A BCK ElEY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OP CALIFORNIA ! 7 ><*^p ^v ii . * LlBRAtY inivi«m of KATHARINE BERESFORD; OR THE SHADE AND SUNSHINE OF WOMAN'S LIFE. A ROMANTIC STORY Mrs. H. M. LOWNDES, {late HA NX A II MARIA JONES.) AUTHORESS OF EMILY MORELAND," " SCOTTISH CHIEFTAINS," " GIPSEY GIRL." " GIPSEY MOTHER," " CHILD OF MYSTERY," &c, &c. LONDON : PRINTED FUR THE PROPRIETORS, BY M'GOWAX & CO., 1G, GKKAT WINDMILL i«TriI>]:T. 1852. kcJt KATHARINE BERESFORD; OR, THE SHADE AND SUNSHINE OF WOMAN'S LIFE. CHAPTEE I. Alas ! the love of Woman ! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing ; For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, And if 'tis lost, life has no more to brine; To ihem, but mockeries of the past alone. Anon. " A Mother ! — Have you ever known the feelings of a mother, and can you persist in spuming from your door — in consigning to irretrievable, hopeless infamy and ruin, your erring but repentant child? Look at her: Does she appear hardened in vice? Is that a face or form to be driven forth to buffet with the world — to become the companion, the victim of — " "She has chosen it for herself. It was not I who made her what she is — a disgrace to me and my name ; a polluted wretch, whose very sight is hateful to me. Would that she were lying a corpse at my feet — that I had never borne her! Take her away, I say— I have still a child; a good, dutiful child. She shall not have her mind tainted, her character blasted, by association with that infamous, that degraded wretch. Take her away, I 614 # SHADE AND SUNSHINE say! You have no right to intrude here, to dictate to rne. I bade her never dare enter my doors. My curse is upon her ! the curse of — " " Oh, mother ! Recall, only recall those horrible words," exclaimed the wretched girl, sinking on her knees at the feet of her unnatural parent. " Night and day, those dreadful words are sounding in my ears. I cannot live ; I dare not die. Oh, have pity upon me ! I will be your servant — your slave. I will not ask — even hope — for a return of your affection. I will never even 'speak to my sister, if you wish it. I will give up every hope, every claim, if you will not drive me from you ; if you will only let me stay under your roof. Oh, if you could only know what I have suffered, the miseries — the horrors that I have endured ! " " You have brought them all upon yourself. As you have sowed so must you expect to reap. I should be wanting in my duty to myself, and to my daughter " " I am your daughter, too. Oh, mother, do not drive me from you ! " " You are not," she exclaimed with vehemence. " I disclaim you. You have forfeited all right to the title And now what brings you here ? Not penitence ; not bitter repentance of your crime. No ; but because you are suffering from the effects of it : because the villain for whom yeu quitted your home, for whom you re- nounced your mother, your bright prospects, your cha- racter — for whom you became a thing I cannot disgrace myself by naming — because he has deserted you, has left you to well-merited poverty and shame. If he had still continued to support you in splendid infamy, to make you the degraded companion of his vicious pleasures, I should never have seen you ; you would never have re- turned to me." (»K WOMAN S LIFE. " I should not have dared," replied the unfortunate rirl for the first time raising her streaming eyes to the countenance of her stern unrelenting parent. " It is only that I hoped my sufferings — my penitence— might be accepted as some expiation of my fault, that they would plead for your forgiveness — " Her voice faltered. There was a slight relaxation in the countenance of the heretofore unbending mother ; and Vivian St. Orme, the young man who had attempted in vain to awaken her maternal feelings, and who was in- tently watching every movement of her strongly-marked (yet still handsome) features, felt his heart throb with hopeful anticipation of the moment when she should yield to that tenderness which he could not believe was quite extinguished in her bosom towards her erring cbild : but, alas ! a simple incident blasted in a moment those hopes. " Mamma, may I come in ? " exclaimed a youthful voice ; and before an answer could be returned, the par- lour door opened, and a young girl, who, though of a totally different style of beauty to the weeping penitent (who still remained on her knees) was too like to allow of a doubt that they were sisters, bounded into the room. For a second she stood speechless, and like a statue, gazing at her unfortunate sister, and deaf to her mother's imperative command to leave the room. " Katharine ! " she at last shrieked. But Katharine could neither speak nor move; she stretched out her arms to her sister, and fell senseless on the floor. No one was with her when she recovered but two female servants, whom Katharine had never seen before, and who seemed to regard her with a mixture of pity and contempt. 4 SHADE AND SUNSHINE " My mistress desired me to tell you, that the gentle- man is waiting in the eoach for you, at the door, Miss," observed the elder of the two ; " and she ordered me to give you this, and to say, that she desires it may he the last time that — " " That is enough," faintly articulated Katharine, at- tempting to rise, and looking round her with an expres- sion of anguish. " You had better put up the note safely," observed the other female, seeing that Katharine held it loosely in her hand, as if unconscious of, or disregarding, its value. " The note ! What note ? Has she written ? Where is it ? But no, it will only be a repetition of those cruel words, and — " " It is a bank-note for ten pounds, Miss," observed the elder female, in a rather pert tone; " such things are not to be picked up every day, and so, as Jane says, you had better take care of it." Katharine looked at it abstractedly for a few moments, then folded it neatly in four, and again looked at it. " Sure she a' n't going to be such a fool as to refuse it," whispered Jane to her fellow- servant. But when the poor girl, as if struck with some sudden recollection, again crumpled it up in her hand, and tottered towards the door, a satirical smile wrinkled both their features, and the one whispered to the other — " Ay, ay, I thought she knew hotter. She knows what a ten pun' note's worth as well as we do." * The hackney-coach was at the door, and Vivian St. Orme sprang out to assist her the moment he beheld the poor girl, with uncertain steps, and looking as if she was bewildered, crossing the hall. The two prim maids followed her, but looked as if it would have been coinpro- or WOMAN S LIFE. •> mising their characters to offer her any assistance, and were only desirous to fulfil their mistress's orders, in seeing the discarded one safe out of the house. Vivian lifted her into the coach with as much care and respect as if she had heen his sister, and they drove off. What had passed during her insensibility she knew not — did not inquire ; hut his countenance told her that it had dissipated all hope. If she had known that, with hands and eyes uplifted, her mother had prayed that her wretched child might never again unclose her eyes to the light ; had forced her sister from the room, as though Katharine's very presence brought with it contamination; and, to St. Omie's remonstrances, had replied by the most cruel, the most unfeminine insults : had she known all this, it could scarcely have added to the anguish that ren- dered her speechless, though it might have strengthened her conviction, that she had, indeed, no longer a parent. The coach stopped, and the driver looked in through the front glass for further direction. St. Orme was at a loss what to say. " I know so little of London," he observed, half speak- ing to himself, " that — if you can name any place where I can leave you in safety until — until — " a deep scarlet suffused his cheek, as he added — " I can make some fur- ther arrangement." Katharine pressed her hand to her forehead, as if to collect her scattered thoughts, and, in so doing, the bank- note fell at St. Orme's feet. It certainly was not the love of money that caused his eyes to sparkle, and his whole countenance to assume a different expression to that which it had worn for the last few minutes. No; but he felt that the possession of that note smoothed his way through all difficulties : for the G SHADE AND SUNSHINE fact was, that Bt. Ormo, with the spirit and generosity which should be the attributes of wealth and rank, was at that moment so poor in pocket, that he had begun to have serious apprehensions, that his whole stock of money might be insufficient to satisfy the demand of the hackney- coachman. Now, however — " Where are we, coachman ? What is the name of this street?" " Oxford- street, yer honour." " Oxford-street. Ah ! that is right," replied St. Orme. " I remember, now — Wardour- street, Oxford-street. Drive to Wardour-street." " What a green !" muttered the coachman ; " wc 've passed Wardour-street ever sich a much;" and he turned his horses and rattled back again to Wardour-street. Katharine had just began, in faltering accents, to ex- press her gratitude to her companion for his kindness, and to observe, that she could not think of longer intrud- ing on his time, &c, when the coach again drew up. " Which side of the way — what number, yer honour?" Vivian St. Orme looked anxiously out of the window of the hack, up and down the street, without, as it appeared, being able to make up his mind how to answer. " I cannot recollect the number," he replied, " and I have never been here myself; but it is a laundress I want; a woman who washes for — Perhaps, if you ask in that shop — " " It 's like hunting for a needle in a load of hay," grumbled the man, who had certain reasons of his own for wishing to be discharged, or, as he would have termed it, to get rid of his fare. " What name must I ask for ? yer honour," he added, turning round with the handle of the shop-door, which was closed, in his hand. OF WOMAN S I.TFE. 7 "Her name," repeated St. Orme ; but in vain ho taxed his memory to recall the name of the tidy, bustling littlo woman, who, it had struck him, might be useful in his present dilemma. It became almost doubtful to him whether he had ever heard her name. He had recollected Wardour-street as her place of residence, from the circum- stance of her having, while he was recently discharging her bill, and listening to sundry inquiries she had thought proper to make as to the quantity of starch she was to put in the collars of his new shirts, and whether he liked small plaits or box plaits best, she had suddenly diverged to the horrible fright she had suffered during the previous night from a dreadful fire, which had burnt two houses down, and was only twerity houses off where she lived in Wardour-street, and was the third fire that had happened in that street since she had resided there. He had asked where the street was that had been so particularly unfortunate, and had received not only a very precise account of its situation in the great map of Lon- don, which hung on the wall of his chamber, but a very graphic description of the various conflagrations which made her so " timorous," living as she did in the attic of a very high house, that she sometimes could not close her eyes for nights together, for fear she should at last be burnt in her bed. All this Vivian St. Orme could now very distinctly re- call to his mind, but her name — that was a different thing ; he had not the most distant idea of having heard it, and ho was obliged to acknowledge that he was, as a sportsman would say, " at fault." The surly coachman opened the carriage door, and let down the steps with a bang. "My 'osscs is knocked up," he sulkily observed. 8 SHADE AND SUNSTITNK "They've been out ten 'ours, and havn't got a leg to stand upon ; so you '11 please to pay me my fare, as I can *t be driving about no longer on a wild-goose chase." Novice as St. Orme was in the ways of the Great Metropolis, he had had sufficient experience in hackney- coach ways to know that the fellow had no right thus abruptly to terminate his services. Katharine was still looking deadly pale ; and she was, besides, if able to walk, dressed in a style that rendered it very undesirable that she should do so. It was this consideration indeed, that had induced St. Orme in the first instance to incur the expense of a hack from the place where she had passed the preceding night and breakfasted that morning, to her mother's residence in Euston Square, New Road. " What is your demand ? " he now coolly replied, though by no means feeling cool on the subject. " Seven shillings, " was the reply, " accordin' to time, it was ten o'clock when you took me off the stand in — ." " A quarter to eleven," replied St. Orme ; " I will not pay you one farthing over your legal demand, for your incivility ; " and he referred to the miniature ' Guide ' which he took from his waistcoat pocket, for directions as to the amount of fare. " You are entitled to five shillings only, and I shall give you no more." The coachman muttered a succession of oaths between his teeth, ending in a rather more audible tone with the assertion — " That he knew his fare was no gentleman ; nothin but — " "But a what?" demanded St. Orme, jumping out of the coach in an instant. " Pay me my fare, fust, afore you axes questions," re- turned the fellow. OF WOMAN S LIFE. «J St. Orrac drew forth all the silver he had. It was sixpence short of the amount. " You must wait until I get change for this," he observed, exhibiting the note. He had previously whis- pered to Katharine, though not without great reluctance, and visible shame, his fear that he should be compelled to draw upon her little stock to answer the demand for coach-hire ; and received in reply from her, the as- surance that it was all at his disposal. Was she not indebted to him for more than money could ever repay ? " Wait a moment, I will get change," he repeated to the coachman, as he entered the shop opposite to the door of which the coach had drawn up. "Oh, no ! a ten-pound note — he couldn't do such a thing for a customer, much more a stranger ; " was the reply from the precise straight-haired gentleman behind the counter, who had been watching through the window the progress of the dispute between the coachman and his fare. Two other shops — one on the right, the other on the left — were entered with as little success; the proprietors appeared astonished that a stranger could expect such a favour. The coachman had followed on each occasion close at St. Orme's heels, and planted himself at the shop doors with an insolent look, which was intended to say — " I will take care you do not give me the slip." It is strange what a savage delight is sometimes evinced by the low and uneducated, in witnessing the mortification of those superior in appearance and man- ners to themselves. More than twenty persons had stopped to witness the termination of the dispute between " the jarvey," as they called him, and his fare; and 10 SHADE AND SUNSHINE numerous whispers, grins, and coarse jokes, were bandied about at the expense of the latter and his com- panion — " the lady," as they significantly termed Katha- rine ; who, shrinking from their curious and impertinent looks, was leaning back in a corner of the coach, concealing her face as much as possible with her pocket- handkerchief, and scarcely conscious of the cause of the detention of herself and St. Orme, though she felt how painful it was to her. Katharine's appearance, in her present dress was, it must be confessed, far from being prepossessing as to her respectability, even in the eyes of the most unprejudiced and kindly judging. The book-muslin frock, which, on the over night, when clean and stiff, had appeared new and becoming, was now dirty and tumbled. The French white satin bonnet, trimmed with blonde, and a profusion of gay artificial flowers, had looked tolerably well by candle-light, but in the strong light of day was mise- rably shabby, dirty, and out of shape ; and the pale pink crape handkerchief, which was an apology for a shawl, scarcely afforded a decent covering for her fair neck arid shoulders. Her luxuriant hair had fallen from its con- finement, during her hysterical struggles at her mother's residence, and was now hanging disregarded far below her waist. It must indeed be confessed, that poor Katharine's appearance but too well warranted the ob- servations made upon it, especially by three or four females who stood regarding her with malignant curiosity, and then expressed their surprise, that anybody calling himself a gentleman, should " take up with such a creature." "A gentleman !" repeated one of the bystanders. "I dare say he's about as good a gentleman as she's a lady. of woman's life. 11 I shouldn't wonder, if the note he's flashing is one of vour Bank of Elegance ones." St. Orme had, in the meantime, tried every shop near •without heing ahle to effect his object, and the coach- man's surliness increased. " What is the matter here ?" demanded a policeman, who had been drawn to the spot by the crowd, for the idle and curious lookers-on had now increased to a crowd. St. Orme briefly explained the difficulty. " You will get change over the way, sir, I dare say," observed the man civilly. It was a pawnbroker's to which he pointed, and St. Orme immediately darted across, still followed by the coachman, who growled — loud enough to be heard by the bystanders, though not by the former — " He ar'nt agoing to bilk me, I'll take care." St. Orme entered the shop, and Katharine, for the first time seeming to take any interest in what was passing, lowered the glass on the side next the street to gaze after him. She had, in fact, been so completely abstracted bv the anguish she was suffering, that she had not at- tended to what was passing ; she knew not, therefore, what was the cause of the delay, or for what purpose her companion had left her. She was still gazing after him, and conjecturing what he had gone into that shop for, when she saw a man come to the door, and speak with extreme earnestness to the coachman, who was standing outside the shop, looking in at the window. The next moment a cry of police was raised by both of them, and the policeman, who had re- mained by the coach-door, dashed across, followed by all the people who had collected, and leaving Katharine sitting alone and apparently forgotten. 12 SHADE AND SUNSHINE What could be the matter. She tried to collect her thoughts and to form some conjecture, for she could not doubt that it was something connected with her friend. But she was not long left in suspense. In a few moments the coachman returned, and though she could not com- prehend much of the language in which he addressed her, she found that some charge had been brought against her companion in which she was involved, as he laid hold of the horses' heads, and, having first closed the coach-door, led them across the way to the shop, which she had seen St. Orme enter. " Come, madam, turn out if you please," he observed iu a brutal tone. " You're wanted here." Katharine's trembling limbs could scarcely support her, and he roughly seized her arm to drag her out of the coach. " God keep harm from every one's child !" exclaimed an old Irishwoman who was close to her; " and she so young to be in such bitter trouble. Dale gently wid her, can't ye. Don't ye see she's so wake she can't stand. Lean upon me. jewel; I'm a mother myself, and it's in my heart I am sorry for ye." Katharine gladly accepted the offered support. It was the only word of kindness that reached her ears. Among all those who pressed around to stare arid offer their comments, there was not one who pitied, or who saw anything in her deadly paleness, the indefinable sensa- tion of terror which rendered her utterly powerless and speechless, but the symptoms of guilt. The note which St. Orme had offered was a forgery. When she entered the shop he was in the custody of the policeman, and she had been brought thither to be charged as an accomplice, or detained as a witness against him. OF WOMAN S LIFE. 13 In the first moment of surprise, and in the conscious- ness of innocence, St. Orme had exclaimed, on being told that the note was a forged one, that it was impos- sible. It must be a mistake. He had received the note from a lady of the highest respectability. This, as has been already related, was not exactly the case. He had not received it direct from Mrs. Beresford, the mother of Katharine. In point of fact, he had not even seen it given to the latter ; morally he was convinced it had been given by Mrs. Beresford ; but moral conviction is not legal fact. A few, a very few questions from those who were accustomed to that sort of examination, elicited the truth, and a sneering smile accompanied the observation from the master of the shop, " that he (St. Orme) did not seem very clear as to how he had become possessed of the note; he must give an account to a magistrate." St. Orme was at first indignant. He then became alarmed — not at his own situation, though that was unpleasant enough, but lie was grieved for Katharine, who he foresaw would bo dragged forward some way or other. He was right, she was brought into the shop; her incoherent replies strengthened the impression against her and her com- panion. In a few moments they were both prisoners on their way to the police office, Bow-street. 14 SHADE AND SUNSHINE CHAPTER II. And if a mother's eye did bless Thine own, and fondly on thee smiled, A mother's bosom once did press Thine own — though only when a child : Or, if a sister fair and mild, Hath laid her soft cheek thine upon, Then fathom thou the anguish wild Born of the thought that both are gone. Anon. "Pshaw ! Honour, integrity — fine high-sounding words — they never made a man's fortune yet, nor ever will. Society is all humhug, from heginning to end — from the prime minister to the chimney sweep. I tell you, self is at the bottom of all. The only difference lies in the varnish. — Disinterestedness ! I put as much faith in the disinterestedness of my fellow-men, as I do in the purity and innocence of the other sex. They — " "I will not listen to you on that subject, Marlow!" interrupted with warmth the person to whom the pre- ceding observations were addressed. "I know — I feel — from the bottom of my soul I am convinced, that your opinions respecting women are false, scandalous, libellous. Ay, and of men too. My own heart contradicts you. I am not — I do not pretend to be — superior to my fellow mortals ; but I do feel that I am capable of acting dis- interestedly, and that I have never yet been guilty of a dishonest, no, nor a dishonourable action — " "How old are you, Vivian?" interrupted his com- panion with seeming earnestness. " Nineteen," was the reply. "And you have been three months in London?" said Marlow. of woman's life. 15 " Thereabouts," replied Vivian. " Well, then, remain in London till you are twenty- one, and we will settle this matter of debate. If you then persist in your faith in women, and can with truth declare that your opinion of men is unaltered — from your own feelings, mind — " " That is to say," observed Vivian, smiling, " if I can then declare that I have not become dishonest or dis- honourable, the words have the same meaning, but I know you men of the world attach different ones. Well, and then — ?" "Why then, I will become your pupil," returned Marlow. " Now you know you are mine. But a truce to this prosing. Let us go and see the new pantomime." This conversation passed between the young men on their way from a coffee-house in the Strand, where they had been dining. Marlow had drank freely, though his companion had been very abstemious, having pleaded a violent head- ache as an excuse for passing the bottle. They turned up Catherine-street. The pantomime of that season was very successful, and it was now the middle of Christmas week, consequently numbers were wending their way to the great point of attraction — the theatre. Carriages were dashing about in all directions, while at the pit and gallery doors dense crowds were collected, impatiently waiting for their opening, and be- guiling the time by numerous jokes, some not of the pleasantest nature to those who were the objects of them. " What a happy set of beings !" observed Vivian, who, in spite of his friend's caution that he would stand a chance of getting his pockets picked, stood still to observe them. "Happy!" repeated Marlow. "Tush! say thought- 16 SHADE AND SUNSIIINE less rather. How many aching hearts arc veiled under that appearance of mirth ? How many plans of villainy under that affectation of indifference ? I have known an instance where a murderer was taken at a theatre. He had paid for admission with the money taken from his victim. Even among those, perhaps — " Vivian shuddered, hut his attention was suddenly drawn from what his companion was saying. There was a commotion in the crowd that surrounded the pit door, and the next moment a stout determined looking man appeared, dragging from the midst of them a slender youth, whose face and lips vied in whiteness with the linen which was ostentatiously displayed in all the glory of small plaiting and emhroidery within his primrose coloured waistcoat. "Ay, ay, I knew we should ketch him here!" ex- claimed a tradesman-looking man in a leather apron, who was hustling hy the side of the officer ; he it seemed was the captor. " Yes, this is what comes of yer play goin'. I told you, many a time, it would hring you to the gallows. Look, I'm hlowed if the rascal hasn't got his missus's — my wife's — hrooch stuck in the front of his dickey. Oh, you precious villain ! if Sally was here, and see that, she'd tear the eyes out of yer head, she would." " Come, come, mister, stow this if you please," ob- served the officer with an important air ; " the chap's in the hands of jostis now, and you've nothing' to do with him." " Nothing to do ! when he's broken open my box, and — " " Silence, I say, Sir !" vociferated the officer. " Tell yer tale to the magistrate, that's all you've got to do, or woman's life. 17 Come, young feller, use yer feet, can't yer, and don't give me more trouble than's necessary." " If you were to relax your gripe of his neckcloth and suffer him to breathe," commenced Vivian — who saw the poor wretch was almost strangled by the pressure of the officer's immense knuckles on his throat — but before he could finish the sentence, or the officer's fierce glance discover who it was that had dared thus presumptuously to address him, or, as he would have said, to obstruct him in his duty, a sudden jerk from Marlow's arm turned Vivian completely round, and the officer with his captive, and the crowd that was pressing on them, passed on. " You must be mad to interfere with that fellow," observed Marlow. " In another minute he would have insulted you, perhaps charged you with wanting to rescue the prisoner, or being an accomplice." " Pshaw ! " ejaculated Vivian, contemptuously, " he would not have dared do that." "He would have dared do that and more," returned Marlow. "He would have dared, if it so pleased him, to have taken you into custody on the charge, and, when brought before a magistrate, he would have dared tell his worship that he knew your face well enough as an asso- ciate of thieves, and believed you were a regular swell mobsman, though he would not swear that you had ever stood at that bar before ; and when, after an infinity of trouble, and, perhaps, being locked up for a week, you bring your friends forward and disprove the charge, what redress have you ? The magistrate coolly tells you that he is very sorry you have been put to so much inconvenience, but that you brought it all on vourself by vour improper interference with the officer of justice; and the fellow himself laughs in your face, as 18 SHADE AND SUNSHINE he pretends to beg your pardon, and tells yon that he really took you for Bill or Bob somebody, a most noto- rious character, you're so like him; and then you've the further satisfaction when you get borne of seeing your name in every morning and evening and Sunday paper, under the head 'Awkward Mistake,' or 'Case of mis- taken Identity," or But you are not listening to me, Vivian. I do believe all my good counsel has been thrown away upon you. What are you thinking of ?" " Of — of. Oh, I beg your pardon. I have heard all you said, and will be more cautious for the future," re- plied Vivian, turning his head over his shoulder and gazing after three young girls, who, engaged apparently in earnest conversation, were slowly walking down the street in the opposite direction to that which the young men were pursuing. " I cannot suspect you of such bad taste as to be attracted by those creatures," observed Marlow con- temptuously. " Attracted ! certainly not," returned Vivian ; " not in the sense, at least, that you use the word, but — Let us follow them, and if you can look on that girl's face without feeling an interest in — " Marlow burst into an obstreporous laugh. " This boy will be the death of me," he exclaimed, when he had ceased laughing. " She is one of tbe models of purity and innocence, I suppose, that is to make me a convert. But, my dear fellow, seriously T entreat you to dismiss these romantic follies from your mind. Shall I tell you what your interest in that girl's face would in all probability lead to — " " No, no ! no more advice — no more cautions. I am sick of it," interrupted Vivian. OF WOMAN s LIFE. 19 " Well then, come and see the pantomime," rejoined his friend. They entered the theatre ; pit, boxes, galleries, all were crowded, though the first piece had not commenced, and for some minutes Vivian found sufficient entertainment in viewing the rows of anxipus, yet merry faces, that, tier above tier, presented themselves on every side. In the boxes, especially, all was unalloyed cheerfulness and tip- toe expectation, for three parts of that portion of the audience were children, and the remainder the parents, who, whatever might be their secret cause for care and anxiety, seemed, for this night at least, to have dismissed them from their memories, and to be bent only on pro- moting the comfort and happiness of the joyous little beings who surrounded them. But the first flush of excitement over, Vivian's heart saddened and his coun- tenance became clouded. How short was the period since he, a happy boy, released for a time from the restraint of school, and accompanied by a fond indulgent mother and two sweet sisters, had for the first time taken his seat in that charmed circle. He could point out now the very box they had occupied ; he could recall even- word and look and tone of his beloved companions ; the jovous, merry laugh of Bertha, his youngest sister; the look of surprise and earnestness of the more timid and gentle Agnes, and the soft whisper in which she had appealed to him to enquire, whether those beautiful creatures, the fairy and her attendant sylphs, with their gauze wings glittering with gold and silver foil or tinsel, were "real living creatures, flesh and blood like our- selves?" and his mother's chastened smile as she listened to their remarks, all — all were present to him as if it were but yesterday, and yet, of that happy party he only 20 SHADE AND SUNSHINE remained. Two were mouldering in their graves, and the third — He could bear it no longer, he started from his seat. " Where are you going ? What is the matter ?" de- manded Marlow. " Nothing — nowhere. I shall he back directly." But it was not so easy to make his escape as he had hoped, and, before he had quitted the box, Marlow found an opportunity of whispering — " Vivian, be careful what you are about. No romance. No deep interest in faces, or — " Vivian did not hear the conclusion of the sentence, nor did he wish it, but it recalled other feelings, which the painful reminiscences of the past that had been con- jured up by the scene around him had for a time banished from his memory, and when he reached the street his first thought was of the face that had excited so powerful a feeling in his mind, and given rise to Marlow's obtrusive and unaccustomed caution. It was, indeed, a face of exceeding beauty, but it was not the regularity of features which might worthily have formed a subject for the painter, a model for the sculptor. It was not the deep— intensely deep blue eyes, the long fringed eye-lashes, that were but momentarily raised as Vivian gazed upon her, and then again veiled the brilliancy of the orbs beneath ; it was not the pencilled eye-brows, the snowy forehead so strikingly defined by the simple braid of glossy raven black hair, that re- sembled bands of silken velvet crossing each other above it. No, nor the pure Grecian elegance of the nose, the chin and the finely chiselled lips of deepest scarlet, nor the brilliancy of the complexion of the purest red and white. No, although words cannot describe the ex- OF WOMAN S LIFE. 21 quisite tint of that cheek, the clearness of that trans- parent hue, it was not all these beauties, combined with a form of perfect symmetry, that had made so deep an impression on Vivian's mind. It was the extreme melancholy, the utter hopelessness which that beautiful countenance expressed, the sighing sweetness of the voice which lingered like notes of softest music on his ear. " Can such a creature as that be the willing votary of vice?" he thought as he gazed after her, and thus excited the satirical observation of his companion. Whether the amount of vice in London has decreased — whether the denizens of the Great Metropolis have be- come essentially more moral — since the period at which our true story commences, is perhaps doubtful, but cer- tainly, whether it be owing to the introduction of gas, placing in a stronger light the deeds and doings which were than half- hidden in the " darkness visible" of the old method of illuminating the streets — whether it be the vigilance of an amended police, or the improved intelligence of the age, vice dares not with some few exceptions, stalk, forth in our streets and lanes in its open and unveiled deformity as was then the case. There are many yet living who must remember when 'the neighbourhood of the theatres especially exhibited such sights as brought blushes on the cheek of modesty, and excited at once disgust, indignation and pity, in the bosom of the virtuous and reflective of the other sex. In the close and dirty courts and lanes immediately ad- joining Drury-lane, were huddled the wretched beings who at dusk sallied forth parading the adjacent streets in groups, offending decency alike in appearance and language. At the time alluded to, it became a fashion among them to adopt the dress of childhood. Alas, for 22 SHADE AND SUNSHINE the depravity of human nature ! Many among them were children — mere children — but the frock and pinafore, the hare arms and neck, were adopted by all, so that at a cursory glance all looked alike, the youthful victim, and the hardened, long practised, haggard or bloated woman of full age. The group who had attracted Vivian's atten- tion were of this description. They were all dressed alike in pink gingham frocks, white pinafores, and small childish-looking coarse straw bonnets. One of them, however, was a woman of mature years, certainly not less than forty, though her short stunted figure, the rindets of false hair that fell from beneath her bonnet on her fat bare neck, and a thick coat of paint, united with her juvenile attire to give ber a much more youthful appearance. The second (there were three of them) it was still more difficult to judge of her age. Her extremely petite figure, dressed as she was, appeared that of a child, but her withered pinched-in cheeks, and the livid hue of her complexion, were in sad contrast to this appearance of juvenility, and any one merely looking in her face, without regard to her figure, would have taken her (in spite of rouge and false ringlets) for an old woman. The third of these unfortunate beings (for such no one who beheld them could doubt them to be), was the young girl whom we have in our first chapter introduced to our readers by the name of Katharine. Though fully grown to that medium height which has been pronounced the just standard for woman, and though moulded in the most perfect symmetry, Katharine was still in the first flush and bloom of youth. She had not reached her eighteenth year, and the childish dress before alluded to, in which she was not distinguished from her companions, made her appear even much younger than she was. of woman's life. 23 Never had Vivian St. Orme — a devoted admirer and enthusiast on the subject of female beauty — beheld a face and form so faultless ; never experienced so keen a pang of sympathy and sorrow for the fallen and the lost of his fellow beings, as when gazing on the lovely, the — it might be said without profanation — the angelic features of Katharine. Whether from consciousness that her beauty needed not the meretricious heightenings that distinguished her companions, or that she was indifferent to its effect upon the beholders, she wore no ornaments, and her cheek was without a tint of colour. Yet it was not the pallor of sickness, nor the dull dead white which is so often misnamed fair, but the purity and clearness of Grecian marble, to which, indeed, the classical beauty of her features fully corresponded. Vivian had seen the Medicean Venus, " The faultless statue that enchants the world — " but its beauty he felt at that moment fell short of this living specimen of female perfection. " Can such a form conceal a depraved, polluted mind?" he thought, as, after leaving the theatre as has been related, he strolled down the street and beheld the same female who had before attracted his attention, sauntering slowly towards him. The same revolting women were with her, but Vivian thought riot of them, neither did he notice the looks of keen enquiry with which they regarded him as he passed them. Apparently there was nothing in his countenance to encourage their purposes, and they immediately renewed the conversation in which they appeared deeply interested, although it was im- possible to judge, from the downcast eyes and fixed immovable expression of melancholy in the features of their young companion, whether she felt an equal, or * SHADE AND SUNSHINE the wretch might die ; and then a pretty mess she should have got into, with the coroner's jury sittin', and a parcel of lies, maybe, put in the newspapers about her and her house — a house that she'd paid rent and taxes for for thirty years, and defied her neighbours to say black was the white of her eye. The jestices at Bow- street knew what pains she took to keep her house respectable. Sir Richard Birnie himself said, the very last time she was up a'fore him — ' Mrs. Jonas,' says he—" St. Orme interrupted this voluble harangue, which seemed to be otherwise interminable, by observing, " That the question in discussion was neither her respectability, which he had no intention to dispute, nor the humanity of her conduct to the young woman, of which of course the latter was the best judge" — Katharine cast down her eyes, and the slightest possible movement of her bare polished shoulders, expressed more forcibly than any words could have done her appreciation of the favours that had been bestowed upon her — while St. Orme pro- ceeded to say that, " The purpose for which he had come was to settle, if it was in his power, payment of the debt clue to Mrs. Jonas from the young woman ; to re- claim the clothes she had worn at the time of her intro- duction, and return those she then wore." He paused, for Katharine's look of alarm and conster- nation lest he should, even now, step back from the pro- ject into which he had entered, went to his heart, and defeated all that prudence had whispered. Another voluble, and indeed, scarcely intelligible tirade from Mrs. Jonas, was cut short by St. Orme's peremptory demand that she should at once name the sum Katharine was indebted to her. OF WOMAN S LIFE. 39 "Otherwise," he continued — again drawing the young girl's arm through his, — "I shall at once leave the house with her, and leave you to your remedy, that of recover- ing the deht — if there he any — hy the regular course of law." K Oh ! that's your game is it, you dirty, whipper- snapper, lawyer's slavey," exclaimed Mrs. Jonas, who, unobserved by St. Orme, had contrived to get between him and the room door, against which she now placed her enormous person in a manner that fully corroborated the determination her words expressed, namely — "that neither he nor his companion should leave the room till her demands were satisfied." St. Orme's passion rose. It was not altogether the value of the sum demanded— although that, in the pre- sent state of his finances, was a formidable one — it was the open attempt at gross imposition, the treating him — he considered— as a novice, whom she could play upon as she pleased, that provoked him. To use violence to a woman was impossible to one of his nature, or he might have easily removed the impediment to his free egress, but, while hesitating what course to pursue, he was startled by a whisper close to him, that said — "If you value your life, get away on any terms. In less than ten minutes, Mother Jonas will have half a dozen fellows here to take her part, and then— God help you ! You'll never get out of the place alive. The lips from which this precaution issued, were those of a miserable looking emaciated female, who apparently acted as servant, or rather house drudge, to Mrs. Jonas, and who, though one ofthe loudest in her asseverations of her mistress's disinterested humanity in her reception of Katharine, had contrived by sundry winks, nods and 40 SHADE AND SUNSHINE pushes of the elbow to the latter, when unobserved by the old woman aud her party, to convey a meaning very different to what her words did. Katharine, indeed, as she afterwards acknowledged to St. Orme, had been indebted to this poor lost creature for the only real sympathy and kindness she had met with from her entrance into Mrs. Jonas' den of infamy, misery and despair, and placing now implicit confidence in the alarming suggestion of the danger that threatened St. Orme, she exclaimed to him — " Oh, leave me — pray leave me, Sir. I have been very wrong and foolish to bring you into this trouble. I shall never — never forget your kindness, but I see now how impossible it is — how selfish I have been to hope. Mrs. Jonas will forgive me — I will make all the atone- ment in my power to her. Oh, yes ! I must yield to my fate. Heaven forbid that I should involve you in any danger for such a worthless, lost wretch as me. Forgive me — do forgive me !" and she seized the old woman's great fat hands and pressed them between her own fair delicate ones. " You shall never again have reason to complain of me. Only let the gentleman go — go directly, and I will — I will — " " The gal's out of her mind, I think," observed the old woman, moving, however, at the same time from her position at the door, in a manner that showed she had no longer any intention of opposing St. Orme's egress. " It wasn 't me that brought the gentleman here, and if he chooses to go quietly, I don't want to keep him. No, nor you neither, so long as I gets my rights. Pay me what's due and you may go directly. I never keeps no- body against their will, not I." Katharine, however, paid little attention to these as- of woman's life. 41 sertions. She was occupied in earnestly, almost franti- cally, urging St. Omie to retreat before the arrival of the persons — who Peggy's (as she was called) whisper had prognosticated had been sent for — should arrive. The very means, however, which the unfortunate, though still artless girl adopted, were those most calculated to determine St. Orme not to leave her in the power of the old wretch, who evidently considered it far more to her interest to retain the hapless Katharine in her clutches, than to accept of even the exorbitant terms she had herself demanded for the liberty of her victim. The young man drew from his pocket a note case, in which was deposited a Bank of England note for ten pounds; it had been treasured there for a sacred purpose, and all ordinary, almost, indeed, every extraordinary temptation to break in upon it had been and would have been resisted. He had, indeed, utterly tutored himself almost to forget that he had it in his possession, and earned it constantly about him. Honestly and honourably he had mentally replied to every suggestion, either of inclination or necessity — " No, no ! It is not mine, I will consider it as already not merely as devoted, but actually appropriated to the purpose for which it has been reserved, and then I cannot part with it or even lessen the amount." It had occasioned many a severe struggle in the bosom of one so facile, so easily guided by sudden impulse, so alive — alas, it must be confessed — to the mistaken dictates of pride and vanity — that pride which could not brook the slightest appearance of obliga- tion to the companions among whom chance rather than inclination had thrown him — that vanity, which, neglect- ing the real elements of superiority over those com- panions that existed in his education, his principles and G 42 SHADE AND SUNSHINE the power of his mind, sought to distinguish himself by a false and spurious liberality, or rather recklessness in pecuniary matters, which they neither could nor would practice. Still, however, as has been said, St. Orme had with regard to this comparatively small — but, in his present circumstances, important sum — triumphed over every temptation; but it was now a holy, a sacred im- pulse that actuated him. The welfare, the eternal welfare of a fellow creature was — or so he considered it — at stake. If he deserted the hapless girl, whose agonised look and almost frantic entreaties to him to save himself and leave her to her fate, spoke volumes as to the undebased and native integrity of her heart and the warmth of her feeling, he felt that he should not only consign her to inevitable ruin, to a fate to which death in its most horrid form were infinitely preferable, but should be laying up for himself a subject for repentance, repentance that would end only with his life. "Hush, hush!" he exclaimed, breaking away from Katharine's impassioned grasp — " I will settle all this in a moment. Let this poor girl have the clothes in which she came to you, Ma'am," he continued, showing the note to the old woman, "and give me change for this, and the affair is settled." It was impossible to tell from Mrs. Jonas' countenance, whether she was satisfied or displeased at this apparent termination of the affair. " Take the gal up stairs, Peg," she observed to the woman who had given the intimation to St. Orme of his threatened danger. " You 11 find her rags in the cup- board in my room," she added, giving the woman a key ; " mind you leave all right that belongs to me. Come, stir your stumps and make haste ; what are you standing of woman's life. 43 gaping there for ? Did you never see a ten-pun' note afore in your life, that you 're lookin' so hard at it ?" The woman's eyes had indeed been riveted on the note, with an expression that was quite indefinable to St. Orrne, though his attention was drawn to it by Mrs, Jonas' observation. Peg's spirit, however, seemed suddenly roused by her mistress's taunt. " Ten-pun' notes ! ay, and twenties; fifties, too; as you know, Mother Jonas," she exclaimed, with a look of fury. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Who knows better than Mother Jonas how many ten-pun' notes — " " There now, don 't be a fool, Peg," observed Mrs. Jonas, with an assumed, but false, hollow and grating laugh. "We've all on us, you know, been better off in our times ; but never mind, old gal, we can' t eat our cake and have it too. Come, go and help Miss Kate to pull off her borrowed toggery, and take back her own fine rags." Peg, who seemed in her resentment of her own griev- ances to have lost sight of the interest she had evidently felt in the termination of the affair between her mistress, St. Orrne, and Katharine, now moved mechanically towards the door, muttering, though sufficiently audibly to be heard by Mrs. Jonas, had the latter been inclined to hear it, and gradually raising her voice, as she pro- ceeded, to a pitch of unnatural excitement — " Ay, ay, it 's mighty fine, but I know who had the greatest share of the cake, as you call it : precious Little it was fell to poor Peg's lot. But never mind, it 11 be all the same in a hundred years, as far as this world goes. Poor Peg will sleep as sound in her workhouse shell in the parish burying- ground, as Mother Jonas, even if she 4! SHADE AMD BONSHINE has a velvet coffin and a marble monument: and if there 's another world, as the parsons tell us — Ugh !" and she shrugged up her shoulders with an expression of horror — " Ugh ! Who would change with Mother Jonas, then, I wonder ? Not Peg, I know ! Not poor Peg, had and wicked as she has heen ! " " Oh ! botheration to you ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jonas, again forcing a laugh, although her cadaverous com- plexion faded to a ghastly paleness, and her purple lips quivered with the influence of the terror her poor vic- tim's words had inspired — " Botheration to your preach- ment, Peg ! you 11 turn Methodist, next, I expect. Do, Kate, there 's a good girl, go with her at once, or she 11 be giving us a sermon that 11 last till the middle o' next week." , Apparently deceived by the assumption of returning good humour on the part of the old woman, Kate, who had previously betrayed considerable reluctance to leave the room and St. Orme, now — after one eloquent look to the latter, which was easily interpreted by him as an en- treaty that he would not now desert her — hurried away, Peg, as it appeared, mechanically following her, lost in deep and gloomy thought. A pause of some minutes ensued, but one or two significant looks and whispers were exchanged between Mrs. Jonas and her associates, or, as she termed them, her lodgers, which did not escape St. Orme's observation, or tend to tranquillise or reconcile him to his present (as he felt) rather critical situation. There was an ill-suppressed expression of triumph in the old woman's malignant glance, and of anxious expecta- tion in the looks of one or two of the others, which he fancied predicted that the business which kept him there was not likely to be quite so easily or amicably settled as of woman's LIFE. -15 he hoped for. There was a noise in the outer passage, and footsteps of one or two persons heard, and St. Ornie drew back from the .door, and placed himself in an atti- tude as far as possible of self-defence, though, all un- armed as he was, except in the possession of a dauntless spirit, and the consciousness of a righteous cause, he could have had little hope of effectually opposing any attack. One of the women lighted a second candle and hurried out, but the apparent danger passed away, for no one entered the room, and St. Orme's confidence returned. " You vant change for your note ? " abruptly remarked Mrs. Jonas, who observed that he still kept it in his hand. St. Orme briefly replied " Yes." " Veil, I don't know how it's to be got," she returned, " vithout you '11 trust one of these here young vimen to take it to the liquor-shop just by. I don't mind standing treat for once, as you behave so much of the gentleman." " I do not drink spirits," replied St. Orme, " and I should prefer your giving me the difference to sending the note out." " Lor' bless you, man ! do you think I git money at that rate, to have fivepound in the house? I wish I did." St. Orme folded the note smoothly, and then grasped it in the palm of his hand, with a smile that Mrs. Jonas comprehended, for she observed, in a tone of pique — " Oh, you think yourself mighty clever and cautious, no doubt ; but you needn 't be afeard, I aint a goin' to be sich a fool as to get myself into trouble for the sake of a paltry Fiver." " It would not be you, but me, that would get into trouble, if it was not forthcoming," observed St. Orme, smiling again. " But I will not offend you so much," •K) SHADE AND SUNSHINE lie added, " as to believe that you could not give the difference of a much larger sum than this," and he again held the note between his thumb and fore-finger, taking care, however, to keep a watchful eye on the motions of more than one of Mrs. Jonas' adherents, whose longing looks were fixed upon it, and who ap- peared quite bold and impudent enough to have made a sudden snatch at it, if they could have seen a fair oppor- tunity of making their escape with the booty. " Veil, veil, I must see what I can do towards making up the change," observed the old woman, drawing from her pocket a dirty canvass bag, which appeared pretty heavy, though with what sort of coin St. Orme had no opportunity of ascertaining, for precisely at the same moment Katharine entered the room by the door at which she had gone out, and winch it seemed communi- cated with the staircase and upper part of the house ; while at the other appeared a showily-dressed but vulgar and repulsive-looking man, of the same peculiar cast of countenance, though many years younger than the mis- tress of the house. St. Orme caught a glimpse, too, of one or two other black-whiskered, dark faces, in the pas- sage, as the first comer drew-to the door behind him, leaving it, however, ajar, so that all that was said or done could be heard and seen by those outside. Katharine uttered a faint scream, and flew to the side of St. Orme, the instant she beheld the, man, whose scowling look was bent on the latter the moment he entered. " What the devil 's the matter with you, Ma'am ? " he demanded in a savage tone, looking at Katharine. " You don't fancy that you can play off your sentimental tricks here, and impose upon them that know you so well as OF woman's life. 4? wo do, as you 've done upon tho greenhorns that you 've picked up so often out o' doors. Come, let us know what game you 're up to now ? Trying to impose upon this young gentleman, I suspect, with some of your pretty innocent stories. Oh, you 're a precious deep one, Kate, young as you are. I 'm if you don 't heat half the old hands on the ' par-wee,' as the French call it." " I never saw the man hut once before, in my life," observed Katharine, addressing St. Orme, with a look and tone so truthful, so indicative of disgust and sur- prise, that, had any suspicion that he had been imposed upon for a moment entered the breast of St. Orme, it would have been instantly removed. " Once ! only once ! Ha-ha-ha ! Oh, Kitty, Kitty ! Can you look me in the face, with them sweet, innocent eyes of yourn, and try to pretend that we don 't know one another ? But you won 't get me to father your lies, whatever the game is you 're playing or trying to play. I don 't know who this gentleman is, or what he 's got in his head about you, that 's brought him here after you ; but I '11 just tell him this, that if he has anything to do with you beyond a mere acquaintance, on parsong, as they say in France, he wont be many months or even weeks older before he 11 have reason to curse his ill for- tune, as I have many a time since I first saw your pretty face, as you know well enough, Kit." "I will run the risk of that," observed St. Orme, coolly, advancing towards the table, behind which Mrs. Jonas had, as it were, entrenched herself, keeping her canvas bag concealed in her lap beneath it. "Now, Madam," he observed, " if you are prepared with the change, here is the note, and — 48 SHADE AND SUNSHINE The words were scarcely out of his mouth before the caudle, which stood loosely in a tall slender candle-stick in the middle of the table, was, in obedience (as Katha- rine afterwards explained to him) to a signal from the man (whom she had seen once before, and heard of as the reputed husband of the old woman, though young enough to be her son,) suddenly swept off the table by one of the females, and St. Orme found himself seized and pinioned, as it were, by the powerful arms of a man, whether or not the one with whom the preceding colloquy had passed, or one of those who had waited their opportunity to rush in from the passage, he was unable to judge in the darkness and confusion that ensued. Tall, slender, and youthful as was the form of Vivian St. Orme, compared to that of the full-grown, sturdy and ruffian-like person of his antagonist, the former, in spirit and real courage, and even in that which has been dig- nified with the title of the science of self-defence, would have proved, in all probability, a formidable opponent ; as it was he struggled manfully against his assailant, and even succeeded in getting the latter under him on the ground, still retaining the note, which he guessed was the object in view, in his firmly-closed hand. But he soon found that he had more to contend with than one ; and bruised and almost senseless from the blows that were indiscriminately rained upon his back, head, and shoul- ders, he was compelled to relinquish the tight grasp of the throat by which he had held his first assailant, who, with the most horrid imprecations called upon his co- adjutors to "mill the blackguard," who he declared had nearly choked him. St. Orme, now deprived of all power of resistance, the of woman's life. 49 whole weight of a heavy man keeping him down by kneeling on his chest, submitted to the hands, some of which, and no doubt correctly, he conjectured to be those of the females whose quick and eager whispers he heard without comprehending, as they dived into, and even turned inside out, his different pockets. His watch, the guard-chain from around his neck, his pocket book and papers, even the shawl from his neck, and the silk and cambric handkerchiefs from his great-coat pockets ; not a single article — except a few loose halfpence, among which were a shilling or two — escaped the rapacious hands of his plunderers. But Vivian St. Orme thought less of these losses, or rather he cared little or nothing about them, his great cause of alarm and apprehension being for the safety of the unfortunate Katharine, whose first agonised and piercing shrieks had been suddenly suppressed, as if by some violent force. She might have fainted, but no — he could not hope that — bad as it was — for two or three times he heard, at no great distance from where he lay, a struggle and then a choking noise as of some one trying to release themselves from the violence which prevented the sufferer from crying out. St. Orme felt that his only chance of personal safety lay in keeping silence, and suffering the wretches by whom he was surrounded to believe that he was insensible, if not actually dead, in which case they would most pro- bably seek their own safety in flight ; but compassion for the unfortunate Katharine, who he feared might actually fall a sacrifice to the violence which was employed to prevent her shrieks alarming the neighbourhood, pre- vailed over every selfish consideration. He raised himself with difficulty on one arm, and regardless of what might be the consequences to himself, exclaimed—' H 50 BHADE AND SUNSHINE " If you are men, or have anything of manhood about you, do not ill-treat that poor girl, let her go with me as soon as — " " There's no men here, they've all bolted," exclaimed a female voice, and at the same moment Peg, as she was called, entered the room with a lighted candle, looking wildly about her. " Gracious goodness, what's all this !" she exclaimed. " Missus in a fit, and Katharine — Oh, Lor a'rnighty ! sure she aint dead ? They haven't been a'fighting, have they ? " " Fighting ! We might have been all killed and murdered, it seems, afore you'd a' come anigh us," re- turned the only female who remained in the room beside Mrs. Jonas, who was lying back in her large arm chair, as if totally unconscious of what was passing. " There 's been a parcel of fellows broken in upon us and a 'most killed this poor gentleman. I 'm afeared Missus has fainted away with fright, and as to Kate, I dont know whether she got an unlucky blow among 'em, or what's the matter with her." Peggy looked for a moment undecided whom she should first attend to, her mistress, Katharine, or the gentleman, whose pale countenance, and the blood that streamed from a cut at the back of his head, either from some sharp weapon, or, as was afterwards suggested, from having come in contact with a leg of the table, or the fender, in his fall, seemed certainly to demand immediate attention; but (alas! for human nature) self-interest, as usual, prevailed over every better feeling, and regardless of St. Orme's earnest entreaty that they would first attend to Katharine, she and the other female devoted their whole attention to the recovery of Mrs. Jonas from her OF WOMAN S LIFE. 51 pretended (for such St. Orme was convinced it was) fainting fit. The application of a smelling bottle, and a copious draught of brandy and water, mixed from a bottle produced from a cupboard in the room, which seemed well stored with cordials, soon effected a restora- tion of Mrs. Jonas' consciousness and speech, but it was her policy to affect to know nothing of what had passed since the sudden extinguishing of the candle, and Katharine's horrid 'shrieks' — as she called them — had terrified her, so that she should never get over it she believed till her dying day ; and she now pretended to be struck with horror at discovering how severely St. Orme — or the gentleman as she now called him — had suffered, as well as that Katharine still remained insen- sible on the floor. All that Peggy's, the other female — who was the one distinguished as Loo — and Mrs. Jonas' united skill and knowledge suggested, was now resorted to, first to recover Katharine, who was a considerable time before she became rational and collected enough, either to remember what had passed or to comprehend her present situation, and then to administer to St. Orme's wounds and bruises; and Mrs. Jonas, with a liberality that gave rise to an ex- change of significant glances of surprise between Peggy and Loo, not only insisted upon St. Orme and Katha- rine's partaking of her restorative bottle froru the cup- board, but extended her generosity to the other females, observing — " That no doubt they was frightened enough to make a drop o'summat comfortable necessary," a sug- gestion in which they both heartily concurred, though they considered it necessary to utter a profusion of thanks and praises of Missus' generosity and kindness. It did not ; escape St. Orme's observation, confused 53 SHADE'" AND SUNSHINE and weakened as he was by the treatment he had received, the various attempts which were made by Mrs. Jonas, and seconded by her servile instrument and dependant, Loo, to impress him with the belief that the recent attack upon him had originated in some previous con- nexion between Katharine and the man, who they pre- tended was a stranger, or, at least, had been seen only once or twice there, as an acquaintance of Kate's. Jea- lousy, therefore, according to their insinuations, was the motive which had prompted the assault upon St. Orme, for of the robbery they pretended to be utterly un- conscious, and the latter, though not in the slightest degree deceived or duped by their pretences, considered it the most politic course he could pursue under the present circumstances to suffer them to believe that he credited all that they asserted. A single glance from Katharine, timid as it was, had sufficed to convince him of the falsehood of Mrs. Jonas' assertion that there was any connexion between her and his brutal assailants, but it was very evident to him that the poor girl was too much afraid of the old woman and her associates to venture to contradict anything she chose to say, however unfounded and degrading to her- self were the assertions of the former. Weakened, exhausted, and suffering from the blows he had received in the contest, and anxious as St. Orme felt to leave the infamous den, in which he could not even now consider himself free from apprehension of farther danger, he still regarded the unfortunate Katha- rine with so deep an interest, that he could not resolve to quit the house, leaving her to the mercy of the wretches with whom she was so strangely associated, without making some effort to benefit her. or at least having of woman's life. 53 some communication with the unfortunate girl, whose trembling limbs and deep hysterical sobs from time to time, though she evidently tried to suppress them, or at least to disguise them from her hardened companions, added to an occasional stolen and imploring glance at St. Orme, when she was unobserved by the others, proved not only how deeply she regretted what had taken place for his sake, but also how new and revolting to her were the practices in winch she had been made an involuntary instrument. As yet, however, she was not aware of the extent of the robbery committed on the young man, whose looks and manners had inspired her with hopes, in the first instance, that she dared hardly now venture to indulge. The expressions she had overheard from St. Orme's assailants as they quitted him convinced her that they had reason to be satisfied with their booty, though she believed that their victim had not as yet discovered the extent of his loss, and she dreaded, that in making that discovery he should include her in the resentment which he would naturally feel against all concerned in the affair. " And I — I," she mentally exclaimed, " who have been in reality the cause of all — I, for whose sake only I am sure he was led to enter this vile den of thieves and of infamy. Oh ! can I hope or expect that he will still feel any interest or compassion ? He may, perhaps, even suspect that I have been a willing participator — but Oh ! no — no ! he does not, will not, condemn me, and, even if he should desert me and leave me to my fate, this hor- rible fate — worse ! oh, how infinitely worse than death ! it will still be with pity. He will feel that which I felt, that I would have given my life to have rescued him unhurt and uninjured from those villains." 54 SHADE AND SUNSHINE Katharine, however, was, as we have before shown, mistaken in supposing that St. Orme was ignorant of the extent of the injury he had suffered. He knew that his watch had been broken from the chain to which it was suspended and torn from him, and that his purse, con- taining nine or ten guineas, together with a pocket-book, in which were notes to more than double that amount, had shared the same fate, for he had felt the hands of the robbers in his pockets, though at the moment so ex- hausted with the resistance he had made, as to be unable to make another effort to protect himself against them. He felt, too, that his very existence might be endangered, should he persist in resisting their nefarious designs ; and, even beyond the natural love of life, to which all other considerations must be expected to yield, was another feeling, that induced him quietly to submit to their villany, and this was the fear of involving the unfortunate Katha- rine in still deeper peril and misery. More than one invo- luntary and impassioned exclamation on her part, proved the indignation with which she beheld the conduct of these unprincipled ruffians towards her generous protector, and St. Orme feared, lest, timid and terrified as she evidently was at the wretches by whom she was sur- rounded, the threats and denunciations against them, which she mingled with her prayers and entreaties to them to refrain from further violence towards him — St. Orme — might bring down upon her the personal ill- treatment towards the helpless and unfortunate girl which was more than once threatened, not only by his ruffianly assailants, but by their scarcely less brutal, and infinitely more disgusting and depraved female associates. It was for her — Katharine's — sake, therefore, that St. Orme suppressed, as far as possible, not only every ex- of woman's life. 55 pression of rage and indignation, but concealed in some measure the full amount of the injuries he had received; and especially forbore to utter any complaint as to the robbery that had been perpetrated, although it was with difficulty he restrained the expression of his indignation and contempt at the vile and hypocritical insinuations by which Mrs. Jonas and her base satellites attempted, after the disappearance of the two men, to throw upon Katha- rine the whole blame of the affair; and even to hint that, in spite of her pretended sorrow and pity for the gentle- man, who had, to use their own expressions, acted as a " raal gentleman," to her, she had been as deep in the mud as they — the two men, to whom they affected to be utter strangers — were in the mire, and knew very well what would be the consequence of acting so double-faced to one that deserved such different treatment at her hands. A glance from St. Orme restrained the indignant denial that Katharine was about to utter. " It is no use to argue now, as to who was right, or who was wrong, in the first instance," observed St. Orme, with feigned calmness. " I trust, how- ever, my good lady," addressing Mrs. Jonas, " that for your own credit's sake you will endeavour to dis- cover who these men were, and assist me in taking proper means to punish them for their unprovoked vio- lence. I will willingly make you any compensation you may require ; and, by-the-bye, there has been some damage done here, I see," and he glanced at a table, which, with two or three glasses that stood upon it, had been broken in the tumult. It is but reasonable that you should be paid for this mischief, and as I suppose there is very little probability that my gentlemen-like assailants will trouble themselves as to the mischief they have done 56 SHADE AND SUNSHINE to you, any more than to me, and as I, however inno- cently, have been the cause of that mischief, I feel that I am hound in honour to compensate you for the damage. Tell me, therefore, what you consider "will enable you to replace these articles, and I will give it to you." It would have been difficult for any one to judge what were "Mia. Jonas' thoughts, as she listened to this appa- rently generous proposal. "Could the man be really so ' green as to believe what his speech inferred?" was the form into which those who comprehended the expression of her features, would have translated her first impression. "But if it were not so, what could be his motives for this unlooked-for offer? Her thoughts ran quickly back to all the circumstances of the scene of violence and fraud, and she felt — probably self-convicted — that it was next to impossible that he could believe her so entirely innocent of all participation in the affair as to have any claim upon him for remune- ration. But there was another thought that, as she after- wards said, struck her with astonishment at this minute : — '"'Did the man know that he had been robbed ?" or. as she expressed it, ' cleaned out.' Either he did, or he did not. If he did, he must have some deep motive for pretending ignorance, though what that motive could be was beyond her comprehension. If he did not, it was most desirable that she should get him out of the house before he made the discovery. It was under this latter impression, therefore, that . she vehemently refused to listen to his offer of paying for the broken furniture, declaring that she should be "ashamed to think of such a thing as to take advantage of such a generous gentleman. No ! she was a poor woman — one that had a hard matter to live in these times ; but she had a spirit, and she OF WOMAN S LIFE. 07 scorned to take advantage of ginerosity. She wouldn 't take a farden of his money — No ! not if the damage was twenty times as much — " " No, no ! keep your money in your pocket, young man ! " she almost screamed, as St. Orme made a feint to draw out the purse, which, no one knew better than she did, was not there. " Keep your money; there shall no more be spent in this house to-night — not if I 'm the missus of it ; and so, with your leave, I think the best thing we can all do will be to get to our beds and rest arter what we've all gone through. You '11 want a coach, I 'spose, Sir, for you aint much in a plight to walk, specially if you 've far to go. Well, any of my young women will fetch a coach for you. Or, where 's Peg ? she '11 run in a minute. 'Tilda, you must help me up- stairs ; for I tremble so yet that I can hardly walk. Good night, Sir ; you '11 ha' got over it, I hope, after a night's rest ; but as to me, it '11 be a long time, if ever I 'm myself again." During this hurried speech Mrs. Jonas had, with the assistance of her two female associates, who, though they looked puzzled to comprehend the motives which induced their mistress to act so contrary to her usual system, in thus abruptly dismissing one of whom they imagined there was still something to be made, and who appeared to them not even yet to have been taught caution or dis- trust — could not doubt that the old woman was really anxious to get him out of the house, and that for some reason she was equally anxious that they should remain with her, instead of, as they wished to do, accompanying St. Orme, or, at least, until he should himself dismiss them. The manner in which the old woman took pos- session of an arm of each, as she repeated"her farewell tq 58 SHADE AMi SUNSHINE the latter at the door, which was immediately closed, left them no alternative ; and, though evidently with great reluctance, they disappeared with her, leaving St. Orme and Katharine together, having apparently totally over- looked the presence of the latter, who, with, her face hidden in her hands — and once or twice only raising her eyes to dart a look of surprise and investigation at Mrs. Jonas, during the latter's unlooked-for and un- wonted display of disinterestedness — had continued sitting far apart from the other occupants, and in the darkest and most obscure part of the room. Could she believe in her unexpected.good fortune, in being thus left, if it were only for a few moments, free from the hateful society, the repulsive surveillance, of the female harpies who had assumed and practised such unlimited power and tyranny over her very thoughts, looks, and actions. It seemed as if she could not believe it, or at least expected this interval of blessed freedom would soon be terminated ; for she started wildly from her seat, and looked wildly towards the door, listening, as it appeared, half in terror, half under the influence of new-born hope — though scarcely daring to encourage it — that her wretched associates had left her a free agent, to act as she should think proper. Suddenly her eyes met those of St. Orme, who was regarding her with a look of mingled curiosity, pity, and deep interest. " Oh ! you do not believe that I am the wretch those women would have you think me," she exclaimed, clasping her hands with fervour ; " I dared not contradict them ; I dared not say what was the truth, but I hope you do believe what I solemnly declare to be the truth — that I know nothing of the man by whom you were at tacked, or of their motives, unless it was to rob you. of woman's life. 59 One of them I have seen in this horrible house two or three times, and I -believe he is a near connexion of the old woman's, for he was here the very first night, when, driven to desperation, maddened, homeless, friendless, and with no prospect but of perishing in the streets, I suffered myself to be persuaded by those who professed kindness and sympathy, to accept the shelter of this in- famous roof. Would I had died then ! "Would I dare die now ! for death — death in any shape — is preferable, — is a Welcome haven to such a life as this. Yet do not despise me that I still live on — that I dare not — Oh ! Heaven, how many have, with a courage I dare not env- ulate, sought the refuge which, though it is ever before my eyes, though I pray that Heaven of his mercy will — ? The sound of voices raised, as if in contention, at this moment reached the car of the unhappy girl. " Oh ! what a wretched, selfish being have I become !" she exclaimed. " I know that you ought to seize the opportunity so strangely afforded you to leave this place immediately. Yet I have been occupying your time in listening to my useless repining. But let me entreat you, do not lose any more time. The way is clear for you now, but you do not know how long it may remain so. What the old woman's motives are for suffering you to depart without any further demand upon you, I cannot comprehend ; but it is so unlike her usual conduct, so contrary to all I have seen since I have been here, to allow any person to escape her extortion while they were known to possess even the most trifling sum, that I cannot help trembling with fear that there is some dark scheme hid under the pretence of generosity, and which can only be defeated by your getting away as soon as possible— now, this moment, indeed, while escape is open 60 SHADE AND SUNSHINE to you. Should those fellows return and find you here, or should they suspect that you intend to ascertain who they are, and punish them for their hrutal attack, I would not answer for even your life being safe. Go, then — pray go ! It will be some consolation to me to know that you have escaped from what I at one time feared would have ended much more seriously; though even now I fear you will suffer more than at present appears." " And are you content, then, that I should go and leave you here ? " demanded St. Orme, who had listened to her impassioned language — so unlike her first torpid, confused, and almost bewildered manner and looks. " Content ! " she repeated with emphasis, her large beautiful eyes assuming an expression bordering on frenzy. " Content to remain here ! But where am I to go to ? "Who will receive me ? What am I to do, with- out a friend on earth, a place to shelter me even for a single hour ? Yet you are right," she added, in a hurried tone, and starting up, as if to quit the room : " anything — anyplace; the cold, inhospitable streets would be pre- ferable to such a home as this. They tell me that the laws can condemn me to a prison if I am found wander- ing about, without being able to point to any place as my home. Tell me, is it so ? Do you think they would afford me the shelter of a prison ? Heaven is my judge, I would accept it as a blessed refuge ! What horrors can a prison offer, to those of such a home as this ? Yet there are those that live on days — months — years ; and they tell me that I too shall become reconciled to what is irremediable ; and those that say so were once innocent as I was — suffered as I do. Oh ! no — no ! it cannot be. Time — years ! Oh ! no ! nothing can ever reconcile me, as it has them. I shall never — " OF woman's life. 61 " Heaven forbid that you should ! my poor girl," remarked St. Orme with solemnity. " Heaven forbid that you should ever become reconciled to a life so revolting ! — that any necessity, however stern and exact- ing, should induce you to regard with other feelings than hatred and repugnance, a course of life But come, I must now remind you of your own words, that there is danger in every moment of delay in this den of infamy. Come, we will leave it together, and trust in Providence to suggest some means which may enable both of us to look back, even to this moment, with thankfulness and gratitude." For a moment or two Katharine was speechless. Her bosom heaved with a tumult of emotions, to which no words could do justice. Her eyes — her clasped hands — were raised in pious thankfulness, not to Heaven, but to him whom she regarded as Heaven's messenger and in- strument, and she would have fallen on her knees before him, to pour forth the gratitude for which she wanted words, but that he restrained her, and again suggested the necessity of their instant departure, reminding her, that although the people of whom she felt such terror might attempt — although they would find it difficult — to prevent his departure, supposing they had any motive for wishing to detain him, they would be differently situated towards her, and might invent claims upon her which he should find it difficult to rebut. This was enough to rouse all Katharine's natural activity. The bonnet, gown and shawl, which were her own, which she had worn when, on that wretched night which she had so often recurred to, she had entered Mrs. Jonas' proffered domicile, were dragged from the corner into which they had been crushed, and smarter ones, for which she had been made a debtor to G2 SHADE AND SUNSHINE the old woman, substituted. These the poor girl now, by St. Orme's suggestion, left behind, placing them where they would not be too soon seen, to give notice to the infamous old woman that her destined victim had escaped from her den of infamy and destruction ; and, leaning on St. Orme's arm, Katharine hurried on, speech- less with contending emotions, until her companion and protector, considering they had attained a sufficient dis- tance from her late residence to prevent any fear of their being followed and intercepted, at length paused, just as they had entered a quiet street in the neighbourhood of Holborn, and, looking compassionately in her pale and agitated countenance, observed — " It is necessary that you should have some rest ; but I am so unacquainted with the ways of this great city, that I know not where to proceed, or whom to apply to. Can you point out any decent place where, by paying for it, you can be sheltered for a few hours ? It is now nearly morning — and by that time I shall have been able calmly to reflect; and come to some resolution as to tht future." It seemed as if the manner in which St. Orme uttered this, for the first time placed before Katharine's view the full extent of the obligation she was under to her com- panion, and the importance of the part he had undertaken. Her head drooped, her lip quivered, and after a few mo- ments she burst into tears. " Oh ! how unworthy I am of your kindness," she exclaimed, " and what an unfortunate wretch I am to have involved you in so much trouble and embarrass- ment." " Do not speak of that," returned St. Orme, in a tone of gentleness. " Believe ine, that I shall not regret any OF woman's life. 03 trouble or momentary embarrassment, if I should be happy enough to succeed eventually in rescuing you v from the dreadful fate that threatens you ; but, as I said before, I am puzzled where to bestow you for a few hours, that you may recover from the effects of the ex- citement you have suffered, and be enabled to aid my efforts as to your future establishment. Have you no friends — no connexions, who may be willing to receive you, under the certainty of being paid for their trouble ?" Katharine's voice was choked, and almost indistinct, as she replied — " None ! none ! When I was deserted by him in whom I trusted, whose wily arts and persuasions induced me to leave my home — when it was discovered by those with whom he had placed me that I had no legal title to the name of ' wife,' which he had bestowed upon me, and which he had sworn so often — so solemnly — to ratify at no distant period — Yes ; at the very moment when I most needed protection and sympathy — when I dis- covered how cruelly, how grossly I had been deceived — I was turned out into the street, loaded with insult and abuse, accused of having conspired with the author of my ruin to impose myself in a false character upon respect- able people, who scorned all connexion with such dis- reputable characters, and bade to seek my living among those who were of the same class as myself, and who would, no doubt, gladly receive one who possessed such qualifications for my infamous trade. From that time I wandered about in a state of distraction. It might be days — weeks : I know not, for I was mad — distracted. I fancied that every one who looked at me read my guilt and degradation, as if it was written in legible characters on my forehead— But I forgot what I was saying ; I G4 SHADE AND SUNSHINE meant only to reply to your question by showing you that I have no connexions— not a friend in the world. It seems as if I could be content to remain as 1 am; to walk by your side until — until — But I am unjust and cruel to you, in wishing to entail such a burthen upon you. You have need, too, of rest and refreshment, and without me you could, of course, easily procure both. Tell me, then, what shall I do ; let me not have the additional misery of thinking that — " With a melancholy smile, St. Orme interrupted her. " This is a dilemma that any one better acquainted with the ways of London would smile at, and easily find a remedy for. Do not then let us create an imaginary misery, my dear girl." As if to prove the justice and prudence of his last observation, St. Orme's eyes at that moment rested on a glass lamp placed above the door of a decent house, on which was painted the word ' Coffee,' and at the same time he observed two females and a male companion enter the passage with an ease and confidence that showed there was nothing extraordinary in doing so, even at that late hour of the night. Here then was a place that offered the desired shelter, if not the means of repose, which he would willingly have secured both for himself and his companion ; and without any hesita- tion he led Katharine forward into the warm, well- lighted and comfortably fitted-up room, which held out so welcome and hospitable an invitation to the weary and homeless travellers. It was a strange motley assembly by which that room was tenanted; females, whose gay flaunting dresses harmonised badly with their care-worn, haggard features and hollow eyes, which even rouge failed to kindle into animation, were strangely mingled OF WOMAN S LIFE. 65 with men, whose coarse and soiled habiliments declared them to be of the lowest class of labourers or mechanics, while here and there were scattered individuals of the male sex, whose once fashionable but now faded clothes, dirty linen, and generally neglected toilet, rendered it much more difficult to judge of their occupation or standing in the world. In one or two instances, these indications of poverty, amounting to almost painful desti- tution, were strangely contrasted by what appeared a natural air of superiority, a refinement in feature and person, that plainly bespoke a fall from a very different station to that now occupied by these apparently miser- able outcasts of society, who, by trifling over the smallest modicum of coffee, seemed glad to avail themselves of the comforts of warmth and shelter, while they shrank unostentatiously into the darkest recess of the boxes, or occasionally took advantage of their position to snatch unnoticed a few moments of "tired nature's chief re- storer" — though it could not, in continuance of the poet's words, deserve the epithet of " balmy " sleep, which was liable to be imperiously broken up at any moment by a rude shake of the shoulder, and an exclamation from one or other of the evidently " better fed than taught " attendants, to the effect that it was " against rules — they must not sleep there ;" while not unfrequently — if the waiter had not been rendered surly by a too frequent necessity for enforcing the rules of the house — he would bespeak the laughter and applause of the more fortunate and wide-awake among the customers, by some thread- bare joke or facetiousness at the expense of the miser- able, half-awakened sleeper ; such as advising him " to go home and fetch his night cap and a warming-pan, before he tucked himself up for the night ;" or having startled 66 SHADE AND SUNSHINE the poor creature out of his temporary nap by a loud halloo in his ear, would observe that — " he had made a mistake in the place, for that Smitkfield was the market to which he must drive his pigs, as they didn't keep no styes in the Coffee-room ;" an attempt at wit, which, much to St. Orme's disgust and indignation, was, soon after his and Katharine's entrance, pursued through numerous phases by a saucy youthful waiter, at the expense of a miserably emaciated, but intelligent and once well-looking, and without doubt gentlemanly, indi- vidual, who had been detected in the heinous offence of trying to snatch a few moments' oblivion of his cares, after — as the waiter indignantly observed — " having ' hockepied ' a seat, part of a table, and enjoyed the benefits of light, a fire and a newspaper, and all for the dirty profit upon a three a' p 'ny cup o' coffee." " There is no occasion for all these remarks," observed the poor man, as he raised himself in his seat and but- toned his tattered coat as close as possible to his throat, apparently more to conceal the deficiency of his under garments than with a hope of increased comfort. " It was not designedly that I trespassed on your rules, if there are such rules, but I see there are some exceptions," and he glanced at a big fat man, of the coarsest and most repulsive appearance, who, with a tray before him well supplied with coffee, muffins, eggs and water-cresses, seemed scarcely to have commenced his meal, but with mouth wide open, and a face swollen and bloated from drinking, was snoring loudly, but quite undisturbed, and apparently unnoticed by the authorities. " X'eptions," repeated the waiter, whose eyes had followed those of the speaker and then turned back angrily on the latter — " And what is it to you if there is of woman's life. G7 'ceptions, as you calls 'em. I hope you aint agoing to set yourself up for a 'ception, with your paltry three a'porth of coffee and nothin' to eat with it, with one that eats and drinks like a gentleman. It aint sich customers as you that pays rent and taxes, and coals and candles, and gash — " " And saucy servants' wages to enable them to insult those whom they are paid to treat with civility," observed a bold, flaunting, but still well-looking woman, though bearing evident traces of the ravages of time and dissipa- tion in her once fine face and splendid form. She had entered the room at the commencement of the waiter's insolent vituperation, and, as it seemed, recognised in the spirit-broken man, who was the object of attack, a former acquaintance, one who had indeed seen — in her own impressive language— better days, and whose spirit she had attempted to soothe and restore, by uttering in a loud whisper to all around that—" she had known the time when that very man, poor and miserable as he now looked, could have bought half London." " But never mind, Charley, old feller," she continued, turning to the object of her sympathy, who seemed to have been thrown back upon his early recollections by her unexpected address, and to forget all that was present or passing around him. "Nevermind, we are all born but not buried; and who knows what luck there may be in store for you and I yet. At any rate, it shall never be said that Nelly Garrick stood by and saw her old master and friend, Charles Fitzharland, esquire, insulted by a — " Katharine, who had apparently paid little attention to what had passed around her, started so violently at hearing this name, that the coffee-cup which sin; had 68 SHADE AND SUNSHINE just raised to her lips dropped from her trembling hand and was broken. The circumstance was sufficient to draw all eyes upon her and put an end to the woman's (Mrs. Carrick as she called herself,) further exposure of her former master's history ; but it did not escape St. Orme's observation, either the tone in which his com- panion had repeated the name of Fitzharland, or the eager and agitated look with which she regarded both the person who had uttered it and the man whom that person had designated by that name. There were, but too evidently, painful, agonising feelings connected with it, yet they could not apply to the poor man in question, for it was plain they — Katharine and the man — were strangers to each other. St. Orme had watched the countenance of Fitzharland, as, startled by the noise of the breaking of the cup, he looked up from the ground on which his eyes had been fixed in the melancholy retrospection which was forced upon him by Mrs. Car- rick's remarks, but the look was that of an entire stranger; neither was there anything in Katharine's countenance that denoted any recognition of him, and yet from time to time the young girl's eyes were stealthily turned to him as he sat in an opposite box with his garrulous com- panion, who had invited him to partake of the abundant refreshments she had ordered, and was now chattering away to her silent, melancholy companion, mixing up her reminiscences of the past with her regrets for the change in his circumstances, as denoted by his present appearance, and endeavouring to cheer him with hopes for the future, and with a total absence of reserve that spoke much more in favour of her warm kind- heartedness than her understanding or the delicacy of her feelings. Surprised as St. Orme had been at first of woman's life. 69 by the emotion Katharine had betrayed, he might, pre- occupied as his mind was, both by the unpleasant occur- rences of the last few hours and the difficulties in which they had involved him, have forgotten the circumstance, or it would at least have faded from his memory as a sub- ject of little comparative importance. But anxious as he felt to hear from Katharine something that might lead, if not direct his exertions in her favour for the future, he could not but see that her whole thoughts and attention were engrossed by their neighbours, and that, especially, when the former situation and connections of the man Fitzharland were the themes of the garrulous com- panion of the latter ; so much so, that she (Katharine) occasionally appeared scarcely conscious that any one else was present, or had any claim upon her attention. Angry almost that it should be so, and yet half-inclined to believe that there was some mystery connected with the affair which was deeply connected with the unfortunate girl's previous history, St. Orme was meditating in what manner to introduce the subject to her without the hazard of exciting emotions which might attract the observation of the persons concerned, with whom it was very plain she did not wish to have any intercourse, deeply interested as she appeared in their conversation— if indeed it could be called conversation— in which nearly all that was uttered was by one party — Fitzharland scarcely did more than give a brief assent or dissent, and often even that only by a deep sigh or a motion of the head ; but, at the very moment when, excited by some new proof of how totally Katharine's attention was occupied by these people, he was about to risk an inquiry into her motives for the interest she betrayed in the strangers, when all impediment to a free communication was re- 70 SHADE AND SUNSHINE moved, by the persons in question rising and quitting the coffee room together. St. Orme's astonishment was, how- ever, infinitely increased when, having followed them to the door with his eyes, he turned, and beheld Katharine looking the image of despair, her hands clasped with that expression which he had before observed as so peculiar to her, and her beautiful features almost convulsed with the intensity of her feelings. " What is the meaning of this, Katharine ?" he ex- claimed in alarm. " Those people, who have just left — tell me — or forgive me — it is, perhaps, a subject too pain- ful for you to speak of. I am imprudent in naming it to you, but be assured, that in so doing I am actuated by no impertinent curiosity ; I would not ask you a question that would give you pain for the world; do not, therefore, answer me if this will do so." " Oh, no ! no — you have a right to ask me — to know everything," she replied, bursting into tears. " Not as a right, Katharine. No ; " he returned. " Not unless it can in any way benefit you — not unless you feel that it will be of service, or is necessary that I should know something of the sad circumstances that — "That have made me the wretch I am !" she uttered; "a desolate miserable wretch, thrown upon your benevolence, indebted to you for — Oh ! — for more than life." " I wish to hear nothing that will give you pain," returned St. Orme, with gentleness, "yet, as we have an opportunity of speaking unobserved, for all who are now present are too much absorbed by their own affairs to pay any attention to utter strangers, as we are; and if you think, that, confiding to me the circum- stances that brought you within the power of the wretched creatures with whom I found you so unequally OF woman's life. 71 associated, may assist in suggesting some plan [for your future benefit." Katharine shook her head with an air of despondency. Though as yet unacquainted with the full extent to which St. Ornie had suffered from his generous sympathy in her behalf, she could not but suspect that it had in- volved him in considerable difficulty and embarrassment on her account, and that even now he knew not how to carry out whatever plans he had formed for her benefit. An order for a fresh supply of coffee, &c, secured them the undisturbed possession of the compartment or box they occupied ; and Katharine, shaded from the obser- vation of the other occupants of the room by the position she had taken in the far corner, after a few tears, which St. Orme wisely did not attempt to check, considering them, truly, as the natural relief to an over- charged brain, commenced her melancholy story. 72 SHADE AND SUNSHINE CHAPTER III. Restored to life, one pledge of former joy, One source of bliss to come, remained — her boy. Sweet in her eye the cherished infant rose, At once the seal and solace of her woes. When the pale widow clasped him to her breast, Warm gushed the tears, and w-ould not be repressed ; In lonely anguish, when the truant child, Leap'd o'er the threshold, all the mother smiled. In him, while fond imagination viewed, Husband and parents, brethren, friends renewed, Each vanished look, each well-remembered grace That pleased in them, she sought in his young face ; For quick his eye, and changeable its ray, As the sun glancing through the vernal day, And like the lake, by storm or moonlight seen, With darkening furrows or cerulean mien, His countenance, the mirror of his breast, The calm or trouble of his soul expressed. James Montgomery. " My father, most unfortunately for his children, died nine years ago, when I, his eldest daughter and second child, was under eight years of age, my hrother being only one year older than myself, and my sister Ellen three years younger than me. My mother was many years younger than my father; and, though doatingly fond of his children, and desirous, as I am sure he was, to secure their happiness and do them strict justice, he had so high an opinion of my mother's prudence and affection for her children, that he left her by his will, the uncontrolled mistress of the handsome fortune he had accumulated, leaving my brother, as well as us, entirely dependent on her, even if she married again. This, however, I will do her the justice to say, I believe she for years never thought of, though she was still a very handsome woman, and in the prime of life; but she OF woman's life. 73 was proud of her children, and, though stern and cold in her manner, devoted to their advantage, especially my brother Leopold, whom she almost worshipped, and for whom I and my sister were comparatively neglected, and made to feel ourselves inferior beings — from our very infancy taught to give up our very wishes, if they were opposed to his. Fortunately for my sister and my- self, Leopold, though impetuous and self-willed, as might be expected, was kind-hearted and good-tempered, and we seldom found it any hardship to submit to the autho- rity he assumed over us. On the contrary, I, especially, learnt to regard it as a right which was due to his supe- rior understanding. Whatever he said was law which I never thought of disputing ; and he repaid my devo- tion to him by always standing between me and my mother, whose violent temper, and stern, exacting dispo- sition, was oftener displayed towards me than any one else, and would have made me very miserable, if I had not had a friend in her favourite Leopold, whom she could not resist, or hardly, indeed, ever ventured to differ with, haughty, and cold, and unbending as she was to her other children. It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that all my love and affection was bestowed upon my brother, iD spite of my mother's unjust preference of him, and in spite of what was not unfrequently whispered to me by ignorant dependants, who, pretending to pity me and Ellen, would tell me that our share of my father's fortune would be very small ; that no doubt my mother intended it all for her favourite ; with the addition, that it was a great shame, &c, and that even the plain manner in which we were educated, dressed, &c, all arose from her desire to add to her darling's fortune. All, however, as I have said, failed in shaking my affection for my brother. 74 SHADE AND SUNSHINE I believed him too noble-hearted and too well-principled to take advantage of my mother's injustice, but I confess all this did not increase my affection for my mother, and the older I grew the more I learned to resent the neglect — to call it nothing worse — with which I and Ellen were treated by her. Nothing that Leopold required was denied him. She seemed to live but to study Iris wishes and happiness, and no thought of expense ever seemed to enter her mind as regarded him ; while we were denied not only every indulgence which we had a right to expect in our circumstances, but were deprived even of the education which had been commenced during my father's life-time. This, I confess, I did think of, and, as far as I dared do, resented as a hardship. I had a natural taste for music, and a voice of which my poor father had been very proud, and which, had he lived, would have been cultivated. For nearly two years before Iris death I had been placed under the tuition of an eminent, and of course an expensive master ; but this, as well as every other accomplishment, was discontinued after my father's death, and I verily believe Ellen and myself would have been left to grow up in downright ignorance, but that my mother had an opportunity of providing us with a gover- ness at the very cheapest rate — less even than she paid her housemaids — in the person of a niece of my father's, who, having been left an orphan, and totally destitute, was glad to accept a refuge, with a title entirely unfitted for her, her acquirements being of the very plainest description. Little more, indeed, than plain reading and writing was she capable of teaching, but she was a first-rate needle- woman, and more than earned her trifling salary by the use she was of in my mother's household affairs, while she was perfectly satisfied with her efforts, and of woman's life. 75 considered that she quite fulfilled her duty in hearing our monotonous daily lessons, teaching us the Church Catechism, hearing our prayers morning and night, and exacting so many hours of needlework daily. This life was only varied hy an occasional walk, which was limited to the shrubberies of the square to which we had a key, or rarely extended to make purchases at shops when my mother had not time, or wanted inclination to go her- self, or not unfrequently as our governess, as she was called, slily observed when out of hearing — ' Mrs. Beresford fancied she should get cheaper bargains by sending such a shabby-looking set to purchase, who could not be expected to pay such prices as they would ask of ladies.' My mother indeed little suspected the mischief that was done to her children, by these and similar remarks from the apparently humble and unpre- suming woman whom she considered totally devoted to her, and grateful for her favours ; but who was in reality, under the pretence of affection to us, the daughters of her much regretted uncle, fanning the feelings of mor- tified pride and vanity in my bosom, and teaching me secretly to rebel against the injustice of my mother's treatment. As I became older, it was but too natural that I should become conscious I was as well, if not better looking than many girls of my own age, who, being the children of neighbours, and living in the same square, we encountered in our walks. But even if I could have passed it over with indifference, Martha Beresford, our cousin, or governess, by which title alone we were allowed to recognise her, took care that I should be fully aware of the advantages all these girls possessed over me in the article of dress. Nothing, indeed, could be plainer or less expensive than the clothes 70 SHADE AND SUNSHINE allowed to Ellen and I, while my mother was distin- guished both for the elegance and taste with which she increased her natural advantages of person ; and Leo- pold's handsome face and figure was a source of pride to her, on which no expense was spared. Nothing, indeed, could he a greater contrast, when, as sometimes it hap- pened, my mother and her son, in the very height of fashion and extravagance, encountered the two shabby looking, barely decently dressed girls, whom she was forced to recognise as her daughters, although it might much more easily have been imagined that they were some poor relatives of her much smarter and more sub- stantial looking domestics. To our governess, the subject was of much more importance for a long time than to me, and Ellen was as yet too young to think about it at all, but to Martha Beresford dress was the sine qua non of all that was desirable to woman-kind. Possessing a rather showy person herself, it was a bitter mortifica- tion to her to be confined, not only by her paltry salary, but by my mother's regulations, to the plainest attire; but I really believe that she was sincere, however mis- taken, in the pity and indignation with w T hich she re- garded our paltry wardrobe. I was especially the object of her pity, and I must tell the truth. I was but too willing to listen to and believe her, when she told me that I had only to be dressed like other young girls of my age to be universally admired. But this was not the worst. I listened but -too readily to her insinuations that my mother was jealous of my growing attractions, and I cannot disguise the fact, that so far from regarding her as I ought to have done, as my best, my only real friend, I learned to look upon her as my worst enemy, and to think that I only did right in joining in any schema OF woman's life. 77 that had for its object to deceive her. I will not now enter into all that this led me into. Fortunately, Ellen was too young and too thoughtless to be united in these schemes, hut I was often made very miserable by the way in which I was led to unite in what I was heartily ashamed of, but which my governess thought and re- presented only as fair retaliation for the cruelty and injustice with which we — including of course herself, who, as a near relation, ought to be differently treated — were regarded. In this manner, that is to say, in this secret enmity and resentment against my mother, though openly in complete subjection to her, for never had I dared to oppose, or even allow her to suspect the re- bellion that reigned in my heart, I attained my sixteenth year, when Leopold, my brother, who, in accordance with his own wishes, had been removed from the private boarding school at which he had been placed after the death of my father, to Eton, returned homo to pass a vacation. The two last had been passed in visits to different school-fellows, with the exception of only a few days flying visits to his home, but now he came at the pressing instance — as I understood — of his mother, to devote to her several weeks, and not only to enjoy, but to introduce, to all the pleasures that the Metropolis could afford, the friend and school- fellow in whose so- ciety, and with whose family he had passed his former holidays in all the enjoyments that rural life and sports could afford. Wonderful was the alteration that this announcement made in our house. Everything was, as I may say, turned topsy-turvy. No expense was spared in fitting up rooms worthy of the expected visitors. New and elegant furniture was purchased; extra servants hired, and, in short, everything done that my mother 78 SHADE AND SUNSHINE could think of to place my brother on an equality with his friend ; but in the midst of this, not a thought seemed to be bestowed by my mother on us — my sister and myself. We were even deprived of the little comforts and indulgences we did possess. Our school-room was taken from us to be converted into a billiard-room for my brother and his guests, and after numerous changes, and being driven about from one room to another, as if neither our accommodation nor that of our governess was of the slightest importance when placed in com- petition with that of the heir of the house, or his visitors, we were at length driven to take refuge in two small rooms in the attics, where we should be quite out of sight among a quantity of discarded furniture, ' lumber,' as Martha said, ' like ourselves, and regarded with much the same feeling as only to be got rid of with as little inconvenience as possible.' Here then for three or four weeks before the expected arrival we were constantly confined, working incessantly, occupied at work upon such jmrts of my mother's dresses as she could trust to our hands; but not a word — not a single thought seem- ing to occur to her of the necessity or propriety of any change being made in our appearance, although, as I have said before, I was now a tall girl of sixteen, indeed much older in appearance, and, from the remarks and assurances of my governess, considering myself as quite qualified to play a much more important part in the forthcoming festivities than it seemed ever to have entered my mother's head to allow me. It is but natural to suppose, that in my secret heart I bitterly resented what I considered a cruel injustice, though I was too com- pletely under my mother's subjection openly to say a word on the subject. Martha, indued, tried all in her OF woman's life. 79 power to induce me to speak of it to my mother. Not an hour in the day passed in which she did not lament over the injustice with which I was treated, and point out how differently matters would have heen arranged had my poor father lived. I knew that in some measure her regrets were selfish. She did not, indeed, attempt to deny that she could not venture to make any alteration in her usual plain style of dress, unless it was coun- tenanced hy some addition being made to our wardrobe ; but at the same time I fully believed in the sincerity with which she lamented that my beauty should be so entirely obscured by my childish, old-fashioned frocks, and total want of ornament, such as my fortune warranted, and which any other girl of my age and station would have demanded as a right. Stimulated at last by her incessant lamentations, I took an opportunity, when my mother appeared in uncommonly good humour at our success and industry in the work she had employed us on, to hint that our best frocks were getting shabby and old- fashioned, and — what I thought would be the most forcible argument that I could employ— that I was afraid Leopold would be mortified if his sisters' appearance was not suitable to everything else around him. All my mother's good humour fled in a moment. "'Pray who has put in your head, that the ap- pearance of two insignificant children like you is of the smallest importance ?' she replied ; ' or who has dared to suggest that I am not the only and proper judge of what you should wear, should chance bring you and your brother's visitor together. You do not surely indulge the vain conceit that you and your sister are at an age to be brought forward otherwise than as you are, children, whose education is not yet finished enough to entitle you 80 SHADE AND SUNSHINE to mingle in society, even if you were much older, and had made a better use of your time than I am sorry to say you have, I assure you I should think the finery you seem to covet quite superfluous. The young require nc ornaments but their youth. It is only those whose per- sons are fading that have need of dress to make them ac- ceptable, and secure them the continuation of those atten- tions they have been accustomed to. Let me hear, then, no more of this nonsense, or I shall be apt to think that something else than the folly of children is at the bottom of it, and resent it accordingly.' " Poor Martha," continued Katharine " I could not help pitying, while I despised, the eagerness with which she disclaimed setting any value on dress or appearance, but I knew her very existence depended on her retaining her situation, poor as it was, and I therefore magnani- mously took upon myself the whole blame of coveting an addition to my wardrobe, and incurred a still greater re- primand from my mother, by hinting that I did not believe my kind-hearted brother would be satisfied at seeing his sisters banished to the garrets, and unable to join in any of his pleasures because their appearance would] disgrace him.' " I cannot describe to you " continued Katharine " my mother's awful rage at hearing these first symptoms of rebellion from one who had hitherto appeared all mild- ness and compliance — to have no will but her's, but un- fortunately, as I now feel, I inherited from her not a little of her own disposition, and I scorned to be subdued by- threats and denunciations, especially where, as in the present instance, I felt that I was in the right. The con- sequence of all this was most injurious to me, for I learnt to look more than ever upon her as unjust and oppressive, of woman's life. 81 and a feeling of opposition was roused in my bosom which I was firmly resolved to maintain whenever I had the opportunity. From this time there was nearly open war between us ; I even ventured to reproach my mother with her unjust preference of her darling son, and hinted how ill she repaid the trust my father had placed in her in confiding to her the fortunes of his daughters. But I soon had bitter reason to repent this ; my mother's pene- tration immediately discovered that from our governess, as she was called, I must have learned the secret of my father's disposal of his property; jand though she could not conveniently revenge herself by discharging her, it led to poor Martha's situation being rendered ten times more irksome than ever. Can it be wondered at, that, weak and narrow-minded as was our governess, she took in her turn her revenge, by encouraging me and Ellen in every possible wav against our mother ? My sister was, fortu- nately for her own peace, too young and timid to enter fully into the feelings which Martha delighted to excite, unnatural as it was, in the bosoms of the children against the mother; but I — I acknowledge it with shame — learned almost to hate my mother, and to resolve upon opposing her in every possible way, whenever the oppor- tunity should arise. As it was, I entered into every paltrv scheme which servants are but too apt to practise against their employers, and which I am sorry to say Martha Beresford was but too well practised in. The pride which had hitherto led me to prefer even the dull- ness and monotony of the school room was all laid aside to join in the secret parties in the kitchen or servants' hall, by which they made themselves amends for my mother's strict government ; and I learned and practised all the lessons of deceit winch they so well un- M 82 SHADE AND SUNSHINE derstood how to teach. Little did my mother suspect, while she was enjoying herself in the pleasures of society, which, for the sake of my brother she was daily exten- ding — little did she think that her daughters, who, under the strict system which was laid down for our governess, were forbidden to hold the most distant intercourse with the servants — to whom she had lately added two, afoot- man and groom — were now the regular associates of their pleasures, and listening with greediness to all the low cunning flattery, which confirmed what the governess had previously insinuated, that my mother's chief motive for keeping me in seclusion, and denying me the in- dulgences enjoyed by other young ladies of my age and fortune, was her jealousy of my beauty, more than her unjust preference of my brother. Leopold's return home was, I scarcely know why, delayed three months beyond the time originally fixed, and during that interval my mother's haughtiness, and cold imperious temper towards me, who seemed particularly obnoxious to her, became more unbearable to me, and her opposition to the slight- est relaxation of what she called her system of education, more and more determined. But I must do myself here the justice to state that it was not only from my governess, and her friends and associates, that I heard Mrs. Beresford condemned for her mistaken method of bring- ing up her daughters ; it had become whispered about even among the tradespeople with whom she dealt ; our appearance confirmed all that was said of her niggard- liness towards us, while the plain table which was kept for the governess and her pupils, and which I knew was very unwillingly submitted to by Martha, who bitterly regretted the loss of the plenty and delicacies she had been used to during her parents' lives, were exaggerated, no doubt, of woman's life. 83 by the reports of the servants, into something nearly approaching starvation, and I was sometimes not a little startled at discovering that we were the objects of a pity, which I confess I felt degraded by more than once. I was at once hurt and angry, at finding that my pale cheeks and slender form were the natural consequences of close con- finement and sedentary employment, increased too by the unhappiness of my mind at my mother's treatment of me, and — for I had still so much good feeling left towards her, and so much self-respect, as to regret the system of decep- tion in which I had become involved — more than once I was mortified at discovering that these appearances were attributed to the actual want of the necessaries of life, and scarcely could I restrain my indignation at seeing the sa- tisfaction and gratitude with which our governess ac- cepted the good things that were secretly added to our certainly plain, but sufficient fare, sometimes from our own cook, but not unfrequently from the kitchens of the substantial tradesmen with whom my mother dealt, and who really felt for the poor governess and her pupils, for what they conceived the worst of all inflictions. It seems scarcely necessary to mention these things," continued Ka- tharine, "but they were of importance, for, though conscious how greatly exaggerated they were; and indeed, for myself little valuing such indigencies or regretting their depri- vation, they all added to my causes of complaint against my mother, and confirmed in my mind the spirit of op- position, and the determination to act independently of her, and to show her how deeply was engraven there, my resentment of her injustice. How ashamed too, did I feel, as by degrees I became more fully aware of my mother's ruling foibles — the mixture of deep-seated avarice with the love of show and parade, which led her into a thousand 84 SHADE AND SUNSHINE inconsistences, and was so well understood and profited by those about her. How have I blushed for her, when I have heard her ridiculed for some ostentatious display- amounting in fact to extravagance beyond what, as it was asserted, her fortune warranted, and which it was said was gross injustice to her children ; and then almost in the same breath she would be abused for a series of petty meannesses — paltry savings, at the expense of her im- mediate dependants, which it was impossible not to des- pise, and which none of them hesitated to declare they would seize the first opportunity to avenge by taking her in, as they expressed it, to a much larger amount than she imagined she had gained by them. And I was compelled to hear all this, and to seem to approve — aye even when my bosom was swelling almost to suffocation with pride and mortification — while the highest compli-, ment that could be paid to me by my unworthy asso- ciates, was the certainty that if ever I had it in my power to show it, my conduct would be completely the reverse of my mother's. But of that there was little hope. No, the more was the pity, was almost universally the con- clusion come to on such occasions. Her darling would, no doubt, inherit all, without the " old woman " should luckily die without making her will; and I was bid to pray for this as the luckiest chance that could befal me ; un- less, indeed, by equal good fortune, it should happen that " the darling boy " should break his precious neck in a steeple-chase, or be taken off by some other fortunate chance, before he came of age. And then would follow numerous speculations as to what would be my mother's conduct to us — I and Ellen — but this was a subject I would not, could not, bear to hear discussed ; I really and sincerely loved my brother, and it excited no little OF WOMAN S LIFE. 85 surprise, and I believe some doubt whether I was iu my right senses, when I declared that I should hate myself if I were capable of harbouring a wish for my brother's death ; on the contrary, I would willingly give up every shilling that was likely to fall to my lot, if it was neces- sary to his happiness. Alas ! how little did I, or even they who thus coolly calculated on the probabilities, or rather the possibilities of such an event, foresee how near was the event which was thus argued between them as a mere distant chance, which I ought to feel grateful for, if anything so unlikely should happen. Thank Heaven ! I never for one moment indulged such a thought — admitted such a possibility. On the contrary, I resented its introduction, and, as I before said, vindicated my dear brother from every unjust accusation, and declared I was quite willing to depend solely on his generosity. I loved Leopold indeed, butter than any human being; and not my mother herself welcomed him with more warmth than I did, when he at length stood in the parlour in which I had parted with him nearly three years before. My mother had frequently seen him during that time, but he had never visited his home nor held any intercourse with us, (his sisters) but I still retained all my affection for him, and not even my mother herself felt happier or prouder of him than I did, when I saw how wonderfully he was improved. Leopold did not come alone, as we had been taught to expect from the preparations that had been made, for my mother had never condescended to enter into any explanations. He brought with him his favourite schoolfellow and friend, with whom he had spent his previous holidays. Cecil Fitzharland — that was his name — was two or tlnee years older than Leopold, that is to say, he was turned of twenty, and certainly appeared 86 SHADE AND SUNSHINE even older than that. He was, undeniably, a much finer figure than my brother, for Leopold was scarcely middle-sized, while his friend was very tall and im- posing in his appearance, but I scarcely saw that or indeed anything else but my brother's handsome animated face, and I was half angry with my governess for the admi- ration she bestowed upon Fitzharland. It was soon however but too evident that Leopold was not equally satisfied with my appearance. I had contrived, unknown to my mother, to be in the parlour below when he arrived. I took care to let him see me through the window when he alighted from the post-chaise, and I saw him look at me with an expression of curiosity, and then I rushed to the door to welcome him, quite indifferent to the looks of his friend who followed him. But I could not be blind to the change in Leopold's countenance, as he replied to the whispers of Fitzharland — " c Yes, this is my sister Katharine ; ' and I shrank back, hurt and abashed, for his manner seemed to say that he was disappointed in my appearance, and half ashamed to acknowledge our relationship; but at this minute my mother's voice was heard on the stairs, and without bestowing any further greeting on me, he hurried his friend away to meet her. " ' How could it be otherwise,' observed my governess, when with tears I spoke of his coldness : ' he was vexed, no doubt, at seeing you look so dowdyish, as that frock makes you. I'll be bound I understand it all. He knew how handsome you promised to be when he left home, and he's been talking of his beautiful sister Katharine to his friend, raising his curiosity and expectations, and then, when he saw you — besides, only think how strange it must have appeared to Mr. Fitzharland, instead of of woman's life. 87 meeting a fashionable, elegant girl, introduced properly by her mother, who ought to be proud of her daughter, he finds you trembling, and hiding yourself to steal a word — a kiss — with your brother, and hears you say, ' Don 't tell my mamma you have seen me, she does not know I am out of the school-room, or not gone to bed as well as my sister Ellen, who longs to see you, as well as me, but had not courage to disobey mamma's com- mands.' That was what you said, or something like it, was it not, Kate ? " ' Yes, I believe so,' I replied, 'but what then ? Leo- pold could not blame me for being anxious to see him, and what right had his friend to — ' " ' None at all,' interrupted my governess ; ' but cannot you see that your brother has been representing you to his friend, as a beautiful, accomplished girl — perhaps even planning to secure you not only an admirer, but a husband ; and then how provoked he must have felt to see nothing but an awkward, bashful girl, talking like a child of being sent off to bed — and you don 't even look to advan- tage to day, for your eyes are swollen with crying and — " ' There, that is enough of it, Miss Beresford,' I in- terrupted, half-angry, and forgettiug the compliments her remarks had conveyed, in the mortifying conclusions she had drawn. I dare say,' I spitefully added, 'you would have made a much more favourable impression if you had been in my place. However, I care nothing what Mr. Fitz- harland's thoughts were about me; and as to my brother's intentions, I really don't believe he ever thought of the match-making scheme you attribute to him. It is not likely — it is quite improbable — that he should think of such a thing for a girl of my age.' " ' Your mother was not older when she married your 88 SHADE AND SUNSHINE father,' replied Martha quietly. 'However, you need not blush and tremble so, my dear,' she continued in a sar- castic tone, ' for, whatever were your brother's intentions, I dare swear your appearance has put them all at rest, and your mother will take care to keep you in the back ground, so as to prevent your appearing to better ad- vantage in Mr. Fitzharland's eyes.' " ' Again Mr. Fitzharland !' I exclaimed angrily. ' What do I care what he thinks of me ? He is nothing to men or ever will be, and I really wonder that you should persist in making his opinion of so much consequence. If you consider him of so much importance you had better try what your own clianns can effect ; come, do now, Martha, make up your mind to set your cap at him. I should be delighted to be the confederate of a love affair, and who knows but it may end in an elopement, and in a trip to Gretna Green, with me for a bridesmaid. Oh, what a surprise it would be to Mamma." " ' Take care that you do not give her a surprise some day that she would be less likely to forgive,' re- plied Martha, with malicious emphasis. " I was startled I confess, half- frightened, at her look and manner, though in the innocence of my heart, for I was innocent then — Oh, yes ! Heaven be my witness, I dreamt not of offence — of aught that was inconsistent with the utmost purity — I could form no idea to what she al- luded. What I had said was prompted only by girlish levity seeking to be revenged upon my governess, for what I considered the unprovoked mortification her re- marks on my appearance in the eyes of my brother's friend had occasioned. My raillery, I have no doubt, sounded bitterly in Miss Beresford's ears, for she could not be blind to the fact that her looking-glass of woman's life. 89 taught her, that the few personal attractions she might have once possessed had long since departed. She had neves been handsome in her best days, but now years of petty cares, mortifications, and disappointment, added sourness to her countenance and rendered her even more than plain. She was, besides, though she would have been vei*y unwilling to own so much, fully ten years the senior of the young man with whom I had so thought- lessly connected her as a lover. Vain, as she certainly was, Martha Beresford could not but feel that the sup- position was too ridiculous, but she attributed to me what I did not deserve, in supposing that I was capable of a cold-blooded insult to her. I was in fact too much attached — too sincerely compassionated her under my mother's haughty treatment of her. Besides, we were fellow sufferers on that account, if there had been no other bond of union between us; but there was, for I gave Martha Beresford credit for disinterested and warm-hearted attachment to me, which I fully appre- ciated and returned by as much love as it was possible to feel for one who had many — many striking defects, both in character and temper. " I am afraid all this is very tedious and uninteresting to you, Sir," continued Katharine, sighing and looking up to St. Orme with a pleading look, and a blush that rendered her singular beauty more than beautiful ; "but this conversation was — if I may be allowed the expres- sion — an epoch in my life, to which I now look back with regret — with, I may say, agony — for I feel that on it depended — from it arose — all that I have since done and suffered. Martha Beresford never forgot or forgave the imaginary insult, and bitterly — oh, how bitterly she avenged it." N 90 SHADE AND SUNSHINE Katharine hid her face with her clasped hands, but they could not conceal the large tear-drops that betrayed the feelings, which words alone were insufficient to ex- press, and St. Orme did not seek to repress those tears, for he felt that they were a necessary relief to the over- charged brain. " From that time," she continued, " my governess spared no pains to inculcate in my mind feelings that it should have been her duty to repress ; she made my mother's conduct towards me the never ceasing subject for reproach, and at the same time flattered my vanity by inducing the belief that it was jealousy of my youth and beauty that actuated her (my mother), in keeping me so entirely confined with Ellen, that I scarcely ever — and then merely by accident — beheld either Leopold, or his friend, Fitzharland. My mother was engaged constantly in a round of pleasures with them, or when at home, they were surrounded with company. But we, as well as our governess, were strictly forbidden to leave our rooms (the attics), and the only enjoyment we partook of, if it could be so called, was when from^Xhe landing of our prison we could listen to the music below. My mother, I afterwards discovered, had satisfied my brother that I was, partly from natural stupidity, and partly from obstinacy and perverseness, so behind-hand in every ac- quirement usual in girls of my age, that I was unfit to be introduced to society for at least another year. Ellen was of course too young to be thought of. The round of pleasure in which Leopold moved, left him little time to think of me, and except that Miss Beresford, in defiance of my mother's regulations, contrived once or twice to throw herself in the way of him and his friend, I believe it would have been forgotten we were in the same house. OF woman's life. 93 Leopold, indeed, came up-stairs with oiir mother the morning after his arrival, when I and Ellen were engaged at our everlasting needlework; but though he looked at me as if better satisfied with my appearance than he had been the evening before at my stolen interview, his general expression of disappointment in his sisters — for we were both too much in awe of my mother to enter into con- versation with him freely — and indeed, his manner to- wards us was anything but encouraging, while he seemed to regard our governess with something nearly approach- ing to contempt. " ' Whv don't you try what a good school would effect?' I heard him say to my mother, as he stood looking through one of the windows upon the tiles and chimnev-pots which comprised all our view. 'It's enough to make the girls dull and stupid, to be stived up here." My mother bit her lips. "'I have reasons which I will explain another time," she replied ; and he appeared satisfied. I was, I confess, more angry than pleased at his suggestion, much as I wished for any sort of change from the life we led. But led as I had been by my governess to believe myself fully qualified to take my place in society, and enter into all its enjoyments, I felt mortified and indignant at a propo- sition which seemed intended to throw me back into childhood, with all its restraints. Miss Beresford was still more angry, when I repeated what I had heard. "'Never mind, dear Kate,' she observed at last; 'let me alone — we shall find some opportunity of convincing this upstart brother of yours, that your time has not been so much thrown away, or your governess so badly quali- fied, as he seems to think. You want only the oppor- tunity, to show them, that you are not only equal, but far 92 SHADE AND SUNSHINE superior to ninety-nine out of a hundred girls of your age ; and as to person, I defy him, among all that are admitted to your mother's circle, to find one that can compete with you. Ay, and we '11 find means to make him and his friend, Mr. Fitzharland, acknowledge this.' " Three weeks passed in this manner, and I had only seen Leopold once, except when he visited our school- room, I began to despair of the desired opportunity; but one morning, when we had been into the Park for our usual morning's exercise, which was always concluded before the time at which my mother, her son and friend, appeared at the breakfast table, we accidentally delayed our return half an hour beyond the prescribed time. " ' Run up-stairs as quickly and lightly as you can, girls,' observed our governess, as, after ringing the area bell, to avoid disturbing my mother, we were admitted into the hall. ' Take care not to speak as you pass her chamber door, or we shall have a fine lecture. Stop, give me your bonnets and shawls, and then, if you are seen, she will not suspect we are just come in. You can make an excuse, that you have stayed down in the par- lour an hour, by way of change; that will be better than owning that we have been out till now, for it may give her an excuse for stopping our morning walks, and quite shutting us up in our prison.' She caught my bonnet off as she spoke, and in so doing brought down my hair with it, which is unusually long and thick. I happened to be in rather a gayer humour than I had been for a long time, and shaking my head wildly brought the thick clusters of ringlets— of which I was very proud — over my face, so as completely to veil my features. " ' There,' I observed, ' if she catches a glance of me she wont know me, but think I am some wild nymph of of woman's life. 93 the woods ;' and, without waiting for my companions, I darted up the stairs, jumping rather than running — taking, in fact, two stairs at a time, and whirling my curls around, like a mad, thoughtless child, rather than a girl of the mature age of sixteen years and some months." The sweet, arch smile, that for a moment lingered on Katharine's rosy lips, sent the warm hlood thrilling through St. Orme's heart, and sparkled in his eyes. If she had appeared to him so heautiful, oppressed with sorrow and home down under the influence of shame, how much more lovely must she have been at the period of happy innocence and thoughtlessness to which she now alluded. His momentary rapture was succeeded by a deep sigh of pity and regret ; and Katharine — who seemed to read his thoughts in that transition — cast down her eyes, and suffered the thin, transparent lids to veil them, till the dark lashes rested on her cheeks and concealed their expression, as though she felt ashamed of having for a moment suffered herself to be betrayed into something like levity, or at least a momentary for- getfulness of her sorrows. After a few moments of mutual silence, she resumed; — " I had passed safely the dreaded chamber door, and had reached the second landing, on which my brother's and Mr. Fitzharland's sleeping-rooms were situated, when my course was suddenly interrupted — I was caught in the arms of some person, which were ex- tended to stop my giddy career, and pressed closely to his breast. Not for an instant suspecting that any one would have assumed such a liberty but my brother, I exclaimed — without trying to release myself, or even to throw buck the locks that intercepted my sight. " ' Oh Leopold ! how you frightened me. My dear — 94 SHADE AND SUNSHINE clear brother, you do love me then still. I thought you had quite forgotten me; that you despised your little sister, who loves you so very — very dearly.' " He answered me by returning — with such violence as almost to take away my breath — the kiss with which, in spite of my long locks still veiling my face, I enforced my words. But what was my astonishment, my terror, when a voice that was strange to me, but which sounded the most musical and soft I had ever heard, replied — "'Despise — forget such an angel! how could it be possible ? But tell me, lovely creature, can it be that you are the sister of my friend Beresford? Most cer- tainly not the sister whom I saw the evening I arrived ?' " I had by this time recovered my recollection suffi- ciently to feel the insolent liberty he had taken, and this last remark increased my anger. "' I do not know that there was anything in my man- ner upon that occasion, to induce you to suppose that such freedoms as you have taken would be welcome,' I replied, with a dignity that — as he afterwards told me — surprised him even more than the alteration in my personal appearance, from the awkward, constrained, childish being I had then appeared. 'You are mistaken, I assure you,' I continued, ' if you suppose, because you do not see me in my proper place in this house, that I am so ignorant of the rules of propriety, as to submit patiently to your impertinence. If my mother treats me with so little consideration as to subject me to the insults of her guests, I shall see if my brother will countenance it.' " He interrupted me by the most humble apologies. ' Nothing,' he said, ' could be farther from his thoughts than to offer me any insult. He had been betrayed into OF WOMAN S LIFE. 95 what — he acknowledged — was an improper freedom, solely by the charms of my appearance — the singular beauty of that chief ornament of womankind,' glancing at my dishevelled hair, which, recalled to sudden remembrance, I now attempted blushingly to gather up and twist into a knot. While I was so employed — he watching me with undisguised admiration — my governess and Ellen came up the stairs, and leaving him to explain to her, if he chose, what had passed, I ran up the other flight of stairs to our prison, as Miss Beresford always called it, and disappeared. " She was in raptures with Mr. Fitzharland when she joined me. He had enlisted her completely in his cause by the compliments he had paid her, for to her instruc- tions and example, she said, he attributed the dignity, elegance and propriety with which I had reproved his impertinent freedom, for which he now implored in the humblest terms, my pardon. Alas ! few females, I am afraid, sincerely resent offences which are attributed to their beauty. Martha declared it would be quite ridi- culous in me to persist in showing any indignation at his involuntary offence. Besides, if I put in practice my threat of appealing to my brother, I should only foment a quarrel between him and Fitzharland, and perhaps, drive the latter out of the house. ' I will not repeat the arguments or the arts by which she succeeded in her plans, for plans I afterwards knew they were, to bring about clandestine interviews between Fitzharland and myself, until at last, every hour that he could steal from my mother and Leopold, was devoted to me, and I be- came as ardently and sincerely attached to him as he pro- fessed to be to me. I knew I was doing wrong, and many times I almost resolved to seek an interview, either with 9G SHADE AND SUNSHINE my mother or Leopold, and acknowledge to them all that had taken place, for, I confess, a secret presentiment told me that it would end badly; but my mother's cold, austere manners seemed to increase every time she con- descended to come to our room and inquire how we were getting on, and she seemed more than ever to be deter- mined to consider me as a mere child, to whom the prospect of being liberated from the constraints of the school-room was yet far distant. How then, could I dare to talk to her of a lover, to own that I had entered into a solemn contract — as I considered it — to become the wife of Fitzharland, whenever he should be in a situation to require its performance? Besides, it would be the ruin of my governess, to betray the part she had acted, and, as I then believed — though I knew she was doing wrong — that she was actuated solely by her attachment to me, and her desire to secure my future happiness ; it would have been the height of ingratitude to have re- vealed what would have inevitably caused her being turned out of her situation, and deprived, not only of her only friend, but of her character, and consequently of her living. Oh, into what a labyrinth of art and decep- tion was I now plunged, without the power of extricating myself, and yet, Fitzharland became more and more ex- acting and bold the more I shrank and became terrified. As to Leopold, he — as I too soon learned from Fitz- harland — was gradually emancipating himself from his mother's control and guidance, and plunging into dissipa- tion and pursuits which rendered her, and, indeed, every friend, truly miserable. To him therefore, I could not apply for advice or counsel, and I was obliged to stifle my uneasiness as much as I could, and hope that all would end as my governess predicted it would and as it ought, OF woman's life. 97 in a happy marriage, and my mother's first mortification and then forgiveness. More than once, at the persuasion of Fitzharland and Martha Beresford, and taking advan- tage of my mother's being safely engaged till a late hour, I accompanied him to places of public amusement. It was shameful, they agreed, that I should be denied pleasures which every young woman of my age was allowed to enjoy. Fitzharland always behaved with the strictest delicacy and propriety on those occasions, and every time they were repeated I learned to tremble less at the possibility of my absence from home being dis- covered. The worst of all was, the injury I knew I was doing to Ellen— my dear little sister— by involving her in these disgraceful secrets ; her silence was secured by repeated presents from my lover, and indulgence of every kind from Miss Beresford, who only replied to my conscientious scruples that it was all nonsense. ' Ellen is too young and thoughtless to draw such conclusions as you in your wisdom think of. She will forget all about it after you are married.' u I only tell you this," continued Katharine, looking up in St. Orme's face, " to prove to you that I was not the reckless, depraved creature my mother represented me to be. Heaven knows, many — many and bitter were the tears I shed, even at the very moment that I assumed the appearance of happiness and contentment, for I felt that I was doing wrong, and I trembled less for the consequences to myself than to others. All this time I knew nothing with certainty of Fitzharland's circum- stances or position in the world, except that he was the only son of a merchant in the city of London. He was always fashionably dressed and appeared to have plenty of money at his command. He would, indeed, have 98 SHADE AND SUNSHINE pressed upon my acceptance many expensive presents, but I always refused thorn, for, besides that my natural pride revolted from such obligations, what, I observed to him, could be the use of things so unsuitable to my appearance in other respects — I, whose dress was as plain, though not half so good, as a quakeress'. A hand- some, though not showy shawl and bonnet, as different as well could be from the one I usually wore, and a thick black veil — for the purpose of disguise should we encounter any one likely to recognise me in our stolen interviews — I did, most unwillingly, consent to accept from him, though not till persuaded and urged to it by Martha Bcresford, who, besides pleading the necessity of it, suggested also the additional argument that it placed me on greater equality with him in point of appearance, and saved him the mortification of being seen by any of his companions with one whose appearance would disgrace him. One or two adventures, which I will not trouble you by relating, convinced me she had judged rightly, for it was with difficulty — and certainly owing entirely to the change made in my appearance by this dress — that I escaped beiug recognised by acquaintances of my mother, who had casually seen me at home, and knew Fitzharland as Leopold's intimate friend. Once, espe- cially, in the pit of the Drury Lane Theatre, I was addressed by name, and, but for Fitzharland's coolness and presence of mind, should have been discovered ; as it was, the gentleman went away only half- satisfied that he was mistaken. To avoid the consequences that might ensue from this person's mentioning the circumstance to my mother, which actually was the case, Fitzharland took the bold and dangerous step of telling her himself jthe mistake her friend had made, adding — of woman's life. '••'•> •••The gentleman,— Mr. Wickhani, I thmk he is called— surprised me very much, my -dear Mrs. Beres- ford, by saying that you have a daughter as old as my cousin Julia, who was my companion. I thought your daughters were both children still at school.' "'You were quite right, Mr. Fitzharland," replied my mother, with even more than her usual stiffness, though somewhat rather confused. 'But, pray how old is your cousin ?' " Fitzharland laughed. " ' Ladies' ages are a delicate subject to speak of,' he replied, ' but, I may tell you, though Julia would not like to hear the secret betrayed, that she is out of her ' teens,' though she looks much younger and would wil- lingly persuade herself she is quite a girl.' " ' Pshaw, ridiculous !' exclaimed my mother. ' I. have no daughter near that age. But, now I recollect, Mr. Wickhani is very near-sighted.' " The conversation was dropped, but long after this circumstance was remembered to my disadvantage. It was one among many proofs that were brought forward to substantiate the charges of my consummate art and duplicity, and acquit my mother of harshness in shutting her doors against me, and forbidding my dear sister from ever speaking or thinking of one who was accused of having done everything in her power to corrupt that dear girl's innocent heart. " I am hastening to the conclusion," continued Katha- rine, drying the tears which had been forced from her eyes by these recollections. " For several days after this narrow escape from detection, I remained firm in my determination not to run such a risk again. Martha Beresford, who was completely won to Fitzharland's 100 SHADE AND SUNSHINE interest by his continual presents, in vain tried by argu- ment and raillery to shake my determination, and my lover at length adopted a new means of inducing me to yield to his solicitations. He had long expressed an earnest wish that I should hear Madame Pasta sing at the Italian Opera House, declaring my voice strikingly resembled hers, and only wanted cultivation to make it as delightful. My vanity and curiosity were, I confess, greatly excited on this subject, but still, my terror at the danger I had ran triumphed, and I resolutely resisted his entreaties, though he offered to go into the gallery with me, where, though he said the company were very respectable, it was not likely we should meet any of my mother's friends. "'Well then,' he observed, when he found it impos- sible to shake my determination, ' it must be put off until I have a husband's authority to command your attendance. Say that you consent that I should make the necessary arrangements, dearest, and I will not delay my happiness another day.' ,; I could only blush and tremble in reply to this. It took me, indeed, quite by surprise, for he had never before talked decidedly of marriage, or, at least, had spoken of it as an event yet at a distance. At last, I recollected myself. " How shall I ever look mamma in the -face," I ob j served, " when she comes to know all ?' " ' Mamma's authority will be at end then, dear Kate,' he replied, ' and you will have no occasion to fear her condemnation. Besides,' he continued smiling, ' she will be like other mammas, she will feel it to be no use to scold when the deed is done.' " But you do not surely mean/' I replied, "that— that of woman's life. 101 it can be done without letting her know — without asking her consent ? "'I do mean it, my dearest girl,' he replied, ' and if you love me — if you are sincere in your professions that you wish for no greater happiness than to pass your life with me, as you know you told me the other night, you will not make a single objection to my plan. Your mother, you say yourself, and every action of hers proves it, has little regard for you, it will therefore give her no pain to discover that you have transferred your love and duty to a husband ; but I know her character — the secret springs of her actions better than you do, dear girl — and I am convinced, were I or any one else to apply for her sanction to address you, she would not only refuse, but take every means in her power to pre- vent an union and separate us for ever. Here is your governess, I will appeal to her good sense and her knowledge of Mrs. Beresford's disposition, whether I am not right.' " Fitzbarland would, I knew, be right in Martha's eyes, were he ever so wrong ; yet I suffered myself to be guided and influenced by her decision in his favour, and to believe her open and positive assertion, that my mother's jealousy of me, and her desire still to appear a young woman, would be quite enough to prevent her giving her consent to my marriage. " ' And then the expense too, my dear," she sarcas* tically observed, ' for of course if she consented, there must be a new wardrobe, and a thousand etceteras out of her pocket that would break her heart. No, no, Mr. Fitzharland is right, it will never do to consult her on the subject.' "I will not repeat the arguments I used, or the ob- 102 SHADE AND SUNSHINE jections I raised, they were all over-ruled, and Fitzhar- land left us, transported as it appeared with joy, at having received ray permission to put up the banns of marriage at the church of Caraberwcll parish, in which he had lately taken a temporary residence, aud occasionally slept there, solely, as he acknowledged, with a view to carry out this plan, a licence being out of the question, on account of our being both under the age of majority. " My fate was now, I considered, decided, and though still of course anxious to conceal everything from my mother, I became less scrupulous in my compliance with Fitzharland's requests, and when, at the end of a fort- night after the second publication of the banns — as he informed me — he again pressed me to accompany him to hear the celebrated Italian singer I before mentioned, I scarcely offered any objection ; and yet, as the time approached that I was to steal out of the house and join Fitzharland, who was to meet me in the neighbourhood, my heart failed me ; I seemed to have a presentiment that it would end badly, and I almost prayed that some- thing would happen to keep my mother at home, and thus afford me a sufficient excuse for breaking my en- gagement, for while she was in the house it would have been impossible for me to leave it. Whether she had any suspicion that her orders were not strictly obeyed, that we — Miss Beresford, Ellen and I — were in bed by nine o'clock — we did not discover, but for the last week or two she had made it an invariable rule to come into our room the last thing before she went out for the evening. It was within twenty minutes of that time, and I began to think, almost with satisfaction, that I should be obliged to go to bed instead of dressing to go out, when we heard a carriage drive from the door, and of woman's life. 103 a minute after Martha, who had been listening over the balusters ran into our room — '" She is gone, thank goodness!' she exclaimed ' with- out coming up to drive us to bed. Come, Katharine, make haste, your lord and master will soon get im- patient for you.' " I don't know how it was, but this expression seemed to reconcile me to go; and yet, when I was quite ready, my courage deserted me. My legs trembled under me, and I sat down, as if it was impossible to make the exer- tion of going down the three flights of stairs and stealing through the hall, although my governess always accom- panied me, prepared with an excuse for my going out, should any of the servants intercept me. There was little fear of that, by-the-by. They were generally too anxious to make the most of their own hours of liberty, when they had got rid of their mistress. Besides, I really be- lieve they all pitied the life we led— so much worse even than their own — and would sooner have assisted than impeded any attempt on my part to elude my mother's strict discipline. It was done at last, however; and, trembling in every limb, though trying to appear calm, and even delighted, I joined Tutzhaiiand at the comer of the street. Oh ! that I had but listened to that presenti- ment ! Such feelings are, I am sure, sent from Heaven, or breathed in our ears by some good angel, to keep us from acts that must lead to ruin ; but I shut my eves and ears to everything but the handsome, animated lace that was regarding me with looks of fond approbation, and I heard nothing but his rich, harmonious voice, con- gratulating me and himself that all necessity for secrecy and constraint would soon be over. The evening passed away quickly and delightfully. Everything was new to 101 SHADE AND SUNSHINE me, and my own opinion of myself was raised beyond all moderation by the compliments my companion paid to my voice and musical talents. We did not leave till the conclusion of the ballet. Fitzharland knew the party with whom my mother was engaged, and he assured me there was not the slightest fear that she would return home before two or three o'clock ; and, even if she did, it would not be difficult for him to get me into the house without being discovered. His own servant was devoted to him ; and more than once his (Wilson's) ingenuity had rescued us from the danger of discovery. It was not until we were rattling along the streets in the hackney- coach he had hired, that my terrors returned. Fitzhar- land tried in vain to re-assure me, and at last became almost angry at my perseverance. The carriage stopped at some distance from the house, and we proceeded in silence. The moment we came in sight of it my presentiments were realised ; there were lights in nearly every room, and as I looked up to the drawing-room I saw more than one figure reflected on the blinds, as if hurrying back- wards and forwards in consternation. " ' Something dreadful has happened ! ' I exclaimed. 1 My mother has been taken ill — perhaps she is dying ! Oh ! why did I ever leave the house ? I knew it would end in misery. Oh ! if she should have called for me, and discovered that I am away.' " l And if she should,' replied Fitzharland, f it is not irretrievable. We have but to tell the truth boldly — that we are engaged — to do away with all impropriety, and prove that it is entirely her own fault that we have been compelled to have recourse to deception, to enjoy each other's society.' " These words gave me courage, but still not sufficient of woman's life. 105 to go at once openly to the door of my home, and seek an explanation of the unusual appearances. I had ob- served, while I was still hesitating how to act — unwilling to let my companion leave me, and afraid to knock my- self for admittance— the front door was opened, and an old man-servant, the only one my mother had kept who had lived with the family in my father's time, came out. I rushed across the street to him. (i * Oh, Joseph ! ' I exclaimed, ' tell mo what has hap- pened. My mother ! Is she ill — dying ? Tell me at once ! ' " f No, no, Miss Katharine,' ho replied ; ' my mistress is not one to he killed so easily, though Heaven knows what has happened is enough to break many a mother's heart. But she will get over it after a bit — perhaps bo the better of it ; for it seems like a judgment fallen upon her for making such a difference between her children. Ah ! if my poor master had lived, this would never have happened, either to our young master or you, for both would have been brought up under proper government.' " I interrupted him, by again demanding what had happened. " "" You know, I suppose,' he replied, ; that Mr. Leo- pold persisted, in spite of his mother's prayers and tears, in going off to Epsom Eaces this morning, on the horse he bought a few days ago, though he was warned that it was very fiery-spirited, and he, as everybody knows, is far from being a good horseman. Your mother and he quarrelled sadly about it at breakfast-time. Heaven for- give me for saying so now, but they were but too much alike in spirit ; and the more she said against his going, and his being incapable of managing such a horse, the more resolute he was to go. They were on bad terms, 100 SHADE AND SUNSHINE too, iu other respects. She was angry at his having spent so much money lately; and especially at his having given such a price for this very horse — a hundred and fifty pounds, I believe it was ; she said he had been taken in by some of the set of sharpers he had got intimate with, and threatened him that she would make a great alteration in his goings-on ; that she would no longer supply him with money to fool away in extravagance ; and that she should alter her ways altogether as to the girls — meaning you, Miss Katharine, and your sister — ■ and not let them any longer be the sufferers, to encou- rage him in wasting what they ought to share. This put him in a towering passion, poor young man, and he said many bitter things to her, declaring that he wanted nothing of her but his just rights, and declaring that she sought more the gratification of her own avarice and sel- fishness in keeping you as she did, and that he would sooner give up all claim to his father's property, and work for his own living, as his father had done before him, than be a party to such injustice as she was showing to her daughters. I heard all this as I was waiting at break- fast, and though I knew Mr. Leopold was right in some respects, yet still I was sorry for my mistress, because I know she told the truth when she accused him of being ungrateful, for that it had been for his sake she had neg- lected her other and much more dutiful children.' " ' However,' said she, ' I shall know how to act for the future. Katharine is old enough to be brought for- ward and become my companion, and to her I shall henceforward look for the duty and gratitude that you deny me.' "'Poor Mr. Leopold!' continued Joseph. ' I will do him the justice to say, that I believe he was more pleased OF woman's life. 107 than vexed at her determination, but he scorned to give in to her, even in appearance ; so he walked away with- out even bidding her " good morning." ' "'You are determined, then, to go on that vicious horse ? ' she called out, as he got to the head of the stairs." "'He made no answer, and you know how dreadfully passionate my mistress is,' continued the old man ; ' but I never in my life saw her in such a passion as she was now. She seemed determined to frighten him out of going, by the shocking wishes she uttered, if he did per- sist in his obstinacy ; but he only laughed contemptu- ously, and went out at once to the stables, where the horse was already waiting for him, and a few minutes after I saw him dashing along at full gallop on the beautiful horse — for it certainly is beautiful to look at— followed by his groom. " ' And it has thrown him ! ' I interrupted, having with difficulty restrained my impatience to listen to the old man's tedious way of telling the story. ' Is he much hurt, my brother— my poor brother'— I repeated. " Joseph shook his head. " ' Two hours ago,' he replied, ' he was brought home insensible. He had nearly reached London in safety — Kennington, I think they said — when the sudden slash of a whip, from the mischievous driver of some sort of carriage, as he passed, startled the horse. He reared up. Poor Mr. Leopold ! he had been drinking freely of Cham- pagne on the race-course, perhaps to drown the remem- brance of his quarrel with your mother, for you know how fond they were of each other. However it was, he had no command of the horse. It reared up again and again, and at last fell over. Your poor brother's head 108 SHADE AND SUNSHINE was dashed against the curb -stone, and when they picked him up he was insensible. Everybody thought lie was dead ; however, they took him to the nearest doctor's, and after awhile he came to himself and insisted upon going home, saying that there was nothing the matter with him. He had been stunned, he said, but that was all, and they could hardly persuade him from mounting his horse again, for his groom had caught it, and followed with it to the doctor's. They did persuade him at last, however, to get into the doctor's carriage, which was at the door, just going to take him out, and so he came home with him ; but before they got to our house, Mr. Leopold had gone off again in a sort of fit, and we brought him into the house like a corpse. It was lucky,' continued the old man, ' that the doctor did come home with him, for we shouldn't have known how to act. As it was, he was carried to bed and bled, and then he came to again.' " ' My mother — where is my mother ? ' were the first words he uttered. The governess, who was on the stairs when he was brought in — though we thought she had been in bed long before— wrote a few words on a slip of paper, just to prepare my mistress for what had hap- pened, and sent the groom off with it to Bedford Square, where Mrs. Beresford was gone to a concert ; and then Mr. Leopold, who seemed very impatient for his mother to come, suddenly asked for his sisters.' " ' Let Katharine and Ellen come to me,' he said ; ' I have neglected them too long. Poor girls ! I have not done my duty by them, and now it is too late — too late. But I will insist that they shall be differently treated ; I will make my mother promise to alter her conduct to- wards them. Oh ! if I could live, I would be a brother op woman's life. 109 to thein indeed. It was but last night I dreamed that my father came from the grave to reproach me for my neglect and indifference to them — to tell me that I ought to be a guardian to them — that I should force my mother to do her duty by them. And I will do it, if my life is spared. But it will not be. I am dying — I feel that I am dying. Lose no time — bring them to me.' " ' He is delirious, Sir,' whispered the governess to the doctor. 'It will never do to frighten the poor children by bringing them into such a scene.' " 'Are they children ? ' said the gentleman, surprised. " Oh, yes ; too young to be of any service here,' re- plied Miss Beresford ; ' besides, their mamma is so par- ticular, that I dare not rouse them out of bed without I had her leave to do so. Try and pacify him, if you can, Sir, till Mrs. Beresford returns home.' " ' Poor Mr. Leopold wouldn't be pacified; he insisted upon his sisters being brought to him before the opera- tion that the two doctors said was necessary — for the first had sent for another, and they agreed that his head was fractured, and he must suffer an operation — the trephine, I think they called it — but, poor young man, he said from the first that he knew he should not live through it.' " ' And is it over !' I cried, interrupting the old man. ' Oh ! do not say that he is dead ! Joseph. My brother —my dear brother. Let me go to him directly. What must he think of me, to stay away from him at such a time. But he is living, is he not ? " The old man shook his head. ' He was living a few minutes ago, Miss Katharine ; but it is too late to do him any good by seeing him, even if you were let to do so. But, I am sorry to say, that I am afraid your mother will not suffer you to enter his room ; if, indeed — . But 110 SHADE AND SUNSHINE you had better see her yourself. Angry and violent as she is against you, I can't think that at such a time she will keep to her resolution, though she would not listen to a word the governess had to say, neither for herself nor you. Poor woman ! it was hard upon her to turn her out of the house at such a moment.' "Until this moment," continued Katharine, "I had scarcely given a passing thought to the situation in which I was placed by this melancholy event. I knew, indeed, that the discovery of my absence from home was inevitable ; but how could I suppose that at such a mo- ment, as Joseph had said, my mother would be sufficiently collected to bestow any attention on so comparatively trivial a subject as my disobedience ; for in that light only I regarded it. Conscious innocence prevented my suspecting that my mother would put any worse con- struction on my conduct than it deserved — that she would be so unjust — so unnatural as to believe her child guilty of anything worse than imprudence. What, then, was my consternation — myterror — when I heard that she had considered Martha Beresford's participation in my error deserving of so severe a punishment as to have turned her into the street ! At such an hour, too, for I learned from Joseph that it was dark; somewhere, he said, between ten and eleven o'clock (it was the month of May). Where could she have gone ? She who was so utterly friendless ; so helpless — so ignorant of tho world ; for though so much older (twice my age, indeed), my poor governess, as I told Fitzharland, from the manner in which she had lived in my mother's house, was as igno- rant as a child — as 1 myself should be in such circum- stances — how or where to procure the shelter necessary to her safety, even in such a place as London. OF woman's life. Ill '* Fitzharland, however, who — except an exclamation or two of surprise and sympathy with his friend, my poor brother — had listened to Joseph's narrative in silence, checked, with an expression of almost contemptuous levity, my lamentations on Martha's account. " ' There is no danger that any one will think her worth running away with, or betraying her innocence, mv dear Katharine,' he observed, with a sneer that seemed to cut me to the heart. ' Do not, therefore, waste your tears and sympathy on your late governess, who, without doubt has not gone unprovided with the means to find herself a home, which can always be got for money in London. Nay, dearest, do not look so an desespoir at me ; depend upon it, y r our governess' — and he laid what appeared to me a spiteful emphasis on the word — 'is in no danger. We must think, my dear girl, of your own case, and how you are to be got off with your mother. If we did but know what representation Miss Beresford made to the old lady. You did not hear, I suppose, Joseph, what was said on the subject of Miss Katharine's ab- sence ? ' " Joseph replied very coolly that he knew nothing about it. All he could say was, that his mistress seemed dreadfully put out, and had given orders to all the ser- vants, that she was to be called down-stairs to Miss Katharine, if she came home. " ' And her son dying,' observed Fitzharland. ' It seems incredible. Surely, she cannot be aware of the danger he is in, or perhaps it is not so.' " Joseph shook his head. " ' Both doctors told us, before my mistress came home, that there was no hope,' he replied, " though he might linger some hours.' 112 SHADE AND SUNSHINE "My thoughts were again recalled to my poor bro- ther's situation by this remark," continued Katharine, " and while I gave free vent to my grief for him, my fears of my mother's resentment were forgotten, until recalled by Fitzharland, who appeared much more disconcerted and at a loss how to act than I had expected, after his previous assurances, that, should I be found out by any accident, he would be able easily to reconcile my mother by revealing our approaching marriage. " Joseph, who I could see regarded my lover with no friendly feeling, and who evidently watched with great anxiety to hear how he meant to act, was now obliged to leave us, to go on some errand on which he had been sent by my mother, and which he dared, as he said, no longer delay ; but, before he went, he asked to speak with me for a minute alone. " 'Whatever may be said or done, Miss Katharine,' he observed with great earnestness, when we were out of Fitzharland's hearing, "' go straight home to your mother, and tell her the whole truth. Don't, for the love of Heaven, for your own sake, and for your father's — my good old master's sake, that's in his grave — don't let this man persuade you to stay with him, or go anywhere but home, and tell the whole truth to your mother, whatever has happened to you. Don't let him persuade you to tell any made-up story, to get yourself out of a scrape, as I suppose he would call it. Mistress is violent, and she hasn 't done altogether as she ought to you and your sister; but still she is your mother, and must have a mother's feelings. Besides, my dear child, everything will be changed by your poor brother's death. You will be heiresses to large fortunes, and your mother — ' " I interrupted Mm by a burst of grief. I could not of woman's life. 113 bear to hear Leopold's death spoken of as an advantage to me. Heaven knows my heart ! I would have given up, -without a sigh, every prospect of wealth, to have saved him ; hut Joseph again pressed me on the subject of going home, and, as he said, telling the truth to my mother, and I gave him the required promise. Fitz- harland pressed me, when I rejoined him, to tell him what the old man had said to me, but I felt that Joseph's remarks conveyed reproach and distrust of his intentions, and therefore, for his sake, declined to tell him. For a moment he seemed angry, but soon resumed his usual soft, insinuating manner. " 'What is to be done, dearest? ' he at last observed. 'Do you think it advisable that I should go with you openly to your mother, or will you see her first alone ? I can remain in the neighbourhood, and if you find it ne- cessary to call upon me to corroborate w r hat you say to her, you can send some one for me. Do not look so alarmed, dear girl. I will tell you candidly, that, for rea- sons which I have not time now to explain, I am desirous for the present to conceal from Mrs. Beresford that we are so soon to be married. It is, in fact, absolutely ne- cessary that it should remain a secret for the present. It may, in truth, be the means of utterly wrecking our prospects, if it should be made known to my friends that you are about to make me the happiest being in exist- ence. Do not look so pale, my beloved ; it is only a temporary obstacle, which a few days — perhaps hours — will remove, and then with what delight — what triumph, shall I claim this dear little hand. I must trust, there- fore, to your prudence, dear girl, to evade your mother's questions; and should that stupid woman, Martha Beres- ford, have betrayed our secret, as perhaps she has, in vin- Q 114 SHADE AND SUNSHINE dication of herself, although she knew well how anxious I was to avoid it — ' " I was thunderstruck," continued Katharine, " at hearing this. " ' Oh ! how have I heen deceived!' I exclaimed ; 'and now what can I do ? What shall I say to my mother ? —How shall I persuade her to forgive my imprudence ? You have taken from me all that I relied on — all that could have vindicated me in her eyes. And if Martha has told her that I was engaged to he your wife in a few clays, can you expect — can you wish — that I should utter an absolute falsehood, and deny it ? Deny the only thing that can plead for and prove my innocence ! ' " ' No — no ! I see I cannot expect it, my dear girl. It is too much to require of you, and I must yield to my wretched fate. I must sacrifice myself — my every hope. And you — you, Katharine ; will not you mourn our sepa- ration ? But no ! your honour will he saved ; you will he at rest in your conscience ; and some one more worthy than I am of your love, will soon banish me from your memory.' OF woman's life. US CHAPTER IV. We say that people and that things are changed ; Alas ! it is ourselves that change : the heart Makes all around the mirror of itself. Where are the flowers, the beautiful flowers of spring, That haunted your homes and your hearts ? Where is the sunshine of earlier hours ? Where is the music the birds used to bring ? Where are the flowers ? why, thousands are springing, And many fair strangers are sweet on the air ; And the birds to the sunshine their welcome are singing — Look round on the ralley, and then question " Where ?" Alas ! my heart's darkness ? I own it is summer, Though little 'tis like what it once used to be ; I hare no welcome to give the new comer ; Strangely the summer seems altered to me. 'Tis my spirits are wasted — my hopes that are weary, These made the gladness and beauty of yore ; To the worm and the withered e'en sunshine is dreary, And the year has its spring, though our own is no more. — E. L. " Words cannot describe/' continued Katharine, " rny wretchedness. To lose at one blow the happiness I had felt so secure of in a marriage with Fitzharland — to be condemned for an indefinite term to lead the same miserable life I had been so long suffering under the iron rule of my mother, to say nothing of my love for Fitz- harland— and I did love him — Heaven is my witness, how truly, disinterestedly I loved him ; leaving all those con- siderations aside, — but I will not attempt to describe what is indescribable. I was distracted— frenzied. I can plead no excuse but those I have given, for what even now I blush to recall. Alas ! it was but the first introduction to a series of actions for which no repentance can atone. I consented to all Fitzharland required; and before I left 110 SHADE AND SUNSHINE him to face my mother, I had solemnly pledged my word to deny positively that there was any engagement be- tween us, or any thought of such a thing. As he had promised, Fitzharland remained at a short distance from the house, awaiting the result of my interview with my mother — it having been agreed that I should make a signal from the upper windows, which would let him know whether it would be advisable for him to come to the house or not. With a heart trembling and throbbing almost to suffocation, I rang the area bell, and was answered by one of the servant maids. "' Oh, Miss Katharine !' she exclaimed, 'how could you do so ? You've got us all into such trouble. Your mamma blames us all, and says we knew of it, and ought to have told her. Do — pray speak to her, and tell her that we knew nothing about it, or we shall all get turned out of our places. If she had not been in such trouble about your poor brother, we should have been sent about our business at the same time that the governess went.' " Here was another trouble to add to those by which I was already overwhelmed ; but I had not time to reflect on the injury to poor Sarah and her fellow- servants, for my mother's foot was already on the stairs, and I heard her austere voice inquiring where I was. In another minute she was in the parlour, where I sat trembling, for I could not stand.' " ' I have only one question to ask you,' she said; ' Has this fellow, for whom you have sacrificed all decency — all pretensions to delicacy — all that is valuable to a young girl — Has he, I say, entered into any engagement to repair the injury he has done, by giving you any promise of marrying you that can be enforced ? Do you OF woman's life. 117 not understand me, girl ? ' she continued, her passion increasing at finding that I remained silent. ' Has he given you any written promise that he will marry \ou ? Have you any proofs that he intends to do so ?' "'No, I never thought of such a tiling,' I faltered. 1 1 did not suppose that you would consent. My gover- ness always told me I was too young to think of marrying; that you would he angry and certainly pre- vent it, even if he were willing.' " This was what Fitzharland had instructed me to say, if she questioned me on the subject. " ' And yet you have been out with him night after night,' she exclaimed, growing pale with passion. " ' Oh mother, forgive me ! I did not think I was doing wrong' — and I fell on my knees before her. I was terrified at her looks. " ' Wretch !' she exclaimed, spurning me from her. ' Do you suppose that you can impose upon me with your pretended innocence ? Dare you look in my face and tell me that the villain has not brought ruin and disgrace upon you ?' . "Alas! I was too innocent — too ignorant, I may say — to comprehend the full force of her expression/ continued Katharine, concealing her face with her hands with an expression that evinced the natural modesty and delicacy of her nature, which not even the horrible scenes into which she had been involuntarily plunged had effaced. " ' Oh, no, no !' I exclaimed. 'Nobody knows it but ourselves. There is nobody in the house that does not wish me well, and will keep the secret.' ' ' And do you suppose that I will encourage vice ? or can you have the ridiculous folly to suppose that the 118 SHADE AND SUNSHINE secret — as you impudently call it — will not be blazoned forth to the whole world by those you are pleased to call your well-wishers ? No, poor fool, that you are, your character — your reputation is ruined for ever. Still, I am not willing to abandon you to utter destruction.' " She added after a few moments silence — " 'You may remain here for to-night, until I am able to think and devise w T hat is to be done with you. Go up stairs, and remain there until — ' ' Will you not let me see my poor brother ?' I said, as soon as I recovered the power of speaking, for so com- pletely was I paralysed by the view she seemed to take of what I considered, and what in reality was, but a venial offence, that it was not until she was quitting the room that I gained courage to make this request. " * Your brother,' she replied, ' disclaims you. He will not see you — will never speak to you again.' "Distressed as I was at this, still it conveyed con- solation, for I was convinced she would not speak of Leopold in that manner if he were really in the dangerous state Joseph had represented him. Fitz- hai'land'had at the time expressed his disbelief, and had pointed out the natural propensity to exaggerate, especially in cases of accident like the present. Alas ! I found too soon, that I, as well as my mother, was de- ceived, for Leopold was actually dying, although, from mistaken kindness, the medical attendants had concealed his danger from her. Mistaken, indeed, for to me it was absolute ruin and destruction ; for well am I con- vinced, had she known the real state of her darling son, her mind would have been too much occupied to have bestowed a thought on me or my transgressions. Perhaps, indeed, if she had thought of me, her heart OF WOMAN S LIFE. 119 would have been softened. But I must go on with my sad story. She was, as I said, leaving the room, after having ordered me to bed, when a sudden thought seemed to occur to her, and she turned back. " ' Where did you leave your vile associate ? ' she demanded. ' Was he aware of what has happened, and that your infamous connexion with him must have been discovered ? Tell me, I insist, the whole,' and she stamped with rage, as. she saw I hesitated how to answer. I thought, indeed, of poor Joseph, and feared I might draw her resentment upon him. There was no possibility, however, of avoiding it, for I had not ingenuity or presence of mind to invent a story, to account for my knowledge of what had occurred. As I expected, poor old Joseph was now the object of her violence. " ' They are all alike !' she exclaimed — ' all in the plot against me ; but I will clear the house of them to- morrow. They shall know what it is to join with an artful, depraved villain, and an equally depraved, vicious girl, to bring shame and ruin on me.' " It was in vain I tried to explain — to plead for the old man, and prove how guiltless he was ; she would not let me speak; and then again she demanded where I had left Fitzharland ? at least in the eyes of the pitiless world. Katharine, however, soon undeceived him. It seemed as if she read his thoughts, as she continued — ■* I feel, indeed, that it would be scarcely possible you could believe the truth of what I have told you, were I not to reveal the real sourco of my mother's violence, although it was not till some time after that fatal night I knew it myself. I have already told you that my mother, having been married very young, is still in the prime of life, and looks much younger than she is. She is, indeed, generally considered, I believe, a very handsome woman — but I don't know why I should mention this, except to show you, that the match would not in appear- ance have heen so preposterous as it was in reality. Certainly, it was not her person that had fascinated Fitzharland. You start," she continued, faintly smiling ; " imagine then what must have been jury astonishment when I made the discovery. There had been, it seemed, for some time a secret correspondence between my mother and her youthful lover. Her fortune was of course his only object; hut that vanity, which I am sorry to say is my mother's ruling passion, if I may so call it, blinded her completely to his real motive, and she had actually consented to marry him "before that accident — ■•the meeting with me on the stairs — which I have described to you, gave a different turn to his thoughts. I "believe, cruelly as he has since behaved to me, that he was then sincere in his professions of love to me, and from that time he became every hour more and more anxious to break away from his engagement with my mother. But she was in- fatuated in all that regarded him, although she could not, as yet, make up her mind publicly to avow her intention Q| woman's liil. \-: of marrying one so unsuitable to her. Above all, she dreaded its being made known to Leopold. It had been concluded, therefore, between her and Fitzharland, that the affair should remain a secret until my brother had left, as it had long been his intention to visit France and Italy. All Fitzharland's growing coldness and estrangement, therefore, she attributed to his desire to avoid exciting Leopold's^ suspicions'; and indeed, as he afterwards acknowledged to me, he encouraged her to think so, knowing, that, should she suspect the truth that he had changed his intentions towards her, he would be compelled to leave the house, and thus lose all chance of seeing me again. Every day — and hour, indeed — increased the difficulty of his situation, and yet he declared he buoyed himself up with the hope that eventually my mother would of her own accord break the contract between them, frorn the feeling of shame at acknowledg- ing it to her son, and thus they might still remain friends. He had even planned, he said, should this take place, to confide to my brother his attachment to me, and hoped through his means to reconcile my mother to his marriage with me, and induce her to bestow a part of the money to which I was in justice entitled, he being entirely dependant on his father, who he knew would not consent to his marriage with any ^one entirely with- out a fortune. I have told you already how all these hopes and plans were at once frustrated by the premature discovery of our connexion. On my mother the shock fell like a thunderbolt ; for never had she for a moment doubted that he intended to make her his wife the moment she consented to name the time. He told me that she was perfectly frenzied in her interview with him, —she loaded him with the bitterest curses — accused him 121 SHADE AND SUNSHINE of having seduced mc, and intending to marry her to secure her fertune, and keep me in the house as his mistress. It was in vain that Fitzharland protested my innocence. His avowal, that he meant to break his engagement witli her, and demand her consent to marry me, increased her fury tenfold. It was evident, or at least he afterwards told me so, that the very reverse of this was the only means that could have induced her to pardon all that was past ; and, in fact, such was her weak, her mad infatuation, I may say, that she actually required him to hind himself solemnly to keep his former promise of marrying her, leaving her to dispose of me, so that I should he no hindrance to their future happiness. " ' If you refuse,' she continued, ' if you suffer that baby-faced girl to triumph over me, take her, and may my eternal curse light upon you both ; I will do all I can to ruin you. As to the fortune that you hint she has a right to expect her share of, I will take care that not one shilling of it shall ever come to your possession. It is all at my disposal, and if I thought it probable that you could ever work upon the feelings of either Leopold or my other daughter, to give you or her (meaning me,) the slightest share of it, I would put it out of their power, by leaving every farthing of it to some public charity. As to your exposing my folly, as you hinted just now, I set you at defiance. Who would believe you ? No — no, my character for prudence is too well established. You have no proof but your bare word, and, as I said before, who would believe that I had ever been mad or foolish enough to think of marrying you ?' " ' And yet you declare that you are willing to adhere to that engagement, Mrs. Beresford?' replied Fitzharland. of woman's life. 125 "'Yes, anything — everything, rather than that girl should triumph over me,' she replied. ' I have always hated and dreaded her. I have always foreseen that she would prove a thorn in my side — that, if once she forced her way into the world, I should be regarded as nothing — nobody, except as being her mother. Aye, you may look as surprised and shocked as you please, but I tell you it is so ; and now, once more I repeat, you have but to make your choice between her and me. Consent to keep your engagement to me, and I will do my best to forget all that has happened. I will make a settlement upon her that shall leave her no cause to complain, and at liberty to follow her own inclinations, though of course I shall take care to remove her beyond the power of interfering between us and our happiness.' " Need I say, Fitzharland rejected her offers, and in so doing increased her fury almost to madness, until he at length left her, observing, that he ' trusted a few hours' calm reflection would induce her to change her reso- lution.' " ' Stay ! ' she exclaimed at the moment he was leav- ing. ' Stay ! and take your — ' I am ashamed to repeat the word she used, and which, Heaven knows,' exclaimed Katharine, clasping her hands with an emotion that ren- dered her more lovely and attractive than ever in St. Orme's eyes. "Fitzharland," she continued, "again — or at least so he u told me — protested my innocence, but she rushed furiously from him; and, as he quitted the house, she flew up stairs to me, and the scene followed that I have already related." " And she — your mother — actually persisted in turn- ing you out of her house ? " observed St. Orme, in a tone 120 SHADE AND SUNSHINE of mingled pity and indignation, as Katharine, overcome with the remembrance of that fatal and cruel act, gave way to a flood of bitter tears. "She did, Sir," she replied, "though I clung to her as if for my life — though I prayed to her to save me from destruction." " ' You are already ruined, wretch,' she exclaimed. ' You have brought it all upon yourself, and you must abide the consequences. Do you think that I would suffer you to contaminate your sister with your society ? — that I am going to lose all claim to respect — to be scorned and despised by the world, by giving shelter to a creature who has debased herself as you have — who has made herself the talk of my own servants, stealing out night after night, and remaining out till all hours of the morning with a profligate, a villain, who but I will waste no more words upon you. Go, and take with you my curse — my everlasting curse ! May you perish in misery, as you deserve to do, as you will do, when the wretch to whom you have sacrificed yourself becomes tired of you, as he is sure to do ! ' " I heard no more," continued the unhappy girl, " for I became faint as she uttered these dreadful words ; and she threw me forward with such fearful violence that my head struck the curb of the pavement, and I lost all con- sciousness of my situation. How long I lay I know not; but when I recovered I was supported in the arms of Fitzharland, who had remained, it seemed, to watch, though scarcely expecting, he declared, that she would actually put her threat into execution. He raised me up, and entreated me to exert myself to walk until we could reach a coach-stand at no great distance. My fore- head was cut, and blood was streaming down my face, of woman's life. 127 and he was afraid, as lie whispered, that my situation might he noticed by some passer-by, or a watchman, and lead to an exposure by no means to be desired, even on my own part. I was so faint and confused that I scarcely knew what I did, but by his assistance I managed to reach the place he mentioned. But it is no use my troubling you with every minute event that followed, until I became indeed the degraded being that my mother had chosen to believe me. But what could I do, thrown thus upon Fitzharland for actual subsistence ? for I was literally penniless when turned out of my home. Only I would have you to believe — I do entreat you to believe — that I did not voluntarily become the votary of vice. I believed still that Fitzharland was sincere in his promise to many me, as soon as the obstacles were removed that then stood in his way, though I did not know what they were." " But did you make no further attempt to soften your mother's heart in your behalf?" demanded St. Orme. " Surely, when that first paroxysm of jealous fury — for such it undoubtedly must be called — was passed, she would have listened to your application." Katharine shook her head despondincrly. "Alas! I hoped so too," she replied, "though I was then unacquainted with the real source of her violence ; but from Fitzharland I learned the melancholy news, that my poor brother only survived till the evening of the second day. I had written to him, stating the whole and real truth, and imploring his aid to reconcile my mother to me, and rescue me from my then (only) unpleasant situation, dependent on Fitzharland, and he entered the room at the lodgings he had taken for me just as I was weeping bitterly at the disappointment of receiving back 128 SHADE AND SUNSHINE my own letter enclosed in a blank envelope, and directed to me in a hand which — though attempted to be dis- guised — I recognised as my mother's. " ' If you had told me of your intention, dear Katha- rine,' he observed, 'I could have spared your feelings this shock, though at the expense of another. Poor Leopold is removed beyond the reach of your solicitations. He is no more, my dear girl. Fortunately, he died without knowing how cruelly your mother had treated you. I learned the particulars from Doctor Howard, whom I met yesterday after I quitted you. Poor fellow ! he asked repeatedly both for you and me ; but your mother, who you know is never at a loss for excuses to secure her purpose, invented some story that satisfied him as to our absence.' " My grief and despair at this loss was increased by the conviction, that my mother must have read my letter to my poor brother, and yet remained unchanged towards me ; yet I thought it my duty, under the sad circumstances, to write immediately to herself, which I did in the most pathetic terms that feeling could supply. I entreated her to let me return to her, and, by the most unlimited devotion and obedience to her, endeavour to console her for her loss. I repeated, again and again, that I was innocent of all but an imprudent desire to en- joy amusements of which I had heard so much; and I pointed out, in the most forcible manner, the ruinous effect it must have upon my character and future pro- spects, its being known that I was depending upon Fitz- harland for subsistence. I showed her how impossible it was that I could succeed in getting into any honest means of supporting myself, destitute as I was of a single friend or recommendation. In fact, I left nothing unsaid OF WOMAN S LIFE. 129 that I thought could induce her to listen to my praver, for God knows my heart was then uncorrupted and in- nocent ; and though I then loved Fitzharland, and tried to believe him sincere in his professions to me, I could not divest myself of the presentiment, that my only safety lay in my return to the protection of my mother and my home." "And she remained inexorable ?" demanded St. Orme. " My letter was again returned," sobbed Katharine ; " but this time it was torn to shreds, while in the en- velope were written these cruel words : — " 'Would that I could as easily destroy your worthless polluted self as I have your hypocritical professions. Everyday brings forward fresh proofs of the vile decep- tions practised upon me by you and your wretched ac- complice. May you and he meet the reward you so well merit, will be my prayer to the end of my life ! I forbid you to write again ; or, if you persevere, your letters will henceforth be returned unopened.' " Can you wonder that I became desperate after this? " continued the weeping girl ; " that I gave up my whole heart to the only being that was left to love me, and who seemed by his constant attention, and his endea- vours to surround me with everything that could contribute to the pleasures of a young, inexperienced, and thoughtless girl, to prove his love ? And yet I was not wholly thoughtless — I enjoyed, it was true, the scenes of amusement to which he introduced me ; I was delighted with the elegant apartments he procured for me, and in which I bore the title, and apparently the respect, of his wife ; and above all, I confess, I was fascinated with the rich and expensive dresses with which he provided me, so different from the mean old-fashioned style I had been s 130 SHADE AND SUNSHINE used to, and which he declared my mother had confined me to only with the hope of ohscuring my beauty, and pre- venting my out-shining her. Oh ! do not blame me, that I listened to and believed all he said. And yet I was not happy. Oh no! willingly would I have relinquished all, to everything but his love, to have been restored to the path I felt I had for ever quitted. To become his wife in reality, to feel that I deserved his respect and esteem, as well as his love, I would, with the most heartfelt pleasure, have relinquished all the glory and glitter of the empty show with which he strove to compensate me for all I had lost. Soon I became tired and weary of the constant round of dissipation in which Fitzharland seemed only able to live. My spirits failed me, and I became gloomy, wretched, and constantly in tears ; Fitzharland at first rallied, laughed at, and tried to rouse me, but soon he became angry ; and when he found that my thoughts were con- stantly fixed on his promise to marry me, he threw off all disguise, and told me at once that it was impossible. 'He was entirely dependent upon his father, who had already expended more upon him than was warranted by his circumstances, and who was now only kept quiet,' he said, 1 by the belief that his son was about to marry a woman of fortune.' One explanation led to another, and the final blow was given to all my happiness and trust in Fitzharland, by the discovery that my mother was the person whose fortune was to set everything right. Oh ! what was the agony I felt, as I discovered the reckless, heartless character of the man I had so idolised, when I heard him own ' that even now he did not despair of re- conciling himself to my mother, and becoming her hus- band.' He had, it seemed, up to this moment deceived his father into the belief that their marriage was only OF woman's life. 131 delayed by my poor brother's melancholy death, which, while it secured to him a much greater portion of my father's fortune, and rendered him (Fitzharland) more secure in his influence over her, rendered the public an- nouncement of their attachment impossible till a decent interval had elapsed, and indeed rendered it, for de- cency's sake, necessary that he should leave the house in which he had been so long an inmate. " Can you be surprised — can you blame me — that 1 became mad, infuriated, by an avowal that was so re- volting — so unnatural, or that I reproached him in terms the most violent that my feelings could supply ? I would have left him that very hour, but the violence of my agitation brought on a severe attack that at length assumed the form of nervous fever, and I was confined to my bed with little hopes — as I afterwards heard — that I should ever arise from it, or if I did, that it would be in full possession of my senses. For my own part, my only prayer — when I was capable of reflection — was for death. As might be expected from such a character, Fitzharland deserted the sick chamber of his victim. At first, indeed, he preserved the appearances of decency, by inquiring at night when he came home, or in the morning before he went out, as to the progress of my disorder; but the time soon came that he abandoned even that appearance of interest in my fate, and long before I recovered perfect consciousness, he deserted me alto- gether, leaving me to the mercy of the people of the house, already exasperated by the certainty that they should never get the large sum that was due for rent, attendance upon me, and the incidental expenses of my illness, which they charged for at an enormous rate. It was of little consequence what they charged, for I 132 SHADE AND SUNSHINE possessed not a single shilling to discharge the debt. Whether Fitzharland knew or not the literally penniless state in which I had been kept and had left home, I cannot say, but he had made no offer to remedy it. The splendid dresses, trinkets, &c, which I had been liberally supplied with, had all been ordered by him and sent in from the most fashionable dressmakers, jewellers, &c. ; and thus I had not been allowed to feel any necessity for money, although I own, I had sometimes wished that I had been supplied with the means of making trifling purchases, rather than leaving all to him to discover my wishes or my necessities. Still, how could I find fault where all was so liberally supplied, and where I had scarcely to hint before my wishes were, in a measure, anticipated? The effect of this system was, however, most painfully brought home to me, as I began to re- cover strength and recollection, after my long, painful, and dangerous illness. Unconscious as I had hitherto been how my wants — few and unexpensive as no doubt they had been — had been supplied, I naturally enough expressed a wish for some more substantial nourish- ment, than the weak tea and dry tonst which were daily brought to my bedside, night and morning, by one or other of the female servants of the establishment. The young woman to whom the request was made, hesitated apparently what to say in reply — " ' Has the doctor forbidden my having meat or fish ?' I demanded. 'It appears to me that I shall never get strength to leave the bed upon my present weak diet ; but I shall speak to him on the subject when he next comes, if he thinks it would be doing wrong to let mo have what I consider necessary to restore my strength.* * ' Oh, no ! it is not that,' she replied, looking at me of woman's LIFIi. 133 compassionately. 'Indeed, to tell you the trufch, the doctor has taken his leave of you. He said, two or three days ago, that you wanted the cook now instead of the physician.' " ' And why then have I heen still kept upon this everlasting tea and toast ?' I demanded resentfully. " The girl cast her eyes down and occupied herself in smoothing the bed clothes, as if she wished to avoid my looks ; but I again repeated the question, though I began to have a distant idea that something unpleasant was involved in the apparent mystery. " ' I would rather you would ask my mistress, if you please, Ma'am,' she at length replied. ' I am very — very sorry, but I am but a poor servant, and have not it in my power to do what I've got in my heart to do. My mistress, too, is so very near in her ways, and keeps us so short, especially in the way of meat and. that like, that there's seldom a bit to spare that comes into the kitchen ; and though I'm sure I'd willingly give the last bit out of my mouth, rather than a lady like you should want, yet I've two fellow servants that would grumble, when we're so short ourselves, if I was to — ' " I interrupted her by hastily demanding whether her mistress had authorised her to refuse what I considered necessary for my support ?' " ' Why no, Ma'am,' was the reply, hesitatingly given. ' She did not downright order me to say anything about it to you, but as I've heard her over and over again, since you've been getting better, declare that she would not spend another sixpence on your account, till she'd got some good security for what's owing already, and that she should'nt wait much longer till she came to a settle- ment with you, either to pay your rent and other 134 SHADE AND SUNSHINE expenses, or give up the apartments for them that could pay her, I thought it hest to tell you, so that she mightn't come suddenly upon you when you wasn't prepared to give her an answer.' " ' But does she then imagine that my hushand — that Mr. Fitzharland will not return ; that he is so dishonour- able as to have quitted her apartments without intending to pay her ?' I tremblingly demanded. " The girl hung down her head. ' I'd rather, if you please, Ma'am, say nothing about that,' she replied. ' I wish Missus may be wrong for your sake, I am sure, but I am afraid you'll have to hear a good deal that's disagreeable, and hard for one brought up as you've been to bear with ; but, as I said to Jane, my fellow-servant, this morning, it would be better to give you a hint of what you may expect, than to let it all fall upon you unexpected like. Ah, it's a cruel unfeeling world,' she added, seeing the agitation her observations had pro- duced, ' and Lord help them that is left to it's mercy, I say.' " I need scarcely say," continued Katharine, " that after those hints I was by no means desirous of provoking my landlady to an explanation, yet still, I was far from looking on Fitzharland's absence in the light in which — according to the friendly maid's representation — it was regarded by those about me. How, indeed, could I believe him guilty of such deliberate cruelty, as thus to desert me ? The uneasiness and suspense I suffered, had the effect, as might be expected, of retarding my re- covery, and consequently the landlady's attack upon me ; but the dreaded time came at last, and though yet so weak that I could scarcely support my trembling frame, she commenced by asking me when it would be con- of woman's life. 13£> venient to give up my apartments, as she had already let them to a party who had hefore resided with her, and was anxious to return to them. "■'It's of no use mincing the matter with you, Ma'am,' she ohserved, ' I can't afford to lose any more, and if you have any principles of honour or honesty, you wont keep me a day longer out of my rights. I know all you are going to say,' she added imperatively, seeing that I was summoning courage to remonstrate upon such an arbitrary mode of proceeding. ' I understand perfectly well how you are situated, and I am sorry for you, but you cannot expect that I am to be the loser, because you have been foolish and imprudent enough to trust to the honour of a man, who, like all the rest of them, cared for nothing but his own pleasure and gratification, and left you the moment you could no longer administer to them.' " My spirit was roused," continued Katharine, '* by the contemptuous tone of pity she assumed, and I ob- served, that I knew not what right she had to insult me by such remarks. As to giving up her apartments, I certainly could have no wish to remain where I had been so unwarrantably treated, but until Mr. Fitzharland returned — " ' Psha ! this is all nonsense. You can't impose upon me,' interrupted the woman. ' I have kept house too many years, and know the world too well to be deceived by persons in your situation. If, indeed, you have deceived yourself, and really believe that your gentleman will return, I am still more sorry for you than I was before, because I happen to know otherwise.' " ' Know it !' I repeated. • " ' Yes, I do know it,' she replied. ' It don't matter a pin's point how I got the information, but I can assure 136 SHADE AND SUNSHINE you that it's the truth, that the young man is com- pletely ruined, and that he has been obliged to make off to America to save himself from a jail. You cannot deny, I suppose, that he is the son of Mr. Fitzharland, the banker, of Lombard Street?' " I knew not what reply to make to this, though from the remembrance of the slight observations that my lover had made respecting his family, I believed she was cor- rect. I remained silent, therefore. " ' Well ! I can tell you, then, if you do not know it, that your young gentleman's father has failed for an im- mense sum of money, and that there will not be a shilling in the pound for the creditors. There's many beside me that's got reason to curse the name ; but that is neither here nor there, only I have got this to tell you, that I am not going to be any further a loser by it. It was Mr. Fitzharland who took my apartments, and of course you have no right to stay in them a moment after he left them. In consideration of your illness, I have not hither- to pressed you upon the subject, but I cannot submit to be any longer robbed of my lawful dues, and I therefore give you notice that I shall expect you to give up the apartments to-morrow, that I may prepare them for the party (this was a favourite expression) who are coming in the next day.' " What could I object to this ?" continued Katharine ; "I knew not where to go — what to do ; but what was the use of my saying tliis to the cool-blooded, mercenary being, who, though she pretended to pity me, maintained the most insolent tone and manner towards me, and an- nounced my utter ruin as a thing of course, for which I ought to have been prepared ? That night was indeed a night of agony, and I arose in the morning as wretched of woman's life. 137 and' undecided what to do as when I lay down. The only person who really seemed to feel for my unhappy situation was Anne, the servant I have mentioned as having given me the first intimation of the peril that threatened me. My natural pride, indeed, for a long time stood in the way of a thorough confidence in her good intentions towards me ; hut as the time came near when I foresaw that I should be expelled from my present home, I was compelled to relinquish the last remnants of that pride, and with tears I entreated her advice and assistance. " ' Dear, dear, what a pity you did not speak to me before,' observed the girl, when I had acknowledged to her the truth, that I was absolutely without a shilling, and knew not where to go for a night's shelter. ' If you had but spoke in time,' she continued, ' I could have managed to have raised you a good bit of money on your clothes and things, without Missus suspecting it, and with money it 's easy enough to get a lodging in London ; but I 'm afraid now it 's too late, for I doubt if she '11 let you move anything till her bill's paid, and she took precious good care, while you were too bad to know any- thing about it, to search your trunks and boxes, so as to know what there is worth anything in them. However, I'll run any risk, sooner than see you turned out penniless. You Ve got, I know, two or three rings, and your coral necklace, and bracelets and ear- rings, must be worth a pound or two. Promise me, then, that you won't betray that I took them, and I '11 see what I can get on them, and then the woman that 'chares' for Missus, I know, has a bed that she lets to a single woman, and if I speak to her I don 't think she '11 be against taking you in, pro- vided we can keep it a secret from the old devil.' 138 SHADE AND SUNSHINE "I readily gave the promise required, though I scarcely could believe that the obsequious landlady, who for so many months had treated me with the most flattering attention and apparent kindness, could, in reality, be so utterly devoid of feeling as to meditate depriving me of the few articles of value that I possessed ; or that, blunt and indelicate as had been her announcement of her con- viction of my real situation, that she could merit the coarse appellation Anne had bestowed upon her. "Alas! I was too soon convinced that the girl's appre- ciation of her had not been overrated. Whether my ap- parent pride and reserve towards the servant had misled her — or that she considered me, as I really was, too ig- norant of the world to suspect her intention of detaining my trunks and their contents, I know not, but she made no effort to guard against that which I should never, but for Anne's proposal, have dreamed of; and two or three hours after the girl put thirty shillings into my hand, observing that it was all she could get, though not a sixth part of what the trinkets had cost, and cautioning me to conceal carefully from the old woman that I had that, as it would not only betray the means by which it had been raised, but that it would inevitably be taken from me — even by force, if it were necessary. She an- nounced at the same time, the then gratifying intelli- gence, that the charwoman had consented to accommo- date me with her spare bed until I could better myself. Everything happened as the girl had predicted. Scarcely had I disposed of the money about me so as to defy dis- covery, even if the threatened search was made, before the landlady entered the room, to know if I was pre- pared to give up the apartments, as she wanted them for the party who were coming in the next morning. of woman's life. 139 " ' Where am I to go ? What am I to do ? ' I ex* claimed, bursting into tears at this confirmation of her intention. " ' That is nothing to me,' she replied, seating herself in the large chair by the bedside, from which I had just risen, as if she were thus taking possession. ' If, how- ever, I understood right what you said during your ill- ness, when you were, as the doctor said, delirious, you have a mother living, whom you left to live with the fellow who has deserted you. It is not for me to advise you, but I think the most natural thing for you to do will be to go back at once to her, tell her the truth — and, perhaps, to save you from further disgrace, she may re- ceive you again.' " I knew that this was the most proper advice she could give me ; but, alas ! I felt at the same time how utterly hopeless it would be for me to follow it. I affected, however, to coincide with her views, and ob- served, that if she would allow one of her servants to fetch a hackney-coach, to convey my luggage, I would go at once. " Just as Anne had predicted, however, the woman at once threw off the mask of pretended sympathy, and affected to be surprised at my assurance, in expecting that she was going to give up all that remained to repay her for the expense and trouble she had incurred during my illness. It was in vain that I represented to her how inaderpuately she would be repaid by detaining my clothing, while to me they were of the utmost impor- tance, as, should my mother refuse to receive me, they were all I had to depend upon, to enable me to get into some way of providing for my existence. "'Yes, no doubt,- of picking up some one else to HO SHADE AND SUNSHINE keep you in idleness and extravagance,' she insolently replied ; ' of enabling you to impose upon some other poor hard-working woman, like myself ; but you wont do it by my means, I assure you, and not a thing do you move out of this room till my bill is paid as far as regards yourself, and you may thirjk yourself lucky if I let you have your things when you 've paid your own bill, and leave Fitzharland's for himself to pay, if he ever comes back.' " I knew this was only an affectation of generosity or liberality, for there was just as much probability that I should pay the whole sum as what she affected to call my own share of it, but I thought it best to appear thankful even for tins indulgence. My only aim, indeed, at the present moment, was to get away quietly, without the woman's discovering the few shillings which were my sole dependence. This, however, was not to be ; whether my apparent resignation to my fate excited her sus- picions, that I was not so utterly destitute as I pretended to be, I know not, but I did not escape the dreaded in- vestigation. At my earnest entreaty, almost upon my knees, my tyrant had consented to allow me to take away with me a single change of clothes, taking care that they should be the oldest, most worthless that I possessed ; the very ones, in fact, in which I had left my home with Fitzharland, and which I had preserved, not as being of the slightest value, but merely as a memento of my mother's parsimony and injustice. Tied up in a little bundle, these, now my only worldly possessions, were already on my arm ; I had tied on my bonnet, and my foot was on the threshold of the door, while I darted my last tearful glances around the room from which I was expelled like Eve from Paradise, for so it then appeared of woman's lifk. 14J to me — thrust out, as I was, into a world of which I knew so little, and that little calculated only to depress and alarm me. " ' Stop a minute, ma'am, if you please.' Oh how terrific those words sounded in my ear. I tried not to hear them, and was already down more than half-a-dozen stairs, but the virago was not to be thus eluded. In a moment her hand was upon my shoulder, and I was com- pelled to return, while she entered upon the dreaded in- vestigation of what she was pleased to call my jewels, of which she unhesitatingly avowed she had taken a regular catalogue, as well as of all my other valuables. It was in vain, however, that she demanded an explanation of the disappearance of my trinkets — that she loaded me with abuse of the lowest description — that she threatened me with I know not what penalties of the law. I was a thief, an impostor, a common swindler — in short, there was no epithet, however vile, that she did not load me with ; but in spite of all I still remained silent, until, having at length, as it appeared, completely exhausted her strength as well as her terms of abuse, she drove me before her, literally by force, down the stairs and into the street, closing the front door upon me with the greatest violence, and her last words, denouncing ruin and destruction to me, sounding at the same time with the slam of the door in horrid discord. 142 SHADE AND SUNSHINE CHAPTER V. ' Tis hard to smile when one would weep'; To speak when one would silent be ; To wake when one should wish to sleep, And wake to agony. Yet such the lot by thousands cast, Who wander in this world of care, And bend beneath the bitter blast, To save them from despair. But nature waits her guests to greet, Where disappointment cannot come ; And time guides with unerring feet, The weary wanderers home. Mrs. Hunter. " Once more, behold rne then, turned from my home into the streets, to seek as I best could a shelter ; but alas ! this, my second exile — if I may so call it — was in- finitely worse than the former, for I had then a lover to console me for the loss of a mother. Hope — pleasure in various forms — then courted my acceptance for the future, while for the past I had little cause to regret. I did not stay long, you may be sure, to indulge my regrets," continued Katharine, drying the tears which from time to time would force their way, in spite of her efforts to appear calm and collected. " Anne had given me very particular directions as to the way I was to take to the house in which Mrs. Barker, the charwoman, re- sided, and I found it with very little difficulty; but, I confess, I was not a little startled and surprised, when I discovered that the clean, quiet, respectable lodging that I had been promised, was situated in a wretched dark, close alley, swarming with troops of dirty, barefooted OF woman's life. 113 children, who having just been dismissed from a Ragged School at the entrance into the court, were now whooping, screaming, and in various other ways testifying their de- light at being set free from confinement — ' That full expanse of voice, to children dear, Soul of their sports, is duly cherish'd here.' Often and often had I repeated those lines of Rogers, with a full conviction of their truth and beauty, as I had heard the children at play in the neighbourhood of my mother's residence, perhaps feeling them the more from the contrary state of prim, demure restraint in which my sister and self were brought up by my mother's direc- tions; buc I must confess, that in Homer Alley, where I now sought — according to my directions — for Mrs. Sarah Barker, widow, nurse and charwoman, I was inclined to think the poet's lines much less beautiful than hitherto, for never had I formed an idea of such horrible discord as was produced by the children of Homer Alley. ". ' Oh, you are the new lodger that Mrs. Barker ex- pected?' said a voice, as, having with difficulty groped my way down some stairs to the front kitchen, which I had been told at the entrance door was Mrs. Barker's room, I stood knocking for some time totally unnoticed. "'Who's there? — what do you want?' demanded a harsh, repulsive voice ; to which I replied that, ■ I had expected to find Mrs. Barker there, she having promised to wait at home for me.' The reply to this I have already given, but I cannot describe the effect that discordant voice had upon me. I was in doubt whether it was a man or woman that spoke ; for coming, as I had, out of the light, down to what appeared, by the contrast and the steepness, more like the bottom of a well than any- 144 SHADE AND SUNSHINE thing else, had prevented my discerning what or who was the being that addressed me. " ' Yes, I am the person she expected,' I replied at random, ' will she be long absent ?' " ' Why, that's oncertain,' was the answer, ' because her time aint her own, as a body may say, and she's been sent for in a monstrous hurry to one of her places, which she couldn't refuse no how what'sumever, else she wouldn't ha' gone. Howsever, you can come into my place and sit down till Mrs. Barker comes back.' " I was thankful, of course, for this accommodation, though I confess, independent of the warning I received from the smell of the place into which I followed the speaker, my heart sunk at the first view of the den — I cannot call it a room — into which I had been ushered, and which gradually became fully unveiled to me, as my eyes became accustomed to the obscurity — the darkness visible — which supplied the place of light. A few bricks loosely piled upon one another in the fire place, and be- tween which some bits of iron hoop had been inserted for bars, supplied the place of a stove, in which a few handfuls of cinders, and some wet wood and other rubbish, had been coaxed into a resemblance to a fire, which the coldness of the day, although now far advanced into the spring, rendered highly necessary. A single chair, the once substantial bottom of which having disappeared, its place had been supplied by pieces of rope, tied across and across, was placed for my accommodation, the other seats being only a basket, and a pail of which the bale was gone, and thus reversed was appropriated by the hostess, whose attention to and attempt to render me what she called comfortable, seemed greatly increased as she was able to discover my appearance. But I will of woman's life. 145 not attempt any further description of the wretched place, which hy degrees I learned was the sole residence of Mrs. Wyatt — the woman who had invited me in — her hushand and five children, who were — fortunately, I felt — all but one poor little decrepit being, an idiot and deprived of the use of its limbs, among the noisy crew through whom I had passed in exploring my way to Mrs. Barker's "quiet, clean, respectable residence," which was, for I knew not how long, to be also mine. " ' If it is anything at all resembling this,' I thought to myself, as I glanced round Mrs. Wyatt's wretched den, 'how shall I be able to endure it for a week — or even a day ? ' I thought of the handsome, well-furnished apart- ments I had so recently quitted. Even the attics which had been appropriated to my sister, my governess and myself, at my mothers, which we had so often beheld with such intense contempt, appeared now a palace in my estimation, and I actually trembled at the anticipa- tion of the home which, at Anne's recommendation, I had been so anxious to secure. The woman (Mrs. Wyatt), who in the meantime, after apologising for the mess the place was in, on the score of her numerous young family, which left her— she said — no time to attend to appear- ances, attempted by numerous indirect, but shrewd questions, to ascertain the causes that had made it desirable for a person of my appearance to seek even a temporary shelter with her neighbour in the front kitchen; but I had been cautioned not to betray by what means I had become acquainted with the char- woman, lest her affording me a shelter should injure her with her employer, my late landlady, and I therefore replied that—' I knew nothing of Mrs. Barker, but had been recommended to her by a friend, who represented u 146 SHADE AND SUNSHINE her as a decent, steady -woman, with whom I could stay for a short time, while my husband was in the country.' " ' Oh, you've got a husband, have you ?' returned the woman, with a keen searching look that brought the deep colour into my cheeks. " I do not know why I had uttered this falsehood, for I had previously resolved to bury, if possible — at least, as far as I was concerned — all remembrance of my con- nexion with the unworthy and unfeeling being, who I was now convinced had deliberately deserted and left me to struggle with the world. The fact was, that I feared and distrusted the woman who questioned me. I felt as if it were necessary to have some protector against her, and, as the most natural one, it occurred to me to name him, whom up to this time nearly I had trusted in as such. An hour passed — it seemed an age to me — with- out Mrs. Barker's appearing, and during that time 1 had been compelled to listen to the whole history of my companion's domestic grievances. She had been, according to her own account well to do in the world, but she had imprudently married, after her first hus- band's death, his shopman, who by his extravagance, drunkenness, and bad conduct of every kind, had brought her to ruin. So much, indeed, she revealed to me, a perfect stranger, of this man's brutality and ruffianism, that, in addition to my other troubles and uneasiness, I sat on thorns — trembled, indeed, at every sound, lest it should announce the ruffian whom she had already contrived to make an object of terror to me. Another cause for alarm and disgust with my situ- ation soon, however, engrossed all my thoughts, and banished all fear, or, indeed, recollection of the dreaded Mr. Wyatt. of woman's life. 147 "'Well, I do wonder that Mrs. Barker couldn't manage to find her way home before this/ observed my companion, who I thought began to show some symptoms of finding my presence there troublesome, observing once or twice, that it was time to get her young ones in and put them to bed.' "Bed! I looked round the horrible place involun- tarily, but she caught the expression of my eyes, and in an offended tone observed — • " ' Ay, I little thought, when I was as young as you, that I should be obliged to put up with such an apology for a bed as that ; but as you 're a married woman, with- out you're luckier than I've been in a husband, you may live to be glad to have even that to stretch your chil- dren's limbs upon.' "I apologised as humbly and delicately as I could for my inadvertence, disavowing, indeed and truly, any in- tention of reflecting upon the subject that had offended her, and trying at the same time to divert her attention from it by saying that I would leave my bundle, and go and walk about till Mrs. Barker came home. " ' Goodness knows what time that 11 be ! ' replied the woman significantly; 'for I'm afraid she's upon the spree, and when she once begins, home 's the last place she thinks about, so long as she 's got a penny in her pocket.' " Merciful Heaven! and this was the woman to whom I was to trust for my home, my only refuge from what appeared scarcely less to be dreaded — the streets. It was too late, even if I had known how, to make a differ- ent arrangement — that is, to seek for another shelter; be- sides, who couli I hope would take me in, destitute as I was of recommendation. Even this woman— this Mrs. U8 SHADE AND SUNSHINE Wyatt — seemed to regard me with suspicion, though be- lieving that I had been properly recommended to her neighbour. I persisted, however, in leaving the wretched place she called her room, so as not to inconvenience her while she got her children into bed. It was, in- deed, a blessed relief to breathe in the open air, though only the close and tainted air of the alley and adjoining narrow street, for I dared not venture further from the place, which, wretched and unpromising as it appeared, still grew in importance as a shelter with every advancing hour. There, then, drawing my large bonnet as far as possible over my eyes, to hide the tears I could not re- press, I continued to pace up and down, terrified even then at the attention my appearance excited, and still more terrified at the thought, that perhaps the woman who had promised to receive me might not return at all that night, or, if she did, might refuse me the shelter she had offered, at that late hour. She came at last, how- ever. I recognised her voice as sbe passed me, though I had scarcely seen — or, at least, noticed — her at my late lodgings : but I was afraid now to speak to her ; not only because she was evidently intoxicated, but that she was in conversation, laughing and apparently joking, with a smartly- dressed, impudent-looking man, who had annoyed me for the last half-hour, and had prevented my entering the court in which Mrs. Barker lived, at the en- trance to which he stood, and drove me away several times by attempting to force his unwelcome conversation upon me. I ventured, however, to follow at a little dis- tance, hoping he would take leave of Mrs. Barker at the door of the house where she lodged ; but though she en- tered it, he still stood there, until at length growing OF woman's life. U9 alarmed, lest she might go to bed and forget me, I made a bold attempt to pass him. "'Ah! I thought you would come to, my skittish little darling,' he exclaimed, putting out his foot, and extending his arms, so as to prevent my entrance. ' You 're like the rest of your sex, as the old song says : " If we fly you, you "11 pursue." Now, you'd have led me a fine chase, I suppose, if I 'd pretended to care about overtakiug you ; but the minute you thought you were likely to lose me, you turn round and come slap into my arms.' " 'You are mistaken, Sir,' I interrupted, again trying to force my way past him. ' I want the person who has just gone inhere, Mrs. the woman who came to the door with you,' I added, for, in my fright and confusion, I had forgotten the charwoman's name. " ' Pooh, nonsense ! ' returned the man, who I now saw was completely intoxicated ; ' What should you want with that drunken old devil, who by this time has tumbled in like a pig in her straw. Come, take my arm, and 1 11 take you where we can have a little chat together, and a drop of something good to raise your spirits, for I can see you 're a cup too low, as the poet says.' " ' Oh no, no ! I must and will go in,' I exclaimed, becoming every instant more alarmed: but I had scarcely uttered the words, and was still struggling violently to release myself from the man's grasp, when the woman I had previously seen — she in whose room I had been, as I related, accommodated with a seat, to wait for Mrs. Barker's return — rushed out, and, with her face livid with rage, and the most demoniac expression of countenance that human features could bear, tore me from the man, 150 SHADE AND SUNSHINE uttering at the same time the most horrible expressions ami accusations against me and her husband, for such it appeared was the fellow who had so annoyed me and pre- vented my entrance. " ( It isn 't enough,' she continued, addressing herself to him, ' that you should rob and starve your lawful wife and honest-born children, to spend the money upon such dirty hussies — such cattle as this,' again seizing me, and throwing me with such violence against the opposite house in the narrow alley that I rebounded, and, after staggering two or three times, in a vain effort to recover my footing, fell helplessly on the stones. 'It isn't enough that you should go away for nights and nights, with she and such as she, playing the gentleman, and wasting what ought to be ours upon — ' I cannot repeat the horrible epithet she used," added Katharine, casting down her eyes, while a burning blush suffused her lovely face and neck at the recollection : " ' but now,' continued the woman, ' you 've brought one of them under my very nose, to insult me — you and that drunken hypocrite, Mrs. Barker. But I '11 tear her eyes out, the old wretch, the minute I get hold of her. I knew from the very first words she uttered, the hussey was trying to impose upon me, with her lying tales about her husband, and her coming to stay a night or two with Mrs. Barker, as if any decent married woman would be knocking about from post to pillar, to be glad to take up with such a bed- fellow as Mrs. Barker.' " ' Married, indeed ! she looks much like a married woman, don't she?' echoed two or three wretched- looking women, inhabitants of the neighbouring houses, who had been called together by the woman's outcries ; and from their looks at me, as well as their expressions, of woman's life. 151 seemed quite ready to second her in any assertions, or even violence, she might choose to put in practice against me. " ' Wyatt ought to he ashamed of himself,' observed another. ' The poor woman 's had enough to put up -with, as we all know, what with one thing and what with an other ; and it 's hard lines, God knows, for her to have to scratch a living for her children, while he's out and about, dressed up and playing the gentleman, as she says; hut when it comes to bringing home his ladies and trying to impose upou his lawful wife — ' " ■ Come, stow this, Ma'am, if you please,' interrupted the man, whose drunken folly had been the cause of all this uproar and misery to me, and whose manners sud- denly changed from the ridicule and levity with which he had at first listened to his wife's accusations, to a look and manner so ferocious as to startle me, and induce the woman whom he addressed to retreat behind one of her companions. ' If I choose to put up with my wife's jealous-pated whims, which there's no foundation for, seeing that I never set eyes on this lady before — ' " ' Lady ! — Oh yes, to be sure, they 're all ladies. Thank goodness, I 'm an honest, hard-working woman, and don 't pretend to ladyship ! ' was echoed from one to the other in the crowd, which was every moment in- creasing. " ' Nor I neither ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Wyatt, the man's wife, 'though the time has been that I could have held up my head with the highest — not such creatures as this, but real ladies. Little did I ever think I should come to this.' " ' Ah ! tell me what I am, not what I have been,' ob- served one of the women, evidently piqued at the assump- 152 SHADE AND SUNSHINE tion of Mrs. Wyatt, and the look and tone of importance with which she asserted her former superiority over her present companions. The moment seemed favourable to me, for the man was now apparently attempting to con- ciliate his wife, addressing her in a low voice upon the folly and unreasonableness of her suspicions. " ' I do not know what right any of you have,' I ob- served, gathering courage, ' to insult me, or dispute my being what I represented myself. Circumstances, which I am not obliged to explain, have compelled me to seek a temporary shelter here with Mrs. Barker, but she can tell you that I am — that I have been — ' I paused and burst into tears, for at that minute the reality of my unhappy situation rushed suddenly on my mind, and made me feel that, innocent as I was, as regarded the accusation brought against me by Mrs. Wyatt, I was assuming a character I had no right to, in calling myself a wife, and that in reality I dared not even appeal to Mrs. Barker, to support my pretensions. " There were by this time several men added to the group — I can scarcely call it a crowd — which had collected around the door of the house, and although it was very evident they were more disposed to espouse my cause than to second the cruel, unfeminine attacks of the women upon a poor defenceless girl, there was something in their looks and manners that made me shrink from them with almost as much fear and even greater aversion than from their female companions. " Winks, nods and whispers, expressing anything but respect, accompanied, and in fact totally destroyed all consolation, not to say confidence, in their expressions of pity and compassion for the unmerited ill-treatment I had received. of woman's life. 153 " One would Lave thought, indeed, that no person possessing the common feelings of humanity, could have beheld it without sorrow for me, and disgust and abhor- rence for the furious woman who had so cruelly treated me. My clothes, which, though the plainest I could select of those Fitzharland had purchased for me — my original wardrobe, namely those that my mother had provided me with, I had, by Fitzharland's desire, given away as soon as I received them from home, and I be- lieve Mrs. Barker, the charwoman, had had the greater part of them, they being considered too old-fashioned and mean even for the servant maids of the establish- ment — I had nothing, therefore, plainer than a delicate quaker coloured cashemere dress, trimmed with satin of the same colour, and this was now hanging in tatters ; my bonnet and veil torn and bent ; the comb which had confined my hair, trodden to pieces under foot; and my hair, of which she had -literally torn out handsful, hang- ing loose below my waist ; and when I add to this, that the blood was streaming from a cut on my temple, and had soaked my cambric habit shirt, as well as the front of my dress, although some one — with something like a glimmer of human feeling — had, while I was in a state of unconsciousness, tied my own pocket handkerchief over the wound as a bandage, but which had little effect in staunching the crimson stream, wdiile it added con- siderably, no doubt, to the ghastliness of my looks — if, I say, you can picture all this to yourself, with the addition of every limb still trembling with terror, and the hysterical sobs and tears, which I in vain tried to suppress — from time to time bursting forth with a violence that seemed to threaten me with suffocation, if not instant dissolution — you will, I am sure, agree with me, that I presented a x 154 SHADE AND SUNSHINE spectacle, which one would have thought no one could have beheld with indifference, much less that it could afford a subject for levity and laughter. " What I have since seen, however," continued Katha- rine, with a deep sigh, a look half of sorrow mingled with melancholy reminiscence, " what I have seen since, short as, thank God, has been my experience in such scenes, has taught me how habitual even cruelty and in- humanity may become in hearts, that would, perhaps, under other circumstances, shrink from such an imputa- tion. The tearing of eacly)ther's clothes off their persons ; the destruction of bonnets and veils — especially if ex- pensive — and the loss of which are almost ruinous to their unfortunate possessors; the disfiguring the face, however beautiful, with perhaps indelible marks, all these are occurrences so frequent among that class to whom the epithet ' unfortunate,' though generally applied in levity and derision, ought in reality exclusively and emphatically to belong ; that even among themselves, and to their added shame and dishonour, among the other sex — among men — men, as they call themselves, but oh, most unworthy of the title — such a scene is sought and encouraged as one of the highest fun, exci- tation and enjoyment. One which they will feed and heighten by liquor — for which they will spend money that they would deny to them if in want of bread — until the unhappy creatures, maddened into absolute ferocity, would complete the enjoyment of the wretches who thus urged them on, by literally destroying every vestige of each other's clothing, and have only yielded when bruised, maimed and bleeding, they have scarcely retained a resemblance to human beings, and have been left in misery and solitude to repent the madness of woman's life. 155 which had induced them thus to ruin and degrade themselves, even beneath the deep degradation of their former state. " You shudder," continued Katharine, whose excited manner and crimsoned cheeks betrayed that this was no imaginary picture she had drawn, but one for which memory had held the pencil and supplied the tints— it had been, indeed, drawn from life. " At the time I have spoken of," she continued, in a voice broken by tears, " little did I — the unhappy victim of that woman's jealous fury — suspect that I was regarded by the wretched, unprincipled people among whom I had fallen — little did I think, I say, that I was looked upon as one of that wretched class, to whom such scenes were familiar, and that, if any pity was felt towards me by the men, as to the women, I was not considered worthy of the slightest commiseration. I had only met — as I heard it afterwards remarked — with what I deserved for my audacity, in daring to come with a made-up story under the very nose of Mrs. Wyatt, a lawful married woman and the mother of a family, to take the very bread out of their mouths, and encourage her villain of a husband to treat her worse than ever ; while by the men — or, I should say, fellows who called themselves men — I was only pitied as not being a match in strength, spirit, &c, &c, for my assailant, whom I do believe they would have been very well pleased could they have seen her change places with me, as to the punishment — as they called it — I had got ; and still more would they have been interested, had we — to use their own hateful language — had we been more equally matched, that there might have been a fair fight, and no favour on either side. " I have already mentioned," continued Katharine, her 156 SHADE AND SUNSHINE voice faltering, and the silent tears coursing each other down her now pale cheeks — Like drops of orient pearl : " I have already acknowledged that my conscience checked me in the vindication I was about to offer of myself. Innocent as I felt myself in intention, I dared not deliberately utter the falsehood that trembled on my lips, and assert that I was also, as Mrs. Wyatt called herself, a lawful wife ; I felt, that in the sight of Heaven I had bound myself to Cecil Fitzharland, by ties, that on my side could not be broken ; but, among such as I was now surrounded with, I felt intuitively almost, I may say, that to avow the truth would only be to expose my- self to still deeper insult ; and if I already shrank from the eyes and the manners of those men, whose bold, open licentiousness betrayed itself in every expression and look, even in the presence of the women, who, in several instances, I heard claiming them as their husbands, how much more insufferable would it be, should they be- come acquainted with the fact, that I, in spite of my half- uttered assertion to the contrary, could boast of no legal protector — that I was, in reality, a ruined, deserted, dis- graced creature, though innocent of all but too trusting confidence in him whom my heart acknowledged as my husband, but who I now believe never intended to make me his wife. " I cannot tell you by what motive I was actuated, for my mind became every moment more and more confused ; probably it was the effects of the blow I had received, but I forgot, as it seemed, my intention of seeking refuge with the woman I have mentioned as Mrs. Barker. She had never been visible through all this scene though it had taken place close to her window, nor had it ap- or woman's life. 107 parcutly ever suggested itself to any ouc to awaken her if she was sleeping, and learn from her the truth of my ex- planation of the cause that had brought me there. It might be perhaps that they knew the attempt would be useless in the state she was in from drink, or that her character was so bad, that anything she might say would be disbelieved or disregarded. Either of these causes would account for their not applying to her, but does not acquit me of folly in not persevering in awakening her, and persisting until I made her sensible of what I required of her, both as to vindicating me from the accusations brought against me by Mrs. Wyatt, and affording the promised shelter of her room, for which she had been paid exorbitantly beforehand. " I have already said, that, instead of acting thus reasonably, I was suddenly seized with an impulse I could not account for, to get away entirely from the people bv whom I had been so insulted and ill-treated. A vague sense of danger — danger to which I could give no ' form or body' — suddenly seized me and urged me to make my escape from these people, though I knew not where to go, or what I had to dread from my present association; worse than I had already experienced, it was scarcely possible I could meet ; and yet, as I have said before, an inexpressible terror came over me, urging me to get away from the people, and the court or alley, as soon as possible. Had the inhabitants of this place been merely poor — had their appearance only indicated extreme poverty, and their language and manners been suitable to that appearance, there would have been no cause for suspicion or alarm. It would have been only what I had been prepared to expect— only what the wretched appearance of the houses, the neighbourhood, 158 SHADE AND SUNSHINE the groups of half-naked dirty children playing ahout, and the scarcely hetter dressed women, whom I had ob- served on my first arrival, gossiping in twos or threes at the doors, or sitting on the thresholds, or just within the miserable entrances, busily occupied in needlework, from which they only raised their eyes to observe and utter some saucy — or what they considered witty — remarks upon any stranger who was unlucky enough to come within reach of their observation. But I do not know whether I render myself intelligible in saying, that with all the outward and visible signs of poverty that presented themselves among these people, they did not appear to be of the class that depend upon the labour of their hands for subsistence. The men, though many of them absolutely ragged, were for the most part of that appearance which is called shabby-genteel, their clothes in some instances — though not fitting them — made in the first style of fashion. There were two or three whom it was impossible not to distinguish in the group, of whom Mr. Wyatt — my assailant's husband — was one, whose snow-white and fine linen, and good and well-made clothes, gave them an air of gentility, strangely con- trasted with the misery of their abodes and of their connexions ; but in general the dirt, which, with scarcely an exception, rendered their dwellings so repellant and in many instances absolutely disgusting, extended to the persons of both the men and women, and rendered the attempts at smartness vain, and their looks alto- gether disreputable. In like manner, their language, frequently startlingly low and plentifully interlarded with what — I have since learned — is called flash, betrayed from time to time an acquaintance with better things ; and I remember, even in the midst of all my trouble and OF woman's life. 159 confusion, being struck with the readiness and facility with which they quoted and applied the sentiments of different authors, and especially, as I observed, the modern dramatic writers. "The explanation of all tins seeming mystery was, that for the greater part the men were, in the dearth of better employment, underlings, or what are generally called supernumeraries, at the theatres, in the neighbour- hood of which the court is situated, and in some few instances the women partook in this miserably-paid em- ployment, while others eked out their wretched means by employment in the wardrobes, or as dressers to those who were fortunate enough to be able to pay such assistants. But with these persons, generally reckless and dissipated as I am told they are considered, were unfortunately mixed up some of very different character — persons in- cluded in that class who are said to live by their wits, and who in reality shrink not from the most desperate means of getting money, and of these Mr. Wyatt, as he was called, was the most desperate. " Heaven knows I had little to lose — little to fear — from the most determined robbers ; and yet I do believe that it was the fear that I had fallen among people of that character, that rendered me all at once, as they re- marked, so anxious to get away ; and yet, with a strange inconsistency that could only be accounted for, as I said before, from the confusion of my head, arising from the blow I had received, I totally forgot that I had entrusted the bundle, containing all I possessed in tbe world, to the safe keeping of the woman who had behaved so bru- tally to me. With difficulty — indeed, not without help from one or two of the men — I rose to my feet, and, re- jecting the offer of further assistance, crawled along a 1G0 SHADE AND SUNSHINE few steps towards the entrance of the court, unnoticed by those I most feared and wished to avoid, Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt, who were still engaged in mutual abuse and recri- mination, although they seemed to have forgotten the recent source of their quarrel, at least so far as I was concerned in it. I was not, however, allowed to escape so quietly. At this very moment, a woman who had taken upon herself the office of peace-maker between the husband and wife, in that character proposed, that all further animosity should be drowned in glasses of gin all round, and that, for the purpose of providing it, a general collection should be made among Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt's friends and well-wishers. " ' Come, lend me your hat, Fred,' she observed, snatching off the hat from a young man's head who had assisted me to rise, and was now warmly pressing his services to conduct me anywhere I wished to go. ' Lend it me for a minute,' she repeated, as he made an effort to prevent her, ' and everybody can put what they like in towards the " jackey," because we know it isn 't always we 've got the ways and means to pay our shares; but a penny shows the heart, sometimes, as much as a shilling. There, there's that to begin with,' she added, throwing a handful of halfpence into the hat, and then, shaking it as she held it to me, she continued — " ' Come, Miss or Ma'am, whichever you be, throw in your share. It ought to be something handsome, as you were the beginning of all the row ; however, we don't want to be hard upon you, so if it 's only as much as will pay for a quartern we '11 be satisfied.' "/Satisfied ! ' repeated the young man who had prof- fered his services to me. ' I don't see that you 've any right to call upon the young woman at all, if Mr. and of woman's life. 161 Mrs. Wyatt are not to pay. If it 's to be a treat to them, I think it would be fair she should be included. She 's lost quite enough already — her clothes torn, and spoiled, and destroyed — and I say she shan 't pay a farthing, if I can help it.' " ' Well, perhaps you '11 pay for her, as you 're so mighty generous, Mr. Fred,' observed a young girl of rather respectable appearance, who was evidently piqued at the young man's espousal of my cause. " * Well, I can do that, too, Miss Emma,' he observed, imitating her tone. ' There is a shilling' — and he threw the coin into the hat — ■ that will pay for her and me too.' " Wretched, ill, and confused as I was in mind, I was still capable of comprehending that I was making another enemy by quietly submitting to this, for the girl Emma, as he called her, looked daggers at him and me both, and I trembled at the prospect of another scene of vio- lence, such as that of which I had already been the vic- tim. I therefore insisted that the young man should take back the money he had paid for me, and, producing a sixpence from my pocket with assumed calmness, threw it into the hat as my contribution. " There was a cry of bravo from the men, and two or three of the women joined in the approval of this, declaring I was a girl of spirit, and deserved encouragement. Alas, they little thought that it was terror rather than spirit, that induced the sacrifice — for a sacrifice it was, in more than one point of view. I would fain now have renewed my attempt to get away, though beginning to awaken to the consciousness of my hopeless, homeless state ; but in this I was completely borne down and prevented ; upwards of five shillings had been collected in the hat. which was to be converted into beer, gin, and tobacco; chairs were 16£ SHADE AND SUNSHINE brought out into the court, and all discord was proposed to be buried in what seemed to be considered the height of enjoyment, from -which I in vain attempted to escape. One or two of the women civilly assisted in what they called putting me to rights; my face was washed, the wound on my forehead strapped up, and I was compelled to take a chair among the party, who a short time before would have seen me almost murdered, without even ut- tering a word in my favour. I had, however, suffered too much — was still, indeed, suffering too much — to enter into what these people called pleasure and enjoyment; and I was besides, as I have said, suspicious of them. In fact, I fancied I was not safe in such society, though I should have been at a loss to say what particular danger I apprehended. Yet still my thoughts were occu- pied with one subject — how to make my escape without exciting their observation. Independently, indeed, of my suspicions of the character of my present companions, I had another motive for uneasiness, and tins was the in- trusive — I might say insolent — manners of more than one of the men, whom I in vain attempted to check and keep at a distance by the most studied reserve and cold- ness, but which they openly treated as mere affectation on my part. I have already mentioned the feelings of jealousy towards me which had been excited in the young girl called Emma, by the attentions of one of these men who bore the name of Fred, and who appeared to be recognised by all as her lover ; but who seemed bent on mortifying her, or showing how little he regarded her feelings, by the most extravagant compliments to me, and the most shameful insolence towards her, whenever he had an opportunity of exhibiting it. I tried in vain to conciliate this girl, by showing her that I had no wish OF woman's life. 163 to encourage the man ; I even positively refused to sit near him, turned a deaf ear whenever he addressed me, and by my frowns, as well as by every other means I could adopt, endeavoured to convince him, as well as her, that I had no wish or intention to encourage him. Nothing, however, seemed to satisfy her, and she took every oppor- tunity of insulting me, as well as trying to provoke him into a quarrel. In all this she was seconded by Mrs. Wyatt, who, though apparently reconciled to her husband, and disposed as much as any one present to enter into the spirit of what they called enjoyment, and make a jolly night of it, was still evidently most maliciously inclined towards me, and gave utterance, whenever an opportunity occurred, to the most spiteful insinuations against me. " For a long time I bore all in silence, and tried to appear unconscious that I was the object of the attacks of these two vulgar, narrow-minded women. The dread, indeed, of being again made the victim of the violence from which I was still suffering, made me resolve to bear with anything so long as they confined themselves to words ; but, though I suffered both Mrs. Wyatt and her friend Emma to utter, without contradiction or an attempt to vindicate myself, the most infamous and unfounded assertions, I could not succeed, as I hoped, in concili- ating them by my patience and forbearance, or allowing them to exhaust their spite, which was beginning, it was plain, to get troublesome to those who, taking little or no interest in their cause for rancour — if they had cause — and were more inclined to be angry at the interruption it gave to their pleasure, than disposed to espouse either their part or mine. Among the men, indeed, I could see plainly neither Mrs. Wyatt nor Emma had any friends ; and though I had no reason to flatter myself as to the 164' SHADE AND SUNSHINE sentiments they entertained towards me, or believe, in- deed, that there was one among them from whom I could hope to meet with disinterested friendship, or even jus- tice, since I verily believe that none of them credited my pretensions to respectability, or thought otherwise than as Mrs. Wyatt asserted, that my modesty and reserve was all art and affectation, and my pretence of being a married woman — which, by the bye, I had rather led them to infer than downright asserted myself — was, as she politely said, and her friend Emma boldly confirmed as a fact well known to her, all moonshine : though I have little doubt, I repeat, that there was not a man among them who did not credit this assertion, they cared nothing about it, and were only inclined to espouse my cause against the two women, because, as they said, in the first place, they wanted no more rows, having had quite enough uproar already; and in the second, as it was very plain I did not trouble my head with other people's affairs, they did not see what business anybody had to concern them- selves with mine. Another reason they alleged for in- sisting that 'the ladies' should drop the subject alto- gether — and in this they were warmly joined by several of the females who had hitherto been neutral — was that they intended to have some harmony ; this, as I have since learned, meant, not as I then understood it, but they were disposed tp join in singing their favourite songs, and were not going to be baulked by a parcel of women's clack and quarrels. " • So if you cannot behave yourselves, ladies,' concluded the speaker, 'I shall move, as they say in the parliament, that we adjourn this meeting to the parlour at the Red Lion, and leave you to have out your debate here, by vourselves.' OF woman's life. 1*35 " The threat of going to the public-house seemed to have an instant effect upon all the women/ continued Katharine; 'Mrs. Wyatt sulkily observed, that she did not wish to interrupt anybody's pleasure, and the young woman (Emma), who it seemed was a singer of no mean abilities, and a still greater portion of vanity, consented — by implication — to forget her fancied wrongs, and join her lover in a duet. " Strange, indeed, was the scene of which I was now a silent spectator, but I could not dismiss from my thoughts the fear that had fastened upon me, that it would end in some misery to me worse than I had yet encountered, and still the desire to escape from the people, whose manners, habits, language, and appear- ance, seemed so inconsistent and mysterious to me, was the sole occupation of my thoughts. What I should do, or where I should go, was a second consideration, if, indeed, I thought of it at all, I felt ill — very ill, but even that gave me no trouble, so that I could get away. The fact was, I was more than half delirious, and the idea of personal danger from the people I was among, was, I verily believe, more the effect of my disordered head than the dictates of reason. It was getting late, so I heard them say, and they seemed to fear some in- terruption to their amusement, if they remained out of doors. It was agreed they should adjourn to the parlour of the house opposite to the one I had first entered and which belonged to some one of the company. Had I been capable of rational reflection this would have given me no uneasiness, because it was not likely that they could carry on their noisy amusement all night in the open court, and indeed, I believe some of the neighbours had already objected to it; but to me the thought of 166 SHADE AND SUNSHINE entering this strange house in such company, gave me the greatest terror. I resolved, indeed, let what would be the consequence, I would not go in. It was a noisy party that now broke up their sitting. There were chairs and tables to be taken in to accommodate them, and, in so doing, the candles were knocked over and extin- guished. In a moment all was confusion. It was, in fact, a game of vulgar romps the younger part of the company were engaged in, but to my frightened imagina- tion it was far more serious. As usual in such cases, laughter mingled with affected shrieks and exclamations. It was too dark to see, but I heard footsteps as if in pursuit; as with strength, which only terror could have given me, I darted away from the spot on which I had stood a moment before bewildered. Once or twice some one grasped hold of me, and uttered an inquiry who it was, but I shook them off with the strength of a maniac and fled. I had taken by chance the right direction to get out of the narrow passage which led out of the court, and soon I found myself in the open lighted street. It was Holborn into which I had got, but I did not then know the names of the streets. The light of the lamps and some shops still open, and the sight of a few straggling passengers, far from re-assuring me as they should have done, only increased my terror. I fancied that I was pursued, and that the people I had left would drag me back again to the place I had quitted, and I continued to fly along the pavement as if I had wings to my feet, though more than once bade to stop — I suppose by watchmen — but I knew not who spoke, and paid no regard to their orders. " ' Stop ! I say, where are you running to ? "What have you been up to ?' at length exclaimed a voice ; OF woman's life. 167 a man had placed himself directly in my way, and ex- tended his arms to arrest my course. It was not he who spoke, hut he had seconded the attempt of the watch- man, who now came clattering up hehind me. I re- member his seizing me with a grasp that at another time would have made me shriek with pain ; hut I uttered no sound, I saw nothing but the face of Fitzharland. — Yes, he it was whose arms had arrested my flight, and now, pale and ghastly — as must have been my own — was bending over me, as I sank down upon the pavement." CHAPTEE VI. O'er the young shoot the charlock throws a shade, And clasping tares cling round the sickly blade ; With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, And a sad splendour vainly shines around. So looks the nymph -whom wretched arts adorn, Betrayed by man, then left for man to scorn ; Whose cheek in vain assumes the mimic rose, While her sad eyes the troubled breast disclose; Whose outward splendour is but folly's dress, Exposing most, when most it gilds distress. Crabbe. " When I recovered my recollection, or rather, when I returned to life — for it was long after this that by degrees the remembrance of what had happened broke upon my memory — I was in a strange rude place, and sur- rounded by men equally strange and rude to my eyes ; one of whom, with a red night cap drawn low over his brows, and a hat over it, a rough white coat with a number of capes, and a short pipe in his mouth, from which he was 168 SHADE AND SUNSHINE puffing clouds of smoke, was seated in a high backed leathern chair opposite to me, and though the weather was quite warm, by the side of a large fire. There were several other men in the same kind of rough attire, either seated on benches or standing about talking, but I could not comprehend what they said, nor did I look at them — my eyes were rivetted as it were to the face of the man in the chair, who was bending down to look at me, and who, strange to say, seemed to my confused mind to occupy the place of Fitzharland, whose face I had last seen in precisely the same position, and bearing the same expression of pity and surprise. Yet, oh ! how different. " ' It must be a dream, I thought,' and again I closed my eyes, and again opened them, but there was the same strange face still regarding me with the same fixed look. " • She is not dead,' he observed, drawing himself up in the chair. ' I wish this doctor would come, that we may know what's to be done with her. It won't do to lock her up as she is, for if anything was to happen to her — Besides, I don't see what charge there is against her. The gentleman didn't say that she'd robbed him, or tried to rob him. Did he ? ' " ' No ! ' replied a gruff old man, to whom this ques- tion was addressed. ' He wouldn't answer no questions, and pretended he knew nothing about her, though I'm very sure he knew her well enough, and she knew him, for you never saw how they looked at one another, till she dropped down like a dead thing at his feet.' " ' But she'd got these hurts, you say, before that ?' observed the speaker. " ' To be sure, she had,' was the reply. '■ It was seeing her all over blood, and her head bound up, as she flew of woman's life. 169 past me, for I could hardly call it running, and her scared wild look, that made me try to stop her ; but I might as well have tried to stop the wind, if so he the gentleman, who was coming sauntering towards us, hadn't stretched out his arms, and then, as I told you before, they stood staring at one another as if they were two stone images, till she dropped.' "A dispute now arose whether the watchman — for such I discovered the man was — ought not to have de- tained the gentleman, from which I learned that on my having shown symptoms of returning life, Fitzhar- land had hastily retreated, having previously declared he knew nothing about me, but recommending the watch- man and others, who had come to his assistance, to have me taken to an hospital or workhouse, where I should be properly attended to. " ' It would have been more like a gentleman to have put his hand in his pocket and given the poor girl some money to get a lodging, and pay a doctor, instead of his advice,' observed the man who had questioned the watchman. "I did not distinctly hear the reply, for the watchman muttered rather than spoke out, and he had scarcely uttered a word when there was a general laugh, as if in derision of what he said. I have no doubt they all thought that the man had received money, which he had kept to himself. To me this Avas of no importance ; in the agony — the anguish — of my mind, I would have perished at that moment, rather than have owed my existence to Fitzharland's money. " I need scarcely explain to you that this scene had taken place in a watch-house, to which I had been conveyed while in a state of insensibility ; but I cared 170 SHADE AND SUNSHINE not where I was, or what became of me, as gradually I became capable of comprehending all that I have related to you. That I might die was the only wish I was capable of forming, indeed, I felt as if that wish would be realised, as I closed my eyes upon what was passing around me. How long I remained in this state I know not, but again I was recalled to misery. The doctor they had spoken of was by my side when I became again conscious. He had pronounced — it seemed — that my life was in danger, and as there was no charge of any kind against me, had ordered that I should be carried immediately to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Contrary to his prognostication, however, in a few days I was pronounced out of danger, and then too soon the time came that I was compelled to leave this asylum; to go I knew not whither, without a home — without a friend — without even the means of buying a single meal. What had become of the little money I had about me, when I first entered the house in Homer's Court I never knew, but it was gone; and weak, nervous and terrified at the recollection of all I had endured there, I dared not even apply for the bundle I had left in Mrs. Wyatt's care. I have blamed myself since for the folly — obstinacy, I know not, indeed, what to assign as the motive that had kept me silent, while I was in the hospital, as to the cause which brought me there. It was, perhaps, pride that made me revolt from answering the questions put to me. I saw that I was looked upon with suspicion; the manner in which they talked of the fight in which I had been engaged, the levity and curiosity which seemed to prompt the questions I was asked, sealed my lips. Bitterly I have since repented — bitterly regretted what I now feel to be the ruling fault OP woman's life. 171 of my disposition, that pride which "was not even then humbled by what I had suffered. To kindness my heart was ever open. I could have humbled myself to the dust to those who would have shewn confidence in me, but I could not submit to remove suspicion, and scorn I have been ever ready to repay with scorn. Alas ! how have I now fallen beneath even scorn." Katharine hid her face with her hands, and deep sobs for awhile prevented her utterance, while St. Orme, more than ever compassionating her feelings, endeavoured, by the kindest and most soothing attentions, to restore her to tranquillity. " I have little more to add to my wretched history," she at length resumed in a low desponding voice. " I have already told you that still weak in body, and as I now feel, still weaker in mind, I found myself in the streets, without knowing which way to turn my trembling steps. It was, noon when I passed through the gates of the hospital, and while the daylight lasted, I continued slowly to walk on without regarding whither I went, and only anxious to shun the inquisitive looks that from time to time I saw were turned upon me. Several times I was accosted in words of levity, and more than once of insult, by those who, I suppose, were encouraged by my slow steps and undecided manner, but I had still pride of manner and self-respect sufficient to awe into silence those at whom in reality I trembled. But night came on, and weary, sinking, and exhausted for want of food, the horrors of my situation seemed suddenly to burst upon me with tenfold force. " ' Oh, that I could find some corner where I could lie down unmolested and die,' I thought, as I still dragged my trembling frame along a street, which I had 172 SHADE AND SUNSHINE turned into to avoid the noise and lights, and the bustle of the more crowded thoroughfares. A few more weary paces and I sank down on the steps of a house, repeating my prayer, that death would relieve me from my miseries. Suddenly the recollection occurred to my mind that I was in the neighbourhood of my mother's residence. My heart throbbed violently at the thought, and a mist came over my eyes, but tears came to my relief, and I softly murmured to myself the words of Scripture, ' I will arise and go to my father, and will say, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and against Thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. Make me, I pray Thee, as one of thy hired servants.' " The words seemed to give me courage and con- solation. " She will not let me perish in the street, I softly uttered, and summoning to my aid all my strength, I walked swiftly on along the well-remembered street, as if fearful that my courage would fail if I did not im- mediately put in practice my resolution. I reached the front of the house, and holding by the iron rails to sup- port my trembling frame, looked up to the well-known windows. Oh ! what would I not have given to have been at that moment reinstated in that attic, that I had so despised, never again to leave it. " ' Yes, I would — Oh ! how willingly I would bind myself by any obligation she might require/ 1 exclaimed, * never to quit that room.' "The words were still on my lips, when a woman, whom I had not noticed standing under the shade of the portico, came hastily down the steps and looked inquir- ingly at me, as if to ascertain whether she knew me. I turned away my face, for the tears were streaming down of woman's life. 173 my cheeks, and I was unwilling a stranger — as I took her to be — should see my emotion. The woman, how- ever, was not to be so easily evaded. " ' Are you waiting here for anybody, young woman ?' she demanded. " Heavens ! how I started. The voice was familiar to me, and yet — could I believe the evidence of my senses. Could that poor, shabby, miserable looking creature, be Martha Beresford ? "'Martha!' I exclaimed. She hesitated a moment, and then peered into my face, as if in her turn, doubtful of my identity. " ' Do you not know me, Martha ?' I faltered. " She drew back as I stretched out both of my tremb- ling hands to greet her. " ' Know you ! ' she repeated, contemptuously drawing back. ' Oh, yes ! I know you well enough now, though I Little thought it was you prowling about here at this time of night.' " I have already,' continued Katharine, ' owned the in- firmity of my temper. I forgot everything else at the moment but resentment at the insolence — for such it appeared — of her manner and words. " ' Prowling !' I repeated. 'Whom have I to thank but you, that I am here, a wretched outcast from my home — friendless, houseless — ' " She interrupted me with a deriding laugh ; but it sounded so strange, so hollow, so unlike anything I can describe, that I drew back from her with a feeling of alarm. "'So, it has come to this already, has it?" she ob- served. ' Well, you have met with your deserts ! Why should I be the only sufferer ? You have brought ruin 174 SHADE AND SUNSHINE and misery upon me, and it is right you should suffer as well as me.' " I do not know how it was, hut, conscious as I was that this accusation was false — that in reality it was I who had a right to reproach her as the source of my misery, as well as her own, I could not help pitying her. " ' Why should we seek to add to the unhappiness we are hoth suffering, Martha/ I observed in a tone of con^ ciliation ? 'We have hoth of us much to regret, and blame ourselves for. Do not let us add to our mutual suffering by reproaches and bitter words. Tell me, what are you doing ? Why are you here ? — has my mother relented ? ' " ' Your mother relented ! ' she replied; ' as soon may you hope to see these stones — stamping her foot on the step on which she stood — melt at your touch, as that her cold, unfeeling heart will ever feel — will ever relent the misery she has brought upon me. She is a wretch with- out one human feeling. No ! she would glory — rejoice — if she could see me perishing at her feet. Ay ! and you too ; so, if you have come here with any hope of getting assistance from her, I tell you at once you are throwing away your time and trouble. She has told me, that, were she to see you, as well as me, dying for want, perishing in the streets, she would spurn us both — rejoice to see us reap the consequences of our guilt. No, no, Kate ! if you have come here with any hope that your sufferings will induce her to relent towards you, dismiss it at once, for I tell you again, her heart is harder than stones — that she has not a spark of human nature in her bosom.' " I sank down again on the step from which I had risen when I first recognised Martha. OF WOMAN S LITE. 175 " * Then her wish will be gratified/ I faintly replied, ' for I shall die here.' " Martha stood a moment or two, looking at me in silence and with a perplexed air. " ' Pshaw! ' she at length observed; ' it is easy to talk of dying, but you don 't suppose that you would be let stay here quietly to die, or that she wouldn 't soon take means to have you removed, if she should come to know you are here ? Have you no pride left ? I should have thought that, with your high spirit, you would seek any place rather than this, where everybody knows your history ? ' " ' Pride ! ' I repeated in anguish. ' But why, then, are you here, Martha ? ' I demanded, suddenly recollect- ing myself, for it struck me she was anxious to get me away. There was something of her old cunning in trying to work upon a feeling to which she had seldom appealed in vain, that excited my suspicion. " ' Come a little way with me, and I will explain,' she replied. ' She will be going out soon, and — ' " She stopped, as if she had inadvertently said more than she intended ; but what she had said roused me in- to instant exertion, and, in direct contradiction to what I had previously said and intended, I hurried away with terror at the thought of being seen by my mother in that situation ; and it appeared that Martha Beresford, from the manner in which she urged me along, shared in that feeling. It was not until we turned into Manchester Square, and were completely out of sight and hearing, however, that my companion showed herself in her true colours. She endeavoured at first to evade the question, to which, however, I was determined to have a decisive answer — For what purpose she was waiting where I had J 76 SHADE AND SUNSHINE seen her, if my mother were really so inveterate against her ? Whether it was true or not, I cannot tell— I have sometimes heen inclined to doubt it— but she declared that but for the compassion of my mother's cook, the only one of my father's old servants who was not discharged immediately after my brother's death, she (Martha) should long ago have been starved, the little needle-work she could get to do only enabling her to pay for her poor lodging. " It is at the risk of losing her place,' she observed, ' that the old woman saves the broken victuals for me, which your mother would sooner give to the dogs than suffer me to have, to keep soul and body together. So now you know the mighty secret that you 've been so wonderfully anxious about.' " I made no reply to this, though I did not like the manner in which it was uttered, and she went on lament- ing her hard fate, and bestowing every abusive epithet she could think of upon my mother, and those who had brought her to such a state. " This was, of course, levelled at me, but I tried to evade answering her. I will confess at once the truth ; the wretchedness I had for the last twenty-four hours or more suffered, since I had been without a home, and the prospect before me, rendered me selfish and mean. From the moment I heard Martha — more fortunate than me — had a lodging, a room which, however slightingly she spoke of it, was at her own disposal, I was meditating in what manner I could propose to her to let me share it with her. Selfish as I knew her to be, I could not think that she would refuse. I would work my fingers to the bone, I thought to myself, to pay her whatever she de- manded. At any rate for this one night — this dreaded of woman's life. 177 night, which had already commenced — she would not refuse me an asylum. Alas ! Martin's cunning had fore- seen — " "She could not — she did not — refuse you?" exclaimed St. Orme, his cheeks glowing, and eyes sparkling with indignation. "She did, indeed," returned Katharine; "though almost on my knees I begged — I prayed — her not to leave me in the street." " ' Do you suppose I am going to let you bring ruin upon me again?' she observed. No, no, Katharine; I have suffered enough for my foolish indulgence of you, already, but I have still a character to lose, and it is all I have to depend upon, and I will not hazard it by intro- ducing you into a respectable house.' " " Wretch ! — vile, infamous wretch ! " exclaimed St. Orme, unable to suppress the indignation poor Katha- rine's anguished reminiscence of this fearful period ex- cited. " I will not pain you by dwelling on Martha's cruel rejection of my earnest prayers to her to save me from the misery I anticipated. One of her reproaches to me I must relate, to show the extent of that selfishness which had ever been the most striking trait in her cha- racter. "'Even now,' she observed, 'my meeting with you has done me a great injury. I shall not be able, perhaps, to see Cook to-night, and shall be obliged to go supper- less to bed, instead of having a good meal, and enough, perhaps, to last for a day or two, for your mother gave a graud supper-party last night on account of Ellen's birth- day, and Cook told me if I came to-night — ' '•'And I am without bread,' I uttered in the bitterness 2 A 178 SHADE AND SUNSHINE of my heart, little foreseeing the conclusion Martha would draw from this avowal. "'Yes/ she ohserved hastily, ' I know you think that you ought to share what I get out of your mother's house ; hut I can tell you that it 's quite little enough for myself, and you could not expect — ' u ' Oh, no, I expect nothing ! I want nothing hut shelter from the streets ! Dear, dear Martha, do not deny me that ! ' I exclaimed. " Martha, however, had steeled herself against all my prayers and tears, and I saw she was meditating how to get away from me, when a carriage with lighted lamps dashed hastily round the corner of the square, close to where Martha and I were standing. '"I shall he in time, after all,' she exclaimed, evidently thrown off her guard hy her joy at the discovery. ' Well, yes/ she added, in answer to my look, for I could not command my voice to speak — ' It was your mother. I forgot you did not know she has set up her carriage since Leopold's death. She can well afford it, now that she has got nobody but Ellen to provide for. But I can 't stop any longer ; I am sorry for you, Katharine, hut you know it was all your own seeking, and I 've suffered quite enough from my foolish attachment to you, without running the risk of ruining myself a second time.' "I did not answer her. I could not : for the' glimpse I had got of my mother, and Martha's matter-of-fact way of speaking of the improvement in my mother's circum- stances, by the death of one child and the ruin of another, had, as it were, paralysed me. I clasped my hands, in a last attempt to implore her pity, but she was gone before I could utter a word. Gone" — added Katharine, trying to smile — " to secure her supper and the dinner for next of woman's life. • 179 day, -which she had so feared I should claim a share of, as to consign me to nun and despair." A long pause followed this remark, -which had called forth a bitter execration from St. Orme on the head of Martha Beresford. " What can I add to what I have already told you ?" murmured Katharine, in broken accents. " That night was a night of horror ! Again and again I threw myself down, -whenever I believed myself unobserved, and thought it impossible I could ever rise again ; but I could find no shelter that -would screen me from insult and profligacy ; or, if I escaped that, I -was harshly roused from my cold seat by the watchman, whose language and manners were scarcely less offensive. But that night passed away at last, and the next day — I scarcely know how. I had not tasted food when the second night came, and with it a resolution which I dared not attempt to put in practice while the daylight lasted. Accident had led my trembling steps into the neighbourhood of the river. It was the middle of the day when I reached Blackfriars Bridge, and, though still shrinking from the eyes that so often encountered mine with the unfeeling gaze of curi- osity, indifference, or perhaps even a worse feeling, I gladly sunk down upon one of the stone seats, which I saw were happily free to any who were disposed to accept the accommodation. It was a cold, gloomy day for the time of year, and I shivered beneath the wind that came through the open balustrade ; yet there I sat, hour after hour, immovable, and almost unconscious of the busy scene around me. More than once I was afldressed by men who came and sat down beside me, but I gave no reply to their questions or remarks ; there was nothing in their looks or voices that could thaw the ice that lbO SHADE AND SUNSHINE seemed to have frozen my heart, and one after the other they walked awny, leaving me to my despair. I cannot attempt to describe to you the sufferings of those long — long hours ; the pangs of hunger and thirst. I was there literally perishing, sickening with want, before the eves of hundreds, who passed on without bestowing, per- haps, a second glance or thought upon me. I did not reflect — I was not, indeed, capable of reflecting — that there was nothing in my dress or appearance, except it might be my pallid countenance — and that I concealed as much as possible — that could betray the utter desti- tution I was reduced to. During my stay in the hospital my clothes had been washed and mended, and a decent shawl had been given to me, when I left, by the sister or head nurse of the ward, which effectually concealed all deficiencies in my apparel. I was then too ignorant — too inexperienced in the ways and means of poverty in this great city," added Katharine, with a deep sigh, " to be aware that by parting with tins, the only disposable article I possessed, I might have procured the means of prolonging my wretched existence for many hours ; but it never occurred to me ; and there I continued to sit, condemning in my heart, when I could think — for there were times in that long day when I fell into a lethargy that forbade even thought ; condemning, I say, the whole world for their cruelty and indifference to a perishing fellow- creature, without considering that it was probable, that my appearance could not have conveyed a suspicion of my distress to one out of the hundreds who passed me. I have said I waited for night ; not now with fear and trembling, but as the welcome period that should relieve me from all suffering. Yes ! I will not disguise the truth, although I now shudder at the recollection. OF WOMAN'S LlfE. lbl From the first hour that I gazed down on the water from the balustrades, the thought incessantly recurred to me, that there, and there only, should I find a refuge from all my miseries. 'Yes; one plunge, and all will be over!' I repeated to myself again, ' It is better to fall at once into the hands of God than to trust to the world, whose most tender mercies are cruelty.' I know not where these ■words originated, but they incessantly recurred to my memory ; and yet I felt that I dared not raise my thoughts to that God whose laws I was about to violate. Oh, no, no ! I will not attempt to excuse the act I medi- tated. I feel — I know — that it was madness; that it was frenzy, which only those who have suffered as I then suf- fered can properly understand, that prompted my reso- lution, and that seemed to close my heart and under- standing against feeling any reflection that might have induced me to hesitate. It was beginning to grow dusk, and the crowds that passed and re-passed my chilly seat were gradually diminishing : from time to time I turned an anxious gaze upon the deep, still waters below, and shuddered ; but still my resolution was unaltered ; I felt it only necessary still to delay its execution, lest I should be seen and prevented. During all the time that I had sat there, and it must have been many hours, I had never received the slightest indication — beyond, perhaps, a look of curiosity — from one of my own sex ; but at this time, just at the first indication of evening coming on, a female seated herself by my side, with an expression of satisfaction, as if to rest from a long walk. She had the appearance of a decent servant, and carried a parcel in one hand, and in the other a large street-door key. " ' This is a cold seat,' she observed, looking at me, ' especially at this time of day.' 182 SHADE AND SUNSHINE "I answered briefly, 'Yes ;' and she then asked me if I had been sitting long there. I was little disposed to talk, but I was compelled to make some answer, and I replied again, ' Yes ; a long time.' " ' Gracious goodness me !' she exclaimed in a tone of kindness, 'why it's enough to give you your death sitting upon this cold stone, and the wind comes so cold and chilly off the water. But, maybe, you're like me, waiting for somebody ; that's what made me ask you how long you 'd been here, for I thought, perhaps, you 'd seen a young woman looking about for me. It's my fellow servant/ she added, before I could reply. ' I've been out for a holiday and to buy myself a new gown, and she was to meet me here on the bridge, but somehow we've missed one another, though I don't like to go home without her.' " I saw she expected an answer, and I replied I had not observed any person waiting. " ' Well, I shall stay a bit to see whether she comes,' she observed, ' that is, if you're not going just directly, for I should not like to sit here by myself. A young woman can't be too careful in these Lunnon streets, there's so many bad characters about. You aint in a hurry to go, are you ?' " I shook my head and faintly replied ' No, it is of no consequence how long I stay.' " ' Dear me, you're lucky,' she observed, ' to be your own mistress. Now, I'm obliged to be home by ten o'clock at latest.' " ' Lucky !' I repeated with emphasis, scarcely know- ing what I said. " ' Well, excuse me, my dear, everybody knows their own business best. Perhaps you're out of place, and I of woman's life. 183 know what that is too -well ; many a time I've walked about with a smiling face and a heavy heart, ay, and an empty stomach too, till I got into the place where I'm living now.' " ' Unfortunately I have never been a servant,' I re- plied, bursting into tears, my heart opening as it were to the voice of kindness. " ' Ah !' she observed, ' that's worse still, but I might have guessed you'd been brought up a lady. Gracious knows, service is bitter bread after all, and as the old saving goes ' Service is no inheritance ;' but if I aint too bold in asking, what do you do for your living V " The question drew from me a confession that I had hitherto done nothing, that I had, up to a recent period, been living with my friends, and in short, that I was then destitute, despairing, without hope or home. " But, I need not proceed to detail minutely the parti- culars of this artful conversation. It is sufficient for me to tell vou, that this pretended sympathiser in my mis- fortunes — this homely, artless servant girl, was one of the women whom you saw with me when you first met me, and that she had come out in her assumed character that night, an emissary of the infamous Mrs. Jonas, and having failed in the particular object of her mission, and being struck with my forlorn appearance, having — as I after- wards learned — passed and repassed me several times in the course of the afternoon, had planned the introduction to me, which succeeded according to her expectation. Supported between her and her companion, who came up according to previous arrangement, I was carried rather than led — for I could scarcely stand — to a public house at a short distance from the bridge, and supplied with food and liquor — brandy, I believe — but in the state 18 t SHADE AND SUNSHINE of utter exhaustion I had heen reduced to, very little was sufficient to bring on utter insensibility, and in that condition, I was conveyed in a coach to the infamous house from which you rescued me, and where I remained for many days hovering between life and death, with little probability, as the wretched old woman — the mis- tress of the house— continually reproached me, that I should ever repay her for the trouble, anxiety, and expense I had put her to. e Heaven knows," continued Katharine, "my debt to her was in reality trifling : indeed, to the natural kind- heartedness of the poor lost creature — the drudge and slave of the house — who is called Peggy, I owe my existence, if it be a debt for which I ought to be grateful. Alas ! I did not think so when I discovered into what hands I had fallen ; but vain was my despair, my abhor- rence of the wretched life into which I was now to be initiated, and by which Mrs. Jonas purposed to repay herself for the imaginary debt with which she charged me, but which in reality extended little beyond the shelter of her house and the miserable bed, which I shared with the unfortunate being, whose addiction to liquor amounts to insanity and renders her a slave to a life she has still feeling enough in her sober moments to abhor and detest, and who in her fits of frenzy and rage, brought on by excess, would at one moment weep over me, as a sacrifice destined to utter ruin and de- struction ; and the next, reproach and insult me for my cowardice, which induced me to consent to prolong my wretched, worthless life, at such a price. Yet, though thus inconsistent in her treatment of me, and though shocking and repulsive to every feeling of delicacy or decency as was her language and conduct under the in- of woman's life. 185 ffuence of the maddening liquor she swallowed, to her ingenuity and influence with the woman she called her mistress, it was owing, that I was enabled to protract so long my actual introduction into the life of infamy and vice, of which I was compelled to be the daily witness ; while her possession of some secret in which he was concerned, and with the disclosure of which she boldly threatened him, relieved me from the persecution of the hateful fellow, who, whether the son or husband of Mrs. Jonas, I know not, but who went by her name and lived in the house — the man I mean, who headed the attack upon you, and who pretending — unknown to the old woman — to be desperately in love with me, would, had it not been for Peggy's protection, have been the cause of infinite misery and degradation to me. All my excuses, however, had at last failed ; my health, in spite of the misery I was suffering, was renovated ; the attractions, on which she set — apparently — so much re- liance, were restored ; while, as she bitterly reproached me, my debt to her was hourly increasing, and at length I was compelled yesterday to adopt the hated liver)- — for so I must call the dress in which you beheld me — and for the first time accompanied the two women, to whose arts I owed my introduction into that infamous house, and who were now to act at once as spies upon, and com- panions in, my initiation into a life, from which, I felt, there could be no hope or escape, but in death. Oh ! in what words cau I express the gratitude with which my heart is bursting — " " Only yesterday ?" interrupted St. Orme, whose eyes had lighted up with an ineffable expression of pleasure at the conclusion of Katharine's eventful story, and who was anxious to interrupt her expressions of gratitude, 2 B 186 SHADE AND SUNSHINE which, from their very intensity, were painful to him. *' And you have never then," he continued, u seen your mother since the death of her son ?" " Never !" returned Katharine despondingly, " since that fatal night that she closed her door upon me. I have — as I informed you — written to her, hut if she was thus inexorable to me when I was really innocent of orime, how can I hope now that — " " We will at least make the trial, Katharine," inter- rupted St. Orme. " Time and reflection may have done much to convince her that she has acted with un- pardonable severity to you." " Alas, I fear with her disposition it is hopeless to ex- pect that she will ever believe, or acknowledge herself in fault," replied Katharine; "yet I own that my heart yearns to throw myself at her feet. I am willing to sub- mit to any humiliation, to be received and acknowledged by her ; I feel that there is no safety for me but under her protection. Oh ! surely, did she know what I have suf- fered, my bitter repentance, and the further miseries from which your generosity has rescued me — " " We will at least try the effect of your pleading. To morrow morning," observed St. Orme, with animation, " I will accompany you to your mother's." Katharine's pale cheek became even paler at the anticipation of once more beholding her unnatural mother, but she felt it to be impossible that she should hesitate at any measure proposed by her generous and disinterested companion. The bribe of a shilling to the waiter, secured the un- molested occupation of the box in which they had taken their coffee. He even carefully closed the curtain which shielded Katharine from the observation of the qu^-kly changing guests, and St. Orme rejoiced to see that for OF woman's lite. 187 more than a hour she found a temporary respite from her uneasy thoughts in sleep. Gladly, indeed, would he have sought a similar oblivion from the perplexing cares that pursued him, hut he could not for an instant forget the situation in which his ardent and benevolent feelings had involved him, and as he contemplated the lovely features of Katharine, which, though now hushed in calm and apparently sweet repose, still bore the im- press of deep sorrow and suffering ; he shuddered at the thought how powerless, in reality, might prove his efforts . to rescue her from the miseries that still threatened her, should her hitherto stern, implacable mother remain inexorable. On his own account too, St. Orme could not but feel considerable uneasiness. He shrank from the thoughts of the sarcasm, the ridicule, with which he knew Marlow would receive his explanation of the cause that had separated them and occasioned his (St. Orme's) unwonted absence. To the man of the world — the sensual self-indulgent Marlow — St. Orme felt how impossible it would be to explain the pure feelings by which he had been actuated. There were moments — we cannot conceal the truth — when St. Orme felt in- clined to regret the part he had acted when under the pressure of the heavy difficulties that the future pre- sented. Yet a heavy sigh — a transient shudder — dis- turbing Katharine's slumber, and which evidently arose from the remembrance of the j)ast, breaking even the bonds of sleep, at once banished every selfish feeling, and strengthened him in the generous resolve to sub- mit to every personal sacrifice rather than desert the unfortunate being who relied upon him with such confi- dence as her guardian angel, or rather as the noble and generous benefactor, who had snatched her from a fate 188 SHADE AND SUNSHINE compared to which death, in its most hideous form, would have been a blessing. The result of their interview with Mrs. Beresford we have already related in the first chapter, and now return with our readers to the police office in Bow Street, at the door of which we left St. Orme and Katharine, sur- rounded by a crowd of curious, and, for the most part, unfeeling spectators; some of whom gave utterance, even in the hearing of the unfortunate and terrified girl, to the most cruel and insulting remarks upon her appearance, and the most callous speculations as to the probable result of the judicial inquiry into the charge brought against her and her companion. CHAPTER VII. Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace ; Truth, simple truth, was written in his face ; Yet white the serious thought his soul approved, Cheerful he seemed, and gentleness he loved ; To bliss domestic he his heart resigned, And with the firmest, had the fondest mind . Were others joyful, he looked smiling on, And gave allowance where he needed none ; Good he refused with future ill to buy, Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh ; A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast No envy stung, no jealousy distressed. — Cbabbe. " What is your name, prisoner ? " demanded a harsh voice, breaking suddenly in upon a host of confused thoughts that had occupied St. Orme's mind, so as com- paratively to have rendered him blind and deaf to all that had previously passed while on his way to the bar, as it of woman's life. 189 was called ; and where, a few minutes after, Katharine — from whom he had been momentarily separated, to allow her to recover from the faintness which had rendered her unable to stand — was placed by his side. " Prisoner ! " Could the term be applied to him, and in a tone which seemed to carry condemnation in it? The blood rushed to his cheeks, and his dark eyes flashed fire ; but he recollected himself in time to repress the angry remonstrance that rose to his lips, for the look of indifference — almost of abstraction — that the magis- trate's features wore, immediately suggested to him (St. Orme) that the expression used was not intended to con- vey any peculiarly unfavourable impression towards him ; but — however wrong and degrading to the person whose guilt or innocence yet remained to be proved, and there- fore, according to the legal fiction, ought still to be con- sidered innocent — was merely an official habit. "Vivian St. Orme," he replied calmly, but in rather a low voice, for he felt at that moment the painful conse- quences that might result from the public exposure of such a name, which there could be scarcely a hope would be appropriated to any but himself, in London. " Speak up. What did you say ? " demanded the clerk, who was taking down his answers. St. Orme repeated his name more distinctly, but as he did so his face again flushed, for he felt the satirical smile and keen look that was for a moment fixed upon him, and saw it repeated in the countenances of the officials who were standing near him. " What did he say ? " demanded the magistrate ; for the first time fixing his sharp, penetrating eyes, glower- ing from beneath his heavy eyebrows, with a look of in- tense curiosity upon the prisoner. 190 SHADE AND SUNSHINE "Vi-vi-an Saint-Orme, your worship," repeated the clerk, with syllahic precision, and still with the smile up- on his lips that had disconcerted St. Orme. "Is that the only name you are known hy ?" demanded the magistrate. St. Orme's countenance expressed at first his extreme surprise, and then equal resentment, at the question ; but again he repressed the expression of his feelings, and re- plied briefly that it was. " Do any of you know the prisoner ? " was the next question, addressed to the officers. A laconic "No, your worship," was the reply from one, in which the others by their silence acquiesced; and then two or three who had been behind, so as not to have a perfect view of his features, came forward, and with the utmost nonchalance surveyed him, totally indifferent, as it appeared, to the proud and defiant look with which St. Orme drew himself up to his fullest height, and scorn- fully returned their glances. It was evident, indeed, that his anger made no impression upon them, from the cool manner in which they disavowed all previous knowledge of him. The magistrate's attention was now transferred to Katharine, who, pale and trembling, with difficulty raised her voice so as to render intelligible her answers to the questions put to her. With difficulty St. Orme reined in his impetuous tem- per, as he listened to the contemptuous observations which were elicited by Katharine's candid statement of the manner in which she had become possessed of the bank-note which had been the source of so much uneasi- ness and trouble to her companion and herself. A very slight investigation of the circumstances which had led of woman's life. 191 to Katharine's being included in the charge brought against St. Orine, had sufficed to induce the magistrate to dismiss her as a criminal, and she was then removed from her place by the side of St. Orme, and called upon, as a witness, to state what she knew as to his becoming possessed of the note. " What do you know of the prisoner ? " demanded the magistrate in his roughest tones, and bending his scowl- ing looks upon the trembling girl, who hesitated how to answer a question, which was likely to lead to an expo- sure of her misfortunes. " When and where did you first meet with the pri- soner ? " he demanded, finding that she hesitated to reply to his first question. " I met Mr. St. Orme accidentally," returned Katha- rine tremulously, and hanging down her head still lower than before, to avoid the numerous eyes that were fixed upon her. " Oh, accidentally ! " repeated her interrogator, with marked emphasis ; " and pray when did this accident happen ? " " Last night," returned Katharine, with increasing- confusion. There was a half-suppressed murmur, and an evident disposition to laugh, among the crowd of idle spectators that was rather increased than moderated by St. Orme's evident impatience and anger at the course adopted by the man in authority ; but the latter still preserved, un- moved, his stern impressive manner. " What are you ? " How do you get your living ? " he demanded. Katharine's pale lips quivered, and she cast a look of anguish towards St. Orme, whose whole frame trembled 192 SHADE AND SUNSHINE with indignation at this inquisitorial style of exa- mination. " Have you a right, sir, to put these questions ? " he demanded ; " because, for my own part, I would rather — " "Hold your tongue ! it is not your time to speak," exclaimed the magistrate with vehemence. " Officer, do your duty ; keep the prisoner from interrupting me, or else I will order him to be remanded, and take the depo- sitions in his absence." " St-st-silence ! You will only do yourself harm," whispered the officer who stood beside him, seeing that St. Orme was about indignantly to reply to the imperious administrator of justice. " Why don't you answer my question ? " observed the latter, again addressing Katharine : " Who and what are you?" " I am nothing — have no means of getting my living," replied the trembling girl ; " till within a few months I have been dependent upon my mother, who is a widow, but I unfortunately offended her and was discarded. It was in the hope of inducing her to forgive me, and suffer me to return home, that Mr. St. Orme accompanied me to her house this morning, and, as I said before, it was from her I received the note — " " I did not ask you to repeat what you said before," he interrupted. " You will have to tell that story to a jury, and see whether you can make them believe it. And so you had the confidence, according to this account, to take this man — a stranger, whom you had picked up over-night by accident — to your mother, the poor widow, whom it is plain you disgraced by your conduct, and expect that he, by his plausibility, would prevail on her to suffer you to OF woman's life. 193 quarter yourself upon her, to be maintained, I suppose, in idleness until you were again tired of leading a decent life." " Oh no, no ! " exclaimed Katharine, clasping her hands with an expression of the deepest anguish, " I asked nothing ; I would have submitted to — " "Don't interrupt me, I say," he broke in upon her pathetic explanation of her situation, without betraying the slightest indication of sympathy ; although it was very evident, from the change that had taken place in the countenances of many who had before regarded her with levity — or, at the best, had been disposed to form the most unfavourable suspicions as to her character and situation — that the truth and earnestness of her manner, seconded as it was by the expression of her lovely and delicate features, had made a deep impression upon hearts but little in general disposed to sympathy. " Keep up your spirits," whispered a man who stood behind Katharine, and who thus took advantage of the magistrate's attention being for the moment called away from her, he being engaged in searching for his snuff- box, winch it seemed he had mislaid among the papers that were scattered before him — " Keep up your spirits, and don't let yourself be daunted. His bark's worse than his bite ; besides, you 've got no occasion to be afraid of him." Alas ! this well-intended consolation was far from effecting the good that was purposed. The unexpected voice of kindness seemed but more forcibly to impress upon her the sense of her desolate condition, and should she lose the protection of St. Orme — as was implied by the magistrate's hint of referiing his case to the decision of a jury — her utterly hopeless and destitute situation ; and 2 c 194 SHADE AND SUNSHINE an hysterical flood of tears for some minutes rendered her incapable of replying, when again her authoritative questioner returned to his inquisition into her past his- tory and present circumstances. u And so your mother, you say, in spite of your having acted so shamefully as to compel her to disown you, was still so tenderly inclined towards you as to bestow, ac- cording to your account, the handsome sum of ten pounds upon you, no doubt with the view of enabling you to get an honest living, instead of continuing a life of guilt and dissipation ? Poor woman ! she is greatly to be pitied; perhaps she could little afford to part with it; and again — according to your ovrn account — instead of hus- banding her bounty, you go driving about in a hackney- coach with the prisoner, who is so destitute that you are compelled to give him your note — your poor mother's liberal gift — to pay the fare — " u Infamous misrepresentation ! Katharine, rouse your- self, and vindicate not only yourself but me from — " But St. Orme's vehement remonstrance was allowed to proceed no further, or rather it was drowned by the magis- trate's loud and coarse exclamations, and commands to the officers — " Take the prisoner away ! — Drag him out, if he wont hold his tongue and pay proper respect to the court!" but there was evidently a reaction in favour of St. Orme, in the opinions of those who had sense and feeling enough — however incrusted by habit and experi- ence of the numerous deceptions practised by the majo- rity of those who stood at the bar of justice — to under- stand the feeling that spoke in St. Orme's voice and countenance ; and though there was a pretended bustle to obey their imperious director, no one in particular seemed to consider himself called upon to enforce his OF WOMAN S LIFE. 195 commands, or to go farther than repeat their former re- monstrances, anil persuade St. Orme to be silent till it came to his turn to speak. On Katharine, however, her friend's brief and only half-uttered adjuration had produced a powerful effect. No longer pale and trembling, she drew herself up to her full height, her lip curling and eyes flashing, with an ex- pression of pride and haughtiness that startled those who had been previously compassionating the humiliation and mortification which had seemed to crush her to the earth, and without waiting for the magistrate to resume his questions or animadversions on her conduct or situation, observed — "You have fallen altogether into a mistake, Sir, both as regards me and Mr. St. Orme. I have been unfor- tunate, it is true, in incurring my mother's displeasure, but, I am not the degraded being you would infer. This is no place," she continued, " for me to enter into a history of my mother's motives or conduct towards me; but allow me to assure you that your pity is greatly mis- placed as regards her, as she is the possessor of a hand- some fortune, to a share of which I am — by the will of my father — entitled, if not in law, in equity, to succeed. Your praise of her liberality, therefore, in bestowing ten pounds on the daughter, whom her violent passions and not that daughter's vices — as you have chosen to assume — threw into the degrading position which compelled her to sue for and accept even that comparatively paltry assistance, is as misplaced as your pity. With respect to Mr. St. Orme, the accident of his being without the means of coach hire without changing the note, arose from circumstances which have made me his debtor to an extent that no money can ever repay, and amid all the 196 SHADE AND SUNSHINE misfortunes I have endured, I shall ever reckon the greatest, that I have (though innocently) been the cause of his present undeserved suffering." Katharine's lip again quivered, her voice became choked, and with difficulty she restrained the tears which glistened in her beautiful eyes, as she looked towards St. Orme with an expression of the most intense gratitude and deep sorrow for the evils she had brought upon him. " Pray, are you an actress ?" demanded the magistrate, who had at last recovered from the astonishment which her passionate address had excited and which had kept him until then silent. " I have already said that I have no occupation, Sir," replied Katharine, calmly. " If I had been fortunate enough to possess such a resource, I should not now have stood here exposed to the mortification of answering such questions." Again the man in authority betrayed evident signs that he was disconcerted, and he for a minute or two- remained silent, but his eyes, which seemed to avoid meeting Katharine's, suddenly rested on St. Orme — whose animated countenance betrayed his perfect approval of the spirit with which the before timid, sinking girl, had vindicated herself — and though he affected to speak calmly and dispassionately, a malicious gleam of satisfaction betrayed the magistrate's secret triumph at the power which he felt rested with him . to retaliate Katharine's evident contempt. " Well, " he observed, addressing the latter with assumed mildness, " It will rest with you to produce your mother — if there be such a person — on the trial of the prisoner. Of course, if she acknowledges that this was the identical note she gave the prisoner, and if she is the OF woman's life. 197 F . . respectable person you represent her to be, that will go far to remove the charge of his wilfully attempting to pass a forgery upon the prosecutor." " Oh, Heaven ! you cannot — you do not surely doubt his innocence !" exclaimed Katharine, in agony. The magistrate was about hastily and peremptorily to interrupt her, but at this moment the man who had brought the charge against St. Orme, stepped forward to plead in favour of the latter — " He was convinced," he said, " that he had acted too hastily in making the accusation. The fact was, he had been irritated by having within a few days taken a note of the same amount, which had been returned to him from the Bank of England, marked ' Forged,' and which so strongly resembled the one offered by the gentleman in the present instance, that he was led to believe that it was the same manufacture." "And how do you know it is not?" demanded the • magistrate, sternly. The man appeared for the moment daunted, but he glanced at Katharine who seemed to dwell upon the words that issued from his lips, as if her life depended upon them, and he replied " That it might be. He could not say it was not, but that did not prove that the gentle- man who offered it was aware of it. He had not himself found out that the first note was a bad one till it was sent back to him, and it might have so happened that he had passed it in the way of trade, instead of sending it to the bank, and he should have thought it very hard indeed if he had done so to be charged with knowingly uttering a forgery. For his part he confessed that he firmly be- lieved neither the gentleman nor the young lady were aware that the note was a forgery, and he would, with 198 SHADE AND SUNSHINE his worship's permission, withdraw the charge he had made." This, however, the magistrate decidely refused to allow. " There were quite suspicious circumstances enough/" he observed, " to warrant his sending the case to a jury. The yirl had, it was true, told a very plausihle story as to the possession of the note, but there was no legal proof that it was the same note she re- ceived from her mother. The prisoner might have changed the note she gave him for the false one he offered." " I was searched, and no other money was found in my possession," observed St. Orme. "Yes, of that I was a witness," eagerly observed the prosecutor, who seemed now as anxious to establish St. Orme's innocence as he had been in the first instance to prove his guilt. The magistrate shook his head with an incredulous smile, though he did not choose to explain how or why he doubted a fact, which could have been farther con- firmed by two or three officers, in whose presence St. Orme had undergone the humiliation of having not only his pockets, but every part of his clothes closely examined. St. Onne felt every hope desert him as he beheld the expression of those lips which were to pro- nounce, not certainly his final doom, for of that he enter- tained not the slightest fear. It was not merely the consciousness of innocence that assured him of acquittal by a jury, for his understanding assured him that there was not in reality a single proof of the crime with which he was charged, but it was in that mans power at once to discharge him, or to condemn him to an ordeal that was scarcely less dreadful in anticipation than would have been the certainty of final condemnation, and from OF WOMAN'S LIFE. l'.H) that dreaded ordeal — that expression of scornful incre- dulity left him scarcely a hope of escape. St. Orme's first thoughts were certainly given to the perilous situation in which he stood, for inevitable ruin of all his fair prospects in the world must, he felt, be the consequence of his being arraigned at the bar, while even an acquittal would not remove the stigma which would henceforth he attached to his name But he glanced at Katharine, and all selfish considerations were in a moment forgotten. What would be the fate of that unfortunate girl, thus deprived of his protection, and thrown again upon the world literally penniless and houseless ? How could she exist without being again thrown into the companionship of vice and misery, from which he had at such a cost to himself rescued her ? Would her mother attend to any representation of the circumstances that had deprived her unhappy child even of the temporary relief she (Mrs. Beresford) had bestowed, or intended to bestow upon her ? Alas ! he feared the severe truths that Katharine had uttered in her excite- ment, as to the conduct of her unnatural parent, would be an effectual bar to her doing what was in fact strictly an act of justice, and which a stranger could have de- manded of her, namely, to replace the fictitious note she had given her by a good one ; and bitter was the execration which rose to his lips against that proud, austere, hard-hearted woman, as in imagination he be- held Katharine again driven with contempt and reviling from the door, which, even had she been the guilty creature her mother chose to believe her, ought to have been thrown open to her repentance, and have gladly admitted her to the only shelter that could save her from deeper degradation. But was she guilty ? Oh, no ! St. Orme's heart fully acquitted her. He saw in 200 SHADE AND SUNSHINE her only a helpless sacrifice to the viliany of man and the cruel injustice which visits his crime on the head of his victim. "Heaven in its infinite mercy protect her," he mur- mured, his heart softening from the burning indignation which had a few moments before vented itself in curses on the head of her unnatural mother. " Vat is she to you, mine goot friend?" muttered a voice close to his ear. " Is she your sister, or your shweetheart, or vat is she ?" St. Orme turned in surprise to the speaker. He was a man advanced in years, with features that were still handsome, though decidedly of that peculiar cast that bespoke him to belong to the Hebrew nation. (< If you had attended to what has passed here, you must know that she is neither," replied St. Orme in a tone of marked displeasure.