T. 
 
514 DEERBROOK. 
 
 is the way in which I account for it all. She disliked you 
 first for your connection with the Greys ; and then she disliked 
 me for my connection with you. She nourished up all her 
 personal feelings into an opposition to us and our doings ; and 
 when she had done this, and found her own only brother going 
 over to the enemy, as she regarded it, her dislike grew into a 
 passion of hatred. Under the influence of this passion, she has 
 been led on to say and to do more and more that would suit her 
 purposes, till she has found herself sunk in an abyss of guilt. 
 I really believe she was not fully aware of her situation, till 
 her misery of to-day revealed it to her." 
 
 ^'Poor thing!" said Margaret. "Is there nothing we can 
 do to help her?" 
 
 "We will ask Enderby. I take hers to be no uncommon 
 case. The dislikes of low and selfish minds generally bear 
 very much the character of hers, though they may not be 
 pampered by circumstances into such a luxuriance as in this 
 case. In a city, Mrs. Rowland might have been an ordinary 
 spiteful fine lady. In such a place as Deerbrook, and with a 
 family of rivals' cousins incessantly before her eyes, to 
 exercise her passions upon, she has ended in being ." 
 
 " What she is," said Margaret, as Hope stopped for a word. 
 
 " Margaret is less surprised than you expected, is she not?" 
 said Hester. " You did not suppose that she would sit and 
 listen as she does to your analysis of Mrs. Rowland. But if 
 the truth were known, she carries a prophecy about her on 
 her finger. I have no doubt she has been expecting this very 
 news ever since she recovered her ring. Yes or no, Margaret?" 
 
 " I should rather say she has carried a prophecy in her 
 heart all these long months," said Hope, " of which that on 
 her finger is only the symbol." 
 
 " However it may be," said Hester, " it has prepared a 
 reception for Mr. Enderby, There is no resisting a prophecy. 
 What is written is written." 
 
 " I must hear him, you know," said Margaret, gently. 
 
 " You must; and you must hear him favourably," said her 
 brother. 
 
 " I had forgotten," said Hester, ringing the bell. " Morris, 
 a good fire in the breakfast-room, immediately." 
 
 Within the hour, Philip and Margaret were by that fireside, 
 finally wedded in heart and soul. It was astonishing how 
 little explanation was needed when Margaret had once been 
 told, in addition to the fact of her letter having been destroyed, 
 
DEERBROOK. 515 
 
 that she was declared to have made Mrs. Enderby the depo- 
 sitory of her confidence about a prior attachment. There 
 was, however, as much to relate as there was little to explain. 
 How Enderby's heart burned within him, when, in sporting 
 with the idea of a prior attachment, it came out what Margaret 
 had felt at the moment of his intrusion upon the conference 
 with Hope, of which he had since, as at the time, been so 
 jealous! the amusement on her own part, and the joy on 
 Hester's, which she was trying to conceal by her downcast 
 looks ! How his soul melted within him when she owned 
 her momentary regret at being saved from under the ice, and 
 the consolation and stimulus she had derived from her brother's 
 expression of affection for her on the spot! How clear, how 
 true a refutation were these revealings of the imputations 
 that had been cast upon her ! and how strangely had the facts 
 been distorted by a prejudiced imagination ! How sweet in 
 the telling was the story of the ring, so sad in the experience ! 
 and the recountings of the times that they had seen each other 
 of late. Philip had caught more glimpses than she. He 
 came down — he dared not say to watch over her in this time 
 of sickness — but because he could not stay away when he 
 heard of the condition of Deerbrook. But for this sickness 
 would they have met — should they ever have understood each 
 other again ? This was a speculation on which they could 
 not dwell — it led them too near the verge of the grave which 
 was yawning for Matilda. Mrs. Rowland would have been 
 relieved, but the relief would have been not unmixed with 
 humiliation, if she could have known how easily she was 
 let off in this long conference. Not only can the happy easily 
 forgive, but they are exceedingly apt to forget the causes and 
 the history of their woes ; and the wretched lady who, in the 
 midst of her grief and terror for her child, trembled at home 
 at the image of the lovers she had injured, was, to those 
 lovers in their happiness, much as if she had never existed. 
 
 " Mrs. Howell !" said Margaret, hearing her sister mention 
 their departed neighbour, after Philip was gone. " Is it 
 possible that it was this very afternoon that I saw that poor 
 woman die ? " 
 
 " Even so, dear. How many days, or months, or years, 
 have you lived since? A whole age of bliss, Margaret !" 
 Margaret's blush said " Yes." 
 
 L L 2 
 
516 DEERBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 DEERBROOK IN SUNSHINE. 
 
 On tlie first news of the fever being gone, the Greys returned 
 to Deerbrook, and Dr. Levitt's family soon followed. The 
 place wore a strange appearance to those who had been absent 
 for some time. Large patches of grass overspread the main 
 street, and cows might have pastured on the thatch of some of 
 the cottages, while the once green churchyard looked brown 
 and bare from the number of new graves crowded in among 
 the old ones. In many a court were the spring-flowers 
 running wild over the weedy borders, for want of hands to 
 tend them ; and the birds built in many a chimney from 
 which the blue smoke had been wont to rise in the morning 
 air. Sophia and her sisters noted these things as they walked 
 through the place on the morning after their arrival, while 
 their father was engaged in inspecting the parish register, to 
 learn how many of his neighbours were gone, and their 
 mother was paying her visit of condolence to Mrs. Rowland. 
 
 Fanny and Mary were much impressed this day with 
 Matilda's death. They had first wondered, and then wept, 
 when they heard of it at a distance : and now, when once 
 more on the spot where they had seen her daily, and had 
 hourly criticised her looks, her sayings, and doings, they were 
 under a strong sense of the meanness and frivolity of their 
 talk, and the unkindness of their feelings about one whose 
 faults could hardly be called her own, and who might now, 
 they supposed, be living and moving in scenes and amidst 
 circumstances whose solemnity and importance put to shame 
 the petty intercourse they had carried on with her here. Both 
 resolved in their hearts that if Anna Rowland should praise 
 her own dancing, and flatten her back before she spoke, and 
 talk often of the time when she should be married, they would 
 let it all pass, and not tell mamma or Sophia, or exchange 
 satirical looks with each other. They remembered now that 
 Matilda had done good and kind things, which had been 
 disregarded at the time when they were bent on ridiculing 
 her. It was just hereabouts that she took off her worsted 
 gloves, one bitter day in the winter, and put them on the 
 hands of her little brother who was crying with cold; and it 
 was by yonder corner that she directed a stranger gentleman 
 
DEERBROOK. 517 
 
 into the right road so prettily that he looked after her as she 
 walked away, and said she would be the pride of the place 
 some day. Alas ! there she lay — in the vault under the 
 church; and she would be no one's pride in this world, 
 except in her poor mother's heart. 
 
 " There is somebody not in mourning," cried Fanny; " the 
 very first, besides my cousins, that we have seen to-day. Oh, 
 it is Mrs. James ! Shall we not speak to her ? " 
 
 Mrs. James seemed warmed out of her usual indifference. 
 She shook hands almost affectionately with Sophia. The 
 meeting of acquaintances who find themselves alive after a 
 pestilence is unlike any other kind of meeting: it animates 
 the most indifferent, and almost makes friends of enemies. 
 While Mrs. James and Sophia were making mutual inquiries, 
 Mary called Fanny's attention to what was to be seen opposite. 
 There was a glittering row of large, freshly-gilt letters — 
 " Miskin, late Howell, Haberdasher, &c." Miss Miskin, in 
 the deepest mourning, with a countenance trained to 
 melancholy, was peeping through the ribbons and handker- 
 chiefs which veiled her window, to see whether the Miss 
 Greys were on their way to her or not. Sophia would not 
 have been able to resist going in, but that, on parting from 
 Mrs. James, she saw the true object of her morning walk 
 approaching in the person of Mr Walcot. Her intention had 
 been to meet him in his rounds ; and here he was. 
 
 If Mrs. James had been almost affectionate, what was Mr. 
 Walcot ? He had really gone through a great deal of anxiety 
 and suffering lately, and his heart was very soft and tender 
 just now. He turned about, and walked with Sophia — 
 walked a mile out into the country by her side, and neither 
 seemed to have any thought of turning back, till Fanny 
 reminded her sister how long mamma would have been kept 
 waiting for her to go and call on the Levitts. The conver- 
 sation had been in an under voice, all the way out and back ; 
 but, when the parting was to take place, when Mr. Walcot 
 was to leave them in the outskirts of the village, the little 
 girls heard a few words which threw some light on what had 
 been passing. They caught from Sophia, *'I must consult 
 my parents ; " and as they hurried homewards with her, they 
 ventured to cast up a glance of droll meaning into her face, 
 which made her try to help smiling, and to speak sharply ; 
 and then they knew that they had guessed the truth. 
 
 Mr. Grey made his call upon his cousins that evening. He 
 
518 DEERBROOK. 
 
 requested some private conversation with Hope. His objects 
 were, to learn Hope's opinion of Mr. Walcot, as he had seen 
 him of late under very trying circumstances ; and, if this 
 opinion should be sufficiently favourable to warrant the 
 proposition, to open the subject of a partnership — a partner- 
 ship in which, as was fair, Mr. Walcot should have a small 
 share at present of the income, and a large proportion of the 
 labour — which was all that the young man, under the effect 
 of his recent terrors, and of his veneration for Mr. Hope, 
 wished or desired. He had declared that if he could obtain 
 his beloved Sophia, and be permitted to rely on Mr. Hope 
 as his partner and friend, he should be the happiest man 
 alive ; and he was confident that his parents would consider 
 him a most fortunate youth, to be received, at his outset into 
 life, into such a family as Mr. Grey's, and under the 
 professional guidance of such a practitioner and such a man 
 as Mr. Hope. 
 
 There seemed to be every probability of his becoming the 
 happiest man alive ; for the Greys Avere clearly well disposed 
 towards him, and Mr. Hope had nothing to say of him which 
 could hurt their feelings. He repeated what he had declared 
 to Mr. Eowland — that Mr. Walcot's energies seemed to be 
 concentrated in the practice of his profession, and that his 
 professional knowledge appeared to be sufficient. There was 
 no doubt of his kindness of heart; and, though it could not 
 be expected of him that he would ever make a striking figure 
 in the world, yet he might sustain a fair portion of respect- 
 ability and usefulness in a country station. As to the 
 partnership, no difficulty arose. Mr. Grey frankly explained 
 that present income was far less of an object than to have his 
 daughter settled beside her parents, and his son-in-law use- 
 fully and honourably occupied. Sophia would have enough 
 money to make Walcot's income an affair of inferior con- 
 sideration. If he should deserve an increase by and by, it 
 would be all very well. If not, the young people must get 
 on without. Anything was better than sending the young 
 man away to establish himself in a new place, with no happier 
 prospects to Sophia's family than that of parting with her to 
 a distance at last. 
 
 It did not require many days to complete the arrangements. 
 Hester was at first a little vexed, but on the whole much 
 more amused, at the idea of her husband having Mr. Walcot 
 for a partner : and she soon saw the advantage of his being 
 
DEERBBOOK. 519 
 
 Spared many a long country ride, and many a visit at in- 
 convenient seasons, by his junior being at hand. She made 
 no substantial objection, and invited Mr. Walcot to the house 
 with all due cordiality. The young man's gratitude and 
 devotion knew no bounds ; and the only trouble Hope felt in 
 the business was the awkwardness of checking his expressions 
 of thankfulness. 
 
 When the announcement of the double arrangement was to 
 be made, Mrs. Grey could not resist going herself to Mrs. 
 Eowland ; and Sophia was sorry that she could not be present 
 too, to see how the lady would receive the news of a third 
 gentleman marrying into the Greys' connection so decidedly. 
 But Mr. Grey took care to enlighten his partner on the 
 matter some hours before; so that Mrs. Kowland was pre- 
 pared. She persuaded herself that she was very apathetic — 
 that she had no feelings left for the affairs of life — that her 
 interests were all buried in the tomb of her own Matilda. 
 Mrs. Grey had therefore nothing in particular to tell Sophia 
 when she returned from paying the visit. 
 
 In exchange for the news, Sir William and Lady Hunter 
 sent back their congratulations, and a very gracious and 
 extensive invitation to dinner. Finding that Mrs. Rowland's 
 brother was really, with the approbation of his family, going 
 to marry Mrs. Hope's sister, and that Mrs. Rowland's protege 
 was entering into partnership with Mr. Hope himself, they 
 thought it the right time to give their sanction to the recon- 
 ciliations which were taking place, by being civil to all the 
 parties round. So Lady Hunter came in state to Deerbrook, 
 one fine day, made all due apologies, and invited to dinner 
 the whole connection. Mrs. Rowland could not go, of course ; 
 and Margaret declined: but all the rest went. Margaret 
 was on the eve of her marriage, and she preferred one more 
 day with Maria, to a visit of ceremony. She begged Philip 
 to go, as his sister could not ; and he obeyed with a good 
 grace, grudging the loss of a sweet spring evening over Sir * 
 William Hunter's dinner table the less, that he knew Margaret 
 and Maria were making the best use of it together. 
 
 Once more the friends sat in the summer-house, by the 
 window, whence they loved to look abroad upon meadow, 
 w^ood, and stream. Here they had studied together, and 
 cherished each other : here they had eagerly imparted a 
 multitude of thoughts, and carefully concealed a few. Here 
 they were now conversing together for the last time before 
 
520 DEERBROOK. 
 
 their approaching separation. Maria sighed often, as she 
 ■well might : and when Margaret looked abroad upon the 
 bean-setters in the distant field, and listened to the bleat of 
 the lambs which came up from the pastures, and was aware 
 of the scent of the hyacinths occasionally wafted in from poor 
 Matilda's neighbouring flower-plot, she sighed too. 
 
 " You must take some of our hyacinths with you to London, 
 and see whether they will not blossom there," said Maria, 
 answering to her friend's thought. 
 
 "I hardly know whether there would be most pain or 
 pleasure in seeing plants sprout, and then wither, in the 
 little balcony of a back drawing-room, which overlooks gables 
 or stables, instead of these delicious green meadow^." 
 
 " How fond you were, two years ago, of imagining the bliss 
 of living always in sight of this very landscape ■ Yet it has 
 yielded already to the back drawing-room, with a prospect of 
 stables and gables." 
 
 " We shall come and look upon your woods sometimes, you 
 know. I am not bidding 2^ood-bye to this place, or to you. 
 God forbid ! " 
 
 " Now tell me, Margaret," said Maria, after a pause, " tell 
 me when you are to be married." 
 
 " That is w^hat I was just about to do. We go on Tuesday." 
 
 "Indeed! in three days! But why should it not be so? 
 It is a weary time since you promised first." 
 
 " A year ago, there were reasons, as Philip admits now, 
 why I could not leave Hester and Edward. There are no 
 such reasons now. They are prosperous: their days of 
 struggle, when they wanted me — my head, my hands, my 
 little income — are past. Edward's practice has come back to 
 him, with increase for Mr. Walcot. There is nothing more 
 to fear for them." 
 
 " You have done your duty by them : now ." 
 
 " My duty! What has it been to theirs? Oh, Maria! what 
 a spectacle has that been ! When I think how they have 
 * overcome evil with good,' how they have endured, hov/ for- 
 given, how toiled and watched on their enemies' behalf, till 
 they have ruled all the minds, and touched all the hearts, of 
 friends and foes for miles round, I think theirs the most 
 gracious piece of tribulation that ever befel. At home, — Oh, 
 even you do not know what a home it is ! " 
 
 Nor was Margaret herself aware what that home was now. 
 She saw how Edward had there, too, * overcome evil with good ' 
 
DEERBROOK. 521 
 
 — ^how he had permanently established Hester in her highest 
 moods of mind, strengthened her to overcome the one unhappy- 
 tendency from which she had suffered through the whole of 
 her life, and dispersed all storms from the dwelling wherein 
 his child was to grow up : but she did not know half the 
 extent of his victory, or the delight of its rewards. She 
 knew nothing of the secret shudder with which he looked 
 back upon the entanglement, the peril, the suffering he had 
 gone through ; or of the deep peace which had settled down 
 upon his soul, now that the struggle was well past. She little 
 imagined how, when all the world regarded him as an old 
 married man, his was now, in truth, the soul of the lover: 
 how, from having at one time pitied, feared, recoiled from her 
 with whom he had connected himself for life, he had risen, by 
 dint of a religious discharge of duty towards her, from self- 
 reproach and mere compassion, to patience, to hope, to interest, 
 to admiration, to love — love at last worthy of hers — love 
 which satisfied even Hester's imperious affections, and set 
 even her over-busy mind and heart at rest. Little did 
 Margaret imagine all this. There was but one, beside 
 Edward himself, who knew it ; and that one was Morris, who 
 daily thanked God that strength had been given according to 
 the need. 
 
 " There is but one person in the world, Maria," said her 
 friend, " on whose account I cannot help being anxious. I 
 was faithless about Hester as long as it was possible to have 
 an uneasy thought for her ; and now I am afraid I shall sin 
 in the same way about you." 
 
 "And why should you, Margaret? If I were without 
 object, without hope, without experience, without the power 
 of self-rule which such experience gives, you might well fear 
 for me. But why now? It is not reasonable towards the 
 Providence under which we live ; it is not just to me." 
 
 " That is very true. But though it is not too much for 
 your faith, that you are infirm and suffering in body, poor, 
 solitary, living by toil, without love, without prospect — though 
 all this may not be too much for your faith, Maria, I own it is 
 at times for mine." 
 
 " Of all these evils, there is but one which is very hard to 
 bear. I am solitary ; and the suffering from the sense of this 
 is great. But what has been borne may be borne ; and this 
 evil is precisely that which has been the peculiar trial of the 
 greatest and best of their race — or of those who have been 
 
522 DEEBBROOK. 
 
 recognised as such. You will not suppose that I try to 
 flatter my pride with this thought ; or that the most insane 
 pride could be a support under this kind of suffering. I 
 mean only that there can be nothing morally fatal in a trial 
 which many of the wisest and best have sustained." 
 
 " But it is painful — ^very painful." 
 
 *' For the mere pain, let it pass ; and for the other desagremens 
 of my lot, let us not dare to speak evil of them, lest we should 
 be slandering my best friends. If infirmity, toil, poverty, and 
 the foibles of people about us, all go to fortify us in self-reliance, 
 God forbid that we should quarrel with them ! " 
 
 *^But are you sure, quite sure, that you can stand the dis- 
 cipline ? that your nerves, as well as your soul, can, endure ? " 
 
 " Far from sure : but my peril is less than it was ; and I 
 have, therefore, every hope of victory at last. In my wilder- 
 ness, some tempter or another comes, at times when my heart 
 is hungry, and my faith is fainting, and shows me such a lot 
 as yours — all the sunny kingdoms of love and hope given into 
 your hand — and then the desert of my lot looks dreary enough 
 for the moment ; but then arises the very reasonable question, 
 why we should demand that one lot should, in this exceedingly 
 small section of our immortality, be as happy as another : why 
 we cannot each husband our own life and means without 
 wanting to be all equal. Let us bless Heaven for your lot, by 
 all means ; but why, in the name of Providence, should mine 
 be like it ? Nay, Margaret, why these tears ? For their sake 
 I will tell you — and then we shall have talked quite enough 
 about me — that you are no fair judge of my lot. You see me 
 often, generally, in the midst of annoyance, and you do not 
 (because no one can) look with the eye of my mind upon the 
 future. If you could, for one day and night, feel with my 
 feelings, and see through my eyes ." 
 
 '' Oh, that I could ! I should be the holier for ever after ?" 
 
 " Nay, nay! but if you could do this, you would know, from 
 henceforth, that there are glimpses of heaven. for me in soli- 
 tude, as for you in love ; and that it is almost as good to look 
 forward without fear of chance or change, as with such a 
 flutter of hope as is stirring in you now. So much for the 
 solitaries of the earth, and because Providence should be 
 justified of his children. Now, when is this family meeting 
 to take place in the corner-house ? " 
 
 " Frank hopes to land in August; and Anne, Mrs. Gilchrist, 
 will meet him as soon as she can hear, in her by-corner of the 
 
DEERBROOK. 523 
 
 world, of his arrival. The other sister is still abroad, and 
 cannot come. I hope Anne may be*a friend to you — an inti- 
 mate. Judging by her brothers, and her own letters, I think 
 she must be worthy." 
 
 " Thank you ; but you are, and ever will be, my intimate. 
 There can be no other. We shall be often seeing you here." 
 
 " Sometimes; and we shall have you with us." 
 
 " No : I cannot come to London. I shall never leave this 
 place again, I believe ; but you will be often coming to it. 
 When that crowd of new graves in the churchyard shall be 
 waving with grass, and those old woods looking more ancient 
 still, and the grown people of Deerbrook telling their little 
 ones all about the pestilence that swept the place at the end of 
 the great scarcity, when they were children, you and yours, 
 and perhaps I, may sit, a knot of grey-headed friends, and 
 hear over again about those good old days of ours, as we shall 
 then call them." 
 
 " And tell how there was an aged man, who told us of his 
 seeing the deer come down through the forest to drink at the 
 brook. I should like to behold those future days." 
 
 " And to remember whose face you saw in the torchlight, 
 at the time and place of your hearing the old man's tale. 
 Whose horse do I hear stopping at the stable ? " 
 
 "It is Philip's. He has galloped home before the rest,'^ 
 said Margaret, drawing back from the window with the smile 
 still upon her face. " Now, Maria, before any one comes, tell 
 me — would you like to be with me on Tuesday morning or 
 not? Do as you like." 
 
 " I will come, to be sure," said Maria, smiling. "And now, 
 while there is any twilight left, go and give Mr. Enderby the 
 walk in the shrubbery that he galloped home for." 
 
 Margaret kept Philip waiting while she lighted her friend's 
 lamp ; and its gleam shone from the window of the summer- 
 house for long, while, talking of Maria, the lovers paced the 
 shrubbery, and let the twilight go. 
 
 THE END. 
 

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