i ■' FOR EVER AND EVER. 33g tj)£ same ^utjot. GERALD ESTCOURT. LOVE'S CONFLICT. TOO GOOD FOR HIM. WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. FOR EVER AND EVER. NELLY BROOKE. VERONIQUE. HER LORD AND MASTER. THE PREY OF THE GODS. THE GIRLS OF FEVERSHAM. MAD DUMARESQ. NO INTENTIONS. PETRONEL. FOR EVER AND EVER ^ 9rama of %\ft BY FLORENCE MARRYAT, AUTHOR OF 'LOVE'S CONFLICT,' 'TOO GOOD FOR HIM,' ETC., ETC. "He asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest it him, even length of days for ever and ever." A NEW EDITION, LONDON : HUTCHINSON & CO., 25, PATERNOSTER SQUARE. \All rights reserved ?^ TO AHT FRIEND AND BEOTHER, EDWARD WINTER CHURCH CONTENTS. /^^7 CHAP. Prologue I. Sutton Valence, Co. Kent . II. John Ward law's Models TTT. The Rector op Sutton Valence . IV. 'Where are the Lilies?' . V. * Turn again, Whittington 1 ' VI. The Home op Tom Cornicott VII. Jael, the Wipe of Heber the Kenite VTTT. A Morning at Matterby's . IX. An Evening at the 'King's' X. Deeper in the Mire .... XI. Jael at Home XII. * Forewarned ' XIII. John Wardlaw stands hls Ground XIV. An Awakened Memory .... XV. Henrietta Stuart XVI. 'Why Miss Bellew Changed her Mind* XVII. 'The Consequences op the Change' . XVIII. 'On the Terraces' XIX. 'John Wardlaw Visits his Old Friends' XX. A Meeting in the Hof-Gardens . XXI. MoRP. Vexation .... PAGB . 1 . 30 . 41 . 51 . 67 . 81 . 93 . 105 . 119 . 126 . 138 . 152 . 165 . 176 . 190 . 201 . 219 . 2U . 247 . 257 . 269 . 2S3 487 vu Contents. CHAP. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. xxxn. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLIIl. PA&B Miss Ckofton puts her Fingers between the Fire and the Wood , . , . . 294 WiMFRED BaLCHIN 303 The Maidstone Ball , . . . .318 The Pursuit 334 Last Words 346 John Wardlaw Hefuses to re Comforted . 353 Balm in Gilead 366 ' A Halt on the March of Life ' . . . 377 Six Months Afterwards . . , . .387 The Cottage at Hounslow .... 401 An Unexpected Return . . , . .412 'In the Ruins' 426 A Discovery , . . , - .438 Leofric Temple's Work 451 After the Stobm . . . , . 461 Captain Wardlaw's Affairs .... 470 Last Words .478 Act the Last: Scene — Burmah . , . 490 The English Mail 503 John Wardlaw Meets an Old Friend . .512 How they Fared in the Old Country . . 525 Pussy's Answer ....... 533 .Epilogue . . , . ... b43 FOR EVER AXD EVER. PEOLOaCJE. There is in all this cold and hollow world no fonnt Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within A mother's heart. — Hema^'3. REAJDEE, if we have ever journeyed in company before, it was probably on an occasion when the old cathedral town of Milborough formed part of the imaginative route ; and I want now for one brief moment to take you there a:,'ain, and show you what it looked like on a dull November afternoon some five-and-thirty years ago, when the sky was a prevailing mass of darkest grey, and the untiring rain maintained the same continuous drip, drip, drip, upon the soaking earth, which it had maintained for nearly a week before. To those who have at any period enjoyed the privi- lege of a residence, lengthened or otherwise, in the city oi Milborough, it will not be difficult to convey the idea that under the circumstances described the cheerfulness of its general aspect was not increased. For even in the bright summer weather, when everything looks at its best, and Xature, refusino" to be cowed bv the contiiruity of eccle- siastical influence, or to be put down by canonical frowns, dons her gayest apparel, and laughs aloud in the very teeth of saints' days, and fasts, and extra services — even then in the happiest portion of the year ^lilborough is not the loved a For Ever and Ever, resort of the young and the gay. It is a thoroughly re- spectable and properly behaved city there is no doubt, as how should it not be, when its citizens cannot leave their houses, where mirth and revelry are so seldom heard, Tv-ithout encountering half-a-dozen at least of their spiritual pastors and masters in the course of a single walk ; nor turn a corner hastily without running the risk of being precipi- tated into the arms of some comfortable canon, ' with good capon lined,' returning leisurely from his easy work at the cathedral to his easier table ; or some attenuated vicar-choral, who has sung himself to a thread-paper on fifty pounds a year? But beyond these excitements the gaieties of Milborough are few, and such as it charily indulges in, under the patron- age of the Eight Eeverend the Dean and his reverend brothers, are carried out in awful solemnity beneath the frowning shadow of its cathedral. Even the fact of its being a military depot, and the actual daily presence in its streets of scores of the red-coated 'ribald ' soldiery, are impotent to dissipate the dim religious light which hangs about it. The gay uniforms only serve, like butterflies upon a tomb, to make the surroundings appear more gloomy, for the shadow of the great cathedral is capable of stretching itself over any number of regiments, and infusing a dash of neutral tint into the brightest cloth that ever left the loom. What would be thought by the second Charles (for whose especial use one of the buildings, now used as a barrack, was erected) if he could re-visit Milborough at the present moment, and see the rooms he built for temples of mirth and feasting, and dedicated, I have little doubt, to Venus, filled with rude chairs, and tables, and pallet-beds, and turned iuto sleeping apartments for the servants of Her Majesty ? I warrant Milborough was a different place to what it ig now, when his kingly pleasure peopled the famous old town with slashing cavaliers, full of wine and bragging talk, and quick to draw their swords on small occasions, and bringing 111 their train the frail but lovely women of his court. A\ hat would he think, could he see the very house in which he placed his fair Nell Gwynne, now used as Oiimmon pro- Prologue. 3 perty, and given away with a common appointment, and the garden he had planted for her use alone, usurped, partly a3 a barrack-ground, and partly as the site of a hospital. And yet it is true, that where that love-making monarch walked and talked, and whispered soft speeches into Nelly's ear, nothing more sentimental is now heard than the groans of men in pain, or the tramp of many feet at drill. If Mil- borough has ever been the scene of dissipation and of law- less gaiety (which is hard to believe), it has surely sat in sackcloth and ashes for it since, as poor Mistress Grwynne is said to have humbly done before she died. And at no time did it look more penitential, nor weep more copiously over the remembrances of the past, than it was doing on that particular afternoon in November when my story opens. The town itself was wrapt in a dense fog, through which the gas lamps (for it was as late as five o'clock) showed feebly from the heights, whilst the vast parade- ground, usually so beautifully kept, and level as a floor, was one broad sheet of water, and fast resolving into unevenness, beneath the continued drenching it had received. As the hours crept on, and were severally numbered, the bugler for the day would hurriedly issue from the open portals of the barracks, blow a few mournful notes upon his instru- ment, and dart in again, glad to escape from the pouring Bhower which, falling from the lofty eaves upon the gravelled ground with violence, would splash him quite sufficiently to be unpleasant, even in that short space of time ; whilst the unfortunate sentries remained cramped in their boxes trying to think, or not to think, or anything to while away the moments, until the hour came for them to be relieved. Inside the barracks, which is the quondam palace alluded to, and at present dedicated to the use of the men of a line regiment (a few married officers having quarters allotted them at one end of it), the British soldier, to judge from the varied sounds which issued therefrom, was acting on the principle rendered famous by Mark Tapley, and m^iug himself jolly under disadvantageous circumstances. The huge building seemed filled with noise and rioting, and ita whitewashed walls resounded with coarse merriment. Here might be heard the notes of a tin whistle, upon which the proprietor would have been playing ' Auld Lang Syne ' with 4 Foj- Ever and Ever. admirable effect, if it had not been somewhat marred by the accordion in the same apartment persisting in giving the listening public the benefit of ' Eory O'More.' In one dormitory a set of men were practising glees and catches, destined to be sung at their next amateur concert, whilst their comrades on the other side of the wall were rehearsing, for private approval, some comic songs, with particularly comic points in them, always received with the same hoarse roars of laughter, and stamping of heavy feet, and particularly loud choruses, which, as they were at in- tervals repeated, and universally joined in, seemed, for the time being, to drown all other sounds whatever. But though the exceptions were rare, every one was not alike noisy. Soldiers have hearts like other men, and they share the lot of other men. They love and leave and lose occasionally, and occasionally also they have a soft spot left wherein to keep the memory of such things ; for the military profession and a careless roving life do not necessarily render us dead to every human feeling. Consequently in a body of several hundred men, some few are generally found who prefer quiet and their own thoughts to mixing in the gaiety of their companions. Such were in Milborough Barracks that afternoon, and to such the loud light-hearted mirth around them sounded sadder than a Grregorian chant in Lent. But on no ear did it grate so harshly — not even on that of the sergeant who had buried his wife the week before, and was at his wits' end to know what to do with all the little children she had left him, nor on the poor lad who had taken the shilling in a fit of desperation because his girl had jilted him, and now sat apart, sadly wondering if she ever thought of or regretted the mischief she had done ; to neither of these did it sound so mournful, or so out of place, as it did to Altliea Wardlaw, as she half opened the door of her uncomfortable room, and peered with her pale face into the dusky passage, and held her breath to listen for a footstep which did not come. Up and down the broad stone staircase, feet were passing incessantly, but none approached the landing upon which she stood. She could hear the loud voices of the soldiers in the corridors beneath, and the incessant dripping of the rain outside; but what she waited for, the i-eturn of her husband with the Prologue. 5 doctor to see her sick child, she wnited for in vain. She shuddered as the souud of the laughter reached her from below ; and when an oath or two more vehement than the rest fell upon her ears, she shrank backward, and re-entering her apartment, closed the door behind her. The rooru in which she now stood would have appeared und infortable enouLrh to anyone not used to barrack-life, for it -.vas barely furnished (as people liable to be ordered ofi' at a moment's notice are wont to furnish their rooms) ; and iUthoufjh a good fire was burning in the grate, the whitewashed walls looked cold and cheerless. But whatever its aspect, Althea Wardlaw had grown used to it; and if she liad not, she would scarcely have stayed to notice its discomforts now, as she hurried into the bedroom beyond. There, before the fire, sat a nurse, and in lier arras lay a sickly infant of some ten or twelve months old, breathing apparently with the greatest difficulty. Mrs. "Wardlaw bent over the little figure, with the deepest anxiety depicted in her countenance. ' Nurse, does he seem any better ? ' Under the candlelight, standing beside her child, for the first time we can see what she is like : a slender graceful figure, fair soft hair, and a quiet pale face — these make up the personal description of Althea Wardlaw ; but there was something beyond personality, only too evidently marked in her features, either care, or sickness, or temper ; it would have been difficult for a stranger to decide which. Nothing but love in suspense appeared there now, as she waited for an answer to her question. 'I don't think he does. Ma'am,' was the nurse's quiet reply, as she raised the infant into a more comfortable position. The mother's features worked with pain, and she clasped her hands together tightly, as she exclaimed, ' Oh ! what shall I do ? what shall I do ? ' ' I 'm sure I can't tell,' replied the other, with that stolid indifterence to the sight of grief which some of her class often seem to show. ' It appears to me, if that doctor don't come soon, there won't be nothing to be done for him. His breath 's ever so much worse the last hour, and he seems to me to look just like my sister's baby when it was going — just like it, he do, for all the world. 1 don't think you '11 keep him. Ma'am, and that 's the truth.' 6 For Ever and Ever. So slie maundered on, nothing heeding the look of agony which stole over her mistress's face as she listened to what she considered words to be depended on. ' Oh ! not really, nurse ; not really ? ' And then, reading no denial of her previous statement in the woman's eye, she fell on her knees beside the child, and kissed the little face and hands frantically. ' Oh ! my baby ; oh ! my love, it cannot, cannot be. Oh, God, help me ! ' And then starting up again as if she was wild — ' Nurse, what can. I do ? "Will Dr. Everest never come ? * * I 'm sure I can't tell. Ma'am ; master said as he would fetch him — he may, or he may not, there 's no saying. I wouldn't put myself out so if I was you; it can't do no manuer of good, neither to you nor the dear child.' A nd then the servant uncovered part of the infant's face and looked at it, and murmured, ' Bless the dear heart on himj' as if he was in a comfortable sleep, and all was right and well. But Althea Wardlaw had brought him into the world. Married but a short time, in point of years, she had already come to the knowledge that this little child was her sole possession, and, robbed of him, she should have nothing left to live for. Therefore her servant's cool way of speaking, as if his death could be as any other death, drove her nearly desperate. With a sudden resolution, she exclaimed : ' I will get some one else to take a message to the doctor ; Captain Wardlaw must have forgotten to do so.' And rushed into her sitting-room as she spoke, and hastily penned a note ; but all the time she wrote, her knees were knocking together, and her trembling Hps were repeating, * Oh ! my little love, my baby, my everything, I cannot — I will not give you up. I should die, I should kill myself But even as she said it her heart turned sick, as she felt how impotent were her miserable threats against the will of an Almighty power. Her note written, she threw a shawl around her, and went out again upon the landing. As she leant over the balustrades, watching for some one to whom she could ■peak, and listening to the tumult still going on below, how forcibly she was struck with the contrast between the mirth Pro!o(jrue. 7 outside and the sadness within ; between the rude health and boisterous conversation, and the quiet room with the little tender sick child, whose sickness seemed so sore ! — so forcibly, indeed, that her hot tears dropped fast and faster into the wide area beneath. Though, had she but known it, there were many hearts even there which would have beaten sympathetically with hers, had they guessed the cause of her trouble. But when she had waited several minutes, and in vain, she prepared to descend the staircase It was an unusual thing for her to do, excepting when she left her quarters for a walk ; and as she set her feet upon it, she felt shy and strange. For Althea Wardlaw, although her lot had cast her in that place, was anything but at home there. She was a quiet, reserved woman, who had been brought up in the greatest seclusion in the country, and never left it until the unlucky day which had made her the wife of E/obert Wardlaw ; con- sequently such scenes were very new to her, and at times very disagreeable. But at the present moment her thoughts could dwell upon nothing but the danger of her child. She ran down the first two flights of stairs without encountering anyone ; but as she set her foot upon the third, a door opened hastily upon the landing beneath her, and a gentle- man, whose face she knew, issued thence, accompanied by- several of his men. He was the officer of the day, and had just completed his rounds before goiug to mess ; and as he caught sight of Mrs. Wardlaw, without her walking things on, he started forward and advanced to meet her. ' Good heavens ! Mrs. Wardlaw, what do you want ? * He had guessed from her face that something was wrong, but even that fact could not dispel his feeling of annoyance at seeing her there, and at that time of the day. English- men, as a rule, are terribly jealous of their countrywomen, even though they be other men's wives, lowering themselves in the sight of the Great Unwashed. But Althea Wardlav/ saw none of this, although even in her agitation she wad blushing to find herself the central attraction to so many pairs of eyes. ' Oh ! Mr. Home, could you send anyone for me with a note to the doctor ? ' holding it forth as she spoke. ' Cap- tain Wardlaw said he would send him at once, and he 'e 8 For Ever and Eve?. never come, and my baby is so ill, and — and — .* And here ihe necessity of speaking out the truth brought its misery so forcibly home to her heart, that the excited pleading voice broke down, and the request ended in a burst of pas- sionate grief. A dozen British soldiers were at once at her command. High or low, there are few men who can quietly stand the sight of a woman's tears, and ' Let me take it, Ma'am ' — ' I '11 take it for you at once, Ma'am ' — ' I '11 be there and back in no time,' were some out of the many offers of assistance which followed Mrs. Wardlaw's natural emotion. But Edward Home, who had seen Captair. Wardlaw not ten minutes before lounging in the smoking room at the officers' quarters, without a thought of wife or child in his head, took the note from her hand, and delivering it over to one of the men, with an injunction to take it to the doctor at once and quickly, drew Mrs. Wardlaw's arm within his own, and prepared to lead her upstairs again to her apartments. 'liest satisfied,' he said gently as he did so. 'Everest will be here in less than no time.' But as he listened to the efforts she made to check her sobs, his heart throbbed with indignation against the selfish neglect which the husband evinced towards his patient, uncomplaining wife. The doctor was not long in obeying the summons sent him, but his first words were unfavourable to the mother's hope. .' Why did you not send for me before, Mrs. Wardlaw ? The child has changed considerably for the worse since I last saw him.' ' [ did ! I did ! ' she exclaimed vehemently. ' Captain Wardlaw promised he would send you two hours ago. Don't say it is too late,' she added almost fiercely, as she seized the doctor by the arm, and stared with her hungry eyes into his face. ' We never say that,' he replied gently — too gently to convey much consolation, as he listened to the quick breathings of the suffering child. It was labouring under inflammation of the lungs, the cruellest afiection that can attack a teething infant, and under which the consti- tutional delicacy of little John Wardlaw did not hold out much hope of his beins: able to battle successfully. Prologue. 9 * But you mean it,* she answered quickly ; and then her voice rose until it amounted to a cry : ' Dr. Everest, he must not die — I could not bear it ; he is all I have, all that 1 care to have. I have had no comfort since his birth but knowing that he is mine.' Her excitement was rising so rapidly, that the doctor attempted to soothe her. ' Hush ! hush ! ' he said ; * you are forgetting yourself.' She knew that his accusation was true, but it nettled her ' Forgetting myself? ' she echoed ; ' I wish I could forget myself. God knows — all the world knows — that I am a wretched woman. If He takes my baby from me — my little baby who loves me, and whom I cling to as the hope of Heaven, knowing how little I have received from Him to make this world desirable to me, I will leave it. Dr. Everest, 1 will kill myself, and my blood will be on His hands, not on mine.' Dr. Everest looked at the woman, desperate with the fear of impending grief, in horror. ' Good heavens ! this is impious,' he said. ' Am I impious ? ' she asked sadly ; ' I don't think I am generally so ; but I know He could prevent it if He chose, and the thought that He may not choose is driving me mad. Oh ! Dr. Everest, say that He will, say that God will spare mv baby to me. I will pray to Him night and day; I will live my whole life for Him. I will bear everything quietly — everything,' she said, wearily, ' if He will only leave this one little child to make a bright spot in the darkness of my life.' And her hands dropped at her sides, and her whole figure seemed downcast, as if the vehemence of her grief and fear had exhausted her with itself. The doctor was a good man, but unemotional. He had been used to see a good deal of this kind of thing in his time, but he never could understand it. He glanced at the poor infant, drawing each breath with greater difficulty than the last, and did not feel justified in telling the mother to hope tor the best. ' Mrs. Wardlaw,' he said, after a brief deliberation, * if the Power which you acknowledge to be Omnipotent has decreed the death of your child, we dare not dispute its wisdom, nor say that it would be better either for you or lo For Ever and Ever. himself that he should live. The best consolation I can give you, is the remembrance that Grod is all-merciful as well as all-powerful.' She caught at the straw eagerly. ' All-merciful ! Yes, I know it. Then He will surely have mercy upon me, and leave me my one hope ; will He not. Dr. Everest ? ' ' At present it is impossible for me to tell you,' was the answer, as the doctor rose to leave her ; ' but a few hours will decide. Till then, pray, Mrs. "Wardlaw, as much as you choose, but do not pray without reserve : if you do, you may bring a curse instead of a blessing upon yourself, in the very answer to your prayer.' And then he gave the nurse the directions which were necessary to be carried out for the child's well-doing, and passed into the other room. She followed him wearily, and wearily bade him good- night. All her vehemence seemed exhausted, and she was simply despondent. But when, on the doctor passing through her door, she caught sight of Edward Home linger- ing on the landing to hear news of the sick child, she beckoned to him to enter, eagerly, and some of the old ex- citement lighted up her eyes. ' He is very ill,* she said, hoarsely, as his face met hers inquiringly ; ' so ill, that the only advice they can give me is to pray. Oh ! Mr. Home, ask somebody to pray tor him ; pray for him yourself, for my brain is turning, and I cannot think of the right words to say.' She clasped her hand upon his arm, and looked so im- ploringly into his face, that he could not avoid meeting her eyes. * Will you pray for him,' she repeated, earnestly, ' your- self, to-night, before you go to bed ? ' Her words hit him very hard, and on a sensitive point. Edward Home was only an ensign. Two years before he had been a schoolboy, too often forgetting his prayers through carelessnes-s, but still not ashamed to pray. JN'ow, no plea of want of memory could avail him. The thought of how he used to pray, from the first simple verse he had lisped at his mother's knee, of which an appeal for pity for his simplicity had formed the chief subject, to the last real Prolocfiie. 1 1 prayer be bad uttered wben bis fatber*8 deatb bad for a sbort time melted liis boyisb beart, baunted bim every nigbt tbat be now lay down prayerless. Tbe pity sougbt for bis simplicity ! Wbat a bitter mockery tbe words seemed now, wben be tbougbt bow mucb be would bave given to bave regained tbe simplicity lie bad lost! But tbe babit of prayer bad left bim, little by little, until bis beart refused to supply words to bis lips. For during tbe last two years be bad spent too many of his nigbts in haunts where it would bave seemed impiety to kneel, and be bad been too conscious of a liking for such scenes and a wish for tbeir recurrence. And therefore, it being easier in this world to stifle our consciences than to give up our pleasures, Edward Home had ceased to pray and tried to forget. But he bad not entirely succeeded. As xA^lthea Wardlaw's earnest eyes were raised to bia face, bis went downwards and sought the ground ; but wben she became pertinacious, he answered, evasively, ' My prayers would be of little use, I am afraid, IVIrs. Wardlaw.' ' Oh ! try,' she said, imploringly ; * there is no one to pray for him but me. Help me, Mr. Home, for God's sake.' And then to satisfy her he promised that be would, and sbe left him to go back to her child. Whether Edward Home did redeem his promise and renew the habit for little John Wardlaw's sake tbat a life of early gaiety had broken, was known perhaps only to him- self and Heaven ; but it is certain that, that night of ago- nising suspense past. Dr. Everest once more gave hopes tbat the infant's life might be spared, and in a few days after- wards his mother, with grateful tears, received the assurance tbat he was convalescent. But all this time Captain Ward- law had kept as mucb out of his own quarters as possible. A sick-room was not at all to tbat gentleman's taste. Six years after the event just related. Captain and Mrs. Wardlaw, still attached to the same regiment, were located in meagre lodgings in the very centre of a dirty Irish town. If Milborough Barracks in their noisy publicity had been intolerable to Althea Wardlaw in tbe days of her youth, wnen her shoulders were as yet fresh to the burden, wbat 12 Foj' Ever and Ever. must her present life have seemed to her, spent amongst the dirt, the rioU and vulgarity of Ballydroogan ? But, although broken do\^Ti and weakened both in body and spirit since that earlier time, she had learnt a great lesson of endurance from the passing years, — which in some measure dulled the effect of external annoyances. She had had reason to learn it. During all that weary period no greater ray of sunshine had pierced the darkness of her life than Imd possessed it then. She had had no cause to gainsay the truth that had been wrested from her in her agony, that she was a miserable woman and all the world knew it. 'AH the world,' the little world of the 113th regiment, and the circle of her own friends, knew it still, although every year made her more anxious to conceal it from them. She had lived up nobly to the promise which she had made, half to the doctor and half to Heaven, when her child lay dying — that she would pray to Grod night and day, live her whole life for Him, and bear everything quietly, so that He spared her little son to be a comfort to her. But 'everything' had proved a bitter portion to bear without resentment, although the sight of her child growing up beside her was sufficient at all times to check anything like a murmuring thought in tne mother's breast, even though he was too often unwittingly turned into a rod wherewith to sting her. Eobert Wardlaw, without being an essentially bad man, was an essentially bad husband. He was selfish, self- indulgent, and indifferent. A woman ma}'- forgive or over- look the first two faults, but no earthly power will make her find excuses for the last. It is to be presumed that he had cared for his wife when they first met, for he had had no inducement to marry her otherwise ; but if so, his love had faded with its fruition, for he had thought little of her since; and what was far more unpardonable, he had too often thought of other women. Her stern simple views on the obligations of a married life did not suit his inclinations or ideas, and he sought her coiupany less and less. He preferred the officers' quarters to his own cheerless lodgings (the best to be pro- cured upon a Captain's pay are necessarily second rate in Prologue, 1 3 tlieir appearance)— tlie warm, ]ar2:e, and brilliantly-illumi. nated niess-rooni to the small hali-aired, bait-lighted apart- ment which did duty aa dining and drawing-room, and never quite lost the faint, sickly odour of over-roasted or under- roasted joints ; the generous fare and lively conversation were more to his taste than tea and toast and the company of a wife and child whose tender spirits he had most elfec- tually broken. And, therefore, althougb being married, he was no longer considered as a dining-member, he was only too often at the mess-table as a guest. The general tenour of Captain "Wardlaw's conversation was such as suited the taste of young men who were not particular what they talked about ; for he loved to dilate on the scenes he had passed throuf^h during his lifetime, and the deeds he had done ; to relate all the equivocal stories he had ever heard, and to hold forth largely on the several merits and co-equal delights of women, wine, and tobacco. Therefore he was a welcome companion to most Df the bachelors of his regiment, and there were few evenings on which he was not solicited by one or another of them to stay to mess as their guest and have a game at billiards with them afterwards. Billiards led to smoking, and smoking led to drinking, and Captain Wardlaw too often returned to his own home in a state of intoxication. But Althea AVardlaw had grown used to that sort of thing by this time, and was only thankful when he did not resent his own condition by visiting the effects of it upon her or her child. Eor herself she cared nothing — for the child everything. He had been the sole cause since his birth that had enabled her to lift her face to Heaven and say with a clear conscience that she was thankful for her life. He had been infinitely dear to her all along ; but as a boy he was dearer to her than as an infant ; and latterly he had grown so precious that she trembled lest she should be punished for her idolatry. For he was very frail, and she knew him to be so. Bred in tears, and nursed w*ith a irreat sorrow corrodinir the breast he clung to, John "Wardlaw had struggled into boy- hood — but he had never blossomed. At the present time I^. For Eve? and Ever, he was a delicate-looking child of seven years old, very tall of his age and unnaturally t-hin, with earnest grey eyes, and a brow too large and full of thought for so young and un- formed a body. A timid, shrinking child, cowed by his father's habitual harshness, who would run and hide himself in the cold sooner than enter the sitting-room except und-^r compulsion when he heard the voice he so much dreaded, but who clung to his mother as his great protection, and at the same time the one creature whom he loved. From the moment he could distinguish her from other people, to the last day of his life, John Wardlaw's love for his mother, both as a reality and when it passed into a memory alone, was fitter called an adoration than any other name. And that she returned it, as women only can return love to the children they have conferred life on, was known not only to her child, but to her husband, and the latter made a cruel use of his knowledge. In order to intimidate his wife he would not only hold, but carry out, threats of punishment to her boy — threats of keeping him without his food, which she knew the child's delicate constitution would so ill sus- tain ; of setting him long and dif&cult tasks, far too abstruse to be mastered'' without injury to his already too-developed brain ; worst of all, threats of personal chastisement, which he would fulfil by taking the boy away with him into another room for the inlliction, whilst she would stand breathless, her face white as death, her hands clenched together, listen- ing to the cries she could not still, picturing the blows she could not prevent, administered by ungovernable temper, descending on the fragile attenuated frame, until she felt as if she must burst open the door and set all the laws of God and man at defiance, sooner than stand inactive and submit to see such injustice done to her innocent, unoftending child. The cowardly threat of 'I'll make your precious boy wince for this,' and more dreaded still, the constant menace that any dereliction on her part should be followed by a total separation between them, made Althea AVardlaw bear, without a word of remonstrance, drunkenness, abuse, and infidelity, fearful lest even acknowledging that she knew of or noticed such things should bring about what "vould have been to her a harder misfortune than any one of them. Prologue, 15 So slie dragged on her existence, miserablT and wearily ; but ifc was not until — in the midst of very cold weather, and when she herself, much weakened by recent illness, was feeling quite unequal to the task of nursing — John sickened in those uncomfortable lodgings with the scarlet fever, that she felt as it' her misery had culminated and her cup was full. Her first thought on hearing the news was a wild desire that it would please the Almighty to strike them both down with the same disease, and take them to Jlimself. Her doctor cautioned her above all things to keep the child warm, and free from the chance of taking cold ; but her apartments were a network of draughts, and happy in the possession of doors and windows that refused to close. He ordered him nourishing food and plenty of it, but her purse was low, and the people of the house already clamorous for money due to them ; so that as she listened to his directions and advice she felt something very like despair creeping over her heart. She need not have despaired for the boy, for John Ward- law, like many weakly children, had taken the disorder very lightly, and was passing through it favourably. But what art is there by which a mother's fears for her only child can be allayed ? Althea AVardlaw's were boundless. Her thoui^hts flew back to that other period when his life hung in the balance, and she imagined that this illness was to prove a repetition of the first, and that she already saw death pictured forth in the flushed and altered face, and felt it in the grasp of the little burning hand. Both the bedrooms in the ill-built lodo:ing.houso which they occupied happened to be furnished with the tiniest of grates, and the most crazy of window-sashes ; and on the third day, when the fever was at its heig-ht, the doctor ad- vised her to move the child into the sitting-room, in which — it being the most protected apartment, the use of which they commanded — he would be less liable to take cold, and his 'illness to receive a check which might prove dangerous. Accordingly, the little boy was laid upon his own mat- tress in the^warmest corner of the drawing-room ; the fire was stirred until it burnt up cheerily, and the mother sat down, somewhat reassured by the medical man's visit, to watch the changes in her child's face, and to try and charm 1 6 For Ever and Ever. away the remembrance of his feverish pain by qmet amuse- ment. But it happened unfortunately to be one of the days on which Captain Wardlaw chose to honour his home by his presence. He had already grumbled considerably at the boy's falling ill, had sworn at the inconvenience of it, and laid all the blame on his wife for allowing him to go in the way of infection ; but when he walked in that morning and saw the new arrangement of the sitting-room, he ordered the little invalid to be taken back to the bedroom at once. It was in vain that Althea Wardlaw represented the risk to him, as pointed out to her by the doctor ; that she entreated that Jolmny might be allowed at least to remain there until she had tried to make the bedroom more air-proof; that she begged at last for only an hour's grace, that the fire might be re-lighted in the other grate, and a little warmth dift\ised before the feverish child was moved from his present situa- tion. It was all in vain — Captain Wardlaw had been spending a night of rioting and debauch, and was in no fit humour to be argued with. He cursed and swore at the whole house being upset 'for the sake of an ailing brat,' and at his wife for daring so to upset it, until, scared and terrified herself, she was thankful to move the frightened child anywhere, never mind how hurtful to his body, so that his mind did not come in further contact w^ith the foul example of his f\ither's words. But the keen March wind was whistling through the shrunk window-sashes and down the narrow chimney, and the newly-lit fire refused to burn, and only sent forth volumes of smoke to irritate the child's inflamed throat and make him cough, and the unpressed bed w^as cold, and the blankets w^ere thin, so that when her trembling arms had deposited their burden on its resting place, her spirits refused to bear up any longer under the array of discomfort, and she burst into a flood of tears. The little hot hand sought hers instantly. ' Mother, darling, don't cry — father will hear you.' But even the proximity of ' father,' usually such a potent spell to lull all sounds which might attract him to their presence, was iueflectual on the present occasion to stay the tide of Althea AVardlaw'a grief. She had thoroughly and helplessly broken down at last. So hex friend Catherine Hurst found her when she walked PrologJie. 1 7 in an hour afterwards to inquire how tlie little patient was going on. Catherine Hurst, * Sister Catherine ' as she was called amongst her own people, being a Sister of Mercy, was a stanch lioman Catholic, and Althoa AVardLaw wa.s a rigid Protestant, and yet these two had formed a lirm friendship, which outweighed any consideration of difterence of creed. Indeed, both their religions were so eminently sincere — they both tended so directly to the same simple end, the pursuit of duty under whatever shape it presented itself to them, that they could not after all be termed diiierent. Their mutual iaith being, that none can lead us heavenwards unless the actions of our lives are regulated by one pre- vailing principle, right for the sake of right, it little signilied what they believed, or did not believe. So they felt them- selves, and therefore, laying aside all petty cavillings and use- less argument, clasped hands in true fellowship together, and whilst they knew they were travelling to God by diverse paths, thanked Him that such companionship was permitted them by the way. To Althea Wardlaw the society of Sister Catherine had been of the greatest comfort. She had no friends in the regiment now. She had never been much disposed to mix in company, and the few acquaintances she had made on her first going amongst them were dispersed by this time, either by marriage, or removal, or death. The worst part of a military life is the constant change that goes on among its followers. It is unwise even to make a pleasant acquaintance, and dangerous to form a friendship — for the doing so is only another name for laying up a sorrow in store for oneself — separation in some shape or another is so sure to follow. Mrs. Wardlaw had proved the truth of this. Edward Home, the young ensign who had felt so much for her the night that her little child was supposed to be dying, had been a very kind friend to her and him for some time after that, and often a great comfort in her sorrow. But he had married some two years before a young lady with money, and retired from the army. He had not quite forgotten her — she sometimes heard from him even now, but his letters were filled with joyous descriptions of his wile 1 8 For Ever and Ever, find home — latterly witli the beauties of his first-horn ; and although she rejoiced in his happiness, she felt thej could no longer have the same sympathy with one another that they possessed before, He was "very young still, and all his life was before him ; he forgot, naturally, that the best of hers was over, and that Hope had forsaken her long ago. She liked to receive his letters, and could smile over their contents, but they brought no comfort for her, as his w^ords were wont to do. Dr. Everest had left the 113th also, and joined a corps on foreign service, and the regiment received new officers constantly, in the shape of beardless boys, who talked a great deal and understood very little, and did not care often to trouble the pale wife of Captain AVardlaw with a visit in her smoky little room ; and there were few ladies with the regiment except herself. But Catherine Hurst was, without doubt, a gentlewoman. Bred, by the profession she had adopted, in the belief that where her services were most needed, it was her duty to remain, she had almost come to make her permanent residence in the dirty little Irish town which was at present garrisoned by the gallant 113th, and which never failed to present a fine scope for the exercise of mercy — in the shape of fevers to be nursed, squalid wretchedness to be alleviated, and drunkenness to be re- claimed. AYith such scenes, and in the exercise of such duties. Sister Catherine was thoroughly at home, and under the direction of her priest she was the relieving angel of the lower classes of both the Protestant and Eoman Catholic population of Ballydroogan. And it was whilst in the mutual engagement of some charity that she and Althea "Wardlaw Imd met one another and formed an acquaintauce- shij) which had, for some time now, deserved a better name. As soon as Sister Catherine heard that John Wardlaw had taken the scarlet fever, she had hurried to the side of her Iriend, offering every assistance in her power, either in nursing the child, or directing the management of the house- hold aftairs. ' Couimand me in any way,' she had urged, ' so that I may only be of use to you.' ilitherto Althea Wardlaw had dreaded her husband's opposition too much to allow her to accept the friendly Prologue. 19 offer, but on the morning in question she could have clunpj to a dog ^vho had evinced the least sympathy with her troiible. As she rose from the half-recumbent position she had assumed, to answer her friend's words of surprise at finding her thus, she did not appear much altered from what she was when living in Milborough Barracks. A line or two more in her face, perhaps, a look of great patience on her quiet features, and, although she had only numbered thirty years, a white thread here and there in her brown hair, were all the changes outwardly visible that time and care had had the power to make. In person, perhaps, the same charac- teristics marked both women ; for Catherine Hurst was also pale and quiet and patient-looking, but here the resemblance ceased. The Sister of Mercy had a strong, unwavering spirit, that fought with the trouble that had fallen to her lot as with an enemy hand to hand ; whilst the other, subject to the hard rule, hardly administered, of a fellow-creature, had almost forgotten how to fight at all. As her tear- stained features met the inquiring eye of Sister Catherine, she commenced a confused statement of what had occurred, which, in her endeavours not to blame her husband too much before his son, made the explanation almost unintel- ligible. At least it would have been so, perhaps, to anyone less used to scenes of wretchedness than Sister Catherine, but it was her mission to take the misery of this life as an accepted thing, and without troubling the bearers of it with unneces- sary questions, to do her best to alleviate and sympathise with it. Therefore she stopped the words which were flow- ing so unwillingly from Althea AV^ardlaw's lips in a cheerful tone and manner, which were sufficient in themselves to reanimate the courage in any breast, however forlorn. ' I understand all about it, Mrs. AVardlaw, without your telling me. This provoking fire won't burn just because it is wanted to do so, and a blustering wind like the present one is suflicient to make any room feel chilly and uncom- fortable. But really I think it would be difficult to find the house which would entirely keep out such a wind as we havo had for the last few days. It is due north. If you can give me any old rags and a pair of scissors, I think I can manacje to stop the rattling of these window-frames, and then the 20 For Ever and Ever. lire will bum clearer, perhaps, when the draughts are shut out. You have been sittiug up all night ; I can see that by your eyes. Well, it is very pardonable under the circum- stances that you should feel tired and dismayed by little difficulties — very pardonable, but you must forgive me for saying also very foolish, particularly when I look at the child and see how favourably he is going on — the rash well out, skin not particularly hot, and throat, to judge from ina voice, quite comfortable. "Why, bere you ought to be thank- ing Heaven for your mercies, instead of giving way under temporary annoyances.* The kindly voice, the firm sensible advice, and above all, the tender pitying smile, overcame the darkness reigning I'a that little room ; and the mother rose up, refreshed 1.6 though she had taken a cordial, and already ashamed of her faintheartedness. Then, as she commenced to bestir herself, and try, under Sister Catherine's directions, to remedy the evils she could not do away with, she gradually lost the ex- treme consciousness of past injury and coming sorrow, which had seemed omnipresent and inevitable but a few minutes before. And as they worked together, the Sister had so many tales to tell of the cases of scarlet fever so much worse than Johnny's, that she had visited since yesterday in that very town ; of children who lay dying in cottages without roofs, and on floors which possessed no beds, that Althea Wardlaw felt her woes diminish, and her benefits increase, every minute, until she was thoroughly ashamed that sue had so feebly given way beneath the weight of the former. * Oh ! I wish you were not going,' she exclaimed earnestly, when Sister Catherine at last ceased from her labour, and prepared to start upon some other errand of mercy. ' You have done me so much good. I have felt like another creature since you came. I wish that you could stay a little longer. I have been very weak, and perhaps wicked, but I will try to bear up better — I will indeed.' She said it in almost the fervent tones of a little child who promises amendment for the future. The Sister's eyes were bent on her with a holy pity as she heard her speak. She had been trying to divert her mind from her sorrows, but she knew well enough how much she had to bear, and how well she bore it. Prologue, 2 1 *I must go now,* she answered, kindly, 'but I will come again, Mrs. Wardlaw. I waut to brino; your little boy some jelly this evening (sucli nice jelly, Johnny, that 1 made Liyself) ; and if you would like it, I will share your watch to-night.* * Will you really ? ' exclaimed Mrs. Wardlaw, seizing her hand ; * but it would be selfish of me to accept your ofier. Perhaps it will be too great a tax upon you.' Sister Catherine smiled. * I sit up three nights out of the week,' she said, * some- times oftener, and by bedsides which it would make you shudder to hear me tell of. Iso, dear friend, far from being a tax, it will be a pleasure to me to assist you. I shall slip into Johnny's bedroom at about ten o'clock, and will disturb no one. I suppose Captain Wardlaw will have no objection to my doing so ? ' The wife coloured up and shook her head. She knew that there was little chance that night would see her husband located under his own roof; but all she said was, that she ■was sure Captain Wardlaw would be pleased that she should have the help of a friend under the circumstances. But when the good Sister had taken her departure Althca "Wardlaw became so unusually cheerful in the anticipation of a companion to share her nightly solitude, that little John, watching her with feverishly bright eyes from his bed, wondered what had happened to make his mother glad, and pondered upon the chance of his papa going away lor an in- definite period and leaving them to their own devices, or even going away for ever and ever, and never coming back at all. But this last contingency little John considered altogether too good to be true. Mrs. AVardlaw's inward conviction that her husband was not likely to intrude Himself upon her midnight vigil, or to interest himself sufficiently in her doings to know whether she held one or not, proved correct. He had been philan- dering away the whole afternoon by the side of his latest flame, Mrs.Leofric Temple, and had found the society of the pretty little widow fascinating enough to allure him to her tea-table, albeit tea held no honoured place in the catalogue of Captain Wardlaw's favourite beverages. 22 Fo7' Ever and Ever. From the widow's tea-table to the officers' mess-room he had found the transition easy, of which transition it would be well to be able to relate that it ended in smoke. Eut Captain Wardlaw's dissipation usually commenced with smoke and ended with something much worse. Mrs. Leofric Temple was not a woman to have proved dangerous to most men after she had once opened her mouth. She was very pretty and very young, two excellent things in woman ; but though they are essential qualifications to provoking admiration, they are not, of themselves, all-power- ful to chain it. Soft flaxen ringlets lying like spun glass over her shawl or mantle, languishing blue eyes which would open very wide on occasions, a tiny insignificant nose, and rosebud mouth, made Mrs. Leofric Temple a very noticeable object at first sight, and the subject of a great deal of irreverent talking amongst the beardless ensigns of H.M. 113th, a species of notoriety which the simpering little widow by no means disliked. But when a man had run through the catalogue of her charms, had returned the glance of the blue eyes with one somewhat bolder, praised the trim little figure, and sworn that her lips were the freshest he had ever seen, he was surprised to find that he had come to the end of his tether, and there was nothing more to be said about her. She was incapable of conversing upon even ordinary subjects with any degree of spirit, and her mind seemed completely given up to solving the puzzle of how she could contrive to make herself and her boy smartest upon the very minute income which she enjoyed. For she had a son about a year younger than little John "Wardlaw, who had inherited his mother's large blue eyes and flaxen hair, and of whom she was extravagantly vain. She had been left a widow in that very town, a few years before, by a thriftless ensign, who, having first married with- out the means of supporting her, followed up his iniquity by dying when he ought to have lived, and leaving her without Buflicient money to quit the place in which his regiment had been quartered. So she had stayed on in Bally droogan not from clioice, but necessity, and not without hope that amongst the many changes of regiments that took place there, some one might be found willing to step into the Prolorrue. 23 thriftless ensign's shoes, who might have rather more money in his purse to support his fancies. But hitherto no one had come to woo except Captain AVarcUaw, and he, although very delightful, was, as she sighed to herself, ineligible. Perhaps as few other men would have found the charms of Mrs. Leofric Temple fatal to their peace of mind, so few other women would have easily succumbed to the wooing of liobert AVardlaw as he was at that period. His tempera- ment had ever been thoroughly sensual, and he knew of no higher gralification than that to be derived from the senses. His mind was of that low order which regards AVoman in the mass as a legitimate plaything for man, to be considered as a toy and nothing more. Therefore he looked upon her as we look upon any object of art. ]f her outside pleased him, he wished for nothing more. The fair dimpled iace and peachy complexion of Mrs. Leofric Temple, combined with her other charms, came exactly up to his standard of what a woman should be like — therefore to him she was all that a woman need be. It did not enter his head to consider that she never said anything worth, listening too, and that it would have been difficult to make her comprehend anything out of the common way. He never noticed, or if he did notice, it gave him no pain to hear, that she was generally ungrammatical in her modes of expression, and that if she did not entirely cut its acquaintance, she often slurred over the most un- fortunate letter in our alphabet. Toads and frogs came out of her mouth in this way for unbiassed listeners, but for Cap- tain Wardlaw her rosy lips dropped nothing but pearls. Of course Mrs. AVardlaw knew Mrs. Temple ; that is to say, she knew her after the fashion that wives know the women with whom their husbands are notoriously flirting, when they strive by ignoring the fact to make the world think that it does not exist. With this motive Althea AYardlaw bowed when she met Mrs. Temple, and even went the leniith of shakin maid-of-all-work, until he was tired of waiting and listening to the perfectly audible colloquy which went on meanwhile The Home of Torn Cornicott, 9^ between the mistress of the house and her attendant, j»ene. rally terminated by the appearance of the former, robed in a soiled dressing-gown, with tangled, unkempt hair, an infant in her arms, and two or three more little urchins clinging to her skirts, and bringing into prominent notice as she walked the untidy condition of her feet. With such a partner to cheer him on in the pursuit of his cherished art, with eleven little mouths clamouring for meat and bread, and with the necessity pressed upon him of keeping a roof over their heads, and clothes upon' their backs, Tom Cornicott might have been forgiven if he had sometimes grumbled at his lot, or presumed to question the fairness with which fortune deals out her shares to men — but this is just what Tom Cornicott never did. At home, as abroad, he was always contented and cheer- ful, always, apparently, happy. He appeared to work as well with children tumbling about the room as if Eaffaelle's atelier had been his own ; he seemed to thrive as well upon bread and cheese and the smallest of beer, as other men did upon the fat of the land. If his wife's slatternly habits offended his artistic taste, he never hinted the fact even to himself; and he was as ready, after a hard day's work, to get out of bed at night and walk the room with a teething baby, as if he had had nothing more to weary him than a good dinner and a drive upon spring-cushioned seats. Always benevolent and good-humoured, always ready to make excuses for other people, and to pity from the bottom of his kind heart the woman and children whom he had caused to share his poverty, Tom Cornicott was, without exception, as good a creature as could be found in all the breadth of England. He had an unoccupied room in his dingy house, and lately, as cares and children had increased, Tom had turned his attention to the possibility of making a little money by taking in a ] oipil, or some young artist to board with them, who would be employed away during the daytime. With such an idea he had written to his friend at Maidstone, who had thereupon communicated the address and particulars to his pupil. John AV^ardlaw did not see how, for the present at all events, he could do better. He was, comparatively speaking, a stranger in London, and, moreover, although he hoped to g6 For Ever and Ever, malie some money by painting, his present income was very email. Cornicott could put him in the way of furthering his studies, and Cornicott's charges were very much below what he could live on if he set up in rooms of his own ; therefore, as a temporary arraugemenb at least, our hero closed with the offer and thought himself lucky. It was nearly dark on the evening of the same day we saw him last, when he rattled up in a Hansom cab to the number of the street indicated to him as the residence of Mr. Cornicott, and looked in vain for any appearance of a light in the windows, or signs of human life whatsoever. ' I don't think this can be the right house,' he shouted to the cabman. ' You said number nine, Sir, didn't you ? This here 's number nine, sure enough ! ' Saying which, cabby descended from his perch and gave a thundering knock on the door with the rusty knocker. Simultaneously it flew open, and Cornicott himself, en- veloped in a blouse of some brown material and holding a tallow candle above his head, appeared upon the threshold of his castle. ' Is this Mr. Cornicott's house ? ' demanded John "Ward- law, who was rather taken aback by the strange-looking figure before him, for Cornicott was a middle-aged man, of a dark complexion, who never shaved, but wore his frizzled beard and moustaches in a ragged manner, which made him look most uncouth. ' Yes, you 're all right ; my name 's Cornicott ; I suppose you 're Mr. Wardlaw. Jump out, my dear fellow, and come indoors. I '11 help cabby with your traps ; ' and suiting the action to the word, Mr. Cornicott seized bold of a port- manteau which rather impeded the descent of the new arrival from his cab. John Wardlaw was rather astonished at the familiarity of the first address, but doing as lie was desired, threw the cabman his fare, and shouldering some of his own posses- Bions, followed his new acquaintance into the gloomy house. ' "Wait a minute, "Wardlaw,' exclaimed Cornicott as they stumbled against one another in the dark passage, for the flame of the tallow candle was ' nowhere ' from the opening The Home of Tom Cornicolt. 97 of the front door. ' Set your back up against the wall till I get a match from below. I was just going to light the gas as you arrived. Here, Maria — Jane — some of you girls, bring me the matches.' This paternal appeal, shouted from the head of the kitchen stairs, produced after a while the ascent of an awkward- looking girl of about twelve or thirteen, who stared sheep- ishly at the stranger as the gas flared up beneath her father's touch. ' There, that 's my eldest daughter, "Wardlaw,' said Corni- cott, turning with as much pride towaixls the ungainly child as if she had been an elegant woman. ' My two eldest are boys. She 's a handy enough little creature, almost as much use as her mother' (which she might have easily been), * but no good any longer as a model. They all grow out of that after ten years old. Now this way, Sir, if you please, until Maria sees if your room is ready.' The apartment into which the artist now led John "Ward- law was his painting studio, and consisted of two rooms opening into one another with folding doors, as is usual on the ground floor of small London houses. The back room was the one in which he painted; the front he re- served for the pictures he was not engaged upon ; and both, excepting for a chair or two, were utterly devoid of furni- ture. As Tom Cornicott lighted the gas in the first which they entered, a curious sight presented itself. Not only were the walls covered with paintings, chiefly unframed, but can- vasses of all sizes and descriptions, with designs on them, from the merest sketch to the most finished portrait, were piled against it, leaning one upon the other, until but a very small space was left in the centre of the floor. Several large easels bore full-length portraits of sitters who had probably never paid for them when completed ; charming glimpses of female loveliness peeped out from behind copies of dark Kembrandts or uninteresting Teniers ; the portraiture of children's rosy forms were commingling with fauns or monks, or scenes of war, or anything most unakin to them ; whilst sunny landscapes and tranquil seas were lying almost hidden beneath the thick dust which had to be removed for the purpose of examination, and which lay heaviest upon the 98 For Ever a?id Ever. once white busts and groups of figures which were disposed on rough brackets about the walls. ' This is my room, "Wardlaw,' said Tom Cornicott, in ex- planation, as they entered the apartment together; 'not much space for turning, is there? "Wish to goodness I could clear a few of them off. I 'd rather have their room than their company, I can tell you.' And the artist laughed, as if it was rather a joke than otherwise having a quantity of pictures left on his hands. ' Ah ! you 're looking at that lady's portrait, are you ? I '11 tell you rather a funny story about that, "Wardlaw, some day. AVe artists are asked to do queer jobs sometimes. "What do you think of the little dark girl on your left ? She 's one of my best models ; I think I 've painted her ten or eleven times. She always sells. Gipsy blood there, and no mistake. The whole family are models, and one as handsome as the other. No ! don't look at that, please,' he exclaimed, as John Wardlaw stooped to examine a sketch in black chalk; 'I'd rather you wouldn't see that; it's the rough for my Academy picture this year, and you must go and see it hanging, and tell me exactly what you think of it. My " Spring " last season sold for one hundred and eighty ; but I 've gone in for Scripture history this time, and they do say that it 'a not so bad. Subject — " The Death of Sisera ; " but, then, I had about the best model in town. AVhat's your style, "Wardlaw — landscape or figures ? ' ' Pigures,' he replied, quickly 3 ' I never cared about land- scape. I haven't a good touch for foliage.' ^ ' Ah ! you must go in for it, then,' said the other, with an air of superior knowledge ; * it 's easily acquired. I thought the same of myself once, but I persevered, and my country scenes sell better than anything else. You must stick to nature, though. There 's nothing like nature, "Wardlaw, for a master. I never paint a single thing from memory. If I want a stone, I go out into the roads and look about till I find one that suits my fancy. Now, here 's nature if you like.' And as he spoke he pulled a canvass from behind some others, and blew a cloud of dust ofii" it into John Wardlaw's face, before he set it upon the nearest easel. *My five eldest children taken as gleaners. Now, in that picture, you see, there isn't a turn of an arm or a hand that The Home of Tom Cornicott. 99 T didn't study from life, over and over again. Here I have the whole lot of them as " Children coming to Christ," and my two youngest did duty over and over again in that " Massacre of the Innocents." I believe I 've painted them in every position they can possibly assume. It 's the only good I find in having such a quantity of children. They are a little saving in models now and then.' And the good- humoured artist heaved a sigh, which he quickly redeemed with his usual broad smile. ' But now I mustn't keep you talking here when you must want to see your own room. YoM don't expect a very handsome apartment, I hope, "Wardlaw, for they don't usually grow in artists' houses,' he continued, as he showed his lodger into a very second-rate looking bedroom ; ' but if we can make you comfortable, we will try our best. "When you are ready to join us again, go straight down stairs till you come to the bottom of the house, and you will be sure to find me there.' Saying which, the artist placed the flaring tallow candle on the dressing-table, and left John AYardlaw to himself. He had certainly not expected to be lodged sumptuously, and perhaps it was just as well, for, simple as their mode of living was in Sutton Valence, he had never been put to sleep in such an uninviting bedroom before. It was not so much the scantiness nor age of the furniture that he objected to, as the very suspicious-looking curtains and carpeting which adorned it, and which the Cornicotts had bought at some low second-hand broker's shop, wherewith to enhance the decorations of their 'room to let.' Small-pox, scarlet fever, typhus — everything that is most contagious and most dreaded, appeared as if it lingered amidst their dingy folds and on their smoky surfaces ; and the counterpane upon the bed, with sundry stains, not unlike spilt coffee, marring its freshness, was still more disheartening to contemplate. Poor John wished sincerely, as he examined with fear and trem- bling the couch destined for him, that his landlord had only- left this room as he was compelled to do his own, bare, if not clean. However, he had little time for thought just then, so after unpacking a few necessary articles, and trying to wash his hands in the infinitesimal drop of water which was all the maid-of-all-work had honoured him with, he smoothed his wavins: chestnut hair, brushed the dust from TOO Fo7- Eve?- and Ever. his travelling coat, and prepared to seek the company of the artist's family. He descended to the first floor, as pre- viously directed, but there he stopped. Sounds of talking were very audible from below ; but somehow John "Ward- law could not quite make up his mind to seek the kitchen quarters of his own accord. But the noise he made, as he shuffled undecidedly about the passage, attracted Tom Corni- cott's attention, and soon brought that gentleman to the foot of the stairs, to know why he didn't come down. So, knocking his head at every second step against the white- washed ceiling, he at last penetrated to the basement floor, and found himself in a species of housekeeper's room, which was situated next to the kitchen, and where a tea-table, spread with a dirty cloth, and covered with the plainest food, was surrounded by at least half of the Cornicott family, headed by Mrs. Cornicott herself. 'Here, my dear, this is our boarder, young Wardlaw. Tou must make him welcome. Wardlaw, have you dined ? * ' Yes, I have dined, thank you,' replied John "Wardlaw, after going through the ceremony of bowing to a person who appeared to him like a youthful but very untidy-looking charwoman. He had scarcely spoken ten words since entering the house; all appeared to him so strange and unexpected. ' Ah ! usually, I suppose, you will dine out ; that was the arrangement, I believe ; and so you can choose your own hours ; but, for my own part, I prefer early meals. This is tea, you know ; but if you like a little meat, I dare say we can let you have some. My dear, haven't you anything a little more substantial in the larder? Wardlaw must be hungry after his journey.' 'I'm sure I don't know,' replied Mrs. Cornicott, in a drawling voice ; ' but I '11 ask the servant if you like.' John was about to beg that no such trouble should be taken on his account, when Cornicott cut the matter shoi-t by going in quest of the information himself. He was ab- sent a terribly long time, or so it seemed to John Wardlaw, condemned to sit opposite that dreadful obtuse-looking slat- tern, who addressed not a word to him, but went on steadily chewing bread and butter until the return of her lord and master. The Home of Tom Cornicott. loi He rushed in by-and-bye, in a white heat, havin:^ ap- parently been out of doors, as was soon evidenced by the production from his pocket of a piece of newspaper full of cut ham, and two bunches of watercresses — dreadful slices of ham, which were stickiug fast together, and had to be forcibly separated, whose leanw^as raw, and fat most yellow; and the distasteful appearance of which was only equalled by the sodden and brown watercresses which Tom Cornicott laid beside them. But the unusual expense had been in- curred for his sake; and John AVardlaw, albeit his soul revolted at the viands set before him, partook of them, sooner than hurt the feelings of the kind-hearted artist. But he inwardly resolved, even in that first moment of dis- gust, that thenceforward he would make some arrangement by which he should be emancipated from taking any more meals in that subterraneous apartment. ' Your journey has spoilt your appetite, Wardlaw,' ex- claimed the artist, who was attacking the ham and cresses vigorously himself; 'you don't eat, man.' John murmured something complimentary to the nature of the dainties before him, and applied himself anew to the task of trying to swallow a portion of them. ' "Well, what do you wish to do first? ' inquired Cornicott, as, the evening meal concluded, he sat by the still bestrewn table, with children clambering all over him. * You don't want to lose time, I conclude ; so the sooner we set to work the better.' ' What do you advise me to do ? ' replied John "Wardlaw. * I have come up to town for the express purpose of study- ing hard at my profession, and, if I can, making a little money at the same time.' ' The latter clause must follow the former,' said Cornicott, as, having shaken ofi" his infants, he nursed his leg instead, and applied his mind to business. ' AVhen you are once fairly set going, and become a little known, you may pick up a job here and there, at the theatres, or for the illustrated periodicals ; but the first thing to do is to fix upon 70UI studio. Did Matthews (Matthews being the name of the Maidstone master) recommend any to you in particular ? ' ' jS'o, he did not ; he said you were the best person to advise me where to go.' 102 For EvCf ajid Ever. ' Well, I tliink I do know as much about the trade as any fellow in it, just at present. My advice to you is, enter yourself for a quarter at Matterby's, and see how you like it. He lias an excellent room, scores of pupils, and is con- sidered a first-rate artist himself. I don't think you could do better than try Matterby's.' ' Well, I certainly will,' replied John AVardlaw ; and then the men entered into a discussion concerning fees of en- trance, which proved quite satisfactory. ' We '11 go there to-morrow morning, and see you put on the books,' said Cornicott ; ' and then we'll go on to the Academy. You must not begin to work directly ; give a day to pleasure, and you '11 go all the fresher to it the day after. Besides, if I mistake not, to-morrow is a gallery day, and you won't go in for that, I suppose ? ' ' What is a gallery day ? ' demanded John Wardlaw. ' Every alternate day the students draw from the " round " in the gallery ; but I fancy you 're beyond all that, from what Matthews told me. The " costunie model " and the " nude" days will be more in your line.' ' I am beyond nothing,' said the other, modestly, ' until I Lave proved myself to be so. My object in wishing to enter amongst other students is that I may find out really how much I know or do not know.' ' AVell, you can do as you like, of course ; but whenever you wish to work at home, there 's my room at your service, and so I told Matthews. AYe 're all one brotherhood, and there should be freemasonry between us. But to-morrow you must positively devote to the Academy — bave you never been there ? ' ' Never,' said John Wardlaw ; * I 'm as fresh as a daisy, ftnd as green as a gosling. I have visited town before at long intervals, but have never lived bere. Tou will have to teach me everything and show me everything. I 'm a per- fect Goth.' The frank, unafiected manner in which he said the words, and the serious, manly expression in tbe calm gaze which accompanied them, were so inconsistent with the sentiment he uttered, that Tom Cornicott looked at him with surprise. ' I don't expect I shall be able to teach you much,' he Baid — and then added, ' I am most anxious to hear your The H^mc of Tom Cornicot^, 103 opinion of my " Sisera." 1 /ancy you have a very keen eye and a critical taste. Do you smoke ? ' He did smoke ; and as the whole house was redolent of the perfume of stale, and not over choice, tobacco, had no difficulty in believing Tom Cornicott's statement that no one stood on ceremony there, or scruple in accepting his invitation to join him in a pipe. And puffing their silent fancies into the air, the two men sat till bedtime warned them to disenvelope themselves from the clouds with wliich they were surrounded. During that interval two or three more artists had dropped in from neighbouring quarters, and sat about on the table, on the back of the sofa, hats on heads, discussing polities and art, and adding their quota to the general fumigation. They were all very much in the style of Tom Cornicott ; men who appeared to have de- generated by reason of poverty or their associates, and who, without being positively vulgar, were no longer gentlemanly in their manners or tastes. They clapped Cornicott on the back and told equivocal stories of Bohemian life ; they joked with the dirty maid-servant whenever she entered the room: they met John Wardlaw in a ' hail-fellow-well-met ' spirit, which, however cordial, was to him infinitely revolting. As he entered his bedroom that night, and prepared, not without a preliminary shudder, to ensconce himself beneath the suspicious counterpane, he could not avoid, whilst recall- ing the incidents of the evening, contrasting them with those of the day before, when he had dined at Castlemaine and sketched the face of Pussy Stuart. Good Heavens ! Pussy Stuart and the Cornicotts ! It seemed blasphemy to name them in one breath. As he mused he seemed once more to encounter the warm, voluptuous air of the well-lighted room ; to scent the violet fragrance which pervaded it, to hear the rustling of Miss Stuart's silk dress, and to feel the soft touch of her gloved hand. John "Wardlaw's was a sensuous taste. Sweet sounds, sweet odours — light and warmth and colour, were all pos- sessed of great power to attract and hold him. His whole being recoiled from anything like coarseness or vulgarity — it seemed like a desecration of the Nature which formed hia Btudj, 104 For Evet and Ever. So that whilst trying to seduce himself by forced forget- fulness into sleep, he could scarcely believe that he had really become acquainted with the company which was to be his, in the Future he had chalked out for himself. Trying not to believe it, trying to think that he had only seen the worst side of the picture, John "Wardlaw fell asleep at last, and dreamt that he was reclining on a bed of violets and roses, whilst nymphs such as Etty might have painted hung over him, fanning him with their cowslip breaths into a charmed repose. ^^J» CHAPTER VII. JAEL, THE WIFE OF HEBEB THE KENITB. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch thcc straight Adonis, painted by a running brook, And Cythcrea, all in sedges hid, Which seem to move and wanton with her breath Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Shakspeabb. JS'OTWITHSTANDIXG the suspicious curtains and the un- inviting bed, John "Wardlaw, under the influence of his dreams, slept long and heavily. It was not pleasant, the next morning, to be roughly roused from that fair vision by the shrill voice of the maid-servant, telling him, as she de- posited a jug, which was highly decorated with her finger prints, containing half a pint of tepid water, of an opaque and greasy appearance, upon the washing-stand, ' As how he 'd better get up at onst, for master and missus had been down ever so long, and breakfast was on the table.' Not pleasant either when, having made a hasty toilet, from which the only efiect he experienced was in feeling dirtier than before,*he went down stairs, to find the Cor- nicotts assembled in the banqueting-hall of the previous night, where the dirty glasses huddled upon the sideboard, and the prevalent smell of stale tobacco, gave evidence that the state in which they had left the room had been held most sacred. Stale tobacco, and a lack of fresh air, do not enhance the attractions of bacon and eggs for a nauseated stomach, especially when the bacon is slightly rusty, the eggs with- out any visible yolks, and fried of a noble brown, and both served out by an uninviting female, in a baggy morning io5 For Ever and Ever, ilress, with lier hair screwed up in innumerable fragments of newspaper. Mrs. Coruicott's idea of a breakfast never extended be- yond the limited range of bacon and eggs. If John "Ward- law's soul sickened at their greasy fragrance that first morning, how many times had it occasion to do so before he and the Cornicotts parted company ! for whilst he stayed with them nothing else ever appeared at the festive board. Having stumbled over a nest of children, and accepted the proffered hand of the lady of the house, which seemed to possess neither bone nor muscle, he turned to greet Tom Cornicott. That gentleman, although scarcely in full dress, being simply attired in a blouse and trowsers, with his naked feet thrust into slippers, appeared quite at his ease, and enjoying life as thoroughly, through the medium of eggs and bacon, as he had the night before upon bad tobacco and sour beer. * How are you, "Wardlaw ? ' he exclaimed, wringing the other's hand off. 'Hope you slept well. Sit down, my boy, and have some breakfast. First-rate bacon this ! AVhat ! you won't take any ? Do you call that a country appetite? You'll never be fit to work, man, if you don't eat heartier than this. Give him some tea, old lady ; or perhaps you prefer beer. Please yourself, my dear fellow, and don't spare the victuals. Now, what are our plans for to-day, eh ? ' 'Matterby's first, is it not ? ' replied our hero, making a faint attempt to do his duty, ' and then the Eoyal Academy. I think that is what we agreed upon last night.' ' Yes, to be sure. Let me see. I have a little business to transact with Dobson, the manager of the " King's," and then I 'm at your service for the day. The " King's " is mt/ theatre, Yf ardlaw ; at least I believe they give me all they ])ossibly can, or that I would take,' the artist added, with a loftier air. ' But what can a man like yourself find to da at a theatre ? ' John "Wardlaw inquired, with some surprise ; 'that is to say, when you have once painted their drop-scene?* He knew that S'tanfield, and others whose names are almost as well known, had condescended at times to wield their magic brushes for such a purpose ; but although great Jael, the Wife of Heher the Kenite. 107 artists stooped so low, he could not understand anyone who valued the name stooping lower. Cornicott coloured faintly as he replied — * Oh, plenty ! that is to say, if I choose. I did not paint their drop-scene for them ; they generally try to get some swell name to do that — an E.A., if they can. But there are many other little jobs required. I arrange Dobson's ballet effects — pose his girls, and choose the colours. I am as well known behind the scenes there as the maiaager him- self. Sometimes I do a bit of the best scene painting ; but to tell you the truth, Wardlaw, I don't care to have it generally known — people are so ill-natured ; but a fellow must live somehow.' Here he glanced up and caught the broad look of aston- ishment which pervaded John Wardlaw's features— John, who thought of his art as a sacred thing, which was almost desecrated by beiug bought and sold. ' You look surprised, Wardlaw ! Don't you know that artists are oftener obliged to do what they can than what they choose ? It 's all very well for you now — you are an unit, and long may you keep so ; for if ever you try to feed a dozen mouths with one brush, you will find yourself forced to trail it in the dirt sometimes. However, except amongst friends, I try and keep it snug, and I have great faith in things looking up some day. Who knows what my " Death of Sisera " may not do for me ! Come, if you 've done your breakfast, we may as well be moving.' And in a few minutes more they were in the open street. ' You must come with Ttie some evening to the " King's," ' said Tom Cornicott, as they walked along together, ' and 1 '11 show you some uncommonly fine women. Dobson is noted for collecting the prettiest girls in London ; and I don't believe there's another corps de hallet that can hold a candle to his. They 've got the '' Harvest Home " scene on no^y. I grouped it for them last season, and uncommonly well it looks, too, from the front. Laura Tredman plays at that house. I suppose you 've seen her ? ' * No, indeed, I have not,' replied John Wardlaw ; ' you forget the confession of innocence that I made last night.' ' Ah, well, you shall see Miss Tredman before you 're a week older. We won't leave much innocence in you, io8 For Ever and Ever, Wardlaw ; don't be afraid of that. You won't have any of the. article to spare by-and-bye. But here is Matterby's on our left.' ' Matterby's ' was a large, dull-looking house, not very far from that occupied by the Cornicotts, every window of which had the appearance of being blocked up by reason of wire blinds and existent dirt. There were two bells to the hall- door, one marked ' visitors,' the other ' school.' But Corni- cott made use of neither. Turning the handle from the outside, he pushed the door open, and preceded his com- panion into a hall, the walls of which were covered with busts and papered with written and printed notices relative to the non-payment of defaulting students; the amount of fees ; rules for fines ; and subjects about to be studied during the ensuing term. From the hall a swinging door admitted them to a second apartment, lined with canvass and furnished with paint-pots from one side af which a skylighted gallery was visible, divided from a third room (which John Wardlaw afterwards learnt to be the model-room) by a heavy curtain. In answer to Tom Cornicott's loud inquiry for Mr. Matterby, a coU" fused hum of voices arose from the gallery, and as many heads as conveniently could turned to have a glimpse of the visitors ; but no one left their seats, and the work of the day went steadily on. *' Ah ! Matterby, how are you ? I 've brought you another student.' Mr. Matterby, who had answered his friend's call from the farthest room, now inclined his head in the direction of John Wardlaw, and said simply that he was pleased to xieceive him. He was a remarkably handsome man, of perhaps five and thirty to forty years of age ; and the character of his beauty was further enhanced by the peculiar style in which he :lressed himself. Years before, the calm, spiritual expres- sion of his face had induced some great painter to ask him to sit to him as a model for St. Paul, since whicli period Mr. Matterby had always pursued his daily vocations in the game costume as that in which he had been taken for the great Apostle. As he advanced now to meet the two men who had inquired for him, the brown serge robe which fell Joel, the IV'ife of Hchcr the Keniie, 109 in straii^lit folds to his sandalled feet, and tlie ropes knotted about his waist, accorded so admirably with his soft brown eyes, colourless complexion, hair curling to his shoulders, and short-pointed beard, that John AVardlaw (although he had been prepared for the eccentricity in this respect of his new master) almost started to see a living creature looking so like a figure descended from a picture-frame. It was a joke amongst his fellows that Matterby had, at one time, made a daily attempt to encircle his brow with a metallic * glory,' but that his affectation could not hold out against the unyielding pressure of this crowning article to his cos- tume. Anyway, he almost looked as if he should have worn it, as he stood in those rooms full of youth and idle fancies, a personification of St. Paul amongst men. Notwithstand- ing which conceit, Matterby was a good artist and a still better teacher, as the works of his pupils could testify. He now conducted his friend Mr. Cornicott and the new student into a luncheon and cloak-room, which overlooked the dull street, and having made the rules of his establish- ment known to the latter, and received his assurance of wishing to enter himself for a quarter on his books, con- cluded the agreement in an apostle-like manner, and recom- mended the young man to present himself at the studio the next morning. ' To-morrow is our model- day,' he said solemnly, without permitting the faintest shadow of a smile to visit his features, ' and as we have a fresh one, it will be as well for you to be here — at ten o'clock precisely.' John AVardlaw promised punctuality, and St. Paul went on — ' Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from ten till one, and from two till four, the " costume models " sit ; on alter- nate days we have working from the " round " for female students, from the " nude " for male. You can attend or not, as you think fit.' Here Mr. Matterby was interrupted by the entrance of a pretty-looking young girl, with a head of hair cut very short and curled very much, who came in hurriedly, and pre- tended to be quite taken aback by the presence of strangers. ' Oh ! I 'm so sorry, Mr. Matterby,' she commenced. * What do you require?' demanded the Apostle, in the same quiet, measured tones in which he had spoken hitherto 1 1 o For Ever and Ever, * Only a tube of cobalt, which I left in the pocket of my cloak,' she replied, still looking at her master. ' Tou can fetch it,' he said, with gracious loftiness. The girl advanced farther into the room, and then made believe to have seen Mr. Cornicott for the first time. ' Lor', Mr. Cornicott, is that you ?' she exclaimed, in an affected manner, glancing at John Wardlaw the while. ' Every fourth Wednesday,' continued Mr. Matterby, as if the presence of nothing earthly, male or female, was of the least consequence to him, 'we hold an evening gathering for the discussion of art and art topics ; we shall always be pleased to see yourself and any friends whom you may choose to bring. The hour is eight.* Here, as John "Wardlaw was expressing his thanks for the invitation, he could not help overhearing the girl say to Tom Cornicott, in a half-whisper — ' Where are the theatre tickets you promised to send me?' *Did I promise?' he answered, good-humouredly, 'I'll get them for you to-day ; how many do you want ? ' She mentioned a number, and then left the room, after having had another sly glance at the figure of the new student. ' He is perfectly charming, my dear,' she confided to the young lady whose easel was nearest her own, as she re- gained her seat in the gallery, ' Handsomer than anyone here, and looks like a lord. I 'm in love with him already.' Which cruel remark caused a gentleman student near at hand, whose heart had been smitten for a long time by the charms of the fair-haired young lady (and of which fact she was perfectly cognizant), to turn first very red and then very pale, and finally to swell up like muffins — an alarming state from which he did not again subside until he had steeped his senses in forgetfulness by a good night's rest. ' Matterby 's a queer fellow,' remarked Cornicott when they found themselves once more clear of the house, ' but it 's all put on. He '11 unbend before you 've been there a week, unless a fresh student arrives in the meanwhile. It's impossible for him to keep up St. Paul for ever. What do you think of that little girl who peeped in upon us ? * ' I scarcely looked at her,' said John Wardlaw. Jaely the J Fife of Heber the Kcnitc. iii * Didn't you ? Why, where were your eyes, man ? She 's a sharp little creature, is Lyddy Taylor ; but she '11 tease you like anything, if you allow her. Don't let me forget her tickets when we get to the " King's." Holloa, Masters and Collerton, how is it that you are not at work this morning ? ' This last speech was addressed to two young men, who now met them sauntering arm in arm, and who bore about them the unmistakable si^fns of beingr art students. * It 's only a gallery day,' replied the elder of the two, who was Collerton, 'and there's nothing much going on, so Masters and I thought it a pity to waste such weather as this at old Matterby's. Where are you bound to ? ' ' The Academy, in company with my friend Mr. Ward- law. By-tlie-bye, I must make you known to one another, for he is one of " us." Tou will be fellow-labourers to- morrow morning.' The young men bowed, and affirmed their intention of doing the old shop ' with them. * I 've only been there twice this year,' remarked Masters, as he fell behind with John Wardlaw, ' and there 's stuff enough to keep a man's eyes employed for a month. I suppose you 've seen Cornicott's picture ? ' John Wardlaw explained the impossibility of bis having done so, since he had only arrived in town the evening before. ' Well, I envy you your first sight of the Academy ; you have a treat before you. Whose disciple are you ? ' His companion stared and thought for a moment of the Apostle St. Paul, but remembered himself in time to say, ' I don't quite follow you.' * AYhat master do you affect ? Tou had better choose one on the spot. The fellows at Matterby's are sure to ask you that directly they see you.' John Wardlaw smiled. *If it is absolutely necessary I should answer their ques^ tions,' he replied, ' I shall say I am a disciple of the age, and my style is whatever will sell. For though I rank art so high that I consider no money can adequately pay for what no money can produce, yet I am poor enough to anticipate living by my brush, and, therefore, must lay 112 For Ever and Ever, myself out to please. I imagine professional artists can seldom aiford to follow tlie bent of their own fancy — at all events, to start with.' ' Well, I should never have taken i/ou for a professional,* said Masters, curtly; ' I thought, to look at you, you were no end of a swell amateur.' * Am I, then, so very different to other men ? ' * You 're very different from the professional fellows at Matterby's, 1 can tell you, and so you will soon see for yourself. There are very few gentlemen there. CoUerton and myself are amateurs, and precious bad ones — at least I am. You look the artist all over though, and I fancy, from the way you talk, that you '11 lick the whole lot of us. I hope you may, and put some of the other fellows down. There are one or two there that make me lose my temper occasionally. Holloa, there 's Cornicott disappeared into the " King's." ' John Wardlaw, raising his eyes at the same moment, just saw the last of the artist as he dived by a side door into the theatre, followed by Collerton. * He seems quite at home there,' he remarked to Masters, as they awaited his return. ' That he is. You would say so if you saw him behind the scenes at night, with the whole corps de ballet chatter- ing to him at once, or in a stage-box with Mrs. Cornicott (by-the-bye, what do you think of his lady-wife ?) and all the eleven thousand little Cornicotts, applauding with the greatest vehemence, and addressing asides to his favourites on the stage. But I believe he 's the best hearted fellow going. Poor old Tom ! it 's a shame to see him so heavily weighted; he works night and day, and everybody seems better paid than himself.' ' Yet he is contented enough,' said John Wardlaw. * That 's the beauty of it,' returned Masters ; 'he is really astonished that anyone should take the trouble to com- miserate him. However, here he is again.' * Now for the Academy, boys ! ' exclaimed Tom Cornicott, cheerfully, as he reissued from the side door. ' I've finished my business here, and got Lyddy Taylor's tickets, so the day is before us. Masters, you must not quite monopolise Wardlaw. Let us walk abreast, man, it's far more sociable. Jael, the Wife of Heber (he Kenite. T13 And so, walking and talking, tlie four men sauntered together across the pleasant St. James's Park, and through Pall Mall, until they reached Trafalgar Square. It was almost new ground to John AVardlaw, for though he had been to London since he was a child, he had never trodden it with the same feelings that he did now. Then ho was a boy — his artist tastes were undeveloped, in embryo ; now he was a man, who aspired to making the greatest of professions (of course a man's own profession is always tha greatest in the world) his aim and object in life, and whom others acknowledged not unworthy so to aspire. As he strolled along with his new friends on that pleasant May day, and took part (feeling he was competent to take part) in the discussion on their own work which engrossed them, he forgot the disagreeables of the past night and morning, and only felt that he was in his own element at last ; that the unsympathetic hours he had known were gone for ever, and that here, in the very temple of the glorious arts, sur- rounded by fellow-worshippers, he need never again com- plain of want of encouragement or advice in his pursuits. This was the enthusiasm of a young and untried spirit, and for the present it entirely usurped his mind. His heart was full of such thoughts as he placed his foot upon the steps which lead to the National Gallery. They followed him into the rooms, and made his hot pulses throb again as he surveyed the accumulated labour of England's best artists, and remembered with pride that such was the work to which he had determined to devote his life. The rooms were full, and the friends moved with difficulty. The pictures were, as usual, very crowded, and the young men complained bitterly of the want of space which pre- vented their viewing them in the best light, and of the confused mass of colour which, by wearying the eye, made it difficult after a while to judge with any discrimination of the various effects. They had gloated over pieces by Land- Beer, Ilolinan Hunt, Millais, Stanfield, and Ansdell ; ad- mired lovely faces immortalised by Buckner, Cope, and Stone, and still the crowd appeared not to diminish, and their progress became if anything slower. ' AVe ought to have come later,' whispered Cornic(^| f, as he managed to get within hearing of John "Ward law. 114 ^or Ever and Ever, * Eveiybody tliinlcs tlie rooms will be empty early in the day, and so all tlie world rushes, and all the world crushes. "We shall never get near my "Sisera " at this rate.' John was just about to answer him, when a stout lady in voluminous petticoats sailed between and parted them, and he had only just time to see Cornicott make signals of dis- tress, when he was again borne away by the crowd. Our hero could not help inwardly laughing at the absurdity of the occurrence, but concluding that they were sure to meet again somewhere, applied himself to the examination of such pictures as came within his reach. Cornicott, how- ever, as he was thus summarily parted from John Wardlaw, happened to have been carried right into the arms of Mas- ters and Collerton, whom he had missed some time before. ' Glad to have found some of you,' he said, as soon as he had recovered his breath. ' I believe I 've lost Wardlaw for ever. The last time I saw him he was being squeezed flat between one old woman and half a dozen young ones.' ' Lucky for "Wardlaw that youth predominated ! Never mind, Cornicott, we are sure to come upon him in the other room.' Afterwards the trio affirmed that it was more than half an hour before they again met John Wardlaw ; that having gone the round of the second room, looking for him in vain, they entered the third, and when about to leave that also in despair, came upon him suddenly. Not with his handsome head carried loftily, and thrown well back as he surveyed pictures hung above his own height ; nor with shoulders painfully bent as he attempted to obtain a good view of such as were on a level with him- self ; but kneelinof — crouched — regardless of the remarks or pressure of the crowd, gazing — not abstractedly, but with all his eyes and heart and soul — upon a single face in a badly hung picture. He started violently as Masters clapped him suddenly upon the shoulder, and seemed for a moment as if unable to remember where he was. Then he drew a long breath, and rose to his feet again. ' Oh ! Masters,' he ejaculated, ' what an unearthly face ! I don't think I ever saw such loveliness before.' It was poor Tom Cornicott's picture upon which he had Jael, the IVife of Hchcr the Kenite. 1 15 been gazing — badly liung of course. Tiio d I rectors always seemea to take pleasure in according his productions the ver7 worst of places, although the artist liiuisclf was the only one to smile at the vexation, and bring forward an excuse for the present, and hope for the future, welded into one. Ilis contribution for this year was more than care- fully painted ; although as a whole, and amid such royal company, it might have not been considered very striking. It represented the interior of a tent, with the recumbent figure of a sleeping man, whose features were hid, stretched in the foreground. So far, so good; these were but the dark accessories which served as foils to the principal sub- ject of the picture — a woman — Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite. She was represented in a kneeling posture, the nail and hammer with which she was just about to kill the sleeping man in her hands. The face, in its calm, passionless beauty, was exquisitely designed; but there was a look of deliberate cruelty about the mouth which should have warned Sisera ao^ainst trusting her protestations or accepting her kindness. The hues of the gorgeous Eastern drapery in which she was represented seemed chosen only to contrast with her whitt» loveliness ; it had no power to put anything like warmth into the looks of the murderess. But John Wardlaw had not seen the dress, or the sur- roundings ; he had only gazed and gazed again at the rigid perfection of the features. Classical beauty was a passion with him : from a youth he had so worshipped the voluptuous curves, the symme- trical outlines and the chiselled lineaments of G-recian sculp- ture, that ordinary women of flesh and blood, not being able to stand the severe test of his comparisons, had failed hitherto in extracting more than a passing comment from him. And it had been a jest with those who cared to jest with him, that if he ever discovered a limb or feature in mortal woman which realised his conceptions of what the Beauti- ful, accordinsr to the standard of the ancients, should come up to, John Wardlaw raved about it until his hearers were pretty well tired of hearing him discuss its perfec- tions. As soon as he perceived that Cornicott was also of the Il5 For Ev^ a'nd Ever, party, he sprung forward and seized him by the hand, to the amazement of the bystanders. ' My dear fellow — it *s splendid — it 's first-rate ! I never saw such a face ! * ' I 'm so glad you like it,' said the gratified artist. 'What do you think of the background ? * ' It 's all very good, but that face couldn't be better ; it ia classically perfect — it will haunt me ! ' ' Tes ; she does look rather jolly, doesn't she,' said Ma3- ters. ' You know who it is, Wardlaw, I suppose ? ' ' Why, Jael, of course,' replied John Wardlaw. * But the original ? ' * It 's not a portrait ? ' exclaimed the other, quickly. ' Yes, it is ; it 's little Eowny Bellew, of the King's Theatre. I could show you her face half a dozen times over in these very rooms. But she 's not a paid model, you know — it 's only her friends who paint her.' John AYardlaw felt the hot blood rush to his face, but he said nothing. Whilst he had thought it was a fancy pic- ture, drawn from Cornicott's own imagination, he had so greatly admired the talent which could first design and then execute such loveliness, that he had felt as if he could not find words strong enough to express his appreciation of it. Now, that he heard it was no imaginative face, that Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite, actually existed (although he could not but believe that her charms were greatly exaggerated), that she was a living, breathing woman, the young man scarcely knew what he lelt. It seemed strange, "with this knowledge fresh upon him, to hear his companions Bpeaking of the creation which had so awed his fancy in the most ordinary terms, ' I think myself this is about the best likeness that has ever been taken of Howney Bellew, Cornicott,' said Coller- ton, who was not quite so loquacious as Mr. Masters, ' the character suits her so well. . There is no doubt that she is uncommonly handsome, only she takes such a deal of paint for lighting up. She is the same girl that played " Yenus" in the extravaganza last year, is she not ? ' * Of course she is,' replied Cornicott. ' She used to bo called nothing but "Yenus Bellew" all last season. She's out-and-out the best model in town, but she has a large idea Jael, the Wife nf Heler the Kenite. ii^ of not making herself too clienp. She won't sit for every- one. This is only the second picture I 've taken of her, and she had the coolness to tell me I had asked the favour of her sittings once too often already. She 's a good enough girl, Kowney, but she thinks a vast deal of number one.' ' Is she married ? ' demanded John "Wardlaw, with his eyes still fixed upon the inanimate perfections of the Kenite's wife. The three men burst out lauo^hinpr. ' Married ? ' exclaimed Cornicott, ' what, little Bellew ? No ! I am afraid it will be a long time before poor Rowney gets married, thongh I dare say she 'd make no objection to the plan. But I don't suppose she '11 ever bring in more than ten shillings a night. She 'd be rather an expensive luxury for a poor man.' 'Besides which,' interrupted Masters, 'she isn't half so good-looking as Cornicott has represented her here ; the features are Eowney Bellew's, but Tom has been using his carmine a little too freely about her cheeks. In reality, she has not a morsel of colour by daylight, and at night she only looks like a tinted statue. For my own part, I prefer a little more life. Don't go to the "Ivinj^'s," and expect to see Jael in the flesh, "Wardlaw, or you "11 be woefully dis- appointed, and so I warn you.' ' Her beauty is of no moment to me,' said John "Ward- law, looking a little annoyed, ' and so it will be of little consequence if I am. A man would be a fool who expected to see a living woman like that.' 'Do you think so?' exclaimed Tom Cornicott. *Well, then, I '11 lay you ten to one that when you have seen Kowney Bellew, you '11 say that Masters is wrong, and that I have not, in the least, exaggerated her beauty. Collerton is far more correct when he says that this is tlie best likeness yet taken of her. However, come behind the scenes with me to-morrow evening, and judge for yourself. Kow, I think we have blocked up the way long enough.' They moved on as he spoke, and other figures crowded to praise or condemn the face of Jael ; to find fault with the distribution of the colouring, or to criticise the handling of the subject. Ii8 For Ever and Ever. But the artist had passed away with his young friends, and was happily unconscious of any of the remarks, good, bad, or indifferent, which were being unsparingly levelled at the child of his brush. They found their way out of the crush again as best they might, and into the sculpture-room and the street. For the rest of the day John Wardlaw was talking vigorously with his companions, condemning,'praising, and ridiculing, as the humour took him, the various paintings they had seen, and no one could have guessed, from his outward bearing, that his thoughts were not journeying with the subject in hand. Yet, for Cornicott's * Death of Sisera,' he had not another word to say. But when he retired to his room that night, and com- menced to review mentally the varied occurrences of the past day, it appeared to him as if his brain had been in one continual whirl and confusion, as if Matterby's studio was a myth, the sight of the Eoyal Academy and its attendant beauties a dream, the figures of Masters and Collerton thin, misty ghosts. Even the Cornicotts' uncomfortable tea-table, with its dirty realities, faded away on retrospection into an imagi- nary annoyance, and nothing was real, or true, or definable, except the face of Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite. After he had extinguished the light, and disposed him- self to rest, the cruel loveliness of that face peered at him from out the surrounding darkness. Beneath the influence of its cold, passionless beauty, he lay down to sleep, and the first thought which struck him on awaking was, that he was engaged to go that night with Tom Cornicott behind the scenes of the King's Theatre, and see the original of that pictured enchantress for him- self. It was quite impossible that her face, or figure, that any- one's face or figure (so he told himself), could realise the idea that her likeness had caused him to form of her; still it would be a satisfaction to his artistic taste, even to sco the woman who had sat for Heher's wife. rn4 CHAPTER Yin. A MOENINa AT MATTEEBT'S. The lucky have whole days which still they choose ; Th' unlucky have but hours, and those they lose. Deydek. But Mr. Matterby's academy had to be visited first ; and punctually at ten o'clock John AVardlaw presented himself there. As he was admitted into the hall, the difference between his former and present reception struck him forcibly. It was very evident, even to one as unaccustomed to student life as himself, that as yet neither master nor model had made their appearance ; for the confused buzz of voices proceeding from the gallery and model-room could be likened to nothing but that of a bee-hive. It ceased for a moment, as our hero made his appearance on the threshold, and half a hundred pair of eyes were turned to question his right of entrance into the sanctuary ; but John Wardlaw had metal in him that would stand proof against far more formidable assaults than could be contained in the looks of a set of impertinent students. He paused upon the topmost stair of the flight of steps which led to the first room, whilst he took a deliberate survey of his future companions. Rapidly as his quick eye flew from one to another, the single view sufficed to tell him that Masters's assertion of the day before was correct ; there were very few gentlemen amongst the 'fellows at Matterby's.' Specimens of most denominations were there: 'Jew and Gentile, Crete and Arabian, bond and free ; ' but for a spe- cimen of his own class, John AVardlaw looked in vain. His keen scrutiny did not appear to conciliate the students 130 For Ever and Ever, on his belialf; but, regardless of looks and whispers, he now descended into the apartment, and elbowed his way amongst the unaccommodating crowd, until he caught sight of Mas- ters, whose cordial greetings made the remainder of the young artists eye the new arrival with looks of still greater curiosity. The feminine half immediately amalgamated in corners, where they communicated their several opinions on his appearance to one another ; but the young men, not seeming disposed to offer him even this compliment, stood together in groups, and continued to stare with unremit- ting rudeness. There was something in the outward bearing and ap- pearance of the new-comer which contrasted so forcibly with their own, that it offended them. Still more were they dis- posed to resent his manner, which was cool and nonchalant, and not at all as if he properly appreciated the honour of having been admitted to the society of a set of embryo E-oyal Academicians. As John Wardlaw returned Masters's recognition with a nod and a query as to how long the model might be ex- pected to keep them waiting, he appeared too much at home, spoke too much as if he w^as perfectly at his ease, and not in the slightest degree awed, to please the fancy of the gentlemen students at Matterby's. They now, also, clustered together, demanding of each other who the stranger was, and otherwise making remarks upon him in tones too audible to be called whispers ; but although their comments perfectly reached the ears of the subject of their discussion, he evidenced no further know- ledge of the same than might be distinguished from the haughty air with which he carried himself among them. Even to Masters he was afraid to unbend, lest it might be taken advantage of by those around. * Where do you intend to place your easel ? ' inquired the former, presently ; * somewhere near mine, I hope.' ' It is impossible for me to decide, until I see how Mat- terby places the model, Itcannot make much difference to us, though. We are here to work, I presume, and not to chatter.' Here the students, supposing, from his collected way of speaking, that he felt some confidence in himself, attempted to show him that they could talk art as well as he, and com- A Morning at Mattcrlifs. J 21 menced a series of jargon on the subject, wliicli comprised far more nonsense than anything else, lamentably display- ing their want of head-knowledge on the theme they aspired to discuss. The names of masters, both ancient and modern, w^ere dragged in by the head and ears, simply to ])rove tliat they had heard of them, and such worthless opinions were given in such decided tones, that John Wardlaw found it very difficult to prevent himself correcting their artistic information on the spot. His necessity for command, how- ever, was shortly brought to a close by the entrance of Mr. Matterby in his usual dress, followed by a very dirty- looking man in the costume of Italy, who, having mounted the dais, stood in the position denoted to him, as a model for any celebrity of his country by whose name the students chose to call him. The usual matutinal greeting to ISt. Paul over, every easel was erected in its place, canvasses, millboards, and sketching blocks were arrayed, chalks pro- duced, pencils sharpened, and scores of eyes and fingers went swiftlv and busily to work. John Wardlaw observed, as, having chosen the site from which he wished to sketch the model, he took his seat a little apart from the rest, that the students had almost all paired off, and that every lady had a gentleman at her elbow, to attend to her various wants, and prevent her taking any trouble for herself. Glancing round the room, after awhile, to see if all the men were similarly employed, he observed an unattended easel very near his own, behind the canvass of which appeared the face of Lyddy Taylor. It was scarcely a pretty face, although it was fair ^ji^piquante, but the owner was young, and, if one might judge from the many times he caught her looking at him, not indisposed to make his acquaintance. And so, during a pause in the sketching, John AVardlaw managed to move his easel a little nearer hers, from which advance it was not difficult to proceed to a glance, which called forth a half-recognition on her part ; after which the ice was broken, and he spoke to her. ' I am glad to see you have not forgotten me since yester- day, Miss Taylor. How is it that you have no slave waiting upon your wishes, when I see several gentlemen working alone? Are you so hard-hearted as to forbid them to labour for you ? ' 122, For Ever and Ever, The girl tossed her head, delighted at the compliment. ' I might have had more than one,' she said, ' if I had shosen, but I prefer painting to myself. Boys are such a hindrance.' 'Then I suppose I had better go a little farther off afjain.' • I said " boys" — I don't call you a boy.' 'Don't you? I feel very much flattered by the distinc- tion. Then will you allow me to sharpen that pencil for you?' He remained by her side the rest of the morning, to the extreme indignation of all the other students, both male and female — the former, because Miss Lyddy Taylor was the belle of Matterby's, and used to give herself decided airs with them all; the latter, because she so evidently prided herself upon having captured the handsome new- comer in the teeth of so many opposing rivals. At eleven o'clock, the model was permitted to alter his position for a short time, during which interval the pupils rested from their labours. As they laid down their materials, Lyddy Taylor looked up slyly at John Wardlaw. ' I am going to the King's Theatre to-night,' she said. * Are you ? ' he replied ; ' so am I — I hope I shall see you there.' Here the gentleman student, who had been thrown into such an alarming condition the day before by Miss Taylor's description of the virtues of the new arrival, and who hitherto had been recognised by all the brotherhood as her acknowledged knight, left his own easel at the other side of the room, and bustled up to that of the fair delinquent. He moved round and about it uneasily for a few seconds, looking on the ground as if he had lost something, until he was recalled to his senses by her pert voice inquiring what on earth he wanted. He was too indignant even then to explain himself, except by asking her in a muflied voice if she had all she required. 'Everything, thank you,' she replied, maliciously. 'This gentleman is attending to me.' At this unblushing state- ment of his wrongs, the uiioappy student nearly boiled over; but having no valid excuse for finding fault with it, attempted to vent his indignation against John Wardlaw, by inter- A Morning at Matterhifs. 123 posing his person between their easels, which, although not touching, were yet sufficiently near to render such a ])r()- cecding very hazardous to the equilibrium of that at which the latter painted. ' The easels should not be crowded together in this man- ner,' he said, almost panting in his rage. * Mr. Matterby doesn't approve of it. It is impossible to paint properly without elbow-room.' John Wardlaw rose from his seat immediately. ' Stand a little further off, if you please,' he said haughtily, and sufficiently loud for everyone in the room to hear him ; * I am going to move my easel.' The bragging student did as he was desired, albeit rather astonished that his remonstrance should have had such immediate effect upon his rival, when John "Wardlaw lifting his easel with both hands, placed it so near to that of Lyddy Taylor's, that they appeared as one. Drawing his chair after it, he sat down close beside her, as he said — ' ISTow, Miss Taylor, I don't think there is any fear of our being disturbed by people trying to push themselves between our easels. I see you have taken this model from almost exactly the same point of view as I have — that is charming ; we shall be able to work together in right earnest now.' Lyddy Taylor, who had been giggling violently the whole time that this scene was taking place, now entered so enthu- siastically into the views of her new admirer, that the dis- comfited suitor had nothing to do but to return to his own seat, impotently vowing vengeance. As soon as one o'clock arrived, the Italian patriot retired altogether, to allow the pupils time to discuss their luncheon or dinner. Then it was that St. Paul, moving solemnly between the ranks, paused before John Wardlaw's canvass, and gravely expressed his satisfaction at it. ' I understand you have been a pupil of Matthews, of Maidstone. You do him credit, Sir.' John Wardlaw bowed his acknowledgment of the com- pliment, and the Apostle went on : ' Our monthly students' gathering takes place next "Wed- nesday week. At such times I like each of my pupils to Bend in a sketch of their own (the subjects for which I give out at the commencement of each month), and their merits 124 ^0^' Ever and Ever, are determined by "ballot. The subject for next time ia " Parting." Perhaps you will also give us your idea of it, either in pencil, pen and ink, or oils. Anything, so that it is entirely your own.' ' You may depend upon the latter clause, Sir,' John Ward- law replied ; ' and if 1 have time between this and that to sketch it out, I will not fail to do so. But you will be pre- pared, of course, to see it in the rough. I never work hastily.' Mr. Matterby fully acquiescing in the good sense of this last statement, then passed on to his own luncheon. He bad scarcely disappeared from the room, w^hen the same buzz arose that had greeted the ears of John "VVardlaw on his entrance that morning; and such exclamations as 'Well, I never ! ' ' Cool, isn't it ? ' and ' What next ? ' plainly dis- tinguishable on every side, made him pretty well aware in what estimation he was already held at Matterby's. Even Masters looked at him in astonishment. * What made you come here at all, old fellow ? ' he said, good-humouredly, as he found his way up to John Wardlaw's side ; ' I told you yesterday you were a cut above us. Why, you know as much as old Matterby himself now.' This speech did not tend to make the other students feel more amiably disposed towards the stranger, particularly as he would not deny the charge. * Well, I can hardly say that,' he replied, * until I see how Matterby paints. Cornicott says he 's a very good artist. What did I come for? Why, for the advantage of the models and the room, I suppose ; else I could work as well at Cornicott's as here. Miss Taylor, are you going home ? ' The students had drawn out sundry provisions by this time, and, seated on lockers or chairs, as their choice dic- tated to them, were busily employed eating and talking. But a few had assumed their w^alking gear, with the evident intention of seeking the streets, and amongst them was Miss Lyddy Taylor. ' Oh ! no,' she said, in answer to his question, ' I live ever 80 far off. I 'm only going with Miss Turton to a pastry- cook's to have my dinner.' ' May I escort you there ? * A Morning at Matterhifs, 1 25 * May he, Fanny dear ? ' said Miss Taylor, turning with a gigp:le to her friend. Miss Turton said she was sure she didn't care if he did or didn't, upon which Mr. AVardlaw insisted on deciding for himself by offering an arm to each young lady, and escort- incr them out into the street, followed by the unmitigated disgust of all their fellow-students. After which he spent a frivolous hour with them at the pastrycook's, by the end of which time neither Miss Taylor nor Miss Turton knew which of them he admired the most, and he wound up by presenting each of his fair companions with a honhonriiere out of his scanty coin, in order thereby still more to increase the ire of the ' fellows at Matterby's.' By the time that four o'clock came, and the hours for day students were at an end, there was scarcely a male heart in the academy (except Masters's and Collerton's) that did not throb with jealousy either of John Wardlaw's looks, or his painting, or his success with the young ladies ; nor a female one that did not pant with indignant spite against those * outrageous flirts, Lyddy Taylor and Fanny Turton.' Even on the first day of his entrance there, in the first essay he made to plant his feet upon the road to fame, John AVardlaw, who so much needed friends, made enemies instead. He was not fit for such a life. With all his talent for the work, he was too fastidious in his tastes, too sensi- tive to anything like coarseness or vulgarity, to permit him cheerfully to grovel in order that he might rise. As he walked homewards that afternoon and thought of the strange companionship which suddenly seemed to have surrounded him on every side, he actually shuddered. He ^ad been only two days in London, but he already felt that le had not been born or brought up for this. It was so dilferent from what he had anticipated. Amidst all the new faces that he had seen since leaving Sutton Valence,^ only one, in its grace and purity, came up to his ideas of what the face of gentle blood should be, and that was the pictured profile of Howena Bellew. ia6 CHAPTEE IX, AN EYENING AT THE ' KING'S.' Honour and shame from no condition rise : Act well your part; there all the honour lies. Pope. Miss Latjiia Tredmatt sat before the mirror in her drpys- ing-room at the King's Theatre with a look of complete, satisfaction impressed upon her fair features. And she had every reason to feel satisfied. Another month of her engagement with Mr. Dobson, an enirao-ement which brought her in two huudred a week, had Btill to run before she took her departure for the provinces. She was received nightly, as she made her appearance on the boards of his theatre, with what the newspaper reporters termed 'thunders of rapturous applause ; ' and she had been acknowledged that season, by the best critics, to be the most finished actress in London, the ' ablest interpreter of the histrionic drama then upon the stage.' And whatever profit, applause, or compliments Laura Tredman received, she deserved them all and more. Not so much, however, for her public success, which was undoubted, as for the beauty of her private life. She had been an actress since she was a baby. Tsventy years before, she had been known as the best ' Prince Arthur,' and ' Ariel,' and ' Puck,' upon the stage, to say nothing of a dozen other characters not Siiakspearean — and, with the ex'^eption of a short interval, devoted to study, she had never quitted the boards since. She came of a generation of actors, every one of whom had appeared in public at diff"erent times, and graduaUy dis- appeared again, no one knew or cared whither, until Laura hid been left standing alone, the only genius and the only An Evening at the ' Ki/ig^5.' 127 support of her family. Bravely the girl liad strufrrrlod in those early days to maintain the position she had gained, and a comfortable home for her parents at the same time. They were all dependent on her. Father and mother, sisters .and brothers, not counting the vauriens amongst her kindred (and which of our flocks is without a black sheep or two to betray its fallen origin ?) lived upon Laura Tredman. She had been borne heavily upon by some ; betrayed by others ; even cheated by a few ; but still the brave heart battled manfully with the storms of life, and shook off trouble as a water-dog shakes the moisture off" his coat as soon as ever it touches shore again. To lose her hard-earned coin through treachery, or to be wheedled out of it through sel- fishness, may have sometimes disturbed momentarily the peace of Laura Tredman ; but to work for her own people, to labour night after night to maintain her parents in com- fort, she never for an instaut thought hard. She was bound up heart and soul in her home affections ; she would have stripped herself of every possession sooner than any one of them should want it ; she would have died rather than have been parted from them unnecessarily, even for a period. This was the great charm of her character, which no one who conversed with her for a few hours could fail to observe. Home was her religion ; her people were her God ; and Laura Tredman was the most unselfish and devoted of worshippers. In age she was about thirty, or thereabouts, m person thoroughly English. With a skin and complexion as white as our island can produce, fair hair and an aquiline nose, what eyes could possibly have gleamed forth from her flice except our national ones of blue ? Blue they most certainly were, and large and bright and clear into the bargain, with a sweet, benevolent, womanly expression in them, which was far more taking than themselves. In figure the actress was tall and well-formed, witli a remarkably handsome hand and foot, of both of which she was rather vain. In private, she had a joyous, hearty ring in her voice, which was sufficient to make a man swear to her truth before he knew her, and m manners she was as quiet and refined as any lady aristocrat in the land. It is not to be supposed that with attractions like the 128 Fo7' Ever and Ever, above, aud the power of fortune in her hands, Laura Tred- man had passed through woman's most dangerous lustre without receiving offers of marriage. Doubtless she had done so, but she still remained single, and no one knew more than the fact. Whether the cause that induced her to choose an unmarried life was an early disappointment, or a determination not to leave her parents, or a fear of per- mitting the amount of work she should perform to be settled by a third person, it is impossible to say, but the effect remained. It is not likely either that she had not been subjected io many a temptation. The quietest life reeks with the devil's whisperings, and the life of an actress is not a quiet one. Tet Laura Tredman, in trouble and necessity no less than in success, had ever managed to keep unspotted her pure and irreproachable name. Her early troubles were over now: innate courage had borne her triumphantly through them all, and the reward was her own. tShe had a first-rate house in Piccadilly — a carriage and horses always at her command; and to judge from her mania for making presents and her large-hearted charity, no less than from the style of her dress and appoint- ments, an unlimited supply of pin-money. Above all she had an inward, restful peace in contemplat- ing the luxuries she had purchased for her own, which no amount of money could have given her — no success ensured. But to return to her as she now appears : Miss Tredman sat before her looking-glass, surveying the effect of her stage costume, in a state of blissful contentment. Two of her younger sisters who had been busily employed in aiding her to dress, were in the room with her, engaged in putting away such articles as she did not require, or had taken off. ' Bessie, darling,' said the actress presently, as she bent forward to examine herself more particularly, ' you 've made me redder on one cheek than the other.' At her sister's words Bessie flew to her side with the hare's foot and saucer of rouge in her hand, whilst Mary left her folding to look after itself, and hastened to hold the hand-glass for Laura's better accomraodati jn. Whatever love this woman lavished on her kind was rcb- An Evening at the * King's.' 1 29 tnrnecl fourfold into her bosom, for her brothers and sisters idolised as much as they admired her, and her parents never mentioned her name but with the deepest pride. ' That 's not our hand-f»lass, surely, Polly ! ' exclaimed Miss Tredmau, as she saw the one her sister held. ' Where did it come from ? ' ' I was obliged to borrow it from the dresser,' replied Mary. * I lent yours last evening to Miss Beilew, and she has not returned it.' ' Kowena Beilew — has she been in here again ? ' * Onlv for a minute, Laury. She said nothing except to nsk for the hand-glass. She had had an accident with hers. We hardly exchanged two words.' ' I am glad of it. I don't like that girl. I am always afraid she will come in here whilst I am " on." Don't en- courage it, Polly, if she does.' ' I don't think it 's likely, Laury,' said the other sister. 'Miss Beilew seems such a cold, unsociable sort of girl.' ' So she may be ; but she is always very anxious to work her way into better society than her own, and I don't wish it to be ours.' ' There '3 nothing wrong about her, Laury?' inquired Bessie. ' God forbid, child ! But I don't know enough of her to like her to associate with Polly and you. So be good children, and keep in the dressing-room till I come back. If I find you loitering behind the scenes, I shall bring Parsons to dress me another night, instead.' ' ;Mis3 Tredman called,' squeaked the shrill voice of the call-boy through the key-hole of the door ; and then the actress' rose. As she stooped to return the kisses of Polly and Bessie before she left them, she had far more the air of a mother towards them than a sister, so gravely earnest was her parting admonition. ' Now, don't go outside, dear children. You have your books, and I shan't be long.' But I\Iis3 Tredman was longer than she had anticipated; for as (her duty over for the present) she reappeared at the back of the stage, wrapped in a large cloak which nearly hid her dress, she encountered Tom Cornicott, who had just arrived. After the first greeting, he was about to pay her iqo For Ever and Ever. Bome compliment upon tlie part she was sustaining, but she forestalled him. ' Mr. Cornicott, you are the very person I wanted to see. Where have you been hiding yourself lately ? ' ' Nowhere, Miss Tredman ; but I have been detained at home the last two evenings by the arrival of my friend Mr. "Wardlaw, who has come to live with us.' ' Is this your friend ? ' said Laura Tredman, glancing at John AVardlaw, who stood next to her. ' Pray introduce him to me.' As he met the steady look of her clear eyes, he thought he had never encountered so thoroughly honest and kindly a gaze before, and his heart warmed towards the speaker at once. She seemed to guess his feelings, and reciprocate them ; for, as Tom Cornicott complied with her request, and introduced him, the actress laid her frank hand in his. ' I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. AVard- law. Any friend of Mr. Cornicott's I take on trust ; but if your looks do not belie you, I think we shall be friends on our own account by-and-bye.' She spoke with the assurance of a woman who has not only seen a good deal of the world, but whom the world has delighted to honour ; yet there was no boldness in her speech — nothing but the entire absence of all affectation ; for, directly afterwards, she turned her attention again to Tom Cornicott. ' To return to business, Mr. Cornicott, what about the Glaishers ? ' ' "Well ! I 'm afraid it 's a true bill, ]Miss Tredman ; tliere is no doubt that the poor girl is dying, and the father is completely thro\vn out of work by his arm. The day be- fore yesterday they were in the greatest destitution — one of our little ballet girls, Wardlaw,' added the artist in explaua- tion to his companion, ' who was sadly burnt at the foot- licrhts a few weeks ago, and has been lingering ever since, ifowever, from what "they told me, I expect it will soon be over now. But they are eight in fjimily.' ' Oh ! Mr. Cornicott,' exclaimed the actress, making no attempt to conceal the tears which had filled her large blue eyes, ' why did you not let me know of this before ? I told you I should be glad to send that poor girl a little relief. I An Evem7t(r a I the ' King^s.* 131 want to get up a subscription for lier in the theatre. She belonged to us, and we are so many, surely auiong^st us we ought to do something.' ' I can't say I see the necessity for it,' said another voice, and rather a hard one. * It 's Mr. Dobsou's business it' it is anyone's.' •That may be i/our opinion, Miss Bellew,* said Laura Tredman, coldly. At that name John Wardlaw started violently and looked up, and at the same moment Tom Coniicott nudged liis elbow, whispering, ' Here 's my Jael, AVardlaw,' and tlicn bid the new comer * Good evening.' I Kowena Bellew saw the action, and heard the whisper, and as John Wardlaw raised his eyes to her figure their glances met. For the first moment he could scarcely believe that it was the prototype of the Kenite's wife that encountered his view, for the girl before him was in the stage dress of a page, and although a green velvet tunic slashed with white satin became her well, and knee-breeches and silk stockings showed ofl" every line of her voluptuous form, they recalled no idea of the magic curves with which he had been so en- raptured, and which were more to be imagined than seen through the flowing Eastern drapery in which she was re- presented in her picture. But as the conversation pro- ceeded between her and the others, he had ample time to sate his eyes with her perfections ; and as she grew familiar to him he recognised her likeness, and began at last to think that Tom Cornicott had not done justice to her. There wa.s no doubt at all about it ; Eowena Bellew w^as extremely beautiful. Her features (as has been said before) were perfectly classical. No fault could possibly be found with that oval face, which, commencing with a fair creamy forehead en- circled by dark sleek hair, was carried on by a delicate straight nose, a curved mouth, the upper lip of which was so short that it gave its owner a perpetual look of scorn, and terminated by the most distracting of pointed chins, with a dimple like the impress of Love's own finger just in the centre of it. So far the face of Eowena Bellew was more like that of a 1^2 For Ever and Ever, statue tliau of a living creature ; had she possessed eyes as loving as they were lovely, she would have been more like an anjrel than a woman. But delicately feminine as she was, both in form and feature, the title of woman was per- haps the last she was ever likely to deserve. If anyone doubted it, he had but to look at her eyes to believe the truth. In size they were large, in &hape long, in colour hazel, and fringed with the darkest of lashes, which lav upon her usually colourless cheek like jet upon ivory ; but here their attraction ceased. Eowena Bellew's eyes ascorded with the rest of her body. They were the eyes of a statue. They were cold and hard and unyielding ; when she felt most so, they looked blind, there was so little life in them. They shone like crystals ; glittered like diamonds ; were clear as lake-water ; were anything, everything— but warm, or sympathetic, or pitiful. With all her perfection of shape, all her anxiety to make herself agreeable when there were stakes worth playing for, all her capability for acting a character she did not feel, Eowena Bellew, with beauty fit to mate with the gods, had never yet moved mortal man sufficiently to make him wish her his. Many had pas- sionately admired her, a few had told her so, but no one had married her, and at the present time she was, at least, five and twenty, and had been on the stage for ten years. She was no actress; she went through her parts me- chanically, and after a large amount of study ; simply be- cause it was her living, and she had to do it. But there was no soul in anything she played. Laura Tredman was used to throw herself so thoroughly into the character she represented, that her fictitious words would call forth real tears upon her honest cheeks. And Miss Bellew had been heard to ridicule as the height of affectation anyone pretending so to lose her own identity in a stage part. Eor herself, she considered it so many words to be said, and the sooner they were over the sooner she could get home to her supper. But the consequence of this was, that Miss Bellew occasionally had more leisure for her supper than she really cared about, and had it not been for her beauty, she would probably have been able to order it at any hour she chose every night of her life. At the present time she was filling a very secondary part, An Ereni/ig at the ' KinL^*s.* 133 but as loDCj as she had her sahary and was permitted to dis- play her charms to the best advantage, her ambition was fully satisfied. John Wardlaw could not help observing the alteration which had come over Miss Tredman's manner as she ad- dressed herself to Miss Bellew, and Miss Bcllew evidently saw it also, for she replied in rather a defiant tone, ' Every- body's opinion, I should think, as well as mine. "What have we to do with accidents to the ballet girls ? It was not our fault. The manager ought to have had the footlights pro- perly guarded. Any one of us mig.ht catch fire, any niglit.' ' So we might, and die, apparently, for aught Miss Bellew would help us,' returned Laura Tredman indignantly. 'I scarcely think Miss Bellew understands the worst state of the case,' interposed Tom Cornicott, trying good- humouredly to keep the peace between them : ' it is not only that the poor girl is dying from the. eftects of her burns, but that her family are nearly starving from the father being thrown out of work by a iDroken arm. The only two " bread winners " down. It is hard, Miss Bellew.' By this time several of the corps de hallet were grouped about the spot. ' Oh, isn't it ? ' exclaimed a voice from amongst them compassionately. ' Poor dear Emily ! Only to think, she 's dying. Mr. Cornicott, you know I was there at the time and saw it all. She screamed dreadful, poor dear ! I wish I had any money to send her, but I haven't really ; it 's so little I get, and I 've no father, so we use it all at home. But I took her a bit of rice pudding yesterday, and she swallowed a spoonful or so.' ' Did you ? ' exclaimed Laura Tredman, turning to the ballet girl and seizing her hand ; ' you good little creature, God will remember it, you may be sure. Mr. Cornicott,' she added, turning to the artist*, whilst the benevolent little dancer retired amongst her companions, very proud at hav- ing been shaken hands with by the ' great ' Miss Tredman, ' this child puts us all to shame ! You must send them Bomething for me the very first thing to-morrow, will you ? You know how my own time is swallowed up. Do come with me to my dressing-room, and I will give it you at once. My God ! ' she exclaimed, as, having reached her sanctuary, J34 For Ever and Ever. slie attempted witli fingers trembling from emotion to un- fasten her purse, 'to think that there should be such misery close at hand and we should have so much ! There, Mr. Cornicott, take that, pray, and use it for them in any man- ner you thinK fit.' And she put a bank note for ten pounds in his hands as she spoke. He began to say something about it being too much, but she would not let him finish. ' Too much? ' she replied, ' when a whole family is starving, and I often spend more on a single dress. Mr. Cornicott, I can never hear of distress like that without remembering that the day may come when I shall be in want myself.' ' Oh, Laury, what do you mean ? ' exclaimed Bessie and Polly, as, horrified at her emotion, they flew to their sister's side. ' Nothing, darlings,' she answered fondly, 'excepting that I turn sick sometimes when I see the wretchedness, and the misery, and the selfishness this world contains. And now, Mr. Cornicott, I must send you away, for I shall have to go " on " again in a few minutes.' In the meanwhile John "Wardlaw had had an opportunity of conversing with his statuesque divinity. As soon as Miss Tredman had moved away, followed by the artist, his eyes in seeking her fiice again had found that she was looking at him also. She did not blush or grow in the least confused beneath the ardour of his gaze. No marble 'Eve,' listening, in unconscious nakedness, to the whisper of the serpent ; no unveiled ' Una,' subduing even the looks of the wild beasts of the forest by her purity ; no startled ' Bather ' disclosing in her hurried flight the charms she most desires to conceal, ever met the fixed look of a man's admiration with more perfect indifference than did Eowena Bellew. Steadily she stood his gaze, as steadily returned it ; and then spoke to him as if they had been acquainted for a hundred years. ' AVhat do you think of the lawgiver ?' she said, alluding to Miss Tredman. ' I say she had better give up playing, and take to preaching instead.' ' She seems very good,' said John "Wardlaw, scarcely knowing wliat to reply. ' Veri/ good — yes, I dare say she is,' returned Miss Bellew ; *but let her keep her goodness to herself then. What right An Evening at the ' Ki fig's.* 135 has she to lay down laws for the whole of the theatre ? I suppose we kuow what is just, as well as herself.' The young man was silent ; so presently she said, ' "Why don't you answer ? ' ' I really hardly know what to answer you,' he then re- plied. ' I never saw Miss Trednian till to-night, and I don't think I listened particularly to what she said — I was better engaged.' ' How ?' she demanded sharply. ' If I was quite sure you would not be offended, Miss Bellew, I should say — with looking at yourself.' ' Bah ! ' she said contemptuously. If she had attempted to court him, if she had laid herself out to attract his attention to her beauty, or to display it in its best light, she might have dazzled him for a whiie, as she had others ; but once familiar with her charms, they would have palled upon him. But this apparent utter in- diti'erence to his admiration, this even distaste to it, had greater power to kiridle a flame in a breast as sensitive as that of John "Wardlaw, than any advances could have had. This statue, statuesque in feeling as in form, put him on his mettle. Her beauty had lighted in him a sudden passion ; her nonchalance was the very thing needed to fan it into a flame ; and until Tom Cornicott reappeared, he continued to gaze at her, as he had done the day before at her picture. ' You don't go on till the last act, do you ? ' inquii-ed the latter of Miss Bellew, as he joined them again. ' No,' she replied, as she leant against a portion of the scenery, throwing her lithe form about, as she noticed the excitement which appeared in John Wardlaw's eyes as each fresh position she assumed brought some fresh beauty or other into prominent display. ' Have you been to the Academy yet, to see your faint resemblance exhibited?' asked Tom Cornicott. 'No,' she said again, 'but I am going some day— I suppose it attracts crowds of worshippers ? ' ' If it does,' he said gallantly, ' it raust be on account of the subject, and not of the painting.' * Of course,' she answered carelessly. 'AVardlaw here was raviug about it,' continued Tom Cornicott, laughing. ' I should have been afraid for the J 3(3 For Ever and Ever. consequences if I had not piomised to bring him here to- night and show him the original.' ' Indeed ! ' she said, in the same careless, indifferent manner, and then added, as if she had just hit upon a subject which interested her, ' Mr. Cornicott, did you tell the dresser the tunic for Aladdin ought to be orange or yellow ? because there 's a vast difference between the two by night. He says yellow, and I think it's most unbecoming; besides, orange goes much better with the green.' ' I said neither,' he replied, ' or I meant neither. The tunic will look best in brimstone colour.' ' Ah ! that *8 quite another thing,' she said ; * I shall tell the dresser so. But there 's my cue ; bo good night, I go straight home after this scene.' She went away quickly as she spoke, and John "Wardlaw saw her that evening no more ; went away without a word or a gesture, without so much as a look of farewell directed to where he stood in silent admiration. He had no right to expect it, so he told himself; he had received no formal introduction to Miss Bellew ; still, she had introduced her- self, and mere politeness demanded that on her departure she should have made some slight recognition of his existence. Perhaps he had offended her by the expression of his too open admiration ; perhaps Tom Cornicott had, by telling her that "What business had Cornicott or anybody else to speak for him, or to take any of his opinions for granted ? It was a deuced piece of interference on Tom^ Cornicott's part, and he should let him know as much, if he took it upon himself to make any more jokes on his account. And John AVardlaw felt more annoyed at the artist's clear-sight- edness, and the actress's indifference, than he cared to acknowledge even to his own heart. 'Your friend does not seem to be enjoying himself,' said the cheerful voice of Laura Tredman to Tom Cornicott, as she crossed behind the scenes, in one of her numerous journeys to and fro. ' Mr. Wardlaw, the stage is a very stupid place viewed from this quarter ; I advise you to go and see it from the front.' He had been shuffled about from side to side, stumbling first over one piece of furniture, and then over another, as is usual with those unaccustomed to find their way behind An Eveinno 7/ the * Kmg^s,^ 137 the scenes of a theatre ; stared at by the corpa de hallH, and the object of a good many coninu'nts, until he liad felt uncommonly cross, and as lie leant against a portion of the Bcenery he looked so; and Tom Cornicott's next remark, added to his former grievance, did not tend to improve his temper. ' He was enjoying himself very much, Miss Tredman, until a certain goddess of beauty vanished from his gaze ; since which time he has been in a state of collapse.' 'A goddess of beautv ! ' exclaimed Miss Tredman. laufrh- ing. ' AVhat, Venus Bellew ? I hope he 's not smitten in that quarter, Mr. Coruicott ! ' * Mortally, I fear,' was the reply. The actress's expression changed in an instant from light- ness to pity. * Are you in earnest ? * she said, quickly. ' Heaven help him!' Half-an-hour more, and the King's Theatre, and Laura Tredman, and the lovely statue, were all phantoms whieli belonged to the past ; but John AVardlaw could not shake off the remembrance of those three words, nor the tone in which they had been uttered. Supposing he did admire Miss Bellew, or had ever thought of doing so, which was all nonsense, and about the last thins: in the world he should think of, still, allowino; the possibility — the probability if you will — why should Laura Tredman think him worthy of the pity of Heaven for admiring the most perfect creature Heaven ever produced ? T^.8 CHAPTEE X. DEEPEE IK THE MIEE. Nouglit under heaven so strongly clofh allnre The sence of man, and all his mind jDOSsesse, As beautie's lovely baite. Spenser, There is no such thing as love at first sight. I feel that, in the face of so many of the world's commentators as have recorded the fact, this is a bold assertion to make ; yet I hope it may be found capable of maintaining itself. In the first place, let us consider what love is. In all instances it is a feeling of growth. The mother's love for her infant is an instinct, imbued with her knowledge of its advent and developed with its birth. The child's love for its mother is called forth day after day by the exercise of her tenderness towards it. Brothers and sisters, all relations and all friends, grow to like each other. Aftection is not born with them, nor does it spring up in a single hour, however fore-inclined they may be to exercise it. And so to bring us to the love of the sexes, where it is pure, and elevated, and refined, it must have had its foundation in some more solid quality than mere outward attraction ; have been built upon the basis of some mutual quality or liking, which is not to be seen or guessed at in a single interview. Love is a plant of growth, and the seed which springs up instantaneously is a spurious imitation of that divine gift. But because love is not a mushroom, born in a night and flourishing in the rankest of beds, it does not follow that men and women are unable at first sight to inspire one another with a feeling so strong that, if it finds soil to further its growth, it may ripen into one of greater purity. Beauty has, and will at ail times and to a,ll time have, the power to raise a passion in the breast Deeper in ike Mire. 139 of mortals that, where Beauty is wedded to Sense or Sensi- bility, will soon unite itself to Love. But of itself and standing alone. Passion is a worthless weed — an impostor and a cheat — that too often tries to pass itself off for a holy feeling, of which it knows nothing. For Passion is an appeal to the senses. Love a union of the souls ; and their characteristics are as diverse as their nature. Passion gratified, satiates itself, and loathes the object of its desires ; Love returned is never satisfied, but demands a daily increase. Passion ungratified is ready to wreak vengeance on the one who disappoints it ; Love unreturned may mourn in silence, but it will never lift its hand to strike. And, in consequence, there is to this picture, as to all others, a reverse ; for whilst Passion degrades human nature and demoralises the soul, a virtuous Love elevates the mind, enlarges the heart, and gives the spirit the only foretaste of heaven permitted us on earth : and the proof of this is, that even the exercise of an unhappy love will make a man better than if he had never loved at all. I could quote Longfellow here, but that ' Evangeline ' is world-known, and the trouble would be wasted, whatever Affection may not be. And yet, how seldom is any distinction made between feelings so opposite in their nature and effects ! It is the most usual thing to hear said, that such a man fell in love with such a woman for her singing, or her dancing, or her face ; whereas it could only have been that the voice, or the skill, or the beauty awoke a passion in his breast — struck some answering chord in his senses — that the owner of such charms without them would never have had the power to command. And it follows, therefore, that the feeling was given to the act or the thing, and not the creature ; and yet men from all ages have married under such circumstances, and been surprised afterwards, and thought themselves hardly treated by Fate — that the union of bodies had not been followed by a union of souls. Not one-half, nor one- quarter, of the millions which exist know the real meaning of the word Love. They mistake for it a feeling which is ready in its mad desire to overleap all obstacles, even to sacrifice its object, in the accomplishment of its wishes. They forget that Love is a forget fuliiesa of self, even to curb- 1^0 For Evcjr and Ever ing tlie wildest and gladdest ot its hopes, if tliey do not tend to the entire happii ess of the creature beloved. John Wardlaw, at this period of his life, must be numbered in the unenlightened thres-quarters of existing millions. For lack of a better he is tiie hero of this bock, but he does n )t pretend to be a hero of the universe ; and he had doubtless a great deal of humanity mixed up with his best jictions. He had conceived a devouring passion for Kowena Bello^^' ; no other words— no less powerful an expression — can conva one tithe of the feeling which possessed him. Ever ft..ice the evening on which he had first seen her he had been haunted by her image. Day and night it had pursued him ; laid down witli him in his bed, risen with him in the morning ; followed him to his work, and sat with him at his meals. He had tried to shut it out with the light, but her clear-cut features had beamed upon him through the darkness, like a marble profile carved upon a tomb. He had kept a candle burning in his room all night, but the only effect of that had been to hold him in waking torture till the morning. He had tried to walk it off —to read it away — to efface it by labour ; but after each of his attempts, ever through them all had shone the perfect outline of the actress's form and features, and made him restless and vaguely unhappy. He had been reared quietly in the country; subjected to few temptations; and without the opportunity of giving a wiHe range to his artistic taste. His sight had not been gliitt id with loveliness, nor his ear. with flattery, for he had associated very little with women, and he had no fear of them or, what was worse, of himself. But in the abstract, he had always been a keen worshipper of Beauty, in whatever form she came to him.; and tliis woman realised all that he had ever dreamed of as beautiful, and far more than he had ever hoped to see in mortal shape. A fortnight had now elapsed since he had first accom- panied Tom Cornicott to the King's Theatre, and he had scarcely missed going there one night since. He had gone to gaze upon Kowena Bellew ; to exchange, perhaps, a few words with her ; to receive at one time encouragement, the next cold indifference ; at all times insincerity. He had ceased to rave about her perfections to others ; he never mentioned her name now, even in the most commonplace Deeper in the Mire, 141 manner. Several times Tom Cornlcott liad not even known of his visits to the theatre, until he heard of them afterwards throujrh Laura Tredman. Everyone saw the state of the case but our hero himself, and he scarcely knew what ailed him, or rather he seemed to have entered into a compact with his own heart to ip^nore the existenceof any feeling foreign to such as it had hitherto experienced. If he had paused to question it upon the subject, he must have followed up the examination by a verdict; and whilst his Sense urged him to the stej), his Tate interposed, and laid her hands upon his eyes. He would not stop to ask what it was, or what should be its end ; but he knew that the unsatisfied longing which possessed him was temporarily allayed by the presence of Eowena Bel lew, and 80 he sought it as often as it was in his power. And when it was not feasible he was morose, and gloomy, and unsociable, and felt with shrinking that, short a time as he had been amongst them, his companions were becoming more unbearable to him every day, and that there was no light and no life anywhere but in the light of her presence. It was the morning of the day on which the students' gathering was to be held at Mr. JMatterby's academy, and John AVardlaw sat in Tom Cornicott's studio, putting in a few rapid touches to a small picture which he designed to Bend in for competition. ' I cannot possibly finish it,' he said to himself as he sat down to work, ' but they must take it in the rough.' He had had ample time to finish it, had he been so inclined, but he had terribly wavered on the subject of attending this very meeting. At first he had said he should go, and had commenced the sketch before him as his idea of the given theme, ' Parting ; ' — next he had voted the whole proceeding a * bore,' and (in his own mind) all the people concerned in it as ' snobs,' and had expressed his firm determination not to make one of the party ; to which determination he appeared to have clung up to the preceding evening. But on the morning in question, to Tom Cornicott's great surprise, his boarder had asked the loan of his studio in which to put a few more touches to his picture. * For it must go in this afternoon,' he urged, * and I cannot possibly send it in its present state.' ft T43 For Ever and Ever, * Why, I thought you had quite decided not to go to Matterby's to-uight, AVardlaw. What is the reason of this sudden change — eh ?' ' If you want your studio to yourself this morning, Corni- cott, say so, please/ was the only reply, 'and I '11 paint up in my own room.' The artist's face overclouded. ' You know I don't mean that, AYardlaw. I told you to use it at any time. "Well ! I am very glad you are going, old fellow : it would seem as if you did not Avish to be one of us if you stayed at home.' And John Wardlaw had winced at the very idea of being ' ojie ' with the students at Matterby's, and walked oft at once to settle himself to his work. This extreme sensitiveness to anything like a rebuff he had inherited from his mother, and it was about the worst possession she could have bequeathed to a man who had to make his own way in the world, and to earn his bread as best he could. As he now sat at his painting, already looking paler from the effects of London life, his drooping moustache concealed the sharply-cut mouth, which was so unusually delicate a feature for a man ; but the grave, tender light in his eyes was sufficient to indicate that they be- longed to one whose nature was too refined ever to admit of any very gross or earthly feeling. And although the state- ment may be cavilled at, it is true that, passionately as he regarded Rowena Bellew, it was the beauty that he wor- shipped, and not the woman. He could have set her upon a pedestal to be gazed at for ever, and found satisfaction in merely looking upon her charms. And as she readily de- lighted his eyes, he forgot to go farther and try to make her heart speak to his. In a few minutes Tom Cornicott fol- lowed him into the room, and stood over him whilst he painted. He had not seen the sketch before, and was de- lighted with it. ' What a charming face, "Wardlaw ! Is that your own idea or from a model ? ' ' It is the likeness of a young lady that I knew down in the country,' replied John Wardlaw, carelessly ; ' I thought it would do as well as any other.' Mr. Cornicott chose to believe that the careless air was- Deeper in the Mire. 143 assumed, and consequently gave the young man a playful dig in the back. ' Oh ! ah ! yes ! — we know all about it, Mr. Wardlaw. As well as any other indeed ! You 're a knowing dog, I '11 venture to say, with your lady models in the country. AVhy ; it 's one of the sweetest faces I 've seen for a long ' There is not much in it that I can see,' replied the young artist. ' A pretty girlish expression — nothing more.' ' Not much in it, man ? ' returned the other, ' why, you must be joking; there is everything in it — love, pain, yearning, despair, — it 's a speaking face. I never saw one more graphically so in my life.' ' Ah, yes ! but I 've put that all in, you see. It 's intended as an illustration of Edgar Allan Poe's verses " To Annie," which doubtless you know. I thought it would be as good au idea for " Parting " as anything else — separation between the living and the dead ; and I promised her father — the young lady's father — that I would knock off a sketch of her face for him.' '■ What is her name ? ' injudiciously demanded Mr. Corni- cott. John "Wardlaw turned round on his chair, and regarded the daring artist for a moment with a look of solemn sur- prise on his face, and then quietly resumed his painting. ' Oh ! a secret, I suppose. "Well, I beg your pardon. May I ask, however, if she is the same who sat for the fallen woman in your prison scene ? * ' Yes, she is,' was the laconic reply. ' "Who do you intend your corpse for ? ' next asked Tom Cornicott. ' You 've made it uncommonly like yourself.' Hereupon John "Wardlaw stared at his picture in a new light, and saw that he certainly had bestowed his own pre- Tailing characteristics upon the dead man, even to the colour of the hair and beard. He laughed at the discovery. ' "Well ! I really didn't mean it,' he said ; ' 1 have been working mechanically, and thinking of anything but my picture. Here, Cornicott, lie flat on your back for a minute or two, and I '11 put you in instead.' ' No, thank you,' replied the artist, ' I 'm not used to sit for " cold corpuses," and should charge double fees for the 144 F'or Ever and Ever, unpleasant feelings created bj the idea. Besides, it might be ominous, and my wife wouldn't like that. Added to which, I don't think I should make a sufficiently romantic body for a young lady to cry over. You would be much better worth it, "Wardlaw; so keep yourself in by all means.' ' "Well, I shall throw a species of muslin shroud over the face then, to mitigate the bad omen, for I don't see why I should die any more than you. However, I agree with you on one point — you would be far too jovial a corpse for my subject. I should have to turn Miss Stu the young lady's expression into a corresponding grin, instead of the miserable one she now wears. Does she look unhappy enough, Cornicott — earnest enough ? ' * She looks all soul,' replied Tom Cornicott, *I'll never believe but that the original of that portrait is a woman capable of any amount of feeling. I 'd like to paint her myself; she'd make a first-rate "mother" in the "Judg- ment of Solomon," or the "Massacre of the Innocents;" or any character that was severely in earnest. I wish she 'd sit to me, free, gratis, and all for nothing.' 'Do you?' returned John Wardlaw curtly, as he com- menced to whistle violently to hide his annoyance, making fierce plunges the while at his canvass. The sketches for competition had to be sent into the academy by five o'clock ; and at eight the party was sup- posed to commence. As John Wardlaw descended from his bedroom, dressed as he was used to dress for any evening assembly, he was surprised to meet Tom Cornicott in his usual walking attire ; and * Tou are a swell ! ' was the re- mark with which he was greeted. ' Are you not going to dress ? ' he demanded in astonish- ment. * Well, no ; I don't think I shall to-night,' replied the poor artist, who had not a dress coat to his back. * I 'm rather tired, and it 's quite optional, you know ; we hard- worked men are not supposed to have much time for adorn- ment. But most of the young fellows will be dressed, I have no doubt.' Men are no^t usually very sparing of one another's feel- ings ; but John "Wardlaw tempered his disgust with delicacj^ Deepei in the Muc. 14^ and made no further remark upon the subject. AVhen they arrived at the academy they were received in tlie drawing- room, an apartment to which he had not been previously admitted, and found it full of male and female students, in every possible form of attire. Having been introduced to Mrs. Matterby, a lady arrayed in a black cotton velvet dress, and who, by way of contrast, cultivated a blood-red lace, and had a cup of bad coffee thrust into his hands by an obsequious attendant, John Wardlaw betook himself to the farther end of the room, and scanned the assembled com- pany, looking eagerly for a face he expected to see. But it was not there, and then his spirits commenced to flag, and he was no longer disposed to view" things in their best light. The giggling groups of girls who were huddling together in the corners of the room ; the raw boys, looking as if they were composed of nothing but red fingers and trowsers ; the second-rate men, with their various assumptions of being artistic, fashionable, and ' used up ; ' all disgusted him by turns more than they need have done ; even their dresses he took pleasure in cavilling at while he stood in his mis- anthropic corner. It is true, they would scarcely have borne a rigid scrutiny ; that some of the ladies rejoiced in ball attire, dishevelled hair, and wreaths of flowers, whilst others had come in morning dresses, with collars not always pinned on straight, and bodices which betrayed an objection to be amicably united to their skirts. It is not to be denied, either, that their confreres in the high arts had apparently not made themselves more particularly acquainted with the costume in which they were expected to appear ; for whilst a few had donned their last and most fashionable suit, evi- dently fresh from the emporium of Messrs. Moses and Son, the many were lounging about in blouses and full trowsers, or in ordinary walking attire like Tom Cornicott. But the Apostle St. Paul, in his long coat and knotted girdle, walked up and down amongst his pupils, seeing nothing ridiculous in their appearance or his own ; and they all seemed happy and careless enough, as was plainly evidenced by the amount of laughter and loud talking which emanated from their circle, and the various hot flirtations in course of progress, which," had they been tested by Fahrenheit, would have been found to have already mounted to 150^ in the shade. 146 For Ever and Ever, Everyone seemed to be enjoying himself but our hero, wbicli did not tend to restore his equanimity of temperament. He kept asking himself fiercely as he stood alone, what he held in common ^Yith these men and these women, who, beyond a few technicalities of speech, were unable to converse even on their own profession, and who were far better pleased when engaged in idling away their time as now, and amusing each other with their domestic nonsense. As soon as the coffee and cakes had been consumed, the entertainment of the evening commenced with a universal rush into the gallery to view the competitive sketches, which were fastened upon numbered boards, and placed upon easels. This move gave scope for a vast amount of gallantry and arm-taking on the part of the students ; and Jolm AVardlaw was perfectly aware that more than one furtive glance was directed by the young ladies to where he stood unoccupied, particularly by Lyddy Taylor and Fanny Turton, who were both in full force. But their hints rem.ained un- heeded, and he followed the mass, languidly and alone. He was beginning to feel terribly disappointed ; was it possible that anything could have prevented her from coming, and that he should have had all this trouble for nothing ? But once in the gallery, he had to rouse himself and choose the sketch to w^hich he intended to give his vote. He was too indifferent to everything connected with the proceeding to be long about it, and his choice w^as soon completed ; but it almost annoyed him to see the clusters that were throng- ing about his own contribution, and making comments on the earnest beauty of the woman's face. He wished after all that he had not sent it in ; he had no right to subject the portraiture of Henrietta Stuart to such an ordeal. However, there was one comfort — nobody here knew or was likely to know her. But he was surprised to hear the uni- versal admiration elicited by her likeness. To him, whose mind was now wholly filled with the idea of another face, and of 80 very opposite a type, there seemed little real beauty in a mere expression. Having fixed upon his choice, he wrote the number on a Bcrap of paper, and dropped it into a vase provided for the durpose ; and every student's vote being thus collected, the whole party returned to the drawing-room, where John Deeper in the Mire. 14^ "Wardlaw found to his horror tliat arraugcments had been made lor dauciug, and that a fiddle and piano were already in attendance. Soon a set was formed close to where he eat, and blouses and tail-coats, alpaca dresses and tulle Bkirts, all capering together in a manner that would have been termed rather vigorous in Belgravia, commenced kick- ing up the dust from the unswept floor into his face and over his person. John AVardlaw left his seat in disgust, and sought the farther end of the room. ' AVhy, AVardlaw, ain't you dancing ? ' demanded Tom Cornicott, whom he encountered half-way. ' No, thank you ; I never dance,' was the not entirely correct reply, as he hurried past him. At the other end a novel scene awaited him. ]Mrs Mat- terby was apparently taking advantage of the partial clearance of spectators to administer natural refreshment to a sleeping infant whom she held with one hand, whilst the other was gracefully posed so as to make a feint of concealing the whole proceeding ; some dozen students the meanwhile being grouped around, conversed affably with her and one another. Coming suddenly upon what appeared to his inexperienced eyes a private rehearsal, John "Wardlaw stumbled aud stam- mered; and when a fellow-student asked him if the interesting group upon the sofa did not forcibly remind him of the ' Ma- donna and Child,' had only presence of mind to reply 'Ah, yes! very good indeed, very good,' before he had half completed the circuit of the room again. But here a reward awaited him. As he neared the open door, there was a rustling on the staircase, a murmur of voices, and Miss Bellew, arrayed in a silk dress of some neutral tint which trailed a yard on the floor behind her, entered the room, attended by the Apostle, Tom Cornicott, and another man, evidently a friend of hers, whom John Wardlaw had not seen before. By the fire which rushed into his eyes at the sight of her, by the tremor which suddenly possessed his whole frame, and the hot blush which mounted to his forehead, it was very e\adent why he had been so disappointed hitherto, and whose absence it was that had disappointed him. She had told him the night before that she intended to be present at the academy that evening, and by the rush of pleasure to his countenance as he heard the news, had road her rowers over 148 For Ever and Ever, him. She had been unusually gracious during that last in- terview, had more than hinted that her wish to attend was only to meet himself, had tried to throw one or two living glances out of her unlifelike eyes upon him, and had sent the young man home nearly delirious with hope and joy. He had been thinking of nothing but meeting her all the day, and it was the fear that she should break her word that had so sobered him hitherto. Now that she had come he cared for nothing else. Theuceforward the academy was Paradise ; the students angels ; Mrs. Matterby the Madonna, or anything else she liked ; it was all the same to John Wardlaw. He was in the presence of his divinity, and her presence made him feel what it is to be Dazzled and drunk with beauty till the heart lleeLs with its fulness. But Miss Bellew had guessed the magnitude of her power over hiin, and, womanlike, she intended to use it. As his eye met hers, he ielt instinctively that his interview with her of the night before was not to be renewed. She was lovely as ever ; but the woman was gone again, and only the statue remained. She was conversing most affably as she entered with the men around her ; but she returned John "Wardlaw's look of admiring devotion with only a cool bow, and directed her attention again to her companions. How he hated them for it ! The Apostle and Tom Cornicott, and especially that sandy-haired, red-whiskered fellow who was dancing attendance upon her, and whom, being, as it appeared, her cousin, she called 'Tom.' Presently a waltz was played, and she stood up with this same cousin and danced. As John Wardlaw saw his arm encircling her waist, his head bent low to catch her answers, and his self- satisfied air as he observed the admiring looks which fol- lowed his partner, he could have slain ' Tom ' with the keenest delight ; and whcr^ be mM.rked the return glances that Howena Bellew bestoweu upon him, the avidity with which she accepted his second invitation to waltz, and com- pared it with the indifferent manner in which she was treating himself, he could almost have found pleasure in slaying her also. A^ter having waited for and anticipated meeting her so Deeper in the Mire, 149 Ions;, the disappointment almost drove the man frantic. He rushed about the room headlong, vainly looking for some- thing to drink, and drown remembrance in ; and not finding it, actually left the house, and procured what he wanted at a neighbouring cafe. At first he had resolved to go straight home after it, and see her that night no more ; but brandy and water is a great fortifier of the nerves ; and after a glass or two, John AVardlaw thought he would return to the academy, if it was only to watch for an opportunity of re- proaching her for her behaviour to him. AVhen he got back he found that the result of the ballot had been ascertained during his absence, and that his picture, having gained most votes, had been removed to the drawing-room for universal inspection and admiration. As he entered he was met by Mr. Matterby with hearty congratulations, and by the whole party of students with vociferous applause. There seemed nothing like jealousy or heartburning amongst them tlien, and their honest acclamations should have removed the feelings of despondency in John "Wardlaw's breast, particu- larly as Tom Cornicott took an early opportunity of whis- pering to him that Mr. Matterby had said openly amongst his pupils that the picture before them was far above any- thing that any one of them could produce, and that his opinion was that if the man who painted it never was a Koyal Academician, it would be the result of his own fault. This could not but be gratifying to anyone possessing the ambition of John Wardlaw, yet it is doubtful if it would have had the power of restoring his equanimity alone. But llowena Bellew appearing to have repented of her whim, now began to try her arts upon him once more ; and at the first look she directed to his quarter he left Tom Cornicott, and the Apostle, and the students, and sought her side, as a dog will follow its master, even though ho knows he is only summoned that he may be beaten. Whether on the discovery of John Wardhiw's temporary absence she thought tliat she had gone too far with him, or whether the sight of his successful picture had awakened a new train of thought in her breast, it is diflicult to guess, but her first words were those of reproof for his not having come near her all the evening. * What have you been doing with yourself?' she de- 150 Fo7' Ever and Ever. manded imperiously. 'You don't look as if you hacl en- joyed the party at all.' ' How could I ? ' be said sullenly as lie leant over her chair. ' You know I have not, Miss Bellew, and the reason why. I had been looking forward to meeting you here, but I did not anticipate coming simply to look on whilst you waltzed with that sandy-haired brute.' ' He is my cousin,' said Eowena Bellew shortly. ' I don't care what he is,' replied John Wardlaw hotly, * you brought him here on purpose to drive me mad — and I hate him. And after last evening too. Miss Bellew.' 'You're such a foolish boy,' murmured Miss Bellew, looking down as he continued gazing upon her. ' You don't wish me to make my fancy for you patent to all the world, do you ? You know I only came here to meet you ! ' 'Did you really?' he exclaimed; 'only for me, Miss Bellew ? Say those words again.' ' Of course I did,' she answered in a low voice, and then looking round the apartment hurriedly, ' pray don't talk so loud, Mr. Wardlaw — do you wish the whole room to hear what you are saying ? ' ' Yes,' he replied excitedly, ' I shouldn't care if the whole world heard it. You have nearly intoxicated me with pleasure at your words. May I really depend on them ? I have suffered so much to-night.' ' Come and see me and I '11 prove them to you/ she answered demurely. ' Where ? when ? ' he asked quickly, 'To-morrow, at 13, Princes Street, the second turning from the Theatre ; I shall be at home about four o'clock — mind you don't fail.' ' Eail ! Miss Bellew, can you think it possible ? "Why, I 'd put oft' an interview witli Her Majesty for it.' ' Or with the Directors of the Royal Academy if they were going to meet for your election ? ' ' \Vith the universe,' he replied fervently, * and everybody in it, and the chance of fame, wealth, honour, of everything except love,' he added, lowering his voice to a whisper. INliss Bellew couldn't manage a blush, but she said 'Hush !* he really mustn't talk such nonsense, and that it was time for licr to fro home.' Then he conducted her down the stairs Deeper in the Mire. 151 and put her into the cab, despite the attentive cousin, and his last words were, ' At four o'cloclv to-morrow, Miss Bellew. I shall not call life living until then ; ' and she had said ' Hush ' again, and suilered the enraptured boy, without reproof, to kiss her gloved hand. As he returned into the academy, dark and deserted now to him, he met Tom Cornicott, who said, ^\'ithout preamble, * Are you going to visit Kowena Bellew at her home, AVard- law?' John "Wardlaw was just about to ask him what concern that was of his ; but encountering the friendly gaze of the artist, he could not quite inake up his mind to be rude to him ; so he answered, and rather evasively, ' Well, she did ask me to call upon her — ^just an afternoon visit, you know. AVhat of it ? ' * I am sorry to hear it,' said the other briefly. John W^ardlaw would have asked him why, but a feeling he could scarcely define deterred him from doing it. And so as the dancing was well-nigh over, and the supper refreshments were not to his taste, he wished his entertainers 'good night,' and sauntered homewards to enjoy his glad antici- pations of the morrow in the solitude of his own room. '5^ CHAPTEll XT. JAEL AT HOME. Why did the crod3 give thee a heavenly form, And eartbl}' thoughts to make thee proud of it? Why do I ask ? 'T is now the known disease That Beauty hath, to bear too deep a sense Of her own self-conceiv(id excellence. Ben Jonson, Miss Bellew sat in her own room. How curiously in- fected do rooms become with the peculiarities of their owners ! You may almost tell the character of a man from a view of the apartment he lives in. Not that Miss Bellew's room was by any means beautiful, but it looked strangely cold — and at all seasons. It seemed to make no difference to it whether the sun was glaring in at the windows, or the flaming coals were piled upon the hearth ; for the dark green hue of the furni- ture, unrelieved by any other tint, the plain white paper on the walls, the polished centre table which bore no worthier weight than ornaments, and the regiment of chairs arrayed in orderly files a,Q;ainst the wainscoting, imbued Miss Bellew's drawing-room (in its utter destitution of anything like warmth, or colour, or use) with a certain likeness to her- self; and as she now idly lounged upon a sofa, with her white hands crossed upon her lap, she looked as if she were part and parcel of its contents, and had been made to match. The house in Princes Street was small, but by no means a bad house ; and the room which she occupied was elegantly furnished, whilst Miss Bellew herself was attired in a fawn coloured silk dress, which, made without the slightest trimming (for she knew too well the value of her JacL at Home. 153 own bcTtuty to wear any gauds that should call off attention I'rom it), yet showed sufficient evidence in itself of the money it iiu^t have cost. Although she appeared by no means anxious, liowena Bellow was evidently expecting some one I'rom the quick way in which she would turn her head every time that a footstep sounded on the pavement outside — no less a visitor, indeed, than our hero, who had become a very frequent one of late. It was only a few days since she had met John AVardlaw at the academy, but she had made good use of her time, and the younij man was fairly caught in her toils. Since she had permitted him to visit at her house, and idle away his afternoons by her side, he had given up study, painting, everything, so that he might keep his appointments with her. He had accompanied her to the theatre at night, dangling after her whenever she -.vas off the stage, and becoming gloomy and unsociable directly her duties called her away from his side. He had sat day after day at her own home, talking the most rhap- sodical nonsense to her when she was disposed to listen to it, and gazing at her, as if she were a goddess, whenever it did not suit her pleasure to do so. John Wardlaw was completely and desperately enchained. "With all his incipient capabilities for distinguishing him- self, and his pow^er for the pursuance of something higher and worthier than the smiles of a cold-hearted woman, he was but young, and a fire had beea kindled in him that would never be extinguished until it had burned itself out. Until then, he could see nothing in its proper light; every- thing for the time being appeared as naught compared with his mad passion for the beauty of Koweua Beilew. It has been affirmed by more than one philosopher that every human creature is mad on a certain point, if that point could but be ascertained; if the saying is true, we must suppose correctness of outline to have been the vanishing point of John Wardlaw's sanity, and try to excuse his youthful follies on that score. When the ilame had died out, and his eyes were opened, he was the last person to excuse himself. However, on this particular evening in June, Miss Beilew was certainly expecting him, and the slight delay did not ^etm to please her. ^he set a very high value upon her [ -^ For Ever and Ever, own charms, and no amount of liomage paid to them ever appeared overstrained to her. As she rose and moved across the room to reach the bell — even though alone, she walked as if thousands of e3'es were fixed upon her — there was a certain air in everything slie said or did, that showed she was well aware that her looks set her apart from other women, as a marble statue placed amongst figures of clay. And yet it was scarcely a self-consciousness of her own loveliness that showed itself in her features, so much as a settled conviction that she possessed what was to her so common a thing, that she had come to think nothing of it at all. She never expressed surprise at the less apparent charms of the rest of her sex ; but she always spoke of her- self as if she knew that she was 'one' in the scale of creation. As she reached the bell, Miss Bellew rang it sharply, and remained standing until it was answered. When the door was opened, it was difiBcult to decide whether the person who presented herself there was a gentlewoman or an upper servant. Her dress betokened the latter, as well as the apron which she wore, but her head was without the badge of servitude, and her scanty hair, put up into curl-papers on either side, looked very unlike what is generally per- mitted in a domestic. Yet the mode in which Miss Bellew addressed her threw no light upon the subject. ' I want a glass of wine,' was all she sharply said. The in- dividual vanished without a word, and presently re-appeared with a tray containing a decanter of port-wine and a plate of biscuits. Eowena Bellew poured out a glass of the wine and drank it. 'You can leave the tray,' she said, as the nondescript waitress was about to remove it again. ' Perhaps Mr. Wardlaw might like some. By-the-bye, as I am not going out this evening, he will probably stay to supper with us, so mind there 's a good one, and put grandmamma to bed if you can manage it before we come down. "We can amuse ourselves without any of her twaddle. And do, for Heaven's salve, make yourself look a little decent.' The woman thus addressed, having answered ' Very well,' half-backed out of the door, and then stood still, twisting the handle round and round in her nervous fingers. ' What on earth are you fidgetting with the door for ? ' Jael at Home. ijj demanded Miss Bellew presently. ' Do you want anythiug, Louisa P ' 'I only wanted to ask you— don't be angry with me, Eowena, my dear ; but what 's to be the end of all this visiting ? Are you going to marry Mr. AVardlaw ? ' ' AVhat 's that to you ? ' asked the girl, imperiously. 'It's nothing to me, my dear, of course,' replied the other, with increasing nervousness, rolling her apron about her hands—' how should it be ?— but it may be a great deal_ to the young man. He seems a fine honourable sort of gentlenmn, Kowena, and as if he was quite in earnest ; and, oh! it 's not going to be another case like poor Mr. Swin- ton's, is it ? ' she continued, clasping her hands ; ' for it breaks my heart only to think of what that poor young fellow went through.' Miss Bellew looked the picture of contempt. ' What a fool you are,' she said ; ' would you have had me marry a man without a rap, who is a merchant's clerk still, and will probably never be anything better ? A nice sort of life to lead, truly.' ' But you engaged yourself to him, Eowena.' ' An engagement is'one thing — marriage another,' was the answer. ^I'^never had the slightest intention of marrying Mr. Swinton, and he was a fool ever to suppose I should ; why, he wasn't even a gentleman.' 'But Mr. Wardlaw is a perfect gentleman, I'm sure, Howena ; wouldn't you marry him ? ' ' Xo ; most deci'dedly not. He may be a gentleman, I don't deny that ; but he has no money, and very little pro- Bpect of getting any.' ' But if he asks you ? ' ' If he asks me ! I 'U be much obliged if you '11 leave me to manage my own affairs, and not make any attempt at interference, for 1 won't stand it. And now, he '11 be here directly, and so I think that you'd better betake yourself to your own regions, and think of something more useful than me and Mr. Wardlaw.' * Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! ' thought poor Louisa, as she de- scended the stairs, wringing her hands. 'I'm sure it will be the same thing over again. Here 's another poor creatura caught in the trap. Oh, dear! it's the greatest of pitie? she was ever born so handsome.' 1^6 Foj' Ever and Ever, But as she reached the passage, a double knock sounded at the hall door, and on her opening it, she perceived John "Wardlaw, his face flushed with expectation, carrying a large bouquet of hothouse flowers in his hand. * Is Miss Bellew at home ? ' he enquired, excitedly. * Yes,* was the reply ; and almost as it was given, he was through the hall and half-way up the stairs. ' And what a fine figure of a man he is, to be sure ! ' Boliloquised the woman, gazing after him. ' Well, how she can have the heart to do it, I can't think ! ' A tap at the drawing-room door, a quiet ' Come in,' and John Wardlaw was in the presence of Kowena Bellew. As she presented her hand to him, he closed it over the stalks of the bouquet, and then kissed the shut fingers. ' This is what kept me so long,' he i-aid ; ' there were no fresli roses to be had nearer than Covent Garden.' ' How very good of you,' she said, as she buried her pretty nose in the flowers. ' I shall be able to enjoy them thoroughly, for I am not going to the theatre to-night at all. Will you stay and take supper with us ? My work obliges me to dine early.' ' I shall be delighted,' he said, fervently ; ' nothing could give me greater pleasure.' And then he settled himself to a long evening's enjoyment. Their conversation turned chiefly on the subject of paint- ing, and the merits of Cornicott's picture of * Jael and Sisera ' were fully discussed. ' Ton are devoted to your profession, I hear,' sighed Miss Bellew ; ' 1 suppose you will make a great name for yourself some day, and end by becoming a rich man.' ' I hope I shall make a great name for the woman who loves me,' he replied, earnestly ; ' I think I should hardly care to enjoy it at all by myself.' ' Have you found that infatuated individual yet, Mr. Wardlaw ? If so, I give you my congratulations.' ' I am afraid I am not entitled to them, Miss Bellew,' he answered, softly. * Sometimes I almost hope I may have found her, but far oftener I am ready to call myself pre- sumptuous.' He was proceeding to say more, but she interrupted him, as if half fearful he might go too far. Jncl at Home. J 57 * But an artist lias no business with love-maldng, Mr. AVardlaw ; he oui:;ht to think of nothing but his painting.' ' ISo I used at one time, but I liave ibund it \Qry unsatis- factory work. When first I became a disciple of the High Arts, I fully imagined that my profession would supply everything t needed, in the way of engrossing my sym- pathies and my time ; but I have come to think now that it is not good for man to be alone.' Kowena Bellew laughed. ' You surely do not call yourself " alone " at Matterby's? ' * No, by heavens ! ' he replied ; ' I wish I was. You cannot imagine, Miss Bellew, how distasteful that sort of life and companionship is to me. The ideas I had formed in my country home of artist life in London were so widely different from the reality. I knew they were not, as a class, rich, but I thought the true artist spirit must elevate and refine the mind of a man, until it was impossible that he should behave or speak otherwise than as a gentleman, whatever his appearance or birth might be. But it is not the case, you see. Those few geniuses who have risen from the ranks to take a place in society, keep to the society they liave earned; and the gentlemen of the profession are not gregarious; but I am sufficiently unfortunate to be at one and the same time unable to conquer my dislike of associ- ating with men below my own station, and too poor to in- dulge my preference for a solitary life.' * Are you so very poor, then, Mr. AVardlaw ? ' asked Eowena 'Bellew. Her voice had sunk so low as she put the question, that it sounded as though she were actuated by the greatest interest in the fortunes of the man before her. ' Yes, I am, I regret to say,' he answered. ' My entire income is but small, and I am living at present on only a third of its amount. Had I the whole, I would take rooma on my own account, and have a studio to myself.' ' But how is it that you have not ?' she demanded. 'Family circumstances compel me to be moderate just at present,' he answered, gaily ; ' and I ought not to complain, for many a young fellow who has risen to fame has com- jnenced life on far less than I have.' ' Put if you were to marry ? ' urged Miss Bellew. 158 For Ever and Ever, He looked grave immediately. ' I suppose I mustn't think of marrying at all just at pre- sent ; and when I do, it must be a woman who loves me sufficiently to share my poverty. Of one thing she may be certain, whoever she is, that I will shed the last drop of blood in my body sooner than she shall need any comfort that hard work can procure her. But fame with me is a long way off yet, and fortune never precedes her. In the meanwhile, I suppose 1 must be content to dream of my ideal wife, and labour as Jacob did for E-achel.' * AVhat is it at Matterby's that so particularly offends you ? ' asked Miss Bellew, who really could not comprehend the dislike he evinced to coming into contact with vulgarity. * Everything,' he replied. ' There are great advantages there, I allow, and I do not intend to relinquish them whilst they prove so to me. But the very air is obnoxious to me. The pupils, with a few exceptions, are not gentlemen or gentlewomen. They, are the sons and daughters of trades- men, who, having shown some taste for drawing, are being reared to the profession as a trade. They are, for the most part, good-humoured and civil ; but I cannot enter with any pleasure into their conversation or pursuits. They see my indifference, guess the reason of it, and hate me in con- sequence. Why, only think of the party which took place there last week ! When 1 saw how it was conducted, I was quite sorry to think you were coming : it was not a fit assembly for you to make one of.' ' Well, you know why I went,' remonstrated Miss Bellew, with a sentimental air. He raised her hand — he had been holding it for the last few minutes — and pressed his lips upon it. ' I know what you told me,' he said, glowingly ; ' but I am almost afraid to believe that it is true.' ' I can't help your infidelity,' she answered, demurely ; and then, after a pause, added, 'Of course it was a low afiiiir altogether, I saw that directly I entered the room, but I have never been there before ; although Mr. Cornicott has often teased me to do so. But I go out so seldom.' * I suppose you have very few eveniugs to yourself * Very few. I scarcely ever can get oue in the week, but I am generally invited out on Sundays. That creature, Jael at Home, 159 Laura Trcdman, who pretends to be so good, always sees her friends on Sundays ; and 1 hear she sometimes gives splendid suppers after the theatre ; but she has never once invited me to her house. Is not it mean of her ? — such a petty feeling to entertain ! ' ' Are you not friends with Miss Tredman ? ' asked John "Ward law. 'AVell, I don't know what you call "friends." I've known her for nearly three years — on the sta^^e, that is to say — but we have never been on more than speaking terms. jS^ot that I want to go to her parties, I 'm sure,' continued Miss Bellew, tossing her lovely head, 'for I hear her Sunday reunions are the slowest things possible ; she just gives a dinner, and nothing more, and won't allow of any singing or playing in the evening. "Why, tbey can't be worth a pair of gloves at that rate, you know ! However, she has never once asked me, or even called upon me, and people do say there can but be one reason for it, although, as I said before, as Miss Laura Tredman sticks up for being extra good, I should think she might dispense with so small a feeling of jealousy.' ' I can guess the reason well enough,' said John "Wardlaw, * and excuse me for saying so. Miss Bellew, but however mean, it is but natural. AVomen are but women after all, and you can scarcely expect them to set a face at their table that shall draw the attention of every eye from their own. A taper cannot pretend to hold any light to the sun, you know, and you must be a little more merciful towards the woman's jealous iears than you are towards the hearts of us poor men.' ' How am I unmerciful to you ? ' she asked, turning the full light of her perfect face upon him. ' By looking at me. Miss Bellew,' he exclaimed, as he laughingly clapped his hands over his eyes, pretending that the sight of her was even too much for him. But a moment afterwards he withdrew them, and his gaze met hers, with BO much meaning in it, that she thought it more prudent to change the subject. ' I should think it must be almost supper-time,' she said, consulting a clock upon the mantelpiece. ' Half-past nine, I declare. How the evening has run away, Mr. Wardlaw!' i5o For Ever and Ever, Then, riniring the bell, she added, ' I hope to goodness Louisa will have put grandmamma to bed before we go down.' ' Who is Louisa ? ' demanded John Wardlaw. * My cousin,' was the reply. * Your cousin ? ' he said, in astonishment, 'why, I thought you had only your grandmother in the house.' ' Oh no ! my cousin (she is only a second-cousin) lives with us,' she said, carelessly, and at that moment the bell was answered by the same person who had let him in that evening at the door. * Is the supper ready ? ' demanded Miss Bellew, shortly. ' Yes, my dear, it is, whenever you choose to come down,' was the reply. John AYardlaw stared at the mode of address, but came to the conclusion that this was perhaps an old family servant of the Bellews, a nurse probably of the fair creature before him, who had not been able to disuse herself of the familiar terms in which she had spoken to her during her infancy. ' AYe had better go down, then,' said Miss Bellew. She ran on lightly before him as she spoke, and he followed her, the woman holding the door open as they both passed through. Then she closed it gently behind her, and came down after them with cat-like steps. As Eowena Bellew entered the dining-room door, she gave vent to an exclamation of disgust, and turned to confront the woman who followed them. * I thought I told you to put grandmamma to bed before we came down to supper.' She spoke hurriedly, and in a tone of great vexation, and with her fair face more flushed than John Wardlaw ever remembered to have it seen before. ' Well, it was not her wish to go, my dear, and I can't carry her upstairs against her will,' replied the person addressed, with just a spice of spirit in her voice. ' You might have managed it if you weren't a ' and here Miss Bellew stopped short and turned to her guest : * Grandmamma 's an awful old cliatterbox, JNIr. Wardlaw ; I didn't want to be bothered with her twaddle to-night; but it can't be helped : take no notice of her, that's the best way.' Jael at Hmne, 16 1 John Wardlaw was just about to say that it would give -lim great pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Bellew ; for, although he had visited at the house several times, he had never yet seen the old lady ; but Kowena prevented hia answer by walking at once into the dining-room. It was a good-sized room, but furnished far more shabbily than the upper one, and was evidently the general sitting apartment of Mrs. Bellew, for her baskets and large books were here, as well as an hereditary eight-day clock, and an old-fashioned, high-backed arm-chair, iu which she now sat with spectacles on nose, like the stereotyped grandmothers in the spelling-book pictures. She was a line-looking old woman, but visibly feeble, for her hands shook incessantly with the palsy, and she did not appear to understand very well what was going on around her. On first entering the apartment, John AVardlaw had stood, in expectation of going through some introduction to the old lady ; but Miss Bellew having seated herself, pulled him down into a chair also. ' What are you standing for, Mr. AYardlaw ? You don't suppose I 'm going to take the trouble to introduce you to grandmamma, do you ? AVhy, she 'd forget who you were the minute after. Is there no beer opened ? ' she added, appealing to the younger woman, who was fidgetting abuui the room. ' No, my dear ; but I have it here all ready,' she replied, as she went vigorously to work with the corkscrew. The supper was a very fair one, and John AVardlaw, beneath the influence of lobster salad and bitter beer, and the smiles of Miss Bellew, was thoroughly enjoying himself, when a trembling voice sounded from the high-backed arm- chair : ' Louisa, my dear.' The woman who had held the door open for him to pass through, and who was even now busied with attending to hia wants, flew to the old lady's side. ' What is it, aunt ? ' John Wardlaw was horror struck ! Was this, then, the cousin who lived with them, and whom he had mistaken for an upper servant ? He felt as if he ought to apologise for his blunder, but he scarcely knew how. But as Miss Bellew i62 For Eve^ nnd Ever, continued eating her supper as usual, and did not appear to notice his surprise, lie thought it best to make no remark upon the subject. The old lady went on : ' "Who is that gentleman, my dear ? I3 it poor young Swinton ? ' ' Hush ! hush ! aunt. No ! it 's Mr. "Wardlaw — quite another gentleman.' ' Another — another ! ' quoth the old woman ; ' what, has Kowney got another ? Poor thing — poor thing ! ' Miss Bellew had actually coloured during this dialogue ; but, at the close of it, sho looked up at John "Wardlaw, smiling : ' Did you ever hear such nonsense ? ' she asked ; ' this is what I was afraid you 'd be subjected to. The fact is, grandmamma thinks such an immense deal of me, that she always fancies I'm being persecuted to death with admirers ; but it takes a great many of those to kill a wo- man, doesn't it ? ' ' She could scarcely think too much of you, Miss Bellew,* was his return whisper, 'or estimate your attractions too highlyc But as for the killing part of the business, though I have no doubt of their plurality, that 's more likely to happen, I fancy, to your admirers than to you.' ' She 's a fine girl, is E/Owney, isn't she, sir ? ' piped the feeble old voice from the fireplace. ' A very handsome girl — ah ! so poor young Swinton thought — and that other fellow — what was that other fellow's name, Louisa ? ' * I don't know who you mean, aunt,' replied Louisa Crofton ) ' you had better stop talking now, I think, and go to sleep again.' But the old lady would not stop talk- ing. ' Ton know quite well, Louisa, only you are so obstinate sometimes — the fellow that said he cursed her! But she 's too fine a girl to curse, Mr. Swinton, isn't she ? My son's only child, too ; and they tell me she looks so handsome on the stage at night. But she won't marry you, you know — she won't marry you.' * "Who talked about marrying ? ' cried Miss Bellew, rising from her seat. ' This is perfectly insufferable. ]Mr. Ward- law, I must trouble you to come up to the drawing-room again, and we will have the supper-tray brouo:ht there. 'Louisa, you must manage to move it somehow. If you had Jael at Home. 163 done as I told you, and put that old woman to bed before we came down, this would never have happened.' But John Wardlaw would not hear of the supper being moved on his account, neither would he stay longer at the table. In truth, he had supped previously to the discussion, and he saw, from the vexation visible in Miss Bellew's face, that she would not be sorry to get rid of her guest. ' Do you believe what you heard ? ' she asked, as she threw a searching glance upon him in the passage, whither she had accompanied him to say ' Good-night.' The glance was meretricious, and the tone affected ; but as she stood beneath the gas-lamp, the sofc folds of her handsome dress falling gracefully around her, and her beautiful face, which could so well bear the test, upraised to the light, he only saw her loveliness, and forgot everything else. ' I believe nothing but what you choose me to believe,' he replied, warmly ; ' though I scarcely know what you are alluding to.' 'To what grandmamma said, of some one having cursed me. It is all her fancy, you know. It is not true.' ' If it was, it would have no effect upon me,' he answered, * The man who could do it would be such a fiend, that he would deserve nothing short of execration himself. But it is not possible. I cannot think so badly of my fellow-creatures.' ' I don't know about " possible," ' she answered ; ' but it is all poor grandmamma's fancy, I can assure you. Her intellect is quite gone. She often rambles on about men that she says I have cared for — whereas I never cared for anyone before ' ' Before — before whom ? ' he exclaimed, with excitement. 'Howena, speak to me — tell me ! ' ' Eowena, my dear, you are sure to catch cold if you stay here with the door open,' interposed the quiet voice of Louisa Crofton, as she advanced from behind them. What a strange contrast she appeared to the elegant creature draped in fawn-coloured silk ! — this woman, half lady, half servant, in her alpaca dress, and homely apron — it was almost impossible, looking at the two, to believe that they were really related to one another by the nearest ties of blood. 164 For Eve? and Ever. Rowena Beliew turned towards Her, carelessly — '"Well; perhaps I had better go in, so I will say ' good-night ' to you, Mr. Wardlaw — we shall meet again to-morrow, I have no doubt.' So she left him, and went back into the dining-room, whilst he was compelled to return home, without the assurance that he had almost hoped to wring from her lips, although she had said and done enough that evening to make his foolish heart leap every time he recalled her words or her action. And the mighty contrast between the handsomely- furnished drawing-room and the shabby dining-room — be- tween the silken robe and the alpaca gown — the youth and loveliness, and the age and decrepitude, failed to strike him as they would otherwise have done, whilst he thought upon the glances and the attitudes of Eoweua Beliew, and re- membered with a thrill of delight, her half-confessed pre- ference for himself. t65 CHAPTEE XTI. * FOREWARNED.* Didst thon bnt know the inly touch of love, Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. SlIAKSPEARE. ^Who on earth can this be from ?' exclaimed John Ward- Jaw the next morning, as he broke the seal of a letter directed in a female hand, which he had found awaiting him on the breakfast-table. He was sitting opposite Tom Cornicott at the time, and had he not been engrossed with his own curiosity, would have seen the rough artist actually change colour, as he busied himself with the contents of the plate before him. * I don't know any lady in London,' continued John "Wardlaw, soliloquising, as the first line met his eye. His correspondence with home was very limited, having been confined hitherto to a fortnightly epistle in Alice's childish handwriting and words ; and Eowena Bellew had told him never to expect a letter from lier; the fact being that she was far too worldly-wise a lady to commit herself on paper. He read a few words, and then quickly turning the sheet, looked at the signature. ' Laura Tredman ! ' ' What does she want with you ? ' asked Tom Cornicott trying to look innocent. John "Wardlaw's only reply was reading the note aloud ; * My dear Mr. Wardlaw,— I shall be at home to-morrow evening, for a wonder, and should be very pleased if you would spend an hour or two with me. I want to introduce 1 56 For Ever and Ever, you to my father and mother, and I have a few words to say to you on my own account. So, if you have no better engagement, pray come. 'Yours sincerely, Lauea Teedman.' * A few words to say to you on my own account,' repeated John "Wardlaw, as he replaced the note in its envelope. * What on earth, can Miss Tredman have to say to me, Corni- cott ? ' * I 'm sure I can't tell you, "Wardlaw. You '11 learn it all fast enough. I suppose you'll go ? ' * Oh, yes, I shall go ; but I wish ladies wouldn 't be so mysterious. "Why, I've only spoken to her half-a-dozen times or so.' ' Perhaps she is hopelessly smitten, "Wardlaw,' laughed the artist, as he rose from table, * and wants to tell you so. Of course, you are free to return the feeling, if she is.' John "Wardlaw coloured ; he did not always take Mr. Cornicott's jokes in the same spirit as they were made. * I don't think I am very likely to be put to the test,' he answered. 'Are you for work this morning, Cornicott ? ' ' Of course,' returned the other ; ' what else should a working man be for ? You are going to Matterby's yourself, I presume.' ' "Well, no, I don't think I shall, it 's such a lovely day.' ' That's true; but so was yesterday, and so will to-morrow in all probability be. Are you coming to share my studio ? ' The young man laughed. ' I don't feel " up " to work this morning at all,' he said, evasively ; ' besides, I have to answer Miss Tredman's letter.' 'That won't take you five minutes,' replied the artist, gravely. ' You 'U never get on, "Wardlaw, it" you don't stick steadily to business. To hear you talk when you first came here, t thought there was no fathoming your energy and perseverance ; but, forgive my plain speaking, you seem to me to have been wasting a good deal of time lately.' His companion winced at the remark ; he did not very well stand being found fault with ; but knowing that the accusation was a just one, had nothing to advance in his own defence. ' "Well, I have felt unsettled lately, I confess,' he replied, ' Forewarned.^ 1 67 after a pause ; 'but it is the effect of the new life I 'm leading. AVhen I 've shaken down a little into London habits, I shall be all right again. But I must say I don't feel as if I cared for painting quite so much as I did.' Tom Cornicott looked at the young man for a minute, and then shook his head. ' Well ! well ! ' he said, ' if your heart is not in it, you had better leave it alone. But don't expect to make your bread by it this way, "Wardlaw, that 's all.' 'Of course I don't,' returned the other, rather pettishly. ' I shall go in for it hard enough by-and-bye ; but I don't feel inclined to plaster myself with paint on a morning like this. I suppose it 's this glorious summer weather.' And then having accepted Miss Tredman's invitation, and posted his letter, he found his way to Princes Street, and enjoyed the glorious summer weather in Miss Bellew's little drawing- room, sipping chocolate with Miss Bellew. But somehow, in the course of his visit, he never mentioned that he was going to spend the evening with Miss Tredman. He felt instinctively, and particularly after the conversation that had taken place between them the night before, that it was a circumstance that would not meet with too much approva] at the hands of Eowena Bellew. At about eight o'clock he presented himself in Piccadilly. At first he was quite struck with the grandeur of the house and the men-servants, and was almost afraid that he had been invited to make one of a party, instead of to a private interview. But when he had mounted the broad staircase, and been announced in a stentorian voice by a powdered flunkey, he found himself in the prettiest of boudoirs, and alone with Laura Tredman. As she advanced to meet him, her fair face looking all the younger and fairer from contact with a half-handkerchief of point lace which she wore coquettishly over her head, and welcomed him with the greatest cordiality to her home, John AVardlaw felt very glad that he had come. There was coffee ready for them on the centre table, and as she helped him to a cup, she made him take a chair by her side. ' I think it is so kind of you to come and see me in this friendly manner,' she observed. * I can very eeldom ask my friends to visit me, but when I do I like to have them to i58 For Ever and Ever. myself. I hear great things of your painting, Mr. "Wardlaw ; Mr. Cornicott tells me that your competition slcetch was the talk of the whole academy.' ' I think Cornicott is rather partial, Miss Tredman ; you mustn't believe quite all that he says.' ' He is partial to you, I allow, Mr. Wardlaw, but he is a man who never will permit his partiality to outstrip his trutb. Amongst all my friends I hardly know a creature whom I respect more tban I do Tom Cornicott. He is thoroughly good, and honest, and kind. — I am sure you believe so — do you not ? ' Here John Wardlaw assured her that he perfectly acquiesced, in the truth of her statement. * He would always go out of his way to do a fellow- creature a kindness,' continued the actress, * and I do not believe he would utter a word that he thought likely to wound another. He tells me that your genius is undeniable, and that if you persevere you will make a name for yourself before long.' ' I hope I may,' replied the young artist, his breast glow- ing with the thought of what might be before him ; ' but it is up-hill work at first. Miss Tredman.' 'I have no doubt of it,' she replied; 'so is everything that is of any value in the end. We must crawl before we walk, Mr. Wardlaw ; but with talent like yours, it will not be long before you stand upon your feet — if you persevere, that is to say.' ' Why do you say " if," Miss Tredman ? ' * Because you are very young, and the world is full of temptations to lure you from study, and make you turn aside. Poor Tom Cornicott is an instance of that. He began life as favourably as anyone, but he fell in love with a pretty face (how much of it is there left now, Mr. Wardlaw ?), and what is the consequence ? When he ought to be an E. A. and high in his profession, he is still grovelling in order to make bread, and little better than a scene-painter in a theatre.' * Then I suppose you are of the opinion of Lord Bacon, Miss Tredman, where he says, *' He that hath a wife and children hath given hostages to Fortune ; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mis- chief." ' * Furcunrucd* 169 Tlie actro?s shook her head laughingly. * You must not attack me with any but dramatic quota- tions, ^Ir. AVardlaw, or I am afraid you will find out, what is too true, that I am a very badly read woman. My ])ro. fession has left me no time lor studying anything but what is immediately connected with itself; but still, I perfectly n'^ree with the author you quote — that is to say, if the man is poor. Marriage is incompatible with rising in the world. You can never get ahead of your increasing troubles, and thev sink you at last; and yet })oor Cornicott works hard.' 'Then you think a poor man has no business witli a wife, Miss Tredman ? — I 'm afraid you are right — but it sounds hard.' ' 1 hope vou are not thinking of taking one, Mr. Ward- law.' The clear eyes were fixed steadily on him as she spoke, and his llinclied before their gaze ; then he laughed nerv- ously : ' i don't know wliat should make you think so.' She answered him with another question : 'Did you think it very strange my saying I had a few words to say to you in private ? ' ' You roused my curiosity, Miss Tredman, I confess.' * I can soon satisfy it if you will promise not to be angry with me. Mr. Cornicott and I both feel a great interest in you, !Mr. Wardlaw. You are younger in every respect than we are ; younger to the world as well as in years. I think he would have spoken to you himself, but he scarcely dared to do so ; but I am a woman you see, and more courageous.' ' AVhat about, in Heaven's name ? ' demanded John AVard- law. looking up with genuine surprise. 'It is about vour growing intimacy with MissBellew. I see you start, Mr. AYardlaw, but it is as well to come to the point at once. You don't know what that girl is. She is extremely beautiful everyone can see, and you are capti- vated by'her looks as many a one has been before you ; but everybody does not carry the same generous impulsive heart in their "breast that you do ; and, therefore, the society of 8u h a woman is not so dangerous to them.' ' I cannot imagine what authority you have for speaking to me in this manner, Miss Tredman,' he said, coldly, ' I lyo For Ever and Ever, suppose I have as much right to he acquainted with the lady in question as anyone else.' ' Quite as much right, Mr. "Wardlaw,' replied Laura Tredinan, earnestly ; ' no one denies that, hut there is not so much safety for you in her acquaintanceship. You are blinded by her beauty — you cannot see her as others can — • you do not know the truths that we do of her coldhearted- ness, and fickleness, and deceit. Mr. AVardlaw, I have seen too many men ruined by Eowena Bellew ; I cannot permit you to make another without a word of warning.' John AVardlaw had risen from his chair. ' I scarcely think you invited me here, Tiliss Tredman, to listen to aspersions on a lady who honours me by number- ing me amongst her friends ; and, therefore, perhaps, I had better leave you.' All Miss Bellew's statements respecting the spite which this actress bore her, on account of her superior beauty, had rushed into his mind as he heard her words, and he was trembling all over with his indignation as he spoke. ' No, not yet, John Wardlaw ; not till I have told you all I asked you here to learn. I daresay you think this is a woman's spite against a woman more admired than herself; but, before Heaven, no such unworthy feeling actuates me. I have been urged on to speak to you as I have spoken, simply from pity for your inexperience an^ blindness, and a real lively interest in your career.' ' I thank you, madam,' he rejoined, haughtily, ' for your wish to benefit me, but I can assure you that your pity is wasted ; I have no need of it ! ' ' Now you are angry,' exclaimed Laura Tredman ; ' and I suppose I had no right to hope otherwise ; but still I know I am only doing my duty. If you grow only to love that woman, Mr. Wardlaw, she will ruin you. If you are in- fatuated enough to dream of marrying her, she will break .your heart — she has none of her own to be broken ; she is utterly heartless, worldly minded, and indifterent ; and if she told you that she loved you to-morrow, she would throw you over directly she found some one who suited her better. Now you have the truth, and whether you believe me or not, you have been forewarned.' 'I am much obliged to you,' he said, shortly, as he pre- * Forewarned,* 171 pared to leave her ; ' if I could have guessed what vras m t>lore for me I scarcely think I should have troubled you with my presence here this evening — good-night to you,' and he approached the door as he spoke. But before ho could cross the threshold, LauiaTredman had laid her hand upon his arm. ' Don't leave me like tliis,' she said, coaiingly ; * come downstairs with me, and let me introduce you to my parents — I told them that I expected you.' * No ! I will not,' he exclaimed, loudly. ' What do you think I am made of? Do you think I could break bread ill this house, after having submitted to hear the character of the woman I hold highest in the world blackened by your lips ? You have deeply insulted me. Miss Tredman. Let me go — I wish I had never come.' Even then she detained him, and almost forcibly. ' Mr. "Wardlaw, tell me the truth ; do you love Eowena Bellew ? ' ' Yes, I do,' he almost shouted ; ' and the whole world is at liberty to know it. Whatever in the future she becomes to me, wife or stranger, henceforward no one shall vilify her name in my hearing, as you have done to-night. I will presume you did it with the best intentions, and at the instigation of Mr. Cornicott ; but you have deeply wounded me. With him I shall have a sterner debt to settle.' ' Oh, don't quarrel with poor Tom Cornicott ! ' exclaimed Laura Tredman, 'pray don't, Mr. Wardlaw, for my sake; he is so poor and so thoroughly good-hearted.' But she might as well have talked to the wind, for she heard John Wardlaw slam the hall-door behind him as she spoke. Then the friendly actress sat down at her table, and, hiding her face in her hands, actually cried. ' I have done more harm than good, after all,' she thought to herself: ' yet it was for his own sake I spoke ; but 1 liope he was not in earnest about Tom Cornicott. Poor old Tom ! who will be so horrified at finding that I have made a mess of it, and brought a storm about his honest ears into the bargain.' It was long before the kind-hearted Laura could compose herself sufficiently to appear amongst her own people, with anything like a plausible excuse for the absence of her I'jl For Ever and Ever, truest ; and, in the meanwhile, John "Wardlaw had reached AVestminster again, and entering the Cornicotts' house, had plunged without ceremony into the lower regions, where he found the artist in the solitary enjoyment of his pipe. * Holloa, Wardlaw ! you are home early, my boy,' was his salutation, as he raised his eyes to encounter the figure of his lodger. * Oh ! you think so, do you ? ' said John Wardlaw, de- fiantly. ' Pray, what business have you, Mr. Cornicott, to interest yourself in my aff"airs ; and to make the subject of my acquaintanceships common talk — above all, to set on a woman with a dozen tongues, like Miss Laura Tredman, to preach to me a sermon that mighi have emanated from a grandmother? It's a piece of impertinence on your part, and I tell you so to your face. It 's what I have never stood yet from any man, and I 'm not going to begin with you ; and I '11 make you answer for it as sure as my name 's John Wardlaw.' The artist had laid down his pipe, and now confronted his angry young companion with a look of complete composure. ' I can guess what you are alluding to, Wardlaw, and I expected you would be very much put out by it ; but that doesn't unmake the truth. I certainly communicated my fears to Laura Tredman, and she volunteered to speak to you on the subject ; but that is all the interference I have been guilty of with respect to your affairs.' ' All ! and you don't think that sufficient, perhaps ! I '11 let you know better, Mr. Cornicott. Do you think I came here as a man free to choose his friends as he chose his lodg- ings, or as a child put under your guardianship during my residence in London ? Answer me ! ' ' Not as a child, certainly, AVardlaw, unless you choose to behave yourself as one. But it was through my agency that you were introduced behind the scenes of the King's Theatre, and to the acquaintanceship of Miss Bellew ; and when I saw you following up that acquaintanceship with such ardour, I did consider it my duty to see that you were enlightened as to several particulars of the girl's former history. She — ' ' Who do you mean by " the girl," sir ? ' hotly demanded John Wardlaw. ' I shall feel obliged by your mentioning that lady as a lady when you speak of her before me.' 'Forewarned' 173 Tlie artist smiled at the request as an emanation of a boy's fierv foUv, but he did not resent it. ' Tlie character of Misa Bellew has been familiar to Misa Tredman and mvself for several years, and we know it is not one calculated to make any man happy. AVe can do no more than warn you ; being your friends, we could scarcely do less. If you became in any degree entangled with Miss Bellew, and your family became aware that I was the means of your iirst knowing her, and permitted you to follow up the acquaintanceship without a word of caution, they would scarcelv forgive me, and I should certainly not forgive my- self, that is all. There is no need to quarrel about it that I can see.' Saying which, Mr. Cornicott resumed his pipe and his seat. But John "Wardlaw's blood was up, and he was not to be so quieted. ' But I do see great need of quarrelling on the subject, and I 've no intention of letting the matter drop. I have borne quietly a great deal of familiarity in one way and another from you and your friends, but there is such a thinijj as going too far. I have been accustomed to associate with gentlemen, Mr. Cornicott, and gentlemen do not interfere with each other's private affairs ; and when snobs like your- self presume to step out of their place, and give their advice where it is not needed, gentlemen are in the habit of kick- ing them. Do you hear that ? ' Tom Cornicott rose from his chair. He had flushed deeply under the last sarcasm, and as he spoke, his voice slightly trembled. ' Yes, I do hear it, "Wardlaw ; and as it appears that I and mine are too much of snobs for such a gentleman as yourself to associate with, I will thank you to move your luggage out of my house as soon as it is convenient for you to do so. But as for kickin": me, I think when you consider the matter calmly that you '11 see the advantage of not attempting to carry out that threat.' And considering that the artist was a powerfully built man of middle age, and John A\"ardlaw looked a mere strip- ling beside him, his last words did not appear to be utterly devoid of reason. Our hero seemed to think the same, for he answered — 1^4 For Ever and Ever. * Of course, I never seriously intended to assault you, but with regard to staying in your house, I gave up all idea of it directly I heard that you were mixed up in this insulting affair. Have a cab called ; let me settle what I owe yo^, and I am gone.' Saying which, he turned on his heel, and seeking his bed- room, packed his things in the wonderful way that men are in the habit of packing them — with the dress-shirts at the bottom of the portmanteau, the heavy clothing next, and the boots on the top, stamping well on the whole concern, as he finished his task, to make the contents settle down into their proper places. Then he stalked downstairs again, still haughtily majestic, saw his property placed in the cab, and turned to Tom Cornicott. ' Now, Mr. Cornicott, our account, if you please.' The artist presented him with the little memorandum of what he owed them, and as he received the money, said in a quiet manner, ' Thank you.' Then as John Wardlaw prepared to leave, he added, but with an apparent effort — ' I suppose it is of no use telling you, "Wardlaw, that I am sorry this has parted us. However, so it is. I am an older man than yourself, and can make allowances for the hot blood of youth, or I should not perhaps have taken your last insult quite so quietly as I appeared to do. But I ima- gine you may have misconstrued my motive for interference, and perhaps already regret the haste with which you spoke. Will you shake hands with me before you go ? ' He felt more for the handsome, impetuous young fellow, bursting away from his truest friends at the first exercise of a little iriendly advice on their parts, than he had ever done in the days when he did not appear to need it. John Wardlaw was impetuous, but he bore no malice, and even as Tom Cornicott spoke, he turned and laid his hand in the artist's horny grasp. ' I am sorry also,' he said, ' both for my words and the occasion which called them forth. I will try to ascribe it to any motive but a wish to needlessly rouse my anger. But from whatever cause, it is a thing I could not brook a second time ; so it is better, for many reasons, that we should part. Good-bye.' 'Forewarned* 175 He felt very friendless when, having driven to the nearest hotel, and installed himself in rooms which he felt were far above his means, he considered that he had raised a barrier to anything again like friendly intercourse between himself and Tom Cornicott. But he had had a design in his head ever since he had left the house of Laura Tredman, and that he now sat down to execute. It was to write to Kowcna Bellew. He would know his fate from her at once, and win the right thenceforward either to defend her character or to join tiie rest of the world in voting her heartless. Of course, he tore up his letter half a dozen times before he could please himself, but the last edition that he issued was as follows : — ' My dearest Miss Bellew, — * Several times during the last few days I have been nearly driven to ask you a question, but a fear of appearing too presumptuous in your eyes has deterred me from doing so. Now, however, circumstances have arisen which seem to compel me to speak out. Ton must have guessed that I love you. Do you love me in return ? If you do and will be content to accept nothing better, in exchange for your beauty, than a faithful heart, good blood, and an arm that will work for you to the last day of my life, you will make me happier than I have ever dared to hope that I shall be. Pray send me a speedy answer. Every minute will seem an age till I hear from you. * Tours till death, * John "VYaedlaw.' It was a boyish, romantic letter to pen, but every word came, as he imagined, straight from his heart. And when the answer arrived, strange to say, it was fa- vourable. Kowena Bellew consented to engage herself tf enter into a partnership for life with a man who had nothin l to offer for her acceptance but the name of a gentleman. gv^ 176 CHAPTEE XIIL JOHN "WARDLAW STA^'DS HIS GEOUND. You may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, As or by oath remove, or counsel shake, The fabric of his folly. Shakspearel It was about one o'clock in the afternoon, a few days after the events of my last chapter, that two gentlemen were in- quiring for John Wardlaw at the door of the hotel where he had for the present located himself. They were Mr. Stuart and Captain "Wardlaw. As soon as ever his rupture with Tom Cornicott and his engagement with Miss Bellew were confirmed facta, our hero had written to apprise his father of the circumstances under which they had taken place. He had no fear of Cap- tain Wardlaw. The tyranny which the latter had exercised over him as a little child had long ceased to have any power to terrify him, and the only effect it had left behind was a feeling of utter callousness towards a parent he should have loved. But he neither loved him nor respected him. Since he had become a man, John Wardlaw ha-d gone his own way, and left his father to do the same. If their opinions clashed, as they too often did, the son showed his sense of what was right by retiring from the argument altogether ; but in all matters which really concerned himself, he was used to avoid such arguments by not consulting his father's opinion at all. And where this could be accomplished with- out an open rupture, it was as well, for I believe it was mentioned, when describing the character of John "Ward- law, that obBtinacy was his greatest fault and most ruling John JVardlaw stands his ground, 177 power of evil; and whenever he had come to a decided dis- cussionwith bis father, he had never been known to give in. Perhaps tlie knowledge of this indomitable firmness on the part of his son increased the ire of Captain AVard- law when he received the news of his rash engagement. John had written frankly on the subject ; he had not at- tempted to make any concealment of Miss Bellew's profes- sion ; neither had he pleaded anything in his own excuse, eicepting that he loved her. The letter did not appear either to have been penned with a view to asking the con- sent of his family to the proposed step, for it simply detailed the fact, and expressed no hopes or fears as to their recep- tion of the news. The reception which Captain TVardlaw gave it was to go nearly frantic with rage and excitement. He stormed about the house, swearing so fearfully that the only consolation of his wife (who, together with Ally, had been driven to the refuge of tears at the first onset) was, that ' poor dear Cap- thain Wardthlaw couldn't hear his own words, and so could hardly be said to be responsible for them.' And, therefore, in his irresponsible condition, he was permitted by his women-kind to overhaul his whole stock of oaths, besides inventing a good many fresh ones for the occasion, before he thought of going over to Castlemaine to consult Mr. Stuart upon the subject. Captain Wardlaw had never been in the habit of asking his rector's advice in any difficulty ; but, if the truth must be told, he was a little bit afraid, in his turn, of the son he had so cruelly cowed in his infancy ; and, knowing the intimacy which existed between John and the Castlemaine people, had some idea that Mr. Stuart might have received previous hints of this aftair, and be able to tell him what would be best to do under the circumstances. But the rector was as much taken aback at the news as him- self. Leaving the house with the determination to seek him in his home. Captain AVardlaw had come straight upon him in the village street. ' Mr. Stuart,' he exclaimed, * you are the very person that I desired to see. I came out with the intention of calling upon you.' This was so unusual an occurrence that the rector thought proper to look grave. lyS For Ever and Ever, 'Indeed?* he answered; *no bad news, I hope, Captain Wardlaw?* ' Very bad news indeed,' rejoined the other. ' I have had a letter from town this morning. That wretched boy of mine has got himself into a pretty scrape ; ' and he com- menced feeling his pockets for the epistle as he spoke. To see Captain Wardlaw standing there, all traces of his former good looks gone with his youth, and the unmistak- able marks of a life spent in debauchery stamped upon his features, recalling at the same time the noble face and figure of his son, it was amusing to hear him apply the epithet * wretched ' to anyone before himself. But Captain Ward- law, like most of us, was the last to see, or guess at, the ludicrous points in his own character. As he fumbled for the letter, with a shaking hand, stopping more than once to wipe away the tears which neither weather nor sympathy had called into his weak eyes, he doubtless thought that his son was a wretched lad, and that he was perfectly capable of passing judgment on the occasion. At the announcement Mr. Stuart's face looked very grave. ' Not Jack,* he exclaimed, ' surely ? He would never do anything seriously wrong.' ' I don't know what you call "seriously wrong," ' replied Captain Wardlaw, as, having found the letter at last, he thrust it into the rector's hand; 'but I don't see how it could be worse. Bead that.' Mr. Stuart ran his eye rapidly over the contents, and then said — ' My dear Captain Wardlaw, this must never be ; it will prove the ruin of him. Marriage at his age, and to an actress, too. The boy must be mad.' * I thought you 'd say so,' replied the father, maliciously ; * he *s worse than mad — he 's a fool — ^just like his mother before him. But what ought I to do ? ' ' Go up to town at once, and don't leave him until he has broken oiF this engagement. Then bring him down here for a short time till he has got over his infatuation. Why — God bless the boy — he writes as if he were the Prince of Wales, and free to choose from the universe. But it will never do, Captain Wardlaw. If the consequences are John IVardlaw stands his ground. lyg placed before him in a proper light, he must think of it more seriously.' ' I don't know that,' said the father ; ' John is not gene- rallv very ready to listen to reason ; but, in this case, I '11 disown him if he doesn't. 1 never liked his taking up painting as a profession ; it led him into a low set when here; but, by Jove, if he thinks he's p:oing to bring a tawdry actress down here, to associate with his mother and sister, he '11 find himself very much mistaken, and so I shall tell him. I shall take your advice and go up to town to- day. If I lose no time, I shall catch the half-past one train from Maidstone now.' ' Shall I go with you ? ' asked Mr. Stuart. ' In that case I could drive you over for the half-past ten. If we go later, perhaps we may miss him altogether for to-day.' A sudden thought had struck him that the father's inter- view with the son would be a very stormy one, and end, perhaps, if not checked, in a total estrangement. His pre- sence might do good, in serving as a restraint upon both of them. And if Captain AYardlaw's remonstrances with John were of no avail, his own might prove more effectual. For Mr. Stuart had an affection for the young man, which made him feel that he would risk a great deal in the way of raising his anger in order to save him from the pitfall over which he appeared to be hovering. Captain AVardlaw had caught readily at the offer, for the Bake not only of Mr. Stuart's carriage to Maidstone, but also of Mr. Stuart's protection in the presence of his son, of whom, whilst he was determined to oppose his wishes, he was really afraid. Mr. Stuart, therefore, without telling his wife more than that he had promised to accompany his parishioner to Lou- don on a little matter of business, had travelled up to town with him, and the gentlemen, in consequence, had sought the residence of John "Wardlaw together. It was a good hotel, and he had chosen it, not on account of its cheapness, but because it was the nearest to Princes Street ; consequently our liero was living rather beyond both his means and wishes. On his visitors inquiring for him, they were informed thot "Mr. Wardlaw had been out since eleven o'clock that morn- l8o For Ever and Ever, ins:, but was expected in shortly. "Would the gentlemen please to go up to his room and wait ? Here a sight of the ornaments, the chandeliers, and the damask-covered furniture, with which the rooms of most good hotels are provided, added fresh fuel to the wrath of Captain Wardlaw, who chose to believe that the style of his son's living had been the same ever since he had come to London. * This is what he keeps up for his actresses, Sir,* he ex- claimed, in the greatest fury. ' Looking-glasses big enough to see your whole length in, and chairs covered with blue satin ; w^hilst his mother and I are vegetating in the country, and putting up with mere necessaries. This is the style in w^hich the gentleman expects that I am to support him — and hia extravagances. And, to crown all, he intends to make me father-in daw to an actress. I know what actresses are, Mr. Stuart, well enough. I '11 have no woman of that sort bear- ing the name of "Wardlaw, and queening it over my wife and daughter. If John doesn't give her up at once, I '11 disown him, I '11 never give him another shilling. I '11 swear never to see him again.* Mr. 8tuart happened to know what the generality of actresses are just as well as Captain Wardlaw ; but he also knew that there are exceptions to every rule. Now as he endeavoured to calm down the father's anger a little pre- paratory to his interview with his son, he said as much. * Your annoyance is very natural, Captain "Wardlaw, and, as far as we at present know of the circumstances, very just ; but at the same time I would be cautious, were I you, not to accuse John of more than you are certain of, nor to defame ignorantly the character of Miss Bellew. He is hot-headed himself, and you are scarcely in a condition to judge impartially. I should be very sorry to hear words pass between you.' * "Words, Sir ! ' exclaimed Captain "Wardlaw. ' I shall be very much surprised if 1 and my son part this morning with mere words ! But here he comes to answer for himself.' And as he spoke, the door of the sitting-room was flung open, and John Wardlaw stood on the threshold. He had looked in at Matterby's for half-an-hour that morning, and John IVardlaw stands his ground. i8i had then gone on to dilly-dally away the remainder of the time at the feet of Kowena Bellew. And she liad happened to be in one of her perverse moods, and had irritated her lover considerably by her whims, so that he had not reached his hotel in the frame of mind best calculated to carry him peaceably through the coming interview. He had been told on his arrival that two gentlemen awaited his presence in the sitting-room, but he was con- Biderablv surprised on discovering who they were. * Father!' he exclaimed, 'and Mr. Stuart! AVhy, what has brought you up to London together ? ' The sight of the rector brought so many kindly memories of Sutton Valence days into John Wardlaw's mmd that, as he extended a hand to each of his guests, the annoyance visible in his face on entrance faded away. But the tone which Captain Wardlaw assumed towards him quickly brought it back again. ' I should think you need scarcely ask that, Sir. I, for my part, have come to ask you what you have to say for yourself ? ' He knew then what was before him, but the expression of confidence in his face never wavered one whit. ' In what way. Sir ? ' was all he replied. * In what way ! ' echoed his father, feeling impotent in his rage to do more than repeat the words of his son — 'in what way ! Pray what was the subject of your last letter to me, written from this very place ; where I find you living sur- rounded by luxuries which you have neither the right nor the means to afford ? You don't mean to tell me that you have forgotten it, Sir ? ' ' Certainly not,' was the reply, given so calmly that the contrast between the old man shaking with passion and the young man cool and collected was still more forcible than bei'ore. ' I wrote to apprise you of my change of residence, a change which I should not have made had it not been forced upon me by circumstances ; and of my proposal to, and acceptance by. Miss Bellew, a young lady with whom X have become acquainted since I came to London. The first act is immaterial, but I do not think anyone who knew me or her would think it necessary to ask me if I remember the last.' 1 83 For Ever and Ever, *■ "Well, Sir, you had better forget it as soon as you can,' replied Captain AVardlaw, 'for I totally discourage it in every way.' ' I am of age, father,' said John "Wardlaw, proudly. ' That 's nothing to me,' was the old man's answer ; * age or no age, I forbid the connection altogether. I '11 have no uctresses — * ' Wait a minute, Captain Wardlaw,' interposed the son, quickly, and setting his teeth as he spoke. ' No other man but my own father should have said those words once to me without rueing it; but 1 will not take them a second time even from you. Please don't make me say or do anything that I shall regret hereafter.' ' Captain Wardlaw, I entreat you to be calm,' interposed Mr. Stuart, anxiously. ' But I won't be calm,' rejoined tbe old man, furiously. 'Here's this boy — a mere lad; comes up to London to study for his profession, instead of which he gets mixed up with the lowest of company, and entangled with a public character, and then turns round and tells his own father that he is not to speak his mind to him in his rooms. It 's^ unbearable! it's unheard of! No other man but myself would put up with it for a second ! It 's shameful ! ' And here Captain Wardlaw, who was nearly choking witli excitement, spluttered, coughed, and was compelled to be silent. His son seized the opportunity. ' You mistake me,' he said. ' Father, I have no wisb to prevent your speaking. Tell me all your mind, if you like (though I do not say it will shake any determination I have come to) ; but in my presence and hearing I will not per- mit the lady who has promised to become my wife to be named in any but a respectful manner. She is an actress, 1 have no wish to deny ; but because she is so, henceforward I will not hear an actress mentioned without respect. Mr. Stuart, you are, perhaps, not so prejudiced as my father is; you will allow that, under the circumstances, I am right ? ' ' You are, John,' replied his friend, ' perfectly so. It is the circumstances that require alteration, and not your present conduct. You must be aware that such a piece of intelligence as was communicated by your letter could not have been received but as a great misfortune by all your John IVardlaw stands his grotmd. 183 family. The idea of your marriage at all would have been distressing ; but this marriage, you will allow, is inlinitely beneath you.' 'I do not allow it,' replied the youDg man haughtily; * but even supposing it was, I am free to choose for myself, and my family have nothing whatever to do with my choice. Let my father, then, come forward, and say if his treatment of me since a child has been such as to entitle him to any sacrifice of feeling on my part ; if the amount of allcction he has bestowed upon me calls for any great return at this moment ; whether he has not rather, since the death of my poor mother, left me dependent on strangers for love, and the world for sympathy ; and can he therefore wonder if I choose to select my own companions, and to aspire to be the best judge of what course of action is most likely to conduce to my own happiness ? ' To this appeal the rector had nothing to answer, and Captain Wardlaw for a time apparently as little : but pre- sently, his son retiring from the skirmish for a while, he summoned up courage to attack him again. ' It 's all very fine for you, sir, to make sentimental appeals to my afi*ection for a lubber like yourself; but your argu- ment doesn't alter the case. You 've made a fool of your- self ; and the best thing you can do is to unmake yourself again. I have come up here to-day, as Mr. Stuart knows, to tell you candidly that, if you don't break ofi" your en- gagement with this Miss Bellew, or w^hatever her name is, I 'U make you rue it.' ' How ? ' demanded the son. * By disowning you and her, Sir ; by never seeing either of you again.' ' The first you have as good as done already, father. Ever since your second marriage, you have never owned me, ex- cept in name. For the last, my wife, I presume, will be content to share my lot in all things — even to that. She will have a strong arm and a willing heart to work for her, and shall be indebted to no one but myself for afi'ection or support. After which, I imagine, you will have little power to hurt us.' 'But I shall refuse to see her, Sir. I shall refuse to acknowledge her as your wife,' exclaimed the old man. who 1 84 For Ever and Ever, was becoming perfectly exasperated. ' I sLall not permit your stepmother or sister to associate with or be introduced to her; and I shall proclainiher formercalling and my disapproval of your marriage to everyone who may care to listen to it.' 'You can do as you please about that,' replied John Wardlaw, whose coolness during the whole proceeding never once deserted him ; ' but in that case I have a word to say to you, father, also. Miss Bellew knows that I am poorer than I need be, as well as the reason. Hitherto I have been content to think and to tell her that we must wait to be married until brighter times ; and that our engagement must remain an engagement until we have procured, by our own toil, sufficient money to prevent our marriage proving a loss to yourself in the way of income. That was, however, when I thought that you would acknowledge my right at twenty-three years of age to choose my own wife. But as you utterly refuse to receive Miss Bellew as such — or to permit Mrs. Wardlaw and my sister to countenance her, even going so far as to cowardly threaten to vilify her cha- racter (which is as pure, I swear, as my mother's in heaven) in order to spite me — I scarcely see why I should rob myself, and delay my own happiness, to add a few comforta to your life. A son's duty — particularly the duty of an estranged son — can scarcely be said to go so far as that. "What do you say, Mr. Stuart ? You are a clergyman, and know the facts of the case. Am I not justified, in the event of my father refusing to countenance Miss Bellew before he has even made an inquiry on the subject, in saying that I will take that which is my own, and was intended for the support of my wife and children rather than for his ? Well, father, let it be so. The loss of a few pounds will be nothing to you compared to the gain of entirely getting rid of me ; and losing the sight of Ally for a few years, which will be mij only regret in the arrangement, can weigh nothing with mvself against the possible annoyance to my affianced wife.' 'Mr. Stuart had looked up as John Wardlaw appealed to him, but he had not dared to answer the appeal. He knew that as far as the money was concerned the young man had rifiht on his side ; he disliked Captain Wardlaw too much ot^enable him to take his part with anything like sincerity, and he could not help admiring, not only the manner in John Wardlaw stands his ground, 185 whicli John "Wardlaw kept his temper witli his father, but the mauly firmness with whicli he stood up for tlie woman he had promised to make his wife. And yet, such a marriage ! it coukl not, must not be. But Captain Wardlaw was thinking in a very different Btrain. Whilst announcing his determination of opposing the intention of his son in every possible way, lie had never dreamt of the contingency of John's requiring what was his own again. The fact is, the small sum which Captain Ward- law was supposed to own was far too little to support his family on, even in the simple style in which they lived ; and he had good reasons for knowing that it was even smaller than his family supposed. It had been his fear of losing the enjoyment of his son's income which had made him set his face for so long a time against John prosecuting his studies in London, and which opposition had made the young man at last glad to escape from home at any cost, even to giving up two-thirds of what was lawfully his own. Yet John had not regretted it till now. But if it came to his father's discomfort being in one balance of the scale, and that of Bowena Bellew in the other, it was matter of little conjecture which would weigh heaviest with our romantic hero. And he stood now flushed, but firm, awaiting the answer of Captain Wardlaw. Tlie old man took time to consider. How should he most Bkilt'uUy veer round to acquiescence in his son's wishes without making it too palpable that it was the fear of losing the two hundred a year alone that had actuated his change of mind ? Captain Wardlaw had always been a foolish man, and years had not increased his wisdom. Therefore, the motive contained in his next words was far too palpable to call forth anything but a look of the profoundest contempt on the faces of both his hearers. ' Wait a minute, John,' he said ; * don't be in such a hurry. I certainly have not, as you observe, inquired yet into the character of the lady you have engaged yourself to, and I am quite willing to believe, from what you say, that it is all that is correct. Of course, we all know that there are some very good and estimable people on the stage, and if that is the case with this young lady (as you say it is), I don't see 1 85 For Eve?' and Ever, wliv I should withhold any longer my consent to her being introduced to your sister and Mrs. Wardlaw. But you are very young to marry yet, John, l^ou mustn't think of marrying for some years to come. You don't consider how soon a family will spring up around you, and keep you work- ing like a slave all the days of your life. I suppose you have no intention of settling yet awhile, have you ? ' John Wardlaw, who had been curling his lip more and more as his father's speech proceeded, was on the point now of refusing the offered patronage, and proclaiming his in- tention of marrying Miss Bellew at once, and supporting her on his own money. But better feelings, mixed with a degree of caution, prevailed. A cordial reception on the part of his family would certainly be of great advantage tc ilowena Bellew. With her high ideas of herself, he was not quite sure if she would consent to marry him without ; and despicable as he felt the motive for his father's wavering conduct to be, he was not quite certain, in his own heart, whether he could enjoy himself even on the income insured him by his mother, whilst her husband, to say nothing of his own sister, poor little Ally, was in need of the comforts that it procured him. The final effect of these combined feelings was to make him answer Captain "Wardlaw's question in rather a different tone to what he had at first intended. ' No, I have not, Sir,' he said ; ' neither has Miss Bellew. I am glad to see that my arguments upon the subject have not been without their weight with you; but our parley must not end here. That Miss Bellew is a lady of uns-]}otted character, you may rest assured. I should not have offered to give her my mother's name otherwise ; that her family is nearly, if not quite as good as our own, you may also rely upon. Therefore, if I agree not to be hasty in making her my wife, or claiming the remainder of my income from you, you must promise on your part, that, wtien convenient, you will receive Miss Bellew at Sutton Valence as your guest, and see that she is treated in every respect as if she came of the higheot lineage in the land. For on no other terms will I consent to take her there.' Captain "VVardlaw was just about to give a ready consent to his son's conditions when Mr. Stuart interrupted him. John IVardlaw stands his ground. 187 *"Wardlaw, are you not hasty? Bemember what you came here for.' ' Are you against me then, Sir ? ' demanded the young man, quickly. ' No, Jack, most decidedly not ; but it strikes me that the act you contemplate is calculated to go more against you than any disapproval of your friends could do.' ' I wait niy father's answer, ISir.' And then, turning to Ca])tain AVardlaw, ' Is it to be so, father, or not ? ' Captain Wardlaw thought of the two hundred a year, and dared not hesitate. ' Yes, John, certainly ; as I said before, if there is nothinc: to be advanced against Miss Bellew, I see no reason why it should not be. And, therefore, we may consider it an agree- ment, if you will do nothing hastily and be content for the present to let the engagement rest an engagement; that Mrs. Wardlaw shall, when we have settled the time, write an invitation for the lady to come down to Sutton Valence and be introduced to her future family.' ' Madness ! ' exclaimed Mr. Stuart, who could not help thinking of the alternative of his young daughter being either brought into contact with a woman fresh from the stage, or an open quarrel occurring between himself and his favourite Jack Wardlaw. But neither father nor son appeared to notice the exclamation, and the next words emanated from the latter. * So be it then, Sir ; and if you and Mr. Stuart will stay and take luncheon with me, I will run over to Miss Bellew's house — she lives close by — and prepare her for being intro- duced to you this afternoon; for, as you are here, you may as well see her before you return to Sutton Valence. ' To which proposition Captain "Wardlaw making no ob- jection, the young man left the room for the purpose indi- cated. But his old friend, the rector, went after him, and caught him before he had quitted the hotel. ' Jack,' he exclaimed, ' my dear boy, let me speak to you for one moment. I cannot do so before your father ; but you must perceive the reason for his sudden acquiescence in your wishes. He is fearful of losing the money you allow him ; and although it is not for me to speak against a father 1 88 For Ever and Ever, to his son, I fancy be would readily sacrifice your prospects in life to continue to enjoy it. I know you will not believe me, boy, but I have been a man of the world. I know what tlie world is, and how deceptive. Where did you first meet this lady ? "Who introduced you to her ? ' * If you are going to question her virtue, or my sanity, Mr. Stuart, it will be lost trouble, for I can swear to both ; and you don't know her or me, or you would never try to shake my resolution in this matter. I love her, that is quite sufficient ; and did I not, I am now bound to her.' ' Is she very pretty, Jack ? — my poor boy ! ' inquired the rector. 'Pretty!* repeated the young man in a tone of scorn; * that 's not the term to apply to Miss Bellew. However, I am not one to rhapsodise to my friends, particularly to my unbelieving friends, upon what is to me a sacred subject. Tou must see her, Mr. Stuart, that is all ; and then perhaps you will agree with me that she carries every excuse needful for my obstinacy in her face. In the meanwhile, I respect you too much to wish to discuss the subject further.' The rector saw that the case was hopeless ; he was one against two ; and thereupon he gave up the attempt to reason with his young friend. He keenly felt losing the cause ; but preferred bearing the disappointment to making a useless quarrel between Jack Wardlaw and himself. And from ex- perience he felt that it would indeed be useless. He had not forgotten the time when he would have given up every friend he possessed sooner than renounce a woman's smile ; and so he contented himself with inwardly raving at the father's weakness of purpose, and tried to hope that time would remove the scales from the son's eyes. Even when, together with Captain Wardlaw, he had been introduced to Miss Bellew, and struck with admiration (as no stranger could fail to be) at the extreme beauty of her person, he did not alter his mind that a marriage with her was one of the worst things that could happen to Jack Wardlaw. Eowena Bellew received the two elder gentlemen most graciously, and with more the manner of a queen permitting the homage of her subjects than of a qiiaatwniible Jlancee being put upon her examination j whilst in her presenca John IVardlaw stands his ground, 189 Jolin Wardlaw forgot everything but herself, and loolted such a picture of pride, love, and happines3, that, whilst watching him, Mr. Stuart could not help inwardly acknow- ledging with a sigh that it would taRe a great deal of talking to persuade a man to give up the possession of a creature so beautiful, and to whom he appeared so sincerely attached. And so the two gentlemen returned to INIaidstone that evening as thev had come ; and the matter being suj)posed to be settled, the engagement of John "Wardlaw with the lovely actress was sanctioned by his family. Yet the rector — he scarcely knew why — could not make up his mind all at once to mention the fact in his owa circle. Perhaps he shrank from the task of letting his young daughter hear of what he considered the dcEiradatioa of her old playfellow. Perhaps he entertained a latent hope that something might yet arise that should prevent Miss Bellew ever being introduced at Sutton A^'alence as the fiancee of John Wardluw. *5* CHAPTEE Xiy. AIT AWAKENED MEMOET. Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. Goldsmith. Akd Fortune did throw him one more chance before she delivered him over entirely to his fate. One evening, not many days after his interview with his father and Mr. Stuart, another visitor was inquiriug for him at the door of the hotel. John Wardlaw having had Iris dinner, was just dressing to go out, though without any particular engagement, and the announcement that a lady wished to see him was anything but welcome. * What lady ? ' he asked the waiter impatiently; * did she give no name ? ' Here the waiter produced a small card on which was simply printed ' Miss Hurst,' and communicated on his own account the fact of the owner of the same being a nun, or Bomething of that sort. * Wears one of those queer-shaped bonnets, Sir, and is dressed all in black — a Sister of something, I think they calls themselves.' * Oh ! it must be a mistake altogether,' replied John Wardlaw. *I know no Sisters of Mercy, and no one of the name of Hurst. Tell the lady it must be somebody else that she wants to speak to.* But presently the wa'ter returned with the same card, and a message to the effect that there was no mistake ; and that if Mr. Wardlaw of Sutton Valence could spare Miss Hurst the pleasure of ft few minutes' conversation, she would gladly An Awakened Memory, 191 wait until he was ready to see her, or call again, if it was not convenient for him to do so at the present time.' * Well ; I 'm hanged if I know who she is,' repeated our hero as he received the second message — * but I suppose I must see her. Ask the lady into my room, waiter,' he added to the messenger, * and say I shall be with her in a few minutes. ' Hurst ! Hurst ! ' he kept on repeating to himself when he was left alone, ' I do not remember to have heard that name before as connected with our family. "Who on earth can the woman be ? ' Five minutes later he was in the centre of the sitting-room, standing transfixed, as people do when they suddenly find themselves in the presence of a person who appears utterly strange to them. Seated by the table was an elderly woman in the dress of a Sister of Mercy ; a woman whose pale features and smooth bands of grey hair just showing beneath her ungainly head- dress did not recall the faintest recollection into his mind of ever having been seen by him before. Miss Hurst, who had risen on his entrance, evidently saw the look of non- recognition in his face, for her first words were — ' You have forgotten me, Mr. AVardlaw. "Well ! I do not wonder at it, for it is many years since we met. And yet you are more changed than I am.' At the sound of her voice something like a memory seemed to stir within the young man's breast, and his face, from having been a blank, began to look uneasy and restless with the mind's eflbrt to remember. ' I am almost afraid I have,' he replied with his own sweet serious smile. ' You must forgive me, Miss Hurst, but I cannot recall your name or features.' 'And yet I think I should have inown you anywhere,' she answered, 'from your jikeross to your poor motlier. What ! don't you remember having the scarlet fever at Ballydroogan, and " Sister Catherine," who nursed you through it ? ' At tirst, as the well-known name struck his ear, he started with surprise ; but then it all came back upon him with a rush, and her appearance became suddenly so familiar to him, that he seemed like a fool to himself ever to have for- gotten it. He sprang forward with an outstretched hand, ig% For Ever and Ever, *nd clasped hers, whilst hia face flushed with excite- ment. ' Of course ! ' he exclaimed ; ' how could I he such an in- grate as to forget you, even for a moment ? Why, it was upon your breast that my mother died — my poor dear mother! Ah! Miss Hurst, I have never found a creature since to love me as she did ! * And as the words he spoke brought with them a tide of recollection, regret for the loss of the affection lavished on him then, caused the hand which still clasped that of Miss Hurst to tremble with emotion. Sister Catherine perceived his agitation, and pressed it warmly. *I don't wonder at it, Mr. Wardlaw. If ever a mother idolised a child, your mother idolised you. Her last breatu was spent in praying for your welfare and happiness through life.' ' Pray sit down, Miss Hurst,* he said, * and tell me some- thing of my mother's last days. Tour presence, and the memories you evoke of that life which can never be recalled, seem to me in my present existence like a draught of water to a thirsty man. Pray sit down, and let me oU'er you some refreshment.' ' But you were going out, Mr. Wardlaw.* * Nowhere in particular,' he answered, ringing the bell, * and I would far rather spend an hour with you here, if you have no objection.' ' Are you so far gone already, then, my poor boy,' said Sister Catherine, compassionately, ' that you must needs go half-way to meet excitement, and cannot wait until it comes to you, even in a place like London ? ' Beneath her steady gaze the young man's eyes drooped, and he turned away his head. Then he said, with a nervous laugh, * One must do something of an evening, Miss Hurst; it is impossible to shut oneself up in rooms alone. It is not often that I hav'e such pleasant company as now.' ' Oh ! John AVardlaw,' exclaimed Sister Catherine, laying her hand on his, ' perhaps it is a good thing that your poor mother went when she did ; for, if she had lived to see you go wroDg, it would have broken her heart.' He had drawn a chair close to hers, and ^at down by her ■ide ; and there was something in the soft womanly touch An Awake*'^d Memory, 193 (the same touch which had laid upon his mother's head), no less than in the pitying words, wliich roused a feeling within him which he would have been ashamed to confess, it was so like contrition. He could not answer her, and Miss Hurst went on — ' It would have broken her heart, John (you must let me call you so for the sake of old times), to see her son, for whose good she prayed night and morning, mixed up with anything that was evil. This town is rife with temptations ; but I hear that you liave a profession. AVith that a man has always a ready excuse, if he needs one, for refusing to mix in scenes of idleness or dissipation.' ' I am not worse than others, MiJ^s Hurst.' * So each one of you says, but what have you to do with another person's follies ? You will be only called to account for your own. And putting it on the score of interest alone, what a drawback nightly dissipation must be to your daily work ! A man who keeps late hours can never be a good painter, for a steady hand and a clear brain are to be gained only by a moderate life. Do you not tind it so ? ' He had found it so — and knew it well — so he only mur- mured something about the evils of a solitary existence, and want of company. ' How your poor mother used to long for you to be " great !'" continued Miss Hurst. 'She often used to show me scraps of paper containing your childish scribbles, and prophesy that you would be an artist some day. I suppose you inherited your love for painting from her. I believe she used to draw very well in her younger days.' ' 1 never remembered her doing so,' said John Wardlaw. ' I dare say not. I think she had little heart foranvthins: like amusement by the time you knew her. Do you re- member her at all ? ' ' I think I do,' he replied ; ' I have a faint recollection of her having had a pair of very serious, loving grey eyes. She used to come and lean over my little crib, and gaze into my face the last thing at night, and, to my childish ideas, at those times her eyes used to look unnaturally large; in tact, I appear to have seen nothing else. At all events, I can remember nothing else of her, but of them I have a vivid recollection. They come to me sometimes even now, not ip4 For Ever and Ever, onl7 in the night, but in my gayest moments I look up and fancy I see my mother's serious gaze fixed upon me. I often think I shall know her when we meet again by her eyes.' * They were very lovely,' replied Sister Catherine ; * I re- call them well — and the dying expression in them before she closed them on my breast. Do you know what her last words were ? * * No ! ' he replied shortly. * I must tell you first, that during your own illness she had prayed so unreservedly that you might be spared to her, that I had ventured to remind her that in trying to frus- trate God's will, she might be bringing a curse upon you instead of a blessing. In her last moments she seemed to feel this, for her dying words were, "Ton were right, Cathe- rine ; I am afraid to leave him alone. Let me take my child with me." I wonder if it would have been better if she had.' As he heard his mother's last words, a feeling which he could scarcely define possessed him to such a degree that John Wardlaw leant his arm upon the table, and hid his face in his hands. Looking backward over his dreary in- fancy, uncounselled youth, and unloved manhood, he waa ready to echo, ' would it indeed have been better ? ' ' With her senses quickened by the nearness of eternity,* continued the Sister, 'your mother appears to have seen at the extreme close of her life, what her love for you would not permit her to do in its duration, that there is safety in an early death. But, as her prayers for your earthly life were granted, I trust that her prayers for your heavenly life will also be. But you are not going the right way to ensure it, John Wardlaw.' ' How do you know ?' he inquired, looking quickly up. ' I can guess it,' she replied, ' from what I hear and see. Has it not once occurred to you during our interview, to nslc from whom I heard of your existence, which of your friends sent me here, and for what purpose ? ' ' No,' he exclaimed ; ' it really has not. The sight (if you, and sound of your voice, have so powerfully recalled tlie memory of my dear mother to me, that I have had time to think of nothing else. But now you have raised my cu- An Awakened Memory. 19 j riosity. I ^ave never seen or heard of you since tlio daya at Ballydroogan. AVhy have you not renewed our ac- quaintanceship before ? * ' Because I was never a friend of your fatlier's or of ^Irs. Leofric Temple's ; and after their marriage, my respect for your mother's memory made me a stranger to them. Besides, Captain Wardlaw left Irehmd with liis corps, and my life is too busy a one to permit me to keep up many acquaintances. At first I did write to inquire after you, but soon you were placed at school, and then all communication stopjied be- tween your father and myself. But I never forgot your name, and hearing it the other day in conversation led to in- quiry on my part, which ended in my coming here to see you. But not only to see you, John AVardlaw.' ' Who mentioned my name to you ? ' he asked. * A lady who is very much interested in you ; Miss Laura Tredman.' At that remembrance John "Wardlaw flushed again and was silent. ' Can you guess what she told me of you?' said the Sister. * I know she is very fond of interfering in other people's affairs,' replied cur hero, witli apparent lack of point. ' And why I came here ? ' continued Miss Hurst. * She 's not had the assurance to send you here to badger me?' demanded the young man, hotly, as he started up from his chair and commenced to pace the room. ' "What is badgering ? ' asked the gentle voice of Sister Catherine. John Wardlaw stopped short and looked conscious. 'I beg your pardon, Miss Hurst; I am very hasty, but the fact'' is, Miss Tredman took upon herself to meddle ratlier unwarrantably in some private business of mine the other day, and I have not got over it yet. However, it is not likely that your visit to me has been paid with the same design.' 'I don't know that,' replied Catlierine Hnrst. 'I came to speak to you about your friendship with Eowena Bellew.' John AVardlaw's fair face grew quite dark beneath the feeling with which he received this unwelcome announce- ment. ' Then I was not wrong,' he said, ' after all. And pray ig6 For Ever and Ever. wliat can i/ou know, Miss Hurst, of Miss Bellew or myself to authorise you to come on such a mission? Or, knowing us both, what right have you to question our intimacy ? ' * You are easily answered,' replied the Sister quietly. ' I have known Rowena Bellew by name and character far longer and better than you have. And as to my right to advise you, John Wardlaw, I think my knowledge of your dead mother justifies my saying that I have that also. Bemember that she died on my breast.* * Speak on then,' exclaimed John "Wardlaw, softened by the allusion, * I will at least hear what you have to say.' ' Thank you,' rejoined the Sister ; ' my all is not much. I hear that you are so captivated by the external charms of E-owena Bellew that you are constantly by her side and in danger of becoming entangled in her toils. I came to warn you, John "Wardlaw — nothing more — to entreat you, for the sake of your dead mother, to pause and think before you permit yourself to go so far in this affair that there will be no drawing back without loss to yourself. Kowena Bellew is outwardly very fair, but it is the fairness of a whited sepulchre ; within, she is * ' Stop,' cried the young man, halting before Sister Cathe- rine's chair, ' I should have qualified my readiness to hear all you have to say, for I cannot permit Miss Bellew to be slandered in my presence ; whatever her faults. Miss Hurst, she now stands in the position of my affianced wife, and I have the sanction of my family to our engagement. Perhaps I ought to have told you this at first.' It was the Sister's turn to start now. ' Affianced ! ' she exclaimed. ' Then I come too late.* * Too late ? ' he repeated scornfully, ' do you imagine that a few words from you — or any man, or any woman — even my own mother, were she living — could have the power to turn my will when I have once set it in a direction where my heart has preceded it ? I love Bowena Bellew, Miss Hurst. I worship her. I adore her. I should not care if each of the walls which surround us echoed my words until all London heard the news, for I glory in it. I love her so devotedly that I would not give that,' he continued, snap- ping his fingers as he spoke, 'for any woman in the universe if she were out of it. And I would give up the universe itself yln Aiuakencd Memory. 197 to cjain one of her smiles and be permitted to bask myself in her presence. Now, am I determined or not ? ' 'And Captain AVardUiw approves of the engagement?' demanded Catherine Hurst with surprise. ' Apjiroves of and sanctions it, and is about shortly to invite Miss Bellew down to Sutton Valence to stay with my mother and sister. Do you think it is of any use your trying to dissuade me from marrying her, Miss Hurst ? ' He put the question almost triumphantly, and Sister Catherine felt the time for counsel was past. *I do not indeed,' she said, rising from her chair; ' if I had known before that it was a settled thing between you, I might have been spared the trouble of coming here. But I thought, though the trap was laid, that you were but liovering over the brink. Ton are not the first in the field, John AVardlaw^ ; you will not be the last.' ' Even if I believed that foul slander,' he exclaimed almost wildlv, ' it would not move my mind one jot or tittle. Better to be her beloved for one short day than another woman's for a lifetime. But it is not true. It is one of Laura Tredman's calumnies.' 'I spoke to you on the authority of my own senses,' re- plied Sister Catherine, ' and not from any representations uf Miss Tredman's. The only information I derived from her was of your infatuation. My profession leads me amongst all classes. I have known Eowena Bellew longer than she has. But to warn you further would be useless, and only make dissention between us, and I have no wish to be ever otherwise than friends with your mother's son. Good-bye then, John AVardlaw, and God bless you! the lime has come for us to part.' She put her hand in his as she spoke, and pressed it kindly. * But we shall meet again ? ' he said, interrogatively. ' To what purpose ? ' she replied. 'I could not see you do wrong without speaking, and my speaking would do you no good. I have no time to waste, John AVardlaw. My mission is to counsel the erring, to comfort the sorrowful, and to relieve the sick and needy. I have nothing in com- mon with the careless and the happy, and you are both.' ' Not always,' he rej)lied. * When vou are otherwise, send for me,' Bhe answered : 198 Fo7' Ever and Ever, * the address upon tlie card will always find me, and you will never know me disregard a call for help. But the man who iS baskiug in the smiles of Rowena Bellew can have nothing to do with me — or the memory of his mother ! ' * You are pleased to be bitter, Miss Hurst,' replied our hero, biting his lip as he listened to her. ' Do you think so ? ' she said sadly. ' I only intended to be plain spoken. John "Wardlaw, I am an old woman ; see my grey hairs. My age and my profession must assure you that I can have no motive except that of interest in your welfare, that should make me run the risk of offending you. I am going now from your presence perhaps for the last time. Let me speak to your heart for this once, and blame me afterwards if you choose. If you are engaged to Eowena Bellew, you are not yet married to her. I ask — 1 entreat of you before you commit that act, to pause — to examine your own feelings, and the opinion of other people respecting the character of your future wife. Can every- one be wTong ? Marriage is a solemn step. Tour poor mother found it so, and I tell you I have known llowena Bellew for years. She will never make you happy.' 'How can you possibly tell? ' said John Wardlaw, with excitement. ' Because she is heartless — she is worse than heartless, she has a bad and cold heart ; she is wrapt up in consideration of herself, and she has no religion.' * Anything more ? ' he asked sarcastically. * Is that not sufficient ? ' 'Sufficient? I should think it was sufficient, and a thousand times too much. Miss Hurst, hear me, and tell everyone whom it may concern, that this is my final deci- sion : If Rowena Bellew was all that you say, and twice as much again, I would take her as my wife ; if she was entirely indifferent to me, I would pursue her to the ends of the world to gain a look from her eyes ; and if by dying to- morrow I could procure her the least gratification, I w'ould think myself happy in being able to do so. Now go and tell them all that I am as mad as you like, but don't forget to add that I am resolved.' 'Don't let us speak any more on that subject, John "Wardlaw,' said Catherine Hurst, as she moved towards the An Aw ak^h'-d Memory. J99 door. * Tin's is not tlie time to reason with you. But be- fore I go, remember tliat in sickness or distress (and either may befall you, even though Eovvena Bellew is your own) I will always gladly come to you. Dou't have any hesitation in sending for me. E-emember your mother died upon my breast.' ' I am not likely to forget it, Miss Hurst,' he replied earnestly ; ' for her sake will you forgive me if, in my excitement this evening, I have sometimes forgotten myself? Had she never left me, I might have better had my feelings under my own control.' ' Had she never left you, my poor boy,' said the Sis^ter, compassionately, ' you would probably never have had need to curb your temper at such words from me. But God knows what is best for all of us. May He bless you, and give you some day a happy meeting with her again ! Don't forget that her latest prayers were for your soul's welfare, and make it your own concern to see that they are answered.' And passing through the door with her final words. Sister Catherine stepped lightly down the hotel staircase, and hd gone from him. Left alone, he scarcely knew what to do or to think. The echo of her last injunction sounded in his ears, and shutting out all the remembrance of his present anxiety, seemed to bring him face to face with his dead mother. Those serious grey eyes, so like his own, which had followed him from childhood, appeared to rise up now from the dusky gloom around, and to gaze upon him w^ith a tender earnestness, as if they would fathom the secrets of his inner life. He drew a chair to the table, and sitting down, buried his face in his hands, whilst he pictured his mother as Sister Catherine had spoken of her, praying with her last breath for his un- worthy self — closing her liquid grey eyes upon the kind Sister's bosom, as she ejaculated, * Let me take my child w^ith me.' As he sat and pondered, all the scenes of his in- fancy rose up before him. He could see the little lodging- house rooms in Ballydroogan — hear the harsh voice of his father — the gentle tones of his mother, and call to mind the many acts of tenderness with which she had lightened the dark days of his childhood. As memory, busy at hia heart, brought back, one after another, trilling incidents 200 For Ever and Ever, which he had forgotten until then — proofs of the love wliich had followed and watched over him throughout, and point- ing with a ruthlessly cruel finger to the blank which the loss of her and of all this had occasioned in his life, made the contrast become more painful every moment, somethiDg very like tears began to ooze through the fingers clasped over his face, and to fall upon the table-cloth beneath them — tears which he w^as ashamed of, even though alone, and the presence of which when discovered ofiended him, as was proved by the rough and hasty efi^orts which he made to brush them away. But Memory, stirring at his heart, would not abridge one tithe of her privilege, and fast as he knocked away the drops for which he blushed, the fiister they seemed to come, until, with an effort, he tore away his hands from before his eyes, and laying his head down upon the table, sobbed aloud. It was but for a moment. Starting up presently, as if wit- nesses were before him, John Wardlaw stamped his foot upon the ground, paced once or twice up and down the room, and then, clapping his hat upon his head, as if by sheer violence he would force E-emembrance to change her lodging, rushed down the stairs, and out into the street, re- solved to give himself no more time for thought. And although, during the wild scenes in which he mixed that night, a gentle memory of his dead mother's last words and prayers and wishes would make itself heard to his soul, there was a counter-voice within him, crying ' "Were she all they make her out to be, and twice as bad, I would take her as my wife.' And the counter- voice being strongest, drowned the other ; and by the next morning, if not quite forgotten, it had died a natural death. The little good that Sister Catherine had been able to effect by making him think about his mother, Koweua Bellew Boon marred by making him think about nothing but herself. So, Fortune, wearied by his continued obstinacy, threw him over, and thenceforward John Wardlaw was abandoned to his fate. ooi CHAPTEE Xy. HENRIETTA STUART. I find she loves him much, because she hides it. Love teaches cunning, even to Innocence. Deyden. It \ra3 close upon the month of September ; hop-picking had already commenced, and the county of Kent was in its glory. The season was early that year, but the summer had been long and oppressive, and most of the delicate hop- flowers had changed their original hue for straw colour, whilst many were turning brown, and losing their marke*" value. So an order had gone forth from tlie farmers to pipe all hands to the plantations, an order which had been obeyed by hundreds of men and women, who, leaving the smaller towns of England, where work is difficult to obtain and labour scantily remunerated, poured day after day into the hop-gardens, demanding employment. And not by them alone, for the annual want of service in the hopping coun- ties form a regular trade with numberless itinerant hawkers and beggars, who take care to work their way towards Kent, Sussex, Hereford, or anywhere else where they are likely to be welcomed as soon as August shows symptoms of decline. A more picturesque scene than a hop-plantation in course of despoliation can scarcely be imagined. The hops themselves growing in bowery triangles, their lovely bines climbing to the very top of the poles which support them, festooned thence from one to the other in wild luxuriance, or hanging towards the ground in gi-aceful negligence, form a picture worth seeing ; and when it is re- membered that the workers employed amongst them are of all ages, sexes, and nations, gathered from all kinds and classes, and arrayed in every possible costume, it may ^\ ell 2oa For Ever and Ever, be believed tbat the sight is a gay and interesting one. There, added to the quiet citizens before mentioned, who appear in Biinbonnets, cotton gowns, and working fustian, maybe seen the gaily dressed Bavarian girls — their brooms or tam- bourines packed meanwhile in their bundles and stowed in some barn for safety, whilst, still arrayed in their striped petticoats, with their red handkerchiefs knotted about their heads, and their ears weighed down with huge gold ear- rings, they pull hop-flowers and chatter away in their own patois to the astonishment of the Kentish natives. Savoyard boys, organ men, travelling knife grinders and pedlars, stay- lace women, night-cap women, ballad singers, and acrobats, putting aside their means of livelihood for the time being, gather there — a curious medley, bringing a curious amount of vice with them. All through the scorching hot days they labour hard ; three or four standing on either side of the bins over which the hop-poles are laid whilst they despoil the plants of their treasures, and cast them into baskets provided for the purpose. At night they assemble in banis or outhouses, or sleep beneath hedges on the wayside, or prowl about the neighbouring towns and villages, watching for an opportunity to thieve. A wary time is hop-picking season for the farmers and gentle-people living round about the plantations, for then it is that ducks and geese evince a propensity to walk olf by themselves, and gardens and larders are emptied without any collusion on the part of their owners ; then it is that young women are afraid to walk out alone into the country lanes after dusk, for fear some of the uncouth looking figures that are wont to frighten' them by rising up suddenly from behind hedges and ditches may take it into their heads to demand their money or their lives ; or that, walking at any time of the day, they are forced to tread carefully for fear of falling over what appear to be dirty bundles thrown down by the way-side, but would prove on inspection to be little brown babies left to sleep on a handful of hops till their mothers' work is ended ; or, of unconsciously stepping on some hop-picker's private pro- perty hidden in the long grass, and guarded by a shrill- tongued, sharp-toothed little terrier, who first makes them aware of his amiable proximity by taking a piece out of the call" of their legs. Yes ! truly, hop-picking is a picturesque Henrietta Stuart, 203 scene! but like many other pretty things, it has its draw- backs, and especially to tho.^c who see most of it, and live in a state of constant trepidation until the gathering in of the harvest is ended, and the miscellaneous troop once more dispersed to carry on their depredations in a more single- handed manner for the remaining months of the year. Sutton Valence and its environs were a mass of hop-gar- dens. Far away as the eye could reach, the land appeared like a green encampment, whilst the warm August air was redolent of their strong perfume, which seemed to weigh the breather down with an irrepressible sense of drowsiness. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when Henrietta Stuart turned out of the Castlemaine drive-gates in order to take a walk before her dinner hour. She was quite alone ; for being possessed of no lady-like fears with respect to un- civilised hop-gatherers, she never gave up or shortened her strolls on their account. Indeed, it would be difficult to say what Henrietta Stuart was afraid of. Physically she was as brave a woman as ever stepped ; and although at this period of her life her moral courage had been little tried, that little had stood the test manfully. As a child, and with respect to her own misdeeds, she had never been known to tell a falsehood or even equivocate I'rom the fear of con- sequent punishment, and the same courageous spirit had grown up with her. The few troubles she had known, she had not shrunk from looking in the face, and setting herself down to bear as best she might, for the sake of those who loved her. As she stepped out of her father's grounds on the present occasion, she looked paler and thinner than she did when first introduced to the reader, and older also, unless the latter appearance might be adduced as a supposition raised from the fact of the two first. Any way she certainly looked thoughtful. Although robed in muslin, with a broad-brimmed hat on her head, she was dressed with the same disregard to expen- diture that her mother always loved to lavish on her, and she appeared as careless of it as ever ; for as she turned into the country lane, a trailing briar from the hedge, which, catching at the delicate French muslin, rent it in a manner which would have called tears into the eyes of a more ap- preciative owner, merely extorted the most indifi'ereut of 204 For Ever and Ever. expressions from the lips of Henrietta Stuart, as she stooped to disentangle the intrusive branch from the torn and ruined skirt. As she resumed her walk, she heaved a sigh. Certainly, when one came to look at her more closely, she was paler and thinner than heretofore, although the change may only have been attributable to the heat of the weather. Or, perhaps, the attentions of her cousin Martin, which had commenced to exhibit themselves again during the past month, wearied her more than she chose to confess to him. "When first rebuffed by his pretty cousin in the preceding spring, Martin Stuart had felt it so keenly that he had shrunk into himself, as a snail into its shell, and appeared, when in her presence, so diffident and bashful, that the kind heart of the girl had been doubly pained by his behaviour. She could never love him as a husband ; she had told him so ; but she cared for him very much in . sisterly sort of way — and it grieved her to think that she should be the cause of his being ill at ease in her father's house, and in the presence of iier— his own cousin. But Martin Stuart, who had always thought very humbly of himself, did not come round, nor seem to regain his former cheerfulness. _ AVhenever he appeared before her, morning, noon, or night, his mute melancholy reminded Henrietta that she had been hard- hearted enough to refuse his tenders of matrimony. This had grieved the girl from the commencement, and about the month of May she had felt it more. For then, happening herself to be in low spirits, cause unknown, the silent kind- ness of her cousin Martin had been so unvarying and so delicately offered that she had felt almost ashamed to accept it, without holding out the least hope of being able to give him an adequate return. But she had tried to reward him by emerging from the reserve which she had maintained towards him since his unfortunate ofler, and striving to set him more at his ease with herself, even going so far as to uri^e upon his notice the amount of the sisterly affection which she bore for him. And Martin Stuart, like the weak- minded man that he was, had not been able to take the goods that the gods provided him, and value them at what they were worth. He had mistaken Henrietta's generous endeavoura to make him forget the past, and to replace him hivnr'ietta Stuart* 20 J on tne cousinly footinpj he liad before enjoyed witli her, for a wish to apprise him delicately tliat she was coming rouiitl herself to his way of thinking. Having passed through Iiis college term, he was idling away his time now at Castle- maine, waiting until something turned up in the shape of a living, or he had decided upon engaging in some employment, for he was getting almost too old now to enter into any other profession. Consequently his summer months had all been spent at Sutton Valence riding or walking about the green lanes with his cousin Henrietta, or practising archery or croquet with her in the grounds at Castlemaine. He had almost flattered himself that the melancholy in which she had at one time indulged had been for his sake, and he had quite thought lately that her kindness was intended to show him that a renewal of his attentions would not be unwelcome to her. Therefore, the last month, he had not only renewed but pressed them ; too blind to take the many hints on her part by which she had endeavoured, but in vain, to stave off another proposal, for Martin had asked her again to marry him, on the previous evening. And she had refused him as before, and begged that it should be the last time he gave her the pain of doing so. And he had shrunk into himself as before — indeed, shrunk away altogether, she feared, for she had not seen him since. This was partly what was occupying her thoughts and troubling her as she walked along the solitary lanes that August afternoon. She blamed herself so bitterly for having allowed matters to come again to a crisis. Poor Martin! Poor humble, self-decrying Martin ! How could she have been so cruel as to subject him to a second humiliation ? But she had done what she had done innocently and for his sake only. Not one thought of coquetry, or of gaining another triumph, had entered the pure breast of Henrietta Stuart, as she obeyed the dictates of her own wish to try and make her cousin forget the slight she had unwittingly put upon him. If she had erred, it had been through girlish thoughtlessness alone, and from her want of knowledge of the world, and the improbability of friendship ever being feasible between people Avho have once thought of being more than friends. He had been bo hurt, she thought, oy 2o6 For Fa'cj and Ever. hev refusal — it had so bitterly wounded his self-eateem, ttat she could not bear even to think of it. With a handsomer, more attractive man Henrietta told herself the case would have been widely different, but poor Martin was so insignificant-looking, so little sought after, so seldom even noticed by anyone but her parents and herself. His shy, retiring, manner, which would not permit him to hold his own in the world ; his sensitiveness with respect to his unfortunate habit of stammering, which caused him to be almost dumb before strangers ; his ordinary appearance, freckled skin, and weak eyes, all of which defects his cousin with tender pity thought were the cause of secret un- happiness to himself, worked more in his favour when brought into review by her present self-reproachful spirit than any amount of manly charms would have had the power to do. And then he was so kind to her, so very fond of l^er — he had looked so unmistakably miserable when she had spoken rather curtly to him the night before, and yet had never ventured to reproach her for her stupid blunder. Oh ! it was very hard for poor dear Martin, and she wished she had been born hideous sooner than have attracted feelings in him which she could not reciprocate. For Henrietta Stuart would never, never marry. As she sauntered towards Sutton Valence village she told herself so with a heavy sigh. Perhaps, if the circumstances of her life had fallen differ- ently, it might have been otherwise with her ; but as it was, her father and mother were to be her only loves till death. She did not consider that from eighteen years of age till death is, according to the ordinary length of man's existence, a weary time to look forward to ; yet, glancing in imagina- tion over that visionary space, Henrietta Stuart could find nothing to frighten her in the prospect of a single life. Indeed, as long as her parents were spared to her, she did not consider that her life, or hopes, or occupations could be termed single ones. And the idea of marriage, she hardly knew why, she always thought of with a feeling of repug- nance, even of fear. If she had ever thought of it in con- nection with anyone^ it was certainly with Martin Stuart, who had been the only man to press the subject on her con- Bideration. But she could not make up her mind to marry Henrietta Stuart, 207 Martin, and therefore she imagined that she had no wish to marry at all. Occupied with such thoughts, she had strolled through the churchyard and up the village street until she had gained the Wardlaws' house almost without knowing it. Looking on the ground as she walked, she was threading her way along the path, now fully shaded by the row of lime trees in front of it, when she was recalled to the things of this world by the voice of Alice "Wardlaw speaking her name through the open window. She stopped then and looked up to see the bright face of Ally, and half of her figure thrust through one of the windows of a room on the ground floor. ' ' Netta dear,' she exclaimed, when she had arrested the attention of Miss Stuart, ' where are you going to ? ' Henrietta Stuart had not frequented the Wardlaws' house much since the departure of its eldest son, for the reason that neither Captain nor Mrs. "Wardlaw were associates to her taste, and Ally was too much of a child to be a companion to her. But Ally admired and reverenced Henrietta Stuart, as young girls wall sometimes do homage to those of their own sex a little older than themselves ; and, in consequence, was almost as familiar now at Castlemaine as her brother Jack had been ; for Mrs. Stuart, seeing the pleasure she took in the society of her daughter, had given the little girl a free invitation there. ' Only for a stroll up by the castle,' replied Miss Stuart ; * will you come with me, Ally ? ' Alice shook her head. * I wish I could,' she said, ' but I know it would be ot no use asking, because mamma is so busy getting the rooms ready. They are all coming down to-morrow, ^S'etta ; Jack and Miss Bellew, and Miss Bellew's cousin. Oh ! and by- the-bye, what do you think ? Leo was up in town last week, and he saw her (Miss Bellew, you know) for the first time, and he says he thinks she is the most beautiful woman lie has ever seen. And mamma was not going to make half 80 much preparation for them, but you know what a deal she thinks of Leo's opinion ; and so, as he made such a noisa about it, the rooms have all been turned out and cleaned, and new curtains put up — and you never saw such a fuss — and we've been grubbing away at them all day, and I am so ■xoS For Ever and .Ever. tired, or elae I wanted to have gone over to Castlemaine this afternoon, and told you all about it.' * About what ? ' said Henrietta Stuart, faintly. ' Why, about tlieir coming, of course ; and so suddenly too, because you know Miss Bellew has twice refused mamma's invitations to Sutton Valence, and we began to think it so disagreeable of her : however, Jack wrote himself the other day, and he says it was quite unavoidable, and they are coming now, and will stay for a month with us. Don't you long to see her, Netta? I do — and Jack as an engaged man. I wonder if it's made him merrier or graver ? Merrier I should think by the way he writes about it. He said in his letter that we are not to get in any of the villagers to stare at her until she has been here for a day or two, for she won't like it. Fancy staring at a woman just because she's handsome ! Mamma said she never heard such an idea, and papa says that he thinks his engagement has turned Jack's brain. However, I hope it isn't quite so bad as all that. But ain't you well, Netta darling ? ' ' Yes, thank you, Ally ; perfectly well.* She scarcely looked it as she stood there, listening to the child's out-spoken nonsense, and turning whiter and whiter as she listened. She had heard of John AVard- law's engagement to Eowena Bellew before this, although, as her information had been acquired through Alice, she knew little further than that he was engaged. And of how the news had effected her, no one was aware ; for, strange to say, the fact of the engagement had never been discussed between herself and her father. Mr. Stuart had after a while told the circumstances of his journey to London to his wife, begging her at the same time to keep it from Henrietta's ears. Afterwards, he had become aware from the mention of it in her ordinary conversation, that his daughter had heard the fact from some of the AVardlaws, but further than this, nothing had transpired between them. Henrietta had lost much of her bloom of late, but that was attributed by her to the summer weather, or anything rather than to secret anxiety — English girls generally in- herit a good portion of the national reserve, and are not Hcnriftta Sluari. 209 used to make their illegitimate griefs patent for the dis- cussion of the world. And whilst there is a large amount of j)ride mixed up in this British characteristic, it is a pride to be proud of, and long may it flourish. It is doubtful which is to be admired most, or ranked highest in theannala of heroism : the courage which enables us to bear without a sign of shrinking, whilst every nerve, mental or physical, is exposed and quivering, either great pain, or great bad news. And yet it is what Britons do every day, and what has become from constant doing a second nature to them. Henrietta Stuart, although scarcely cognizant of her own feelings, had received what was to her bad nev/s, and had made no sign. She had drooped under it, and had never eren questioned herself as to why she drooped. She had been conscious of feeling very low-spirited at times, and very inditferent to schemes of pleasure, but she had never sat down deliberately and told herself that her depression was owing to the fact that she loved John Ward law. But aa she now stood listening to Ally's description of his pride in Miss Bellew's beauty, and remembered that he, and the woman in whom he was so wrapt up, were to be there to- morrow ; there, in that very place ; liable to meet her at any moment; to speak to her; to expect to be congratulated by her ; she felt that she could not bear it, that she must run away somewhere and hide herself where there was no possibility of coming face to face with him again. But Ally's pertinacity as to her not looking well, and her en- treaties that she* would come in and rest, instead of going on with her walk, roused her to a sense of the propriety of Baying something in return. ' IS^o, I thank you, Ally ; I can't come in— I shah have to go home now. I have been longer coming here than 1 thought 1 was. I suppose I must have walked very slowly Good- bye, dear ; give my love to Mrs. Wardlaw ; and if there itj anything you want from Castlemaine, mind you send tor it ;' and then she turned and went down the village street again far faster than she had traversed it before, regardless of the information Ally screamed after her from the open window, that the party were expected to arrive by tbe five o'clock train from London to-morrow, and a request lliat llor.rictta. 2T0 F^r Ever av^. Ever. n-ov.ld walk up in the evening and see the far-famed beauty for herself. ' Because I don't suppose Jack reckons you amongst the villagers,' said Ally, as a parting comment, but her words remained unheeded and unanswered. ' I'm sure Netta is not well, mamma,' she remarked to Mrs. Wardlaw, when she saw her again. ' She walks too much in the sun. She was as white as a ghost this after- noon.' And Mrs. "Wardlaw, puffing more than usual, to intimate the amount of trouble she had been taking, said, as she sank into a chair, that ' the weather was enough to upset anyone, and that she really did'nt think that she could muster up strength to attend the prayer-meeting to be held in the school-room that evening.' And it was a curious fact that weather, or health, or unavoidable business invariably did come between Mrs. Wardlaw and the prayer-meetings held by the Eeverend Samuel Jellicoe, the dissenting mi- nister of Sutton Valence. I once heard it said sarcastically of a man, who, professing to be a devout Christian, was yet never known to attend church or to read the Bible like ordinary sinners, that he had ' got hei/ond all that.'' In like manner, Mrs. Wardlaw was too apt to consider that she had attained to such an eminence of grace that the common ordinances of religion had become unnecessary for her salvation. Talking and weeping were unattended with much exertion, and therefore she talked and wept a great deal and did very little. ' She was beyond all that.' But she would certainly have been more indignant than became a Christian if she had been taxed with the fact ; and as far as condemning every one who did not do it went, she did her duty perfectly. But while she puffed in her arm-chair, Henrietta Stuart was hurrying homewards. Walking fast, trembling much, but with brave, dry eyes, and only a dull leaden weight at her heart to tell her that she had received a wound that might not easily be cured. At every step she took, her mind appeared to become clearer on the subject. She had been blind hitherto, but she saw it now; and the antici- pated return of John Wardlaw to Sutton Valence had told rer, what years of intimate association, what even hia departure had failed to do— that she loved him. Not as a I Henrietta StuarL ail playmate, or a brother, or a friend, but as women ouglit to \o\e tlie men they marry, as she in her innocence thouf^ht they always loved them. And the knowledge of it afilicted her first with a burning shame, which sent the blood from her heart, until she fancied everyone she met must read the Immiliating truth in her face ; and next with an arrant fear, born of modesty, lest her unlawful love should be discovered, which drove it all back again, and left the poor child white and trembling with her dread. Filled with confusion and painful thought, Henrietta Stuart reached the gates of Castlemaine at last, and hurriedly attempted to gain the privacy of her own room. Two or three favourite dogs came bounding from the lawn to meet her, and gambolled round and round her as she walked ; but she never noticed them by name or caress, and after a while they stood still, awed from taking further liberties by the unusual manner of their young mistress, and looking at one another in mute inquiry for the reason of such a change. Her father was in his little study, with the glass doors thrown open to the garden, and seeing her as she passed, he called her by her nickname, ' Pussy,' more than once, but as she hurried by him also, he concluded that she had not heard his voice. Nothing was powerful enough to stay her footsteps, or arrest her attention, until she found herself in her own bed- room. Then she locked the door, threw her hat and cloak upon the bed, and clasping both hands tightly above her heated forehead, as if to shut out memory, leant upon the dressing-table, a very picture of youthful despair. She knew what ailed her now ; what had ailed her all along, but she knew it was irremediable, and her whole object was how to prevent other people from knowing it also. ' If he were to guess it ! If anyone was to dream of it ! * 8he thought wildly to herself, ' oh ! what should I do, what should I do ? And I shall have to meet them, to speak to them ; to look him in the face and answer his questions, and never let him see that his engagement, or his marriage, arc anything to me. But he will see it, he must guess it ! O God! what shall I do i" ' And the poor girl abandoned herself to a flood of miserable conjectures and shivering fears. 2 [ 2 Fot ' Elc 7 and Ev ti . She did not weep ; only once, as a tliougbt of tLe wor/iaa ^\■]\o had usurped the place she would have been so glad to fill, struck her, and she recalled the looks and features of John AVardlaw, and pictured them beaming with love upon lier rival, a mighty sob of jealousy rose up in her throat, and the tender hands which shaded her eyes clenched tbem- selves together. But only for a moment ; the next, with the spirit of a true woman, she was blaming herself and making mental excuses for the conduct of her old playmate. ' I am the usurper, or would be,' she thought, mournfully. ' I have no right to feel annoyed or jealous. He never spoke to me but as a friend. He never loved me. She has had it all. She only has a claim upon him. I have no right, I have no claim. I have, I have — nothing ! ' she exclaimed aloud ; and with the sound of her own broken voice the tears rushed into her eyes, and in a few moments she sobbed violently. Then she remembered that she must shortly appear before her parents again, and she dried her eyes, and permitted herself only the indulgence of thought. It was a long counsel that she took with herself before her maid appeared to dress her for dinner ; it lasted an hour or more. During that time many a change of expression flitted over her countenance, all of them sad, but mostly determined ; and when she rose at last to attend to her arrangements for dinner, there was a look of fixed purpose on her face, which seemed strangely at variance with its youthful features. But she had been considering, with all her mind, bow best to hide from the curiosity of tbe world those feelings which she dared not show ; and she had settled what plan of action to pursue. It was a bitter alternative, but she felt as if she had no other. She would engage herself to marry her cousin, Martin Stuart. If she were engaged to be married herself, no one would dare to say that she was fretting for the loss of a mail who had never told her that he loved her. He himself, in that case, when they met, if they met (ah ! could she ever meet him again ?), could not reasonably attribute any little emotion on her part to nervousness at the sight of himself, and since he did not care — would never care for her (so eighteen years old reasoned), what signified it to whom shu became engaged, or thought of marrying ? Henrietta Stuart. 213 Added to which, she knew that the proposed arrangement would be the means of giving keen pleasure to three p('0|}lo whom she loved. Her parents wished for the matcii, of that she was assured ; and whom else had she to live for, or to please, but her father and mother? and Martin would bo made happy by her acceptance of him, she was sure. And even in the prospect of becoming a martyr, it was satis- factory to know that she was about to confer her favours where they would be properly appreciated. There was a great deal to support her in her resolution in that thought. John "Wardlaw had never looked for her love, had never even tried to win it. Martin Stuart had asked it more than once ; had been miserable at the refusal of his offer ; had entreated her to try and think of him with some- thing more than friendship. All her pride enlisted itself on one side, all her pity on the other ; and Henrietta Stuart's heart wavered no longer. By the time she joined her parents at the dinner-table, her mind was made up. The absence of her cousin Martin (Mr. Martin Stuart had been out since the morning, the servant said, and h'ld not left word when he might be expected home again), and her own tell-tale eyes, were both circumstances of suspicion to Mr. and Mrs. Stuart ; which they refrained from noticing, however, during the family meal ; but Henrietta having de- cided on her course of action, had become careless whether her parents observed the traces of her recent emotion or not. On leaving the dining-room, her mother made some remark upon the subject, which the girl skilfully evaded, and prevented the recurrence of, by slipping out into the garden, whilst Mrs. Stuart, always a very easy-going woman, soon sunk into her after-dinner nap. The simple white dress with its knots of green ribbons went flitting about tlie shrubberies and pleasure-grounds until Henrietta thought that her mother had left off thinking about her, and tlion she peeped into the half-opened French windows which led to the dining-room, and nodded to her father, who was half asleep over his fruit and wine. ' May I come in, papa ? ' she said softly. * Of course, my darling,' replied the rector, rousing him- self. ' I have been thinking of you. Pussy, ever since you left me.' 214 For Ever and Ever. * Have you ? * she said, as she settled herself on a footstool at his feet. ' And what have you been thinking, father ? ' ' That you have been fretting lately, Pussy, about some- thing or other, and that fretting gave you a couple of red eyes this evening.' It was well for her secret that Mr. Stuart could not see his daughter's face — for the expression called into it by his haphazard words, was one of the greatest pain. But she conquered her desire to weep, and said seriously, and almost cheerfully, ' Well ! I Jiave been fretting, father, but I don't intend to fret any more. I have been undecided about something lately, but I think I have made up my mind now. Do you remember what you said to me about Martin, papa, last May ? ' * About your marrying him, my child ? Yes, I remember it perfectly.' ' Well, papa, he asked me again last night, and I ' * I won't have you worried in this manner,' exclaimed the rector, angrily. * What on earth does the boy mean by it ? I forbore to speak to him before on the subject, for fear of hurting his feelings, but I ' ' Stop, dear papa,' said Henrietta quietly ; * it is all right now. I came to tell you to-night, that if you still wish it I am ready to marry him. That is to say,' she added, cor- recting herself, ' I am willing to become engaged to Martin, for I should not like to marry at all just yet.' The rector laid down a glass of wine that he was just carrying to his lips, untasted, and stared at his daughter in surprise. * Pussy, my darling, do you know what you are talking about ? You say that you wish to engage yourself to marry your cousin Martin ? ' ' Yes, papa,' she answered, in the same quiet tone, * I do. I am aware that I must appear very fickle to you, after what I said the last time we spoke upon the subject ; but that was four months ago, remember; and I have changed my mind since then. Martin has pressed me a good deal lately, and I am sure he loves me, papa, and ' And here Henrietta Stuart stopped, and waited for her father's answer, but he was silent ; and when she looked up into his face, something there disturbed her. Henrietta Stuart, 2 1 5 'You wish it, father, do you not?' sTie asked, quickly. *I made sure of tbat before I ventured to speak to you — I thought you seemed to like the idea bo much, when it was mooted before.' ' 80 I did, Pussy,' returned the rector ; but I confess that this time you have taken me by surprise. I do not deny that your mother and I have often talked together of the probability of your marriage vrith your cousin, and that we thought, if you were both so inclined, that it would be a very good thing for him, for he is, as you know. Pussy, the child of my only and much-beloved brother ; and was, as I consider, most unjustly cheated out of his share of your grandfather's property by the bitter feelings which the old man entertained towards his father, and which were not to be subdued even by his cruel and untimely death. There- fore Martin has been an object of the greatest affection and solicitude to me — as is evidenced by my willingness to give him you ; but i/ou are far dearer to me than anything on earth, Henrietta, not excepting your own mother; and at BO critical a period in your life, I cannot have you act hastily, or without deliberation. If your happiness will be secured by becoming your cousin's wife, do so, and my tenderest love and blessing will go with you both, and the hopes of a lifetime be fulfilled ; but if you have been persuaded into this step by him, or a desire to please me, tell me so, be- loved child, in God's name, before it is too late ; and do not, for the sake of escaping his reproaches, or my censure, hurry into an engagement which may cost you dear before you shake yourself free of it again.' He spoke so earnestly, laying his fatherly hand the while upon her bright head, that Henrietta Stuart for a moment considered, and considering, wavered. But then she re- membered what she had told herself before, that even if she gave up this, nothing else remained for her ; and not giving it up, she would make three people whom she loved happy ; and a vision danced before her tearful eyes of a beauty which was not hers, and a love which was not hers — and she swallowed down her tears, like a true English girl ; and no shadow of a regret was apparent in the tone in which she uttered her next words. ' It is not for Martin only, dearest father, or for yoU — 2i6 tor Ever and Ever. dearly as I love to please you — that I desire it. I speak for my own sake as well. I did not say as much to Martin last ni'<^lit. I thought then that my resolution was unchanged; but I have been thinking it over to-day, and I want you to tell hi:n, as soon as he comes in, that t will be his wl^e — only not just yet, father, — not just yet.* 'Pussy, darling, you have made me so happy,* exclaimed the rector, as he raised the drooping: figure of the girl and folded it fondly in his embrace. ' This has been my wish for years ; it is no harm telling you so now, but I have been afraid to let you know how much I desired it, for fear of biassing your natural inclinations. But now, whenever death comes, I can die happy, and when I meet my dear Gerard again, he will say that I have done my duty by his son. But he shall only have you on one condition, Pussy. That he never takes you from me. I cannot part with my ewe lamb.' ' Ah ! no, father ! ' exclaimed the girl, as she flung herself, in a passionate embrace, upon his breast. ' Never send me Irom you ; never leave me for a minute, or I shall be wretched.' And then, in the height of her excitement, Henrietta Stuart cried plentifully in her father's arms, and was at her ease again. The news was soon communicated to Mrs. Stuart, and Martin, slipping into the house after dusk, and purporting to gain his own room unobserved, was way-laid by his uncle and made the recipient of intelligence which so nearly concerned himself. On first hearing it, the young man, after his late rebuif, was so completely taken aback that he could scarcely realise its truth; but when, on his uncle's repeated assuranijes, he began to believe it, his emo- tion was almost like that of a girl. ' You must for — for — for^o\7e me, uncle,' he said, as he recovered his speech. ' But i don't think I fe — fe — fe — felt her refusal half so much. I love her so dearly. I did not think it po — po — po — possible she could be so good as to love me in return.' And then Martin was permitted to seek his cousin and hear her decision from her own lips. What passed between them on that occasion, Mr. Stuart never afterwards inquired, or ascertained ; but he felt convinced, as all must who knew Henrietta Stuart, 2 1 7 her, that nothing but what was true and without disaimiila- tion could ever fall from the lips of Henrietta Stuart. "When she and Martin returned to the drawing-room tliat evening together, they returned as an engaged cou])le, whose troth was above board, and might be proclaiuied to the world. On the day that John "Wardlaw and his fiancee were ex- pected to arrive at Sutton Valence, all the servants of Castlemaine and most of the villagers in her father's parish, knew that Miss Stuart, the heiress, was engaged to be married to her cousin. * And though he is not perhaps quite the figger of a man as j\Iis8 Henrietta might have looked for,' so the domestics argued, * yet it 's an out and out good thing for the young master, and that no one can't deny.' On that morning at breakfast, Mr. Stuart, for the first time for many a day, introduced, of his own accord, John "Wardlaw's name. ' My dear,' he remarked to his wife, who had been occu- pied all breakfast-time making small jokes on the subject of the new relationship in which Henrietta and Martin now appeared at the table, ' I met Captain Wardlaw shuffling along the village in his slippers this morning, and he told me that they are expecting Jack down from London this afternoon, with Miss Belle w and her cousin. I was any- thing but pleased to hear it. What is to be done ? ' ' I 'm sure I don't know,' replied his wife. ' But I suppose it is not incumbent on us to call there during their stay. I wonder what has made the lady change her mind. I under- sta-nd from Mrs. Wardlaw that she has twice refused to come down here before.' ' I cannot say, I am sure,* said the rector. ' Ladies are privileged to do such things sometimes, ain't they. Pussy ? ' He had looked at his daughter rather anxiously two or three cimes during the colloquy, and was apparently relieved at now Feeing her raise her face from her plate, with a quiet smile. The smile was a forced one, but how should he know it ? ' Yes, indeed, papa,' she said, * or the world would go on very badly, I am afraid. But still, they generally can give Bome sort of a reason for their caprice. I cannot help 210 Fo7' Ever and Ever, wondering, with mamma, what the motive of this lady can be, and particularly as the Wardlaws seem as puzzled as we are.' But it is the province of the novelist to practise clair- voyance, and the reason for Miss Bellew's change of mind will be shown in the next chapter. 2IQ CHAPTEli XVI. ♦rHY llISS BELLEW CHANGED HEB VJirn-^ But now the hand of Fate is on the curtain. And gives thQ scene to light, Dbydkn. ABOUT a week before, Leofric Temple had paid his half- brother a visit in London. By that time John AVardlaw had been for the last two months located in rooms of his own, one of which he called a studio, but in which he studied very little, preferring to loiter away his restless hours in the company of Eowena Bellew. At first, he was surprised to see the face of Leofric Temple, for frequently as the latter was in to\^'n, he had never honoured him with a visit before ; but marking, on a second scrutiny, the perturbed and anxious expression of his countenance, he concluded, and rightly, that his brother had sought him with a view to obtaining his advice or assist- ance in helping him out of one of the numerous scrapes into which he was always falling. Tor Leofric Temple was addicted to giving his friends a great deal of trouble, in the way of lifting him out of the metaphorical quicksands into which he was in the custom of walking with his eyes open. Not foolhardy, generous scrapes, begotten of a thought- less, devil-may-care disposition, committed one moment and repented of the next ; but little, petty mischances brought about by his own cowardice or selfishness, and run into de- liberately, under the hope of those who cared for their own name as linked with his, doing their best to cover for him what might prove a mutual disgrace. In describiug the personal appearance of Mrs. "Wardlaw'9 220 For Ever arid Ever, Bon little was said about his character, and for a good reason, namel}^ that there was little to say, and that little not a pleasant topic. But disagreeable things are often necessary. Tlie large, languishing blue eyes of Leofric Temple, and his fair hair and moustache, gave him a look of innocence that his secret doings sadly belied. It was difficult to be- lieve, on a mere sight of him, that he was habitually not crafty (for craft infer:: a certain degree of cleverness, and Leofric Temple was most foolish), but evasive and shuffling. His sins were all little sins, not small in size but in quality, for he possessed a small soul and a mean nature. He was an effeminate man, who took pleasure in no outdoor sports, who never even read a sensible book, but lounged about on sofas .^.!id easy chairs, twanging a guitar as accompaniment to his own voice, or twiddling his beloved moustaches round and round in his fingers. He was a braggart, of course — all cowards are — and could speak largely on every topic, from art downwards ; and made little of the efforts of other people, being certain, and asserting openly, that he could do as well and better, if he chose to try. He had a revengeful spirit, which, never daring to take a lofty flight, contented itself by devising petty spites wherewith to satisfy the cra- vings of its nature; and he had a sordid spirit, which made much of its own money and little of anyone else's, which led him to order luxuries for himself largely ' on tick,' but made him strangely unwilling to part with coin actually in his possession; in a word, he had never been known to make a nresent to anyone, he never paid a fare or a bill without disputing its legality, and when he changed a sovereign he rang each bit of silver before he put it in his pocket. And with such a formidable host of ill qualities, Leofric Temple's only counterbalancing virtues were the blue eyes and the flaxen hair ; the sweet baritone voice, wherewith he sang to his guitar, and fascinated the too susceptible hearts of the female part of his acquaintance, and a certain amount of soft good-nature, which yet was never sufficiently power- ful to urge him to a kind action when it militated in the least degree against his own comfort. For a wonder, John Wardlaw was at home the morning that his brother walked into his rooms. There were only two of them, and the house to which they belonged formed ^^hy Miss Belie w changed her Mind* 221 ]>:ii t of the street in which Miss Bellew lived. As our hero turned, palette and brushes iu hand, to greet his visiLur, Leofric Temple was astounded to see the alteration that a few months of London life had made in bis appearance. * Holloa, Wardlaw ! ' he exclaimed, as he cauj^^ht sight of his brother's figure, ' you look five years older than you did when you left iSutton Valence 1 You 've been going it, my boy, I expect.' And if wearing himself out by attempting to derive any solid comfort from the favour of a capricious woman, who professed to love him one day, and treated him as if she was weary of him the next, was ' going it,' John Wardlaw had every reason to deserve the accusation. However, he made no comment on his brother's remark. * "What has brought you up to town. Temple ? ' was all he asked, as they shook hands with one another ; ' or rather, what has induced you to favour me with a visit ? For I know that you are up here often enough. Take a chair if you can find one. You will excuse my going on with my work ; I have been idler than I should have been lately, and I 'm trying to make up for it now. How did you leave them all at Sutton ? ' * Oh, well enough,' was the careless reply. ' I was down there last week. Alice is growing dreadfully coarse, and my mother was full of complaints, as usual. I 've been ex- pecting all along that you would be down there this summer, Wardlaw, but they tell me now that you say there's no chance of it. How 's that ? ' * AYell, you see it rests entirely with Miss Bellew,' re- plied John Wardlaw, colouring slightly ; for he had not yet expressed his aversion to speak of his Jiancee before other people. ' I wished her very much to accept Mrs. Wardlaw'a invitation last month, but she was unable to arrange it, and she tells me now that her engagements quite preclude her leaving town this autumn; so i suppose it must be put otf again. I am sorry for it. I wanted her to see Kent iu thd hopping-season ; but it is unavoidable, and of course 1 don't care to go down without her.' * No, 1 suppose not,' replied Leofric Temple. ' I 've never seen Miss Bellew^ vet, Wardlaw. I went to the *" KiDir's '' one night on purpose to get a sight of htr, but I was dining 22a For Ever and Ever. with some fellows first, and they kept me such a long time with their nonsense, that I got in too late for the first piece. Is she going to remain on the stage ? ' 'Not one hour after I can aff'ord to take her off it,' said John Wardlaw, gravely. He would have preferred his brother having asked him for an introduction to Eowena Bellew, instead of having gone to gaze at her in public, as he would at any other actress ; but as she was one, he could not find fault with the proceeding. It was one of the dis- agreeables connected with her profession, which had made him often set his teeth and swear beneath his breath, when dancing attendance on her behind the scenes of the King's Theatre. ' Not one hour after,' he repeated presently ; but when that will be, I cannot say. Money is a scarce commodity with all of us, Temple.' 'It is, indeed,' rejoined the latter. *I came to speak to you about a little business of that kind of my own, Ward- law.' John Wardlaw had guessed as much, but he refrained from saying so. ' What is your trouble ? ' he asked. * Well, it 's rather a serious one,' replied Leofric Temple. * Ton know how impossible it is for a man to live and dress on his pay, Wardlaw, and how precious short your governor keeps me of money.' ' How can he do otherwise ? Tou have no claim on him, Temple, remember.' ' Well, perhaps not ; but the fact remains, and it has led me into a jolly scrape at last, I knew it was coming, and meant to have consulted you on the subject when you came down to Sutton Valence, but as things have turned out, I had no alternative but to run up and speak to you here. I had a writ served on me yesterday.' 'That's bad,' said John Wardlaw, steadily painting the while. ' For how much ? ' ' Eive hundred dibs,' replied Leofric Temple, with apparent carelessness. ' Five hundred pounds ! ' exclaimed his brother, startled into pausing from his work-. ' And how do you intend to pay it 2 ' * Whj Miss Bellew changf^d hrr Mirtd* 223 'I can't pay it,' said Leofric Temple, 'unless you help me, Wardlaw ; and I can't get leave either, il' they pop me m quod, for I took my sixty days last spring. If I 'm arrested, it will be all up with me, for I shall have to leave the regi- ment, and I don't know what the deuce is to become of me then.' ' Ton will have to break stones, I suppose,' replied his brother ; ' you would never be so ungenerous as to come upon my father for support. But this is getting serious. Temple. It is the third time you have been on the point of being arrested since you joined. At whose suit is this ? ' * Oh ! at some tailors' and bootmakers', who ought to be kicked for their impudence. Wouldn't you back a bill for me, Wardlaw ? They know you have some " ready " of your own.' ' Not I ! ' replied his brother ; ' and you know it 's of no use asking me, Temple. It would come to the same thing in the end; I should have to pay the money, and accept your I O U. Have you applied to anyone, before me ? ' ' ]S'o one. AYhom have I to apply to ? ' * There is only one way by which I can help you,' con- tinued his brother ; ' and that is, by selling out the money from my principal, and accepting your I U to repay it with its interest within a given time. But five hundred pounds is a long sum for me to lend you. Temple; and I can't afiord to lose it. How do you propose to return it ? ' 'By monthly instalments,' replied Leofric Temple. 'I have no other means ; but if you will do it for me. Ward- law, I shall be awfully obliged to you, of course, and I will pay it in again as soon as ever I can. I mean to live very quietly for the future ; and shall give up liquor and every- thing of the kind, till I 've settled my account with you. But you see you are my only hope ; if you can't do it, I shairbe regularly floored, and of course I don't want to come back upon your father for my support.' ' I should think not,' exclaimed John Wardlaw, who was already very sore on the point of the amount of money that his half-brother had contrived to wheedle out of his mother. * You must emigrate before you do that. My father has enough to do to support his own. Well, Temple, I suppose I must help you this once ; but mind, it 's for the last tune. 224 ^^ Ever and Ever, and you must pay me within a given period. It will be a pull for you, but in some way or other you must sufler for your extravagance. And now that I have engaged myself, I do not consider that this money is any longer my own, to do as I like with. I suppose you waut it as soou as pos- sible. Let me have the exact amount of your debts, and we will go at once into the City, and find a broker to do the job for us. You are aware that my principal is in consols.' He had been divesting himself of his painting garb as he spoke, and now walked into the adjoining room to put on his ordinary clothes. This generosity on his part towards a man whom he thoroughly disliked, was not all bred of Christian charity and forgiveness ; he foresaw, only too plainly, what a misfortune it would be for his family, and through them, for himself, if this lazy vagabond of a fine gentleman was really requested to withdraw himself from Her Majesty's service, and thrown, through his own selfish vices, a burden upon their liberality. Eor although Leofric Temple certainly possessed, through his parents, some sort of family of his own, they were sleeping partners in the firm, and had never been known to give him a shilling. John "Wardlaw knew that irretrievable penury might come upon all of them if his half-brother were deprived of his only means of employment and support; and therefore for politic reasons, it was better that he should consent to help him out of his difliculties. But if his resolution was not entirely the offspring of a Christian love, neither was it born alone of policy ; for John Wardlaw had a large and generous heart, and had always, from boyhood, spent eleven pennies on other people, to one that he reserved for himself. And notwith- Htnnding the instinctive coldness which had ever existed between him and the son of his father's wife, it was not the first time by many that he had assisted to shield the other's various peccadilloes, and been too prone to believe in his statements of a determination to reform and live in a quieter manner for the future. When the young men had made a pilgrimage to the city together, given their instructions to a broker, and rattled home again to John AVardlaw's apartments, for once in his life Leofric Temple really appeared grateful for the favour conferred upon him. * IVInj Miss Bellew changed her JMind* 2^5 * Upon my word, you are a good fellow, AVardlaw,' he said, .1.^ the latter concluded the terms of his agreement with him, ' and if your governor only allowed a man a little more tin, 1 'd never come upon you like this. But you must see that it '3 just an impossibility that any fellow should go about without clothes ; if I didn't wear them I should be arrested lor not wearing them ; so it comes to the same thing in the end.' ' I can't say I follow your arguments,' replied his brother. * However, let this be a warning to you, Temple, for I assure you it's the last time that I can ever help you; unless you're out-and-out lucky, it will, probably, be years before you are able to repay me. However, it 's a settled business now, so don't let it happen again. "Where shall we dine r ' ' Anywhere you please, my dear fellow,' returned Leofric Temple, who was in the gayest of spirits, ' but we have hours before us vet. Do take me to see Miss Bellew. I have heard so much of her beauty that I am positively dyini; to be introduced to the owner of so many charms. Couldn't we call at once ; it 's nearly three o'clock r ' ' To be sure,' replied John Wardlaw, who was nothing loth to show off his lovely Eowena to his half-brother, 'besides I 'm a privileged person, you know, and can gain admittance at any time. I think you will admire her, Temple.' This was said with the air of a man who can afford not to deal in hyperbole, because he is so certain that, with regard to the topic in hand, it cannot be reached. ' If all I hear of her is true,' said the other, as they were on their way, 'I rather fancy I shall. Carleton, of ours, told me the other day, that she was the handsomest woman about town.' ' Beauty is so according to taste,' remarked John "Ward- law, as he knocked at the door of Miss Bellew's house. He was so assured of hers that he did not wish to spoil the effect of the first sight of it upon his brother by exaggerating her charms beforehand. Louisa Crofton opened the door to them. 'You'll find Eowena in the drawing-room, Mr. "Wardlaw,' sne said, as soon as she saw who it was, and Leofric Temple was surprised to see his brother stop and shake hands wi* h her. 226 For Ever and Ever, * How are you, Miss Crofton ?' he said kindly, and tlien added, ' This is my brother, Mr. Temple.' Louisa Crofton made a kind of shuffling courtesy, with her eyes on the ground, to the new comer, but as soon as the two young men had passed her, she gained courage to look up and after them. ' His brother, is it ? ' she thought. ' Well ! Mr. Ward- law had better take care, that 's all ! he 'd better take care.' As they entered the drawing-room, Howena Bellew, look- ing lovelier than ever, in a species of morning robe of fine white muslin and lace, a single damask rose in her bosom, was reclining on the sofa, like Cleopatra in her gilded barge. As John Wardlaw first made his appearance, she did not move. ' I thought it was your knock, Wardlaw,' she said (she always called him by his surname). ' Why didn't you come near me all the morning ? ' * I have been occupied, dearest, he replied, and was then just about to add, 'with my brother, Mr. Temple, whom I wish to introduce to you,' when he was startled by that gentleman exclaiming, loudly, behind him, ' By Jove ! ' At the words Miss Bellew looked up quickly, and saw the new comer. A slight exclamation escaped her also, and the faintest tinge of colour came into her delicate cheek, and then she rose gracefully, and stood ready to receive him. John Wardlaw looked from one to the other in surprise. * Why — what 's the meaning of this ? ' he said. ' Have you ever met before ? ' Eowena Bellew, with her accustomed acting, was about to answer without the slightest change of countenance, * Certainly not ! ' but Leofric Temple, with all his habitual talent for duplicity, was not clever enough to sustain a part. And so he stammered slightly, grew rosy and confused, bowed several times profoundly, and ended by saying, whilst wreathed in smiles, ' That he believed he had had that plea- sure.' ' Why, where ? ' exclaimed John Wardlaw, with open eyes. Here Miss Bellew, with her head turned towards her lover, said languidly, ' That if she had met the gentleman ' IVIuj Miss Bellew changed her Mind/ 227 before, it must have been some time ag^o, as she had not the faintest recollection of liis name, or person.' ' This is my step-brother, Mr. Temple,' said John Ward- law, in explanation. * Oh ! indeed,' she rejoined, turning and bowing to him. *I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Temple,' and as she bowed in his direction she slightly frowned. But Leofric Temple's conceit would not permit him to take the delicate hint. 'I have met you before. Miss Bellew,' he persisted, * although I am not in the least surprised at your having forgotten so insignificant a partner as myself. I have had the pleasure of dancing with you at Drury Lane.' ' Where ? ' reiterated John Wardlaw. ' I think you must be mistaken,' said Miss Bellew, quietly. ' I scarcely think that I could be,' he replied. ' The lady before me is not one to be easily forgotten ; it was the year before last, at one of Jullien's hal masques, and you were in the dress of a page. You unmasked in the refreshment room, which is the reason that I recognised you again. "Why, don't you remember this ? ' and he commenced hum- ming the first few bars of a waltz that had been very popular at the time, whilst he cut one or two finikin steps upon the carpet before her. ' I do remember you now,' said Miss Bellew. She had remembered him well from the first, but as long as there was a chance of concealing the fact from John Wardlaw, she had wished to throw dust in Mr Temple's eyes also, until such moment as it suited her purpose to undeceive him. John Wardlaw changed colour and turned away to the window to hide his annoyance. ILisJiancee, the woman he had promised to make his wife, at a public masked ball, amongst all sorts of company, and in a dress which nothing but the exigencies of the drama could excuse. He felt sick when he thought of it, but it was a thing of the past, and he had no right to call her to account for it. So he was silent on the subject, and whilst he mused, his head out of the open window, the two had resettled themselves and were engaged in friendly converse. * I am 80 glad you can recall the circumstance,' almost 228 Fo7- Eve?- and Ever. whispered Leofric Temple, as he sat beside her on the sofa. * I should have been sadly disappointed otherwise ; I assure you that evening has lived in my memory ever since. "When I knew that my brother Wardlaw was sufficiently happy to have become engaged to the beautiful Miss Bellew, of whom, of course, I had often heard — for who has not heard of you?* — here Miss Bellew slightly bent her modelled head in ac- knowledgment of the compliment, — ' I little thought that she and the fair creation in gold-embroidered tunic and white plumed cap, would turn out to be one and the same. It is nearly two years since that evening, Miss Bellew, and yet I have never forgotten. It is a long time to live upon a remembrance — is it not ? * ' Yes ! for a man,' she said, with a sentimental air. * But if I remember right, I gave you that evening my name and address.' ' A false one,' he complained ; * I found that out on the following day.' She laughed slightly. She was used to play such tricks with chance acquaintances, but was not displeased to find that they had been considered worthy of being credited as truth. Although in reality Leofric Temple had never fol- lowed up the search at all, and only remembered the cir- cumstance sufficiently to make him aware that the name given did not agree with the one now owned by the woman before him. ' My dear "Wardlaw,' said the affected tones of the actress presently, ' are you ill, that you have the bad taste to sit gazing out into the road, instead of into the room ?' He turned towards her then, delighted to have his abstrac- tion thought worthy of comment. As he looked at the i'air figure on the sofa, a flood of light rushed into the calm grey eyes, which had never been seen in the languishing orbs of Leofric Temple. There was a depth of purpose ; a steadi- ness of resolution ; and an abandonment of love in the gaze of John Wardlaw, which was never yet met with in large full eyes of the type of his brother's. As he left the win- dow and came and leant over the back of the sofa on which Miss Bellew rested, and permitted his glance to linger fondly on her beautiful features, it seemed as though he would look her through and through; and she seemed to feel the potency ' Wliy Miss BcUcw changed her Mind* 229 of bis regard, for her eyes drooped benefith liis, and she commenced to phiy Avith the lace upon her dress. ' I was only thinking, Rowuey,' he said atlectionately ; 'but I suppose you consider it very bad taste of a man even to think in your presence. Well ; so it is. But I am so astonished to hear that you and Temple have met each other before, and that he never mentioned the circumstance to me.' '"Well, he could hardly have done that,' replied Miss Bellew, ' unless he keeps a register of his dancing partners for your edification. Why, we only met once at a public ball (I remember now that it was the case), and danced a waltz or two together, so he was not likely to remember my name, or I his. And it was ages ago into the bargain ; Mr. Temple must think I am quite an old woman now, con- sidering that I was grown up then. Isn't it hot, Wardlaw ?' ' Stifiingly : I wish we were down in the country instead of here. It must be lovely all among the hops just now.' ' I wish we had some ices,' sighed Miss Bellew ; they would be much more to the purpose.' ' Shall I send the servant to order you some?' immediately demanded John Wardlaw. * Yes, do ; or, would you mind just going to the confec- tioner's, and ordering them yourself, Wardlaw ? Do, there 's a good boy; she made such a stupid mistake last time. Coffee and biscuit ice mixed, dear, please ; and don't hurry your- self, as it is so hot, or you '11 get a headache.' To be called ' dear,' and cautioned to take care of himself, was so unusual a favour for him to receive at the hands of Bowena Bellew that John Wardlaw would have gone through fire, instead of merely an August sun, to deserve it. And so he was out of the house and speeding on his mission before the clock on the mantelpiece had accomplished another minute. ' What a goose you were to blurt out that you had met me before,' were the first words that Miss Bellew uttered, as the hall-door slammed behind her exultant lover ; and at one of JuUien's bal masques, too. AYardlaw 's horribly jealous, and he won't rest now till he gets it all out of me; I made a sign to you to keep quiet.' * I was so taken by surprise,' replied Leofric Temple, 'th.it 230 For Ever and Ever. I could think of nothing else. Pancy you and my white Batiu page being the same. Wliat an enchanting evening it was, Miss Eellew. How I wish it could come over again. AVe had a very good fancy ball the other day at Maidstone, but nothing like that. There were no ''y ages'' there to come up to one that I can remember.' * Do you live at Maidstone ? ' demanded Miss Bellew. She appeared as indifferent to his admiration as she had been to that of his brother. * I am quartered there,* he replied. * Oh ! then you 're in the army ? ' * Yes ; I belong to the 88th Cavalry j our uniform is blue and silver, it looks very well in a ball room.' * So I should think. I didn't know you were quartered BO near to your home ; Sutton what 's its name is not very far off from you, I suppose, is it ? ' * Only a few miles ; I am over there constantly. I wish you were going down to stay there, Miss Bellew; I was terribly disappointed at your refusing my mother's invita- tion this summer, before I knew who you were, but I shall be tenfold more so now that I have seen you. Couldn't you manage to come, if it is only for a week or two ? ' * I hate the country so,' returned Miss Bellew. * Ward- law is always telli^ig me of its beauties, but then he 's aa artist, and of course it 's his profession to think it delightful, but I never had any taste that way. I can't see any enjoy- ment in walking along dusty lanes and meeting nobody.' * No more do I,' replied Leofric Temple ; * unless you walk out witli the intention of a tete-a-tete with some one, to which the presence of a third party would be a horrid bore; there are such circumstances, Miss Bellew, occasionally.' * Yes ; but one can have tcte-a-tctes in town,' she replied. * But don't imagine that we shall leave you entirely to the tender mercies of my mother and the natives of Sutton Valence,' he continued. 'I should take over a pony-carriage or a dog-cart (do you like a dog-cart ?) from Maidstone, and let you see a little of the surrounding country, which really is j)retty, and there is always something going on at the town itself. AYhen you do honour my mother with a visit, you must promise to let me show you over the lions ol Maidstone.' ' Why Miss Bcllciv changed her Mind' 33 1 * I bad no idea that the military were stationed so near to Sutton Valence,' replied Miss Bellew, ' or I think I should have made an effort to ^o down there; but I thought it would be nothing but fields, and turnips, and sheep, and all that kind of thing, and they really are my abhorrence. I suppose it 's my nature : we can't help our nature, you know.' The fact being that Miss Eellew had scarcely given the subject a thought at all. She had engaged herself to John AVardlaw, as she had done to other men before him, because if she had refused his offer of marriage, she would have lost his adulation and the many comforts and conveniences tliat it brought in its train ; besides, she supposed she would have to marry some day, and if no better turned up, John AVard- law was at least a gentleman. And Rowena Bellew had a great notion that the man she married must be a gentleman. JN'evertheless, at the present her engagement was not such a matter of moment in her eyes, that she considered it in the least degree binding on her to consult her lover's wishes in any respect, nor did she wish to confirm and ratify it so completely as a formal introduction to his family would seem to do. ' But now that you hear otherwise you loill try and come, won't you ? ' said Leofric Temple, making the most of his eyes and tone of voice. 'AYell, perhaps I may,' replied Miss Bellew; 'but if I do it will be only for your sake, mind that, so you must consider yourself bound to keep me amused whilst there. AVardlaw, you know, I can see any day. But the King's Theatre will be closed next week, and there is really nothing much going on in town just noWo I have an engagement at Liverpool, but that doesn't begin till the middle of October. I really think I could manage it if I tried.' He kept on persuading her to comply with his wishes, and make her long-talked-of visit to Sutton Valence, until their conversation was in a measure interrupted by the re- entrance of John AVardlaw, who looked heated and weary with his walk in the sun ; but he was in excellent spirits, nevertheless, having procured a mould of the ice that Mis3 Bellew preferred, and had the pleasure of paying for it ; and the confectioner's boy with hia little ice-pail had juak 232 For Eve* .Kud Ever, brouf^lit it to tlie door. Soon the patient Louisa had con- veyed it to the drawing-room, and the three younger people coiniiienced to refresh themselves with it. ' Wardlaw,' said Miss Bellew presently, as she poised a morsel of cream-ice half-way between her plate and her lips, 'do you think your mother would receive me if I went down to Sutton Valence with you next w^eek ? ' 'Could you, Eowney?' he exclaimed, delighted. *I should be so pleased to take you ; yes, of course she will ; but I will write to-night, if you like, and ask; there can be no doubt of it however, can there, Temple ? ' 'No; I should hardly think so;' he replied, as if the theme were a freshly started one. 'Mrs. Wardlaw was speaking to me only last week of the disappointment she had felt at not yet seeing Miss Bellew.' • I will send the letter at once,' said John "Wardlaw, quite excited at the prospect of finding himself in the country by the side of his divinity. ' Eowney, darling, will you lend me your blotting-case and a pen and ink. Of course Miss Crofton must go with us, we shall get scandalised otherwise.' ' I suppose she must,' returned the divinity, slightly pout- ing; ' but it 's an immense bore, it 's the trouble of my life having to carry that tiresome woman about with me every- where.' At this juncture John Wardlaw bent over her and ^vhispered something in her ear, but whatever it may have been, an allusion to tlieir marriage or future, it made him redden as he said it, but it called no answering blush into Miss Bellew's cheek. She only smiled and continued play- ing with the ice in the plate before her. ' I 'm sure you will admire Sutton Valence — won't she, Temple ? ' exclaimed John Wardlaw, as, having finished his letter, he wheeled round his chair and confronted them. * The country is lovely at this time of the year, and if you have never seen hop-picking, you will be delighted with it. Besides, we have several charming estates round about us, like the Stuart's place, Castlemaiue ; and Maidstone itself is a fine old town. I am sure you will enjoy yourself, liowney, and receive a hearty welcome ; and as for myself, I can imagine no greater pleasure than in being in the country in summer-time with you. I have told Mrs. AVard- lavv that, if convenient, I will conduct you and Miss Crofton * IV/iij Miss Bcllc'iv chan^rd Iirr Mind.* 233 down ilicro Boine time next week ; and, IVinple, if yon 'ro going over there soon, make your mother iix the day at once, will yonr' And now, I suppose it will be nearly time for you to be off to the train, and so, as I have my letter to post, we may as well walk ])art of the way together.' He rose as he spoke, and his brother rose also. As the latter took the hand of Kowena Bellew^, to wish her good- bye, there was perceptible the faintest pressure in the grasp he gave it ; too faint a one, perhaps, to provoke censure, bub certainly not too faint to escape notice. It did not escape hers either, for she lifted her dark eyes for a moment and let them meet his, and then he had to complete his farewell by a string of meaningless nothings, relative to the honour he had experienced and the pleasure he was anticipating, and in another minute he was gone. As they walked to- wards the station together, Leofric Temple did not tell John AV^ardlaw what he thought of Miss Bellew's personal ap- pearance, nor did his brother ask him, but he was so profuse in his otfers of assistance in every way with respect to the coming journey, and so full of promises that he would see that her reception by his mother was everything that a lady's should be, and that her welcome to Sutton Valence should be undisguisedly cordial, that John AVardlaw thought that Leofric Temple was unusually grateful for the assistance he had rendered him, and that he was trying to show it by proffering to do everything he could to smooth the way for the introduction of his future wife to the notice of his family. ' After all,' he said to himself, as, having left his brother at tlie station, he took his w^ay back to Miss Bellew's house, 'perhaps Temple feels my readiness to help him out of his scrape, and if he only returns it by showing attention to my darling, and making her stay in the country pleasant to her, I shall not think the Jdndness wasted on him. j'^oi-, much as I desire the visit to be paid, I am rather doubtful as to how liowney will hit it oH' with Mrs. Wardlaw ' ^ CHAPTER XVII. *THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE CHANGl!:* And see the country, far diffused around One boundless blush, one white impurpled shower Of mingled blossoms ; where the raptured eye Hurries from joy to joy. Thomson. John "Waudla.w tliouglit still more liigbly of his brother's gratitude for the timely aid aif®rded him, when (an amiable answer to his letter, dictated by her husband and son, having been received from his step -mother) he conducted Miss Bel- lew and her cousin, Miss Crofton, on the day appointed, from the London Bridge Station to Maidstone. The journey had not been entirely a successful one, for the weather was ex- ceedingly hot, and Miss Bellew had been slightly out of temper. The first thing that had upset her equanimity had been the pertinacity of John AVardlaw in preventiug her entrance to a railwa)^ carriage from the windows of which several pairs of moustaches of divers hues were visibly pro- truding. He had urged that there were only two places in it vacant, and she had suggested that Miss Crofton should go into another compartment of the train, but her lover had been jealously unwilling to subject her charms to the close scrutiny of men whom he had recognised as belonging to the Maidstone depot. So he had insisted upon putting her into another carriage, where her cousin could sit with her ; and, to make matters worse, their only travelling companions proved to be an elderly gentleman taking his two boys back to school after the Midsummer holidays ; so that Miss Bel- lew, although she never showed temper except by becoming a statue, did her best to develop that position, to the infinite distress of John AVardlaw, who tried by every means in his ' The Consequences of the Change* 235 power to make her confess to a slight interest in the scenes they passed through, or curiosity respecting those they were about to enter. But in vain, lor though the August sun shone fiercely through the dark blue blinds at the windows, he was equally powerless with his lover's whispers to make Rowena Eellew look one whit less cold, or more woman-like ; and after a while John AVardlaw was obliged to turn his at- tention to Miss Crofton, who was a great deal too friglitened of the imperious beauty to make any attempts to bring her round herself. This latter individual was looking very un- comfortable in her new position, and terribly afraid of spoil- ing her best clothes ; and was, as John AVardlaw soon found, full of anxiety of how ' aunty ' would get on during her absence, left to the tender mercies of the servant maid, min- gled with a continual dread of a railway collision, and a white lear lest every arch they dashed under should be the commencement of a tunnel. The elderly man glanced occa- sionally from behind his newspaper at the lovely statue in the French bonnet opposite to him, and the well-looking young artist who appeared so attentive to her ; the two boys stared in an uncouth manner at their fellow-passengers by turns ; but their senses as yet being in that half-developed Btage when a woman, to parody Wordsworth, A woman was to them, and nothing more, they probably saw as much to interest them in the simple inexpressive face of poor Louisa Crofton as they did in the perfect features of the insensible-looking lady who reposed with half-shut eyes against the dark cushions of tlie seat on the other side of the carriage. John AVard- law grew more and more nervous as the silence on iMiss Bellew's part was unbroken ; he talked incessantly to the uninteresting creature on his left hand, and felt thankful for every mile they accomplished. But nothing appeared to move Eowena Bellew ; the father's admiration, the boys' scrutiny, her lover's distress, or the scared looks of her cousin, were all the same to her ; she continued frosty and unassailable, declining refreshment or conversation unt 1 the tedious journey was accomplished and the train rushed pant- ing into the Maidstone station. Then she slightly raised herself from her reclining position, shook the dust from her 2 36 For Ever and Ever. pretty summer dress, and appeared to be preparing herself for a move. * "Wait a minute, dearest,' whispered John "Wardlaw, as he stepped across her. ' Let me get a fly to take us on to ISiittoii Valence before you trouble yourself to stir.' He was on the platform as he spoke, and had already an- swered the inquiring hail of an officious cabman, when he felt himself touched upon the shoulder. He turned quickly, and was met by Leofric Temple ; and the meeting between the half-brothers was warmer than it had ever been before. ' Holloa, Wardlaw ! well, here you are safe. Where's Miss Bellew ? Don't get a fly, man ; I 've an open carriage here, waiting to take you on to Sutton Valence. I thought it would be so much more pleasant for the ladies this close evening than a fly.' * So it will,' replied John "Wardlaw, charmed at the pros- pect of restoring by this means the equanimity of Miss Bellew before she reached his father's house. ' How very good of yon to think of it. Temple. But we must have the fly all the same for the luggage. Come along with me; they 're in this carriage.' And in another minute he was informing Miss Bellew of the state of aft airs. ' Here 's my brother Temple, darling,' he said (John Wardlaw rather liked to take advantage of his " rights " in the hearing of his fellow-men), ' who has been thoughtful enough to meet us with an open carriage, so that we shall not be stulled into a fly this lovely evening. Let him put Miss Crofton and yourself into it, whilst I go and collect all the boxes, will you ? ' And at the same moment he disappeared, giving place to the figure of jNIr. Leofric Temple, on whom Miss Bellew con- descended to bestow the nearest approach to a smile that she liad ac('(;mplished since leaving London. ' I am delighted to see you ! ' he exclaimed, after the pre- liminary greetings had been gone through. 'If you are ready, 1 think you had better alight now.' Mis Bellew was ready, and so she descended, and took her way to the carriage on the arm of her future brother-in- law ; whilst poor Louisa Crofton plodded behind them, bear- ing the dressing-case, travelling-bag, and shawl of her cousin. I "^ The Cousccjucnrrs of the Cluiinj^c* 2\f 'Are you not coming witli ua ? ' iiKjuircil Ji(n\cna JJcl- lew, as, having ensconi*ed herself comfortably in the best corner of the carriaf^e, whilst Miss Crofton sat down humbly with her back to the horses, she observed that Leofric Tem- ple continued standing by the steps. * Most certainly, if you will permit me to do so,' he re- turned. ' I obtained a couple of days' leave on purpose ; but if I shall be at all in the way ' (this with a significant look) * I hope you will let me know.' Her siiort upper lip curled still higher than it did by nature. * I don't understand your innuendo,' she said ; ' but I sbould be very much disappointed if you did not come with us. Tou promised me in town that you would take it uj)on yourself to provide me with amusement during my stay, and I 've been so horribly bored by the journey already, that I require the fulfilment of your promise to commence at once.' 'That is quite sufficient,' he replied, bowing gallantly in acknowledgment of the compliment paid him. In a few minutes more, having dispatched their lugg^age to Sutton Valence by a fly, John Wardlaw, heated and hur- ried, made his appearance. ' Halloa ! are you coming with us ? ' he exclaimed, as his brother jumped into the carriage after him ; and, when the case was communicated to him, added heartily, ' That's right; I am very glad to hear it ! ' words which, had Leofric Temple and Rowena Bellew possessed any consciences, ought to have acted as a blister upon them both. But it is not the fashion to have consciences now-a-days ; they are very awkward possessions to carry about ; quite out of date, and liable to obtrude themselves on one's notice at the very times when they are least desired to do so. So perhaps those sinners are happiest who have been born with- out that commodity altogether. The drive to Sutton Valence set all things straight again. It was a lovely evening, and had just reached that time (be- tween five and six o'clock) which, whilst it is the most depressing after a long hot day in the town, is the most refreshing and pleasant in the country. The fields on eitlici* Bide of the fine turnpike-road they traversed were thick with standing golden corn ; the scent of the hop-gardens was 238 t^or Evet' and Ever. borne towards tliem with every breath they drew; the hedges were full of foliage and wild flowers, whilst the still summer air resounded with the tiny voices of insect life ; and every now and then John Wardlaw, returning to the simple scenes he loved so well, was startled into fresh de- light as a covey of thieving partridges rose with a simul- taneous whirr from amongst the ungathered harvest, or a hare or rabbit, startled by the sound of their carriage-wheels, cut across the road in terrified haste to gain its form or burrow, before it was for ever crushed beneath the formid- able vehicle which appeared to be approaching with the sole view of its destruction. Eowena Bellew certainly smiled when such things were pointed out to her, even though in- terrupted in her conversation with Mr. Temple to look at them ; and she was amiable enough to express her amuse- ment at the excitement displayed by John Wardlaw as the carriage approached Sutton Valence, and the eagerness with which he recognised the various villagers w^ho ran to their doors or turned to stare after them as they passed, and re- turned the bobbing courtesies of the village children as they saluted the ' gentlefolks as was coming to stay along of Captain AVardiaw's.' In the meanwhile, the excitement at the house itself pending their arrival was still greater. Mrs. "Wardlaw, whose religious doctrine, imbibed from the mouth of the Kev. Samuel Jellicoe, having taught her that all actors and actresses, and everybody connected with a theatre, must in- evitably inherit hell as tlieir proper and especial portion, naturally thought that they must be a species of embryo devils even whilst upon earth, would never have consented to receive Miss Eowena Bellew into her house, had it not been for the combined influences and commands of her husband and her son — the latter being her real lord and master. Captain Wardlaw had, as we know, for reasons of his own, very quickly changed from blustering and bullyism to cordial consent on the subject of his son's engagement. From the time of his visit to town he had told his wife that the actress was to be invited to stay with them; and, notwithstanding the repeated refusals on Miss Bellew's part, Mrs. AVardlaw had been kept in a state of tremor all the summer. I'or when she had first heard of the engagement, ' The CoJisequcnccs of the Change' 239 »lie had so enlarged to her minister and all her neighbours on the enormity of her step-son's olience, and the horror that both she aud Captain AVardlaw felt at the bare idea of such a connection, that she was ratlier taken aback whea she thought of how she was to meet their looks of surprise and virtuous indignation when they heard that she had con- sented to receive under her very roof tlie person whose pro- fession and self she had so utterly condemned before them- selves. But all her entreaties, representations, and tears, having been exercised upon her husband and son without effect, nothing had been left for her to do but to accede to their last wishes on the subject ; to answer the letter of her step-son, proposing the present visit, favourably ; aud to sit down, puffing and weeping, whilst she considered what was to be done in preparation for the reception of their guests. ' For there are actually to be two of them ! ' she exclaimed, in an injured tone, to Alice, who was the only person she could find who would listen to her complaints, as she referred to John Wardlaw's letter. 'As if to bring one of such creatures into a decent house wasn't enough, but he must needs put the cousin upon us also. And Capthain AYardlaw and Leofric himself are entirely on your brother's side. I cannot understand it. I think they must be all gone crazy. "What the Eev. Mr. Jellicoe will say to it, I cannot think. I shall be ashamed to show my face at chapel, knowing that I have two actresses staying in my house. Oh, it's cruel ! it's thamefully cruel of the Capthain to expose me to such B trial ! ' ' But they are not both actresses, mamma,' Alice would eay, in a vain attempt to stay the torrent of tears which usually accompanied such confidences on her mother's part. ' Miss Crofton is only Miss Bellew's cousin, and a very quiet person, Jack says.' 'Alice, you know nothing about it,' said j\Irs. Wardlaw; * you are only a child. If she is not an actress, she is own cousin to one, and has lived with her all her life, and there- ibre she must be quite as bad. I wish I could run away before they come. My only hope is that the young woman herself will feel the delicacy of her position, and never mention her occupation whilst she remains with us. I'or if she is not ashamed of it and herself, she ought to be.' ■2^0 Por Ever and Ever, AVhen the day itself arrived, matters grew worse. Mrs. Wardlaw burst into tears three times during the morniug; went into hysterics over the dinner-table, and was only just sufficiently revived in time to allow Alice to robe her in a suitable dress for receiving the expected visitors, before they arrived. And yet her agitation was not solely due to the fact of her guest being so notorious a character as a public actress ; it was not a little owing to her being so unaccustomed to have anyone to stay with her, that the attendant trouble and courtesies were too much in prospect for her tender nerves. To be obliged for a whole month, perhaps, to exert herself to do more than puff in the arm- chair, read the * Family Foe,' and talk pharisaically with her favourite minister, was most alarming in the eyes of Mrs. Wardlaw. And not even the glorious probability, suggested by some of her dissenting friends, that she may be able during the visit, by her godly conduct and conversation, to convert Miss Bellew, and snatch her from her horrid calling as a brand from the burning, had the power to console her under the idea of being obliged for so long a time to rouse herself to play the hostess to a couple of strangers. Her vague notion of an actress culminated in the supposition of a woman of inferior birth and education to herself, dressed in the most gaudy and flaunting manner, with pounds ot carmine laid upon her cheeks, and a loud declamatory action. "What was, then, her astonishment when the last and only true prophecy of the immediate approach of the visitors javing been given by Ally (who was crimson with excite- ment and expectation), she peeped from the open windows, as the carriage stopped at the door, and saw the reality for herself! Kowena Eellew was descending from the carriage steps, carefully guarded on either side by a cavalier, her delicate features surrounded by the palest of pink crepe bonnets, and wearing a dress and mantle which, with respect to their colour, might have been passed by a Quaker. As she did 80, she remarked, glancing upwards at the building she was about to enter, ' So this is your home, Wardlaw ? ' There was a slight depreciation in her tone of voice, but the key in which the sentence was uttered was so low and languid that Mrs. "Wardlaw could barely catch the meaning of it, ' The Consequences of the CJuni^e' 241 anil slie liad not recovered from her surprise wlien Leofric Temple entered the room in which slie sat with ]\lis8 iiellew on his arm. iS^aturally, John AVardlaw had considered this part of the business his duty, but somehow his brother had anticipated him, and taken tlie lady under his escort before he could do so himself; and all that was left to him was to look after the descent of Miss Crofton and the packa^^es. As Leofric Temple led Miss Bellew into the presence of his mother, he said: ' AVell, mother, allow me to introduce Miss Bellew to you.' Mrs. TVardlaw, who had previously made the question, of whether she should shake hands with the actress upon in- troduction or not, a subject of mature deliberation, and had just hastily decided upon seeing her that she would, came forward as he spoke, extending a fat palm for Miss Bellew's acceptance. But Miss Bellew seemed to imagine it was only intended for her contemplation, for, as she saw the friendly advance, she drew herself rather backward, and, sinking downwards in apparently the most unstudied and graceful of attitudes, made a sweeping courtesy to the ground. The action took Mrs. TVardlaw palpably, and not altogether agreeably, by surprise, for it is not pleasant to have advances, which we have considered ourselves con- descending in making, rejected to our faces ; still she consoled herself with the reflection that it w^as a proof that the ' young person' knew her position, and felt that she had no right to be received on eqnal terms with a lady. The circumstance fluttered her notwithstanding ; and when John Wardlaw made his appearance, with Miss Crofton in tow, he found his Btep-mother very red in the face. However, Mrs. AVard- law^ was determined that she would not subject herself a second time to the same repulse ; and therefore, upon going through another introduction to the actress's cousin, she made her, to the extreme surprise of her step-son, so dignified a courtesy, that the poor humble Louisa, who had dared to have some idea of shaking hands with her hostess, shrunk into herself completely, and w^as afraid to open her mouth before so grand a lady for the rest of the evening. But John Wardlaw's annoyance at this circumstance was quickly diverted by the entrance of his sister Ally, who bounded in, 242 For Ever and Ever. ref^ardlcss of the eyes of strangers, and threw herself into his arms with a glad burst of tears. Miss Bellew, who was standing rather apart with Leofric Temple, stared with unmitigated surprise as she watched the caresses which her lover showered upon the little girl whom he held in his embrace ; and when he turned towards herself, with Ally's hand still clasped in his own, the expression there was any- thing but cordial. Still, he ventured to say : ' Kowney, dear, this is my sister Alice, of whom you have often heard me speak. She was to have been my little housekeeper, but I suppose that will never be now. She Las been for a long time extremely anxious to know you ; and I hope that, now you have met, you will soon love her as much as I do.' He was holding the girl, looking in hei short petticoats and flowing hair not much more than a child, by the hand whilst he spoke, and, as he concluded, he gently pushed her forward to receive the embrace which he never doubted that the would receive from her future sister. But Miss Bellew put forward a little hand, cased in grey kid, and gave the very ghost of a shake to the fresh-coloured palm of the country girl. Ally's blue eyes glistened, and the roses deepened in her healthy cheeks, as she stammered out how glad she was to meet Miss Bellew, and how she hoped she was going to stay some time with them; and the lady to whom she spoke smiled faintly, and bent her head; but beyond that made no response to the innocent welcome of the young creature before her. As soon as the ordeal was over, Ally turned and sought her brother's protection again ; and John Wardlaw felt disappointed, he scarcely knew why, as he drew her once more within the area of his encircling arms. Then Miss Bellew and Miss Crofton were shown into their respective rooms — that they might refresh them- selves after their dusty journey, before they joined the family ])arty at the tea-table, — where, their luggage having arrived before them. Miss Bellew stretched upon the bed, poured forth her complaints into Miss Crofton's ear, whilst the latter, the perspiration pouring off her face, was busily employed uncording the heavy boxes, and diving to their lowest depths in search of articles which her cousin required for immediate use. ' The Consequences of the Change' 243 Vm pure I don't know if AYardlaw expects me to associalo with that raw-boned chikl, AHee ; because he is very much mistaken if he does. I detest children of all sorts, and that he might have known before now. The siglit of a ^\r\ like tliat, with huge shoulders pokinf^ out of her dress, and cheeks like a cabbage-rose, makes me positively sick. If she is to be always in the room, and to accompany us in all our walks, I shall go back to London next week, for I could not stand it ; any more than I could tolerate her mother, with her flaxen wig and peach-blossom ribbons. If neither Wardlaw nor Mr. Temple can manage so that I sit in another part of the house, I shall go out of it. The father, too, is as deaf as a post ; and altogether, with the exception of the brothers, the family is odious I wish to goodness I had never come here. I feel wearied to death already.' ' You are tired with your journey, my dear,' Miss Crofton ventured to remark, ' and no wonder on such a day. "Why do you take the trouble to dress this evening ? It will be scarcely worth your while.' ' AVhat do you know about it r ' was the amiable response. * I fully intend to change my dress ; and so you won't escape the trouble of unpacking the box. I shall wear the white grenadine. ' Oh ! it's no trouble, my dear,' said Louisa Crofton, as, stopping to wipe her heated face, she resumed her fatiguing occupation ; ' only I hope Mrs. Wardlaw won't expect me to dress also, as I really don't think I shall have strength this evening to unpack my own things as well.' ' I don't think anyone is very likely to observe if you are dressed or not dressed,' was the scornful reply, as Kowena Bellew closed her eyes and reclined against the soft pillows of the bed. When the Wardlaw family had waited tea for the new comers for more than an hour, the mistress of the house ventured to send up Alice, for the third time, to tell them that it was read v. ' I am afraid Kowena is tired from her journey,' said John TVardlaw, in excuse for her non-appearance. ' She is not strong, and the hot weather tries her very much.' By this time Captain Wardlaw had presented himself, dressed with unusual care, in compliment to the beautiful 2 14 For Ever and Ever, actress he liad seen in London ; for, althougli now bordering upon sixty or more years, he had not lost his taste for pretty ^voInen w'ith his advancing age. The last intimation on the ]iiirt of Alice produced its effect ; for Eowena Bellew, robed in i^ure white, preceded her and Miss Crofton into the dining-room. As she entered the door, she looked so startluif^ly beautiful, that the three men rose simultaneously to their'^feet ; whilst the face of John AVardlaw crimsoned with pride and delight, at the knowledge of being the possessor of so fair a creature. Miss Bellew, however, having recognised the existence of the father of the family, appeared to address her nonchalant apologies more to Leofric Temple than to his step-mother or himself. * I feel very tired after the railway travelling,' she observed, looking at the former. ' I really thought at one time that I would not come down to tea at all.' 'Why did you do so? ' he exclaimed, in answer. 'My mother would have sent your tea up to your room if you had preferred it. You must not put yourself out in the least for any one here. Miss Bellew. We shall be very much annoyed if you don't make yourself quite at home, and do exactly as you like.' There did not appear much necessity for Mr. Leofric Temple, or anyone e?i!*', urging such a proceeding on the part of Miss Bellew. She made herself, even at that first meal, as completely at ^^me f.s anyone could have wished her to do. She leant back vi her chair, taking no notice whatever of her hostess, puffing witli heat and indignation behind the tea-urn ; she answered Captain Wardlaw's ques- tions in her usual tone of voice, and when he evidently had not heard her reply, she never took the trouble once to repeat her sentence, but delegated that office upon John Wardlaw, or anyone who would perform it for her ; she nibbled languidly at tiny morsels of dough-nuts, fleed-cakes, and other dainties peculiar to the county, and which had bi'cn prepared especially for her delectation, and left the remainder on her plate as if it was uneatable ; she made sutto voce replies to Leofric Temple's remarks, and scarcely any replies at all to those of John Wardlaw, and acted to perfection the fashionable trim lady, who was supposed to be too hlase and languid to take pleasure in, or trouble for, ' The Consequences of the Cliange* 245 any mortal tbini^. In the meanwhile, ]\Irs. Wardlaw'a few remarks were all addressed to Miss Crot'ton, who appeared, in the presence of her cousin, almost too frightened to answer ihem ; and John AV^ardlaw, after awhile, confined his con- versation, although not his attention, to his sister Alice. Before the tea-table was clear, Miss Bellew rose from lier seat, and Leofric Temple, as if mutually agreed, rose with her, upon which of course the other men stood up until her pleasure should be known. ' Wbat are you going to do, dear ? ' asked John AVardlaw, as he did so. ' I'm sure I don't know,* she said, affectedly, as if there was nothing earthly to be done there. * Come into the garden,' suggested Leofric Temple. * If it will not tire you too much,' interposed his brother. * Oh ! no, I should like it,' she rejoined, with something like interest in her tone. ' Louisa, fetch my hat and shawl.' Miss Crofton immediately rose from her unfinished tea, and Mrs. Wardlaw rising also, the meal was broken up. As, robed in the articles she had sent for. Miss Bellew was being conducted to the garden by Leofric Temple, through the room which had been John AYardlaw's studio, she found that he was following them. ' This was my painting-room, darling,' he whispered, ' in the dark days before I knew you.' * Oh ! indeed,' she said, looking round her. ' Well, it looks dull enough. Are you coming with us AVardlaw ? ' This was said — Leofric Temple having preceded them to open the garden door — in rather a pettish tone. 'Yes, to be sure, dear; if you have no objection,' he replied. ' But I have an objection,' she said, knitting her eyebrows. Of course, I am very glad to have you with me, "\Vardlaw, but I don't like your following me wherever I go. It looks 80 particular for engaged people, and as if they couldn 't live apart for an hour ; and then remarks are made about it, and there's nothing I hate like remarks. Do go back to your mother and sister. You have not seen them for ages, and leave your brother to take care of me for this one evening. A\^e shall be laughed at for a couple of fools else.' ' AVell, so I will, darling, if you really wish it,' he replied. 24^ For Ever and Ever, * I 'd lay down my life to please you, and that you know.* And be turned back again into the dull passage and sitting- room — extra dull to bim now that her presence no longer filled it. Yet be could not help thinking, with a regretful sigh, of the white dress flitting up and down amidst the foliage and the flowers of the country garden, and wishing that he was there also, or that she had wished bim to be there also, to contrast her loveliness with that of surrounding nature. ib-^)' CiiAPTER XYIIL *0N THE TEJ1RACE8.* uh ! serpent heart ! hid with a flow'ring face, Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? SHAKSPEABJ5. The garden which lay behind the old house at Sutton Valence would have raised the rent a hundred pounds a year of ai]y habitation within twenty miles of London ; but every cottager down there had his share of the Kentish soil, and therefore a large garden was not considered so valuable a possession. That belonging to the Wardlaws was very old-fashioned, and had probably been laid out at the same time that the house had been used for devotional purposes, and the subterranean passage which led from the lower rooms to Sir Aymer's castle was clear of rubbish, and a passage fit for use. It consisted of three equally-sized parterres, rising one above another, and reached by wooden steps sunk in the shelving green banks. They were called the first, second, and third terraces ; and as the gardens were plainly designed with one broad walk round each of them, crossing in the centre, their edges planted thickly with apple-trees, now bending down beneath their autumn load, and bushes of the common May rose, they were per- fectly private, although so raised, and it was impossiblo from the lower terrace to discern if anyone were walking in the garden above. When first laid out, it had doubtless been a lovely pJea^ saunce, and stocked with all kinds of beautiful flowers ; but under the AVardlaw regime it had sunk into a very common- place garden, for they had no gardeners, and ve<::jetables were 01 more use to them than exotics. The original Dlants Htill 248 ^0?' Ever and Ever. remained, and had, some of tliem, attained an incredible growth, fuchsias, rose-trees, myrtles, and heliotropes, de- serving; more the name of shrubs than flowers; but their interstices were all filled up with cabbages and potatoes, and the annuals sowed and resow^ed themselves without mucli attention from anybody. John "VVardlaw had been used to work there, wlien at home, from sheer love of flowers, and dislike to see them neglected, and Alice had ever been his willing and active partner in tbe business ; but since he had left home the poor garden productions had been allow^ed to grow very much their own way, although a decrepit old villager, who knew nothing about gardening, was occasionally induced, for the sake of his meals, to spend a day upon the terraces, during which hours he invariably dug up every- thing that ought to have been left alone, and touched nothing that required the friendly offices of his spade or pruning- knife. At the present time of the year, when all vegetation was at its greatest height, the terraces at Sutton Valence were positively brimming over with floral life. Self-sown convolvuli twined again and again about the lichen-covered wood of the ancient apple-trees, hung in wild festoons from bough to bough ; clusters of marigolds, carnations, sweet Williams, and various other old-world darlings were in- truding on the grass-grown paths, perfectly obliterating the box border, which, but for their officiousness, would have been as high as themselves ; lavender plants as tall as rose bushes ; rose bushes the size of lilac trees ; lilac trees, vying in height with any other trees, met the eye on every side, and filled the air with a confused sense of sweet smells, which were all the stronger for the dew which now lay u})on them. ' I am afraid you won't think much of our country gar- dens, after Kew and the Crystal Palace, Miss Bellew,' said Leofric Temple, as, having succeeded in unbolting the sel- dom-used glass doors w^hich led to it, he followed her into the open air. ' Captain Wardlaw appears to take no interest in this at all, else if he would have it properly attended to, it might be made quite a pretty place.' He knew, as well as she did, that poverty was the cause that prevented his mother's husband from having some one to look after the grounds, but Leofric Temple had too much * On fhc T''yy(irc.i.* 249 false shame to permit liiin cvrr to acknowledge that liin family were poor ; he considered it a dif^grace, yet tiiouglit nothing of attempting dissimulation in order to hide it. But Ivowena Bellew had been fully informed of the family circumstances by John AVardlaw, and therefore believed as much of Mr. Temple's insinuations as she chose. 'It is certainly in a very wild state,' she answered, as she stood on the lowest terrace, looking upwards, 'but it seems as though it must be very pretty up there. Let us go to the top ; I hate w^hen I am talking or walking with any one to be watched from the house. People aiways try to make out what you are saying by the motion of your lips. I like to feel quite at my ease ; don't you ? ' ' Undoubtedly,' he replied, as he followed her up the first flight of wooden steps, which led to the second terrace. ' Now this is charming,' she said, as she reached the broad path, sheltered by the many trees along its edge. She meant the privacy, but he mistook her enthusiasm. ' It is pretty,' he observed. ' Just look at that wealth of roses. Miss Bellew. There must be fifty blossoms or more upon that one tree. And is not the scent of the syringa powerful ? Tou are very fond of flowers, I suppose ? ' * I can't say that I particularly care about them,' she re- plied, in a tone which showed that she was perfectly in- different to everything of the kind. ' At least natural ones. They prick so abominably, and they always have such thiclc stalks, it 's impossible to put them in one's hair or bosom with any comfort. Besides, they never last out an evening.' ' No ; I suppose not,' he said. ' They are more fit for the table than the hair. But AVardlaw dotes on them ; I suppose he has informed you of his taste in that line.' 'Oh, yes!' she answered, languidly, 'he has, I believe. But then his trade, or profession I suppose I must call it, makes it almost necessary that he should admire that sort of thing. He is always painting trees now. He very seldom goes to Matterby's, and he says he is not goinc: to attempt to paint another picture until he has thoroughly grounded himself in foliage touches. I 'm sure I don't know when he '11 get on, at this rate. It seems very slow work.' * Dreadful,' was the reply, in almost as aifected a tone c? her own. 'But at the best, an artist's is a very unremu- 250 For Ever and Ever, ncrative profession. Why, the first hands can only paint a couple of pictures, or so, a year, and if they fall sick, where js their income ? Besides, "Wardlaw has talent, I dare say, but I don't suppose he 's a genius ; and there are scores of second-rate painters in the market.' Miss Bellew heaved a sigh. ' There are, indeed,' she said softly. * Though my brother will have such an- incentive to work,' he continued, looking at her downcast face, ' that he must have little indeed in him if it doesn't spur him on to do Bomething more than others.' 'It seems so strange to hear you speak of him as your brother,' said INIiss Bellew. ' Does it ? Why ? Because he is not my brother ? ISTo more he is ; but it is less trouble to call him so than to be always particularising the exact relation in which we stand to one another ; besides, most people know w'hat it is.' *I didn't mean that,' she replied. 'I know it also. It was only the words which struck me. You are so widely different from Mr. Wardlaw.' ' Am I ? ' he asked, conceitedly. ' Disadvantageously so in your eyes, I am afraid. Miss Bellew.' ' It is of little consequence what I think or do not thinlc,' she said, in a tone which implied a great deal more than the mere words intimated. Her companion took advantage of it. * Not to we,' he answered, boldly seeking the direction of her eyes. ' Excuse me for saying so. Miss Bellew, but since I have seen you I have several times wondered what made you engage yourself to marry AVardlaw. You — with beauty that he can scarcely appreciate, and that might command all hearts, what on earth hrst put it into your head to promise to become a painter's wife ? ' * Promising is one thing, and becoming is another,' she said, with apparent indifierence. * I wonder if it will ever come to pass,' he mused. ' Oh ! Miss Bellew, if I thought it would not ! ' * Hush,' she' replied, 'we had better not talk of such a contingency, whatever the future may reveal,' * Is it on the cards r ' he demanded, eagerly. Miss BeUew smiled faintly — very faintly — and scarcely « On the Terraces* 25 \ to be seen in the dying twiliglit, but still discernible to eyes 80 near her own as those of LeolVic Ti"in[)le. Then he seized her hand. ' Pray don't be so foolish/ she yaid, witlulrawing it gently. * I tliink, Mr. Temple, we had better change the subject, it's rather a dangerous one. Are there likely to be any balls in Maidstone during my stay ? * ' Yes, I believe there are to be several,' he replied, 'but I have not ascertained any particulars yet. How does AVard- law like your dancing, Miss Bellow ? ' • I never ask him,' she rejoined. ' I know he does not like much of it, himself,' continued Leofric Temple, ' and never will stay to watch others so en- gaged. He says it is ungraceful, and destroys the perpen- dicular — no, the line of beauty, or something of that sort,— and is undignified, and was never practised by the Venus de Medici, I suppose, or any other of his classical divinities. I don'tbelieveAVardlaw thinks of anything but his painting and its attendant horrors, Miss Bellew. Don't you find him a very- cold lover ? If he felt half the adoration for living beauty that I do, would he be sitting indoors this lovely evening, instead of strolling up and down these paths which your presence turns from common earth to paradise ? ' ' That 's very pretty,' laughed Miss Bellew. * Shall I call him to listen to your*^compliments ? Perhaps he might take a lesson in gallantry, and increase your interest in our walk at the same time. Three is always better company than two.' * There is sacrilege in the very thought,' he exclaimed, as lie again seized her hand. 'Have pity upon me, Miss Bellew ; you are to be his for life— be mine for this one hour which I have had the hardihood to secure for myself.' And talking in the same strain, be led her from the second terrace to the third. In the meanwhile, John Wardlaw was sitting in the room^ which had been once his owm, gazing thoughtfully out of the open window, whilst Ally's arms were twined about his neck and her head rested on his shoulder. He had been laughing and telling her that she was getting too old and too heavy to be nursed on his lap ; but the laugh had some- thing sorrowful in it, and the girl had remained there, with her cheek fondly pressed against his own. 252 for Evej' and Ever, 'Why (li:Iii't you c^o into the garden, Jack, darling?' she eaid. ' Is not Miss Bellow there ? ' * Yes, she has gone out for a stroll with Leofric ; partly because I was tired, Ally, and partly because I wanted to see more of my little sister. Have you been drawing at all, lately ? ' ' Not much,' replied the girl, shaking her head. * Mamma makes me read and work so much, that I have little time for anything else. But I suppose you have been very busy, Jack. Have you brought down any of your pictures to show us ? ' ' No, Ally, I have done very little lately. As I sit here, in my old painting-room, and look back over the last few months, I am surprised to think how little — it seems to nve as if I must have been wasting my time sadly. But town is full of temptations to idleness ; I must try and do better when I return there.' * Well, you have had a very fair excuse,' laughed Alice, who was a sharp girl of her age, and quite able to guess the reason of her brother's late disinclination to work. * She is very fair, is she not ? ' he asked eagerly. * Alice, what do you think of her ? Is she more or less beautiful than you expected her to be ? Tell me exactly what you think.' He had never asked the opinion of a single creature on the merits of Miss Bellew before; but he longed to hear what this young fresh girl had to say concerning her. He felt as if Alice's decision must be a just one; but when she spoke he was disappointed at her words. * I can hardly say what I think,' replied his sister. ' She is very, very beautiful ; I don't think I ever saw any one 80 handsome before — indeed, I am sure I never did; but don't be angry with me. Jack — perhaps it is only because she is strange to me as yet — somehow I like Pussy Stuart's- face the bett-er of the two.' ' Pussy Stuart ! pshaw ! ' exclaimed John Wardlaw, with unmitigated contempt. ' Why, she 's as brown as a berry,, and her nose turns up.' * Oh, Jack ! ' said Alice, her eyes filling with tears, no less for her brother's maimer, than the slight thrown upon her' favourite, Henrietta Stuart. * How can you say so ? Every- ' On the Terraces.* 253 0110 thinks Neita so pretty, and although I know Miss Bcllewis ' ' Tliere 's no comparison between tlie two, chihl,' exclaimed John AVardlaw, hastily, ' but— tliere ! it's no use talking to a girl like you about it ; what should you know about form or colour ? Don't you see,' he recommenced, contradicting bv his action what he had just atlirmed, ' that however 'prctfy Miss Stuart may be, her features have no regularity of out- line, no perfection of shape, or colouring, or well, ii you can't see it for yourself, no talking will make you — you must be blind, or have no mental perception. Why, Misa Bellew is simply perfect. Ally.' ' But I can see it, Jack, dear,' interposed the girl, knitting her brows with vexation at having been misunderstood. 'I told you before how beautiful 1 thought her. I 'm sorry now that I mentioned Pussy's name ; but I always thouglit that you acknowledged yourself that she had a very sweet expression.' ' Eowena has more than mere beauty. Ally,' resumed her brother, without noticing her last remark ; ' she has a very refined taste, and I shall be glad to take her off the stage, for she is far too beautiful to be made a gazing-stock for anyone w'ho chooses to pay to look at her ; it drives me wild sometimes to think of it. Still, if you only could see her in some one of her theatrical characters, you would be struck with her grace and elegance. I can see no fault in her. Ally ; from head to foot she is to me perfection ; and my only wonder is that such a glorious creature should have ever condescended to cast her eyes on me, and love me in return.' 'Why shouldn't she?' said Alice, standing up for the deserts of her favourite brother. 'You love her with all your heart. Jack, and no one could do more.' 'No, indeed, they couldn't — not in that way, Alice; but I am very poor, you know, and shall never, I am afraid, be able to keep her in the luxury that her loveliness entitles her to.' ' But you wouldn't love her so much, if she cared for you only for what you could give her. Jack.' 'I can't say. Ally. I seem made up of iove for her; I don't think that any treatment on her part could alter my 254 ^^^ Ever and Ever, feelings for herself. You will love her also for my sake^ dear, won't you ? ' ' Of course I will,' said the girl, softly. Her brother never thanked her for her asseveration, it sounded so much as if a mental clause had followed it. Presently she spoke again, but in a different key : ' Jack, do you know that Pussy Stuart is engaged to be married also ? ' ' Pussy Stuart ? Impossible.* * Why impossible ? ' said Alice, laugbing ; and he certainly could not have told her ' why,' only that the news appeared so very unexpected and so strange to him. Thinking of her under these new circumstances, the features and expressions, even the familiar words and winning ways of his old play- mate, seemed to come back to him as a long-forgotten dream might have done, and roused him into interest. ' To whom, Alice ? — to whom ? ' 'You will never guess,' she replied; 'and yet I don't know who else she had to get engaged to. To Martin Stuart — only fancy ! ' ' To that freckled little monkey I Good heavens ! "What a sacrifice ! ' ' I suppose it was her own wish,' pouted Alice, who did not half like hearing either her friends or their actions deprecated. ' Mr. Stuart would never have let her become BO otherwise ; and 1 think it only happened yesterday, be- cause their coachman told our cook of it this morning ; and I went up to Castlemaine afterwards, and asked jSTetta if it Was true, and she said " Yes," but I was not to tell it all over the village at once. But of course she couldn't have meant that you were not to hear it, Jack. She was always Buch good friends with you. Are you not pleased to hear it, dear ? — or do you think that Martin Stuart is not good enough for Pussy ? ' Por John AVardlaw had fallen into a reverie, from wliich it seemed difficult to rouse him, for he never stirred or spoke, until Alice had repeated her question, and pinched his arm at the same time. Then he started, and said, ' Oh, yes, why not, dear Ally ? ' But further than this, she could get no satisfaction out of him. And the evening had closed in by this time, the twilight had given way to dusk, and it was close upon nine o'clock. On //"• Terraces.' 255 ' Wlmt on eartli can Leofric and Miss Eellew be about r ' said Alice, woiukTini^ly. Then John AVardlaw started up, and said they would seek them, and tell them that supper-time had come. ]Iaud in hand through the gloaming the young man and the girl went together, up the first and the second terrace steps ; but they had to climb the third before they found tiiem. There, in an arbour, her white dresa the only indication of her presence, sat liowena Bellew, deep in conversation with Leofric Temple. As those who sought them advanced, ho was saying to her : ' My profession is not a lucrative one, perhaps, but it has this advantage, that, as long as a man has breath, it never positively fails him. Added to which, it is a gentlemanly one.' ' And takes you into such good society,' said Miss Bellew. ' The very first ; even the name of a corps like the 88th is sufficient to gain an entree for those who belong to it. Oh, yes; the army has its advantages, most decidedly.' As he said it, he pulled his fair moustaches and long soft whiskers, and looked altogether not displeased with himself. But the next moment Miss Bellew had given vent to the smallest of exclamations as John and Alice Wardlaw suddenly came round the clump of lilac trees which enveloped the arbour, and appeared before them. ' Good gracious, Wardlaw, how you startled me ! I thought it v/as a cat, or something horrible, in the bushes.' ' Kather a large cat, my darling ; I made sure that you would have heard our footsteps long before you saw us. We came to remind you that it is close upon Mrs. AVardlaw's supper-time, and that the dew is falling heavily, and that a lady whom I know is very subject to take cold in the night air.' ' And all of which stringent reasons for moving combined, Wardlaw, mean that Miss Bellew is expected to move ; ' she exclaimed, rising from the rustic bench on which she was seated, and slipping her arm through his. He pressed it fondly to his side. ' I think it is time, my dearest ; and I am so afraid of these night dews laying you up. Be- sides, you must be fatigued after your journey. It is nine o'clock.' I,ndeed! I had no idea it was so late. The evenings 2r6 For Ever and Ever, are so long now. You should have fetched me before, AVardlaw.' He had led her down the terrace slopes again, and, as she spoke, they were standing on the lowest one together, for Leofric Temple and his sister Alice had loitered a little way behind them. As the woman uttered the last words, and turned her dark eyes up to meet those of the man who was bending over her enraptured, to have seen them, you would almost have thought she loved him. * I would have done so directly, my darling,' he said, de- lighted at her reproof; 'if I had thought you wished it; but after what you said to me, I feared to be intrusive. It was not for want of missing you — I have done that all the evening. You are more necessary to me every day I live. But though my darling must always believe in my perfect love for, and faith in her, I don't want her ever to think me selfish in wishing to engross her company. How do you like Temple, E-owney ? ' * AVell enough,' she answered, carelessly. * He is your brother, AVardlaw, that is quite sufficient.' They had entered the house again by this time, and were Btanding in the dark passage alone. ' Oh ! Eowena, my love ! ' he exclaimed, as he bent his head to hers, and pressed a passionate kiss upon her lips ; * I don't ask you to like any of my connections for my sake, only like me and love me, my own, until my life's end ; and whether it be short or prolonged, I shall die, as I live now, the happiest man on earth.' The passage was very dark, and the moist mouth he pressed was dumb, and told no tales ; but under the shadow of that gloom, silently to her own heart, even whilst those words Mere pouring irom her lover's lips, the prototype of Jael the Kenite's wife — laughed. fif I »J/ CHAPTEE XIX. *JOHir "WAEDLAW VISITS HIS OLD FETENDBL* Oh ! how this tyrant, Doubt, torments my breast ! My thouehts, like birds when fri<;htcned from the nest".. Around the place where all was hushed before, Flutter ! and hardly settle any more. * Ally, have you seen mucli of the Stuarts lately ? * de- manded John "Wardlaw of his sister, a few days after his arrival in Sutton Yalence ; for during that time he had neither seen nor heard anything himself of the rector, or of the rector's family. It was early in the morning. Leofric Temple, having been compelled to go back to Maidstone to show himself at the barracks (albeit he had left more promises behind him of a speedy return than his brother cared to hear), Miss Bellew had professed herself perfectly overcome with the heat of the weather, and retired in consequence to her own room, where she now lay stretched out at full length upon the bed, whilst her cousin Louisa sat beside her, rubbing her feet, or putting a few needful repairs into her wardrobe. 'As much as usual, Jack,' replied Alice,' looking up from her occupation. Mrs. Stuart calls on mamma about once a fortnight, and the rector looks in occasionally for a minute or two when he is passing.' * And not Miss Stuart ? ' * I am up at Castleraaine so often myself,' said Alice, ' that Pussy has not many opportunities of calling here, for there is no' one else she cares to see. Neither papa or mamma are much company for her. Jack.' ' No, of course not,' he replied. ' I wonder if Mrs. Stuart will be calling here again soon j during my stay ? ' 258 For Eve?' and Ever, * I don't know. Do you want to see her, Jack ? ' ' Not particularly ; I could call on her else. By-the-bye, I suppose I ought to call on the rector, at any rate ? ' ' He would be very pleased to see you, I am sure,' replied Alice ; ' he used to talk so much about you when you first went away.' 'And not lately?' * Kot so much lately.* ' Well, I think I will go over to Castlemaine now,' said John Wardlaw, taking up his hat ; ' I suppose they won't consider it too early for a visit. I used to go there at all hours.' 'Of course they won't,' replied his sister; *why should they?' He could scarcely say himself why, but yet he had a pre- sentiment that all would not be as it had been between the family at Castlemaine and himself. Mr. Stuart's opinion, on his engagement, delivered in London, however affectionate, was very condemnatory, and his opinion had not been taken, nor even listened to. Still, they had parted friends, and John AVardlaw adhered to his first resolution, and went to see him. When he arrived at the house he walked up the drive, and knocked at the hall-door. This was very unlike the entrance he had been used to make in olden times at Castle- maine. Mr. Stuart's study lay at the side of the house, and it had been John Wardlaw'a invariable custom to go there first, and peep in at the glass doors to see if the rector was at his work. Sometimes, if very much occupied, his friend would merely raise his head and call out, ' I 'm busy. Jack my boy ; go round to the ladies ; ' but more frequently he was welcomed with a hearty smile, and a simultaneous shout for Pussy to come down and talk to her old playfellow. Aa he traversed the drive now, the young man glanced at the study doors, standing wide open to the lawn, and felt a strong inclination to walk up to them, and pop his head in, in the old familiar way, but something deterred him ; something very like a fear of being met with colder looks than hereto. fore, and of missing the genial smile and the hearty ring in. the rector's voice, which had eyer been his portion as he crossed the little threshold. 'John IVarcUaiu Vl^il<; his old Friends^ 259 When his knock was answered, he merely asked fcjr the master of the house ; he thought he would bee him lirst, and the ladies afterwards. The rector was at home. John Wardlaw was shown into the library ; and there he restlessly paced up and down in dignified solitude, until footsteps crossing the hall told him that he should soon be in the company he sought, and in another minute Mr. Stuart had entered the room. His manner with John AVardlaw was not; cold or reserved, but it was certainly not so familiar and unrestrained as it used to be, and the young man saw it in a glance. He did not laue:h at the idea of his guest havinc: been shown with such state into the library ; on the contrary, he pressed Inm to sit down there, and then drew a chair close to his. There had been nothing lax or feeble in the grasp of the rector's hand, and he still called his young friend by the familiar name of ' Jack ; ' but there was something which John AVard- law himself could hardly define; something in this very polite- ness and apparent interest which seemed as if it was intended to cover the departure of a warmer feeling. And this doubt, mingled with undoubted disappointment, made him feel quite sick under the contemplation of a new and unexpected dread. ' Well, Jack,' said the rector, ' so you are back at Sutton Valence. When did you arrive ? ' ' Last Thursday, Sir.' ' And how long a stay do you intend to make ? ' ' I — I am not quite sure,' stammered John AVardlaw ; ' it doesn't depend entirely upon myself.' 'Ah! work intervening, I suppose ? AYell, I say to you now what I said to you when you were about to leave us, there 's nothing like it for youug heads and hands. I sup- pose you have been very busy during your stay in London, and have a great deal to show us.' ' I have not brought any of my pictures down here. Sir,' replied John Wardlaw ; ' but I hope to take a few sketches in the hop-gardens before I leave again.' * What has become of the picture you promised me of Henrietta ? ' John Wardlaw started. The unfinished painting which had won him such praise at Mr. Mutterby's academy, still 26o For Ever and Ever, hung in the gallery there untouched ; he had not even re- membered to fetch it way, so engrossed had he been since tliat dny with subjects far removed from any which concerned his simple country life. He had forgotten his promise to Mr. Stuart, and tlie interest he had at first taken in the picture, at one and the same time. *I began it, Sir,' he said; and there stopped. ' Well, well,' replied the rector, ' I didn't wish to put you to any inconvenience on the subject. I have no doubt you have graver studies to engage your attention. Any time will do for my order.' ' It is not to be an order, Mr. Stuart, if you please,' said John AVardlaw, colouring ; and I really will finish it as soon as ever I return to town. But the fact is, I have been very busy in various ways, and after I had put in the first few tints of Miss Stuart's picture, I turned to something else, and it passed from my memory altogether.' ' You have improved greatly in your art since we parted, I have no doubt,' resumed Mr. Stuart ; ' I should like to have seen something from your brush. How many hours a day do you paint ? ' He did not immediately reply. When he recalled the enthusiasm with which he had spoken of his profession in that very house ; of the resolutions he had made to succeed and become a great painter ; of the conviction he had enter- tained that he had found his vocation, and that no other love of art or woman could ever be but a secondary love to him, he blushed to think how little he had accomplished during four precious months ; how wavering he had been in his de- votion, how forgetful of his good resolutions ! During all that time he had not advanced one inch ; he had literally done nothing but paint a little now and then when it suited his convenience, and throw his brushes and palette on one side directly pleasure beckoned him another way, or the com- plaining voice of a woman intimated that she desired his presence, either for convenience or for company. But John AVardlaw could not dissimulate before so old and kind a friend as Mr. Stuart had been to him. 'Not many. Sir, I am afraid,' was his reply ; 'that is to Bay, I find it very difficult in town to paint regularly. Some- times I work hard for two or three days consecutively, and 'John IVardlnw Visits his old Friends.* 261 at others I don't touch a brush for the same time. But I dare say I sliall settle down by-and-bye ; in fact, I have no doubt of it.' ' I hope so, indeed,' replied Mr. Stuart, gravely ; ' no work is profitable which is only practised by fits and starts, Jack. Even labour that is pleasant to us is rendered doubly plea- sant by custom. The eye and the hand require constant exercise, or they rust like commoner tools, and the next time you call them into use they neither work easily nor efficiently, 'steadiness of purpose is one thing. Jack, and overwork is another ; but of the two, I 'd rather see a friend of mine fall into the error of the last.' This style of conversation was scarcely pleasant for a self- accusing conscience to listen to, and John Wardlaw tried to turn the subject from the question of his employment. ' I hope Mrs. and Miss Stuart are both quite well, Sir,' he observed. * Perfectly well, thank you,' replied the rector ; and then added, as if some apology for their non-appearance was neces- sary, ' I believe my daughter is out.' ' The country is looking very beautiful round about here,* said John Wardlaw, who was feeling miserably uncomfort- able at no mention being made of Miss Bellew's presence in Sutton Valence. ' Yes, beautiful,' replied the rector, ' but the weather is very trying. How do you think your father is looking, Jack ? ' ' Much the same as usual,' was the reply. 'I have not thought him looking 30 well, lately,' rejoined the rector ; ' and Dr. Barlow says the same thing. There is a shrunk look about his face, and he appears very weak in walking ; I should say he ought to have some medical advice.' At this intelligence the young man, notwithstanding his want of love for his father, looked grave. 'I have certainlv not observed it,' he replied; 'but, if it is the case, I should not be surprised. My father has not led a very steady life, Mr. Stuart ; nor is he given to taking other people's advice.' * I know it, I know it well,' said the rector ; * but if his children cannot persuade him to do wliat is necessary, I am 252 For Ever and Ever. afraid no one will. Mra. "Wardlaw does not appear to hold much influence over him in that way.' ' No, indeed ! ' exclaimed John AV'ardlaw, laughing, as he rose from his seat. ' I have detained you too long already, Mr. Stuart, and must find my vt^ay home again now. Good- bye.' And he held out his hand as he spoke. In bygone times the rector would no more have dreamt of lettir^g John Wardlaw leave his house when the luncheon- bell was just about to ring, without an invitation to share the meal with them, than he would have thought of flying ; but now he stood up also, and shook the hand offered to him. * Good-bye, Jack,' he said, * I am very glad to haye seen you. Tou could scarcely have chosen a better time of the year to revisit the old place. You must come and see us again before you leave.' By this time John Wardlaw was so indignant at the evi- dent avoidance on the part of the rector of Miss Bellew's name, and the apparent ignoring of her presence in Sutton Valence, or her existence altogether, that he felt he could not leave the house preserving the same silence, without appearing in his own heart like a traitor to the woman he loved, and whom he had pledged himself by his engagement to uphold before all the world. Mr. Stuart might purposely shirk mentioning her — he might be ashamed to do so, for aught John Wardlaw knew or cared — but he, her future husband, gloried in his connection with her, and would have felt that negatively he lied if he had permitted anyone whom it concerned to think otherwise. And so, as he stood witli his hand in Mr. Stuart's, his chest heaving and his eye kind- ling with generous resentment, he said, with an amount of challenge in his voice which startled the rector : ' Certainly, if I have time ; but my days just now are very much occupied. Of course you know that Miss Bellew is here, staying with Mrs. Wardlaw; and therefore I can hardly call myself my own master.' * Oh ! ah ! yes ! ' replied Mr. Stuart, in a confused manner. * I did hear something about it. AVell, I hope you will enjoy your visit, Jack. Good-bye.' He said no more ; and John Wardlaw, boiling over with a lover's indignation, would have left the house without 'John JVardlaw Visits his old Friends' 263 speaking another word ; but as lie crossed the hall he en- countered Mrs. Stuart, who was making her way to the luncheon-room. It was impossible to avoid stopping then ; and as he had always received great kindness at the hands of the mistress of Castlemaine, he could scarcely feel sorry for the unintentional rencontre. Mrs. Stuart had evidently been aware of his presence in the house, from the absence of all surprise on her part at seeing him, and the rosy colour which flew to her cheeks, as his tall figure stopped short in front of her. ' How do you do, Mrs. Stuart ? It seems an age since I have seen you. Is Miss Stuart at home ?' ' I don't know, John — I am not quite sure — I have not seen her lately ;' fell in confused and broken sentences from the lips of the lady before him, as in her nervousness she attempted to answer his direct question without telling a direct falsehood. But the fact was, that both Mr. and Mrs. Stuart wished to prevent att interview taking place between their daughter and John "Wardlaw, for fear it might lead to an invitation to his father's house, and an intimacy springing up between herself and the unknown actress. He saw the mother's hesi- tation, and was too proud to press the subject. * I believe I have to congratulate Miss Stuart,' he resumed, rather haughtily, ' upon having fallen into the same net as I have myself, and made a promise "for better or worse." At least, so my sister Ally tells me.' * My daughter Henrietta is engaged to be married to her cousin, Martin Stuart,' replied the lady, rather indignant at the young man presuming to compare his troth with a public actress wdth that of the heiress of Castlemaine ; ' and her choice is one which we all most cordially approve of.' The slight soupgon of sarcasm, apparent in the last sen- tence, put John AYardlaw on his mettle. * It 's a fortunate thing, in a case of this kind,' he said, in the same strain, ' when one's own taste and one's friends' tastes perfectly agree ; but as that is very seldom the case, I prefer the former alternative, for my own part.' Mrs. Stuart was about to make an affirmation to the effect that her nephew fulfilled both these requirements; but there had been a defiant air in John AYardlaw's words which seemed 264 For Ever and Ever, to dare her, or any one, to make tlie smallest insinuation against the woman he loved, which silenced her, and she retired worsted from the field, acknowledging the same by hastily cutting the conversation short, and taking her way into the luncheon-room; whilst her opponent, heated in mind and body, rushed gladly through the hall-door, and into the open air again. As he hurried homeward, reviewing the slight put upon the woman he had promised to make his wife by the inhabit- ants of Castlemaine, his heart throbbed indignantly, and his blood rose. All the more so, because he could remember that Mr. Stuart had said during their last interview that a marriage with Miss Bellew would be beneath him ; and not- withstanding all his adoration for and faith in her, a horrid doubt would creep into his breast, not that she was beneath him in birth and breeding, but that others would ever come to see the fact in the same light as he did. AVould all his former friends shrink from him and her, aa those did who were his best (or so he thought^ ? Was she, even as his wife, to live apart from the society that he had occupied, and he to enjoy no other but that which she had been used to ? Would* all his efforts to raise this jewel from the dunghill, and set her in what he considered less than her proper place, be made null and void by the scrupulous airs of a pack of women not one -half so elegant or so beautiful as herself? So be it, then ; he would rather sink with Eowena Bellew than rise with a woman less charming. It was still her beauty only that he worshipped ; but his devotion to it, in- stead of decreasing, was warmer than it had ever been. He guessed the reason why Henrietta Stuart had not been allowed to see him at this morning visit. They were afraid, this father and mother, that the promised husband of an actress might contaminate, even by his presence, the future wife of an insignificant fool like Martin Stuart — of a choice which met so entirely with their approval. Curses on them ! Let them keep her to themselves, then ; he had no need to go to Castlemaine in search of beauty. And yet he felt disappointed that he had not been able to speak to her — that kindly girl who had always been such good frienda with him, and whose admiration for his beautiful Kowena he 'John JVardlaw Visits his old Friends* 26^ had often pictured to himself that he shouhl see so clearly indicated in her dark grey eyes. For whatever the faults of Pussy Stuart's f^ice, she had always had lovely eyes ; that no one could deny. However, if he was not to meet her and to press her hand in friendship again, he must go without it; fur ho was Kowena Bellew's, and should be so till he died, and thoso who did not care to make her acquaintance must give up his. And yet through all his manly, honest resolutions, that horrid sickening doubt would still intrude itself, of whether he really had been rash and foolish and headstrong about this engagement, and whether the worst he would have to suffer from it was over yet. But he did not tell himself that his discomfort arose from his own tormenting questioning breast. He laid it all to the unusual reception which he had met with at the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, and the affront they had put, through their silence, upon Miss Bellew. H he could have heard the husband and wife talking together over their luncheon-table, he would not have accused them again of feeling anything but friendly towards himself. ' My dear,' said the rector to Mrs. Stuart, as he helped himself to the dish before him, ' I can't tell you how much I felt for poor Jack just now. He evidently expected me to say something about this unfortunate business of his ; and feeling I had nothing to say that would please him, I grew so nervous that I must have almost appeared as if I was not glad to welcome him back again.' ' Oh ! I hope not, papa,' said his daughter, who was seated beside him. ' "Well, my darling, I did not intend it, as you must know, but it was the most awkward thing possible. I could not with any truth congratulate the boy on his engagement, for I consider it the worst thing that ever happened to him. Neither did I like to mention the lady's name, as we do not wish to ask her here, nor to call on Mrs. AV^ardlaw during her stay.' ' Couldn't mamma call alone ? ' said Henrietta, timidly j * I am afraid Mr. Wardlaw will think us so unkind else.' 256 For Ever and Ever, '"Well, perhaps, the last day or so, but not before. I couldn't have your name, Henrietta, mixed up with that of Miss Bellew ; and though I only saw her for a short time in London, I saw quite enough to convince me that she is a. lady who would not be very scrupulous about forcing her way in here, without so good an excuse as a visit from your mother would give her. Am I not right, mamma ? ' * Quite so, I think,' replied Mrs. Stuart ; ' in fact, there is nothing else to be done in the case that I can see. John AVardlaw met me in the hall, and spoke to me about Netta's engagement, and I felt he expected me to congratulate him in return upon his own ; but I really could not do so, and then from his manner I thought he appeared rather put out about it. If I called on Mrs. "Wardlaw now, of course it would be taken as a compliment to her visitor, and an acquaintanceship would be established between us at once. It would never do. I should think, Martin,' she continued, turning to her nephew, ' that you would scarcely like to see your cousin walkinpf about Sutton Valence with Miss Bel- lew, of the King's Theatre.' ' Of cou — cou — course not,' stammered the young man ; ' Pu — Pu — Pu — Pussy musn't think of such a thing.' ' I never did think of it,' said Henrietta, vexed at the im- putation ; ' but we have known Mr. Wardlaw a very long time, and ' ' So we have, my darling,* replied her father, guessing at her thoughts, ' and everything that we can do to save his feel- ings we will; but we have your name to consider. Pussy — girls don't remember such things for themselves — and we mustn't act in any way that shall make you talked of. Mamma knows what is best, darling ; leave it all to her, and she will be sure to do what is right.' *I wish I was,' said Mrs. Stuart, with a sigh, as she rose from the table ; ' but with all our liking for dear John "Ward- law, it is a very difficult case in which to decide. I could have cried when he left me just now, to see the disappoint- ment and anger visible in liis face. Come, Netta, dear, a drive this afternoon will do us both good.' And the ladies leaving the luncheon-room, the topic of John Wardlaw's engagement was, for the time being, dis- missed. 'John IVarciJnu' FisUs his old Friends* 267 That evening our liero spoke himself to Alice about their father's health. ' Is there anything wrong with liim, Ally ? Does ho complain at all ? — because Mr. Stuart thinks him looking ill.' At her brother's first mention of the subject, tlio girl eeemed quite frightened; but when he pressed her, she said she was not sure; her father had never spoken to her about it. ' But you know something more than you are telling me, Alice,' persisted John Wardlaw. ' You are keeping some- thing back — what is it ? ' ' Nothing particular, Jack — nothing of any consequence. Pray don't ask me. I daresay it is only my fancy.' ' jN'ow that is foolish of you, child — worse than foolish, wrong — because if there is anything really the matter with my father, I may be able to persuade him to have some ad- vice on the subject, and if I think you are mistaken I D^jed not say anything about it.' * Papa has had advice,' said Alice, mysteriously. * Has he ? From whom — Dr. Barlow ? ' * Oh no, not from any one here. Jack, but from Maidstone. Mamma has been over there twice in a fly with papa, and she has brought back bottles of medicine with her.' * You don't mean to say so,' said John A\^ardlaw. ' Have you any idea what is the matter with him ? ' Alice grew rather red, and then, climbing on her brother's knee, she whispered in his ear : ' You must promise not to tell, Jack ; but I heard cook speak of it the other day, when mamma was crying in the kitchen. I think papa has been drinking a good deal again, lately.' ' Good God ! how sickening ! ' exclaimed the son, who had a vivid recollection of the last time, now some years back, that his father had had a period of such weakness, and how it had ended in an attack of delirium tremens, from wliich he had risen with an assumption of abject penitence to take the pledge, and break it three months afterwards. AVere all the humiliating scenes of that wretched time to come over again, and with a man of Captain AVardlaw's age. It was enough to make him cry ' How sickening ! ' q58 F(^^ ^^^' ^^^ Ever^ ' Alice, what makes you tliink so ? ' he next inquired. * Because I know he has been tipsy a great many times Buice you have been away, Jack, though mamma always tries to hide it from me. But I often hear her crying at night, and papa making such a noise, that J get frightened, an^ lock my door. One night mamma came runmng into my room, and she trembled so much, and had made sucli haste, that I thought she never would recover her breath af>-ain. And sometimes I can hear him wake from those dreadful dreams that he has, and scream out that he is going to be murdered, and that men are holding him down ; and then, when he quite rouses himself up, he cries like a little cliild. And, Jack, don't you see how his hands and his legs shake ? Bennett, the man from the publicdiouse, called liere with such a long bill the other day, that mamma knew nothing of, and I heard him tell cook whilst he was waiting in theldtchen, that "the Captain" would soon drink him- self out at this rate. But that's all I know, Jack, dear — and it may have nothing to do with papa's health.' ' It 's more than enough for you to know, Ally, and I feel wretched to think that you should be placed in the way of hearing and seeing such things. But you must not tell it to a single soul besides me. It 's a great disgrace for both of us, dear child, so we must keep it to ourselves. You will be sure and remember.' * Yes, Jack, of course I will,' the girl replied, with a kiss ; and the next minute she was chatting and laughing about something else. But her brother could not so easily shake the remem- brance of what she had told him from off his mind. Ha had hoped of late years that whatever he had done with re- gard to his other vices, his father had given up his old pro- pensity of drinking — that propensity which had ruined his own mother's happiness, and killed his filial love and respect. But, from Ally's statement, it appeared that he had been mistaken. As he tliought over her words, he resolved that he would watch his father's habits more closely than he had done, and, if necessary, speak to Mrs. AYardlaw on the sub- ject before he again left Sutton Yalence. If the girl's sus- picions were correct, it was scarcely fit that females should be left entirely alone with a character like Captain Wardlaw. ^v CHAPTER XX. A MEETING IN THE nor-GARDENS. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my tliou!::lit3, Or carry smiles and sunshine iu ray face, When IJiscontent sits heavy at my heart. Addison. The following afternoon, John Wardlaw was sitting by the open window which looked into the village street, listlessly gazing at the passers-by. The events of the day belbre had weighed heavily upon his spirit, and he had received little encouragement from Miss Bellew to shake off his feeling of despondency, for she had been in a decidedly bad hiiniour all the mornins:, and had even talked more than once of the probability of business calling her back again to London. The day had been oppressively hot, but the sun was now on his decline, and the change in the temperature was visibly refreshing. As the village boys and girls trooped by, one after another, carrying cans of tea lor their fathers and mothers into the hop-gardens, or going there for a game of play themselves, the young painter recognised several of his earliest models, and, amongst others, AViuifred Balchin, holding her little brother Ben by the hand. As she caught Bight of the young master staring out of the window, she dropt him a curtsey, and then appeared to hurry onwards ; but, until she did so, John AVardlawhad not recognif^ed her. ' Good heavens, Alice ! ' he then exclaimed, * can that bo "VYinny Balchin ? "Why, what's come to the girl 't — she has lost all her beauty.' 'Has she?' replied Alice, indifferently. *I haven't ob- served any alteration in her face ; but t^he has grown so dif- ferent, Jack, in her manners, you wouldn't hardly know her again/ 8 270 For Eve^ and Eve?'. * She made a very respectful curtsey as slie passed fhe window just now,' said her brother. ' Yes ; I didn't mean that she is pert, or rude ; I don't think Winny could be that, if she tried ; but she always ap- pears to want to avoid meeting me. I have seen her run away numbers of times when she caught sight of m}^ figure, and though mamma wanted her assistance so much last week, she made some paltry excuse for not coming, which I think is very ungrateful of her, considering the kindness she has received from all of us. Don't you think so, Jack ? ' ' I can hardly judge,' he answered. ' I cannot recover my surprise at the alteration in her looks. I used to think her such a pretty little creature, but she appears to me to have grown thin and pinched about the face. Perhaps it is only my fancy, however; but I should certainly never call her pretty now. Do you think liowney would like to go into the hop-field this evening. Miss Crofton ? ' he continued, addressing that lady, who was the only other occupant of the room ; 'it will be delightfully cool in another half-hour.' ' I cannot say, I am sure, Mr. Wardlaw,' replied Louisa Crofton, who never dared to hazard an opinion on the sub- ject of her cousin's tempers. * I left her dressing to come down, so you will soon be able to put the question to herself. However, I did hear her say that she intended to stay in the house to-night.' In another minute the door opened, and Eowena Bellew entered. She was, as usual, most becomingly robed, and had taken a fancy that evening for allowing her luxuriant hair to lie loose about her shoulders, probably for the reason that it reached to her knees, and she was proud of it, as of all other points of her beauty. There hung the dark silky mass, only confined by a broad piece of scarlet velvet which was negligently tied about its roots. As she opened the door, a strong breeze, which had just had the hardihood to get up, came in at the windows, and rilling her loose tresses, lifted her long hair caressingly, and blew it about her face and figure. In a moment John Wardlaw had forgotten all the coolness on her part which had distressed him ; the recollection of her pettish ill-humour vanished ; he only saw his Venus, and remembered that she was his. Even her annoyance at the unavoidable mishap, A Meeting in the Hop-gardens. 271 wbicli was neither measured nor concealed, could chill the glow of passion with which the sight of her loveliness never failed to inspire him. ' Never mind, my darling,' he exclaimed, laying his lips upon the long soft tresses, which he helped to replace upon shoulders, whose marble beauty was perfectly apparent through the gauzy fabric which professed to cover tbem. * It 's all straight again now, and the wind is wicked enough to know what becomes you best. Ally, how often in your lifetime have you seen hair of more than a yard long ? ' He was so engrossed with his own feelings, so intoxicated with the beauty of this woman without a heart, that my hero was occasionally used, at this period of his life, to turn himself into an object for pity, by the absurd manner in which he would call on the bystanders to join him in his wild admiration of her charms. Even Alice, child as she was, was pressed into the service, and saw through it suf- ficiently to make her often smile to herself, and ' wish dear Jack ' wouldn't be so silly about Miss Bellew. He was worse than silly — he was mad. It was a time in his life which he looked back upon afterwards with amazement, almost with incredulity, at his own folly and blindness. It was a fever which had infected him, and which made him, when he was cured of that plague, regard the actions he committed during its continuance, and the words he uttered, as the deeds and ravings of delirium. It was a boy's hot, headstrong love ; but it was, nevertheless, a feeling with which woman has contrived, before his day, to induct the wisest, bravest, and best of men. Do not let any one say that the sensations I have tried to depict are unworthy of being attributed to a man pro- fessing to be a hero — for if so, we may strike all our best specimens of the class out of the annals of British heroism. There is not one of them, let him have been what he may, warrior, statesman, or martyr, who has not, at some epoch or other of his existence, succumbed to the power of a woman's smile — and if such a one was to be found, he could scarcely lay claim amongst his other honours to the title of a man. Miss Bellew did not take her lover's compliments very kindly. 2J2 1^07' Ever arid Ever, ' I wish you 'd leave my hair alone, "Wardlaw,' she pouted, * you are entangling it. Are we going to have any tea to- night ? ' ' Mamma has had tea laid in the summer-house,' replied Alice; 'she thought it would be so pleasant this warm evening.' * Oh ! I cannot take my tea out-of-doors,' said Miss Bel- lew, fretfully, ' and I hate summer-houses. They are alwuys full of earwigs and spiders. Louisa must bring mine in- doors.' * Of course I will, my dear,' replied Miss Crofton. * You will do nothing of the kind,' said John Wardlaw, heartily ; ' I will fetch Eowney's tea, and you must go and take your own in comfort. "Will you come into the hop- garden to-night, darling ? Do. I am sure you will think it a pretty sight, and they are stripping the vines so fast.' * I don't feel inclined to go out,' she replied, in the same fretful tone. ' Oh ! you will, to please me, I am sure,' said John Ward- law, ' and you will thank me afterwards for pressing you to go. Tou have no idea how lovely the hops are.' ' Oh yes, I have ; 1 had a ball dress trimmed with them once. No ; I can't go out this evening, Wardlaw, I 'm tired.' He forebore to urge her further, and Alice and Miss Crofton going into the garden to their tea, he followed them to procure that of Miss Bellew's. When he returned, she was reclining on the sofa. ' Won't you go, my own love, for me?^ he fondly whis- pered, as having placed the tray upon the table, he bent over her recumbent form. ' AVhat a bore you are, Wardlaw ! ' she exclaimed, starting up ; I declare you never can take an answer. You would worry a woman out of her life, if she allowed you to do so. No ! once for all ; I am a great deal too tired, and I have no intention of going out. Don't let me hear any more of it, if you please.' She drew a chair towards the table as she spoke, and he turned towards the window and was silent. But from the deptlis of his Iieart rose a heavy sigh. Presently the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard ad- A Meet hi (^ in the Hop-gardens, 273 vancing at a hard gallop up llic village street, which stopped as the rider reached the Wardlaws' house. ' AVho's that ? ' demanded Miss Bellew, languidly. * Temple,' replied John Wardlaw, shortly, a frown con- tracting his forehead as the knowledge struck him. But Leofric Temple appeared to have nothing to do with frowns or ill-temper. He threw his reins to the ostler of the village inn, who had scampered for some distance at his horse's heels, and now came up with him, panting ; called out cheerilytohisbrotherat the open window, and the next minute was in the apartment pressing Miss Bellew's hands, and look- ing unfathomable things at her with his big blue eyes. ' What charming weather, to be sure ! ' was the first sen- tence uttered. ' I have been riding like the deuce. Miss Bellew, for fear you should have been out before I arrived. Is not this just the evening for the hop-gardens ? you must come and see them. Let's all go there together.' *Eowena will not be persuaded,' began John AYardlaw. * Is it so very pleasant out-of-doors ? ' interrupted Miss Bellew, appealing to Leofric Temple. * It 's delightful, it couldn't be better. As cool as pos- sible, and the small rain last night has completely laid the dust. If we go up to Marsh's field, Wardlaw, Miss Bellew will be able to see the Castle plainly ; for I suppose she would not be tempted to walk as far as the ruins themselves.' 'She refuses to go out at all,' said John Wardlaw; *I have been asking her to go into the hop-field this evening.' ' Yes ! but you never said anything about its being cool, Wardlaw,' interposed Miss Bellew. He looked at her, as the words which denoted her waver- ing purpose dropt from her lips, with a look of unutterable reproach ; but he was too proud to let his half-brother guess how much he felt his defeat. And so he said, cheerfully : 'You might have guessed that, I should think dear.' ' AVell, I didn't guess it ; but if Mr. Temple can assure me that it is ' ' It is everything that it ought to be,' interposed Leofric Temple ; ' I will stake my life upon the assertion. Now, Miss Bellew, you won't hesitate any longer, will you ? — fori must be back in barracks to-night, and have only a few- hours to stop here.' jy^ Fo7' Ever and Ever. S1ie rose from tlie table. ' \iel\, I think T should like to go — if it really is cool,' she reiterated, in a kind of half jocose, half shuffling manner, and then quickly left the room, as if she was ashamed to stay lonf^er in the presence of her wounded lover. In a few minutes she had returned, with a coquettish hat set upoq her flowing hair, and a lace shawl thrown about her figure, accompanied by Alice and Miss Crofton, whom she had acquainted, to their great surprise, with her change of purpose. As they left the house to walk to the hop-gardens, Leofric Temple formed an advance guard with Miss Bellew, whilst John Wardlaw, of his own accord, fell back in the rear with his sister and Miss Crofton. But as far as he wa3 concerned, the walk was a silent one. He was bitterly dis- appointed. It was not the first time that Bowena Bellew had made his heart ache, but she had never so unmistakably shown her preference of another's company to his own. He had never loved his half-brother. He felt this evening that he hated him. His two companions, except for an occasional remark to one another, were almost as silent as himself. They had attempted to enter into conversation with him, but when two or three of their questions had received very curt answers and two or three more no answers at all, they gave the matter up as a bad business. Yet he did not mean to be rude or unkind to them. He had been wounded in his sorest point, and his mind was big with the thought of his own pain; but the few words he uttered, though con- strained, were gently said. John Wardlaw's was essentially an open nature. He could not, for the life of him, look happy ^^hen he felt miserable, or feign indifterence when bia heart ^^r." overflowing with joy. So, stung to the quick by the behaviour of the woman he believed to be his own, he followed his sister Alice and Miss Crofton in moody silence, reviewing in his own heart the circumstances which had annoyed him, and trying to palliate the uukindness of the words, and find excuses for the seeming uukindness of the deeds. And the shadow of his discontent fell upon his companions, so that when (aa they were entering the hop-gardens) Alice gave vent to an exclamation, it came upon her brother so suddenly, that he was roused at once to what was going on around him. Her wurdsj delivered with girlish glee, were ; A Meeting in the Hop-gardens. 275 'Holloa! there's Ketta ; * and, as she spoke, she quitted Miss Crolton's side and ran into the enclosure. Then John AVardlaw saw that they had reached Farmer Marsh's field; that Miss Bellew and Leofric Temple were some way in advance of them, and that they had stopped before a figure, which, from Ally's exclamation and sudden flight, he con- cluded was that of Henrietta Stuart. So they were to meet after all ; her parents' endeavours to prevent it were to be ineflectual against the chance which had directed his steps on that particular evening to Farmer Marsh's hop-garden. As heneared the spot where she stood, JohnAVardhiw felt an emotion akin to that which he bad experienced when bidding her farewell. As a child, a girl, and budding woman ; as far back as he could remember, she had always been a true and faithful friend to him ; and as he moved to meet her, conscious of that great pain at his heart, he almost felt as if the very face of Pussy Stuart, with its old familiar smile and girlish archness, could have the power to convey some balsam for his wound. But he was doomed to be again disappointed. As he reached the little group, he found that the women were already exchanging common-place civilities ; his brother had therefore forestalled him in introducing Eowena Bellew to the notice of the heiress. But he stood amongst them several minutes apparently unobserved, for Henrietta Stuart was talking very fast, and very confusedly, to his brother and Miss Bellew by turns, and did not seem to notice his arrival. Not, indeed, until he had gently touched her arm, and said : ' Miss Stuart, am I quite forgotten ? ' did the girl turn round and confront him. What a flood of crimson overspread her glowing face as she did so ! "With what nervous trepidation did her hand seek his, and then lay trembling in the strong grasp he gave it ! Was she ashamed to meet him in such company ? Had her parents' extra prudence infected the daughter also, and did she blush to find herself in the ]iresence of an actress, and shaking hands with the man who had sworn himself into her service? He thought so; and the hand he held was loosed sooner than it would have been, from the mere suspicion. If she was ashamed of him, or of his choice, let her be so. Father, mother, aud daughter alike, he would 2^6 ^or Eve? and Ever, sue neither for their friendship, patronage, or advice. He could do witliout it ; and so, for the matter of that, could any one who belonged to him. But Miss Bellew did not appear to take the same view ot the case, and John Wardlaw was sorry to see it. He was sorry to hear her inquiring, quite animatedly for her, after the health of Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, and saying how much she had heard of the beauty of the garden and grounds at Castle- maiue. Henrietta Stuart's answers to the actress's compli- ments a])peared very cold and constrained in his ears, and sooner than hear them he wandered away from the group. Two or three large dogs that had accompanied Miss Stuart to the hop-garden (she seldom moved out witliout a good sprinkling of canine favourites in her train), and had known our liero in the bygone days, recognised and followed him slowly— stopping when he stopped, and inserting their rough tongues by way of welcome into the hand which hung listlessly by his side. He had only had time to note, with a secondary feeling of surprise, as he recalled Alice's late words, the slender figure of "Winifred Balchin move noise- lessly away from behind some yet standing hop-vines as soon as she was apprised of his approach, when the voice of Henrietta Stuart was heard calling to her truant followers. She was going to leave the garden then ; to escape directly they entered it ; she had been forbidden, most likely, to stay in the company of Eowena Bellew. In his sarcasm, he wondered that her parents permitted her to breathe the air whicli she contaminated. Doubtless, if they could prevent it they would. Two of the dogs obeyed the clear, girlish voice of their mistress, but the third, a black-and-tan setter of the name of Don, was faithless, and refused to stir. He was Henrietta's greatest favourite, and had accompanied her everywhere for years, and the brute knew John Wardlaw almost as well as he did his young lady, and seemed to guess on the present occasion that all was not right with him, and that he required comfort. Twice did our hero repeat, in a tone of authority, * Go back, Don, go back ; ' for this time only Don was dis- obedient, and refused to stir. In another minute Henrietta Stuart had traversed the short distance between them and stood by his side. A Meeting in the Hop-gardens. 277 * Don has not forgotten you, Mr. AVardlaw,' she said, softly. She was trembling in every limb, and her cheeks were burning, but she no longer showed any traces of emotion at tlie sight of her old play-fellow, iler first feelings at iiieoting liim had horrified her; she had felt as though the hot blood that coursed about her face must tell her tale to every by- stander ; as though the v.ild, irregular leaping of her heart would suffocate her ; as though in another minute tears must fall, and her dear secret be her own no more. But women undergo torture like the above every day and make no sign. It is their mission 'to suffer and be strong.' Thoughts of her parents' pride in her, of her cousin's trust and fealty of her own name and honour, flew into the mind of Henrietta Stuart, and transformed the trembling girl into a martyr. For it has been thoughts like these that have enabled men and women to die with courage before now. To some souls, their fortitude is dearer than their life, and has more power over them than any dread of the scafibld or the pile. But John Wardlaw, having no conception of the mental misery that the girl was undergoing for his sake, mistook her faltering words of welcome, and her evident wish to shorten their interview, as a reflex of the father's feelings on his visit to Castlemaine. And so his answer to her present remark was far more cold that any he had himself received. ' It appears not, Miss Stuart ; I cannot say as much for everybody.' ' I am sure we have not,' she replied, quickly. * I should have no right to complain if you had, he rejoined. * I no longer consider myself a Sutton Valencer ; I am only a visitor here.' The frigid tones abashed her, but with the quickness of a woman where she loves, Henrietta Stuart felt sure that his manner was in some w^ay connected with his visit to Castle- maine of the day before, and her heart bled for him. ' We shall never consider you so,' she said. ' You Mill come again to Castlemaine, Mr. Wardlaw, will you not ? ' He did not care to conceal his annoyance from her. * No ! I don't think I shall, Miss Stuart,' he replied ; * we shall be returning to London soon.' How that pronoun ' we ' cut to her poor little heart ! 278 For Ever and Ever. She was going then, but something stopped her. He was euiVering. He had been hurt by the apparent indifference tliau liis engagement had met with at the hands of his old jViends, and she could not leave him without a word of solace. Xo dread of her parents' annoyance if they heard of it — or respect for their example of the day before — could stay her, when she thought that her words might partly serve to obliterate the uncomfortable impression theirs had left. ' I — I — wanted to see you, Mr. Wardlaw,' she said ; and having once commenced, she went on rapidly, as though afraid to trust herself to dwell upon the meaning of the words she uttered — ' to tell you how glad I am to think that you should be happy. She is very beautiful. I hope — I liQpe — you mustn't think us unkind. God bless you both,' she added, hurriedly, as not knowing what to say, and then was silent. He turned towards her and seized her hand. ' Thank you,' he said, ten thousand times. Thank you, Miss Stuart ; you were always good and kind ; I knew you would congratulate me, whatever others did. She is beautiful, is she not P Look at her as she stands now with her face turned up to the evening sky.' But having administered her drop of comfort, Henrietta Stuart could not trust herself to dally longer. She could speak to him in his disappointment, but she could not have borne to hear another woman's praises from his lips. The remembrance of the few he uttered haunted her for many a day. Hurriedly she returned the pressure of his hand, stammering some excuse for her immediate return home, and leading lier faithless dog away by one of his flapping ears, simply bowed as she repassed the group she had left to join him, and took her way into the road again. John Wardlaw breathed freer when she was gone. He had been aiuioyed by her first manner, but her latter words, although they pleased him, had made him feel uncomfortable, he hardly knew why. He attributed it to the reason of there being a decided change in his old play-fellow, and that ehe had been so intimate with him, and any cliange was such pain to experience, that rather than do so, he would mis3 seeing her altogether. Alter her departure he rejoined his own people, his heai*t A Meeting in the Hop-gardens, 279 a little lightened by the interview, wliatcver lie told hira- self. The evening was passed amongst the hop-vines, watching the curious medley of labourers, and the pictures^que ^roup3 that they exhibited. John AVardlaw had his sketch-book with him, and transferred several of the scenes to it for future painting, whilst his companions sat by his side, op strolled about amongst the fallen harvest. Once Joha AVardlaw said to his brother as he loitered near him : Do you see Winny Balchin anywhere, Temple ? She ran away from me just now, and I wanted to speak with her. How very ill she is looking ! ' But Leofric Temple seemed to know as little about the alteration in Winny 's looks as his sister had done. ' Is she ? ' he replied, carelessly ; ' those sort of girls generally grow coarse or go downhill after sixteen. No, I don't see her, "Wardlaw ; I dare say she's gone home again.' In a short time more they went home themselves, and the walk back and supper passed without anything more occur- ring to ruffle our hero's equanimity ; although he spoke very little to Miss Bellew during that period, and that little not in his usual caressant terms. After supper Leofric Temple's horse was brought near to the door. ' It's a shame, isn't it, Miss Bellew, that they should tie a man down to be back to a certain hour ? However, there's no help for it to-night. Next time I come over I must get longer leave.' They were standing in the passage as he spoke, she having made some excuse for leaving the supper-room in order to follow him there. The passage was unlighted, and the dining-room door half closed. As he took her hand in parting, she felt his face near her own, and in another moment his soft moustaches lay against her lips. She neither startled, cried out, nor rebuked him. Her lulse heart took the caress in silence, and her false tongue only murmured, reproachfully : ' How mad ! — with the door open.' Soft as the kiss had been ; silent as her reception of it; low as the words were uttered ; there was a man within that room whose ears, made quick by jealousy, and whose 28o For Ever and Ever, ])erception, acute by love, almost heard and almost under- Btood what had passed in the darkened passage. Not quite — for if that had been the case, he would have rushed between them, and hurled the usurper far beyond the reach of her faithless arms — but almost ; enough to make liim miserably suspicious, to cause his heart for a m.inute to stop its beating, to make his strong frame tremble and turn cold, to make him, as Leofric Temple slammed the hall-door behind him, pass Miss Bellew roughly in the passage, and go up to his own room and lock himself in for the night. He told himself afterwards that he did not believe it — that he could not believe it — that his jealousy and passion had made him mad ; and yet he could not divest himself of a cruel wish that his brother was dead, and a burning desire to take the beauty he loved so much in his arms and ily with it to some desert place, where no man but himself should ever look upon her charms again. He thought he loved her, but he could not trust her, and where there is no trust there can be no real love. This man had endured a loveless existence for so many years, that when his own feelings were once excited, he forced himself to believe that what he gave he should receive. However, * Love can hope where reason would despair,' and a generous nature like that of John Wardlaw will never really doubt until all possibility of belief is over. Therefore he sat for hours pondering on the events of the past evening, and every hour saw new excuses born for her conduct, which his desire to credit nursed into apparent realities, and by the dawn of the next morning — if all his suspicions were not cleared away — his passion for her had returned in full force, and he was ready to take her to his heart, and blame his own jealous temper for the pain she had made him suffer. In the meanwhile Leofric Temple was riding back to the Maidstone barracks. He was forced to gallop, being already behind time, and his horse was going at such a rate along the macadamised road that he had nearly run over a woman before he knew she was in his way. He pulled up short then, with a ready oath, and asked her what she meant by walking in the middle of the road ; but as she turned her face towards him, under the full light of the harvest moon, he saw that it was "Winifred Balchin. A Meeting in the Hop-gardens. 281 *"Why, AVinny, child ! ' he exclaimed, ' what the devil do you do liere ? I nearly ran over you.' ' I came on purj)ose to meet you Leo,' she said, ' and I thought if I stayed on the path that you would pass before I C(nild malce you know that 1 was there.' She had come up to his horse's side now, and laid her head caressingly against the flaps of his saddle. ' And what did you want with me, little woman ? ' he said, not ill-pleased at the action. ' Only to see you,' she exclaimed, fervently, pressing her lips against the hand which hung down by his side. ' Only to speak a word to you — to hear you say you love me, Leo.' He almost started as her lips touched his hand — they were so burning hot. * Little fool ! ' he replied conceitedly. ' Why, how hot your lips are, AVinny ! ' ' I 'ra not well,' the girl said, excitedly, ' I burn all over. You never came to see me this evening, Leo ; nor the last time you were over here, either.' I couldn't, my dear,' he said carelessly ; ' they have visitors up at the house, and I dared not leave them.' ' I saw you with them in the hop-garden to-night,' said Winifred, ' and Mr. John with you. Is that Mr. John's lady that walked about so much with you, Leo ? She's very handsome, isn't she ? ' Tiiere was a pleading pathos in the poor child's tone, as though her tone entreated him to contradict her words, or tell her that he knew a face that he thought handsomer. But he was too dull or too indifferent to read it. ' Yes — rather so,' he replied ; he had wit enough not to directly praise one woman to another. ' My brother com- plained to me that you wouldn't stay to speak to him to- day. You shouldn't cut away from all my family like that, Winny, or they '11 begin to suspect something.' ' I can't help it,' the girl said, mournfully, ' I feel as if I couldn't meet them face to face, or ihey 'd know all. — Leo, you do love me,' she added passionately, turning towards him ; ' say you do once more ; I want something to sleep upon to-night.' 'You know I do, you simpleton,* he replied, bending down to kiss the little wasted face which was upturned to 28a For Ever and Ever, meet liis. She fluDg Ler spare cliildisli arms about bis neck, and clung closely to liim. * Oh! my love, my love, my love /' she exclaimed, caress- ingly, all thoughts of the man's superiority of station lost in the consciousness that he was all the world to her. 'I know you do, I must believe it.' ' You mustn't keep me longer now though, AVinny,' said Leofric Temple, as, having returned her caress, he disen- gaged himself from the clinging arms ; ' because I am late as it is, and I must gallop home as fast as I canj I've stayed too long already, you little witch.' !She smiled at the fond term, though large tears were standing on her pale cheeks the while, but she stood away from the horse's side immediately, in order to let him pass on. ' You will let me see you next time you come, won't you, Leo ? ' was her last entreaty ; and as he promised that she should, he put the animal into motion, and the next minute was gone. As the girl looked after him, she clasped her hands to- gether supplicatingly. ' Oh ! God bless him, and keep him ! ' she exclaimed fer- vently; 'if anything were to happen to hurt him, what should I do, whai, could I do ? ' And then she shivered, aa under a mortal lear, and turned her steps in the direction of her father's house. ^Hs CHAPTEE XXL MORE VEXATION. By heavens ! my love, thou dost distract my son!. There's not a teiir that falls from those dear eyes But makes my heart weep blood. Lee. A LITTLE careful watcliing on John AYardlaw's part soon convinceu him that the suspicions of his sister Alice, with respect to the renewal of her father's infirmity, were cor- rect. There was no doubt about it , Captain AVardlaw was drinking again, steadily, if not deeply. His son had ob- served with surprise on his return to Sutton Valence how very seldom he appeared in the f\imily circle. At the break- fast table he was never present, his habits of late rising being ascribed by his wife to the increasing debility of age ; he sometimes came to dinner, but seldom ate any solid food, and was used to disappear again early during the evening, when the fiction of his having retired to rest was accepted on the part of the household. But John "Wardlaw's feara once aroused, he soon found out that the old gentleman's evenings were mostly spent at the little public-house in the village, or if in his own apartment, with a black bottle for company. The discovery disgusted him more than the first news of it had done ; he no longer felt indifferent towards Captain "Wardlaw. An unfilial contempt, w^ith which he battled hard for the old man's weak selfishness, rankled, despite himself, in the son's breast. He avoided speaking to his father as much as he could, for fear his mere words might betray his aversion to him, and he was used to drop the shaking hand presented to him each morning almost as Boon as he had taken it. He recoiled from the very touch or sight of him. 284 ^^^ -^^^' ^'^^ Ever, Having once assured himself of his father's nightly habits, it revolted him to listen to the false, shuffling means by which Captain Wardlaw, with a drunkard's cunning, would strive, as he thought, to cleverly conceal from his guests and children the motive for which he abandoned their society.^ Once or twice as, in the midst of his lying statements of drowsiness or debility, the young man's eye caught that of his father, and something in its expression warned the latter that in that quarter at least his stories were not believed, such a look of malignant hate would dart into the elder's glance as would almost have justified his son taking no further trouble about him; and doubtless he would not have done 80 had it not been for the unfortunate wife and daughter. John Wardlaw could not bear to think of Alice being sub- jected to the fright and annoyance of a drunkard's ravings, and perhaps violence, with no better protectress than her weak and silly mother. But, on the other hand, it was a delicate subject on which to speak to Mrs. Wardlaw, par- ticularly as, amidst all her folly, she appeared scrupulously careful to conceal from others the delinquencies of her wretched husband. To Leofric Temple, as her son, John Wardlaw thought it best to speak first, but he met with little sympathy from that gentleman, either for the husband or wife. AYhen his brother broached the subject to him, asking if he had observed the breaking out of this unfortu- nate predilection on the part of Captain Wardlaw, the cavalry ofiicer burst into aloud laugh. ' Observed it ! ' he exclaimed, ' I should think I had ob- served it. Why, man, your governor's been drinking like a fish ever since last Christmas ; Bennett could tell you a tale or two on that score, I expect, and so could most of the Maidstone houses. Why! the old gentleman is always taking his drops.' ' It 's very disgraceful,' said John Wardlaw. ' Well ! I don't know about the " disgrace," ' replied Leo- fric Temple, who was rather given that way himself. ' There's many a man in the same boat if it comes to that ; but it will kill him in the end, Wardlaw, sure as a gun.' ' You don't call it disgraceful. Temple, for a man border- ing on sixty and with a grown-up family, to spend his money and his time in the lowest company and haunts. You must More Vexation. 2 85 l:ils brothor was old cDough to look after himself — at all events he wa^i nearly as old as "Wardlaw was \ as for the latter haviug lent liiiii money, it was what all young men did iorone another — that is, if they weren't horrid screws ; and if it was wrong to take a present from her future brother-in-law, wlio was to be allowed to give her anything ? She thought "Wardlaw was very ungrateful. The offering was evidently intended as a compliment to him more than to her; she received few enough presents, Heaven knew, and it seemed early days to try and prevent her from having any pleasure, however innocent. And two tears actually stood in the unimpassioned dark eyes as the sentence was concluded. AVhere do tears com.e from, and what are they ? "Walker Bays they are ' the water which violent passion forces I'roni the eyes;' but how often do w^e see them standing on cheeks which never flushed with any deep emotion either of pain or pleasure ! It would appear as though some people pos- sessed the secret clue whereby to conjure them up, and turned them on as easily as the water-turnkey turns on th:it necessary fluid to fill our cisterns and water-pipes. Rowena Bellew was one of those wonders of" creation who rever really shed a tear except for disappointed rage, Init who have always a supply of two crystal drops on demand, which ooze out almost naturally, and hang trembling on the eye-lashes until some one kisses them away. Tears such as these are always properly-behaved drops, that never disfigure the countenance, rushing rudely over the cheeks, making the nose red, and blistering the eye-lids, but wait, quietly, in their position until (the kiss, perhaps, not being forthcomiiiL:) their owner by a blink gives them leave to roll gently, and in a lady-like manner, adown her modest cheeks. But John Wardlaw could not bear to see a woman cry ; these nice distinctions were too much for his symj)athising love; he saw that Eowena's eye-lids were moistened, and he kissed the coming drops away so soon that half of the play was spoiled. *My darling! how can you think for a moment that I would willingly deprive you of any pleasure? Heaven know ; that I would spend all my substance upon ornaments for you to-morrow,if I did not feel that it would be ruin for both otua ^90 For Ever and Ever. I am so poor, dearest. I would hang you witli jewels, if I had the money, or they could make you one whit more beauti- ful than you are. But don't cry, Eowena ; for God's sake, don't let me have it on my conscience to have brought one tear into those dear eyes ! Keep the bracelet, love, by all means, and wear it always if you like ; but I hope Temple won't offer you anything more — you might give him a gentle hint on the subject. Not for your sake, my darling, nor for the sake of my jealousy, but because I really think he will ruin himself, if he goes on at this rate. And if I am to pay for his presents to you, I would rather have the pleasure ot giving them to my darling myself.' The subject was dropped, and as John "Wardlaw thought, for ever, but it was not destined to die so "asy a death. On the next morning Miss Crofton was not present at breakfast, and in the course of the meal Miss Belle w asked Leofric Temple if there was any public conveyance from Sutton Valence to Maidstone. ' You can hire a fly from the public-househere, if you give timely notice,' he replied; 'but there is only one, MissBellew; so if you want it to-day, you had better send word at once.' ' "What for, dearest ? ' inquired John "Wardlaw. * For my cousin to go into Maidstone,' she replied. ' She has been fretting to get back to grandmamma for some time past, and fancies the old woman cannot survive without her, so I think it just as well that she should go. She intends to leave JMaidstone by the twelve o'clock train ; we arranged it all last night.' * Would you like to go back to town yourself, darling ? ' said her lover, anxiously. ' I will accompany you any day that you choose.' * No, thank you,' she answered shortly. He Avas surprised and not over pleased to hear the news, and would have much preferred Miss Crofton either staying until her cousin lefl Sutton Valence, or Eowena Bellew re- turning to London with her. He was no prude, and did not imagine that it was always necessary for an engaged coupio to carry about an inspector-general with them, but he was very jealous of llowena Bellew's character. He knew that, belonj^ing to the stage, she was placed in a more delicate position, under the circumstances, than girls in private life More Vexation, 291 would have been; and lie was fearful of compromising her in the slightest degree in the eyes of a scurrilous world. ^And her growing intimacy with his brother, which had lately given birth to so many jealous feelings in his heart, which he feared were growing stronger as the days went on, was an addi- tional reason to him for wishing to hasten her return to hep own home. She had now been over three weeks at Sutton Valence, and she had never intended staying more than a month ; what should hinder Miss Crofton's return being de- layed for another day or so, and their all going back together? Once more in London, he should feel as if Eowena Eellew was his own again ; somehow, until that event occurred, he fancied he should never feel quite as he used to do about it. Still, though she was his Jiancee, Miss Bellew was Mrs. Ward- law's guest, and this circumstance, added to her decided ie» fusal, prevented him from pressing the matter further. He thought he could guess the reason of Miss Crofton's sudden departure. He knew the imperious quality of her cousin's temper ; though he loved her so much that he would have died for her, he was too sensible a man to be entirely Winded to so patent a defect in her character. He knew it, but lover-like, he consoled himself with the idea that every- one must have some faults, and that if any one had an excuse for giving herself airs, it surely was a creature so richly endowed by nature as Eowena Eellew. Many outbursts of her amiable disposition he had not seen, for she was too cold and too cunning to betray herself where reticence better answered her purpose ; but he knew that occasionally they occurred, and he could form a pretty good guess that Miss Crofton's revelation of the day before had led to high words between the two cousins as soon as they were left alone, which had ended in the determination of the elder to leave the place at once. But if he had guessed that the recrimi- nation had been all on Eowena Bellew's side, and that she had ordered, more than advised, the poor humble creatura who trembled beneath the exhibition of her anger to pack up her trunk and prepare to go home the next morning, because ' she would take care she didn't make any more mischief in that house,' he would have been nearer the mark. However, Miss Bellew was quite decided a^ to the neces* 2()2 For Ever and Ever. fiiby of lier cousin's immediate return to town, and therefore the fly was ordered to be at the door at half-past ten, and the affair was a settled one. When it came round, John "Wardlaw saw Miss Crofton for the first time that morning. She was walking, crab-wise, down the staircase, assisting the servant to carry her box. He sprang forward in a minute. ' Miss Crofton, pray allow me to do that. How could yon think of such a thing ? I am so sorry to hear you are going.' She made no reply, except by allowing him to take the box from her, and murmuring something about bidding ' Good-bye ' to Mrs. Wardlaw. ' Mrs. Wardlaw is in the breakfast-room,' he answered, as tie put the box upon the fly. ' I 'm sure she won't hear of your going without taking somethiug to eat first.' But Miss Crofton steadfastly refused to eat anything. The servant had taken her breakfast into her bedroom (she said), and she wished for nothing more. To Mrs. Wardlaw's expressed regrets at her departure, she only replied that she was anxious to get home on account of her aunt, who was very old and feeble, and unaccustomed to the ways of any one but herself. ' If I had thought Bowena was going to make so long a stay in the country,' she added, simply, ' I think I should have said from the first that it was likely I should return before her.' ' Yes ; and why on earth the other didn't go with her,' Mrs. Wardlaw exclaimed, when repeating the conversation to Alice afterwards, ' I can't imagine. I 'm sure she 's been here long enough, with her fine lady airs, doing nothing but dawdle about the garden withLeofric and your brother Ward- law dangling at her heels. It seems to me that she thinks quite as much of one as of the other. I am sure I wonder your brother Wardlaw stands it as he does ; but I suppose he 's getting tired of her in his turn. They are all alike. I 'd rather by half the fine lady had taken it into her head to go back to London and leave her cousin behind for a bit. I like Miss Crofton well enough. She's a nice, sensible body, and if Misa Bellew would only leave her alone, I tliiuk we should get oil nicely together. However, it 's always the way in this world; and f only hope it won't be long before we see More Vexation, 2Q3 the last of the other one, for the house has seemed topsy. turvy to me ever since they set foot in it.' Whilst she thus lamented, John Wardlaw was drivlnrr to Maidstone with Miss Crofton. AVhen the poorladv, ha"in^ said farewell to her hostess and Alice, held out herhand lor his acceptance, he asked her, ' Where is liowena ? Is she not going with you ? ' ' Oh ! no, Mr. Wardlaw, was the nervous reply, *I haven 'fc seen her since she got up this morning ; pray don't disturb her. I 'd rather not ; I shall do very well aloue.' ' B^ut she will wish to say " Good-bye " to you,' he wvcrad. ' iS^o, indeed,' replied Miss Crofton, 'we have done all that. Don't call her, Mr. "Wardlaw ; she might not like it. I saw her in the garden with Mr. Temple. Indeed, I shall manage for myself beautifully.' ' You cannot go alone,' he said, decisively, with his foot on the step. _ His heart was in the garden — where she was said to be — his wishes, too, for he had begun to dislike these con- stant tete-a-tetes on her part with Leofric Temple ; but here was a woman requiring attention ; a guest going from his father's house ; a lady who had been kind to himself. He could not hesitate; swinging himself into the carriage, notwithstanding all Miss Crofton's entreaties that he would not take so much trouble on her account, he gave the diiver orders to proceed, and threw himself back on the seat by her Bide. -vi 1.91 CHAPTER XXII. MIS3 OEOFTON PUTS HER TINGERS BETWEEU THE riEE AND THE WOOD. Ko part of conduct asks for skill more nice, Though none more common, than to give advice. Stillingfleet. On second thoughts lie was not sorry that he had been com- pelled to bear her company. He felt that he had had some share in the curtailment of her visit to Sutton Valence, and he wanted to tell her that he was sorry for it. But at first he found Miss Crofton very uncommunicative. ' I wish we could have all returned together,' were the opening words of his apology. ' I begin to be almost tired of the country. You have not received any unfavourable news from your aunt, Miss Crofton, have you ? ' ' Oh ! no — we have heard nothing from town for some days.' ' I wanted Rowney to propose breaking up the party, as you were about to leave us,' he continued. ' I am anxious to get back to M'ork again, but she seems to like ruralising better than she anticipated. Has she mentioned any date for our return to you, Miss Crofton ? ' * None,' was the reply. ' I hope I have had nothing to do with your sudden reso- lution,' he said, trying to look in the face which she quickly turned away from him ; ' I felt it my duty to speak to your cousin on the subject of the bracelet, and when she asked for my authority, I was obliged to give your name.' ' It doesn't signify much,' said Miss Crofton. ' She had not told me to keep it a secret ; she had not even told me directly who the giver was.' Miss Crnf ton's Interposu.on, 295 * How did you find it out then ? ' he demanded. ' I was present when Mr. Temple gave it to her; at least, I was at the window and they were in the garden. My cousin is not always so careful before me as she ought to be.' ' "What do you mean ? ' said John "Wardlaw, quickly. But ]Miss Crofton was silent, and looked away from him over the naked fields, from which, since she had last traversed that road, the reapers had gathered in all the golden corn, and left nothing but stubble standing. Did they remind her, prosaic as she was, of youth's brightest hopes cut down by the hand of Time, and leaving their owner nothing to gaze upon but the hard, stern realities of a world of false- hood ? They might have done so if they did not. ' I do not understand your insinuation, Miss Crofton,' John Wardlaw went on, hurriedly, ' or why Kowney should take the trouble to be careful before a cousin whom she has lived with for years. She would surely be as open with you as with myself.' (Miss Crofton smiled.) ' She is a spoilt child, and cares very little, I fancy, for anyone's criticism on her conduct. And why should she, wlien all she does is fair and above-board ? I for one do not blame her ; and after all, I am the principal person concerned.' ' Oh ! Mr. "Wardlaw, how you are deceived ! ' exclaimed Louisa Crofton, as if involuntarily — and then, frightened at her own boldness, she coloured violently, and looked as if she was about to cry. But he misapplied tbe meaning of ber words. * With regard to your leaving us,' he said, kindly, ' I was Bure when I first heard of it that it was something more than anxiety to return to your aunt that had made you pro- pose the step. I know Eowney's temper is high. Miss Crofton, and I guessed that words had probably passed be- tween you with regard to this business of the bracelet ; but I did not think they would have had so much effect upon you as to make. you think it necessary in consequence to leave the house.' ' I never did,' was the reply. ' AVhy do you go then ? ' he asked, with surprise. 'Because I am glad to accept any ofier on my cousin's part that shall take me away from such a scene of lalsehood,' 2g6 For Ever and Ever, she exclaimed, so vehemently, that John Wardlaw tnmed round in utter surprise at this sudden alteration in a woman usually so diffident and quiet ; ' because I cannot eat your father's bread any longer, Mr. Wardlaw, and keep my tongue between my teeth, when I think of all that is going on yonder. Tou are deceived — you are miserably deceived — as others have been before you. If Eowena were to kill me for it the next minute, as I know she would like to do, I could not leave this place without warning you of the truth ; you have always been so kind and poiit© to me, and you are so miserably deceived.' ' AV'hat do you mean. Miss Crofton — w^hat is the matter ? ' he exclaimed, almost thinking in his astonishment that the woman beside him had gone mad, so utterly foreign to every- thing he had hitherto observed in her character was this ex- hibition of temper. ' Mean ? ' she said, her vehemence subsiding with its height, and herself relapsing into a species of whine, ' I mean what I. say, Mr. "Wardlaw. You think, I know, that Roweua and I quarrelled when we went to bed last night, and that my journey to London this morning is a freak of temper on my part ; but the truth is, she forced me to go, and if I had opposed her orders she would have caused a greater scandal, perhaps, to fall upon your name than is hovering about it now. She '11 kill me for this when I meet her again, or ishe'il try to,' continued Miss Crofton, whining lustily; ' but I don't care. I can't stand by and see it any longer. ^No one made of flesh and blood could ! ' 'A scandal. ^^ repeated her companion after her; and as she cauglit a view of his face, she saw how deadly pale he liad become — ' a scandal ? Miss Crofton do you know the meaning of the words you use ? * ' You may believe it or not, as you choose, Mr. Wardlaw,* replied Louisa Crofton, rather hurt at her knowledge of Johnson's Dictionary being the only thing called in question ; 'but the word does as well as any othei. You think that all lloweua's walks tiid talks with your brother mean nothing ; but I know better, and however angry I may make you own, you will remember some day that I have warned you.' ' What proofs have you to bring forward of the truth of your assertion ? ' he demanded, coldly. Mhs Croftor . vterposition. 297 Oh ! Mr. AVardlaw,' exclaimed poor Miss Crofton as she turned round and caught his arui, ' pray don't speak so an'^rilv to me. I am onlv doinfr it for your sake ; indeed I am. You '11 tell it to Eowena, and I shall be afraid to meet her again ; but if it puts a stop to this sort of thing before^ it is too late, I 'd even bear her anger for the sake of it. Gracious knows, I couldn't have much more of it than I get now.' She was a plain-featured, middle-aged woman, and dressed in tl:3 most dowdy fashion, but there was an earnestneiss in the faded eyes, all the more remarkable because so seldom seen there, and a humble, pleading tone in the thin, cracked voice, that arrested the indignant answer which was rising to the young man's lips, and caused him to substitute a more patient one. ' Let me hear the worst you have to tell me,' he said, quietlv. 'I know I shall not believe it, but I will credit you with having a good intention in apprising me of your fancied discoveries. What has my Eowena done ? ' Before that possessive pronoun ^liss Crofton shrank into the furthest corner of the carriage, and the words she had prepared in which to communicate her warning to him, ileeing into the remotest recesses of her memory, refused to come at call. The use of that loving pronoun served to tell her, as John Wardlaw intended that it should, that she could say nothing against Eowena Bellew without injuring his cause ; could do nothing to separate her from her lover, without straining his closest tie ; could repeat none of her follies or her sins, w^ithout blackening a character which "was dearer to him than his own ; and looking at it from this point of view, Louisa Crofton began to think that perhaps she had better leave the subject altogether alone. So she was silent.. ' I am all attention. Miss Crofton,' John "Wardlaw said, presently. ' I think I would rather not say any more, Mr. Wardlaw, please,' she then replied, hesitatingly, 'I see I am not likely to do any good ; I dare say you wouldn't believe nie ; and ' ' I am quite sure that I should not,' he returned, proudly, but I intend to hear it nevertheless. Ton have said too 298 Po^ Ever and Ever, niucli or too little, Miss Crofton. Ton have accused Eowena of doing more than walk and talk with my brother Temple. I ask what proofs you have to give me of your assertion; and I must have them, or I shall tell the flyman to tnin back again to Sutton Valence, that I may bring you face to face with your cousin. It is no light suspicion that you cast upon her; it must be either proved or disproved.' The bare idea of being confronted with Eowena Bellew put spurs to Miss Crofton's energy ; she turned to John AVardlaw with the desperation of a drowning man. ' Cau't you see it for yourself ? ' she said. ' Haven't you observed how she courts his company, and is quite indifferent to yours ? Did you never watch their eyes meet, or hear them whisper together ? Oh ! there are a thousand things that I 've seen, if I could only think of them now, but you have flustered me so that they seem to have gone clean out of my head. Oh dear ! Oh dear ! ' And Miss Crofton sat with knitted brows, and hand shading her eyes, as she strove to remember the many signs and tokens by which she had been assured, during her stay in Sutton Valence, that foul play was going on between Eowena Bellew and the young cavalry of&eer. ' Are these all your proofs ? ' sternly asked the voice of John AA^ardlaw, when a few minutes had elapsed without her speaking further. She knitted her brows again, and commenced to think afresh. It was very strange, but when she came to consider the subject, although she was as certain what she had said was true, as that she was alive that day, it did not seem a3 though there was any tangible proof that she could lay hold of, to bring forward as witness of her faith. The only real thing she liad seen was the presentation of the bracelet, and that had been accompanied by a kiss. She said so now, tremblingly, and as if in apology for her having mentioned the subject at all. A dark llush mounted to John AVardlaw's forehead as he heard the intelligence, but the next minute he repeated his former question: ' Is this all, Miss Crofton ? ' * I can't remember anything in particular to tell you,' she replied, ' and so I suppose you will think I am altogether mistaken, but I am not, Mr. TVardlaw ; and if you don't Miss Crofton's Interposition. 7-99 believe me now, and talve measures against it, you will be- lieve me some day. Kowena has been engaged three or lour times to my knowledge, and she has played the same trick on every one of them. There was Mr. Swinton, and ' ' Be silent ! * exclaimed her companion, in a voice which made Higgs jump upon his box, and warn the speaker of the proximity of a stranger. ' I don't wish to hear any stories about Miss Bellew from your mouth, but I '11 tell you what I think of you. Miss Crofton. I think you are a spiteful, malicious, envious woman, who cannot bear to see the universal admiration which the young and lovely of your Bex command. I think that you are unworthy the name of cousin to a creature like E-owena Bellew, who is too con- scious of her own want of evil intentions to stoop to conceal from you what you basely try to turn to her disadvantage. "You first accused her of the greatest deception and want of faith towards me, her lover, and when I naturally demand your proofs, you have none to tell me, except such as all the world knew before. As to the base interpretation that you choose to put upon her most innocent deeds, I am above listening to it, or attempting even to discover if it is true or false. I was sorry this morning when I heard that you were going to leave us ; now I am glad to think that Kowena will have lost so cowardly a spy upon her actions. I have pledged myself to marry her. Miss Crofton, and I consider I have as good a right to stand up for her as if she were already my wife. If a man dares to come to his friend with insinuations such as yours against the woman who bears his name, he knocks him down ; but, when the would- be betrayer is a lady, there is nothing to be done but to bear it quietly, and request that the subject may be dropped thenceforth and for ever ; as I now do to yourself.' He leaned back in the carriage as he spoke with folded arms and head turned the other way, as if determined to speak no more, and Miss Crofton had nothing left her but to weep copiously, which she did until they arrived at the Maidstone railway station. ' Then he leaped out, procured her ticket, and handed her iDt'* a railway carriage, and as the train left the platform, lifted his hat from his head with the protbundest politeness ; 90O For Ever and Ever, but beyond these attentions he did no more. From the moment that he had ended telling her his opinion of the communication she had made to him, he never spoke another word to her, and she was much too miserable and frightened to attempt anything like a reconciliation between them. As the train swept past the long station, and she saw the last of his handsome, grave face, looking so uncompromisingly stern as he waved his adieu, Louisa Crofton's eyes again overflowed with tears, and had it not been for the other occupants of the carriage, she would have wept aloud. ' Now, what good on earth have I done ? ' she sighed to herself, as she reviewed the drive from Sutton Valence to Maidstone. ' None at all. He only hates me for having attempted to undeceive him, and will worship her, probably, all the more, for the supposed injury I have tried to do her ; but not for long, I 'm sure of that. The day will come when that young man will tell me he is sorry that he used the words to me that he did. But it 's little thanks one ever gets for putting one's fingers between the fire and the wood. I do believe, if it is ever so true, people would always rather find out a thing for themselves than have it told to them. I suppose it seems like hinting to them that if they were not stupid they would see it as clearly as their neighbours. Well ! it 's the last time I '11 try to advise any one — be he whom he may.' And even in her simple way of reasoning, Louisa Crofton had hit upon the truth. There is a feeling as though our own sharpness must be held at little count when our friends undertake to do our business for us. A¥e are seldom grateful for the trouble they take to make the scales drop irom our eyes ; nor for the emphasis with which they inform us that 'everyone' sees our blindness but our- selves ; we feel very much inclined to tell them to go home and keep their advice for those who want it ; and in nine cases out of ten we do just what we feel inclined. John Wardlaw felt, as the Loudon train became a wreath of smoke in the distance, and he walked away Irom the sta- tion, that he hated Miss Crofton; he hated the very re- membrance of the whining sound of her voice, and the thin (Mirls which decked her poor toil-worn face, and the scared look in her eyes, and the apparent simplicity of her con- yersation. As he recalled tht^m, he came to the conclusioo Mis.s Crof ton's Interposition, 301 with himself that she was an arrant busy-body and spiteful old raaid, and he wondered he had ever tliouf^ht as well ot her as he did. Not that he so entirely disbelieved her assertions as he had intimated to herself; on the contrary, they had left a soreness on his already chafed and wearied S])irit, and revived to such a degree the miserable doubts which had before assailed him, that the very reason he hated the author of the mischief was the cause of its power over him. He dismissed Higgs. and told him he should walk back to Sutton Valence by-and-by. He had business in Maidstone — so he had. His business was to walk oft, or reason himself out of this wretched state of indecision and misery before he met her again. If they came together before he had, in a measure, lost the echo of INIiss Crofton's cruel words, he might insult his darling by blurting out the foul suspicion to her face. If she was a little fond of admiration from the crowd, what then ? She had been used to a public life, and actresses thought very little of mere compliments. He didn't like the idea of his brother having embraced her; but it was most likely entirely Temple's fault, and most certainly un- licensed by her usual speech or manner towards him. Temple was a presuming brute (at the inward mention of him even John Wardlaw set his teeth), and he would take care to let him know on the quiet that he had better look out, and not repeat the offence, or he should find him taking means to prevent his seeing his future wife at aU. But, at the same time, such a thing might have happened without Eowena haviug sanctioned it. She always mentioned Leofric Temple as her future brother-in-law, and he knew that between such connections the familiarities of nearer kindred were per- mitted by the world. He didn't suppose for a moment that ]Miss Bellew cared about receiving such an attention from Leofric Temple ; he gave her credit for better taste than that — but she may have taken it quietly, thinking little of it, as she did of the bracelet of turquoises and diamonds. However, it should not happen again. Their visit would soou be over ; and if he could persuade her to shorten their engagement, and take him for love's sake, before long his darling mi^ht be established in a house of his ])roviding for her, and then he should take upon himself to choose who 902 For Ever and Ever. should be their visitors or not. As for the other charges broiK^it against her fair fame by that she-dragon, her cousin (poor Miss Crofton was becoming blacker and blacker aa Kowena Bellew's character cleared), they were too nonsen- sical to engage the attention of a sensible man. "Whisperings, eyes meeting, walks and talks — as if these were not things which occurred every day, and between all stages of intimacy ! If every look and turn of others was to be canvassed and misinterpreted by old women, who had nothing better to occupy their time, this earth would indeed become a nest of scandal and misunderstandings. No! he was above such small things. Thank heaven, he had no doubts or fears, excepting such as were incidental to a man in the possession of so beautiful a creature in a world of robbers. But he had her, and he would hold her, come what might, against the world. He attacked his subject on all points, and satisfied him- self that Miss Crofton's ghastly fears had no foundation except in her own imagination, rendered fertile by envy. He reasoned very ably, without doubt, and he walked a great deal and thought a great deal ; but when he returned that afternoon to Sutton Valence he didn't look much the happier for it. He would not contradict himself and insult Miss Bellew by asking her if what he had heard was true ; but neither his reasoning nor his walking had possessed the power to lift that heavy weight off his breast — to soothe the rawness of the feeling with which he remembered his con- versation on the road to Maidstone — nor to chase away the chilling doubts which lay cold and heavy at his heart, when- ever he recalled it. He returned to Sutton Valence, appearing in the eyes of his family (excepting for a pallor, which elicited a comment even from the selfish spirit of Kowena Bellew) unaltered from the moment that he had left it; but, although he never acknowledged the date of the change, even to himselr", from the morniui; that he accompanied Miss Crofton to the railway station, John Wardlaw in heart was never the same man again that he had been. .1^3 rnAPTEE XXIIL Wi:5fIFRED BALCIIIN. Her big sAvoll'n grief surpassed The power of utterance. Ovid. Sutton VALE^'CE possessed its Club, and was especially proud of the possession. In all the Suttons of Kent there was not another club that made such large allowances to its members in times of sickness, or gave such noble festivals at each returning anniversary of its establishment, when all the villa o;ers turned out into the fields together, and the in- habitants of places round about flocked in by the dozen to partake of the dinner, fit for the discussion of a Lord Mayor, and provided for thetn in tents, at half-a-crown a head, by the indefatigable Kiggs, landlord of the 'Koyal Husear,' and caterer, canvasser, wit, dr^ dge, and factotum, for the whole of the parish. ' It don't pay me. Sir; it don't, indeed,' he had been used to say to John AVardlaw, in the days when, boy-like, he would ran down to the tents to inspect the spread provided for the expectant revellers. ' They will have the best of things, you see ; and they do eat such a mortal quantity, that if it wasn't for their eating causing them to be so dry, I shouldn't make a penny by it. Why, only look, Sir, here '3 fowls, and 'am, and roasted ducks, and beef, and mutton, and 1 don't know what besides ; and they icill have it. Sir. It 'a not a bit of good representing it to them. And to see them feed ; well, that is a sight ! ' ' You should salt the dishes well, Higgs,' John "Wardlaw would laughingly sugsjest. ' Salt 'em, Sir ! ' Higgs would reply, shaking his fat sides at; what he thought an excellent joke. * Lor' bless you, they 304 For Evei :! id Ever, drinks up all their money as it is, and it wouldn't be any manner of use to me their doino; more, so I may as well save my salt. There ain't many in Sutton Valence as go home on their own legs — club-night. Sir.' And Mr. Higgs's assertion being perfectly correct, the quiet residents of the place were, generally speaking, glad when club-night was over. The day, although affecting to be an anniversary, was usually left an open question until the harvesting, both of corn and hops, was over. Then the magnates of the village, comprising Higgs aforesaid, Balchin the parish clerk, and one or two small farmers, feeling they had earned a right to a holiday, met together and fixed the date for the annual festival. From the moment of its decision the excitement prevailing in Sutton Valence was great. The girls got together their smartest things to join in the evening dance, and the boys saved every spare farthing for the purchase of yards of blue satin ribbon, the colour of the club, wherewith their mothers made rosettes to pin in their hats. Morning, noon, and night, the talk still ran on the great events of the coming day ; of how many ducks and geese Mr. Higgs had put up to fatten ; of the arrival of the two large tents from Maidstone ; of how the rector had promised to lend the school-benches, the same as last year ; and how the gardener at Castlemaine had been given orders to let them have as many evergreens to ornament the tents as were wanted. For although the gathering of the Sutton Valence club was totally unconnected with parish matters, a thing which was got up by the people themselves and concerned them only, no one was more pleased to contribute towards its prosperity, nor readier — when a labourer broke his arm, and received his weekly allowance from its stores — to acknowledge how excellent an institution it was, than Mr. Stuart. The only thing which annoyed him was the drinking which accom- panied its festivities. ' I 'd rather provide the liquor myself, Higgs,' he would say, ' and pay you double its value, than see them so degrade themselves.' ' I'm sure you would, Sir,' Higgs would nuswer, standing bareheaded in the presence of his minister; • but it wouldn't the he same thing to them 5 ?md, begging your pardon, they IVinifrcd Balchin. 305 wouldn't enjo}' it lialf so much. Most of the 111 kcop the savings of harvest-month to spend on club-night ; and 1 don't believe if you was to pile the choicest of wines upon the table, that e'er a soul among them would drink them with half the relish that they do their own savings. I 'm sure if they could only take it down without its hurting them, I 'd be the first to be pleased at it, but that is an unpossible thing Sir, and the best comfort is that it only comes once a year. * To be sure,' Mr. Stuart replied ; ' and although there are less hurtful callings than yours, Higgs, as long as you pursue it honestly we can scarcely blame you I'or trying to make the best of it. But I think, after a certain quantity you should refuse to let a man have beer. You publicans might put a stop to this sort of thing if you chose.' ' Well, Sir,' said Higgs, ruefully, scratching his head, * when you come to speak of a certain quantity, I think it 's rather hard lines to expect that tlie publican is to choose for everybody. Why, it would be an unpossibility, Sir. One man can take a couple of gallons easy, whilst another can't stand a quart ; and how on earth I 'm to guess at their dirterent constitutions beats me altogether.' The rector laughed. * I am afraid it w^ould be rather puzzling when put into execution, Higgs. The only cure is to have no public- houses at all. I wish there were none in my parishes.' ' I 'm very sorry, Sir, ' I'm sure,' said Higgs, ' to happen to offend you \ but i't isn't my fault that I keep the " Hussar." I was born into it, as you m'ay say ; and when bread drops into aman's mouth hecan hardly be expected tokeep his jaw shut.' At which juncture the rector usually felt himself defeated, and after a brief caution as to the proper conducting of the particular festival then on hand, would walk onwards, with a sigh for theapparent impossibility of correcting the prevaihng vice of EngUmd — a sigh which has doubtless found its eclio in tlie heart of many a minister, trying hard to lead his people in the right way without otiending them, and who has wished, like Mr.'Stuart, that there w^^s no public-house in his parish. But for the credit of Sutton Valence it must be said, that its club was no worse in this respect than any other cJub, and better, perhaps, than some. The proceedings generally commenced early in the day 3o6 For Ever and Ever. when a procession of tlie members, wearing blue rosettes in their hats, preceded by a discordant brass band from Maid- i^one, and followed by all the children and dogs of the village, paraded proudly up and down before the houses of the gentlemen residents, in order to show that there was no humbug about them. It is true that the younger clod- hoppers might have shuffled a little less awkwardly in the rear of the procession, that every member having a different head-gear marred the uniformity of the whole effect, and that the old men in smock-frocks, who had already had a little drop to keep up their spirits, ought to have known better than to have capered like lambkins just at the most impres- sive part of the proceedings ; but these minor disadvantages winked at, the march of the Sutton Valence club was ac- knowledged to be a noble sight. Having thus treated those who were unhappy enough not to belong to the fraternit}'-, the club was used to throw itself at once with energy into the amusements of the day. The field where the tents were pitched gained, the younger part of the population was soon busy patronising see-saws, swings, and 'johnny-go-rounds,' whilst the lads and lasses joined in the more dissipating sport of ' kiss-in-the-ring,' or in dancing polkas to the strains of the discordant band. Many a show and booth found its way to Sutton Valence — no one knew from where — at the annual gathering of its club, and one or two flys, that had nothing better to do, came in from Maidstone, and found eniployment all the day in taking the revellers for penny rides up and down the village street, whilst itinerant pos- sessors of Aunt Sallies, knock-em-downs, and shoot-in-the- rings, made Farmer Marsh's shorn field, which looked so innocently bare in the morning, appear like a miniature race-course before night. Of course, it was a grand day for Sutton Valence — a day to be looked forward to and counted on for months beforehand— the one day of the year for all there, both old and young. It had been fixed to take place about a week after Miss Crofton's departure. It was then the commencement of October, and both the harvests were well over. The hops were already drying in the kilns, and the corn was being threshed out in the barns; the hard work of the year was done, and the people had time to think of enjoying themselves. Winifred Balchin, 307 Tn common with their neighbours, the family of Jacob Balchin had always been present upon these occasions. Tho parish-clerk himself was one of the oldest members of the club, and the young men, although not much given to Liying themselves out to please the fair sex, had a very good idea of pleasing themselves, and had never failed hitherto in saving up their live shillings apiece wherewith to thoroughly enjoy the club-day. This year, however, Joe appeared in a new character, and had an additional and a softer reason for wishing to come out strong on the grand occasion. For the last few months he had been courting, in his rough sheepisli manner, a certain Polly Willet, the sister of his friend Andrew, for whose repulsion at the hands of AYinifred he had not yet forgiven his sister. Polly Willett was just as coarse for a woman as her enamoured swain was fo!" a man, and so they suited each other exactly, and their courtship was a mixture of loud laughter, dead silence, nudges with the elbows, and questionable jokes. ' I suppose you ain't coming up to the field that figger,* said her elder brother rudely to AVinifred, on the morning in question, as, stripped to his shirt and trowsers, he was performing his toilet by the aid of a tiny looking-glass which hung against the sitting-room wall. His sister was dressed in the same morning gown of cotton that she had worn during the week, and the country cut of which showed how painfully thin she had become during the last few months. As her brother spoke to her, she turned her large blue eyes upon him, round which dark circles told tales of either sleepless niglits or weeping days, and said, quietly, that she was not going up to the field at all. Joe turned straight round from the looking-glass, so great was his astonishment at this intelligence, even though ho was just in the midst of tying a knot in the crimson handker- chief about his neck. ' Not going, you fool ! ' he drawled out with the utmost contempt ; 'why, you must be as mad as— mad,' he wound up with, finding''himself powerless to hit on anything madder than a mad woman. At this moment Balchin himself came down from^one of the upper rooms, arrayed with the utmost care in his Sunday «o8 ^"^^ Ever and Ever, suit of black, and looking, with his fat, oily, sanctimonioua face, the very pink of Christian parish-clerks. 'Look here! ' said Joe, in his loud coarse voice, as hia fiither appeared, ' the gal ain't going up there to-day.' ' AVho says so ? ' demanded the clerk almost as coarsely. ^She do. She's got some of her lady-airs on 'er again, I sup- pose, and our company ain't good enough for such as she.' ' It isn't that, father, said Winifred, quickly, ' and Joe knows it isn't, but he loves to make me out always in the wrong. It's my head that aches so. I ain't fit to go out in the sun, and the lads will do well enough without me.' ' AVell enough ? ' growled Balchin ; ' I should think they would, and better a deal without you than with you — a whining, weakly creature like you. "Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sitting there day after day, and never making an eftbrt to appear like other folk. What 's the matter with you ?' he almost shouted in the girl's ear ; ' air you dying, that you sit there like a statty, and haven't a civil word for male or female ? ' * Oh ! I wish I was, I wish I was,' sobbed the frightened girl as she buried her poor little face in her printed apron. * Aye, that 's right,' said Balchin, mockingly ; whine away — ^just like your mother. There 'd been a couple of you if she had lived. Lord ! as if I hadn't had enough of her tears, that she need go and leave me a moral copy of herself to remember her by. Now stop that, will you ? ' he continued, altering his tone to one of the sternest command, ' or I '11 drag you up to the field as you are. If you want to be left at home in peace, stop your water-pipes, and lace up my boots.' And throwing his heavy form into a chair, he thrust out one of his feet and placed it in the lap of the girl, who dry- ing her eyes, obeyed at once his summons. Whilst the father was holding this colloquy with hie daughter, Joe chuckled incessantly before the looking-glass, as if the joke was an excellent one; and his shadow, Bill, who, already dressed, was lounging on the door-sill, echoed his brother's merriment every time it occurred, in a feebler but scarcely less iritating manner. As Winifred, bending over her father's huge boots — the lacing of which, owing to her misty and blurred vision, was attended with some diffi- IVinifred Balchin. 309 culty to her — heard the enjoyment evinced by the young men at her discomtiture, tears for their uukiudueds again began to course rapidly down lier pale cheeks. ' Why, what are you doing ? ' exclaimed Balchin in a tone of the greatest disgust as some of the drops fell on his brightly blackened boots ; ' making my boots as dull as ditch- water on a day like this. Ugh ! get along with you,' and giving the kneeling girl a push with his foot as he spoke, he knocked her from him on the floor, and rising, completed the office for himself. This last sally on the part of their parent was too much for Joe and Bill, who joined in loud peals of laughter, whilst Winifred rose slowly and left the room. She was slightly hurt in body ; she was too weak to bear even ordinary rough treatment with impunity, but that was as nothing compared with the pain she experienced at her heart, when she thought of the circumstances which surrounded her life. Presently her father's voice was heard at the foot of the little staircase. ' Winifred, air you there ? ' ' Yes, father,' she answered humbly. ' Is it truth that you're not coming up to the field to-day ? ' ' Yes,' she replied. ' I am not well. I don't think I could stand the bustle and tbe noise.' ' AVell, you '11 have to bide on bread and cheese then, for there's nothing else in the house ; and as long as you choose to give yourself these airs, I '11 be blowed if you shall eat my meat to keep 'em up on !' It was a fatherly farewell for a man to give his child ; and, delivered with the emphasis it was, left a pleasing resonance on the ears of the wretched girl, who wept herself into hys- terics as soon as Balchin and his sons had quitted the house. She never looked after them once. She could have seen the gay procession start from her bed-room window, with her father looking the very essence of amiability, at its head ; Joe, Bill, and Tom, the former with Polly AV^illett, dressed in every colour of the rainbow, clinging to his arm, amongst the younger men, and the Twins and little Benny shouting with the rest of the juvenile population of Sutton Valence in the rear. She heard the band strike up ' Tlie ]\oast ]5cef of Old England ' as they set oil", but not even the unusual •31 o For Ever and Ever, delight of a brass band could turn the tlioiiglits of 'Winifred Balchin Irom lier heavy grief, and the remembrance of the want of sympathy she experienced from those at home. Everyone seemed to have forsaken her that day ; even Tom, dear Tom, who always stood up for his sister, and little pet Benny, had been, both too much engrossed with the yearly dissipation to notice tbat poor Winny did not make one of the crowd. The hours rolled on, one after another ; the sound of the church clock tolling them out was unnoticed by her ; the sight of the hot bright sun streaming in at the latticed window sickened her ; still she lay with her face downward on the bed, longing to shut out sight, and sense, and sound together. In the meanwhile the tent dinner was drawing to a close, and the clerk rose to make a speech. Everyone was silent then, for added to the respect in which his character was held in the parish, Jacob Balchin was known to be the best hand in Sutton Valence at giving a public toast. ' I rise, gentlemen and misters,' be commenced, ' to pro- pose a toast which I think I ouglit to propose, having been ])arish-clerk of this here parish for fifteen years come next Christmas (hear, hear). The toast, gentlemen, which I wishes to propose, is the health of our minister, the Eeverend Mr. Stuart, of his good lady, and of his daughter, Miss Henrietta Stuart, as we've seen spring up amongst us (loud cheers). Gentlemen, we are mostly fathers. I suppose I couldn't count twenty at these tables to-day as isn't fathers, and we must know what a father's feelins is. I shouldn't take it on myself, perhaps, to spenk of myself at such a time (cries of yes, yes), but if I might make so bold as to mention it, I may be supposed to know those feelins as well as any here. I am the lather, gentlemen, of a family left without their mother, and though to fill three places is perhaps more than any man can attain unto, yet, to the best of my ability, I have tried to be lather, mother, and parish-clerk, unto those children and the parish' (loud cheers). Here the speaker twinkled away a tear from his moistened eye-lids, and a woman, who was peering with others into the entrance of the tent listening to the speeches, was heard to exclaim, ' And so he has been, bless 'm.' 'Wherefore, gentlemen,' continued Balchin, *as I said JVifiifred Bale kin. 311 before, I may be supposed to know a father's feel ins, and what our good minister have felt at having seen his young lady grow up amongst us, now for eighteen or more years, in such 'ealth and 'appiness — which long may it continue for all of them — and therefore I calls upon all pre&ent to join me in drinking of their good 'ealths, with three times three. Gentlemen and misters, I give you the lieverend Mr. Stuart, Mrs. Stuart, and their young lady.' AVhich being drunk with the usual honours, Balchin sat down in his seat again with tears of emotion standing in either eye. To pro- pose this toast was his yearly custom, as he knew that through some channel or other it always reached the ears of Mr. Stuart again, and he imagined it affected that gentleman's opinion of himself far more than in reality it did, for INIr. Stuart was a man of the world, and saw through such things. Still the fer sting, the courting, and the jesting went on, and the hot day was long past its meridian, and evening shadows began to creep up the village street, and rellect mimic trees and houses upon the flags of the paved pathway. And still Winifred lay upon her little bed, face downwards, and wished that she was dead. Once Tom had remembered his sister, and ran home to se© her. It was in the afternoon, and finding her in that posi- tion, he had persuaded her to rise and take some tea, as she had tasted nothing since the morning. And sooner than keep him from liis amusements, Winifred had risen and come down stairs again, and partaken of the meal which Tom so kindly stayed to prepare for her. But then she persuaded him to return to his companions, assuring him that she was even better and happier alone. 'I am out of sorts, Tom,' she said — 'mind and body — and the more I bide quiet the sooner I shall be cured ; so leav^ me to myself, lad, and I shall be well again by the morrow."' And taking her at her word, the boy ran off and resumed his interrupted sport. It was not a day when the residents of Sutton Valence cared to walk about the village, and the ' Eoyal Hussar' being deserted, even Captain Wardlaw had not much in- ducement to stray from home. His family had passed the evening chiefly in their garden, and had retired to rest rather earlier than usual. Leofric Temple was spending the night •2 12 For Ever and Ever. in Sutton Valence, and the room he occupied wlienever he did v^o, was situated on the ground floor at the back of the liouse, and opened, with folding glass doors, on to the lower terrace, which was also easy of access from the side of the house by a gate which opened upon the village street. On the evening in question, it being about half-past ten o'clock, and the village gaiety still at its height, he had not been in his room many minutes, and was enjoying a cigar, with the windows open, preparatory to undressing, when a light foot- step came cautiously up the gravel path in front of him, and a slight childish form enveloped in a large cloak stopped before the folding doors. Seeing them ajar, it hesitated, but Leofric Temple guessed who it was, and stepping forward, 'I am alone, Winny,' he said in a whisper. Then the little figure advanced quickly, and entered the room, and he took the precaution to turn the key in the door, and close those which led into the garden, before he addressed her again. ' AVhat do you want ? ' he said carelessly. The girl had sunk into a chair by this time, and as he spoke she lifted up her weary eyes to his. How sharp the oval of her face had become! — every appearance of rounded childish- ness seemed to have deserted it at once ; it only served now for a frame to encircle those two weird, hungry-looking blue eyes. ' I am wretched, Leo,' she commenced. * My dear child, whose fault is that ? ' he demanded with assumed levity. ' I have been at home all day, alone,' she continued, with- out answering his question, ' until I felt as if I could stand it no longiT. Leo, do you know what they say in the vil- lage; I've heard it every day for a week past; they say that you're making up to your brother's lady, and that you've the best chance of getting her of the two.' * Well, AV^inny — what then ? ' said Leofric Temple. * It isn't true, Leo ? ' the girl asked anxiously. 'Of course not,' he replied ; 'you ought to know better by tliis time than to believe village gossip.' ' It couldii't be true, could it ? ' she demanded feverishly. * I ought to have known better, oughtn't I, than to believe it for a minute ? — but I 've felt so ill lately, I sometimes IViniJred Balchin. 313 think my head is strange. There 's no one can't hear us, Leo?' she added, looking round the apartment with a sudden look of fear. * Not that I know of,' he replied. lie had taken a seat on the bed, and liad resumed the cigar which her entranco had interrupted, ' but there 'a no telling. The sooner vou go, Winny, the better. How could you tell I should be hero to-night ? ' ' I guessed it,' she said. 'I saw you ride in this morning, and you couldn't have gone back to Maidstone without my seeing you. Must I really go, Leo ? ' ' I think you had better,' he replied, in a tone which inti- mated that he wanted to get rid of her. There had been a time when all his entreaties would have been for her to stop. She rose directly. ' Tou must answer me one question first, Leo,' she said, ' and then I '11 go fast enough. You must look me straight in the face and tell me that ifs all a lie, and that you 've never courted this lady as is staying with you, in any way, nor ever will.' She spoke so earnestly, and had moved so close to his side, that Leofric Temple's eyes drooped before her fixed gaze, and he turned away ostensibly to knock the ashes from his cigar. ' Upon my word, AVinny,' he said, ' you'll ask me to swear that 1 never looked at a woman before yourself next.' ' Not lefore me, not before me,' the girl replied quickly ; ' but now, Leo, now that you have loved me for so long, and said you loved me only. Tell me it is not true, now.' ' Tou press me rather hard, my dear child,' he answered awkwardly. * Not if you are true,^ she said fiercely; 'not if you are an honest man.' ' Are any men honest in that way, "Winny ? ' He said this, because he had nothing else to say. But in his hesitation, the girl, made quick by love, appeared to read her doom. ' Leofric, are you tired of me ? ' she asked hurriedly. He did not answer. Then she seized his arm and shook it violently, whilst her whole frame trembled with agitation. 'Answer me,' she exclaimed; 'say it at once. Are you tired of me, Leofric ? Have you left ofi" loving me ? ' 51^. For Ever and Ever, Mv clear Winifred, I wisli you women would learn to be satisfied with what you get.' ' Leofric, have you ceased to care for me ; don't you love me any longer ? tell it me quickly, tell it at once, or I shall suiVocate— I shall die.' And the hoarse tones of her voice, and the choking sound in her throat, really seemed as though her words would come to pass. Still she was silent. ' You don't, say you don't,* she exclaimed, with the des- peration of one kept in suspense.^ ^ ' At any rate, you don't love me as much as you did, Leofric' ' AVell, perhaps not quite so much,' he answered slowly. He wanted to be quit of the girl, and to let her know the fact as soon as possible, but even his coward heart felt self- eproachful as the cruel words dropped from his lips. ' Not quite so much ? ' she gasped ; ' ^o^— not quite so much. Oh, Leofric ! God help me ! ' And sinking into the chair again, she burst into a storm of tears. Not childish tears for a lost play-fellow, or a broken toy, but wild womanly sobs, which gathered strength as they proceeded, and seemed as though they would never cease. Backwards and forwards the girl rocked herself, nearly stifled with her emotion; whilst the broken sentences which fell from her were all expressive of the utmost despair. Leofric Temple became alarmed. He drew nearer to her side. ' When I said not quite so much, "Winny, I meant not quite in the same degree, perhaps as I did. It can't be expected to last for ever, you know ; but I shall always love you, "Winny, — I shall never forget you, and the days we have passed together, whoever else I care for. And pray don't cry so, there 's a good girl. There is no harm in what I said, after all.' But she repulsed his touch; she refused to listen to his words; she flung herself from right to left — the very embodi- ment of despairing passion. Suddenly she started up, and throwing herself at his feet, clung convulsively about his knees. Oh ! Mr. Leo, say it isn't true ! I can't bear it ! I can't 'Stand it! I shall die ! I shall go mad! Say you love me ! oh, try to love me ! Try to feel for me as you once did, and IVinifred Bed chin. 315 I will follow you like a servant to my life's end, and be con- tent only to look upon you, and know that you are alive. Oh, Leo! for my sake — for God's sake — say that it isn't true ! ' ' She was not a refined and educated lady — this poor little simple daughter of a parish-clerk. She had never been taught that where a woman has been repulsed by one of the other sex, her native pride and dignity should come to her aid, and help her to conceal her real feelings. It did not occur to her, that to leave her wavering lover with, a look of scorn and a cold averted eye would have been the best means of maintaining her self-respect. She only felt that a grief too awful to be contemplated — too sudden to have been expected — was coming upon her, and that the dark waves of lite were rising above her head, and submerging in their depths every- thing that she most treasured on earth ; and she caught at the one hope of saving his love by an appeal to his feelings, as, to use a time-honoured simile, a drowning man catches at a straw. To do Leofric Temple credit, he felt for tbe pain she was enduring ; but the power which Kowena Bellew's beauty had obtained over him so chilled, in retrospect, all feelings that he had formerly experienced, that he could not inflict a double death upon the despairing girl before him by holding out any fallacious hopes to her of retaining the love he had once pro- fessed to bear her. She read her sentence in the disinclination he evinced to meet her eyes, and in his evident avoidance of a direct answer to her questions, no less than in the faltering assurements he continued to pour upon her, that he should never cease — of course he should never cease — to regard her with a certain interest and affection, whatever came to pass for both of them. Interest and affection ! and in limited quantity ; when she wanted to drain his heart dry of love, and could be satisfied with nothing less than all. She unloosed her hold of his figure, and still on her knees before him, poured out the extent of her passionate grief Sob after sob broke from her youthful breast, and shook her fragile frame with their violence ; whilst cries to Hc-iveu for death, and oblivion, and forgetfuluess, were intermingled with laments for her perished hopes. 316 For Eve?' and Ever, ' Oh, my God! * slie exclaimed, as tlie whole bitter truth broke upon her senses, ' why can't I die before you here ? AVhy am I so strong that I must live without you ? Oh ! I wish I was with mother ! I wish I was under the ground along of mother ! Do you know what you have done ? ' she almost shrieked, rising hastily to her feet, and speaking with such vehemence that Leofric Temple was afraid the whole household would hear her. ' Do you know what I am, and what other people will call me ? Look at mel' said the poor girl, throwing her arms wide apart. ' Here I am, whom you said you loved, and who loved you so that I gave you all — all ! ' she continued, her voice breaking down into quivering sobs ; ' and you have the heart to leave me to — to — to my father and the world.' Then her passion seemed almost spent, and she sank down feebly in a chair, and shivered. He tried to soothe her by representing that her fears of discovery made her view the matter in much too serious a light ; that it had been a great misfortune for both of them that they had ever met, but as it was, the only thing left was to make the best of it ; that such things happened every day, and no one was the worse or wiser ; and that as it could not have gone on for ever, as a parting between them must have taken place some time, however painful, it was less so now than later. He put his hands upon her, but she moved away from beneath his touch with a siiudder, and sat silent for a few minutes, and very quiet, though trembling violently ; then she tottered to her feet and sought the door. ' A\^inifred!' said Leofric Temple, 'don't go like this ; give me a kiss, child. Say we part friends.' She turned upon him with one long yearning look of utter despair portrayed in her sad eyes, and shook her head. But as she saw him standing there and looking so ashamed of himself, the Angel which broods in the breast of every woman who loves, stirred within her, and rushing into his arras she covered his face with kisses. ' My love!' she faintly exclaimed, as she lay with her head upon his breast, ' my own ! ' with emphasis. ' My heaven ! my all ! Grood-bye ! ' Just for a minute her fair pale face with its closed eyes rested upon the bosom of the man who was faithless to her, J VI n if red Bill chin. 317 and tlien rousing hersclK, she suddenly started forward and made for the window. Toiielied by tlie evident depth of her grief", Leofric Temple would ai^ain have detained her by some words of attempted comfort, but this time she firmly repulsed him. * Don't speak ! ' she said. * Don't touch me ; only let me go.' And so he watched her slowly drag her weary little feet along the gardeu-path, until she had passed silently through the side-gate and disappeared from his sight. As he re-closed the glass doors, and commenced his pre- parations for going to bed, Leofric Temple did not feel par- ticularly comfortable. His philandering had thriven well in another quarter, and he was almost ripe for emulating the example of Jacob, who came with subtlety and stole away his brother's blessing ; but the remembrance of Kowena Bellew's most beaming smiles had no power to wipe out the picture which self-accusing memory presented to him, of a pale wasted face, and childish pleading hands held up in prayer to him for that which was by Xature's right their own, and which haunted him throughout the sleepless night which followed his last interview with Winifred Balchin. Long after that poor child, worn out with a day of so much excitement and pain, had sunk into her feverish slumbers, the man she unworthily loved was lying awake and discon- tented upon his restless couch. ilt CHAPTER XXIV. THE MAIDSTOIS'E BALIr. My mind misgives, Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin this fearful date With this night's revels. Shakspbabb. * Ally, my dear 1 I wish you would move away some of your property,' said John Wardlaw, good-naturedly, as he attempted one morning to find a place for his sketching block amidst the pyramids of artificial flowers, lace, and otlier items of female frippery, with which the table was crowded. ' Jiy property. Jack ? ' exclaimed Alice, wheeling round on the music stool from the piano before which she was seated, it 's not mine, it 's Miss Bellew's ; why, what use do you imagine I am likely to have for French flowers and Brussels net ? ' ' I didn't particularly examine what the nuisance consisted of,' he replied, laughing. ' I only knew it was in my way. But I see now that it does look more as if it belonged to her than to you. Is it necessary to Eowney's packing up that she is to leave half her adornments in the sitting-room ? Because I suppose that is what this pile portends.' ' I believe it portends the Maidstone ball,' said Alice ; ' at least I heard Miss Bellew speak to Leo about going to it to-morrow night. And she has said nothing before me about packing up.' ' The Maidstone ball ! ' repeated John "Wardlaw, contract- ing his eye-brows. 'Tou must be mistaken, Ally. If Rowena had such an intention, she surely would have men* tioned it to me before now.' The 'Maidstone Ball. 3J9 * Perhaps I am,' replied his sister, resuming her prac- tising ; but her tone was expressive of disbelief in her own Bupposition. Her brother, having pushed the miscellaneous heap to one side, pursued his occupation in silence. He hoped, for Miss Bellew's sake and for his own, that Alice was mistaken. Since the affair of the bracelet, he had Jelt diffident of find- ing fault in any degree with the actions of his Jiancee, and had passed over two or three things that his sense had told him at the time he was a moral coward for not opposing. Two days before, she had wonderfully annoyed him by leav- ing, in direct opposition to his expressed wishes, her card at the lodge-gates of Castlemaine, with a request that she might be permitted to see over the grounds. Leofric Tem- ple had upheld her in the design, and been her cavalier on the occasion, John Wardlaw positively refusing to have anything to do with what he considered such an unblushing attempt on her part to push herself into acquaintanceship with the Stuarts. It was true that the act was not an un- common one, and that during the summer months the famed beauties of the rector's garden and hot-houses attracted manv strancrers over from Maidstone, who easilv obtained a view of them by the same means ; but, under the circum- stances, considering that the Stuarts had had it in their power to show Miss Bellew every attention, and had even refrained, during her stay, to call upon the family with whom she was to become connected, John AVardlaw would rather have forfeited almost anything he possessed, have paid the most fabulous sums for flowers for her private en- joyment, sooner than have let her degrade herself so far as to court the notice of people who had had no hesitation in showing him openly that their wish was to avoid an en- counter with her. He had had some words with his halt- brother on the occasion for having seconded so ignoble a desire on Miss Bellew's part, and he had shown the latter his displeasure by his looks ; but further than thi.-?, and a haughty toss of the head as a response from her, the matter had been allowed to rest quiet. But with regard to this ball at ^Maidstone, he felt that he should be worse than coward if he did not speak. It wa^ to be a large public ball, given at the principal hotel in the 220 ^or FiVer and Ever, town, and if Rowena Bellew went to it, slie must go witliout any chaperons but liis brother and himself. John AVard- law hoped to marry this woman ; he trusted to bring her some day to his father's house, and amongst his brother's acquaintances as his wedded wife ; and his wife's name must liave no stain resting upon it, how^ever slight. He had en- gaged himself to her despite her profession, because she had been brought up to the stage and belonging to it was not her fault, added to which, where he loved (or thought he loved), the nature of John "VVardlaw was large enough to overstep such minor obstacles as a smaller soul might let itself be wrecked upon ; but now that he w'as engaged, he could not allow her to presume upon her calling, to set at defiance the laws which ruled society. He knew that the Maidstone ball room would be filled with officers from the barracks, and their friends, besides numbers of families of the tradesmen of the town ; and the appearance of an entire stranger amongst them, and one of such a remarkable order of beauty as E/Owena Bellew, could not fail to attract uni- versal attention. Then it would leak out who she was, and under what circumstances she w^as present at the assembly, and the next thing would be that her partners would think themselves justified in treating her as they would any other actress who appeared in public under the sole guardianship of a couple of young men who were not even related to her. As he thought of this contingency, his cheek burnt ; hia hand clenched itself over the harmless weapon in its grasp as if it was a dagger, ready drawn for the punishment of presuming usurpers, and pushing away his materials, he rose hastily from the table and left the room to seek the ob- ject of his thoughts. He must speak to her and learn the truth from her lips,therefore the sooner it was over the better. Miss Bellew was not far off, only in the drawing-room, on the other side of the passage, busily employed in writing letters. As her lover entered, she hastily pushed the paper she was employed upon under the blotting-case, and the faintest of blooms rose into her cheeks. * I am not come to disturb you for long, Rowney, darling,* he commenced, * I only want to ask you a question. Alice told me just now that you are thinking of going to the ball at Maidstone to-morrow night — it is not true ? * The Maidstone Ball 331 ' "Why not ? ' she said, with allected innocence, ' would tliere be any harm in it ? ' ' There woukl be a great deal of annoyance to me in it,* he answered. ' I should be very sorry for you to appear at a public ball down here, and therefore I hope you will give up the idea.' He could scarcely tell her all that he had thought to himself on the subject without giving her otfence, and he hoped at first that an earnest request on liispart miglit have the desired effect on her. But he hoped too much. ' I can't do that,' she replied firmly. 'I have promised your brother that I wdllgo, and I have made all my arrange- ments for doing so.' ' Without a word to me, Eowney ? ' he said reproachfully. ' Am I to ask your leave before I do anything ? ' she de- manded, elevating her pencilled eyebrows with mock sur- prise. ' I really was not aware of it, Wardlaw ; you seem to forget that we are not married yet. Mr. Temple asked me to go with him. to the ball, and I consented, and have procured my ticket, so I am not likely to change my plans now to accommodate a freak of fancy on your part.| And she threw herself back in the lounging chair which she occupied with an air of having altogether disposed of the subject. He took the seat beside her. 'Don't speak to me like that, Eowena; I have done nothing as yet to deserve it. My freak of fancy, as you call it, has some very solid ground to go on. In the first place, you have no lady to clmperon you to this ball. That is my chief objection ; and in the second, as Mrs. A\^ardlaw does not mix in any gaiety of the kind, and your cousin has left you, you are placed here under rather peculiar circum- stances, and I want you to keep quiet till w^e get back to town.' But she utterly contemned both his reasons as the height of folly, and his motives as the offspring of an uncalled-for jealousy. 'You have always been absurdly jealous of me from the commencement of our engagement,' she pouted. ' 1 believe that you would like to have me shut up in a box, and keep the key yourself. It is most unjustifiable conduct on your pare, AVardlaw, and I consider it positively insulting.' «22 For Eve [id Ever, "When he aclaiowledged his weakness in this respect, but told her to lay it all to the passion which her beauty liad inspired in him, and to ask herself if any man would not be jealous under the same circumstances, she merely threw her head about, and said she couldn't see that it was the elightest excuse for his conduct. But when he again recurred to the subject in hand, and bof^an to press her to comply with his wishes, he found her determinately fixed to follow her own will. ' As for a chaperon,'' she said, ' I have been out scores of times without one to balls in London, both private and pub- lic, and never felt in want of the article ; in fact, I wouldn't submit to be tied down to obey the rules and caprices of a stupid old woman. People go to balls to dance, and I can do that for myself. And in fact, I promised your brother, before I came* here, that the first respectable ball in Maid- stone I would accompany him to. And, therefore, if I were disposed to follow your advice (whicb I am not), I couldn't think of breaking my passed word.' He saw it would be of no use, and so he forbore to press her further. ' Very well, then,* he said, rising from the seat he occu- pied, ' if you are determined, I suppose it must be ; but I must say ,*^ that the last thing I wished was to go to this ball myself, or to take you there.' In general, lloweua Bellew was so little emotional, and so perfect an actress in daily life, that it was seldom she was 8urj)rised into betraying the few feelings she possessed ; but as the last sentence escaped John Wardlaw's lips, a less sus- picious person than himself must have observed the sudden start, tiny though it was, and the slightest of rising blushes, which denoted that it was unexpected on her part. His face instantly assumed a double expression of perplexity and pain. ' AV'^hy, you surely never thought of going alone with Temple ? ' he exclaimed. Finding that she had unwittingly divulnfed her secret thoughts, Eowena Bellew attempted to gain her object. ' Yes, I did,' she answered boldly ; ' why should I not, Wardlaw ? I know you don't care about dancing, and he does ; so why should I trouble you to drive nearly ten milea The Maidstone Ball. 323 there and back to see me amuse myself for a few hours ? "We shall not be gone lonu:, and I know you would much rather stay at home with Alice, particularly as I must be thinking of going home myself in a day or two more. Mr. ^Vniple will take every care of me, I am sure ; and though, of course, I am never so happy without you, yet I re:illy would much rather that you did not put yourself out of the wav to accommodate me.' ^he threw a long glance at him from beneath her droop- ing eye-lids as she concluded, but John AVardlaw was not to be duped for ever. He disregarded both the words and the action. * Nonsense ! * he said, frowning, ' you know how much trouble I consider it to look after my own property. I am your future husband, Eowena, and, under present circum- stances, your proper guardian, not Leofric Temple ; and when I prove careless of my trust, it will be time for you to delegate it to him. In the meanwhile, if you have set your heart upon attending this ball, I shall certainly go to see you safely there and back. Have you yet engaged Higgs's fly r ' ' I believe INtr. Temple has made all the necessary arrange- ments,' she answered coldly. * Very well, dear ; don't let us say anything more about it, except to anticipate a very pleasant evening together. Now, I won't keep you any longer from your letter-writing.' And kissing her white forehead, he left her to herself again. But if no more passed between themselves upon the subject, it was not the last that Eowena Bellew had to say about it. Leofric Temple was not at Sutton Valence during that day, but when he appeared on the following afternoon the tirst words with which she greeted him were : * He insists upon going with us, Temple. What shall we do ? ' * Just the same as without him,* replied the other, laugh- ing, ' let him come if he likes ; what 's the odds ? ' 'I think it is the greatest nuisance possible,' she said; *he may choose to stick to my side all the evening.' * Oh, nonsense, beauty ! ' replied Leofric Temple, ' you 're quite sharp enough to devise a means of getting quit of hira whenever you think fit. For my own part I think his pre- sence will be rather an advantage than otherwise.' 224 ^<^ Ever and Ever, * How ? ' she inquired, opening lier eyes. 'I'll tell you by-and-bye ; "walls have ears;" in the meanwhile everything is as it should be, and if poor "Ward- law likes to have a dance this evening, I think it 's very hard of you to grudge it him.' She laughed lightly. She was a woman who would have laughed at an execution, or a shipwreck, or any calamity which did not personally concern herself. John AVardlaw dressed himself for the evening's amuse- ment with a heavy heart. He could not shake ott' the feel- ing which possessed him that something unpleasant would happen before the night was over. But when, on descending to the lower rooms, he encountered Kowena Bellew ready attired for the ball, she looked so beautiful that he was almost ready to retract his former opinions, and acknow- icdge that it was worth while setting society's rules at de- fiance only to see her thus. Her dress, of pure white crape, covered with tulle, and decorated with drooping bouquets of the graceful purple westeria, became her admirably, and her lovely head and face being left, except for its own wealth of hair, perfectly unornamented, added to the attractions of her whole appearance. The jealousy of a lover, perhaps, might have made John Wardlaw wish that the white silk bodice had not been cut quite so much off the rounded shoulders, or that the sleeves of her dress had been a little more than some four inches in depth ; but, taken altogether, she looked so charming, that he had not the heart to find any fault with her appearance, particularly after their little difference of the day before. ' She will come to think at last that I am always cavilling at her actions,' he thought. ' She will learn to consider me her severest judge, instead of her fondest admirer. I must take her as she is, and be thankful. She is far too lovely to be improved by any suggestions or alterations at the hand of man.' Whether gratified by the approval so evidently pictured in his eyes, or desirous of making some atonement to him for her ungracious conduct of the day before, E-owena Bel« lew appeared kinder on that night, and more anxious to please John AVardlaw, than perhaps she had ever been. As the clumsy, ill-lighted fly rattled with them on the road to The Makhtmie Ball, 325 Mnidstone, a thrill of delit^lit penetrated to the inmost re- cesses of his heart, as he ft-lt her little hand slip itself fur- tively into his own, and the tip of her satin boot, at tlio same moment, come in contact with his feet. He pressed the lirst warmly, and let tiie second rest quietly where siie had placed it, whilst he abandoned himself to tiie delicious thought that she must feel for him as he did for her, or a nature usually so undemonstrative would never permit her to make such advances to him. i3ut once or twice as they passed a carriage on the road, or a public-house flaring with ^as, the hand was quickly withdrawn from his, and as John Wardlaw raised his eyes to watch the passing liglit Hash upon her fair face, he could distinguish nothing there but the same expressionless statuesque loveliness that had ever characterised Row^ena Bellew. But he knew how nuich slie disliked her fondness for him being remarked upon ; she had often told him that it was the one sensitive point in her nature, and her lover, believed rightly that it was the pre- sence of his half-brother which disturbed her, and wished heartily that they could have had a carriage all to themselves ; as it was, however, he persuaded himself that he admired her all the more for the modesty which actuated such a feeling on her part. The ball was a very crowded and successful one. The arrangements, as might have been expected at so important a town as Maidstone, had been made and carried out in the very best style, and the dancing was kept up with unabated energy during the whole evening. As John Wardlaw entered the ball-room with Miss Bellew on his arm, and heard the buzz of admiration and inquiry which w^as caused by her appearance, he could hardly say whether he liked or disliked the public commotion which her beauty caused. He was proud of it, but he was jealous at tiie same time, and as it arose he glanced downwards with some uneasiness upon his future wife. There was no doubt, however, as to what feeling it created in the lady's breast ; she was undeniably pleased at the ovation paid her ; although she looked as calm and unconcerned under it as if not one of the numerous remarks made upon her had reached her ears. tSoon the masters of the ceremonies had enough to do in requesting permission to introduce partners to the fair ^26 For Ever and Ever, Btranp:er, and after having secured one waltz wltli lier, 76hn Wardhnv had his divinity whisked away from his protecting arm, and swallowed up by a host of admirers, all eager to be allowed to put her name down on their cards. Her own was filled before she had been in the room half-an-hour; and although he kept her pretty well in sight, her lover had no further opportunity of exchanging a word with her until twelve o'clock struck, and a thinning amongst the tired 'wall-flowers* announced that the supper-room had been thrown open. Then John Wardlaw caught a glimpse of a white crape dress, looped with the pale westeria blossoms, with a pair of moustaches in tow, making its way amidst the crush for the staircase, and he followed it in time to meet her again just as her companion had managed to secure a seat for her at the table. She had been dancine: without intermission the entire evening, but she looked as fresh and cool as if she had been sitting still the whole time, and as with his ungloved hand he touched her smooth shoulder, to intimate his presence to her, it felt as cool as it looked. * Are you not very tired ? ' he asked anxiously. Miss Bellew's partner, a fierce-looking officer, with a pair of most formidable moustaches, here turned sharply upon John Wardlaw, as if to demand his right to engross the lady's attention. But the look he encountered was quite as defiant and rather more steady than his own. * Not at all,' replied Miss Bellew. ' I am engaged for about twenty more dances than there are down in the list.' 'I am sorry to hear that,' he answered. ' I suppose then there 's no chance of my getting another ? ' ' Not the slightest, mon cJier,^ she said, laughing afiectedly ; and then, seeiug the indignation of the gentleman who had taken her down to supper at her patronage of a usurper, she added, ' Major Montague, I must introduce my friend Mr. "Wardlaw to you. He occupies the high post of sanctioned guardian to my morals and manners, so you must be \cry careful what you say before him.' Generally speaking, there was nothing tlc.i delighted John AV"ardlaw more than to hear Eowena Bellew acknow- ledge, of her own accord, his right to be considered as her life ])rotector; but there was something so light and frivo- lous in her tono to-ni^ht, and the information, in a public ' The Maidstone Ball, 327 place, and to an utter stranger, appeared so uncalled-fctr, that it jarred upon him with a sensation mucli more like pain than pleasure. As the words left Miss BcUevv's lips, the two men drew themselves stiffly up after the wont of Englishmen, and made the slightest possible bend in the direction of one another. And then Major Montague fidgeted about as if the information had not altogether pleased him ; and John AVardlaw^ took heart from it to bend over llowena Bellew's shoulder and whisper in her ear: ■ *If I am your sanctioned guardian, darling, let me exer- cise my authority by forbidding your knocking yourself up to-night. Kemember we have a long drive home.' * I don't mean to do so,' she answered in the same tone. * I am engaged for the first after-supper waltz to your brother (whom,by-the-bye,I have shamefully neglected this evening), and then I think I shall quietly walk off, and leave my card of engagements behind me for the consolation of my dis- appointed partners.' She laughed gently as she proposed the step, and John AVardlaw laughed at it with her. It seemed an excellent joke to him, as it would to any man under the circumstances, to see his fellow-creatures de- frauded of their lawful expectations, whilst he was comfort- ably driving homewards with the defrauder's hand clasped between his own. ' Find Mr. Temple for me,' said Eowena Bellew presently. ' Our waltz will strike up in another minute, and I will get it over at once.' He went to do her bidding, and after a little trouble re- turned with his brother, whom he had been sharp enough to look for first amongst the decanters at the other end of the table. As they were seeking Miss Bellew together, John AVardlaw could not refrain from telling Leofric Temple of her design for quietly ridding herself of the persecutions of her numerous admirers. He wa3 so proud of her, poor simple fool, for not caring for the vapid compliments emana- ting from empty heads, that most women delight in ; and as he heard it, Leofric Temple appeared to enjoy the idea as much as his brother had done. ' Come, Miss Bellew,' he said, as they gained the lady's side, ' our waltz has commenced, and we must make the last a good one. Have you had your supper, AVardlaw ? ' onS For Ever and Ever, ' No, I have not,' was the reply. ' I am just going to fall to now.' ' AVill you wait for us here ? ' asked Eowena Bellew, in her sweetest tone, as she turned her dark eyes upon him. * If you will promise to do so, we will come back as soon as I am ready to return home. Do, there 's a dear Wardlaw ; then there will be no mistake about our meeting one another.* * Of course I will,' he said. ' I dare say I shall find plenty to occupy me till I see you again.' * Greedy boy ! ' exclaimed Miss Bellew, playfully. ' Well, we shall depend upon finding you here, then.' She had risen as she spoke, and (Major Montague having disappeared as soon as the succeeding partner came on the stage) was leaning upon the arm of Leofric Temple. As she moved away from the spot she had occupied, and John AVardlaw was watching her until the last, she turned, still leaning on his brother's arm, before she crossed the threshold of the door, and as she turned she smiled. In a moment the remembrance of the day when he had first seen her painted resemblance at the Eoyal Academy flashed across John A\^ardlaw's mind, and in the look she turned upon him he again saw the calm, perfect profile, the cold smile, and the steady gaze which Tom Cornicott had copied from 1-fowena Bellew as the best model he had ever seen for the portraiture of the unwomanly Jael — the cruel, deceptive Avife of Heber the Kenite. Just so had the picture smiled upon him, and intoxicated his senses with its ideal loveliness; and whilst he looked, the white crape dress and the bouquets of westeria faded into dreamland, and Eastern magnificence draped itself about the woman's moulded limbs, and the flowers and handkerchief she held in her gloved hand were transformed into a hammer and a nail. It was not a memory to please a lover, and hastily returning her parting smile with one made scarcely warmer by his feelings, John Ward- law went in search of champagne, wherewith to drive away tlie unpleasant thoughts which memory had evoked. The languishing strains of the waltz were now being poured forth above, and the sudden disappearance of most of the dancing people from the supper-table proved that the amuse- ments had recommenced. The band could not be heard very phiinly from the lower room, and, as the upper one filled, it The Maidstone Ball. 329 became less and less distinct. Jolm Wardlaw had soon finislied his supper, and drowsily leaning on a coucli, listened for some time with a sad want of interest to the stray sen- tences which reached him of the conversation going on around. The waltz music above had ceased, or he believed 80, and what they were playing at the moment sounded more like a set of quadrilles. He looked at his watch. It was three-quarters of an hour since Miss Bellew had left him. She must, then, have been persuaded to fulfil one more enfjafiement. After this dance was finished she would be sure to return. But the time went on, and he saw nothing of her. Then Jobn AYardlaw grew impatient. He was not given to bearing little crosses well, and considering that by her breakage of her own he was released from the fulfilment of his promise to Eowena Bellew, he left the supper-room to find her. It was no easy matter even to force a way into the ball-room, the crowd was so thick ; and quite impossible from a standing position to decide where any particular person might be. As he now saw the diffi- culties which stood in his way, he resolved that the only plan would be to return to the supper-room, and wait her coming as patiently as he could. But another half-hour of solitude drove him upstairs again, quite out of patience. It was too bad of Eowuev ; it was most inconsiderate and un- kind. If she could not possibly come herself, she should have sent his brother to tell him of the alteration in her plans. He pushed his way up and down the ball-room once or twice, and examined all the dancers, but could see the couple he sought for nowhere. In his peregrinations he encountered Major Montague. The Major was not looking particularly pleasant, but John AV^ardlaw thought he might help him out of his difficulty. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, 'but have you seen j\[is8 Bellew lately ? Can you tell me where she is ? ' * I think she has gone home,' replied the Major, grumpily. *I saw her leave the room with Temple nearly an hour ago.* ' Gone home ? — impossible ! ' thought John AV ardlaw ; but he merely thanked the other for the information, and then, making his way back to the door, rushed down the stairs. 230 For Ever and Ever. The ball was taking place at one of the principal hotels in INIaidstone, and he knew the waiters and porters well. * Can you tell me if IMr. Temple has left the hotel with a lady in a white dress ? ' he inquired of the first one he came across. ' Mr. Temple, of the 88th, Sir ? Let me see, Sir. Iliggs's fly, I think, from Sutton Valence.' ' Yes ! yes ! You are right,' exclaimed our hero eagerly. ' Then he has, Sir, more than an hour ago. I put the lady in myself.' ' Oh ! it 's impossible^ said John "Wardlaw, excitedly, * thev couldn't have gone ; you must be mistaken.' 'Don't think I am. Sir,' replied the waiter. *Here, [Roberts (to the hall porter), how long ago is it that Higgs'a fly left the hotel ? You were by at the time.' ' Better nor an hour,' grunted the porter. * And what parties went in it ? ' continued the waiter. * A lady and gentleman. Mr. Temple the gentleman was.' * There, Sir, you see I am right,' said the waiter, turning to John "Wardlaw with an appealing smile. ' More than an hour a2;o ? ' repeated the young man, 'I can hardly believe it. Why, they must be at Sutton Valence by this time.' *Ay, that they must. Sir, if that old 'ess of Higgs's haven't broke down along the road.' He never heeded the waiter's sail}'-, he was so astonished at the news that he had heard. There must have been some gross mistake somewhere. Perhaps they had returned to the supper-room at the very time he was seeking them in the ball-room, and, finding him gone, had concluded that he had returned to Sutton Valence without them. * It 's tlie most extraordinary thing I ever heard,' he kept on repeating. ' Are you sure the lady wasn't ill ? ' he said, again appealing to the waiter. 'Not as I know of. Sir ; she seemed all right. Can I assist you in any way, Sir ? ' * Get me a fly to go to Sutton Valence in,' said John "Wardlaw hastily. The waiter shook his head. ' I don't know as I can do it, Sir, but I can but try.' The Maidstone Ball, 331 So saying, be dived amonfrst tlie divers vehicles assembled before the hotel door. But they were one and all engaged, and did not dare take so long a fare as to Sutton Valence. ' Now, if it had been anywheres in the town, Sir,' re- marked the sympathising waiter; 'but on a night like this, you see, every fly is took up.' But it wasn't ' anywheres in the town,' and so John Wardlaw determined at once that he would walk home. Ho was positive that the whole proceeding was owing to some mistake which could only be rectified when they met again. So he set out bravely, in his evening costume, to traverse the distance which lay between them, anxious for nothing except to shorten the time which separated tiiem, and prevented him from hearing the explanation which he felt assured she would be able to give. The way was too familiar to him to seem long, and he was so occupied with his own thoughts on the journey, that he was in Sutton Valence almost before he knew it. It was then about three o'clock in the morning, and the first hurried words he ad- dressed to the sleepy servant, who had been directed to sit up for them, were : ' How long have they been in, Mary ? ' * Oo, Sir ? ' she asked, rubbing her half-closed eyes, too little awake to feel any surprise at his appearing on foot. 'Miss Bellew and*Mr. Temple; when did they come home ? ' ' They ain't home. Sir ; nobody ain't come home.' 'Kot Miss Bellew and Mr. Temple, in Higgs's fly?* 'No, Sir; nobody ain't come yet; not Higgs's fly, nor nothing.' John "VVardlaw stared as if the world was coming to an end. ' The devil ! ' he exclaimed, ' that fool at Maidstone must have told me wrong after all ; I tliought they would never start without me. What on earth now will they think of my mysterious disappearance ? Why, it 's a perfect comedy of errors. However, I hope the waiter may give them a, little truer information than he did me. Hang it all,' he continued, as he thought with vexation of the drive home with Kowena Bellew which he had lost, ' what a confounded fool I was not to wait in the supper-room until she came, as she told me to do r c^ "2 Fur Ever and Ever, 'Be I to close the door, Sir?' demanded the wearj servant. He had been talking to himself more than to her, and was only recalled by her question to a consciousness of her presence. ' Yes, you can close it,' he answered, ' but you mustn't go to bed yet ; they '11 be in presently.' With a muttered blessing upon their heads for not being in at the moment, the girl re-latched the hall-door, and re- tired to the kitchen until again summoned. John AVardlaw lit his bed-room candle, and proceeded to his own apartment. At first he had had an idea of walking back to Maidstone again, but, on second thoughts, had come to the conclusion that it would be folly to do so. He told his dilemma to Alice, who, wakened by his return, thrust her rosy face out of her door to ask how he had enjoyed himself, and she comforted him by perfectly coinciding in his opinion, that the waiter would be sure to tell Leo and Miss Bellew of the mistake as soon as ever they set up an inquiry on the subject, and a short interval would see them follow him to Sutton Valence. * Gro to bed. Jack,' she said, in conclusion, ' don't sit up for them ; you look wofuUy tired, and I '11 wake you, if you wish it, when they arrive. The least noise rouses me.' ' Yes, do,' he replied, ' I should like to know when they come home.' He was more tired than he thought for, and as he reached his bed-room he felt too weary even to undress, and throwing himself upon the bed in his shirt and trousers, was soon fast asleep. The grey dawn had resolved itself into a gloriously bright day, and the sun was streaming full upon his outstretched figure, when Alice dressed, entered his bed-room. ' Jack, Jack ! ' she exclaimed, loudly, * get up ; wake up ^ I want you !' IStill he only murmured something drowsily, turned over on his other side, and sunk to sleep again. ^ Jack, dear Jack ! ' the girl repeated, shaking him by tha? arm, 'do rouse yourself I have something to tell you. They have never come home ! ' ' Eh ! what ? ' exclaimed John Wardlaw, as the excittJCt The Maidstone Ball. 333 words pierced his slumbering senses. ' JV/iat did you say, Alice ? ' he repeated, sitting up in his bed, and staring -at her. 'They've never come home, Jack — Leo and Miss Bellew; it is past eight o'clock, and they 've never been home ! * * JS^ever — come — home ! ' said her brother, repeating the words slowly after her ; and then, as the remembrance of the events of the night before flashed upon his mind, without further notice, he leapt oif his couch, and rushed wildly into Misp. Bellew's bedrooia. m 334 CHAPTER XXV. THE PUESTJIT. This, this, has thrown a serpent to my heart, While it o'erflowed Avith tenderness, with joy, With all the sweetness of exulting love; Now, naught but gall is there, and burning poison, Thomsoit. As be did so, lie closed the door behind him with a violence that intimated that he wished for no spectators. He was afraid of what he might meet there; he was afraid of the spirit in which he might meet it; and he could not bear that Alice, or any living creature, should watch him as he took his first sight of the corpse of his dead hopes. For he had guessed the truth at once. As soon as ever his half-awakened senses had taken in the meaning of his sister's words, he knew that he had been duped, defrauded, and was the bearer of as great a wrong as one man can do another. Everj caution he had ever heard upon the subject, the despised counsel of Laura Tredman anrl Tom Cornicott, the scorn- fully received advice of Catherine Hurst and Miss Crofton ; no less than the thousand and one proofs of a wavering dis- position that he had himself witnessed in Eowena Bellew, came back in tliat moment with a fatal rush upon his memory, and made his brain reel with the sudden light let in upon it. It was a suspense too awful, too horrible, lor mortal nature to bear, than which the certainty of loss was again and again preferable, and he ran wildly to seek for proofs of her black falsehood, as a man, wounded to death, and writhing in his agony, will throw himself upon his own sword sooner than wait in lingering torture the slow coming ot the last angel. The room he entered bore in its atmosphere that fresh 7 - V "^ ine fursuiU 335 cool feeling, whicli betokens a room unslept in ; but that ho waa prepared for. Que after anotlier, lie hurriedly opened the drawers, and found that every vestige of clotning had been removed from them, aud that two of her boxes, whicli had stood in the room since Miss Eellew's arrival, were already locked, and addressed to her former home in Priuces Street, with the appended direction, ' To be forwarded ut once.' One of her packing-cases was gone ; John Wardlaw knew it well, and missed it directly ; it had doubtless been sent on in advance for her present accommodation. Not a line, not a word, not a token of farewell left anywhere, and yet these evident signs that a farewell had been contemplated for some time previously. Nothing to soften the blow ; not one plea set forth for excuse or forgiveness ; not one cry for mercy in his thoughts of her ; not one self-accusing syllable — nothing to tell the tale to him but these blank dumb walls, this rifled room, and unpressed bed — these silent symbols of a cowardly flight. Eor a moment, the shock overwhelmed him. He did not weep, nor did he tremble, as the w^eaker frame of woman when the storm passes over it^ nor yet rush about franticly, exclaiming that he could not bear it; but, knowing himself to be alone, he did sit down by that dfserted toilet-table, aud buryii:ig his face in his hands, gave one long, gasping sob, to the memory of what had been, and a vjish to God that he was dead. But that tribute of weakness paid to the death whicli had just taken place, John Wardlaw stood upright, and, once satisfied that what he feared was inevitably true, set himself to receive the unpalatable e€T;3 as a man should do. He felt that he must prepare himself for what must follow — an inter- view with his betrayers. At the very thought of that, all traces of weakness passed from his countenance ; he set his teeth, braced up his nerves, and in the heart where Love had so lately held his soft revels, the twin demons Jealousy and lievenge took their place, and made him wish for nothing but to meet his brother and that false woman tace to face, and hear thum make answer to him for their treachery. Beyond that inter- view he could not look — it was the first stepping-stone upon his future path, and further on was chaos and black night. He left the apartment which Kowena Bellewhid occupied without so much as another look at its belongings j locked 33^ Fo7- Ever and Ever. the door after him, and put the key iu his pocket (he was still jealous of those remains, cold thouo;h they were), walked into his own room, dressed himself deliberately as for a jour- ney, and then went down stairs. Alice, who met him on the way, thought that he must have received some explanation of the mystery, he looked at her with so collected a gaze, and her words intimated as much. ' Jack, dear, have you heard anything ? Have you found anything ? Is it all right ? ' 'I know nothing as yet, Alice,' he replied, 'I am going now to Maidstone to find out the truth. Please say no more about it until I return.' But to Mrs. Wardlaw, who was seated at the breakfast- table in a state of the highest indignation, he spoke in a very diiferent tone, ' AVell, Mr. John, these are pretty doings! ' she commenced, as he entered the room. ' These are stage manners, I sup- pose. I said how it would be from ' He interrupted her sternly. ' Mrs. AVardlaw, this occurrence must be owing either to accident or design. If from an accident, whoever breathes a needless word against her fair fame shall rue the hour it was spoken — but if it proves to be the work of design,' he added, fiercely, and clenching his fist, ' as sure as there 's a God iu heaven, your son shall answer to me for it ! ' She shrieked out some expression of fear at this, but he did not stay to answer it ; and the next moment he had left the house, slamming the hall-door after him. And then Mrs. AVardlaw relapsed into the same tearful dread that she had been wont to do in years gone by, when her flaxen-haired Leofric had been in danger of having hia curls pulled by some boy-enemy who had sworn to lie in wait for him. * As if if- was all your poor brother Leofric's fault,' she complained to Alice, as soon as John Wardlaw's back was turned; au'i if Miss Bellew insisted upon not coming back fromMaidstone last night, whatcould your brother Leofric do ? Your brother AV^ardlaw ought to have been prepared for some- tiiing of the kind, everyone knew what he had to expect; it all comes of his having taken up with a person like Miss Bellew against the wishes of his family. I can't see how Th* ^ -rsuit, ^27 your brother Leofric ia to blame. Tour brotbor "Wm-dlaw has just walked out of the house in tlie most unt-hristiaiiliko temper, and I feel sure, if he meets your brother Leofric, there will be a quarrel between them. Your brotlier Ward- law should have stayed to look after her himself It all comes of his having left the ball so early. And then to hear him speak so of your brother Leofric! So kind as he has been to Miss BeiU^w too \ry\ ^Qur brother Wardlaw says ' ' Hush, hush ! mamma, said poor Alice, whose hard fate in being obliged, save for the attempt to subdue the torrent of Mrs. Wardlaw's tearful speeches, to remain quiescent in the business, made her deserving of all pity. ' 1 am afraid there is something worse than mere folly at the bottom of all this ; but Jack begged that we wouldn't discuss the sub- ject until we knew something more about it.' ' jN"ot discuss the subject, indeed ! ' angrily exclaimed Mrs. Wardlaw, to whom to keep anything to herself was a bitter pill. ' Tour brother AVarcllaw didn't hesitate to make open threats to me against your brother Leofric — he did not, in- deed — so he can scarcely expect me to remain quiet, and hear my own son abused. Not discuss the subject, indeed !' And so much in need of comfort and advice did Mrs. Wardlaw feel herself to be under the circumstances, that the Rev. Samuel Jellicoe and several other sympathising neighbours, who dropped in during the morning, were put not onlv in full possession of every particular of the proceedings, but were informed of the very expression of our bloodthirsty hero's face, as he had threatened to revenge himself on his innocent half-brother ; which was a cause of such excitement to them, that, before night, every gossip in Sutton Valence was arguing the probabilities of whether in the case of John WaxJlaw being brought up for murder at the next Maid- stone assizes, the circumstances in his favour would be con- sidered strong enough to cause the sentence to be commuted to transportation for life. In the meanwhile, the object of tlieir arguments had accomplished the purpose of his journey. As he had set out on his road to Maidstone, the familiar sight of Higgs's yellow-bodied fly, standing in the stable-yard of the ' Koyal llussar,' had prompted him to make his Urst inquiries of his old friend, and to procure his vehicle to go /»^8 For Ever and Ever, back to Maidstone in. But wlien he attempted to put "his idea into execution, be found tbat be could not do it. Higgs would be able to give bim all necessary information, be felt sure of tbat ; but his soul recoiled from seeking it. By this time all the village must know his shame; by this time every o-irl thought pitifully of bim ; every coarse rustic laughed at bim ; the thought was madness, and the sooner he was out of it the better. He would rather walk to Maidstone ; ac- tion was everything to him; he could not have sat still whilst tbe tired horse drew the old crazy fly slowly to the scene of bis disf^race. No ; if eyes must view bim in his hour of defeat, if ears must hear his tale of shame and sorrow, they should be the eyes and ears of those in his own station of life; to break down before the hinds of his own village, John Wardlaw felt would be too much degradation to bear. So he walked briskly towards Maidstone, noting nothing of the natural beauties on the way ; but, at the same time, thinking as little as be could, walking like a man in a dream, with a firm resolve noi to be betrayed into a weakness, which be felt, once given way to, might gain the mastery over him; with the loins of his mind girded up, in fact, and always keeping in view the great end of his journey. If he felt tempted to bemoan his perished belief, bis dead trust, his lost love, one thought of Leofric Temple, one remembrance of tbe affectation of being his, which she had maintained to the very last, was sufi&cient to harden all his softness, and make him a man again. The time for regret might come, but it was not now ; this was the hour of his revenge. As soon as he reached Maidstone, he proceeded to the barracks. He knew the oflicer with whom his halt-brother shared his quarters, and be judged that he would be the most likely person in the town to give him information as to Leo- fric Temple's movements. On inquiring for Mr, Prescott (which was the gentleman's name) at the door of the officers' barracks, he was at once shown up to his room, where he found him very comfortably seated at breakfast, and alter- nately rending the Times, and sipping his coffee. As be entered, John AVardlaw's glance flew involuntarily to that end of the apartment where his half-brother's bed stood — ■ the damask coverlet which transformed it into a sofa by day was, as be expected, unremoved. Mr. Prescott evidently The Pursuit, 339 knew nothing of the circumstances of the evening before, for his openino: address to his visitor ^vas: ' Holloa ! AVardlaw ! Glad to sue you. Of course, you didn't expect to see Temple here. Nt'ver saw such a fellow in my life for getting leave. It 's all very well if you 're flush' but, for my own part, I find cutting about deuced ex- pensive. Can I'otfer you anything ? I 'm almost afraid the coifee is cold.' ' Nothing, thank vou,' said John AVardlaw, who had such command o"'ver his features that the other observed nothing unusual in his appearance, 'i came to ask you a question about Temple, Prescott. I suppose he 's in town. Can you tell me where he is staying ? ' !Mr. Prescott stared. . ' That I 'm sure I can't. I have no idea where he is. He was at the ball last night, you know.' John Wardlaw winced, but replied that he knew it. ' I haven't seen him since,' continued Mr. Prescott. ^Hi3 leave commenced from this morning ; so I didn't expect to do so.' ' Por how lon<7 is it ? ' demanded John Wardlaw. 'A week, I believe. By-the-bye,' added Mr. Prescott, slapping his knee. ' his batman can tell you ;' and belore his friend c'ould ask him ichat, he had sprung up and thrust his head into the passage. ' Jones,' he shouted, ' to what address did you send 31r Temple's portmanteau, yesterday ? ' , , . ^ * To Loncrford's, sir.' replied the batman, who had hve pairs of boots uSder one arm, and a couple of swords under the other ' oil ' all ricrht ! to be sure,' said Mr. Prescott, turning to his visitor, 'to Longford's hotel; Temple generally stays there, you know, when he goes to London.' ' Tes, thanks,' said John AVardlaw, rising, ' to Longford s, in the Strand. I am much obliged to you, Prescott ; that is all the information I desired.' ^ . ' IS'othing gone wrong at Sutton Valence, I hope inqr.irrci the officer, struck for the first time by the immobility ot Ins euest's countenance. . . * Nothing at all,' replied the other. 'I have some busi- ness to settle with Temple, that 's all, and he forgot to leave 34© For Ever and "Ever. word where I sliould find him. I cannot stay, thank you/ he repeated, as preparations were being visibly made for a fresh supply of coffee. ' My time is valuable, or I should have been delighted. His address was all that I came for. Thank you, and good-bye.' And before Mr. Prescott could press him further, or had re- coveredfrom the astonishment of his sudden exit, hewas gone. Stoppages occurred on the way; stoppages which fearfully fretted his impatient temper ; and it was not until past twelve o'clock that he found himself at the door of Long- ford's hotel, inquiring for Mr. Temple. Mr. Temple had arrived there by the night train. He was in a private room. * Alone?' No, not alone. Mrs. Temple was with him. "Would the gentleman please to send up his name ? ' 'I will announce myself,' said John Wardlaw, decidedly. * I am Mr. Temple's brother.' And without another word he mounted the stairs, and, turning the handle of the door indicated to him, found himself in the presence of Leofric Temple and Rovvena Bellew ! As he entered, a slight scream struck his ear. How well he knew that voice ! How familiar seemed the sheen of that silk dress, worn so often at Sutton Valence, which rustled and shimmered as its wearer rose hastily from the arm-chair, and rustled and shimmered as without speaking, she sunk into it again ! They were alone, and the remains of breakfast were on the table. John Wardlaw, removing his hat, advanced to the centre of the room, and Leofric Temple, dropping the Brad- shaw which he held in his hand, rose from his seat, and stood confronting his injured kinsman. ' So,' exclaimed the former, in a tone of the utmost con- tempt, ' you have not had the prudence to run very far from me, Mr. Temple. I suppose you were prompted by con- sideration for the trouble I might experience in tracing you.* ' What would have been the use of it ? ' said Leofric Temple, sullenly. ' I shall have to go back to duty in a week.' 'It certainly would have been useless, as far I am con- cerned,' replied John A¥ardlaw, ' for I am come to demand an explanation of your conduct to me, at your hands, and I would have followed you to the antipodes for the same The Pursuit. 341 purpose. Temple, you and I have a reckoninjr to settle.' He tixed his eye as he spoke ; he clenched his hands ; lie ajjpeared the very embodiment of avenging justice; and liowena Bellew, for the first time, seemed to realise what she had risked in deceiving him. 'AVardlaw,' she exclaimed, starting from her cliair, 'for heaven's sake, don't have any words here ! You terrily me beyond measure ! ' At the sound of her voice, heartless as it was, he trembled ; but the next moment he had seized her wrist, and detained her. 'I did not come here to see you,' he said. ' I never wish to see you, or to speak with you again. But I have come to speak to that man, and if every hair on his head is dearer to you than yourself, I will have an explanation from him, or I will treat him as he deserves. Don't be alarmed,' he said, observing the white look of fear w^hich crept over her features. * This is not the age of duelling, and I have no intention of risking my neck for you or him. But I will have what I demand, or every man in his regiment shall know that he was kicked like a dog, and deserved it more. Oblige me by leaving the room,' he added, opening the door for her to pass. ' I have no desire for you to be present at our interview. I have no desire to look upon your face again.' She glanced timidly upwards at his unbending countenance as he concluded, and reading no signs of relenting there, no emotion even at the sight of her familiar beauty, she felt her power oyer him was gone, and left the room without further comment. Then he turned towards Leofric Temple. ' I have not followed you here with the intention of re- proaching you for what you have done. You have come like a cowardly thief as you are.' (Here Leofric Temple, who had reseated himself, started in his chair, but a look at his brother's face restrained the inclination he felt to refute the accusation brought against him, and with his eyes again bent upon the ground, he awaited the conclusion of his address). ' Like a cowardly thief as you are,' repeated John A\ ard- law% ' and stolen from me what I imagined was a jewel worth retaining ; but it was barely in your possession before 1 dis- covered my mistake. If she (he never once mentioned her by name) can prefer you or any one to myself, my interest oA/ marrying her,' he answered, evasively ; ' its only what half her profession come to — and * But the hands of John Ward! aw were on his coat-collar : * Give me the answer I asked for ? ' he said, determinatcly, or take your thrashing first, and your imprisonment afterwards. You will gain nothing by beating about the bush with me.' ' Nor will E-owena, by your taking your revenge upon me,' added Leofric Temple, cunningly. If you wish to serve her, you won't force me to accept the latter alternative. I fancy I should regain my liberty sooner than she would her good name.' AVhat he said was true. Cruel, dastardly, and unmanly, as the supposition was, it was a true one. If John AVard- law took his threatened revenge, Kowena Bellew could never benefit by it. She must sink the deeper under the weight of her folly. She must pay the dearer for it if her would- be betrayer had his due. She, who was to have been his wife, who was to have become the pure, unstained partner of his joys and sorrows, to what might not the indulgence of his revengeful spirit bring her down ? He knew that he should never love her again ; he hoped he should never meet her again ; but he could not leave her in such a strait, and as he realised the full horror of the chance against her, John AV^ardlaw — had not Leofric Temple been by to hear him — would have groaned within himself; but in his presence he controlled his feelings, and after the thought of a few minutes, eaid, almost quietly : * I have a proposition to make to you. Temple, which may induce you to accept my terms, though it will make no difi'erence to your punishment if you do or not. 244 ^^^' ^'^^f o^^ Ever, * Tour I TJ is in my pocket-book at this present moment ; if, in my sight, you will marry this woman to-morrow morning, I will absolve you from all pecuniary obligations to myself, by delivering the paper into your own hands ; if you still refuse, I can do her no greater harm by letting the law take its course upon you, than you will have done her your- self . Therefore, once more I say to you — choose ? ' It did not take Leofric Temple long to consider this time, A beautiful wife, with freedom from debt and the fear of arrest in one scale ; and the loss of both liberty and mistress in the other, could not be expected to puzzle him long in choosing. He gave his brother the required promise that, on such conditions, he would make all necessary arrangements for marrying Miss Bellew on the following morning. To do him justice, the woman had inspired him with as much passion as his selfish nature was capable of feeling ; and, although he was so utterly disregardful of the divine laws, that he would have lived complaisautly with her all his life, had she so willed it, he would sooner marry than lose her altogether. But his object had been so to compromise her, that ^he would have staid under his protection on any terms. But at this juncture she entered. She had been frightened by the high words which she had heard from the bed-room adjoining, and preferred the presence and gaze of her in- sulted and deceived lover to the suspense which absence conferred upon her. As she opened the door, Leofric Temple was saying : ' AVell, then, I will marry her — upon those conditions.* ' I agree,' returned our hero, with cold dignity. ' Marry me ? ' demanded Eowena Bellew, with the intensest surprise. 'You ivill marry me — Leofric! Had you any intention of doing otherwise, any thought of — Oh, Grod ! what treachery ! ' she exclaimed, sinking fainting upon the coucli, as her fatigue, and fear, and horror combined, gained the mastery over her. She had very little real feeling, this beautiful statue ; but she had one bump largely developed, and that was Ambi- tion. She had left John Wardlaw for Leofric Temple, because the latter was a cavalry officer in a good regiment, and she thought her position in society as his wife would be an assured one^ and the advantage of her beauty have fair The Pursuit, 345 play. His standing in life was better, or would be better than that of his brother; he was, moreover, like herself in his love of gaiety and frivolous companions and pursuits ; he would not exercise too much surveillance over lier, she iman:ined, nor visit the exercise of her witcheries on others too hardly. But to be duped as she had duped John Wardlaw; to be entrapped and deceived ; decoyed away under a promise of marriage, and then presented to the friends of the dashing cavalry officer as his mistress — this was too much for even the cold nature of Rowena Bellew to bear without emotion. The most, perhaps, she had ever exhibited, swayed her false spirit as she sunk on the yielding pillows of the couch, and lost consciousness from every fear. Leofric Temple was about to apply some restoratives to her, but John "VVardlaw prevented him. ' Leave her alone ; I have no wish to stay to see her re- turning shame or yours. "When I am gone, you can do as you think fit with her. I have but another word to say to you. AVhen you have fixed upon the church and the hour for to-morrow, you will send me a message to the ' New- burgh.' Until I meet you there, I wish to have no personal communication with either of you. If I do not meet you there, you know the consequences. And when that woman is your wife, your I U shall be returned to you.' ' What surety have I that you will keep your word ? ' demanded Leofric Temple. John Wardlaw glanced downwards at the lovely form of the unconscious woman, and the words, ' I have loved her,' rose to his lips, but died upon their brink ; and he substituted a sentence more suited to the comprehension of the heart of the man he spoke with. ' I will give you no assurance but my word,' he replied, frowning ; I have never broken it yet. Tou may trust to it or not as you think fit ; but it is at your peril that you will break your own.' And so saying, without a second look at the creature he had so worshipped, John Wardlaw stepped across tlie threshold of the door, metaphorically shook the dust Irom off his feet, and went upon his solitary way. 346 OKAPTl^ll XXYL LAST WOEDS. And mine own flesh Here looking down on thine polluted, cries, I loathe thee. SEEXT-jra the ' T^ewburgli * late at night, lie found a note from Leofric Temple already arrived for liim. The marriage was fixed to take place at eleven o'clock the following morn- ing at the church of St. Martin's-le-Grrand. Tearing the communication into a thousand atoms, our hero watched for the dawning of E/Owena Belle w's wedding-day in miserable wakefulness. It came at last ; however tediously the hours had dragged on their slow course for him, they rolled the same for others ; and at the appointed time he walked up the aisle of St. Martin's-le-G-rand, and awaited the arrival of the bride and bridegroom as a criminal awaits the falling of the axe which hovers above his neck. He was not kept iu suspense for long ; Leofric Temple knew too well the determination of his half-brother's character, and the ruth- lessness with which he would carry out a threat once given, to play fast and loose with him on this occasion. Punctual as himself, he appeared in the church with Miss Eellew on his arm, and walked silently up to the altar. The large edifice, save for themselves and the necessary adjuncts of clergyman and clerk, was empty ; and, notwith- standing the time of year, felt damp and chilly. The sound of tlieir footsteps upon the matted aisle was re-echoed by the vaulted roof and about the massive pillars ; and Eowena Bellew, although robed in ordinary summer attire, shivered as she approached the altar, and drew her lace mantle closer about her sho uldera. If his own dishonour had not been so Last Words, 347 immediately concerned in the ceremony nbout to talio place before him, John AVardhiw miglit have found time to con- demn the taste which liad permitted a bride, under such circumstances, to array herself in a costume more lit for a fete than for a sacrament which could not be performed be- fore the world ; but he was too sadly indignant, too occu- pied altogether with an inward sense of the cruel wound she had inflicted on him, to care to criticise anything less worthy of blame in her conduct. The doubt did flash through his mind, as he first caught sight of her attire, whether a woman who brought a soul so lull of falsehood to the altar had any more right to wear orange-blossoms on her wedding-day than she whose flesh is not altogether pure ; but it was but a sudden thought, for after one rapid glance he studiously avoided looking at her again. The clergyman being informed that all parties concerned in the business were present, then proceeded to read the marriage ceremony in a husky and drawling voice, which made John AVardlaw think to himself a dozen times that it would never be over ; and that what he was undergoing was the most prolonged and drawn-out torture that man had ever experienced. But it came to an end at last, as the night had done be- fore it ; and then names were signed, fees paid, and a gulf had for ever arisen between two people who were to have been one. As the last formalities were concluded, Leofric Temple turned towards his brother. ' Not here,' replied John "Wardlaw, interpreting his look of interrogation aright ; ' you had better go on to your car- riage ; I will meet you at the hotel.' He lingered in tlie vestry until the newly-made husband and wife had left the church, and then he flung himself into a Hansom and followed them. They were in the same room where he had found them the day before. As he entered, he advanced directly to the table; and, taking a paper from his memorandum-book, coldly addressed Leofric Temple : ' Our bargain is concluded. Ton were wise to trust to my word that it must be so. There is your payment.' And so saying, he threw towards his half-brother his acknowledg- ment for the five hundred pounds which he had lent to him. 348 Foi' Eve rnd Ever. Leofric Temple, looking very much like a dog that lias received a good kicking, took up the piece of paper, and said, awkwardly : ' AVell, I suppose I may tear it up now if it 's of no use.* ' You can do as you choose with it,' replied John "Ward- law. Henceforward, none of your actions will be of the slightest consequence to me. I have met you again on what is at present your ow« ijround, for onh reason only ; to tell you (what I could* scarcely have told you in God's house) that you and I can never clasp hands in fellowship again ; that the words I speak to you now are the last that you will ever hear, of my own free will, from my lips. From the day that I first met you, Leofric Temple, you have been an obstacle in my path, an impediment in my way of rising to anything better and higher than my natural self. Ton have been made the occasion of bitter jealousy and heart-burning to me, by the indulgence which your mother, and through your mother my father, has always shown to you over my- self. Having been thrust into our family by circumstances certainly independent of your own will, you have taken ad- vantage of the fact to usurp my place in the family circle ; to secure for yourself the benefits due to me as the only son of my father ; and to endeavour by every means in your power, fraud not excepted, to alienate me from the little love he bore me, and to represent to him every action I committed, and every wish I expressed, in its very worst light. ' Hitherto I have borne all this pretty patiently ; I have looked upon you as beneath myself, both in intellect and birth ' (here an uneasy movement on the part of his listener showed that the shaft had not missed its aim) ' and however bitter I may have felt upon the subject, I have never visited it on you. But this last proof which you have given me of your brotherly afiection, is not one which I shall so easily forget. From this day we shall be strangers. The house which you frequent I will never enter, and the friends which cleave to you must give up my friendship. I consort with gentlemen only, and you have behaved like a thorough blackguard.' ' Wardlaw, you had better take care what you say, ex- claimed Leofric Temple, who, having secured his immunity from a probable arrest, began to think that he could afford Last JVords, 349 to hoM his CTvn. But his words only served to fan into a flame the smouldering ashes of John Wardlaw's wrath. * I will do no such thing,' he said, angrily ; 'I will tcii you exactly what I think of you; and i^ yoio don't take care, every soul in this house and every man in your rcf^i- ment shall hear what I say. Your conduct has heen that°of an unmitigated blackguard ; it has been no better than the action of a man, who, standing up with another in honour- able warfare, stabs his enemy in the back before he has time to guess at his intention. You are worse than the veriest prowler, who steals valuables at dead of night, for they might have been locked away from him, and — 1 trusted vou. ' Therefore, from this hour we must be strangers. *We are not brothers, thank God ; no drop running in my veins bears any mixture of the blood upon which such as you have thriven. These are my last words to you : — When I have left this room, consider that in all the world there exists for yourself no such person as John AYardlaw.' He turned away proudly then, and was about to pass the doorway, but Kowena Temple stopped him. She had been listening earnestly to every word that he said to his brother, but she had not ventured to interrupt him. Now she said : ' AYardlaw, you are naturally very angry with me about this aifair, of course. I knew you would be; but I think you might speak to me before you go. I wanted to explain to you that ' ' I want none of your explanations,' he said, turning to- wards her ; but his voice, offended as it was, had a softer ring in it than when he addressed his half-brother. ' AVhat would you wish to say ? Make yourself appear more utterly despicable in my eyes than you do now, by telling me, perhaps, that you fled with that man because you loved him better than myself, and confessing thereby that you acted a double part up to the very moment that you left me ? No, Mrs. Temple,' he added, with a bitter intonation on the name> ' yesterday, I had two wishes in the world — the first was, to see you married, that has been accomp- lished ; and I have but one left, and that is, -lever to see you again. ' Do you remember in what guise I first saw you ? — in ^^o For E\'^r a'^d Ever, what shape your outward beauty — the beauty of a whited Bepulchre — came upou my sight? It was in poor Corni- cott's picture of the Death of Sisera, it was in the type of a murderess, a woman with hard cruel eyes, and crafty mouth, stealiDf]; towards her unconscious, sleeping prey, with a hammer in one hand and a nail in the other. Do you re- member how Jael addressed Sisera, when she went to meet him at the door of her tent: "Turn in, my lord," she said, " turn in to me, fear not." Do the words, old-fashioned as tbey are, remind you of any other words calculated to make a man trust everything he had — heart, soul, and energy — to the keeping of the woman who told him so to trust and not to fear? And the hammer and the nail, which smote the temples of the man when he was asleep, are they symbolical of nothing, Mrs. Temple ? Are they powerless to remiiid you of a heart that \vas too much wrapt up in you to find time for doubting ? — whose senses were too much lulled by the appearance of affection which you maintained towards him, and the dreamy intoxication, which the contemplation of the beauty he thought his own, shed over him, to be sufficiently aware of the close proximity of the hammer and nail ? I have come to think that Tom Cornicott could hardly have found a better model for his Jael if he had searched the wide world for it. I have come to think, since yesterday, that he is wiser in his generation than I took him to be.' On first addressing Mn?., Eowena Temple had risen from her seat ; but as he proceeded with the bitter sarcasm, en- gendered by his great wrong, she sunk, conscience-stricken on the sofa by which he was standing, and hid her face in her hands. She knew that but for his generous interference on her behalf, she might have been ?t that moment unfit for the association of virtuoiv '^ornen. and her discovery of the treacliery intended her by the brother she had trusted was opening her eyes— too late— to the merits of the one whom she had deceived. She did not weep, or faint, as yesterday, but she covered her eyes with her hands, and dared not look her injured lover in the face. ' There are lines which we have read together, Mrs. Tem- ple,' he continued, ' which, with all who read them, you can Last JVords. ? -; i scarcejy have forgotton. I could cry out with 'King ArtZiur, in this parting moment : Mine own flesh Here looking down on thine polluted, cries, I loathe thee. Teg, I feel it ! ' he exclaimed, earnestly ; * strange and in- comprehensible as it may seem to you, remembering but two short days ago, I said I loved you; I can feel now from the bottom of my heart the meaning of the words, " I loathe." I loathe the very beauty that I worshipped, believing it con- cealed a heart which belonged to me ; I loathe the s"ound of your voice, remembering the falsehoods you have uttered ; the remembrance of your smile, born but to deceive ; or your eyes, in whose cold depths deception lies mirrored. Could I this moment unmake you what you are ; could I bring back the days when I was least deceived, or restore the moments when you felt the most, I would not do it even by the raising of my little finger. Because, by one act, you have so enlightened me, that I blush to remember how much I have suffered myself to be led astray by feelings which were so wholly made of earth. Because I know now that it is not Leofric Temple who has beguiled you from me — that, if he had never been, some other would— and that as long as one other man exists in the world, the one who trusts his heart to such as you deserves to lose it for his folly. But it is of natures such as yours that we learn wisdom ; the lesson is hard, perhaps, but once acquired, not easily forgotten. I shall go forth into the world not much the worse, maybe, for the experience you have helped to impress upon my mind, and all the wiser man, for that I have learned it early. And now^ I have no more to say to you ; the whole of my farewell, indeed, appears wound up in these few words — I thank, and leave you.' ' Oh, AVardlaw ! ' she exclaimed, in a tone of greater feel- ing than he had ever heard her use before. 'Don't go without saying you forgive me.' The sound of her voice, appealing to him for forgiveness, almost upset him. As long as she maintained an assump- tion of disregard for his feelings, or want of regret for the course of deception she had carried on towards him, he could pretend to feel as little as herself— but he had loved 35^ For Etc) and Ever, Tier very passionately — his wound was fresri and quivering, aud lie knew the life which lay hefore her would probably be a hard one. He turned towards her as the words reached his ears, and gazed upon her upturned face, with a look of keenest pity upon his own. ' Oh ! Kowena ! ' he said, tenderly. ' Forgive you ? Tes, as I hope to be forgiven. You will have enough to bear, poor cliild, without the remembrance that I said I would never forgive you. But don't ask me to meet you again. I am very brave you see — but bravery has its limits. Be patient, be true in the life before you, and Grod send you a quiet conscience.* And, without further comment, John "Wardlaw left the room and the house, and began to think of setting his face once more towards Sutton Valence. ^^^ CHAPTER XXVli. Jl^)SiS 'VVAEDLA'W EEFUSES TO BE COMFOIiTEl*. My soul lies hid in shades of grief, Where, like the bird of night with half -shut eyes, She peeps and sickens at the sight of day. Drydilv, He stayed in town another day, in order that, before he did go, a letter from him might reach the home circle, and tell the news, which he felt he should hardly have the courage to communicate by word of mouth. He addressed it to Alice ; and after detailing the mere fact of her brother's marriage to Miss Bellew, requested that she would see the boxes left by the latter forwarded to their destination, before he arrived himself. ' I feel,' the letter wound up with, ' that I have courage for anything larqe, but these petty details of seeing after the despatch of luggage, and forwarding a notice of its arrival, would have more than power to upset me. There- fore, dear Alice, get it all out of the way before I see you ; and, if you can, get over the discussion of this unfortunate business in the same manner. I shall only be in Sutton Valence a few hours. There will be plenty of time to talk when I have returned to London.' His intention was to revisit his father's house simply for the purpose of collecting his own belongings, before he again took up his abode in town ; to apply himself with renewed ardour to the occupation which his infatuation of the last few months had so sadly interrupted. The feelings with which this letter was received and read by his family were various. Alice, of course was all sympathy ; but sympathy with 354 ■f''^^ Ev*"^ ^nd Ever, the brotTier whom she loved, rather than with the injared side. If Jack had eloped with the Jlancee of Leofric Tem- ])le, and been abused for the action, she would still have sympathised with him rather than with her mother's son. " Captain AYardlaw, on the contrary, took again to his tone of blustering bulleyism : ' It was just what he had expected ; and if his son was such a fool that he couldn't see that the advice his father had given him on the subject was sound, it was no more than he deserved to Jose the little jade. It was a great pity that Leofric Temple had adopted such open measures as to elope with the girl ; but he would have done as much himself for a pretty woman when he was younger, and it was only another proof of the truth of the good old saw relating to the impossibility of putting grey heads upon green shoulders. And it w^as entirely his own sou's fault foi having been so careless as to permit such an intimacy to continue between a jade with so pretty a face as Miss Bel- Jew, and a young dog like Leofric Temple. If the account of the whole concern, from beginning to end, did not take him back to the days of his youth, when he was just such another as young Temple ; and he would bave acted in exactly the same manner.' Mrs. Wardlaw viewed the matter in mucb the same light as her husband, but the drift of her argument tallied with his. She wept bitterly, and voted Alice ' cruel,' when the latter said something relative to her disapprobation of her step-brother's conduct, and her sympathy with Johu AYard- law. ' Not that she was worthy of him,' exclaimed his stout little partisan, * I was sure of that from the beginning ; but dear Jack thought her so, and the blow will fall just as hard on him as if she had been. I think Leo ought to be ashamed of himself, and so ought Miss Bellew. I imagine neither of them will much like to show their faces here again, and if it wasn't for Mhat dear Jack is suffering now, I should say that altogether he had had a very lucky escape in not marrying her. But that is no excuse i'or L30.' ' No excuse for your brother Leo, Alice ? ' replied IMrs. "Wardlaw ; ' I think i/ou ought to be ashamed of yourself to set up as a judge upon your elder brothers in the way that you do. I don't wish to deny in the least what you say about Miss Bellew j I bave no doubt that she is a designing, John Wardlaiv rr.piscs to be Comforted. 355 artful woman, and I am sure ehe has mana,'Terl to lake in ivy poor son most eftectiially ; but I'll iievur believe but that he lias been seduced away by her sooner than she by him. And it" it comes to that, Miss Bel lew had a right to choose wliich of your brothers she liked beat ; it isn't every- body that thinks such a deal of your brother AVardlaw as you do, Alice. Your brother Leofric is much the handsomest of the two ; and, if I was a younj]^ woman, I know which I should prefer for a husband. And if she liked him best and told him so, I don't see how your brother Leofric is so much to blame in having married her; I can't see what else he had to do myself; and having a wife to support at his age, I am sure is sufficient worry for him, poor dear fellow, without all his family coming down on him into the bargain, when they ought to pity him instead for having fallen into such a snare.' And thus every one had their word to say on the subject, and the end of most of their arguments was, that the blame veered round in some wonderful manner, and rested on the luckless shoulders of poor John AVardlaw. Amongst her friends and neighbours, Mrs, Wardlaw's lamentations on the pit into which her blameless Leofric had fallen were great and many. Alice had informed her of her step-son's expressed desire that the gossip should be got over before his arrival, and therefore she thought she could hardly commence it too soon. It was a great disappoint- ment, of course, to the village generally to hear that the meeting: between the belligerent brothers had been un- attended with any bloodshed, or even blows ; but this cause of excitement absent, it was consolatory to assemble together for the purpose of wondering how long they would yet keep the peace, and of lamenting with his mother over the com- bined simplicity and want of thought of evil intent, which had tempted the feet of Leofric Temple to the brink of the snare laid for him. To the Eev. Mr. Jellicoe Mrs. "Wardlaw was almost afraid at first to break the sad news of her son having become the husband of an actress ; but she managed so skilfully to make the above supposition serve her purpose in convincing the dissenting minister that it was youth, and want of knowledge of the world alone, that had caused him to err ; that at the <^r5 For Ever and Kver, close of her revelations Mr. Jeliicoe was ready to assure her, that what she grieved ioriu the present might turn out a motive for great rejoicing in the future. 'My dearest sister,' he said, squeezing her fat palm, ' My dearest sister, I pray you, do not despair. This marriage, which at the moment appears to you a subject for mourning, may prove the best thing possible in the end for both the dear young men. Our dear young brother Temple, you say, has, through the ardour and impetuosity of youth, been led to contract a union with the dear young sister whom lately I have seen so many times in your company, and who struck me as not of an ill-pleasing countenance.' (Here Mr. Jeliicoe gave a kind of smirk, intended to be an ex- tenuating smile for the errors of the young, but which looked, instead, uncommonly like a very vivid recollection of the earthly charms of the 'sister' he was alluding to.) * Well, perhaps, it is not altogether pleasing to you, dear sister. Her profession, however, which was a sad drawback to the exhibition of godliness, will now, I presume, be given up by her, and she will return to make her home near those who are more competent to lead her in the right way. "When our dear young sister is once more in Maidstone, I shall be glad if you will pave the way for me to hold a little private converse with her, which may savour of the things to come, and lead her young mind to a better way of thinking. Tou were not always as you are now, yourself, dear sister, remember that. As for our dear young brother Wardlaw, who considers himself defrauded in this matter, I will speak to him; I will put things in a better light before him; I will point the way to a more exceeding joy. This circum- stance, untoward as it now appears, may be, through my interference, the ultimate means of bringing three souls to glory ; of securing three more jewels to adorn my heavenly crown. What a rapturous idea ! What a glorious thought AYhat scope ! — what privilege ! ' And Mr. Jeliicoe, who had had his dinner, planted his stout hands upon his stouter stomach, gazed up to the ceiling, and looked heavenly. Mrs. Wardlaw, sighing pro- foundly, regarded him with religious awe. ' Ah ! Mr. Jeliicoe, what a comfort it is to have religion Buch as yours ! It shows up everything in so good a light. John IVcirdlaw refuses to he Comforted, 3 c; 7 We don't expect my step-son until late this eveuiug. Won't you stay and take a cup of tea with us ? ' The dissenting minister became an assenting minister at once, as was the usual result of all such inquiries on the part of his female parishioners. Indeed, the ]{ev, Samuel Jellicoe's predilection for hot tea and buttered toast was so great, that it was a fortunate thing for his chance of lon- gevity that Mr. Stuart took care he usurped but a small por- tion of his parishioners as followers, else, as he never refused an offer of eating or drinking, he would have stood a fair chance of being killed by kindness. On the occasion in question, Mrs. Wardlaw did her best to increase his bilious secretions by rushing into the passage as soon as ever he had accepted her invitation, and telling the cook, as she panted with eagerness, that ' the minister is going to stay to tea, so mind there is plenty of buttered toast, and let the toast sivim in butter ; there can't be too much butter to suit Mr. Jellicoe's taste ; ' and the cook, being a dissenter her- self, dished up the dainty according to the orders of her mistress, and had the satisfaction when she went in to clear away the tea-tray, to see the plate of toast completely emptied, and the holy man looking greasier than ever. Indeed, to contemplate the visage of the Eeverend Samuel Jellicoe, it would seem as though the melted butter where- with his lady friends loved to anoint him was used to run through his pores in its original state, and keep up the general oiliness of his appearance. Having refreshed himself at Mrs. Wardlaw's expense, Mr. Jellicoe was wise enough to take his departure before the arrival of the son of the house, between whom and him- self nothing more than bare civility had ever transpired. The latter event happened about ten o'clock. At that time, wearied both in body and soul, John Wardlaw stood on the threshold of the family sitting-room. AV hen Alice first raised her eyes and encountered his figure, she had almost exclaimed aloud to see the visible alteration which two short days of absence had made in his appearance. His face, always pale, looked doubly so from the dark purple circles which now surrounded his sunken eyes, and his features had become drawn from the excess of hidden feeling through which he had passed. But in big 558 For Ever and Ever, manner there was no change. John AA^arcIlaw would have died sooner than have revealed his heart to such as his father and Mrs. Wardlaw. As he entered, the latter and Alice were sitting alone. Mrs. Wardlaw, not having a single good excuse to bring forward for her son's misconduct, had argued herself into the belief that he and she were the injured parties in the late transaction, and that John "Wardlaw was their com- mon enemy ; therefore, the mere sight of him sufficed to maive her swell up (a habit she was used to indulge in when put out about anything), in which state she welcomed him, sitting in dignified silence behind the moderator lamp, with a book held up so as to conceal her features, which she never moved one inch in order to notice his entrance into the room. But John "Wardlaw was used to such vagaries on the part of his step-mother, and cared for her too little to care for them ; his looks, therefore, were only directed towards his sister Alice. As she sprang to meet him with a sisterly embrace, he said, gently : ' "Well, Alice, you see I've kept my word. If my room is ready for me, I '11 go up at once, and put a few of my things together before I turn in.' ' Won't you have some supper first, Jack ? ' * Xo, thanks, dear. I dined in town just before starting.' He took up a bed-room candlestick as he spoke, and moved into_ the passage, but returned the next minute with an inti- ruation that he should like something to drink. The supper- tray was on the table, and Alice pushed the beer-jug towards him. ' Not that, child,' he said ; * give me some cold brandy and water.' His sister addressed her mother interro^ativelv : jMamma r ' The brandy is in the cellaret, Alice,' said Mrs. Wardlaw, coldly. The girl took the keys, and procuring the little decanter, placed It before her brother. Filling himself a tumbler of cold water mixed with its contents, he drank it off at a drai'ght, and left the room sgain in silence. feuch was tne welcome he' received on returning to tho Jolm IVardlaw refuses to le Comforted. 359 scene of his great bereavement. Alice looked after him tiinidlv. She longed to fc^llow and see if she could help him in his packing — to have the opportunity to give him a fond kiss or pressure of the hand, that he miglit be assured of her silent sympathy with his trouble; but INIrs. Wardlaw seemed determined to prevent any such solace becoming the portion of her step-son. ' I will'thank you to remain with we, Alice,* was her re- mark, as she noticed the girl's wandering look and air as her brother quitted the room ; and after the supper had been cleared, and Captain Wardlaw having returned from his usual haunt, the public-house, the family commenced preparations for retiring to rest, she still kept her daughter in attendance upon herself until the last minute, and then dismissed her with these words : ' I desire that you go straight to your room without at- tempting to speak witb your brother AV^ardlaw. He is no doubt asleep by this time ; and if not, a young man who can enter a house without so much as noticing the mistress of it, deserves no attention at your hands whatever.' ' But, mamma, you never noticed him,' Alice commenced to argue. * Alice, if you dare to cavil at my words, I will prevent your having any communication at all with your brother '"Wardlaw. Go to bed at once, and don't let me hear you leave your room again until the morning.' Poor little Alice, notwithstanding her fear of her mother's threat being carried into execution, felt very much inclined once or twice during that night to risk the consequences of her disobedience ; for her quick ears could distinguish the sound of her brother moving about his room long after the rest of the household had sunk to sleep. And once, during the hours of darkness, she was suddenly roused from her own slumbers by the consciousness of a noise in the passage, and heard the footstep she knew so well go into the bed-room which had been occupied by Miss Bellew, and the door was closed upon it. He had gone there, then, her beloved Jack, to make himself still more miserable by the sight of the apartment his faithless love had deserted, and his faithful lir,tle sister turned her head upon her pillow, and wept for him. of)o For Ever and Ever. The next morning her red eyes told how she had passed her time,, and the silent tokens of sympathy expressed when- ever sh^: came across him, made John Wardlaw at last al- most afraid to trust himself in her presence. As soon as he had an opportunity, he told her so. 'Alice, you must not do that, he said, decidedly, as he received along squeeze of the hand from her. ' I know you. feel for me, child ; but the kindest thing you can do is not to show it. I have work before me which must be done, and if you want to help me, look cheerful.* And so the poor child dried her eyes, and forced her mouth into a smile, whilst she assisted him to pack, not only his clothes, but various articles of property, in the shape of books and papers, which he had left behind him on the occasion of his first journey from home. His object now was to make a complete clearance from Sutton Valence of everything that belonged to him. He hoped never to revisit it. In a few days more the Temples would return to regimental quarters, and the place where they were must know him no longer. He did not tell Alice so ;" the child had enough to worry her in his immediate de- parture, without knowing that it was for an indefiuite period ; but such was his intention. He would take all that belonged to him, and make a home for himself where those with whom he did not wish to come in contact would never cross his path. He was poorer than ever now ; the loss of the five hundred pounds would make a difference which could not be but felt in so small an income as the one he had reserved for himself; but things appeared to be getting on so badly even as it was at Sutton Valence, that he did not like the idea of withdrawing any part of the allowance he had made to his father. Yet this knowledge did not trouble him much; how could it when his spirit was bowed down beneath so much weightier a matter ? His only wish was, to leave the scene of his dishonour as quickly as he might, and make arrange- ments which should prevent the necessity of his ever re- turning to it until such tune as he wished to do so. He was so sensitive as to what people thought of the whole proceeding, and so fearful of meeting the Stuarts, rr others, who might stop and speak to him, with the notion John IVardlaw refuses to he Comforted, 361 of condoling on his misfortune, that he would not stir out of the house all day, but kept close to the upper story. Jt was this which had made him choose so late an hour for his coming home the night before ; it was this also wiiich now induced him to refuse to leave them again by an earlier trniu than would take him to town about the same time that evening. Cuming down that afternoon, however, to look for some cord for his boxes, which Alice assured him was at the bottom of a cupboard in the dining-room, he opened the door, unconscious of the presence of any one inside it, and found himself face to face with the E-ev. Samuel Jellicoe and Mrs. Ward law. Our hero, who being simply in his shirt and trousers, and with the marks of want of rest, bodily and mental, strongly impressed on his countenance, must have presented rather a wild appearance ; and who, moreover, had always entertained a righteous dislike for the sanctimonious hypo- crite before him, was about to beat a hasty retreat, when the dissenting minister detained him. As he had thrust his head into the door, Mr. Jellicoe had exclaimed : ' This is our young brother, dear sister. Let me speak to him ; let me try my influence upon him,' and on John Wardlaw, merely saying, ' I beg your pardon,' and attempt- ing an escape again, sprung forward with as much alacrity as his corpulence would permit of, with the words : ' My dear Sir, my dear Mr. AYardlaw,! wish to speak to you.' Then John AVardlaw halted, astonished beyond measure, and almost curious to know what this oily god of his step- mother could possibly have to say to him. ' What on earth about ? ' he inquired, with elevated eye- brows. ' My dear young brother, I have heard of your trouble. I know that the hand of wrath is upon you ; that the reap- ing of the whirlwind is yours. But is this the moment for rebellion and disobedience ? Is it not rather a time tor an humbling of yourself? — a time for repentance, a time for ' ' AVhat the devil are you driving at?' exclaimed John Wardlaw, angrily. q5a For Ever and Ever, *■ He is vexed with me, dear sister,' said the Eev. Samuel, turniug upon Mrs. AVardlaw with a holy smile. ' Our dear youngljrother is vexed with me ; but it is but as the crack- ling of thorns beneath a pot. My dear young brother, I would speak to you of the dear young sister with whom you were about to contract a godless union ; she has been taken from you, even by one of your own household ; but it is for your good, my dear brother ; it is for your ' ' None of your impudence,' shouted John Wardlaw right in the dissenting minister's ears. He had been growing darker and darker in the face as the daring Mr. Jellicoe had proceeded with his comforting discourse ; and his eyes had glowed in a manner which would have warned a minister of less temerity that a reckoning was at hand. But how could the Eeverend Samuel, reared on hot tea and buttered toast, and basking in the smiles of all his female followers, guess that a young brother of three- and-twenty, and standing six foot two in his stockings, would resent so hardly a little comfortable advice in the hour of alHiction ? * jN'one of your impudence, Sir,' again repeated John "Ward- law, gasping with rage, as he laid his unholy hands upon the collar of the minister's coat, and led him towards the hall- door. ' That 's the door of my father's house, Mr. Jellicoe, and I am his only son. I shall not be here many hours longer, but if you dare to show your hypocritical face within its threshold whilst I remain, I shall only have the trouble of turning you out again. I '11 teach you to insult a gentle- man,' and with a movement so quiet that it could not even be called a push, he caused the reverend gentleman to hop nimbly upon the topmost step which led into the street, and then shut and lodged the door upon him. As he did so, he returned into the dining-room, where Mrs. Wardlaw had been so taken aback by the suddenness of the whole pro- ceeding, that she had only time to sit with her mouth open, shaking from very fear, 'J. don't know if it was by your desire, Mrs. Wardlaw,' he- v-ommenced, 'that that man was brought here to insu!fc nie ; but whilst I remain in this house he will not como r' 2d hope into my soiil, And comfort dATvns upon me. Southern. He had made all necessary arrangements for the despatch of his luggage to town the day following his own departure, and had nothing to encumber him on the journey excepting a small leathern bag which he? ^^arried in his hand. As the moment for his leave-taking approached, Alice asked him timidly : ' Am I to write to the old address, Jack ? * ' Of course,' he answered, surprised at the qnestion ; but then guessing the delicate motive which had prompted it, added kindly, ' one place can make little difference to me over another, dear Alice ; and when I have settled dow^n again, I hope to work so hard as to leave me no time for useless regrets. You '11 hear of my having a picture in the Koyal Academy next year. Ally.' This he said with a cheerful smile, intended to raise the poor child's spirits. ' But I shan't see it, darling, or you,' she answered, with a burst of grief. ' Yes, you shall,' he said, affectionately, kissing the red cheeks wetted with her tears ; ' I shall persuade Mrs. Ward- law to spare you to me for a few weeks, and then we w ill see all the sights of London together. Won't that be fun, Ally ? You must look forward to it whenever you want cheering up in my absence. And now, my dear little sister, it is quite time I said good-bye to you. Mind you write to me very often, and tell me everything about button Valence Balm in Gilcad. 367 (nothing about Maidstone, child, please), and how the garden, and the kitten, and the cook are getting on, and what books you are reading, and what new music you want from London. And if my father appears weaker or worse in health, you'll let me know at once. Ally. And all about Pussy Stuart, too ; and when you meet her, tell her from me that I should have liked to have seen her again before I left, if I could have mustered up the courage ; but that I have not forgotten what she told me in the hop-garden ; and since tlie wish is of no avail to me now, I re-echo it for her- self. You won't forget, Ally ? ' ' No, dearest Jack,' sobbed the girl, clinging to her brother's strong arm to the last, with prophetic foresight that she should not see him again for sometime ; ' of course I will not ; and you won't forget me. Jack, either, will you; — nor how much I love you ? ' ' JV^c'vcr, my dearest little sister,' he exclaimed, fervently, as he folded her again in his embrace ; ' of all my so-called friends, you are the only one who has stuck to me through thick and thin. Grod bless you for it, and good-bye.' He disengaged himself from her tightened hold as he spoke, and walked rapidly away. He had already made his undemonstrative farewells to his father and Mrs. AVardlaw, and there was nothing left for him to do but to turn his back upon the house in which he had been so proud and so humiliated. Even then he shrank from walking through the village street. October had commenced, but the days were still long and light as those of summer, and sometimes as warm. Such had been the one just past, and now seven o'clock in the evening appeared as broad daylight. But if he went to the topmost terrace, and vaulted the low wall which surrounded it, John Wardlaw knew that it would bring him on to a narrow path way which led through corn-fields almost all the way to Maidstone. It was a longer track, but it was a solitary one, and for that reason he preferred it to the more generally adopted route. Leaving his sister then upon the lower terrace, he had soon scaled the other two, and turning to wave her a parting farewell as he preparea to cross the boundary wall, leapt over it, and disappeared from her siuht. It was a still, calm evening, without a sound of any sort to 368 For Ever and Ever, be heard, natural or artificial, and as John "Wardlaw paused for a minute to take a last look at the old house lying in the hollow, and embosomed in fragrant Yerdure, he thought he had never contemplated a more peaceful-looking scene. * I wish I had taken a sketch of the old place,' he thought, as something very like regret rose in his breast at the pro- bability of his never seeing it again ; but perhaps it is better not. She has been too often now in this old garden to make the sight of it a pleasant one to me ; the trail of the serpent is over every flower and leaf. Oh ! E/Owena, my love, how could you leave me ? ' and soft despairing thoughts filled his heart as he recalled what he had lost, the influence of which required the raising of his bitterest memories to counteract and subdue. lie leaned for a minute against the corner of the old stone wall, covered with ivy and creeping-jenny, and then walked rapidly away in the direction of Maidstone, as if he dared not trust himself to himself for a moment longer. A month before, the walk had been a lovely one. Then the fields had been a mass of yellow corn, bowing and bending with every summer breeze, and weighing down the fragile scarlet poppies, and the blue corn-flowers, that grew by its side. IS'ow the garners were filled, and the ground was empty, save for the heads of the tender green clover which had just summoned courage to appear amidst the dry stubble, which was all that was left of the former glory of its neighbour ; just as we may see, when the pride of man is brought low, and his honour humbled in the dust, some tender afleetion, which was too modest to intrude itself in the hour of his triumph, permitted by Providence to spring up to console him, and help to hide his shame from the eyes of the world. To John Wardlaw it little signified if stubble crackled beneath his feet, or waving ears obstructed the narrow path- way ; he journeyed onwards, giving no further attention to the things which surrounded him than was evinced by his occasionally switching off the heads of the thistles and other weeds as he went, or by his swinging himself over the stiles which came in his way, without so much as a thought as to who might be on the other side of them. As for the third or fourth time he accomplished this feat, a slight exclama- tiou in a female voice suddenly recalled his wandering atten- Balm in Gilead. 369 tion, a chorus of avenginp^ dopfs instantly attacked his lower extremities, and he found that he had nearly vaulted into the lap of Henrietta Stuart, who was sitl-inp^ down on the bank in the next field, with jN'ettlc and Sprite in her lap, Don by her side, and Gipsy and Bess acting as a guard of defence. As soon as she saw who the intruder was, she attempted to rise from her position, but the dogs were lying heavily upon, the skirt of her dress, and the attempt was made in vain. How familiar she looked to him ! How like wliat she used to do in the old, old days, when his greatest delight had been to run about those very fields with her dogs and herself! How crimson were her cheeks ! How bright the tangled mass of hair which had escaped from beneath her simple brown hat, and lay disordered on her shoulders ! How glowing and earnest the light in the lovely grey eyes which she raised to his face, and from which, notwithstand- ing her efforts to conceal it, he now saw, to his surprise, that she had been weeping. ' Miss Stuart,' he exclaimed, ' I beg your pardon ; ' and then, in a moment, changing the tone of his voice, he added, * how glad I am to meet you here ! I wanted to say good- bye to you, but I 'm such a fool I hadn't the courage to go over to Castlemaine.' ' I — I — didn't know you were in Sutton Yalence, Mr. "Wardlaw,' she answered, as she effected rising to her feet at last. ' Down, Nettle ; be quiet, Don,' she added to her unruly favourites, in order to hide the awkwardness she then i'elt at having betrayed that she knew he had left the place at all. ' Yet I saw your father this afternoon,' said John "Ward- law, looking at her changing colour with interested surprise. ' Did you ? ' she rejomed, hurriedly ; ' it is more than I have, or "he would have told me of it. We don't dine till eight now, in the summer months, in order to give papa time for his parish duties ; and it has been so stupid at home all day, that I thought I would take a run first wiih my dogs ; they 've made me a dreadful figure,' she said, looking down at her disordered dress and hair ; ' but we 've all been sitting here together thinking, and I find it very difficult to keep Nettle and Sprite in order.' 270 For Ever and Ever, He did not notice her attempt to set him at his ease, op to become so herself. ' I suppose you know ivJii/ I have been away from Sutton Valence, Miss Stuart ; I conclude you have heard of my disgrace ? ' * Of 1/our disgrace ? * she said, raising her eyes. *Tes ; of mine, because so closely connected with myself. The village gossips have talked it well over by this time, I have no doubt, Miss Stuart. They 've all had their opinion to p:ive on the why and the wherefore.' She was silent, except for an occasional reproof to the large deer-hound Bess, who would keep standing up and placing her fore-paws on her shoulders. ' It is no more than I deserve, is it ? It is no more than evervone expected.' Still she did not answer him, and discarding his tone of sarcasm, to glance at her drooping figure, he saw that large tears were falling fast and silently from her eyes upon the ground. ' Henrietta ! ' he exclaimed, changing his voice with his words, * is it possible that you feel for me ? Are you so rash as to be on my side whom all have deserted ? — or to believe that I may have erred through ignorance, whom all •decide to be in the wrong? Tell me, my dear girl,' he continued, taking her hand in his own, ' we have been children and play-fellows together for many a year ; tell me that you are still my friend, and that when I sit down in my lonely rooms in London, I may believe that there is 07ie in the dear old place (besides poor little Alice) who has not quite forgotten or forsaken me.' * Oh, Jack ! ' she said, ' how can you think I would ? How can you do me such a wrong ? ' * Haven't all whom I care for done so ?' he exclaimed, with excitement ; ' or if they have not forgotten me, they have been too much ashamed to own it. I have been fight- ing a weary battle, JSetta, for the last few months.' ' 1 know you have,' she answered, quietly. *And it has ended in this,' he rejoined, with a hard jaugh. ' Oh, don't laugh ! ' she said, earnestly ; ' pray don't laugh, Jack — I would rather see you cry.' Balm hi Gilead. 371 He turned and looked her full in the face, and her eyes drooped again beneath bis gaze; but for a moment neither of them said anything. ' I don't know how it is,* he muttered presently, * I have not been able to speak on this subject to anyone yet, the mere mention of it has given me such pain ; but I am now on my way to London, perhaps never to return, and I feel as if it would be a comfort to me, before I go, to tell you how I have suffered. I suppose you know that it is a settled thing — they are married ? ' She nodded her head. They were walking now, as by mutual consent, up and down the field-path together ; the five dogs following close at the heels of their mistress, reiiardinij: each other with demure looks, that seemed to Bay, 'There's something up, but il you'll bark /will.' ' Henrietta,' he went on, passionately, ' you will under- stand me — you will feel for me. I risked everything for her. I disregarded the advice of my best friends ; in the hot fury of my love I forced my reason to overstep all inter- vening obstacles of station, profession, and unfitness for domestic life ; more than that, all warnings relative to her past conduct to men as trusting as I was. For her sake I have sufi'ered myself to become alienated from my former associates, to be lax and neglectful of my duty, lavish and wasteful of both time and money. And this is how she has repaid my love for my trust in her, by dishonouring me in the face of the whole world.' ' She can have no heart,' exclaimed Miss Stuart, warmly. 'Forgive me, but sbe must be utterly worthless.* ' I believe it now,' be said, slowly, ' though it is a hard truth to take even from yov/r lips, Netta.' She reddened painfully. ' Perhaps I ought not to have said it,* she replied ; * but no friend of yours could think otherwise. But why will you harp on the disgrace and the dishonour being yourSy Jack ? No one thinks so but yourself.' ' It is mine,' he replied, mournfully, ' inasmuch as I have brought it upon myself. "When I left Sutton Valence last spring, Henrietta, I left it with a heart filled with as pure hopes as ever animated the breast of a man. I lel't friends behind me who were interested in my career ; I made new 372 For Ever and Ever, and honest ones on my arrival in town ; and in my new life I met with every incentive and encouragement to persevere and make myself master of the art I followed. AVhat did I want more ? But I threw up everything for this w^oman'a smile. I cast myself, with eyes open, and amidst cautions Irom every side, into the net spread for me. I gloried in my entanglement. I never stopped to think — I drove thought away whenever it came to me. I behaved in all respects like a madman; and the only thing which has hrought me to my senses has been the bitter knowledge that I have been fooled and duped, and made a laughing- stock to the world. But it has been a hard lesson, Pussy.' Involuntarily they seemed to have re-adopted the old familiar names for one another, and both were too much in earnest to notice the alteration in their mutual mode of address. * It must have been,' she answered, simply. *It has made me lose all faith in my fellow-creatures,* he said, ' all faith in friendship, love, or myself. I find that I am so utterly weak, and others can be so utterly false, that it makes me afraid to trust a soul again. The universe Bcems one large lie ; and from this time I must live alone in it.' ' That is rather hard for those who are true to you, Jack.' *I thought that she was true,' he sighed. * Yes ; and nothing short of such a discovery as this, per- haps, would have convinced you to the contrary. It is early days to try and give you comfort on philosophical grounds; but you say that probably I shall not see you again, Jack, for a long time' (here the speaker's voice faltered a little, but gaining courage, she went on), ' and, therefore, I may not have another opportunity to speak to you about it. You will promise not to be angry ? ' * Say what you please,' he answered. * I did not think an hour ago that I could have said one half to anybody that I have said to you this evening, but talking of it has been the greatest relief possible. This is comfort for me. Pussy, even in the Round of your sympathising voice.' * Then I think you must have needed such a blow, Jack, or God would never have sent it you. You were too con- fident in youi'self, perhaps, or in your own powers, and Balm in Gilead. 373 failure soraewliere was needed to temper your self-depen- dence. Or, perhaps you were inclined to be too indolent and indulgent ; and a great sickener of the world and its pleasures was necessary to drive you to occupation as a relief. Or you have been thinking too inucli of earth and too little of Heaven,' continued the girl, lowering her voice, * and this may have been just the one thing, and the only thing, that would turn your thoughts another way.' She glanced up timidly in his face as she spoke, as though she would see if she had oft'ended him, but he was looking away from her and across the fields. ' bo you think nothing comes to us without a purpose in it ? ' he demanded, presently. * I am sure of it,' she said, decidedly. * You don't believe in fate ? ' * jS"ot as people generally accept the term. How can I, when every day convinces me that our actions are depen- dant on our own will? As to the theory that everything that happens to us is pre-ordained, and yet we are free agents, I consider it simply nonsense. The two assertions contradict each other. Either fate is fate, and we cannot help or alter a single incident in our lives — which is a very dangerous belief to maintain ; or, as reasoning creatures in the possession of our Creator's will, we are permitted to judge for ourselves — to make our own fate, in fact; in which case our deeds cannot have been mapped out for us, and the desire upon every occasion to do only what is right would save us (as it might have saved you) from any over- whelming disaster, as it will I trust save you from ever experiencing another grief from a similar cause to this.* ' Pussy, where did you learn to reason philosophically ? ' exclaimed John Wardlaw, looking with surprise upon the grave look which had overspread her youthful features. ' I have always looked upon you as such a heedless girl ! " 'You haven't talked with me much lately. Jack, remem- ber,' she said ; ' and I am older than when we parted.' * Is this some of Mr. Martin Stuart's teaching ? 1 heard of your engagement, my dear girl, and I should have con- gratulated you upon it if 1 had had the opportunity. I hope you will be very happy, Netta ; I am sure you deserve to be.' ' No one deserves it, Jack,' she answered, quietly. ^74 ^^'^ ^^^^ '^^^ Ever, *But yon are? * he asked, turning towards her eagerly. The dark grey eyes drooped until nothing was seen of them but their long black lashes, and her young cheek grew more and more conscious of his steadfast gaze. ' Henrietta ! ' he exclaimed, ' tell me ; we have been boy and girl together. Are you not happy ? ' ' Don't talk of it,' she said, hurriedly ; * at least, of course I am. Jack ; that is to say, as much as any one ever is in this world. I don't believe, you know,' she added, regain- ing a calmer air, ' that anybody is really happy whilst they are alive, and I don't think they are ever intended to be so. They think they are, perhaps, for a little while (as you have, Jack) ; and then the downfall comes, and they see their mistake, and feel all the more misery for having entertained the belief that they were secure against it. Depend upon it, a middle course of happiness is the safest after all.' She spoke rapidly, and with eyes averted from him ; and he looked at her in silent surprise. ' And your engagement. Pussy,' he ventured at last to Bay, ' does that bring you only a middle course ? ' ' It was my own free choice,' she answered, evasively, * and papa's and mamma's most earnest desire, to say nothing of poor Martin's. To see their happiness. Jack, makes mine.' ' But you seem to me to take a very temperate view of the case. Pussy,' he remarked. ' Have you never dreamt of a greater — of one that depended on yourself alone ? ' She shook her head at first, and said No ; but then, apparently remorseful for the falsehood, added quickly : ' Oh, never mind me. Jack ; don't speak of it. Talk of yourself — talk of anything, or everything, but me.' There was a sound of nervous pain in the request; some- thing which seemed so like an entreaty to have her feelings on the subject spared, that John "Wardlaw heard it with amazement. This bright, sunny eyed and hearted Pussy ! this petted child, and heiress of thousands of acres! "What could ail. her that neither money nor love could prevent ? If she was not contented with her lot, what mortal could expect to find happiness ? 'Pussy !' he exclaimed, suddenly, 'is no one happy in this world 2 * Balm in Gilead, 375 Slio 8hooli her head sorrowfully. * Won't you tell me your grief, dear girl ? * he &aid, presg- ing her trembling hand within his own. ' I have told you mine, and your sympathy has been so comforting to me ; may I not try to do the same for yours ? ' * You can't — you can't,' was all she answered. ' Let me try, Xetta,' he said, affectionately. ' I see there is something which pains you. Let your old play-fellow see if he can't Hud a cure for it ? Think of the many times we have chased each other and kissed each other about these very fields ; and let me be a brother to you, Netta, as I am to Alice. What makes you unhappy ? * But she almost tore her hand away from his grasp. ' Let me go ! ' she said, shivering beneath the excess of her emotion ; ' don't hold me, Jack ; don't ask me ; you can't cure me — you can't indeed. You mistake ; there is nothing — there is not anything; it's nothing at all — it's — oh ! ' cried the girl, suddenly bursting into a storm of tears ; and then stopping as suddenly, and shaking the bright drops from her eye-lashes as fast as they rose, she continued : ' I don't know what I 'm about. Jack — you 've upset me so. But there 's nothing the matter with me. Pray believe it, or nothing at least but what God and a life of duty can cure. That 's what both you and I m.ust look forward to,' she added, looking up to him with a forced smile ; ' it 's the only thing, Jack : the only medicine for the ills of this life — Grod and our duty.' ' Oh, Xetta ! you know more of these things than I do,* exclaimed the young man, who had been quite taken aback by the burst of vehement feeling on her part, so different to anything he had been in the habit of witnessing from a woman lately. ' I 'm afraid it would take a great deal of teaching to make me learn that lesson.' * Not with God Himself,' said the girl, solemnly ; ' and He is teaching you at this present moment — teaching us both, indeed. Nothinir is too hard for Him.' She stood still as she spoke, and he stood with her, and looked over the wide expanse of country around them to where the moon had just appeared in the sky like a shaped cloud. They were silent for a few minutes, and then Henrietta Stuart said, quietly : 375 For Ever and Ever, ' It must be getting late, Jack ; we bad better part.' \iiYy sad looked those grey eyes as slie turned them towards liis face ; and the crimson glow had faded like sun- set out of her cheeks, and left her pale as the evening. ' I suppose we must,' he said, ' or you will be too late for dinner, and I for my train. But I am so ^lad I met you, Pussy ! God bless you, my dear girl ! I shall often think of you in the midst of my busy life.' ' Grod bless you, Jack, and comfort you ! ' * Will you write to me, Pussy, sometimes?* She hesitated. ' Papa will write to you, I am sure,* she said presently, *and 1 will often send you a message.' * And not yourself ? ' She did not reply ; and he thought it probable that Martin Stuart might have something to do with her evident reluctance to accede to liis wish, and he did not bless him for it in consequence. ' Never mind, then,' he continued. ' I am sure you would if you could. Grood-bye once more, Pussy — good-bye, and don't forget me.' He wrung her hand as he spoke, and parted with her on the spot ; but turning, as he prepared to pass the next stile whicli blockaded his path, to have one more look at her retreating figure, he saw her still standing as he had left her, with her eyes fixed upon the rising moon, and her hands drooping listlessly by her side. Her dogs were grouped around her; and every now and then a low whine, intended to attract her attention, arose from Bess and G-ipsy lying at her feet, or a leap in the air on the part of Xettle or Sprite would knock her hand roughly, or tear the trim- ming from her dress or mantle, but still she stood unheeding augiit around her, and wrapt in her own fancies. Por full five minutes, concealed by the intervening hedge, he stood and watched her thus ; and it was not until (with a sigh so deep-drawn that it almost amounted to a sob) she silently acquiesced in the wishes of her dumb favourites, and commenced to move slowly homewards, that John Wardlaw thought of continuing his own journey in the other direction. 377 CHAPTER XXIX. "a halt on the MARCn OF LTFE.' Raze out the written troubles of the brain, Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heai't. Shakspeabe. Her words had been, as he had told her, of the greatest Bohice and comfort to hira. To feel that he had a friend lefb where he thought that he had none, was ahnost to feel strong, as he contemplated taking up the burden of life once more, and setting out upon his wear\' travels. He had commenced his walk that evening, believing that he was utterly desolate, and utterly alone in his sorrow; but, before he had concluded it, he had seen tears shed for him from as bright eyes as had ever wept, and a fellow-grief acknowledged, although only half confessed, that could make its owner feel the deepest sympathy in his. The supposed estrangement on the part of the Stuarts had been a source of greater trouble to John AVardlawthan he had cared, in his hours of careless triumph, to admit. Now that he was overcome with shame and the miserable sense of loss, the remembrance of the interest ex- pressed in him by his girl-friend was especially grateful. As he continued his walk, he pondered on the revelation she had given him of her own secret sorrow with increasing surprise, as he wondered what on earth Henrietta Stuart could have to trouble her. He recollected each word that she had said, each look that she had given him, and resolved, with the help of Heaven, that he would do as she had advised him, and depend upon God and the exercise of his duty to lift him out of the mire into which he had fallen. But it was easier resolved upon than done. John Ward- law had occasion, before another week was flown, to acknow- 378 For Ever and Ever. ledge that he had miscalculated his strength of purpose, and that good resolutions are, as most people find them to be, more feasible in theory than practice. He returned to London, took up his abode in his old lodg- ings in Princes Street, and for a few days was fully occupied in resettling his property, and making arrangements for the reception of that which he had ordered to be sent after him from Sutton Valence. He renewed his acquaintanceship with Mr. Matterby, placed himself on the books of the academy for another quarter's instruction, and recommenced his studies with com- mendable ardour, although the students voted him still more unsociable than he had been on first coming amouf^st them. He even fetched away his competitive picture, which he had called ' The Last Parting,' from the gallery ; and, transfer- ring thence the face of Henrietta Stuart to another canvas, had begun to paint at it steadily in his leisure moments, and to work up the portrait with such care that it promised to resemble a miniature more than an oil-painting. As long as the first few days of change of scene and un- ceasing action continued, our hero was enabled to persevere in his resolution to root out all useless regret for the loss of Kowena Bellew from his mind, and, by the remembrance of his wrongs, and the aid of hard work and Jack of time for dreaming, to efiectually kill his old infatuation. Eut he could not work for ever. There were moments when his head grew weary and his heart faint, and he could not hold a brush suflBciently steady to paint with, or gather mental strength to concentrate his thoughts upon the poetry of the subject he was engaged on. There were moments when, do what he would, his mind would not stay, at the beck and call of his will, to keep his body company in the little dull back room he called his studio, but wandered away as his treacherous fancy dictated to it, and bore him to scenes and places where she had been, and probable scenes and places in which she might be at the pre- sent moment, and where his reason sternly told him he had now less than right to follow her, even in idea. If he took up a cigar, to try and lose himself, drowsily, in his favourite pursuit, the airy wreaths of smoke curling before his eyes would take her shape and form ; again he ^ A Halt on th' March of Life* 379 would see the cold dark eyes, encounter the false smile, and hear the mocking laughter, until, maddened with retrospect, he would throw his treacherous comforter aside, aud turn to an occupation which left less room for thought. And when he strove to sleep it was still worse. Picturing his false love, as he lay on his wakeful aud uneasy hed, in every phase of her supposed existence; in soft dalliance with his rival, his hated brother, with just a shadow of regret, per- haps, on her fair brow for what she had made him suffer; in public, dazzling the eyes of all who gazed upon her, and Leofric Temple, knowing her to be his own, standing proudly by to see her so admired; or in private, reclining her lithe and graceful form upon a couch, whilst her husband talked and laughed with her — laughed ! perhaps at him ! perhaps at the poor wretched dupe who had given up his all for her; who would have given up his life, if she had so willed it ; who would have even laid his honour at her feet, and taken the scorn of all men for her sake, so great was her bewitch- ment over him, so vast his adoration, so unparalleled his foliy ! At the thought, John AVardlaw would spring from his bed, hurry on his clothes again, and, perhaps, turn out into the autumn night air, now becoming chilly after the fall of dusk, and seek to obliterate, by mixing in some scene of gaiety or pleasure, the image which had such power over him when in darkness and alone. But this kind of thing could not go on with impunity for ever. He had not been strong when he first returned to London ; those few days of active excitement, both mental and physical, had greatly weakened him ; after a week's so- journ by himself, he felt that he was not so well as usual ; after a fortnight, he knew that he was going to be ill. It came on very suddenly at last. He had just finished his sketch of Henrietta Stuart's face, and had packed and despatched it to her father, with a few lines begging his acceptance of it, and hoping he would forgive the delay in its appearance, when, writing to Sutton Valence reminded him that he had a letter of Alice's to answer. It had arrived a week before, and in it she had delicately informed him that the Temples were again in Maidstone, by mentioning Bome irrelevant fact in which her brother Leofric's name was introduced; also that she had seen Miss Stuart, aud delivered 3^0 For Ever and Ever, big, mf seage, for wliicli she thanked him (why had not Pussy ■■choi^i^ht fit to tell his sister of his meeting with her in the corn-fields ?) ; and that Winifred Balchin had left the village and gone into service at some neighbouring town, ' at which we were all very much surprised,' Alice wound up with, ' as everybody thought she meant to marry Andrew AVillett, the blacksmith's son.' His head was aching terribly, and he felt very giddy, but he thought that he had better answer the letter at once, for fear something might prevent him on the morrow. The answer, in an unsteady and trembling hand-writing, was written and despatched; and, by the morrow, JohnWard- law could not hold a pen or a brush, or scarcely support his own body when he attempted to stand. The head-ache and giddiness had been succeeded by ague and a terrible pain all overhis limbs; and the altered appearanceofhisface frightened beyond measure the servant-maid who usually attended on him. She ran down to her mistress at once, entreating her to come up and look at the first-floor lodger, who was all shaking-like, and seemed mortal bad ; and the inspection on the part of the landlady, who was a motherly old creature, ended in her sending (much against John Wardlaw's wishes) for a doctor. ' No, Sir,' she said, in reply to his expostulations that it was nothing, and would wear off in a day or two. 'No, Sir; many I 've seen in this 'ere house and a deal of sickness, and by your leave I '11 send for the doctor. You've that in your face. Sir, as is not to be mistook ; and to have a death in my house is what I 've never had on my conscience yet, and hope never to bear the blame of. You 're a very young gentle- man, Mr. AVardlaw (you'll excuse my calling you so, per- haps), and what your own mother w^ould do under such a case would be to say, "send for a doctor;" and so Mary she have gone by my desire for one this very minute.' The old landlady pertinaciously kept her place until the doctor appeared, and ordered the patient to be put at once into bed, and kept there. ' There, Sir,' siie said to John Wardlaw, with a smile of triumph on her face which, under the circumstances, was aln;r)st |)nrdouab]e; ' now perhaps you'll go to believe me another time.* * A Hall on the March of Life' 381 * I 'm not going to be really ill, am I r ' demanded our hero of tlio doctor. ' Heally ill ? ' was the reply; *why, you're in a high fever already. No, of course not ; if you get into bed and keep there, but I won't answer for the consequences if you persist in going about.' So they put him to bed; and for two miserable days (during which the old landlady worried him incessantly by asking which friends she should send for in case of his gettin"* worse) he remained there, tortured beyond degree by the slow dragging-on of the weary circle of hours, and the mad* dening thoughts with which he had now no means or ability of contending. He had fought a short battle but a brave one, and his physical powers had given way beneath tlie struggle with himself. Now, as he lay ' shorn of his strength,' and unable any longer to cope with the devils that possessed him, a deep depression settled upon his mind, and he longed to lay down his arms and die. On the third day of his illness he felt himself to be pal- pably worse. The various sounds in the street below no longer appeared distinct to him, but jumbled and confused themselves together in a manner which he at first felt to be wholly inexplicable. Every now and then, too, he caught himself wandering, speaking aloud when there was no one in the room, and addressing the frightened servant-maid by any name but her own. Then he would awake with a start, as if from actual sleep, to the realities of the world around him ; and during one of these waking moments there darted into his mind the remembrance of Catherine Hurst, the ISister of Mercy, upon whose breast his mother had died. He remembered her kind face as she gave him the little card with her address, and bade him send for her whenever he was in sickness or trouble. He had enough of the last now, God knew, and he began to fear that he was going to have enough of the first. He thought it very likely that he should die (he wondered in Buch a case i( she would be sorry when she heard of it), and he felt that he should scarcely like to pass out of this world, where he had had so little happiness, without a soul near him, whom he knew, to receive his parting sigh. And so, with a great efi'ort, he raised his feverish body suificiently in 2 * ^82 F'oi' Ever and Ever, bed to enable him, with Mary's help, to unlock his desk and find the card alluded to ; which he desired her to have sent to the printed address, with a message to say that Mr. Ward- law was very ill, and wanted to see Miss Hurst. The card and message reached Catherine Hurst the same evening. Having no particular call for her charitable aid at that moment, she had engaged to wean a refractory baby for its hard-working mother, whose days were too fully employed to permit her to give up her night's rest with impunity ; and at the time that she heard of John AVardlaw's illness, she was busy fight- ing with the sturdy young rascal, who refused to have any- thing to say to artificial nutriment. But the duty was not an urgent one, and therefore sending back the baby to his mother (who, having fondly imagined that she had got rid of her little tyrant for a few days, was horrified to have him returned still unsubmissive on her hands), Catherine Hurst set out at once for Princes Street, where, by the time she reached him, John Wardlaw was raving in delirium. She had, in common with all who were interested in the affair, read the news of Miss Bellew's marriage to Leofric Temple in the Times, in which it had been duly announced. Of course, the circumstance had been well talked of by the members of Miss Bellew's profession ; and the Liverpool manager, to whom she had engaged herself for the autumn season, had had more than a great deal to say on the subject. Catherine Hurst had been atjle to make a very good guess, then, as to the reason of John Wardlaw's illness before she saw him ; but if she had had any doubt upon the subject, his wild, disjointed talk would soon have settled the question. It was sad work for those who nursed him to watch the incessant rolling of his handsome head from side to side of his hot pillow, and to listen to the constant entreaties which issued from his lips that they would not hold him down, but set his arms free that he might strike and overcome the un- named adversary who was always opposing him during those long dark hours of senseless raving. Sadder still, in his quieter mom.ents, to hear the pathetic appeals he would make to his dead mother to save him from the fate she had brought him into the world to endure ; or to his faithless love, to assure him that it had all been a dream, that he was only ill, delirious, weak in his head, and that 'A Halt on the March of Life* 383 wJfyli returning health vind strength he should regain in her what he fancied he had lost. Mingled with childish tears not bordering on the subject in hand, when he would scream at the supposed attack of a oat or a vulture upon him; or talk all night to himself in an awed and quivering voice of the white tombstone which Weamed upon him from the darkest corner of the room, and which bore his own name and age, and date of death. They cut off all his hair close to his head, disfigured his broad white brows with leech-bites, took all the skin off the nape of his neck with blisters, and salivated him throughout with mercury. These measures proving at last successful in grappling with and throwing the fierce fever which possessed him, one day, some three weeks after, with eyes sunk in his head, a skin like parchment, black dry lips and tongue, and large bones nearly coming through his flesh, John Wardlaw awoke once more to the sense of being alive, and was pronounced * out of danger.' The benevolent woman, whose life was spent in doing good, and who never wearied of her work so long as it was needed, gave a long sigh of welcome relief, as she heard the doctor's fiat, and then retiring to the adjoining room, fell down on her knees and thanked God- for the reprieve He had permitted to His unrepentant child. Lons: before that, she had sent word to Sutton Valence of John Wardlaw's illness, keeping back, however, the full extent of his danger. Captain and Mrs. Wardlaw had received the news, as may be anticipated, in a very inditferent spirit, although the former did contemplate, in the event of his son getting worse, going up to town to ascertain if his will was made. Poor little Alice, of course, was all tears and sympathy, but she was not told that the illness was dangerous, and therefore was saved from much needless anxiety for her brother's safety; and for the same reason, neither the Stuarts nor the Temples had the opportunity of displaying what amount of feeling they would have exhibited if they had been aware that John Wardlaw's fever had taken so alarm- ing a turn. Miss Hurst certainly did, on her patient becoming seriously worse, send a private intimation to his father to that eflect, adding, that if he wished to visit him, there were rooms in the house at his service ; but Captain Wardlaw did not ^84 ^or Ever and Ever, believe in the danger, and bad a stringent dislike to anything catcliiug (in wbicb category he ruthlessly placed all fevers), and therefore Catherine Hurst's second letter remained un- noticed ; and knowing the inditference with which the young man she was nursing was regarded by his family, she waa too much distrusted by the circumstance to write again. ' No,' i^he thouf];ht to herself ; ' his mother died alone, save for me, and yet expressed herself happy in so doing ; and if her son is to' rejoin her now, he shall do it, poor boy, from within the circle of the same arms which held her dying head. Such a father as his is better anywhere than about his death -bed.' But John "Wardlaw did not die. Gaunt, weak, and utterly weary, but purged within and without by the fierce ravages of the fever, he rose to his feet again, in every re- spect a better man than when he had stumbied and fallen on the march of life beneath the weight of the burthen which heaven had ordained that he should carry. His un- derstanding came back to him by degress. On first awak- iug from that living death, he was not able to comprehend at all why he was there or where he had been ; still less what meant this apparition by his bed-side of a grey-haired lady- robed in black, and with a strange white cap upon her head. But by-and-bye it came back to him. By-and-bye he re- called the horrid scenes through which he had passed, the sufferings of hell he had endured ; the base robbery he had submitted to ; and then followed in their train the remem- brance of his sensations of approaching illness, and the means by which he had told the servant-maid to apprise Miss Hurst that he required her services. ' How good it was of you to come,' he said, feebly, as her identity became clear to him. ' How my poor mother would have thanked you for it if she had been alive.' ' She is alive, John,' replied Miss Hurst, ' in a far more glorious life than any we live here, and she knows, and thanks me for it, I am sure of that ; and her thanks are quite suf- ficient, without yours, so I will not have you weary your poor weak head with trying to express your gratitude.' For a few more days h© lay feebly trying to solve the problem of why he had been permitted to live, and almost ready to rebel when any effort was required of him which A Halt in tfie March of Life. 385 should advance his convalescence ; but then he bepau to discover that his food really had some taste in it, that he was tired of lying in bed, and that when he had not eaten for an hour or two, he felt hungry, ' An old friend of yours has been inquiring daily after you, John,' said Miss Hurst, one evening, as she sat in the pleasant firelight by his side; ' some one who is dee{)ly in- terested in your recovery, and would like to help towards it, if a little company now and then would do so.' * An old friend ! ' exclaimed John AVardlaw, and the evi- dent suspicion which flushed his cheek made his nurse hasten to disabuse his mind of the idea which had taken possession of him. ' It is a man friend,' she said, briskly ; ' and as he is wait- ing downstairs now, I will fetch him up at once, and you shall see him for yourself.' She left the room as she spoke, and in another minute a heavy footstep was heard ascending the little staircase, the door of the apartment reopened, and by the flickering lii^ht of the fire John AVardlaw saw the honest face of poor Tom Cornicott beaming upon him with undisguised sympathy for all that he had passed through. ' Cornicott ! ' he exclaimed, springing up in bed, and siezing the other's hand, ' my dear Cornicott, how can you come to see me after our last parting ? It 's more than I deserve at your hands — it is indeed.' 'Hush! my dear fellow,' said the artist, whose voice, as he gazed upon the changed appearance of his young friend, became rather husky. ' Hush ! my dear AVardlaw ; there was nothing in it — nothing indeed ; I 've forgotten all that ages ago.' ' But I have not,' replied John Wardlaw, eagerly. * I have thought of it often as I lay here. Cornicott, I 'm cured. Don't look unbelieving ; I am, upon my wrrd. I 've been worse than a fool, and the discovery was too great a shock for my system, but the fever 's taken it out of me — body and soul. "What will you bet me it hasn't ? 1 've been lying here thinking of nothing else for the last week, and thanking Heaven for my deliverance. It 's truth, Cor- nicott. If I could make Kowena my wife this moment, I wouldn't do it for the world. J suppose you know that she 2 86 For Ever and Ever, played me fahe and married my brotber ; but I'm tbankful for* it now. He may have her and welcome, for aught that my heart is concerned in the matter. I 'm a free man once more, and all I have to do is to get well and go on with art again — our art, eh, Cornicott ? ' The elder man grasped hands with bim firmly. ' AVardlaw,' he exclaimed, ' my dear fellow, is this really true ? I don't know when I 've heard anything that gave me so mucb delight ; I have never ceased blaming myself for the unlucky chance which made me the medium of in- troduction between you ; but you are sure that it is all rifrht again now — that there is no harm done ?' ' None whatever, my dear Cornicott ; on the contrary, a deal of experience gained whicb I shall not again forget in a hurry. Call up the dear old sister, do, and let us have some tea, for I 'm devilish hungry. No, Miss Hurst, I didn't mean that,' he continued, with a ghastly laugh, as she sud- denly appeared in the doorway. ' I meant that I think I should like some bread-and-butter, or anything else which my two tyrants, you and the doctor, will allow me to swal- low ; and, Cornicott, do stay and see me eat it ; and oh, my dear fellow, I am so glad to meet you again ! ' And, weakened as he was by his severe illness, and hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry at the knowledge of his great deliverance, and the re-union with his honest friend, John "Wardlaw, like many another brave fellow, under the same circumstances, chose the latter alternative, and turn- ing over in bed, buried bis shamed face in the recesses of his pillows, and let no one bear witness to his gratitude but himself and his Grod. ^ mi CHAPTEE XXX. SEC MONTHS AFTERTVAEDS. Among all living creatures, more or less, Change still doth reign and keep the greater sway. SpENSEB: Change has been said to be the only thing which is con- stant ; mutability the immutable law of the universe : and when the change is for the better it is a mandate which no one regrets to see enforced. Six months have passed oA-er the head of our hero since we saw him last. The dark, cold days of winter have been succeeded by the genial spring, and the miserable doubt and depression which then reigned paramount in his breast, have been replaced by a feeling which, if not happiness, is the best imitation we possess of it below — indifference to pain. Then he waa lying on a bed of sickness, prostrated alike in mind and body by the effects which the cruel wrong he had sustained had wrought upon his mental and physical organisation. Now he stood erect and well again ; strengthened both in- wardly and outwardly by the trial he had gone through, and able to take once more a teen interest in the life which sur- rounded him, and quite apart from that past life which had been a source of so much humiliation and pain. He had not forgotten it. There are some wounds, received in our tussle with the world, which it is impossible we should ever forget. They are written in words of fire upon the tablets of our hearts, and the branded letters stare us in the face until we are clothed with immortality. The remem- brance of them gives us no pain, perhaps ; the very spot where the barbed arrow hit the flesh, and which was so tender for years afterwards, that we shuddered at the mere 388 For Ever and Ever, idea of its being touched, has been hardened with the impress of lime's linger ; and the archer himself might lay his hand there, and feel no increase of palpitation in the pulse be- neath it. Yet the scar remains ; and though we use it only as a beacon to direct our future steps, as a warning, and a iinger-post on life's journey, it still is there, and whilst we have memories we must remember. John Wardlaw's hurt was healed, and most effectually. The sharp agony with which the sudden knowledge of his betrayal had struck him had died away even in his remembrance, or if he recalled it, it was but to wonder that he could have been so void of understanding as to waste such an amount of regret upon the loss of a love which had never existed for him, or of a woman who was as Heartless as he had been deluded. From the first moment that he had met Eowena Bellew to the last interview he had lield her as such, his great passion had blinded him to the fact that the love of which it should have been the crowning glory alone, was not there at all. It has been impressed upon the reader more than once that the feeling he had entertained for this woman was not the true metal ; that it was a base imitation, which his boyish and inexperienced heart mistook for such. He had been ready for many a month now to acknowledge the truth of this assertion himself. He knew that it was her uncommon beauty which had allured his taste to such a degree, that in his mad desire for its possession he had given himself credit for what he really never entertained — a true and loyal love for her inward qualities. Where were they ? he had seen her on the occa- sion of her marriage with his brother, metaphorically stripped — her beauty was then another's, and her heart (if she had a heart) belonged to herself alone. If she had kept true to him and become his wife, John "Wardlaw would doubtless, in the generosity of his own nature, have made the best of his bargain, and striven to be a good husband to her ; but since she had chosen her own lot, he had been enabled, long before this time, to thank Heaven with sin- cerity that he had been delivered from the snare. I'rom the day which had seen her Leotric Temple's wife the cure had commenced to work. What was her beauty to him then ? He still acknowledged that it was great, but he had learned Six Months Afterwards. 389 to look upon it with the same indifference that had aston- ished him at first to see in otliers ; to scan it as he would have scanned the perfections of a statue, or a lovely ])aint- mg ; to measure it as he would have measured the requisite qualifications for a paid model, who would sit to him any- day for half-a-crowu an hour. He often thoufj^ht of his brother's wife ; oftener, indeed, than was agreeable to him ; for she was constantly intruding herself upon his notice by means of her letters. Not long afterher marriage the 88th regiment had been removed from Maidstone to liouuslow, as John Wardlaw had ascertained through his sister Alice and the public papers ; and soon after, he had received, to his great surprise, his first communication from Mrs. Tem- ple. In it she had alluded to their former connection with a studied pathos, which had utterly failed to make the nerves of her correspondent flutter, and hinting at pecuniarv and domestic grievances, had asked him to go and see her at Houuslow. But this he had refused to do. In his heart of hearts he had come to thank Kowena Temple for the treacherous trick she had played him, and he cared too little for her now not to forgive it also ; but the words in which he had addressed his half-brother, on the occasion of his last meeting with him, had been true ones, and he would not take them back again. He could pardon the woman who had left him, but he could not pardon the man who had stolen her, nor accept the fact of her worthlessness as any excuse for his. He had said that he would not meet Leofric Temple in fellowship again, and he had kept to his word. Several letters from his sister-in-law had followed the first, which having been sicc 'ssful as far as the application in it for money was concerned, was not likelv, by such a person as Eowena Temple, to be allowed to remain the only speci- men of its class, and she had never received a refusal yet from her former lover ; but the letters had been pretty fre- quent of late, and John Wardlaw had begun seriou.sly to consider in what terms he should break to her the unplea- sant necessity that he had for putting a stop to these con- Btant drains upon his income. Hitherto he had managed to oblige her by drawing upon the principal of his money, for it was not to be supposed that out of a hundred pounds a- year the young artist could find any surplus wherewith to 39© For Ever and Ever, satisfy^ the demands of needy relatives. But IsIys. Temple's letters had been written in so urgent a strain, there had been such a tremendous ' Private ' at the top of each sheet of paper, and such plain hints that the loan (of course it was always asked as ' a loan ') was to defray some of her own particular expenses, and for which she never received anything at her husband's hands, that John Wardlaw, being very soft-hearted when women were concerned, and well aware of the stinginess which was the pervading trait of his half-brother's character, had never yet had the courage to write and tell her that he could not accede to her request, knowing that he had several thousand pounds safely lodged in consols for his own use and benefit. But he had been looking at his banker's book lately, and on the morning in June, when v;e met him again, wore rather a grave countenance, as he held another beggiug letter from HouDslow in his hand, and thought over the feasibility of his complying wdth the d .,mand contained in it, which was a larger sum than Mrs. Temple had ever ventured to ask for before — the loan of £200. * I wish you would come and see me, dear Wardlaw,' the letter ran, ' and then I could speak to you about it. Leofric is in Scotland on a fort- night's leave with Captain Perrars, and there are claims being pressed upon me here which I am quite unable to meet, and I am terrified at being left to contend with his creditors alone. Do come over to-morrow, or next day, and I will explain matters more fully to you. However painful the interview^ may be to me, remembering as vividly as I do the dear days when ' Here the reader, with a contemptuous curl of the lip, crushed the letter in his hand and would read no further. ' Perhaps I had better go,' he thought to himself, ' I shall then see if there is really any foundation for these constant complaints of poverty on her part ; and I may be able to make her understand, that, as far as I am concerned, they must cease, for the plain truth is that I can't afi"ord to lend her any more.' It was the plain truth, for John Wardlaw had already, during the last six months, spent a large portion of his grandmother's legacy. He was not a spendthrift, but neither was lie a very prudent man : with his small heritage Six Months Afterwards. 391 if he had been the first, he never could have paid his debts ; if the second, lie could scarcely have kept up the appear- ance of a gentleman. He had progressed wonderfully in his profession during the past winter season ; and knowing that he who ventures nothinc:, gains nothinoj, had not con- sidered himself doing a foolish act in expending part of his principal for the furtherance of the art in which he bid fair to excel. But the accomplishment of the object he had in view had been the means of his incurring various expenses, the likelihood of which had never struck him at the time that he embarked in the undertaking. In the first place, he had left his dingy little lodgings in Princes Street, and was now in the occupation of two rooms farther west, which, though small, were light, clean, and well furnished. This move had been made in order to enable him with the greater facility to prosecute his studies under the tuition of one of the first masters of the day; who, having met our hero by accident and seen some of his paintings, had assured him that his talents might as well be buried as attempt to flourish in the purlieus of West- minster. Matterby's academy, therefore, had passed away as a dream ; it had shifted, like the other scenes, in the chang- ing phantasmagoria of his life ; and nothing now remained to remind him of the dark belongings of six months ago, except- inor an occasional visit from Tom Cornicott, who was alwavs received with the heartiest of welcomes and dismissed with the heartiest of farewells. The lessons from the celebrated painter had been of all the value to our hero that he had anticipated, and, so far, his money, under the circumstances, could not have been better laid out ; but his west-end lodgings and his budding celebrity had launched him into an atmo- sphere of greater gaiety than he had ever anticipated, and the indulgence in which led him into a great deal of expense. John Wardlaw was not a man who could go about con- tentedly in society in a shabby coat and boots, or even in an old-fashioned coat or twice-worn gloves. He was a gentleman, and had been brought up, notwithstanding his poverty, with the ideas of a gentleman ; and he was sincere when he said to himself that he would rather never enter society at all than go worse dressed than other men. If need be, he could have kept at home altogether, and con- 392 For Ever and Ever. tentedly ; but he would not mix in the world, giving it occasion to make stinging remarks on the unremunerative qualities of the profession he followed. But fashionable clothes from fashionable tailors, and faultless gloves and boots, to say nothing of button-hole flowers from Solomon's at half-a-crown a bud, run away with a good deal of money, and before John Wardlaw was hardly aware of the fact he found that, with all his economy, he had spent about three years' income in twice as many months. His name, too, was just beginning to be noticed, which drop of fame had been the cause in itself of a considerable outlay on his part, in attending the gaieties to which he found himself invited, and returning the civilities of the bachelors of his acquaintance. Backed by the encourage- ment of his master, he had ventured to send a picture to the Eoyal Academy that year, and to the young artist's great astonisshment and joy it had been accepted. It was but a small thing in itself, — merely a sketch of two winged female figures floating in mid-air, and entitled, ' The Angels of Life and Death,' — but it had been fortunate enough to be hung well, and the beauty of the faces had attracted attention, and the artist's name had got about, and the consequence was that John "Wardlaw awoke one morning to find himself (as far as receiving more invitations than he cared to accept was concerned) famous. But the chief friend he had made, through the means of his lucky little picture, promised to be a very powerful one to him, being no less a personage than Sir Edward Home, of Home Park, Surrey — one of the members for the county, and a known patron of the high arts. He was the same Edward Home who, as a beardless ensign, had befriended John Wardlaw's mother in her distress at her child's danger ; and wag mentioned after- wards as having married an heiress and retired from the army. Eventually he had succeeded to the baronetcy through the death of an uncle, and was now one of the most popular men about town ; always ready to further any sclieme that might conduce to thehappiness of the people ; a discriminating and generous patron to the whole brother- hood of artists ; and one of the heartiest and best-natui-ed Six Mojitks Afterwards. 393 hosts that ever sat at tlie head of his own tahle, and pledged his guests in wine with which no fault could be found by the most fastidious oi hon-vivanis. His wife was still alive, and he had a large family of children, his eldest daughters being already out in society. It was his yearly custom to bring them all up to town for the season, and having seen John "Wardlaw's name in thb Academy list, he had lost no time in seeking the young marv out ; and introducing himself on the score of having kni)\vri him as a baby, had made our hero welctjme in his family circle, and given him a general invitation to his house. As John A\''ardlaw still stood with Rowena Temple's letter in his hand, the baronet's already familiar knock was heard, and the next minute he was in the room, shaking hands heartily with his new-made friend. Sir Edward was at this time a man of about two or three- and-forty, but looking very much younger, and just as often mistaken for the elder brother of the girls he danced attendance upon with so much good humour, night after night, at concert, opera, or ball, as anything else. In appearance he was fair and ruddy, with mirthful blue eyes, and a clean-shaven face, and the possessor of the heartiest laugh possible to man. But at the same time he could be serious when occasion called for it. John AVardlaw had only renewed his acquaintanceship with him for about a month, but the sincerity in Sir Edward Home's voice, when he had made protestations of friendship to him, and the deep, feeling manner in which he had spoken of his dead mother, and her domestic trials, had found its way to his hearer's heart, and made him feel as if he had been intimate with him all his life. After a little, John "Wardlaw had commenced to speak freely to his mother's friend of the troubles of his own life, of the reason he lived in so solitary a manner and never visited his home, of his father's second marriage, and the character of his step-mother. By-and-bye such talk would lead round to the subject of Leofric Temple, and then John Wardlaw, with a kindhnir eye, would briefly confess the indifference he felt towards his half-brother, but nothing more. No hint of the past history of his own heart, not a suspicion that the woman 394 ^<^^ Ever and Ever» who bore his brother's name had been more to him than an acquaintance, not a word against Leofric Temple's honour ever passed the lips of John "Wardlaw. Eor the opinion entertained by the world for the son of his step-mother he cared little, but a woman's good name was concerned in keepino^ the secret ; and in this, as in all other things, John "Wardlaw was a gentleman. Having once forgiven her for what she had done to injure himself, there was no place in his nature smull enough for the petty spite which could take pleasure in calling upon others to join him in con- demning her conduct. Indeed, he scarcely remembered her now, except as his brother's wife. He had learned to think of her as nothing else. As Sir Edward Home entered his apartment that morn- ing, he was surprised to see the perturbed expression (so seldom seen now on John "Wardlaw's countenance) which visibly pervaded his features, and he noticed it at once. ' AV^hy, Wardlaw, what 's gone wrong ? No enterprising lover of art poked a hole through the '"Two Angels" — Eh ? Tou should have heard what Sir Wilfrid "Whistle, and others of the Forty said about it at dinner last night. It was said to be about the best bit that 's ever appeared as a first attempt.' John Wardlaw coloured with pleasure. * I 'm very glad of it. Sir Edward,' he said. * "No ! the " Angels " are intact for aught I know to the contrary, and it was nothing concerning them that was worrying me just now.* ' Family matters?' demanded his visitor, who had guessed from the unsociable terms on which the half-brothers lived, that all was not as it should be between John Wardlaw and Leofric Temple. ' Partly ! ' was the answer. ' But I 've news for you, Sir Edward. I 've sold my picture.' ' Not the " Angels? " ' exclaimed Sir Edward, slapping his knees. 'Yes, the "Angels," ' rejoined John Wardlaw, laughing; *and for the marked price, five-and-twenty pounds.' ' I would have given you double for them,' said his friend, with evident vexation. Six Months Afterwards. 395 * Tliev were not worth more,' said John "Wardlaw, can- didly. 'However, if you had spoken, I should have been proud to let you have them at any price.' * But who was to guess that a crumb like that, from the great feast, would be whipped up in no time ; and a first attem])t too. Upon my word, Mr. Wardlaw, you are getting on.' * It 's only bought by a friend,' said the artist, depreciat- ingly ; ' and so my modesty forces me to ascribe my good fortune more to his benevolence than to my own deserts.' ' AVho is the purchaser ? ' *Mr. Stuart, of Castlemaine, in Kent.' * Never heard of him,' replied Sir Edward Home. * He 's the rector of my parish, and has known me from a boy.' ' Well ; I should be very glad to take his bargain off his bands,' said the Baronet, ' whoever he may be ; and I am very sorry to think that I was not first in the field. By- the-bye, Wardlaw, you will dine with us to-day.' ' I can't, thank you,' replied the youDg man ; ' I am en gaged, or should have been delighted.' ' Just like my luck again,' exclaimed Sir Edward. *Why, I 've got three E.A.'s to dinner, and came over on purpose to ask you to join us.' ' I 'm very sorry. Sir Edward ; but it is really out of the question.' ' Can't you put off your engagement ? * John AVardlaw shook his head. ' Who do you dine with ?' said the Baronet, impetuously. ' AVith Mr. Stuart ; the friend who has bought my picture. He is in town for the season, at least his family are ; and he runs up whenever he can.' ' Mr. Stuart,' exclaimed Sir Edward, good-naturedly ; * he 's always in my way. Of whom does this family consist ? ' ' His wife and daughter, and a nephew.* * Oh ! there 's a daughter in the question, is there ? no wonder you won't throw up the engagement.* John Wardlaw coloured to the roots of his hair. ' Miss Stuart is engaged to be married. Sir Edward,* he replied ; ' and has been so, for some time.' 39^ For Ever and Ever, ' All engaf^ements are not so difficult to break as dinner ones.' said bis friend, lightly. But this was a phase of the question that the young artist did not appear desirous of pursuing, and after a few minutes of useless expostulation, which ended in his company being secured for the next evening. Sir Edward Home took Lis leave. Then John Wardlaw, putting aside letter from Hounslow until he could consult Mr. Stuart on on the course he should follow regarding it, applied himself vigorously to the painting he had in hand, and worked hard until late in the afternoon. Ever since the termination of the unfortunate business of the year before, he had con- tinued on a footing of the greatest intimacy with his old friends at Castlemaine. Mr. Stuart had maintained a regular and frequent correspondence with him ; he had been up to town several times for the purpose of seeing him alone ; and John "Wardlaw had received two or three invitations to go down and stay witb them at Sutton Valence, but hitherto he had been stead ast in refusing all such overtures. Now, however, thai the 88th were re- moved to Hounslow, and the summer was coming on again, he began seriously to think of revisiting his old home, in the character of a guest at Castlemaine, as soon as its owners should have returned to it ; particularly as his step- mother had been resolute in refusing to let him have the company of his sister Alice in London for even a few days. Mr. Stuart had taken a house at Kensington for the season, for the accommodation of his family, and was with them as much as his parish duties would permit him to be; and John Wardlaw, of whose escort (her nephew not beinc*- a very dashing cavalier) Mrs. Stuart was generally glad to avail herself, had been in the habit, since their arrival, of spending every spare moment he could in their company. At the hour qjpointed for dinner, on the day in question^ he presented himself at Kensington, and found, to his great satisfaction, that he had been told off by the mistress of the house to take her daughter down to dinner. He had never forgotten the conversation that he had with Henrietta Stuart on the day that he left Sutton Valence. It had lingered in his memory long after the occasion which had given it birth had died an ignominious Six Moiitks Afterwards. 397 death. The tones of her full ricli voice ; the glance of her earnest liquid eyes ; the tremulous motion of her nervous lips as she attempted to administer to him the comfort she did not feel justified in giving ; above all, the brief look of agony which had ilitted across her face when she burst into that sudden storm of tears, had haunted him for many and many a day after. He had had several confidential conver- sations with her since, and one or two serious ones ; but he had never ventured to remind her of that parting interview except by a glance, perhaps, when the subject under discus- eion bore upon the mutual memory : a glance which he knew that she understood as well in the reception as he did in the bestowal. He had never ventured either to allude to that secret source of unhappiness which she had halt' confessed to ; although the general gravity of her demeanour, so dift'erent to what he had ever been accustomed to attribute to the light-hearted heiress in days gone by, made him suspect that the source of her discontent, whatever it might be, had grown instead of diminishing with the interval of time that had effected his own cure. He could not help, in his mind, connecting her sorrow with her en- gagement to her cousin, tJid in consequence he hated poor Martin Stuart with a vinaictiveness quite uncalled for by the behaviour of that retiring individual ; and voting him an ' ugly, under-sized little monkey, and half an idiot into the bargain,' wondered what on earth could have induced such a fine creature as Henrietta Stuart to promise herself in marriage to a man like her cousin. And many others besides John Wardlaw expressed their astonishment at the same circumstance, who like himself did not know by how many hidden acts of kindness and generosity, and by how much humble mention of his own merits and silent worship of his future wife, Martin Stuart rendered it almost impos- sible (the fatal step once taken) for his cousin Henrietta to break through her engagement with him. Else there were moments when the yoke she had accepted, lightly though it was laid upon her, was almost too heavy for the shoulders which supported it. There were moments, and especially of late, when she felfc as though (notwithstanding the hopelessness of her own happiness) she must rush to her father and tell him that 2c 398 -for Ever and Ever, the path she had chalked out for herself she could never tread. But after every impulse of the sort, a little reflec- tiou brought to her miud (as it had on a former occasion) the remembrance of all the pain she must iuflict by such a proceeding, and for what ? Not for immunity from suffer- ing herself; for the displeasure of her lather and mother, and the sad looks of poor Martin, who, notwithstanding his inability to shine like other lovers, worshipped the very ground she trod on, would haunt her, she knew well, both day and night, and destroy all chance of happiness for her. she had two evils to choose from, and she clung to what was the least for her ; and she had so much British blood in her that she felt she was brave enough to bear anything which descended on herself alone. But still she had her times of trial ; hours when she stood face to face with the enemy ; when she bore her sharp pain, as the Spartan boy bore the rending of his entrails, without a cry, or even a look, to denote that she was wounded. When she sat through a whole dinner by the side of John Wardlaw, as now, or was fain (from want of a feasible excuse) to accept his invitations to dance or to walk — passing through the ordeals, first under the sensation of a feverish heat, and next of a sickening chill, and yet smiling and talking, giving commonplace answers to commonplace questions, and finally leaving the presence of the only man who had the power to make life worth living for, with a cheerful, unstudied air, and a simple hand-shake. She went daily, at this period of her existence, through refined tortures, of which the strong heart beside her had never felt the half, and yet he perceived nothing peculiarly strange in her de- meanour — nothing but an occasional slight constraint which she would suddenly put upon her manner as if she were afraid to trust herself any longer in friendly intercourse with him. On this evening she was unusually silent and reserved, and John Wardlaw attempted to get up a private conversation with her in vain. He had had some thoughts of asking her advice on the subject of the Hounslow business; but her evident reluctance to approach one topic of the past disconcerted him. He did venture once to say — * Where do you think I am going to-morrow, Pussy ? » Six MoNlhs ^4ftcr wards. ^gcj Of course slie said that slie couIJnt think. * Guess.' ' But Miss Stuart avowed her general inahility to guesa anything. * To Hounslow ; at least, if your father advises me to do so,' said John AVardlaw at last. She coloured, but asked ' What for ? ' which question took her companion rather at a di^sadvantage, as he did not wish to betray Mrs. Temple's begging propensities to Miss Stuart ; so he answered — ' Only to see IMrs. Temple ; she wrote and asked me to do so.' * Oh ! ' said Miss Stuart. ' I tell it you to convince you that my cure is effectual,' he whispered. ' I should not think of meeting her other- wise.' ' You had better not be too sure till you have done so,* she replied quietly. He bit his lip and made no answer. He did not like having his perceptive qualities doubted, and yet he had no proofs to advance of the truth of his statement except the evidence of his ow^n feelings. Henrietta Stuart was visibly annoyed by his intention; perhaps she thought him weak and foolish to run his head again into a noose from which he had been freed at so large a cost. And thoufrh she was mistaken, he could not forgive her all at once for enter- taining the suspicion of him. She, on the contrary, was only trembling, woman-like, at the notion of his again en- countering, apparently for mere bravado, the dangerous fascinations of Eowena Temple. He was not hers, but she loved him, and she could not bear that he should belong to anyone else ; and although she would have staked her own honour upon his, she felt jealous that he should care even to visit his brother's wife. And so these two, usually such good company, proved very sorry amusement for one another on the night in question. After the ladies had retired, John Wardlaw obtained a few minutes' conversation with Mr. Stuart, and asked liis opinion on the matter. His host was disposed to view the proposed proceeding in a very difierent light to what his 400 For Ever and Ever. dan "-liter had. AVhen a man looked him in the face, as Jolm Wardlaw did, and said honestly, ' I care no more for her now, Sir, than I do for that woman passing in the street,' Mr. Stuart knew that the disease had died out, and that there was no dissembling in the matter. And he knew, moreover, that for such a character as that of Eowena Tem- ple, love, once dead, no power on earth could raise again. It liad been like the seed sown upon a rock, which, springing up without root, withers away, and can never be revived. And so, when John Wardlaw had concluded his story, Mr. Stuart told him to go to Hounslow by all manner of means, and tell his sister-in-law definitely that after this once he could not help her again. ' Tou are not justified in doing it, John,* he said seriously. ' Tour own gains will be at the best precarious, and you may never be able to make up this deficiency in your principal. Tou wall want to take a wife yourself some day.' John Wardlaw smiled. *■ I don't think that reason would tempt me to keep it, Sir ; I fancy I 've done with women for awhile. But if I don't make a stand some time against her demands, I shall never be able to put a stop to them.' ' Certainly not ; go, Jack, most decidedly, tell Mrs. Tem- ple the truth, and come and dine with us on your return.' ' I can't. Sir, I 'm engaged to Sir Edward Home.' 'What a gay fellow you are!' exclaimed the rector, laughing; 'why, you'll never put up with our doings at Castlemaine after all this.' ' Don't you think so ? ' said John "Wardlaw, rising ; ' try me, Mr. Stuart, that 's all.' ' Why ! where are you off to now ? ' ' I am going to one of Mrs. White's soirees dansantes, and, after that, to a supper at Laura Treduian's ; so I don't think 1 must wait until you join the ladies. Please make my iarewcli to Mrs. Stuart and Pussy.' 'AH riglit, you rascal!' cried the genial voice of tlie rector as Juiiu Wardlaw, receiving a hearty shake of the band, lelt his hospitable boftrd- 401 CIIAPTEE XXXT. THE COTTAGE LT nOITNSLOW. I do confess thou 'rt sweet, but find Thee such an tmthrift of thy sweet?; Thy favours are but as the wind, That kisseth everything it meets; And since thou canst with more than one, Thou 'rt worthy to be loved by none. Hebeick. The next morniDg lie left his painting to look after itself, and quitting London hj an early train, reached Hounslow soon after eleven o'clock. The "Temples were not living in regimental quarters, as he had ascertained from his sister- in-law's letters ; but Belvidere Cottaf::e — which was the high-sounding title of their place of residence — appeared to be so well known that he had no difiiculty in tracing their whereabouts. It was a prettv little house standing in a tiny garden, but as he came in sight of it he wished that it bad not so forcibly reminded him of certain questionable- looking villas in the suburbs of London, whose inmates, like themselves, are all built after the same pattern. There was a familiar look about the profusion of flowers and birds which adorned the verandah of Belvidere Cottage ; an ap- pearance given by the red and white striped sun-blinds which shaded the open windows, and the lace curtains drawn so carefully across to conceal the interior ot the rooms, which was apt to strike the mind of a man living in town with an unpleasant comparison. However, all su- burban villas are objectionable on that very account, and, perhaps, there was not much choice of houses in Hounslow for an in-coming regiment. Early as the hour was, Mrs. Temple was evidently not alone from the confused murmur 402 For Ever and Ever, of voices whicli was distinguisliable from the little garden ; and as John Wardlaw approached the hall-door he felt annoyed to think that, after all, his journey, so far as re- garded speaking to her upon private matters, might be thrown away. His knock was answered by a man-servant, a soldier undoubtedly, from the stiff manner in which he held himself ai]d filled up the narrow passage, and the want of polish with which he received the demand made for his mistress. On being asked if Mrs. Temple was at home, he at first hesitated, but finally confessing that she was, said that he would go and ascertain if she could see anyone, and mounting the staircase, every step of which creaked and groaned beneath his ponderous weight, left John Wardlaw standing in the passage below. As the door of the drawing-room above was opened, he heard a man's voice, in a coarse tone, exclaim, ' By George, Howney, that 's a good one ! ' and the loud laughter which followed the sally was joined in by so many, that the servant evidently tried more than once to make his mistress understand the message he had to deliver. ' Do be quiet, Lord Charles ! ' he then distinctly heard in the well-known unsympathetic tones of Mrs. Temple; 'I can't possibly hear what Simpson says.' There was a sudden lull, and the servant repeated, 'A gentleman, ma'am — Mr. "Wardlaw — wants to see you.* ' "Where r ' exclaimed Mrs. Temple ; ' not here ? ' ' In the passage, ma'am.' * Good Heavens ! ' ' I '11 bolt,' said a third voice, decidedly, and * Stay where you are ' came just as decidedly in the tones of his brother's wife. ' Tell Mr. "Wardlaw,' she added to the servant, ' that I shall be happy to receive him ; ' and then there was a long * H ssh ! ' from some of her friends, and the reproof ' Don't be so foolish, Stanley ! ' issued from her lips. John AVardlaw obeyed the summons at once, and followed the man-servant up stairs, necessarily prepared for the sort of scene he should encounter there. He had not misled himself. As he entered the little drawing-room, which was a mass of pink and white, and redolent of the fumes of scented flowers, 'jockey-club bou- The Cottage at Homidow. 403 quet,* and hot coffee, he saw Mrs. Temple reclining languidly in an arm-chair, a small table with her breakfast apparatus placed beside her, while live men, apparently officers of the re<^iment, were lounging in various attitudes about the ottomans and couches with which the appartment was crowded. Two of them, it is true, were nothing but beard- less boys, but the other three, to judge from the growth of their whiskers and moustaches, must have been men of some standing in the army ; and each one appeared to be com- pletely at home in Belvidere Cottage. Mrs. Temple herself seemed little changed from the time when he had parted with her. Indeed, to see her lying back in her easy chair, robed in a clear white muslin wrapper, through which (the tinder bodice being cut lower than would have been per- mitted in any ball-dress) her marble breast and shoulders positively gleamed in their snowy whiteness, with her dark hair tied off her face with a rose-coloured ribbon, and the slightest soupgon of artificial colour laid skilfully upon her cheeks, he could, except for his own feelings, have fancied himself once more in Princes Street worshipping, as in olden times, at the feet of Miss Bellew, of the King's Theatre, "Westminster. She half rose as he entered, and held out her hand with the most affected of smiles. ' My dear Wardlaw,' she exclaimed, ' I hardly expected you so early. Have you breakfasted ? ' She spoke as coolly as if the eyes which encountered her o^vn had never gleamed with passion upon her, as if her visitor and she had never met each other at Longford's in the Strand, as if the very name she bore he had not pur- chased for her with an lOU for five hundred pounds. But he was as collected as herself. ' Long ago,' he replied. ' Busy people cannot afford to keep such late hours as these, Mrs. Temple.' ' No ? ' with a smile that intimated that she had scarcely heard what liad passed, and then she said, rather hastily, 'This is my brother, Lord Charles. My dear Wardlaw,' she added, returning to our hero, 'these gentlemen all belong to the old 8Sth— Lord Charles Tavistock, Captain Mervyn, Captain Foster, Mr. Stanley, and Mr. Yickars. Why, where are Stanley and Vickars gone ? ' she exclaimed, as she looked 4 04 F'or Ever and Ever, in vain for tlie two boys, wlio Tiad slipped out of the doorway as soon as John Wardiaw had entered it. ' Have they left ? — and are you going too, Lord Charles ? — what ! and all of you '? ' she continued, as a general move was evidently in contemplation. ' You silly creatures ! why, what do you think AVardlaw and I want a private interview for? Tou don't suppose he 's going to be such a ruffian as to make love to his brother's wife ? ' This she said with such an assumption of mirth, and yet with a laugh (considering the relation in which they had stood to each other only the year before) so utterly heart- less, that it sickened John Wardlaw to hear her ; and he could not make answer to it ; be could do no more than stand silently indignant whilst the fast-looking men whom she had been entertaining with various familiar forms of farewell, such as '' ta-ta^ ^ au revoir,^ and mock bows, filed out of the room one after another, and left him alone with llowena Temple. They had had the wit to guess that they were de trop, and that, as Mrs. Temple's brother-in-law (whom she had described to them as a horridly stingy fellow who had the management of some of her money aff'airs) had so unex- pectedly chosen the morning for his visit, they had better defer theirs until the afternoon or evening. As the last of them disappeared, and Mrs. Temple re- Bumed her seat, John "Wardlaw took a chair opposite to her, and for a minute they looked each other in the face. Then her eyelids drooped, and she commenced to play with the ribbon which confined her waist. ' And so we have met again, AVardlaw,' she said, almost nervously. 'I really thought it was never going to be, and that 1 was altogether too bad for you to speak to. I suppose you received my note ? ' ' Yes, of course I did,' he replied, ' or I should not have been here. I suppose we had better go to business at once. The sum you ask me for is a very large one.' ' Only two hundred pounds,' she said, opening her eyes. ' Only two years' income for me,' he replied. ' You forget how poor I am. My father still draws the allowance that I made him.' *But you are spending a great deal more than that, The Cottage at Hoimslow, 405 "Wardlaw,* she persisted. * I hear tliat you have rooms in Conduit Street, are studying under one of the first masters in town, and are out night after night, and at the most fashionable houses. That must all cost you money.'- ' So it does,' he answered frankly, * more sometimes than I can at present allord. But I do not consider it money thrown away, ISIrs. Temple. My profession is to be my living; and anything which advances me in it will, I hope, eventually repay me fourfold. But for that, and for the sums I have lent you, I have had to draw largely on my principal, and I must refrain from doing so any more ; I must, indeed. It is very painful for me to have to refuse you, but your husband is the proper person for you to apply to for money.' ' Tou know how much he is likely to give me,' she said, ])Outing. * Why, his lieutenant's pay is not a hundred and fifty a year, and he drinks and smokes that away himself in half the time. I declare I 've never received a pound from him for my private expenses since I was married ; and now that I am alone, the quarter's bills are pouring in upon me, and I have nothing to meet them with.' * Have you written to your husband on the subject ? * ' Yes, dozens of times, and the only answer I get is, "Tell them they must wait; " but they won't wait any longer; and they come here and bully me for the money, and frighten me with their langua^re.' ' I cannot say I like paying Temple's just debts,' said John "Wardlaw, briefly. ' I thought, when you wrote to me, that you wanted it to defray expenses of your own.' ' They are partly mine,' she anawered ; ' there are milli- ners' bills amongst the rest. Won't you lend it me, Ward- law ? ' she added, with an entreating air. ' Do you know how much money I have given you during the last four months, Mrs. Temple ? ' He utterly ignored the idea of its having been lent. 'Dear me, no!' she said, aftectedly ; 'I should never think of keeping an account of anything so unpleasant.' 'I have been less fastidious,' he replied; 'it has been over five hundred pounds already.' * Nonsense ! ' she exclaimed, incredulously. * It has indeed,' he answered ; * and I am too poor to con- 4o5 For Ever and Ever, tiniie to leud at that rate. As it is, I am afraid I shall be compelled to withdraw part of my father's allowance, and that will be a very disagreeable thing for me to do. And if I had not wished to explain so much to you, and thought I could enforce its truth better by word of mouth than letter, I should not have been here to-day.' ' Oh ! don't say that, "Wardlaw,' she replied ; * I hope, now that you have come once, that you will come often.' ' I don't think I shall,' he said curtly. ' Then do you mean to say that you really won't lend me the two hundred ? ' she continued, nothing disconcerted ; * because as to canH, that 's all nonsense, I know. Are you going to be so cruel as to leave me here alone, and exposed to every insult that low tradesmen choose to force upon me ? ' And Mrs. Temple bit her lip, and casting her melancholy eyes upwards, acted the timid and wounded female to perfection. But her machinations had no effect upon her visitor. ' You seem to have plenty of friends,' he answered coldly. * I have none like yow,' she said plaintively. He was just about to remark that she should have thought of that some time ago, but he felt that she was even beneath his sarcasm, so he substituted — * If I give you this money, will you guarantee that it shall be the last appeal you make to me on the subject ? It is painful to me to have to refuse a lady anything, and parti- cularly pecuniary assistance, but it is only in justice to m3'self and my family that I am obliged to do so. You made your own choice in marriage, remember; and it is only fair that if anyone is to suffer the inconvenience of it, your husband should be the person.' * Ah ! I wish I had never made my own choice, Wardlaw,' she said, with assumed pathos, as she cast her eyes upon him. ' It has been a bitter day for me that I did so. His stinginess, and selfishness, and extravagance are so great, that I have had little peace, or anything else, fall to my share of the bargain.' * It is too late to speak of that now,' he returned. * Let us finish our business together. I will write you a cheque for the amount, which is lying at my banker's, if you will The Cotiage at Ilounslow. 407 promise me that it shall be the last time jou ask me to send you monej.' ' Yuu dear AVardlaw ! ' slie exclaimed. 'Yes! certainly I will promise. Do you thinic I would have troubled you now without reason ? Wiiat a load you have taken viY ray mind ! ' she added, as be drew out his cheque-book, and sigu- m'j, his! name to the sum she wanted, threw the paper across the table to ber, ' i am giad that it has the power to ligbten your troubles,* be replied gravely; ' and now, Mrs. Temple, as I have said all tliat I came to say to you, I shall take my leave.' * Oh, don't go yet,' she said, detaining the hand he offered for her acceptance. ' I have not said half that I wanted to say to you. I have not thanked you yet for your generosity.* ' I want no thanks,' he replied, trying to free his hand from her grasp, but in vain. ' Why are you so cold to me ? ' she asked, reproachfully. * Why don't you call me " Eowney ? " ' ' Because I shall never call you so again,' said John Waralaw, with contracted eyebrows. ' 1 should think you might have saved me that question, Mrs. Temple.' ' You used to,' she murmured, throwing lier sleepy glance upwards to meet bis. ' You used to call me all sorts of names in the days when you pretended to love me, Wardlaw.* He frowned visibly. ' I wish you would let me go, Mrs. Temple,' he said, decisively. ' I only came here to settle your demands for money, and without any intention of helping you to dig up old recollections that were dead and buried ai^^es a2;o.' * Are you not willing to be my friend even ? ' she asked. He shook his bead. ' I have heard too much, and seen too much of your goings on, to make me wish to be even a friend at Belvidere Cottage.' ' AV hat do you mean ? ' she said hastily. ' Just what I say,' be replied. ' I beard some time ago that your conduct since your marriage had been sufficient to make a less careless husband than yours very uneasy, and what I witnessed on entering this morning was quite enouizh to convince me that my informant wa8 correct in his assertion.' 4o8 For Ever and Ever. * "Wliat you witnessed ! ' she repeated, Bliarply. 'Yes! Mrs. Temple,' he replied; 'a wife, so young as yourself, and so lately married, who entertains the officers of her husband's regiment during his absence at such hours, and permits them to call her b}'' her familiar name, and behave in her drawing-room as if they were in their own barracks, must expect to be talked about, and what 's more, must wish it.' ' You were always so absurdly particular,' she said, in an sfTended tone. ' Not too much so for the character of any woman whom I valued ; certainly not more so than any woman should be of her own.' '"Well, I never could please you in anything, "Wardlaw, in days past, and I suppose it would be the same now. If I am a little given to liking society round me, it is only to divert my mind, and to try and make myself forget what I lost when I was persuaded by your brother, in a moment of madness, to exchange you for himself.' Mrs. Temple threw as much pathos into these words aa her hard, inflexible voice was capable of. She leant back in her lounging-chair and put her cambric handkerchief to her eyes ; and she looked as lovely, if not lovelier, than she had done in the days when John Wardlaw used to gaze at her, in her most un{)leasant moods, as if she was an angel from heaven. Knowing of old what an actress she was, our hero had anticipated some such attempt at working on his feel- ings on her part, and, truth to say, he had been rather fearful of the effect any such scene might have upon him. He believed himself to be completely cured, but Henrietta Stuart had warned him not to make too certain until he had passed through the ordeal, and she had a little shaken hia faith in himself Now, however, as Mrs. Temple enacted the bit of maddening recollection narrated above, he stood and looked at her beautiful figure and half-concealed face with the devoutest gratitude, as he felt how entirely she had lost all power to move him by her outward charms. She was a lovely picture certainly, but she was acting a falsehood at that very moment, and he knew it. ' Your memory is hardly faithful to you, Mrs. Temple,* lie said quietly, 'if you are alluding to^the time when we The Cottage at Hounslow, 409 were engaged. I never found fault with you then, except- ing when there was a great occasion for it ; and as for your being mad when you left me, depend upon it you were not lialt' so mad as I was when I asked you to become my wife. AVe did not know enough of one another at that time ; and that the bond we made together was broken has proved a very happy thing for both of us. I think we were scarcely suited to ]jass through life together.' ' Oh, Wardhiw, I don't believe you ever loved me ! ' she exclaimed reproachfully. 'I don't believe I did,' he replied, without the slightest emotion. * At one time your beauty had very great power over me though, and I mistook its intlueuce for a holier one.' 'Then you didn't care a bit about my leaving you ? ' siie said, looking up at him with a woman's curiosity, to mark what effect her words might have upon him. He shuddered, and she saw it. ' Wardlaw ! ' she exclaimed, springing up from her chair and putting her hand upon his arm, ' you do care for me still, and you know it ! ' But he put her away from him immediately. ' I do not indeed,' he said firmly ; • and if I did, to what purpose do you remind me of it ? Haven't you committed Buihcient treachery for one woman's share, or do you want to persuade me to act worse than you did yourself ? ' She shrank apparently abashed before his words, and returned to her seat again ; but directly she had gained it she threw her head in the air, in the old fashion he remem- bered so well, and said angrily — ' 1 know the reason of your giving yourself these airs. I can guess what is at the bottom of all your prudery : I suppose you've fallen in love with the beautiful 3Iiss Stuart j beside whose rather dusky charms my poor insipid white- ness loses its effect. We have heard that you are always at their house. Well, you 're rather fickle in your tastes, Mr. Wardlaw ; but I hope you 've found a wife good enough to satisfy you this time — to say nothing of a papa-in-law — and that you '11 all live together in sainted piety till the end of your days. Perhaps I may hear of your prosperity, but ot course I shan't have the opportunity of seeing it, as it is not likely that the parson will allow the virtuous Mrs. John 41 o For Ev&f ajid Ever, "Wardlaw to be on visiting terms with a ci-devant actress, although she should happeix to be so unfortunate as to have one for a sister-in-law.' She had spoken so rapidly and with so much venom, and he had been so completely taken aback by her coupling his name with that of Henrietta Stuart, tbat for the first few minutes after she had concluded, he could only stand, as he was standing, hat in hand, at the other side of the little table, and stare at her. Then, however, his indignation got the better of his surprise, and he said, almost as hurriedly and quite as angrily as herself — ' I took up my hat to go, Mrs. Temple, half-an-hour ago, and your present speech has made me think what a fool I was not to adhere to my first intention. It would be waste of time in me to refute your most absurd accusation further than by reminding you that the lady whose name you have ventured to handle so freely is engaged to be married, and that honourable women are not in the habit of playing fast and loose with the men to whom they have pledged their word.' She tossed her head again at this, and said she knew quite as much about * honourable women ' as he did, and perhaps a little more. He did not stay to argue the point, but bidding her a hasty farewell, took his way down the narrow staircase again, and through the tiny garden, and did not seem to breathe freely until he had put some distance between him- eelf and Belvidere Cottao^e. His interview with Bowena Temple had only made him certain of what he had believed before ; yet it was the signa- ture of the great physician Time which had been wanting to the certificate of convalescence which he had drawn up for himself, and he could not feel sufiiciently thankful for the assurance he had obtained. She had always been heartless and deceitful; he waa afraid now that she was graduating for a higher rank of wrong. The remembrance of the room, the dress, the attendant cavaliers, and all the belongino:3 of Belvidere Cottage, disgusted him ; but far above this was his indig- nat- M when lie recalled the way in which she had spoken of Henrietta Stuart. The Cottage af: Hounslow. 411 He knew that it was the spiteful venom of a woman who found herself treated with indilference tlirit liad dictated tlie words, but still tliey rung in his cars, disturbed his equani- mity, and would not let him rest. It would be absurd indeed if others took the same view of the case, and considered his intimacy with the Stuarts as in the least arising from his admiration of their daugliter. Himself and Pussy Stuart! The playfellow of his boy- hood and the cast-off lover of Eowena Temple; the heiress of Castlemaine and the painter who hoped (and as yet only hoped) to live by his brush ; the affianced wife of an honour* able mau and one who until now had wasted half his energies in bemoaning the loss of the woman who sat in Belvidere Cottage surrounded by her admirers. The idea was too ridiculous; and as he thought of it, John AVardlaw laughed aloud. He wondered from whom Mrs. Temple could have had her information, and whether people realhj could be such fools as to imagine, on account of their old friendship, that he was the least taken in that quarter. It would annoy Pussy — and most naturally — if she heard of it, and it would certainly annoy himself. Dear Pussy ! with her sweet frank eyes, and her modest cheeks, he could fancy how they would glow under Lach an accusation. If the world really noticed their intimacy, and unfavour- ably, he must be more careful how he behaved towards hel in public ; but the idea was too ludicrous to be entertained for a moment. Himself and Pussy Stuart ? Is onsense ! i^9 CHAPTEll XXXn. AN UNEXPECTED llETURTT. What dlicetcd ghost is wandering through the storm? For never did a maid of middle earth Choose such a time, or spot, to vent her sorrows. Old Play. The news wbich Alice Wardlaw had sent her brother shortly after he left Sutton Valence for Loudon, relative to "Winifred Balchin having quitted her father's house and gone to service, and which communication, owing to his then self- abstraction and subsequent illness, had been almost un- noticed by him, had not been passed over with like indiffe- rence by the inhabitants of the village she had deserted. She had been born and brought up amongst them ; had since her mother's death entirely filled the oflice of cook and housekeeper, then left vacant, to her father and brothers, and was moreover, if not engaged to be married, at least supposed to be suffering the attentions of Andrew Willett, the eldest son and heir of the village blacksmith ; a young man, who, already sharing the half of his father's profits, was considered to be the best match for any girl in Sutton Va- lence. That Winifred Balchin should take it into her head to leave a comfortable home, and prospects such as their own daughters would have jumped at, completely puzzled the heads of these worthy people, and aftbrded them almost a more engrossing topic of conversation than the elopement of ' Mr. John's lady ' with ' the young captain ' had done. For AV^inifred had disappeared before they were cognizant of any intention on her part to do so ; had passed away from amongst them before they had been permitted to ofier An Unexpected Return, 4J3 their advice on the subject, or called upon to try what their ])ersuasion might effect in inducing her to chaiiLije her mind. This was the irritating part of the business to the wortliiea of Sutton Valence, and they were left to form their own con- jectures for the reason of it ; for Balchin, usually so com- municative with reference to anything which concerned him- self, maintained, with regard to the motive for his daughter's absence, a complete silence. He had, indeed, when one or two women (Mrs.Dedman amongst the number) had pertina- ciously attempted to wrest from him his opinion on the subject, shaken his head solemnly, turned up the whites of his eyes, and quoted Scripture to prove his resignation to all things, in a manner which, considering the circumstances of the case, was profane. But more than this, even they had found it impossible to make him do ; and Mr. Balchin's confession as to whether it was with or without his consent that Winifred had left her home, remained an unspoken thing. They related afterwards, with great feeling, how the tears had stood in the poor father's eyes as he alluded to his domestic loss, and how studiously he had avoided casting any direct reflection on the absent one, although he had in- sinuated that it was greatly deserved ; but why AVinny had gone, or where, and when she intended to return, Balchin had neither hinted at nor said. So with the brothers. They all, even down to little Benny, made the same answers when questioned on the subject. Winifred had gone to service. But why ? ' AVell, she wanted a change ! ' And where to ? * Somewhere hereabouts ! ' And with this scanty information Sutton Valence was compelled to content itself, and after awhile it ceased to be inquisitive, and did so. The real state of the case being, that the simple reason that Balchin and his sons said so little of the cause of the girl's flight was because they knew less. They neither knew where she was gone, nor why, or for how long. All they were certain of was, that she had disajjpeared without leaving any trace behind her ; and although they were too indifferent about the girl tomakemoretliana cursory search or inquiry after her, they had agreed among themselves that 2i) ^1^. Fo7' Ever and Ever, it would look better in the eyes of the village if they pro- fessed to be cognizant of her actions, and that her departure had been pre-arranged by her familj^. For some days after her last interview with Leofric Temple, that interview during which he had so cruelly torn the veil from before her eyes and permitted her to see how indifterent he had become to her, "Winny had appeared quite stupefied with the excess of her grief, and unable either to think or to act as became one responsible for domestic duties. Her lethargic manner had brought down a great deal of abuse from her father on her devoted head, and much un- necessary harshness ; but it was not until some days after the flight of her lover with Miss Bellew, not until the news of the marriage had been confirmed in the village, that the male Balchins woke up one morning to find their sitting- room UDswept, their breakfast unprepared, and to arrive after awhile at the unpleasant conclusion that their patient maid-of-all-work had left them to shift for themselves. They found it out first from the absence from her chest of the few articles of clothing she possessed, no less than from the artless confession of little Benny, with whom she had slept. ' She woke me up over-night,' said the urchin, on being questioned as to when he had seen his sister last. ' Winny woke me up a-crying hard, and she hugged me close, and said she wished she could take me along with her. And when I asks her " where " she told me to go to sleep again like a good boy, and to tell father, come the morning, as Winny was gone to service. Yes,' said the child reflec- tively, ' them was the words, and I was to tell him as her heart was broke ; as AVinny's heart was broke and she was gone to service; and so I went to sleep again,' he added, innocently ; * and now won't she come to dress me no more, nor nothing ? ' And a burst of loud sobs followed the un- answered question. * Now, this here 's a nice go,' remarked Joe to his parent, confidentially ; ' this comes of all your hollering after her and kicking of her when their warn't no occasion for it. Tou 've drove the girl out of your house. This will be nice talk for the village, won't it ? as how the clerk of the parish treated his daughter in such a way that she couldn't bide An Unexpected Return, 415 the house a day longer. You 've been and done it, you have, and a nice mess you 've made of it.' Truth, if not elegance, lay so palpably in his son's speech, that Balchiu was thoroughly frightened at it. He knew hia rector well, and that if the real state of the case came to his rars, there would be an end to his appointment at once. And so they agreed amongst themselves to keep it close fron\ the gossips of Sutton Valence. The father of tiie family called a council forthwith ; he was certain, he said, that Winifred would return, or be traced before long ; in the meanwhile they must all agree as to what answers they should make to the questions put concerning her. Benny was whipped at once, in order to drive the re- membrance of her parting messa2:e out of his head, and it was settled in conclave that the family should worry itself about the circumstance as little as possible. All but Tom, and he never ceased to himent the absence of his sister and to hope to receive tidings of her, and little Benny, who used to howl periodically for her return, until his father gave him something so much more substantial to howl for that he left oil" in sheer self-defence. But the weeks went on, and Balchin's certainty that his daughter's whereabouts would be easily traced, became less and less to be relied on — although Tom had made inquiries for her at every village and town within walking distance. It had been October when she left them, and about Christ- mas time a few lines from her had arrived, addressed to her favourite brother, and posted from a neighbouring town. Of course Tom had walked over there at once, and asked at almost every house for news of his sister, but without effect. Keithor by name or description could anyone give him in- formation of such a person, and Winifred's letter made no mention of herself further than by saying that she was in service and doing well. She sent all sort of loves and kisses to her nursling, Benny, and entreated her brother to send her a line to a certain post office, which she named, to say how they all were. The lette , badly written and expressed as it was, wound up with the following touching message : — ' Give my duty to father, Tom,' so it ran, * and tell him, if I don't live to see him any more, that I hope he will foririve me for leaving home, ibr though I wasn't to say happy there, ^i5 For Ever and Ever. ray goiiiGf was a kinder tHng to him tHan my staying would have been.' Tom, after having read this sentence, as desired, to his father, puzzled long over the hidden meaning contained in it. Balchin himself, too angry at the girl's not returning, or speaking of returning, to her duty, professed to see nothing in the words but an idle excuse for her conduct; but the brother felt otherwise. Winny's letter seemed to intimate that she was ill. Could that be the reason that she con- sidered her going away, and thereby relieving her father of an useless burden, was a kinder act than staying to live on his earnings would have been ? Balchin had forbidden his son to send his daughter an answer ; but Tom was nineteen now, a man in his own estimation, and not to be controlled in little things, so he dispatched a long epistle to Winifred to the post olfice indicated, in which he enclosed live shillings' worth of stamps, and implored her to return to Sutton Va- lence and Benny and himself. Poor little Winny cried heartily over the stamps, and kissed the letter when she received it, but still she did not re-appear at her former home, nor did Tom get another letter from her from that time forward. After awhile, the clerk and his sons went on much the Bame without Winifred, as they had done with her. Mrs. Dedinnn, who was a widow, had been found willing to come in periodically to cook their meals and set the house to rights, and the expenditure which this extravagance entailed was more than covered by the absence of one mouth to feed from the family circle. The clerk's cottage was certainly not so pretty or so neat as it used to be when Winifred was its presiding genius; the flower-pots had been removed from the window-sill, because there was no one now to water and attend to them, and the plants had died for lack of nourish- ment ; the muslin blind which shaded the latticed panes had grown brown from the effects of tobacco smoke, and was torn and disarranged, imd the square of felt carpet which stood beneath the deal table had had many a hole worn in it which AVinny's nimble lingers would have patched with so much neatness that the rent would not have been discernible. But otherwise, things went on in the Balchin circle much as thej had done before the little girl with the yellow hair had An Unexpected Return, 417 left them ; and of all there, perliaps, poor Benny felt her loss tlie most, lie was only live years old, and quite unable to shift for himself. His pretty yellow curls, just the same colour as his sister's hair, were matted and roui^h, and suffered so to remain, for Mrs. Dedmau had not time to do more than scrub his face and hands once a day at the scullery sink. His Sunday suit had been worn on week-days, until he might be said to possess no best clothes, and he had been permitted, in the daily absence of his father and brothers, to run so completely at large, that, from an innocent, well- behaved little child, he had degenerated into a rough, coarse boy, who bid fair to attain to as unpolished a manhood as Joe and Bill had done before him. The spring of the year had brought to Sutton Valence, as it does to most places, a score of childish epidemics, amongst others the measles, which had been readily taken by little Benjamin Balchin ; but so lightly that, having no woman to nurse and look after the child, the men had thought little of the disorder, and allowed him to take cold from getting about again too soon. Upon which he developed the w^hooping- cough, and as it was then May, the gossips assured Balchin that the whooping- cough was nothing, and the more the boy was in the open air the sooner he would be rid of the complaint. But May, which had set in fine and warm, ended drenchingly, and poor little Benny caught one cold on the top of another, until the cough settled on his lungs, and he was regularly laid up. Then Mrs. Dedman put him into his own little bed in "Winny's room, and the doctor was summoned, and a great deal of fighting went on to persuade the boy to take the medicine which was ordered for him; which might just as well have been avoided, as it did him no manner of good ; for each day saw him weaker, and each night more feverish, until it was very apparent that Benny Balchin was fading away. Even then the occupation of the various members of his family were not suspended; but the time arrived when Mrs. Dedman gave it as her opinion that some of them ' did ought to bide with him always, as it was more than, with the care of her own family on her hands, she could undertake to do.' So, when July arrived, little Benny was in his last stage ^yg For Ever and Ever, of weakness, and the parish-clerk himself, took turns with his son Tom to ' bide along ' with him. There he lay on his bed, now moved into the sitting-room for convenience sake, no longer the ruddy-cheeked, robust little Benny of yore, but transformed into a long, thin, white child, whose yellow locks were damp and out of curl, and in whose little hands, erstwhile blood-colour, and rough as a file, the blue veins might now be traced distinctly. The end was very near ; the doctor had told them only that morning, that the strength of five years' standing was almost spent, and that the baby breath must soon be drawn for the last time. The intelligence,' though expected, seemed to have subdued all who heard it. It had been a very hot day, and although the sun had long gone down, and the dusk had fallen, the air was still oppressive, and a great silence seemed to reign upon all living things. Joe and Bill had gone to spend their evening elsewhere; their acquaintance with Death was limited, and like all bullies they were cowards, and feared to face the mysterious stranger even in the person of an innocent child. Jacob and Esau had also decamped from the dull unlighted room ; only the father and Tom, who loved his little brother for his sister's sake, sat silent and absorbed, as they watched together beside the dying bed of poor little Benny. ' It's mortal hot, Tom,' exclaimed the clerk, after a long unbroken silence, as he wiped his face with his cotton pocket- handkerchief ; 'this is regular woman's work, a-staying in day after day, and night after night after this fashion, and for no good either, as you may say ; well, it can't last much longer now, that 's one comfort.' ' No,' replied Tom, glancing wistfully towards the tranquil face upon the pillow, and noting the nervous, hurried manner in which the attenuated little fingers pulled at the coverlid of the bed ; * that 's sure as sure can be, bless his poor little 'art.' ' I wish the girl had been at home at this time,' rejoined Balchin; 'she might have been of some use, maybe, for with all her whining ways the youngster was always very fond over her, and he 's called her name many a time this forenoon.* An Unexpected Return. 419 * Has he ?* said Tom, 'poor little chap ! 1 'm sure I wish she was, father, for more sakes than one, for tlie tlioiight of lier lies heavy on me sometimes, and I can't help fancying as she's come to harm, somehow.' * Pshaw ! ' exclaimed the father impatiently, ' she 's right enough, depend on it. Them whimpering sort always seem to light on their legs. If I want to see the girl again, it 's for the trouble's sake of minding the child, and not because I 'm afeard of her coming to grief. You wrote to her last week, didn't you? ' ' Last week, and week afore that,' replied Tom, * and told her how bad the child was, and always crying out after her ; and if anything will bring her back, that will. But I had only the old address to go by, and like enough Winny 's left her first place by this time and got another.' 'Like enough indeed,' sneered Balchiu, 'if the folks hap- pen to find her the same shiftless creature as she was whilst here. Why, that girl Winifred was no more fit for service than that boy there is to drive a team at the present moment.' * I want Winny,' sighed the feeble voice of little Benny as the mention of his sister's name roused his dormant energies ; ' and I want mother ; Tom, fetch mother to help carry me away.' The faces oi* both father and son showed ghastly white even in the dusky twilight, as they turned them towards one another, after this last request had fallen from Benny's lips. The child had scarcely ever mentioned his mother's name in his life before, for she had died at his birth, and he could not remember her. ' I say, fetch a light, Tom,' exclaimed Balchin, presently, but his voice quivered ; ' we can't sit in this confounded darkness any longer — the matches are on the shelf, so are the candles. Strike a light, lad, and let 's see each other's faces.' Tom did as he was desired, and as the candle illuminiited the little apartment, Benny's feeble gaze was directed towards it. •There's a light,* he murmured insensibly; 'is Winny coming ? ' At the same time a rustling movementwas heard among the Honeysuckle and clematis which overshadowed the window- 420 For Ever a?id Ever, sill, the glass of wliicli liad been left wide open to admit as rnucli air as was possible, a sound very like a beavy sigh or an exclamation of pain, was plainly distinguishable in the silence of the summer evening. ' "What 's that ? ' exclaimed tbe father and son simul- taneously, as they turned and confronted one another. * There 's some one in the garden,' said Tom. ' AVhoever it is, I '11 soon turn them out,' replied Balcbin, who did not like the idea of bis home being invaded by pry- ing ears or eyes. ' I '11 teach them to come into my garden of nights, a-trampling down all the creepers and sweet herbs. I '11 teach them better manners tban that,' and rising as be spoke, be passed through the open door and along the tiny gravelled path, which being square, was bounded at one end by a belt of lilac bushes which reared themselves against the churcbyard wall. But he returned quicker than he went, and with a face as grey as ashes. ' What 's on now, father ? ' exclaimed Tom, really alarmed at his appearance. But Balchiu only sunk into a chair and mopped his face, moistened with fear, whilst his heaving chest and wild stare showed that he had received a great fright. ' AVhat is it ? ' said his son again. ' Can'^t you speak and tell a man ? ' * It 's — it 's — your mother, Tom,' gasped the clerk as be seized tbe arms of the chair for support. ' I seed her as plain as a pikestaff; you heard the child a-calling for her to carry him away, and she's come to do it, as sure as my name's Balcbin. Lord have mercy upon us ! I hope she won't come in here.' * It can't be true, father,' said Tom, who was too brave and sensible to credit such a tale. ' If mother could come for her baby, she 'd never do it in a way to frighten any of us. It 's your fancy, depend on it. You're tired of watching the child, and your nerves is upset. Maybe 't was Mrs. Dedman!' *'Mrs. Dedman!' exclaimed the clerk with ineffable scorn. * Don't you think I ought to know my own wife when I see her ? I tell you when I stept out of this house, there she was a-standing by the lilac trees as plain as could be, with the moon a-shming on ber white face, and her hands clasped together ' An Unexpected Return. 421 *Did she move, father?' aaked Tom, on whose face a keen jQterest was now depicted. 'Move!' replied the clerk indignantly ; 'as if I'd boon such a fool as to stop to see if she moved or not ! Why, 1 'd hardly set eyes on the apparition but 1 cut ni again, as sharp as a hatchet, and whether she 's there still or not 1 wouldn't go for to ascertain, not for a thousand pounds laid down on that table, in golden guineas, this very minute.' ' If she 's come for the child, she'll fetch him, never fear,' said Tom, gravely ; ' anyway, I should take it as a warning that he isn't to be here long.* ' That 's true enough, whatever is not,' said the clerk, who had recovered a little of his equanimity ; ' it don't take more than two eyes to see that he 'Ji be gone before the morning.* ' Ah ! ' The prolonged exclamation, dying off in a wail, and uttered close against the open window, made both men start up with alarm. Their sudden movement again disturbed the sick child, who repeated faintly — ' Winny ! AVhere 's Winny ? Fetch her, Tom.* * I 'm here darling. Tour own Winny is come home to you,* exclaimed a panting, sobbing voice; and a slight figure rushed simultaneously across the cottage threshold, and with the energy born of despair, sunk tremblingly down beside the tiny bed which she knew so well. ' Benny, little Benny, darling Benny, mother's baby ! if I had known that you were so ill, I would have come before. Oh ! why didn't I ? ' And a burst of grief followed the self- accusation, which was blended with the tender caressing tones of the dying child, who weakly fondled his sister's arms and face, as a dumb animal licks the hand that has been accustomed to feed it. 'Winny!' exclaimed Tom, with delight, whilst Balchin, alive to no warmer feeling than surprise at her sudden appearance, demanded curtly, ' Was it you as was hiding in the garden bushes juat now, girl ? ' She turned towards him tremblingly. ' Yes, father. 1 'm afraid I startled you ; but I waa feared to show myself to you all at once.' ' Like enough,' growled her father, 'after the way you left J.22 For Ever and Ever, your home. However, now you are come, you can stay and make yourself useful.' And he pointed towards the bed as he spoke. He was thankful to be relieved from so unpleasant a task as watch- ing the last moments of his neglected little child. ' I 'm afraid ' commenced Winifred, falteringly. ' Afraid of what ? ' said her father. * I was goinf^ to say that I 'm most afraid I can't stop to- night,' she replied, timidly ; * but I '11 come early to-morrow morning, and ' ' You can't stay to-night,' repeated Balchin^ roughly, ' but you must stay to-night, you jade; and as long as I choose that you shall stay. You left my house in a cool enough manner, without so much as " with your leave," or " by your leave," but you don't run away so easy a second time, I can tell you; and if you attempt to do it, or talk any more such nonsense, I '11 have you locked up. A pretty thing indeed, that after a man has brought up a girl, and fed and clothed her for six- teen and more years, she 's to be allowed to walk ojQf after her own business directly there 's any work for her to do. Come, now ! Do you mean to stay at home quietly and nurse your brother, as is your duty, or am I to lock you up in the cellar before I leaves the house ? I haven't had an hour to myself in the evening now for the last three weeks.' He paused, and appeared to wait for her answer ; and "Winifred, who had grown deadly pale when he spoke of lock- ing her up, now acquiesced eagerly in his wishes, and promised that she would stay. She removed her bonnet and shawl as she spoke, as if in pledge of her good faith, and laid them quietly upon the dresser. As, having done so, she tiimed again towards the candle- light, both her father and brother were struck with the alteration in her appearance. She seemed to have grown taller since her departure, and although she was very tliin, her figure had developed considerably ; which, combined with the loss of the childish innocent expression which had always characterised her, gave her a far more womanly look than she had hitherto borne. ' Well, where have you been living ? * inquired her father, briefly, as he surveyed her changed appearance. ' At Crampton, father,* she replied, and then added, bur- An Unexpected Return, 423 riedly, 'but don't let us talk of tliat to-night. I don't seem to be able to think of anytliing but Benny.' And she took up her station at the bedside as she spoke. 'Ah!' sneered the clerk, ' you didn't like service so much then as you expected, after all, eh ? It didn't suit your fiiie- lady bones any better, maybe, than the house the Lord placed you in.' She was silent, and her father went on, slapping his hand on the table as he rose to go. ' Well, you 're here now, and by the heaven above ns, you '11 stay and do your duty towards your own kin, or I '11 know the reason why.' He left the cottage as he spoke, and Tom drew near to his sister's side. She was leaning over the hand of little Benny, who had, apparently, again relapsed into unconsciousness ; and her hot tears were falling fast upon the bed-clothes over which she bent. ' Winny, darling,' whispered Tom affectionately, ' don't you mind what father says. He was angry at your leaving us, but if you '11 stay at home now quietly, and do for us as you used, he '11 come right again in time, and it can't be worse than service, "Winny, anyway, for I shall be always here, remember, and I 'm a man now, and should like to see the body who would dare to ill-treat you in my presence, be it male or female. You '11 stay at Sutton now, Winny, won't you ? ' ' 1 '11 stop till he goes,' she answered, weeping, as she pointed to her little brother's figure. ' And not after ? ' exclaimed Tom in amazement. ' I can't' she whispored, mystericuyly. ' Don't you worry me, Tom, for I shall want all yci?.ir help to get away again. But I know you 're safe, anci vhere are good reasons why I can't possibly stay at home any more.' ' G-ood reasons,' quoth Tom. ' You 're not married, are you, Winny ? ' The colour flew to his sister's pale cheeks and forehead. * No, Tom, it ain't that,' she answered quickly ; ' if it had been I would have told you before. Do you love me, Tom ? ' 'You know I do, Winny,' returned the hd, fervently. I 've fretted after you sadly.' She bent forward suddenly and kissed him. 424 For Evtr and Ever, ' Then you '11 do me a great favour, Tom, won't you, and not jisk no questions, nor put a spy upon me ? ' ' AVhat is it ? ' demanded her brother, cautiously. * It 's to let me go out for an hour now and then, dear, and to keep it close that I 'm away ; and to watch by little Benny here till I return. 'T aint much, Tom ; you '11 do it for poor Winny, won't you ? ' Tom scratched his head. ' And what if father should come in meanwhile, and ask for you ? ' ' Say I 'm away for a minute, and will be back directly.' ' And you will come back, Winny ? ' he demanded wist- fully. ' Do you think I could stay away for good, with my Benny dying ? ' she replied reproachfully. ' And mayn't I ask no questions about it ?' said Tom, with the air of an injured man. ' No not one,' said Winny. ' It 's nothing wrong, Tom, take my word for that ; and the knowing of it wouldn't give you no pleasure. And if you '11 do me that kindness, I swear that I won't leave home again r^^Jess you know of it before- hand.' ' I '11 trust you, my lass,' sa'' Tom, decidedly; ' for you 've never been other than honef ' towards me. When do you want to go ? ' * Now, at once, for fear father should return ; and I '11 not be long.' She put her bonnet and shawl on as she spoke, and with a kiss on little Benny's unconscious face, ran hastily from the cottage. In half an hour she returned, and quietly sat down in her place by the bedside. ' Where 's your shawl, Winny ? ' said Tom. ' I haven't got it,' she answered simply, and her brother forbore to question her. Once during the night-watch, which they shared together whilst the remainder of the family were comfortably in bed, he was roused from the uneasy slumber which had iailen upon him in his chair, by Winifred's light kics upon his cheek, and her whisper in his ear. ' AVake up, dear Tom, for half- an-h our, and then you shall go to bed until the morning ; ' and standing up he saw her An Unexpected Return. 425 apjain with her bonnet on, and an anxious unsettled look in licr jirc'tty face. ' Wliat, again! AVinny,' he said,seeinn^ licr evident inten- tion, ' and at this time of ni'dit ? AVait for tlie davli'^iit, inv lass. ' Xo, no ! I can't,' she answered excitedly. ' Don't try to stop nie, Tom, for the love of our motiier.' And darting through the door as before, she left her asto- nished brother to listen alone to the low moaning wliich was incessantly kept up by the dying child, whilst he attempted, Avith amazement, increasing every moment, to uuravel the mystery which appeared to envelope the actions of his newlj returned sister. 425 CHAPTEE XXXTIL *Iir l^HE EUINS.' K tliere be aught Surpassing human deed or words or thongliti It is a mother's love. Maechioness de Spadara. The morning broke dull and close, with all the promise of another burning day, and still little Benjamin Balchin was alive. When Balchin and his elder sons descended, with many yawns, the creaking staircase, and assembled at the breakfast-table, they found Winifred, as they had left her the night before, sitting quietly by the child's bedside, and parrying the string of searching questions which Mrs. Ded- man, who had looked in to see how the little sulferer was, thought fit to put to her, with a self-composure so different to what they had ever witnessed in her of old, that they were quite astonished at the change. Tom had slipped up to his own room for a nap, and the two women were alone. The widow's sharp eyes kept roving over the face and figure of the clerk's daughter, and watching each expression of her countenance, as she plied her for details of the life she had been leading whilst away from Sutton Valence. For Mrs. Dedman was sharp-witted, and had never quite believed that there were not some unpleasant circumstances connected with the sudden disappearance of Winifred Balchin. ' At Crampton you have been living, have you ? ' she was saying as the men entered the room. ' AVell, I don't know the place, but from the looks of you, I should say it didn't agree with you so well as Sutton. Have you been ill ? ' ' I am quite well,' replied Winifred, shortly. * You seem to me so pulled down to what you used to be, 'In the Ruins,' 427 and to liave got such a look of care upon you. Had you a comfortable situation ? ' ' Pretty well,' said the girl ; ' as good as most, I dare say.* ' Have you been in the same place all along ? ' * 1 have only had one service,' was the reply. * "Well, I can't make you out at all,' rejoined Mrs. Ded- man, rather wrathfuUy, as the conviction struck her that she should not be able to get any more out of the daughter than she had out of the father. '' Tou look to me the same and yet not the same as you did when you went away ; anywise, I should say, from your appearance, that home-keeping was better for you than service.' 'And that 's what she 's going to do for the future, neigh- bour,' interposed Balchin. 'The truth will out, and it wasn't with my consent that the girl left Sutton at all ; how- ever, it 's for the first and last time, as I tell her. And now that she 's come amongst us again, she don't quit my house in a hurry. How do you think the boy looks this morning ? ' ' As bad as he well can,' replied the widow. ' If he 'a alive this time to-morrow, I shall say it 's a miracle.' During the ■ foregoing conversation, Winifred had kept her face scrupulously turned towards the bed, and appeared as if she was thinking of something widely diflerent from the topic under discussion. Her father seemed to have fully made up his mind that she was to resume her former household duties at once and for ever, for he now decidedly told Mrs. Dedman that her services would not be required by him any more. 'You've been a good neighbour to us, Mrs. Dedman, ma'am,' he said, consequentially (the ' canaille ' are always very particular in 'sirring' and ma'aming ' one another), ' and I 'm sure we 're one and all beholden to you, to say nothing of the innocent creature a-lying there ; but as my daughter has returned to look after the house, we shall have no occasion to trouble you further.' ' Which I 'm sure it 's been no trouble, Mr. Balchin, but a pleasure,' replied the widow, ' to do anything for your dear family ; although AVinitred, of course, is the properest person to look after your wants ; it 's her duty, and if she only feels about it as she did ought to feel, it would be her 'appiness too ; and as for that sainted babe, I 'm sure if it ^28 For Ever and Ever. had been twice as much' — and here tears commenced to trickle down the widow's cheeks, and her apron went up to smother a sympathetic howL The father raised his h3'pocritical eyes to heaven, or rather the cottage ratters, and made use of a scriptural quotation, which it would be out of place to write down here. Mrs. Dedmau seized Lis uplifted hand. 'Ah ! Mr. Balchin, Sir, it's your blessed feelings of re- signation that makes every 'art in Sutton bleed for you this day ; it 's the holiness of your words that goes to our very marrer, as you say, and makes us 'most as grieved as if the dear child was our own. You 've always had a word of comfort for other poor creeturs, Mr, Balchin, and I hope it may all come home to you in your own sorrer, that I do.' Balchin received all this homage as if it was his due ; and either it, or his daughter's apparent acquiescence in his de- sire that she should remain at home, made him, notwith- standing that the Angel of Death was within the very walls, quite cheerful in his manners, and, compared to his usual brutality, polite. ' Now, Winny, my girl,' he said, as he rose from the break- fast-table, and, accompanied by his sons, prepared to leave the cottage, ' there 's plenty of work for you to do, and let me find that you do it. It ain't of no use snivelling over the boy ; for he 's hardly breathing, in the first place, and he don't know you in the second; so you may as well get about and do your duty. If anything happens before I 'm home again to dinner, you can run up and leave word at the " Hussar," for if 1 ain't there at the time, I 'm pretty sure to be out and in most of the morning.' And so saying, without further comment, he passed out of the cottage-door, followed by Joe and Bill. As they disappeared, Winifred seemed to breathe more freely ; but she now kept her eyes anxiously fixed upon the staircase by \vhich her brother Tom must descend from his sleeping-apartment. Presently his heavy step was heard above, and the next minute he was with her again. As his eye caught the first sight of her figure, strained forward to watch for his appearance, her large blue eyes dilated, her lips parted, and her hands clasped as if in pain, she looked to him like some animal in dumb distressful suspense. 'In t/ic Au'uis.' 429 80 marked was the look of sileut auxiety upon her feature::'. Her brother noticed it at once — ' Why, AVinny,' he said, quickly, ' what 's the matter ? Is the child gone?' ' Oh, no, Tom,' she answered ; ' he 's just the same ; but let me go out again, there 's a dear ; only for a few minutes — I '11 run like the wind ; ' and as she spoke, she pressed her hand upon her breast. Her brother looked grave. ' I wanted to go up to my place,' he said, ' to let my master know the reason of my absence ; and I thought, as you 'd come back, that I should be able to go to work again to-morrow.' ' Oh ! no, Tom ! ' cried Winifred, in an agony of terror, as she darted forward and seized his hand. ' Don't say that. Promise you'll stay with me till Benny's gone and buried. I couldn't stay alone, I couldn't indeed ; it would kill me.' ' AVhat ! are you afraid, Winny ?' asked Tom, rather con- temptuously. ' Afraid ! ' she echoed in the same tone ; ' afraid of the child I 've nursed from a baby, and who 's half an angel already? Oh, Tom!' ' Well, why can't you stay alone with him, then ? ' he de- manded. ' 1 7)iusf go out, Tom,' she said, almost hoarsely. * I told you so last night. If you try to prevent me, you will bring a great trouble on me. Tou 're the only brother I can call such ; don't be hard on me, dear.' ' All right,' said Tom, roughly ; ' cut along then, and come back as soon as you can.' She did not wait for a second permission ; she darted along the churchyard path, and past her mother's grave, with many a fearful look around, lest she should encounter her father's dreaded form ; up the back-road to the Castle ruins, which she had so often trodden in past times, when she went to her assignations with Leofric Temple ; and threading the clumps of bushes which shaded the broken walls, entered the chamber where she had stood with her false lover on the first night that we met her. Ilalf-an- hour afterwards, she entered her father's house again, slowly and sadly, and, sitting down by the table, began to cry. 2 H 430 For Ever and Ever, * Halloa ! Winny,' exclaimed Torn, who had been employ, ing himself at the back of the house during her absence, aiul was first made aware of his sister's return by the sound of lier distress. ' What 's up, now ? Have you hurt your- aelf?' She shook her head. ' AVhat 's the row, then ? ' he demanded, though not un- kindly. ' oil, Tom, do you think it 's going to rain ? ' The dazzling July sky had become overclouded during the last hour, and was now, as far as the eye could reach, of one dark purple colour. Tom Balchin went to the open door, and surveyed the horizon. * No, I don't think so,' he replied; *at least, not yet awhile ; but what if it should ? It looks a deal more like thunder.' ' Not a thunder-storm ? ' She almost screamed as she said the words, and her brother turned round and surveyed the look of startled terror which she had turned upon him, with amazement, not unmixed with amusement. ' Just as likely as not,' he said, laughing ; * and a good pouring shower after it : I hope we may get it, too,' he added, thoughtfully, ' for we want it sadly ; we haven't had any wet to speak of since the close of May.' AVinifred sat down by the table, and began to cry afresh, rocking herself backwards and forwards. ' Oh dear ! oh dear ! ' she sobbed, but more in the manner of a girl's lamentation for some distress, than in that of a woman's passionate grief. ' Oh ! what shall I do ?— w^hat can I do ? Oh ! it won't rain, Tom, will it ? ' she exclaimed, energetically, as she leapt up, and lifted her tearful face to his surprised one. ' Well, I can't see what difference it can make to you if it do, or it don't,' he replied, tired of this continued mys- tery. ' You haven't got on much as will spoil, Winny.' ' No,^ I haven't,' the girl replied, quietly, as she moved away from his side, disappointed, however unjustly, at her brother's want of sympathy. The day went on ; the sky still maintained the same livid appearance; little Benjamin was lying like an inanimate ^ In the Ruins.* 431 creature on his bed, dreaming himself into heaven ; tho fan-Ill V dinner had been duly served, and disposed of; and AVinifred had again absented herself, when her father re- turning unexpectedly to the cottage, missed and demanded ter. Tom, who, with the Gardener's Calendar for the year in his hand, was keeping watch by the sick child, made answer, as he had promised, that she had stepped out for a lew minutes and would soon be back again. But this explanation was not sufficient for the clerk ; he insisted upon knowing where his daughter had gone. Of this, Tom truly pleaded ignorance ; and Balchin, storming at the contempt thrown upon his orders, sat himself down to await the girl's return. Soon she appeared, glancing timedly round the room as she gained the threshold ; and obviously starting as she met the stern looks of her father. ' "Winny, where have you been ? ' he demanded, angrily. * Only out for a bit,' was the shrinking reply. ' But where to ? ' asked Balchin, pertinaciously. She made no answer. ' Didn't I tell you not to leave the house ? * said her father. ' Benny didn't seem to need me,' she tremblingly replied. 'That ain't to the purpose,' he rejoined, his temper still rising with the occasion. ' My words to you were to stay at home and do your duty, and your duty ain't to gad about the village when your brother lays a-dyiug. Now, as you won't obey me behind my back, I '11 make you do it to my face. I 'm sitting here now, my girl, and I mean to sit here for the rest of the day and see that you stick to your work. Your pleasuring 's over for this afternoon, and I hope you 've made the most of it.' A slight cry escaped his daughter's lips as Balchin poured forth his concluding threat, and then she reseated herself by Benny's bed, and tried to withdraw the attention of her father and brother from herself. ' He 's going fast,' she observed, and the tears welled into her eyes as she watched the slowness with which the child was drawing his parting breath. Just then a bright liash of lightning, followed by a loud clap of thunder, burst 4^2 For Eve?' and Ever, directly over the roof of tlie fragile tenement they occupied, and almost seemed by its vehemence, as though it would rend the lath and plaster asunder. As the shock, which was really startling, reached their ears, AYinifred gave a loud scream and rushed to the open door. All was quiet again then, except for the low muttering sound of the thunder, as it died away among the distant hills, and the subdued and frightened chirrupiug of some little birds that had taken shelter in the lilac bushes, and were consulting together as to the best plan to be pursued to ensure their mutual safety. The trees were still quivering from the shock they had sus- tained, and creaked mournfully as they swayed towards one another, but otherwise the universal alarm was over, and Nature was re-collecting her forces and husbanding her strength against the next assault of heaven's artillery. 'AVe shall have a storm and a half before night,' re- marked the elder Balchin as he strode after his daughter to the doorway, and stood for a minute regarding the angry appearance of the sky, and the many signs around by which dwellers in the country read when a change in the weather is expected. "Winifred shivered and turned back into the cottage, but as if irresolute. Something was now exciting her to such a degree that two crimson spots had come out upon her pallid cheeks and remained burning there, silent witnesses of her silent agony. Half-past five arrived, and Joe and Bill returned to their early tea. Still their sister hovered uneasily about the door-sill, and, refusing to eat or drink, kept watching the threatening sky with an anxiety that appeared to increase every moment. ' What 's the matter with the girl ? ' said Joe, presently. * Can't she sit down like a Christian and attend to us ? ' Hereupon her father was about to order AVinifred to do as Joe suggested, but his words were arrested on his lips by a more terrific flash of lightning and rattle of thunder than had yet taken place, and by his daughter, after giving vent to a loud exclamation of fear, darting, with her head un- covered, through the tiny garden and into the churchyard beyond. But before she had gained the centre of the path she was 'In the Ruins.* 433 overtaken, and two stout arms were thrown around and de- tained her forcibly. 'Let me go — let me go! ' said AVinifred, as she wrestled impotently in their grasp. ' For God's sake don't hold me ! he may die, he may be killed ! Oh ! mv lamb ! Let mo 'She's mad,' exclaimed Balchin, as, wriggling and twist- m^j; in his grasp, AVinifred almost managed to elude it. ' The girl 's stark staring mad. What can she want to be running out for, in a storm like this ? Here, Joe, lielp me to hold the jade. She struggles like an eel, and is almost as slippery.' All three of her elder brothers had followed Balchin in his pursuit of her, and they now closed round and formed an apparently impassable barricade. ' Let me go, I say ! ' shrieked Winifred, really almost mad- dened by her fear, w^hilst the lightning played about the yellow hair, which had become unloosened in her exertion, and she ran round the barrier like a wild thing. ' Tom, let me out for the love of God ! Father, Heaven's curse be on you if you don't let me go ! Joe — Bill — I am only a wretched woman ! Have you the heart to hold me like this ? Come with me if you like, only let me go.' ' What for ? ' shouted Balchin. ' Who are you going to, you baggage ? What can you want out in a storm like this ? ' The rain commenced to fall in large heavy drops as he spoke, and as she felt it, Winifred, made powerful by her love and her fear, renewed her efforts to get free. She ap- peared for the time to have lost all her timidity ; her dreaded father was nothing to her, except the prison walls that held her ; her ruffian brothers only as so many obstacles to her doing as she wished. 'No fear ot what they might do to revenge themselves on her frail body possessed her now ; she had the strongest of all instincts, the most enduring and braving of all loves stirring within her breast, and she would attain her end, in the face of every danger, or die in the attempt. Stooping down, therefore, in an unguarded mo- ment on their parts, and gripping with her young strong teeth the hand immediately in front of her, the owner of if; (who happened to be Bill) retreated suddenly with a loud 424 ^or Ever and Ever. yell, and betore the others could comprehend the action, AVinifred had darted from their midst, and was rushing through the driving rain before them, like the mad creature they had called her. 'My baby! My child!' she cried loudly, as she broke from them. This announcement took the men so completely by sur- prise that, instead of following her at once, they stood stock- still, staring at one another. ' What did she say ? ' said Tom, hoarsely. * Her child ! ' growled Balchin in a voice of the greatest rage. ' Follow me, lads ; she took the road to the Castle. AVe must see the end of this ; ' and one and all commenced to follow in the footsteps of the flying girl. It might well be termed ' flying.' Her feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground as her girlish, active figure skimmed lightly over the well-known pathway, and up the old familiar road which lead to the ruins of Sir Aymer's Castle. They soon caught her up, although she had been out of sight when they started in pursuit. At the bottom of the bank, now wet and slippery, upon which the ruins stood, she had paused to gain her breath for the ascent; but as she turned and caught sight of her pursuers, she forgot her fatigue, and again darted forward. Up, up, the steep and treacherous bank, wetting her badly-clad feet through and through with its reeking long grass and abundant growth of weeds ; over its bramble bushes, any- way, anyhow, never mind how the*' ^ore her stockings and dress, and the thorns wounded her tender flesh, so she gained the rained chamber before her father did. Once or twice she stumbled, and a loud laugh came from the lips of those behind her at the accident — from all but those of her father and her brother Tom. The one was too angry, and the other too sorry, to do aught but follow her. At last she was there, on the very spot where she had sat at night with Leofric Temple, and listened to his vows of eternal fidelity, and to his promises of marriage, until it was a ' kind of heaven to be deluded by him.' Ah ! poor Winifred ! She had reached the trysting-place. She had sprung upon the block of stone which she had placed beneath one ' In the Ruins' 435 of the cells before described, and drawn thence, with a rough euergy begotten of her fearful love, the sleeping torm. of an infant, which, if it had ever been awakened by the storm, had undoubtedly cried itself to sleep again. She covered it with passionate kisses — she strained it again and again to her youthful breast — and then she was suddenly brought back to the things of this world by the knowledge that her father and brothers were standing on the same ground as herself, ready to call her to account for her conduct. At the thought, her blue eyes half closed and looked downwards in shamed contrition, whilst the tender arms strained tiie baby closer to her bosom. Balchin was panting with his exertion and his rage. ' Well,' he shouted, applying a viler name to his daughter than he had ever ventured to give her before ; ' what 's the meaning of this ? Whose child is that ? ' ' He is mine,' said "Winifred almost proudly (Heaven for- give the little fool!), as she wound her fond arms closer round the slumbering baby, and pressed her lips upon its little downy head. The anger of the father was something fearful to behold. ' Tours,' he shouted, 'you dare to stand there and tell me that that child is yours ? Ain't you afraid that I shall kill you ? Ain't you afraid that I shall take your bastard and dash its head against these walls ? ' ' No,' said Winifred stoutly, ' because you daren't do it.' He rushed up to the girl's side, and seized her savagely by the arm. * ' I '11 do it as soon as look at you,' he exclaimed ; ' I '11 throw you both down the hill. I '11 wring the neck of that youngster as if it was nought but a chicken.' ' Father ! ' exclaimed Tom and Joe, pressing forward, * don't do nothing rash. Don't touch the gal or her brat ; men have swung for less before now,' — for they were really afraid that the man intended violence. As they pulled him forcibly from Winifred's side, he took out his cotton hand- kerchief and wiped the foam from his lips. But Winifred stood undaunted and unmoved. The girl'i nature appeared to have undergone a complete change. * Whose child is that ? ' again he shouted. Ao6 For Ever and Ever, 'I have told joii,' replied Winny. ' Don't you dare to trifle with me, you hussy! ' exclaimed her father angrily. ' You know what I mean as well as I do. I want to learn who is the villain who has brought you to this plight, that I may break every bone in his body. Don't ycu dare to pretend not to know what I mean. AVho is the father of that brat ? ' 'I shan't tell you,' she said determinately. At this answer all the young men started, and even Tom looked ahirmed for what the consequences of his sister's rashness might be. ' loM — won't — tell me ? ' gasped Balchin. *No ! — so help me God ! ' said Winifred. ' Breaking his bones will do no good to me or to my child, and I don't mean to mention his name to anyone. Find it out for yourself.' Balchin turned to his sons. * Come, my lads — this is a case for the minister. He won't let a scandal like this rest in the neighbourhood. If my lady can't find her tongue before me, perhaps she will before him — at all events, we can but try. Joe and Bill, take her on to the rectory, and we '11 follow you.' At the mention of the rector's name poor "Winny's courage appeared to fail, and she turned very white. * Oh ! not Mr. Stuart, father ! ' she said entreatingly ; * don't shame me before him and the ladies. I'll go straight out of Sutton, and never cross your sight again, if you'll only spare me the shame of speaking up before the rector.' * Oh ! ' cried Balchin, with a malicious sneer, ' we 've found your soft point, have we ? It 's the rector's ladies as isn't to think you anything but what is good and true. They '11 be pleased, won't they, when they come to learn what a baggage they 've had about them. Well ! perhaps you '11 speak then, and tell me what I asked for, in con- sideration of our not troubling the minister in the business.' * No, I won't ! ' rephed Winifred; ' I can't. I 've made a vow to myself about it. The child is mine, that 's enough.' ' Enough ! I should think it was, and a good deal over enough into the bargain. Take her on to Castlemaine, lads. Let the rector see what his preaching and petting have come to. What do I care for the rain ? ' he added, as Tom In the Ruins.^ 437 observed that it was very heavy to pass throuo;h ; 'perliaps it will drowu theiu both, and so much the better. It" it were fifty miles off, and blowing a hurricane, she should go to Castlemaine to-night, for I '11 have that news out of her, or my name 's not Balchin.' And so, between alternate curses, revilings, and threats, and an occasional whisper of encouragement from Tom, poor Winifred, strong in nothing but her mother-love, with her outcast baby slumbering on her bosom, was half-dragged and half-pushed throu2:h the inclement rain until she reached the gates of Castlemaine. 4^8 CHAPTEE XXXiy. ± DISCOVERT. Thou shalt not break yet, heart, nor shall she siiffv !My inward torment by my outward show. To let her see my weakness were too base ; Dissembled quiet, sit upon my face ! Dkyden. Papltament was prorogued early that year, and about the middle of July, the season in town being almo^st over, the Stuarts returned to Sutton Valence, bringing in their train John Wardlaw. That he was glad to see the old place again, need scarcely be recorded ; still more glad to do so in the character of a guest at Castlemaine, since he had reason to believe that in his father's house he would be likely to be subjected to a great deal of annoyance. He had seen his sister Alice almost directly he arrived. She had grown more womanly than he could have imagined possible during the short time that had elapsed since their BCj)aration ; her dresses now swept the ground, instead of displaying her feet and ankles as of yore; and her abundant hair no longer flowed over her shoulders, but was carefully collected and arranged in the fashion of the day. Altogether, altliough not a pretty girl, Miss Alice "Ward- law was a sister that no man need be ashamed to own. But she had a great deal to tell her brother about the behaviour of her mother relative to Mr. and Mrs. Leofric Temple. Tiie mention of their names having ceased to give John "Wardlaw any pain, he had speedily introduced the subject, and begged his sister to tell him how the family got on to. gether whilst they were quartered at Maidstone. A Discovery, 439 The upsbot of which was, althoiigli lie had always doubted the sincerity of his step-mother even in her likes and dis- likes, he now held her in greater contempt than ever. Por Alice told him that, as soon as the newly-married couj)le had returned to Maidstone, Mrs. AVardlaw had, ap|)arently, entirely veered round from her former opinion respecting the lady when she was Miss Bellew, and had openly co- incided with everything that the latter chose to affirm or suggest. That from the moment Leofric Temple brought his wife to call on them at Sutton Valence, she had received a general invitation to the house of her mother-in-law, an invitation which it appeared that Mrs. Temple availed her- self of pretty often, making use of the Wardlaws whenever she thought lit ; though never including them in any of her schemes of pleasure. ' I never could bear her, Jack, dear,' said Alice in conclu- sion. ' I suppose I may tell you so now, but from the time she was Leo's wife, mamma appears to have been afraid to say No ! to her in anything. She used to bear down upon us at the most unexpected moments, generally accompanied by officers from the barracks, or smart lady friends of her own ; and sometimes they had been picnicing in the Castle ruins, and wanted to rest themselves before they returned home, and sometimes it was only tea they wished for. And once, Jack, she actually bombarded us at about nine o'clock at night with a lot of her friends, and the village fiddler, and insisted on dancing in your old painting-room. And mamma never made the least remonstrance at the time, and only cried, and said it would be the death of her.' ' How absurd ! ' exclaimed her brother, laughins: ; ' what can Mrs. Temple herself have thought of Mrs. AV^ardlaw's utter change of opinion ? ' ' Oh ! she is Leo's wife, you know, Jack, and so every- thing she does must be right ; it would have been very different if she had been yours. But I don't suppose she thought much about it herself; she is utterly heartless. The night they danced in your pamting-room, mamma in- sisted upon my being with them the while, although I pleaded to be excused; but I heard Mrs. Temple tell the man she was dancing with, that it had been your studio, and that she had been engaged to you, and ran away from ^o For Ever and Ever. the Maidstone ball with Leofric instead — all about it, in fact. AVasn't it disgusting ? ' The colour burned brightly on John Wardlaw's face as he listened to the tale, and he bit his lip sharply : it is not a pleasant thing for any man to hear that his dishonour has been a theme for public jesting — and Alice noticed the change in his countenance. ' Have I hurt you, Jack ? ' she asked timidly ; ' if I had thought you cared at all about it, I would not have told you. You have quite got over ail that, haven't you ? ' ' Quite, Ally,' he replied with decision ; ' my cheek was burning with indignation then, and not wounded sensibility. Tiie more I hear of that woman, the more thankful I am that I am freed from her. I saw her the other day, Alice. I went at her own request to Hounslow, to speak to her. She appears quite unchanged, except in the light- ness of her conduct. She was surrounded by men, although Temple is staying in Scotland.' ' Oh ! Jack ! ' exclaimed Alice in a horrified whisper, * she went on dreadfully whilst here ; it was quite the talk of Maidstone ; and even mamma was compelled to confess that she was glad when the 88th received orders to go. But she would never let you know as much. When you come to our house you will probably hear nothing but praises sounded of " my son's wife." ' ' For which reason I don't intend to honour you very often, Ally,' said John Wardlaw, laughing. ' I have no ran- corous feeling left against Mrs. Leofric Temple, but I don't think I could conscientiously join in a paean to her praise, and I have no wish to quarrel with your mother for the short time I shall be down here. So after I have paid her a visit of duty, you must come over to Castlemaine as often as you can and see me — for you 've grown such a woman since we parted, that I feel as if I had to learn to know you over again.' ' Oh ! no, dear Jack, don't say that,' exclaimed Alice, with all her old childish fervour; 'I am always the same to you, and shall be if I live to be a hundred. But I will come as often as I can, and gladly. How well Pussy is looking, Jack ! ' ' Yes, she is,' he answered shortly. A Discovery. 441 'She always had beautiful eyes, but now tliey seem to me more than earnest, they are lull of soul. Oh, Jack how I wish ' ' AVhat, Ally ? Ai said, in sincere ignorance of what was coming. * How I wish you had fallen in love with her, dear, instead of the other.' John Ward law rose suddenly and walked to the open w^ncw. ' It would have been of no use if I had,' he replied, trying to speak lightly, ' considering that she is already engaged.' ' But before all that. Jack, if you had liked her before.' ' Well, Ally, it is certainly too late to speak of that now ; so I think my little sister had better not speak of it at all. Pussy and I shall never be anything but dear friends, "only that and nothing more;"' and as he quoted the old familiar line, something in his heart seemed, like the raven, to echo ' nothing more ; ' and he sighed. Alice rose to go home, and as there was evidently a storm brewing, her brother prepared to accompany her. ' How are all the Sutton Valence worthies ? ' he said, as they gained the village. ''Pretty well,' she answered. 'Poor little Benjamin Balchin 'is very ill— dying, I'm afraid. I wish "\Vinny would come home and nurse him. He has no one but those odious rough men about him, poor little fellow.' ' Where is Winny living now ? ' inquired her brother. ' I don't know,' she replied, ' Balchin is so uncommunica- tive that I don't like to question him much, and none of the village people seem to know for certain. But 1 wish she was back, for Benny's sake.' (For though this was the second day of Winifred Bal- cliin's return to Sutton Valence, she had kept herself so close that the news had not yet run like wildfire through the parish. But a ' good time was coming ' for the scandal- mon£:ers of Sutton Valence.) When John Wardlaw reached his father's house, he went in for a few minutes, had a chilling interview with his step- mother, and interchanged a word or two with Captain Wardlaw, wlio struck him as having become very much shrunk in appearance since he saw him last. A few corn- 442 For Ever and Ever, moDplace pentiraents relative to his painting, and acquaint- anceship with Sir Edward Home and others, and tlieii our hero commenced to retrace his steps to the house which was much more hke home to him than his own. When he reached the Castlemaine grounds it was still high afternoon (for Alice had taken luncheon with the Stuarts), and although the skj was very threatening, tlic storm had not actually commenced, and the atmosphere, in anticipation, was oppressively hot. Therefore, instead of :it: once re-entering the house, John Wardlaw turned towar(].>' the shrubbery, which was his fiivourite smoking ground, aiid lighting a cigar, commenced to pace its broad V7ell-gravelled path, whilst he thought and fumigated. Every now and then a subdued peal of thunder gave notice that the storm was approaching ; but it was not until there had occurred several flashes of lightning, with their loud accompaniments, and that large drops of rain had commenced falling at in- tervals upon his unprotected person, that he began to con- sider that it would be expedient to defer thought for awhile, and seek shelter instead. At the end of the shrubbery farthest from the mansion, there stood a good-sized summer- house, which had been a familiar play-room to him in the days when he and Pussy Stuart were always together. Now, as his cigar was only half consumed, and he felt that he would shortly be only half dry, he bent his head so as to ward off the attacks of the driving rain upon his face, and ran beneath its friendly shelter. But as he gained it, and quickly lifted his eyes again, he found to his astonishment that he was not the first who had Bought the sanctuary. Pussy Stuart was there before him, and Pussy Stuart was drowned, not in rain, but tears. She had, apparently, been crying to such an extent that she had cried all her prettiness away. Her features were blurred and stained with the excess of her emotion, until it would have been an impossibility on her part to conceal from any one the cause of the disfigurement, even had she striven to do so. But she was too much taken by surprise at John "Wardlaw's sudden entrance to have time to attempt anything. He, on the other hand, had been thinking so much of the girl before him, all the way from Sutton Va- lence, and whilst enjoying his solitary cigar since, that he A Discovery, 443 had bad no opportunity, as it were, of masterlnc^ liis foaturcs, or exercising any mental control over himself, before be was brought face to face with her again. And thus each felt as if they almost stood revealed to one another. But bel'ore I relate the words which passed between them on the occayion, it will be as well to tell what had been the immediate cause of Henrietta Stnart'3 tears. Not long alter the luncheon- table had been deserted, and Alice Wardlaw and her brother were busy talking together, Mr. Stuart had called his daughter to go to him in his study. They had only returned from town the day before, and Pussy was in the midst of superintending the unpacking and arrangement of the many additions which she had made to her possessions during her stay in London. IShe flew down, however, as she always did at her father's bidding, flushed and excited, her golden-brown hair hanging in a tangled mass about her shoulders ; her light summer dress all crumpled and disordered, from the pertinacity with which she would take her maid's office upon herself, and think that no one could handle her valuables with sufficient care. ' Here I am, papa,' she exclaimed gleefully, as she gained his sanctum; 'and now what do you want with me, you dear old pest ? I was just unpacking my statuettes, Avhen you called me ; and, oh ! papa. Eve's little finger is chipped ofi". I said thev ouf];ht to be in sawdust, didn't I ? ' 'Well, Puss, it was your " ne'er-do-ill " Jack "Wardlaw who superintended the packing of them. Ton were so very certain^ you remember, that as he possesses a taste for painting, he must know all about the safe travelling of Parian marble ; so if anything is wrong, you must blame him. I should make him send you down another to replace it,' the rector added, jestingly. ' Oh, papa,' said Henrietta, reproachfully ; and the colour flew to her face, as she tried to change the subject. ' JSow, tell me what you want me for ? ' ' To talk to you seriously. Miss ; so it 's of no use fidget- ing. Heally, Henrietta, I want your attention for a few minutes, so put Eve's finger out of your head. I should have spoken to you in town, only you were too gay then to have any time to think of business. It is about your en- 444 ■F'^'' Ever and Ever. ga^ciiicnt to Martin. It has been going on now for nearly a year, Pussy.' The flush died away in Henrietta's face again, but she answered, ' Well, father ? ' ' How much longer is it to go on, my darling ? * ' How much longer, papa ? Oh, for ever so long, surely ! There is no need to think of anything else, is there ? ' * In my mind, there is great need, Pussy. Your mother and I have had several consultations on the subject, and we agree that some definite time ought to be fixed for your marriage. It is not as if Martin and you were two young people to whom a long engagement is a necessity. Tliere is no good reason why you should not be married to-morrow; and, therefore, dolay in such a case appears like indifi'e- rence.' * But, father ' * Now, my child, listen to me. I know it is very much the fashion in these cases for young girls to plead for in- definite delays, and think all such pleading very becoming modesty and proper maidenly reserve. Now, I call it folly ; and I hope my daughter is too sensible not to think with me. Tou engaged yourself to Martin of your own free will ; no one biassed your inclinations in the matter ; there- fore I conclude, for the sake of my child's honour, that you were glad to do so. Under these circumstances, what ex- cuse can we possibly have for delaying the marriage ? You are not too young to settle, Pussy. How old are you, my darling ? ' ' Nineteen last April, papa,' said Henrietta faintly. * Many girls marry before your age, Pussy ; and you will not leave your parents for your husband. The truth is this ; whilst Martin lives here, as your engaged lover, he is placed in rather a false position ; and being a man now, he feels it. As soon as you are married, he will not only be the son to me in name that he has always been in deed, but he will take with you, as a right, a gift which now might lay him under too great a sense of oblipjation to myself. You know Kerrick Manor, Pussy — old Marshall's place — it has been in the market for some time, and last week I bought it, with its thousand acres of landj and the day you are A Discovery. 445 Martin's wife, he will receive with you the deeds of gift of tlie whole coucern as a wedding ])resent. Tlien my two great wishes with ref^ard to you both, I hope, will be <;rati- fied. Martin will find occupation in farming and looking after his property, the only occupation, I am afraid, our poor boy will ever be tit for. I '11 teach him, you know, Pur^sv ; and I shall have my darling girl living close to me, and shall be able to see her whenever I choose, until 1 die ; and tiiat is all I care for in this life.' She had risen now, and thrown herself into her father's arms. ' Oh, papa, papa,' she sobbed, ' you are too good and kind.' The rector was rather husky himself. ' My darling Puss,' he said, ' my own precious girl, there '3 nothing in the world that I wouldn't get you, if I thought it would make you happier; besides, Martin is my dear Gerard's son, remember, and your marriage with him has been the great wish of my life. Why, Pussy, Pussy, how is this ? My present must not draw so many tears, my love, or I shall think that you are sorry instead of glad. Xow, be a good child, and dry your eyes, and let me see my Lady of Kerrick Manor smile.' She lifted her glistening eyes from the shelter of his breast, and tried to do as he bade her, but the attempt was a dead failure, and her head sunk down again upon its hiding-place. ' \V eil, when is it to be then, Pussy ? ' Mr. Stuart de- manded presently. ' Oh, papa, not yet, not yet ! ' and as she spoke, she visibly shuddered. ' I can't leave you and mamma ; I don't want to marry.' ' That is only the first feeling, my child, at the prospect of leaving home. I know it must be painful; but still there is a sunny side to the picture. If you won't decide for yourself, will you let me do it for you ? This is the middle of July, Pussy ; shall we say in six weeks' time ? ' ♦Oh, no! oh, no!'' ' Henrietta,' said the rector — and she knew he never called her Henrietta except he was in eanest — ' you mustn't trifle with Martin, or with us. You cannot be engaged to him for ever ; it is neither fair to him or to ourselves ; and 2f 445 I'or Ever and Ever. if you persist in setting your face against marriage, I sliall be'^in to think that there is some more stringent reason for voiu- backwardness than girlish shame.' " ' Oh, papa, let me think of it a little. Let me be quiet for to-day, and I will tell you my answer to-morrow.' ' Do so, my darling,' replied her father, delighted at even this concession on her part. ' Go to your own room, Puss, and think it well over. Martin is out, and Jack Wardlaw has just walked down the drive vrith his sister ; so you will have a good opportunity to consult quietly with yourself, and God bless you, my dear child, whatever you do ! ' And with this loving benediction, Mr. Stuart gently dis- missed the girl. But she did not go to her own room. The afternoon was unbearably close, and she was feverish, and. longed to find some quiet place where she might give vent, without restric- tion, to the grief which oppressed her ; so she flew down the shrubbery paths bareheaded and unshawled; and, seeking the old summer-house, now generally deserted, she sat down on its uncomfortable rustic seat, and leant her elbows on the little round table which occupied its centre, and cried as if her heart would break. It was a case in which it was a luxury to cry. She had pent up her feelings on this sub- ject for many months ; she had been compelled from circum- stances to keep her secret to herself, and admit no confidante to sympathise in her trouble ; and now her father had told her to think it well over ; and the more she thought, the more she cried. It was coming so near — so frightfully near ; and she felt as if it could never be — as if she must die first ; and yet she knew she should never have the courage to tell her father so. AVhen she pictured to herself his probable anger, and, still worse, his sorrow, she knew that her fate must remain as she had fixed it ; and that the alternative ^ould be worse than the reality. And yet she cried and cried, until an hour or more had slipped away; and John AVardlaw, cigar in hand, rushed into the protecting arbour, and confronted her. His first words were those of apology. 'I'm so sorry,' he commenced; but suddenly changing his tone, 'Pussy, dear,' he exclaimed, 'what is the matter with you. Are you ill ? ' They had attained, or rather returned to, such a degree A Discovery, 447 of intimacy since their sojourn in town together, that John Wardlaw, for his part, had almost forgotten that any otlier feeling than the warm one of their childhood had ever ex- isted between them. As he spoke now to her, there was a genuine ring of affection in the tone of his voice, and yet so apparently entire an absence of anytliiug like passion, that Henrietta Stuart turned towards him as if he was an old friend alone, and not the very object whose existence was the cause of the grief which troubled her. But then he had never given her the least reason to suppose that he did care, or think of caring, for her otherwise than a sister. ' Oh, Jack,' she said, ' I am so unhappy ! ' and with the confession, her tears began to flow again. ' "Why, Pussy ! ' he exclaimed concernedly, ' not really, my dear girl. What is it ? Can I do nothing for you ? ' She shook her head, and only swallowed down her sobs. ' Papa has been speaking to me, just now,' she went on between sundry pauses, ' and he says — that mamma and he both think that I ought — to think of fixing my — wedding- day, and I can't, Jack, I can't ! ' she added, with a fresh burst of grief. He bent over her, seriously distressed, but he did not know exactly what to say to her ; he began to think that his own heart was too much concerned in the matter. 'Oh! Jack, what shall I do ? ' the girl next exclaimed, looking up suddenly, and grasping him by the arm. ' I have no one whom I can consult with upon this subject, except you. Be my friend and advise me, and I know you will be faithful to me, and I will tell you all. I don't care for poor Martin as I ought. I love him as a cousin, you know, but not— not — in the right way. Ought I to marry him ? ' She was gazing up so earnestly into his face, whilst his tender eyes looked reriously into hers. ' Pussy,' he said, ' do you know the right way ? ' It was a random shot, but the effect which it had upon her frightened him. The glowing face still remained up- turned to his, but the flaming colour mounted higher and higher into the youthful cheeks and brow, the lips and nos- trils quivered with suppressed emotion ; -ind into the liquid eyes, swimming in tears, there rushed an eloquent light, a light which without eff"ort on his part was quickly answered 448 -^or Ever r.nd Ever, from his own, an electric light such as only passes between man and woman when they love; and John Wardlaw read Henrietta Stuart's secret by instinct. She loved him. It was for his sake that the proposed marriage with her cousin was so distasteful to her, and at the same moment he read his own heart, and knew that the feeling was mutual. There they stood, looking at each other, self-detected sinners, their guilty wishes suddenly laid bare and open ; and themselves utterly confounded by the discovery. For, in the eyes of the world, their innocent love was guilt ; and their desirec folly ; which is the worst of wicked- ness, according to our code of morals in the present century. For he was a poor painter, who had no business to dream ol such a luxury as a wife, or to think of the heiress of Castle- maine as a woman ; and she had engaged herself in a weak moment to be married to a fool, and the rupture of an engage- ment in high life creates such a scandal that it is thought much more of than a quiet breakage of the marriage vow afterwards. One may be concealed, but the other cannot. John Wardlaw felt all this, briefly but keenly. He had experienced a twinge of conscience once or twice lately that had warned him that his feelings with regard to Henrietta Stuart were, to say the least of them, dangerous ; but he had scarcely gone so far as to attempt to analyse them, and as for her ever caring for him, for her ever entertaining such a thought for a moment, he would have considered himself mad indeed if such an idea had entered his wildest dreams. But it was the case, and he knew it. He had no time then to consider, or hold parley with his own heart. Only the main point struck him. She was already engaged to be married, and as he remembered how a woman had so lately broken her plighted vow to himself, he inwardly resolved, that for his sake (were he King of England) no girl should plant such a thorn in an honest man's side as Eowena Bel lew had done in his. No ! if the sacrifice killed him— if it killed them both— 80 much the better; but Henrietta Stuart must never say she loved him. At the same moment another resolution struck him, and that was, that she should i.ever learn from^ his lips the fatal knowledge of his own presumption. A Discovery. 449 With the resolution came the strenT;th to act. Involun- tarily his p;aze turned from the direction of her pleading face, and he set himself, without waiting for any further reply (save that conveyed by the mute eloquence of her eyes) to his last question, to make answer to that which she had put to liim before. But, in the effort to appear careless, his voice lost its natural tone, and sounded harsh and constrained. ' I can scarcely believe it possible,' he said quickly, * that it is Henrietta Stuart who asks me whether she oujjht to marr}^ the man to whom she is engaged. What else is there left for you to do ? Ton can hardly suppose that I am the person to set up as an advocate for broken promises.' She changed colour rapidly, as she listened to his col- lected speech, and felt as if she would have given worlds to cancel the confession she had just made to him. ' But, Jack,' she faltered pleadingly, ' is it not better to break a promise, however sacred, than to make others which you may not be able to fulfil ? ' ' Do you mean to tell me. Pussy, that if you marry your cousin you cannot guarantee yourself to do your duty as a wife, and remain faithful to him ? ' ' Oh ! yes, yes ! ' she exclaimed, blushing deeply, ' of course I could. I love him, Jack, after a fashion — you know how — as a brother and a dear friend — but not as as^ ' He interrupted her quickly, as though almost fearful of what she was about to say. ' Then marry him, Pussy, in Grod's name ! Don't break your flither's heart, and drive Martin Stuart desperate, and bear the re])roach of having been false to your plighted word to your life's end. Think of the consequences if }0U do so. \Vhat will you gain in exchange for making them all miserable ? ' ' "What indeed ? ' said the girl, in a tone of such despair that his resolution nearly gave way in his great desire to comfort and cherish her. But the storm had now commenced in right earnest. The rain was driving against the sides of the summer-house ; the lightning and thunder were incessant ; and Mrs. Stuart, missing her daughter, and becoming alarmed, had sent 450 For Ever and Ever, messengers out laden with umbrellas and shawls, in various directions, to try and find her. ' If you are really more set against a marriage with your cousin than you haye told me, Pussy,' continued John Wardlaw, ' I dare not urge you to unite yourself for life to a man you do not love ; but if it is only a girlish scruple on your part, if — ,' and here he went on hurriedly — 'if you should have taken a passing fancy in any other direction — a fancy perhaps which can by no possibility ever be realised — strive with all your might against it, dear Pussy ; make your will wait upon what you know to be your duty, and the blessing of Heaven will descend fourfold upon your efforts to do right. Do you remember how you tried to teach me the same thing a year ago ? ' he added, smiling. * I thought you had wisdom above your years then, but I am afraid we have reversed our positions since then. I must be master now, and you the pupil ! ' She did not immediately answer, but rising from her seat, looked out at the drivins: rain. ' Simpson is coming to fetch me,* she said quietly. ' You are not angry with me, dear Pussy ? ' he pleaded. She turned a gaze upon him that answered for her. ' Oh! no,' she whispered; 'you are right, and I was all wrong. I will take your advice. Jack, and make no further opposition to the marriage. Papa wishes it to take place in six weeks' time, so I suppose it will do so.' She re-turned her eyes in the direction of the coming messen^^er, whilst John Wardlaw's heart, with the strange contradiction of human nature, turned sick and cold, as he heard of the near prospect of the event the fulfilment of which he had been so earnestly advocating. In another minute Simpson had come between them with his wraps, and Miss Stuart returned to the house under hia protection. 451 CHAPTER XXXy. LEOFEIC temple's WOEK- I know not how to tell thee ; Shame rises in my face, and interrupts The story of my tongue. As THEY entered the hall, loud sounds of altercation and remonstrance were heard issuing from the closed doors of the rector's study, and Miss Stuart naturally demanded the cause. ' Who on earth has papa shut up in his room, Simpson ? * she asked, a slight appearance of interest spreading itself over her tear-stained features. • Balchin, the clerk, Miss, and one of his sons, and there are two more of the young men sitting in the servants' hall ; and I do hear, Miss,' added Simpson, lowering his voice confidentially, ' as his daughter, the young woman that used to work up here sometimes, is in with them also.' ' Winifred Balchin ? ' exclaimed Henrietta Stuart. ' Oh ! I should so like to see her again ! Can't I go in, Simpson ? ' ' Dear me, no. Miss,' exclaimed the man, quite alarmed at the proposal. ' I don't know what the rector would say if I let anyone through those doors when he 's occupied with his parish business. Mrs. Stuart said very particularly as you was to go upstairs directly you came in, 5liss.' ' Very well ! ' replied the girl, wearily, as she prepared to do as the man said. But to John Wardlaw, as soon as the young lady had disappeared, Simpson was far more com- municative. ' I 'm afraid there 's a regular business going on insido there, Sir,' he commenced mysteriously. ' I haven't seen none of them yet, but the girl 's come home again, and 452 For Ever and Ever. there's more than one story flying about concerning her. However, we shall know all, I dare say, as soon as they come out,' 'I dare say we shall,' returned John "Wardlaw, with a great want of interest in the Balchins and their concerns visible upon his features. Henrietta Stuart had agreed too quietly and readily to the advice he had offered her. He was now miserable that she had not made a more open demonstration of her feelings towards himself. He could not, in honour, have accepted her tenders of affection ; but it would have been a comfort to have had the opportunity of nobly refusing them ; of pointing out to her the imprac- ticability of their mutual wishes ; to have let her know (quite unavoidably, of course) how much he felt that he loved her ; and to have been on terms of mutual under- standing with her thenceforward. How hardly men judge women ! This man was almost ready to be angry with Henrietta Stuart because she had not forcibly drawn from him a confession of his love ; and if she had done so he would have probably been the first afterwards to assert, in his own mind at least, that if she had been firm, he had never failed. He had all the strength to make a noble resolution and to carry it out, but he had not strength to rejoice at the inevitable loss to himself which the carrying out entailed. He could do his duty, but he had not arrived at that stage of goodness when he could do it and be glad. Preachers are fond of telling us that the mere exercise of duty leaves a glow of pleasure in the breast, and a degree of happiness which no sinning can confer. This may be the exception, but it is not the rule. If it were so, duty would not be the hard task that it is. Far oftener than the genial glow of self-satisfaction, we have, our duty completed, to commence a fresh warfare, with a cold, sickly sense of dis- appointment and regret for pleasure which might have been ours, and which the devil whispers us we are the one person in the world who would have dreamt of turning our backs upon. There is no doubt about its right, nor its future reward ; but if it is pleasant at the time, or even soon afterwards, why is it so easy to tread the broad road, and so hard to keep in the strait and narrow waj ? Leofric Ter?! pie's JVork. 453 John "Wardlaw did not find it warming or comforting to look back upon that afternoon's work. He felt depressed and unhappy, and was just walking off, in the face of Simp- son's communicatioD, when the study-door opened, and Mr. Stuart's face appeared. ' Jack ! my dear fellow ! is that you ? Just come in here for a minute, will you ? ' at which request our hero retraced his steps and entered the rector's sanctum. The first things which struck his sight, on doing so, were the figures of Balchin, uneasily shuffling about the floor, having been apparently interrupted in the midst of a heated argument ; Joe standing sheepishly in one corner of the room ; and poor little AVinifred, her thin cotton dress drenched through and through with the heavy rain, her yellow hair lying wet upon her shoulders, with a big baby of some five or six months old clasped tightly in ber arms. She coloured violently as John Wardlaw entered and saluted her kindly, particularly when slie saw the look of surprise which he threw towards her burden ; she bent for- ward over the child as though she would try with her fragile form to hide its presence, but the baby, being by this time wide awake, crowed defiantly, rearing out of its mother's arms, and not appearing in the least ashamed of itself as it ought to have done. Mr. Stuart, having carefully re-closed the study-door, seated himself in what Pussy used to call his ' throne,' a large morocco-lined arm-chair, and motioning John AVard- law to a seat near at hand, began to give him some explana- tion of the reason he required his presence. ' Some rather unfortunate circumstances have come to light, John, with regard to Balchin's daughter, there ; but as he, I consider, most unadvisedly ' (here the rector visibly frowned in. the direction of his clerk) ' has chosen to make them as public as he can, the facts will be all through tlie village before night, and there can be no possible reason why you should not know them at once. Being so old a resident also of Sutton Valance, and having seen so much of "Winifred, I thought, perhaps, you might help us in the jusiness, and also be useful hereafter as a witness if any bo required. *you say, Balchin, that in consequence of your daughter' 454 ^"^^ Ever and Ever. misfortune you utterly refuse to take her back into your house. Have you considered what the consequence of such a harsh proceeding on your part may be ? ' * AVell, Sir,' commenced Balchin, with the sanctimonious manner which he invariably assumed when in the presence of the rector, * I thought that you and Mrs. Stuart ' ' Leave Mrs. Stuart out of the question altogether, if you please,' said the rector coldly. Balchin looked confused, coughed, and began anew. ' I thought that your reverence would be the last person to recommend that I should bring a young woman beneath my roof who can go to behave as, I grieve to say, my daughter has done. I have been afflicted in many ways, Sir, since my youth up. I have had many a sorrow, but I have striven to do my duty in the parish and my family, and little did I think that such as this would be the end oi all my care and teaching. I have striven for my children, Sir. Their poor mother left me seven on 'em to rear and pervide for, and I thank the Lord I have done my duty by 'em daily, and have nothing to reproach myself with. My daughter, there, has had every advantage that a pious teaching and the love of a father can give her. Leastways, I have tried to do my best, the Lord helping me ; and that she should finish up by coming to me with a child in her arms, and asking of me to take her home and pervide for them both, is a bitter pill, Sir — it 's more than I expected, Sir.' ' I never asked you,' cried "Winny boldly, and then turn- ing towards the rector and John iVardlaw, she continued, * Oh ! gentlemen, it 's a hard thing for a girl to have to tell her own story in a case like this ; but as Heaven is above me. Sir (and, Mr. John, I'm sure you'll believe me), I have never asked or wished my father to take me home again. I left Sutton as soon as ever I found v;hat was likely to be, lest I should prove too great a shame to him and the lads, and I should never have come back if it hadn't been for Tom's letter, saying as my little Benny was so 'Don't you call him "your little Benny," ' interrupted her father with stern virtue. * As little Benny was dying,' went on the girl humbly, Leofric Templets I Fork. 455 * and then I did venture to visit homo again for awhile, just to see how the child was. I couldn't leave my little one behind me, Sir ; but I was feared to tell my people of him, and so I hid him in the Castle ruins, and iV it hadn't been for this unlucky storm, I should have carried him otF again just as I brought him. But it all came out on account of the rain. I was so afraid for the baby.' And Winifred tried to disentangle the little chubby hand from her hair as she spoke. ' Winifred,' said Mr. Stuart, ' it appears to me that your father's chief cause for anger is your refusal to tell him the name of the man who has deceived you. Why will you not disclose it ? Ton tell me that you shall never have any more communication with him, and that he is not likely to seek it. AVhat harm then can there be in letting us know whose the child is ? He is bound to support it, you know, whoever he may be.' ' Ay,' said the elder Balchin, ' and to pay me for the loss of my daughter's services into the bargain. I 've got enough children to support for myself; it's not to be supposed that I can keep other people's, to say nothing of my having a girl on my hands as no one would marry.' ' I don't want you to support him,' cried Winifred, turn- ing quickly upon her father. ' Ton 've never loved me, nor any of us, for all you say to the contrary ; you left me to myself ever since I lost mother, and never cared where I went, or who I went with. It' you had loved me, father, as other fathers love their girls, and said a soft word to me now and then, in return for the duty you made me pay, this baby, unless he had come in wedlock, wouldn't have been here, maybe, this day. But you 've cursed me, and struck me, and made me sick of my life, till I was thankful to anyone who said a kind word to me or did a kind act.' ' It 's lies ! ' exclaimed Balchin, fearful of the effect such communications might have upon the rector ; ' it 's all fake, Sir. This unhappy wench is ' *Be quiet, if you please,' said Mr. Stuart, shortly, as he turned to Winifred. ' If you won't tell the name of your betrayer to your father, Winny, will you tell it to me ? Otherwise we can never see justice done to you, and the support of this child will rest entirely on yourself.' 455 For Ever and Ever. ' I can work for him, Sir,' said the young mother fondly ; ' but I AYon't give up the name of his father. It wouldn't be of no nse, and I couldn't do it. He is a married mao, and ' ' Married ! oh, Winny ! ' said Mr. Stuart. ' That is to say,' continued the girl, struggling painfully with her confusion, ' he wasn't married when — oh! Sir,' she added, her little pale face lighted up with the intensity of her feeling, ' don't ask me any more ; don't press me, please, because I loved him so much, and this would never have been if I hadn't thought that he loved me. And he did, Sir ; he did indeed ; and baby 's just like him ; and I '11 die — I '11 die,^ she repeated with energy, ' before he shall think that I would make a claim upon him for the child of our love. Oh ! Sir, my heart shall break first ! ' And witli this she sank upon the floor and commenced sobbing bitterly. The rector rose from his chair, and crossing the room, gently touched her and tried to raise her; but she shrank from him. ' Winifred, my child,' he said softly, ' I have known you from a baby. Are you afraid of me ? You may be quite easy,' he added, as he seated her in a chair ; ' nothing shall be extorted from you that you do not wish to tell. I honour your motive for silence, and will see that it is not outraged. ' Balchin,' he continued, addressing his clerk, * it is my duty to let you know that I highly disapprove of the part you liave taken in this affair. Tou stand in a responsible position in this parish, and oui^ht to be an example to other fatliers how to treat their children, and ' ' Well, Sir, I am sure I have striven, with the 'elp of 'eaven, to follow a father's feeiin's in the matter and to ' 'A father's feelings,' exclaimed Mr. Stuart sternly, 'can hardly have influenced you to drag a wretched girl like that, with her tender infant, all through this dreadful wea- ther to confront her with myself, in order just to expose her shame, and bring it more bitterly home to her.' 'AVell! your reverence could scarcely have expected me to harbour her whilst so hardened under my roof, and I thought the hinfluence of a minister might make her explain this aflair.' Leofric Temple's JVork. 457 ' Tliere are honest gals living round about us,' here inter- posed Joe Balchin sullenly, thinking of his refined Polly Willett, 'and used to visit us at times, and no one wouldn't like to be asked to sit down with a gal as has downright lost her character.' But Mr. Stuart took no notice of the interruption. I ' Your duty as a father, Balchin, is most assuredly, as far as in you lies, to hide your children's i'aults, and not expose them to the gaze of a cruel world, AVhat good have you possibly done this unhappy child by letting all my house- hold know the ruin which has ha|^pened to her ? ' ' I 've always borne a good character, Sir,' replied Balchin, who, with all his wish to shine before his rector, was natu- rally extremely obstinate, ' and been taught to say, with David of old, " The wicked shall not tarry in my sight." ' ' I scarcely think you are quite fit to compare with David yet, Mr. Balchin,' said the rector, ' and a more moderate degree of Christianity than you seem to aspire to, would suit my ideas better of what a parish clerk and a father of a motherless girl should be.' ' But consider the heinousness of the sin. Sir.* ' And what must be the heinousness of your sins and mine then, Balchin ? ' exclaimed the rector. ' You, a man of years, can dare to profess a spirit of religion, and yet stand there and in sober earnestness speak to another man thus? If this child's yielding to the seductions of a person probably far older and wiser than herself, be so heinous a crime, where shall you and I appear ? Look back over the arena of your own youth, before time had cooled the fever of your blood, and experience had taught you that the gain of such things never counterbalances the loss, and if you can honestly tell me that you passed through that fiery ordeal without sin, I will credit your belief that "Winifred is too grievous a transgressor to associate with you or your sons.' ' But men, Sir, ' commenced Balchin. ' Grod made no difi'erence between the laws for men and women, Balchin : they were made for and given to all alike. I know that the world has made such laws for itself, but I have no faith in their being credited by Heaven. But the Almighty created women by far the weaker sex, and there- 458 For Ever and Ever, fore my sense tells me tliat if in the great day of reckoning any difference is made between us, tlie advantage will be on their side. Added to which, in such cases as the present, women invariably bear their punishment whilst on earth in loss of character, and justice does not condemn the criminal who has worked out his sentence. And now you know wiiat my ideas will be on the subject if you persist in refiisins: to take your daughter home.' * AVill she give up the name of the man as has ruined her ? ' again demanded Balchin. * Never ! ' said Winifrecf firmly. * You hear her say that she will not, Balchin.* 'Then I'll send the brat to its parish workhouse, and "Winny can come back if she chooses to do her duty.' ' Oh ! no ! ' screamed Winifred, darting from her seat to the side of Mr. Stuart. ' He can't. Sir — can he ? — he can't take my baby from me, my poor little baby, who has only me. Shall we be separated? Oh! Sir! protect us. Leave me my child, and I'll go away from Sutton and never set foot in it again ; but I should die if they took it from me.' 'Be quiet, Winifred,' said Mr. Stuart; 'no one has the power to separate you from your infant. Balchin, this girl is by law, as the father cannot be traced, compelled to sup- port her child. You cannot send one to the workhouse without the other. My question is, do you intend to take them both back to your protection, and prevent perhaps a greater evil happening to your daughter for the future ? ' ^ 'No! I '11 be d d if I do ! ' exclaimed Balchin, forget- ting himself in his excitement. The next minute he saw that he had made an irreparabk 'inistake, but then it was too late. 'Leave the room,' said the rector in a tone of anger, 'and the house also. You appear to have strangely forgotten to whom you are speakiDg.' As the father and son shuffled out after each other, in obedience to this command, Winifred looked up timidly to the rector, and said, ' Let me go too. Sir ; I disgrace the house every minute I stay in it. Let me go back where I came from.' 'What, to-night, child?' said Mr. Stuart, 'and in this rain ? it is impossible ! ' Lcofrlc Templc\s IVork. 459 ' But wliat am I to do, then, Sir ? ' she demanded anxiously. ' Come with me, Winny,' he answered kindly. * There are beds to spare in this house, even for a poor little out- cast like yourself. Come with me to the housekeeper's room. You know old Mrs. Nelson, don't you ? and you won't mind her? ' And taking the girl by the hand, he led her from the apartment. Having reached that of the housekeeper, and made her understand in a few mild words tlie state of the case, he commended AVinifred to her careful keeping. ' She will stay here, probably, for a few days, Mrs. Nelson, until I have settled what she had best do. I dare say you can find a bedroom for herself and her baby, and a dry suit of clothes in the poor-basket for this little wet mortal. Set about it at once, and make them both comfortable.' But, as he was turning away, Winifred caught hold of his hand. ' Oh ! Sir,' she exclaimed, ' poor little Benny ! ' ' Is he much worse ? ' demanded Mr. Stuart kindly. ' He was dying fast. Sir, when I left him this afternoon, and I am not with him. Oh ! my poor boy ! ' and burning tears began to fall fast upon her sleeping child. ' I will send up at once, and ask how he is,' said Mr. Stuart, with his usual benevolence. ' Be comforted, AVini- fred ; he will not miss you, probably, and this little one Would.' Still she cried ; and when he stooped to whisper some words of consolation in her ear, he found that her grief waa not all for Benny. ' Is there no hope for me. Sir? ' she asked convulsively. * Do you think I shall be damned for this ? Shall I never go to heaven with my baby ? ' ' God forbid, Winny,' replied Mr. Stuart solemnly. 'My poor child, if sin could keep us out of heaven, we should none of us go there.' ' But mine has been so great, Sir ; so much greater than other people's.' The rector smiled inwardly at the girl's innocence, but he did not let her see it. ' There is no sin too great for forgiveness, "Winny. Ee- pentance and faith are the only two keys which can open 460 For Ever and Ever. the gates of heaven for any of us, and they are needed for the smallest of sins as well as the greatest. Pray, my child, to be kept from further evil, and take the punishment which your fault will bring upon you in this world meekly, and the crown will be yours as the cross is now. But 1 must leave you to Mrs. Nelson's care ; for you are too weak and weary to think of anything but drying and refreshing your- self. 1 will see you again before long, Winny, and in the meanwhile you shall soon have news of little Benny.* 9 4^1 CHAPTEE XXXVL AFTEll THE STORM. Approach the chamber ; look npon his bed; His is the passin;^' of no peaceful ghost, Which as the lark arises to the sky, 'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew. Is winged to heaven by good men's sighs and tears 1 "" Old Flay, The violence of the summer storm had spent itself, the lightning had ceased, the thunder died away in the distance, and the pelting rain given place to a gentle shower, which fell without sound, though incessantly, whilst a warm aro- matic moisture was rising from the rich black mould of the soaked flower-beds, and the moon, which had risen feebly pale, was struggling to disperse the veiling clouds which marred her brilliancy. It was past twelve o'clock at night, and the inhabitants of Castlemaine, for the most part, were wrapt in slumber. Mr. Stuart, having dismissed for the time being all parochial and other anxieties from his mind, was sleeping the sleep of the just, and even poor AVinny, who, having received the news of her little brother's quiet death during the evening, had cried herself into forgetfulness, only woke every now and then, as nursing-mothers will, when the little form beside her stirred, or the baby-lips sought their accustomed nourishment. Of all that large household, only two people were unable to lose their troubles in the arms of Nature's nurse, and those, the very two who appeared to have least cause for anything like care. They were, of course, our lovers. Henrietta Stuart, after having been kissed and had her light extinguished the last thing at night by her devoted mother, waa still lying wide awake upon her bed, shifting 2a 45i For Ever and Ever, her position every minute. Eirst turning so tliat slie miglit watch the pale moonshine streamin2^ in upon the floor through the half-closed Venetians of her window ; then, round to the other side that she might see nothing at all ; finally jumping out of bed altogether, to drink cold water and pace up and down the carpet with her naked feet, and to gaze vacantly into the peaceful-looking garden, until she considered she was sufHcieutly cool to return to bed again, and commence the same proceedings over again. But our hero had no kind mother to see after him tlie last thing at night, or to leave him to rest with the sound of her blessing in his ears. He had not thought of going to bed at all yet, but sat smoking at the open window, con- templating, like Miss Stuart, the scene before him. His "bedroom looked out at the back of the house, along which there ran a wide verandah covered with creeping plants, and, as he lingered there, the scent of the jessamine and noisette roses, whicli climbed so high that he could have touched them with his hand, was almost strong enough to overpower the aroma of his cigar. The trees which sheltered the grounds were too heavy with wet to permit them to lift their leaves, even in the face of the slight night-breeze which had arisen, whilst by the light of the moon John "Wardlaw could see that the geraniums, heliotropes, and other blossoms which filled the baskets were weighed down to the very earth by the soaking they had undergone, and were quite powerless to recover themselves. It was strange he should note all these little things, for his heart was very heavy, and his brain full of thought ; and yet all the time that he pondered on what concerned the happiness of his life he kept on observing the poor beaten-down flowers and heavily-laden trees, and wondering to himself how soon tliey would raise their heads, or whether they would ever look the same again as they had done. Two things troubled him. Of course the first and greatest was the interview he had had that day with Henrietta Stuart. To think that her unhappiness should be on account of him- self, and that he should never have discovered it before, was a wonderful thought to contemplate, and not less so was the rapid glimpse he had at the same time taken into his own heart, and the secret he had found hid there. After fK'r Storm. 463 Since the day that Mrs. Temple had scoffed at him on the subject of the rector's daughter, John Wardlaw had often caught himself recalling her words, and trying to fancy what he should feel like if such a vast improbability should ever come to pass. And he had known that his interest in Pussy Stuart grew daily ; that he was always beaming and cheerful in her pr'^sence, and disposed to be dull when away from her ; and yet, though he had gone through the ordeal before, had evinced the same symptoms, and experi- enced the same wonderment at their source, he had been fool enough not to guess from what cause they now pro- ceeded. This was for what he blamed himself so bitterly : that he had not discovered the danger which threatened them earlier, and taken means to prevent it. But, looking? back upon the last few months, he could not decide within himself which was the precise moment in which he had been sufficiently presumptuous to fall in love with the heiress of Castlemaine. It had certainly not been since his interview with Mrs. Temple at Hounslow, because his feelings, such as they were then, had remained un- changed, except, perhaps, by gathering a little in force and intensity. But when he seriously set himself to review the past, it appeared to John AVardlaw as if he had felt for her as he felt now, all his life ; as if his love for Pussy Stuart was of the growth of years, and had existed long before that other fierce passion came between him and the image of his dear old playmate. Looking backwards, soberly and sin- cerely, he could not recall the time when he did not care for her ; from the first year in which he had met her — a little girl in full short petticoats and flowing golden-tipped hair — to the moment when he found her in the summer- house, and read by the light in her earnest, eloquent grey eyes, the light sh3 could not prevent or conceal, that she loved him as he loved her. AVhat a discovery ! what a miserable, wretched discovery for them both ! It was a discovery in which there was everything but hope — a Pandora's box, without the only ingredient in it "which could have made its bitter contents bearable. And of that there was none: look on which side he chose, 464 For Ever a?id Ever. honour, love, and pride combined to forbid his even dream- ing that such a blessing should arise to illuminate the dark- ness of his fate. The invariable and trusting kindness of the Stuarts to hira, and their own views and wishes for their daughter, would have been sufficient in themselves to raise a complete barrier to anything like his aspiring to the blessing of her love ; but when his poverty was superadded, and compared to her expectations, John Wardlaw felt, indeed, that his heart might just as well have fixed itself on the possession of a ])rincess of the blood royal. He was a man, it is true, and liable to all a man's feelings on the subject, but he felt that he should have known better than to have subjected his un- ruly will and alfections to such a dangerous companionship. But Pussy Stuart ! — dear little Pussy — with her frank outspoken nature ; her sweet girlish ways ; her generous womanly sentiments ; his old love and playfellow : who could have foreseen danger in the renewal of the intimacy of his childhood ? Yet even as he thought upon these things, and could have groaned in his spirit to find the thought so bitter, John AVardlaw did not quite feel that all was over. He had not yet experienced what it was, his eyes opened to his love, to miss the sunshine of her presence ; to sit down in his lonely- room, and feel that she was lighting up the homestead of another man. He had just tasted the cup of fame, and the first taste of that draught is very sweet. It is not worth while in any undertaking to run down the very beginners ; the veterans in the art can afford to smile upon their errors, and pro- phesy that with toil they will do well. But when the recruits show signs of doing well without the toil ; when they miss the tedious hill which leads to the Temple ot* Fame, and find an easy cut across country instead, then the old soldiers are not quite so ready to applaud and cry ' Bravo ! ' It is the case over again of the murmurings against the labourer wdio toiled but one hour in the vine- yard, and yet received the same w^ages as those who had borne the heat and burden of the day. They commence at once to cavil at his produce; he works too fast ; he sweats too little J he will ruin his prospects; and the harder th© After the Storm, 465 aspirant for honours toils, and the hij^'licr he climbs up tho ladder of popularity, the more his coufnrns get hold of his legs and try to drag liiin down. John Wardlaw had not yet arrived at this stage of the proceeding; his first attempt to thrust himself on the notice of the public had been very good for a first attempt, and the desire to encourage a tvro sincere and genuine. But had he accomplished someUiinjr really worth rivalry, he would probably have found the plaudits changed into sneers, the clapping into hissing, and the praise into detraction. It is a great mistake to measure the merits of our work from the reception it meets with at the hands of the world. John "Wardlaw imagined that a bright future lay before him so far as his painting was concerned ; the path to glory looked very sunny in prospective, and there were numerous roses strewn about the way ; and the thought tended much to mitigate the pain of that other thought, which told him that, were his road dreary or otherwise, he could never hope to have the company of Pussy Stuart to cheer and comfort him. A true man ever sets his worldly ambition before his love ; and, strange to say, those who do so are the moat looked up to and courted by the other sex ; and where it is not the case, it will generally be found that there is something effeminate about the nature. Mars is not supposed to use the lap of Venus as a pillow except in the interval of war's alarms ; and if he attempts it for a continuance, he is sure to end by finding that he has made Venus thoroughly and effectually sick of him. To return to our hero. He was glad that he had had 8tren2:th of mind to speak to her as he had, though the remembrance of her tearful eyes, and the knowledge that she would never know how much he loved her in return, smote him bitterly. Yet he had done right, and right should have reaped its own reward. Perhaps it did; but it looked rather a sorry reward, reflected in the sad face of John AVardlaw, as he eazed out of his bedroom window. The other thouLrht which troubled him was about AVinifred Balchin. When she had said (inadvertently, as he thought, from the deep blush which immediately succeeded her words) that hei 466 For Ever and Ever. child was just like its father, John Wardlaw had raised his eyes naturally and regarded the infant. He had never thought until that moment but that the girl's betrayer was a man in her own class of life, or perhaps one of the farmers' sons round about ; but as he now, for the first time, took notice of the baby, something in its little features struck him as familiar. He did not know much about infants naturally, but this one appeared to him as being very fat and white, and having a large pair of wide-open china-blue eyes. The eyes were what attracted him first, for although "Winifred's were also blue and large, they were of a diff'erent shape and expression, and he knew at once that the baby's reminded him of no one but Leofric Temple. Was it possible that his step-brother, who had come be- tween him and a woman's pledged word, with less scruple than he would have outbid him at an auction, could have doubled his iniquity by deserting at the same time a girl who had so stroug a claim upon him ? He could scarcely believe it, dishonourable as he knew him to be ; but still the suspicion troubled and annoyed him, and made him long for a few minutes' conversation with AVinifred herself, so that he might have the question settled by her own denial. Wrapt in thought, he was not yet so absorbed as to be unable to notice surrounding objects, and his quick ears had listened attentively for some minutes to the tramp of a heavy foot upon the gravelled drive, before a figure appeared at the back of the house and directly beneath his bedroom window. Supposing the midnight intruder to be some vil- lage thief who had conceived a fancy for the rector's choice flowers, John Wardlaw was just about to shout and warn him of his proximity, when, attracted by the preparatory movement, the man glanced quickly towards his vicinity, and discovered the face of the ostler from the 'Eoy'al Hussar.' ' Halloa, Tom, is that you ? ' exclaimed John Wardlaw, taken by surprise. 'You're the very gent I want, Sir,' replied the man, touching his cap. ' I 've been sent up from the Captain's to fetch you ; and Miss Alice, she told me you lay at the back of the house. The Captain 's took worse, Sir, and they want you to go down to the village immediate to see him.' jlfter the Storm. 467 ' Is he very ill, Tom ? * exclaimed our hero aa ho rose from liis seat. * I don't know, Sir, I 'm sure,' said the ostler, ' hut they 've got the doctor in the house, so the servant told me.' John Wardlaw threw away his cigar, hurried on his coat and hat, and taking his boots in his hand, proceeded to leave his room. ' Go round to the front of the house and wait for me,' he first whispered to the man from his window, and in a few seconds he had joined him there. Thieves were not preva- lent in Sutton Valence and its environs, and the bolts and bars of Castlemaine, like most of the gentlemen's houses, were easily fastened and unfastened. ' AVon't you leave word of your going, with some of them, Sir ? ' suggested the ostler, as John Wardlaw leant against the side of the portico, pulling on his boots. ' JSTo, not now,' was the reply ; * they are all asleep ; it 'a no use disturbing them. I will send round word in the morning. It 's lucky I had not yet turned in.' And with one look up to the windows of the room where he imagined that she was soundly sleeping in her youth and innocence, he accompanied the ostler back to Sutton Valence. On reaching his father's house he was met by Alice. ' Oh ! Jack, dear,' she said, ' I am so glad you have arrived. I 'm afraid poor papa is very ill. But do come in here, and see the doctor.' Dr. Barlow, a white-headed old gentleman, who had pulled John Wardlaw through most of his childish disorders, was seated in the dining-room in solitary state, and appeared sleepy and dull and uncomfortable. ' How are you, my dear boy ? how are you ? ' he ex- claimed, as he shook hands with the son of tlie house. It was a peculiarity of Dr. Barlow's that he never could say a sentence without repeating it. ' How is my fathrr, Sir ? that is more to the purpose,' re- plied John Wardlaw. * Haven't they told you ? haven't they told you ? ' wag the rejoinder ; and Dr. Barlow assumed a solemn air. * He 's very ill, my dear John, very ill indeed. A stroke of paralysis. I've watched it coming on for a long time, a 468 f^or Ever and Ever. ]oi)g time. I don't think lie will get tlirough the night, not through the night.' John AVardlaw never professed to care for his father, nor his father for him, but notwithstanding his interview with the JNIaidstone doctor of the year before, he had no idea that the end of it all was so close at hand ; and the news, taking him by surprise, was a shock to him. ' No, I had not heard anything,' he replied gravely. ' I had no idea the case was so serious. Alice, who is with my father now ? ' ' Only mamma, dear, and Hannah.' * Can I go up ? ' ' Yes, if you like. Jack ; but he is quite insensible, and has been so ever since the attack.' * When did it come on ? ' ' About nine o'clock this evening, and I would have sent for you before, but mamma would not let me. Papa had been out, Jack, as usual, and I suppose had just returned, but we were both upstairs. The first thing we heard was a fall, and when we ran down, there he was, lying in the hall, quite powerless, and unable to take notice of anything, and he has been so ever since.' * How dreadful ! ' exclaimed her brother. * Will his senses not return before death. Dr. Barlow ? ' ' I don't think so, my dear John, I don't think so,' replied the old doctor. Captain Wardlaw has been breaking up for years — ask Anderson, of Maidstone, if it is not the case — and he's done up, my dear John, done up.' And here Dr. Barlow took a pinch of snuft', and tapping the box, handed it to John AVardlaw. He put it away gently from him, and Bat down by the table, leaning his head upon his hand. After awhile he rose, and went upstairs, where he found Mrs. AVardlaw and Hannah, shedding equal quantities of tears, and lamenting with and consoling one another as if the anticipated loss was a mutual one. A single look at the ghastly figure outstretched upon the bed was sufiicient for him ; a single glance at the pinched features, drawn to one side ; at the glazed eyes ; the half- open mouth ; at this sudden and dreadful ending of a wasted and misspent life. ^ Our hero had plenty of sentiment about him, but no sentimentality, and still less variableness of jifler the Storm, 469 disposition. He could not join in the loud lamentations over the close of an existence wliich had been one long curse to all connected with it ; nor couhl lie, at the eleventh hour, ^et up a mock show of filial allection with which to usher his parent out of the world, lie bent down once to the inanimate corpse-like looking form, and said, ' leather, do you know me ? ' But there was no response ; no flicker of the eyelids, or tremulous motion of the lips, to show that he was eitiier heard or seen ; and, able to be of no use, he saw that his presence in the death-chamber was unneeded. He went downstairs again, and sat in uncomfortable sus- pense with Alice and Dr. Barlow, until the day had dawned, and the grey light showed in at the unshuttered windows, and Hannah came down hurriedly to request the doctor to step up and look at master, for they thought he had gone. And so he had. In another minute John and Alice AVard- law knew that death was in the house, and they were fatherless. And what difference could they honestly say it would make to them ? When a good man dies, who has tried as far in him lay, to do his duty to his God and his neighbour ; when even a sin- ner goes from amongst us, who, with all his irreligion, has loved and succoured his own, let us sit in sackcloth and sprinkle ashes on our heads, for love is scarce in this world, and it is the fulHlling of the law. But when a wretch is taken away as a blessing to the sur- vivors ; taken from a hearth he has sullied and dishonoured ; from children he has neglected and ill-used; whose very salvation perhaps he has imperilled; shall we do the same — shall we frustrate the goodness of Providence, and lament liis place left empty ? We cannot openly rejoice, because the world deems that unseemly, and we must respect our- selves; but we can say of him as we say of a dog, ' he is dead,' and nothing more. And well would it be for men like Eobert Wardlaw if they could die like a dog, and find that death was the end of all things, and Chat there was 'nothing more.' But Avhilst our good deeds are generally forgotten, with ourselves, our ill deeds too often live after us ; and the in- fluence of his did not all depart with himself. -r/- CHAPTEE XXXVII. CAPTAIN WAEDLAW'S AFFAIRS. The evil that men do, lives after them. Shakspeaee. *Bttt what on earth can he have done with it ? ' exclaimed John AVardlaw, as, with a look of incredulous surprise, he tnrned about and confronted Mr. Philpott. It was a few days after his father's funeral, and he had reason for his astonishment. As soon as the death of Captain Wardlaw had been con- firmed by Dr. Barlow, John Wardlaw had sent intelligence of the event to Castlemaine, expressing at the same time his intention to take up his abode under the roof of his step- }i ether as long as his assistance was required by her. The l...^t thing, of course, to be done was to institute a search for his father's will, but this had proved unsuccessful. Chesta of drawers, boxes, wardrobes, and desks had been ransacked in vain ; nothing in the shape of a legal document had been found anywhere, and an inquiry of Mr. Philpott, the only lawyer in Maidstone whom Captain Wardlaw had ever been known to have visited, had only elicited a confession on his part, of utter ignorance of any of the dead man's intentions with respect to the final disposition of his property. Captain Wardlaw had never made a will, nor alluded to doing such a thing in Mr. Philpott's presence ; he had only visited him as a iriend. The lawyer had imagined that all such arrange- ments had probably been made by him many years previous to his settling in Sutton Valence, and had never troubled his head about the matter. It was on a piece with the rest of Captain AVardlaw's selfish life ; but his son knew that the property was very small, and would be easily disposed Captain JVardlaw^s Affaira. 471 of between his step-mother and sister. The former wept copiously when she found there was likely to be any difh- culty about the arrangement of her money alTaira, having a strong prejudice (which, however, she had the wit to keep to herself) that her step-son would embrace this opportunity to rob her of her due ; and she was at first very confident of the absolute necessity of Leofric Temple being written for, that he miglit come and look after her rights. But thia John Wardlaw most positively forbade. ' I have never interchanged many words with you on thia subject, Mrs. Wardlaw,' he said, when she first broached the idea, ' because I feared to hurt your feelings ; but the link which binds us together being now, by my father's death, in a great measure broken, I tell you most decidedly that if you insult me by inviting your son to this house, whilst 1 remain here, I shall leave it, never to return. And in that case, you can hardly expect me to continue to give you any assistance in your affairs.' 8he knew well that her living comfortably or not for the future, depended greatly on her step-son, though she could not foresee the whole extent of the evil which loomed in the distance for her, and theret'ore she submitted to his decision^ and forbore again to mention the subject of her son being summoned. And our hero, in one brief note, announcing his father's death, had warned that gentleman how he should dare to place foot under the same roof with himself. But the quiet interment in Sutton churchyard over, John "Wardlaw was anxious to wind up his father's alYairs at once and return to his own duties in London. He had a double reason for wishing to leave his old home now. He was fiying from it again, not with the same mad and revengeful feeling with which his former disappointment had inspired him, but with a deeper and more settled melancholy rooted in his heart, for which he felt the only remedy was change of scene and action. ' The first business he set himself to do, therefore, after the funeral, was to present himself at the house in Maidstone where it was known that Captain Wardlaw banked, and ask the amount of his late father's deposit. Captain Wardlaw, on selling out of the army, was known to have received two thousand pounds for his commission. 47^ For Ever and Ever, This money was supposed to lie at the Maidstone Bank, and to eke out, by the small interest it produced, the income which his son allowed him. Not a hint had ever reached our hero, or any of his family, that the commission money had been drawn out by cheque, or otherwise disposed of. AVhat, then, was his surprise when, on his presenting himself at the bank counter, with the aforesaid request on his lips, to hear that the balance of Captain AVardlaw's deposit with their house consisted of twenty-three pounds and a few odd shillings. The intelligence was so unexpected that every clerk in the establishment must haveread John "VVardlaw's consternation in his face. 'Impossible!' he exclaimed. *Are you certain? There must be some mistake.' One of the partners, knowing of Captain "Wardlaw's death, and hearing the exclamation, now appeared in person. ' I assure you the account is quite right, Mr. Wardlaw,' he said, smiling blandly, 'but if it will be any satisfaction to you, you shall see the duplicate cheques. Captain Ward- law invariably drew his cheques at the counter, sometimes for fifty, but oftener for smaller sums.' ' But I thought the deposit was two thousand pounds, said John "Wardlaw, unable at once to get over his surprise at the unwelcome intelligence he had received. * It was so originally,' replied the banker ; ' but that is some ten or twelve years ago ; and it has been decreasing yearly since, and of late very rapidly. The balance at pre- sent in our hands is, as the clerk informed you, twenty- three pounds seven shillings and twopence. I am sorry you should not have been aware of this before, Mr. Ward- law. Would it be any satisfaction to you to see our books?' ^ ' None in the least, thank you,' replied John Wardlaw, anxious to conceal his annoyance from the person who ad- dressed him. ' I am surprised, that is all, not having been informed by the late Captain Wardlaw of his withdrawal of the money ; but I have not the slightest doubt that it is all right. Good morning.' ' You will wish to draw the balance, Sir ? ' inquired the clerk who had spoken to him first. Captain JVarcHaw^s yf (fairs. 473 * Perhaps I liad better,' he replied ; * it will tend to the readier seltlement of Captain AVardlaw's ailairs.' And when he had received the monev, and returned it to tlie hands of his step-mother, the affairs of his late father were found to be settled at once. Tiiere was nothing more left for her support or that of her daughter. John Ward law might well exclaim to Mr. Philpott, with his irrey eyes full of surjArise, * What on earth can he have done witli it ? * The Maidstone attorney could tell him no more than he could himself: Captain AVardlaw had drank it away — gam- bled it away — wasted it in still worse manners, perha{)s (for there is no accounting for the vices of a man who drinks) ; but the bare fact alone remained — the money was gone, and the support of Mrs. AVardlaw and her daughter depended upon those who were nearest to them. ' It will all come upon me,' said poor John Wardlaw, as he remembered with horror how much he had spent of his own principal, and how inadequate was the remainder to fulfil the demands likely to be made upon it. ' But your brother, Mr. Leofric Temple, Sir, should surely be called upon to contribute something towards Mrs. AVard- law's support,' said Mr. Philpott, who knew the family cir- cumstances well ; ' he is nearer in blood to Mrs. AVardlaw than yourself; and you can hardly be expected to take the burden of both mother and daughter on your own hands.' ' He ought' replied John Wardlaw, ' but I doubt if he will ; and, being married, he has little enough for himself as it is.' He greatly doubted if, even had Leofric Temple been able and willing to contribute to his mother's maintenance, his wife would have permitted him to do so. But upon con- sulting his friend Mr. Stuart, that gentleman's opinion was that the son should decidedly be written to upon the subject, and at once. ' Xow have given up enough during your father's lifetime. Jack, exclaimed the rector, warm with his indignation; 'and I think it is shameful that you should now be harassed in this manner without any prospect of release. Mrs. Ward- law is not your mother!' And Mr. Stuart also communi- cating Ins ideas to the widow herself, she at last consented, 474 For Ever and Ever. tliougli very imwIUinglj, to ascertain her son's views on the matter, though, as she tearfully maintained, it could hardly be expected that her dear boy sbould be able to spare any- thin*^ for her from his own scanty pay. She had always told 'pool' Capthain Warthlaw' that the army was the most unremunerative profession that he could have chosen for her poor ' Leofwic* 'Maybe!' rejoined her step-son, with a bitter remem- brance of the pain he had suffered when his step-brother entered the unremunerative profession ; ' but otherwise, Mrs. AYardlaw, how are you to live ? My father has left you penniless, and I have not now more than two hundred a year for myself. It is hard for all of us ; but I do not see why I am to be the only one to suffer. I will do all I can for'you, but you can scarcely expect me to starve myself.' But the question was soon a settled one. Mr. Leofric Temple refused, most unreservedly, to have anything whatever to do with the support of Captain Ward- law's widow. In the letter which he wrote to his mother, he did not scruple to blame her heartily for having got into such a mess by marrying a second time, and to upbraid her with her folly in entertaining any hopes with respect to his being able to help her. He had enough to do to keep him- self and his wife (at whom, in passing, he levelled a bitter sneer for her levity and extravagance). As his mother had made her bed, so she must lie on it ; and as for asking his advice, it was loss of time — what earthly advice, in such a case, could he give ? She 'd better go out charing, he sup- posed, at eis^hteenpence a day ; and as long as she didn't follow old AVardlaw's example, and get drunk, he concluded that she could keep herself by it, as well as other people. And with this filial and well-timed jest the epistle concluded. Mrs. Wardlaw mourned over it in secret, but she was almost too infatuated with the son of her first love to feel the blow as a more keenly sensitive nature would have done. She read as much of the letter to John Wardlaw as served her purpose — and then he knew for certain that these two women were dependent upon him thenceforward for all the necessaries of life. It was very, very hard — bitterly so ; but he was strong, able and willing to work, and whilst he could do so he would Captain lVardlaw*s Affairs, 475 never leave them to starve. lie buckled on his liarncss and stood firm to his resolve, even whilst he knew what it must cost him. 'There is but one thing to be done, Mr. Stuart,' he said manfully, as that gentleman attempted to persuade him to do himself a little justice in the matter ; * don't try to dis- suade me from it, or put me out of love with my resolution. Alice and Mrs. AVardlaw cannot live upon less than two hundred a year — they have been brought up like gentle- women, and for my own sake I must help them to keep up the appearance as long as I can. If I had not launched out this year as I have done, and wasted so much of my money in other ways, we might have struggled on together ; but as it is, I am quite resolved that it is incumbent on me to lay aside my chance of fame for the present, and get something to do which will support myself. I allow it is hard ; God knows I feel it ; but it really is the only thing to be done, and therefore it is of no use talking about it. I think Sir Edward Home could help me, and I shall go up to town to- morrow and consult him about it. If I possibly can, you know, I shall get something that will not altogether interfere with my painting ; but in its present stage it would not bring me in bread and cheese sufficient for my keep. If I am lucky, I shall work away at it all the same in my spare time, and you may live to see me an it.A., after all— who knows P Stranger things have come to pass before now.' ' ^^oble fellow ! ' said Mr. Stuart afterwards, whilst re- peating the conversation in the presence of his family, * noble-hearted boy, he couldn't have spoken rnore valiantly, nor offered to sacrifice himself more cheerfully, if that woman had been his own mother and lavished the love of a lifetime iipon him. I think he is, without exception, the finest young fellow that I ever came across ; and if I had a son, I could have wished nothing better than that he should have been exactly like dear Jack "Wardlaw.' And of all the hearts that glowed with admiration as they listened to his recital, one alone did not join in the general eulogium which followed it, and that one loved John Ward- law so deeply that it could not speak. On the next day our hero went, as he had intimated, to London, to consult with his friend Sir Edward Home, and 476 For Ever and Ever, his friends at Castlemaine waited anxiously to learn the result of his journey. His conduct under the circumstances had excited so much admiration on the part of the rector that the future of his young friend appeared to occupy ail his thoughts, and made him almost forget, for the time being, another cause of vexa- tion which had lately troubled him. Winifred Balchin had again disappeared from Sutton Va- lence, and at a moment when he particularly wished to befriend her. Some days previously John Wardlaw had asked for an interview with the clerk's daughter, but then she was already gone. She had only slept three nights under the hospitable roof that had received her : on the fourth morning she was reported missing, and whither she had gone to her seducer, or wandered forth to gain her own living in the world, no one could do more than guess at. She had carefully left behind her everything which had been lent for her own and her baby's use, and must have left the premises three or four hours before her absence was discovered. Mr. Stuart was exceedingly annoyed about the circum- stance. He had had a conversation with Tom Balchin about his sister, and been considerably enlightened thereby on the cruel manner in which the poor girl had been treated at home; and finding that the young man really cared for Winifred, and would like to live with her, the benevolent rector had planned in his own mind to get a situation as gardener for the brother in some place where Winifred might keep his cottage for him, and live quietly with him and her baby. But now his kind intentions were futile, for the girl had taken her lot into her own hands again and re- jected all guidance or advice. She had stepped forth into the wide world, her poor base- born child in her arras, with her brave woman's heart still big with the secret which neither threats nor entreaties would make it reveal. She had gone, choosing rather to bear the whole weight of her self-imposed burden than to bring a blush of shame into the cheeks of those who loved her by accepting their aid ; and whether they should ever see op hear of lier again no one knew, for she had left no trace in Sutton Valence by which she might be followed or com- municated with. Captain JVardlaw's yJJfairs. 477 "Mr. Sliinrfc felt sure that AVinny's wish was to h've a purer aud truer lite for the future, and therefore he trusted that she niij^ht succeed in her desire ; but she was very young and weak, and he dreaded wliat mi^lit happen to her if she fell into tlie liands of designing; and unworthy people. John AVardlaw,on the contrary, althoup;h he communicated his suspicions to no one, could not hel[) believini^ that her ruin was attributable to Leofric Temple, and that she had been, in all probability, as^ain lured away by his influence. There was nothing bad of which he would not have believed his step-brother capable; but in this he wronged him. Leofric Temple knew nothing of the movements of Wini- fred Balchin at this time, nor had he more communication with her than his brother himself. He had robbed her of her virtue, and John AYardlaw of his love ; and the one theft appeared to sit on his conscience as lightly as the other — yet only in appearance ; for whilst the injury he had done the latter seldom troubled him, Leofric Temple, do what he would, had no power to lay the remembrance of AVinny Balchiii's grief-stricken, pleading eyes, or the touch of her little burning hand. They returned again and again to haunt the sleep which he took by the side of the wife whose familiar beauty had already palled upon' him, and whose indifference to himself he was tired of trying to disperse either by an appeal to her affection, jealousy, or pride. Yet the girl he had so cruelly deserted had left her dative village for ever, had gone forth to seek her living in a strange place ; and if her recreant lover, repentant, had sought her with tears, he would not have found her. Everything connected with Winifred Balchin was, to the Sutton Yalencers, thenceforward but as a tale that is told, for she never saw her native place again. But in the meanwhile, a new clerk was appointed to the village ; for a very few days after the interv iew which he had held with his rector at Castlemaine, Joseph Balchin received a formidable-looking document in Mr. Stuart's handwriting, the contents of which were to inform him that his services in that parish were dispensed with, at ouce and lor ever. L'H 478 GHAPTEE XXXYin. LAST WORDS. But still her lips refused to say ' farewell ; For in that word — that fatal word — howe'er We promise, hope, believe, there breathes despair. Byron. For a fortnight after John Wardlaw's departure to London, Mr. Stuart was daily expecting a letter from him, detailing the result of his application to Sir Edward Home, but no Buch communication arrived. He then wrote to his address in Conduit Street, beggiug for some news ,of himself, and four days afterwards he received the following letter, dated from the baronet's country seat : — ' Home Park, Surrey, August lOth. ' Mt dear Mr. Stuart, ' Tour kind letter followed me here. I ought to Lave written to you before, but I have not had the heart to do so, although the object of my visit has met with greater success than I ever hoped for. Sir Edward's cousin, Colonel Home, is, it appears. Commissioner of British Burmah at the present moment, and Sir Edward says that if I like to go out there with letters of introduction from himself, the Commissioner is certain to be able to do something for me, and that all civil appointments in Burmah are, compared to the remuneration of work in England, very lucrative, and with steadily increasing pay. I took a few days to consider his offer, and then I accepted it, without advice from any- one ; most of all was I afraid to ask yours, knowing that you would try and dissuade me from separating myself so entirely from my friends at home. But what better can I do ? Employment here fit for a gentleman is more difficult Last JVords. 479 to obtain every day ; the market is glutted with clerks and underlings of every decree ; and to tell you the truth, although I rather shrink from the idea of embarking in so utterly strange an undertaking as a foreign appointment, I would go twice as far as Burmah to save my pride, and there is something to me so distasteful in the idea of a three-legged stool, that nothing but bare necessity would make me mount one. In my present prospects I shall at least start once more in life in the position of a gentleman, whatever sacrifices I have to undergo in order to maintain it. And after all, when analysed, what are they ? Islj sister Alice will in the course of time probably marry, and have interests of her own ; and besides herself, your family are the only friends I possess in England. Sir Edward tells me that I shall commence work on nothing less than thirty pounds a month, and with the aid of a little patience may be home again for good before the hair on my head is grey. Of course the voyage and outfit will oblige me to use some of my remaining principal, but it shall be as little as possible, for Alice and Mrs. A\^ardlaw's sake ; and my foot once on Burmese soil, I hope to be able to keep myself. My mind being made up on the subject, ISir Edward wrote by the last mail to his cousin concerning me ; and as delays are danger- ous, and I have no reason for putting oft' the evil day, I have decided to start for Calcutta by the first steamer in September, and have already put my name on the list of passengers ; so it is too late for you to try your eloquence of persuasion upon me, and all you have to do is to ofler your congratulations upon my success. My preparations will keep me in town for the rest of this month, but I shall run down the last thing to dear old Sutton, and say " good- bye " to all of you. I have, of course, written to Alice on the subject. I hope the poor girl will not feel my decision much. Yfith kind remembrances to your family, ' Ever yours truly, TThen Mr. Stuart received this letter he was most thoroughly and completely upset. Thinking of the life this man had led, of the continued obstacles which had crossed his path to success, until they culminated in his 48c ^oT Ever and Ever, father's sudden death, he could not sufficiently admire the coura<^e with which he had accepted this last trouble, and the promptitude with which he set himself to remedy the evil. He was alone in his study as he read John "Wardlaw's letter, and he felt thankful that no one was by to see his weakness ; that a little time was before him in which to school his face before he met his family with the news which had overpowered himself. He felt that he could not have discussed the young man's acts and intentious as calmly as he should wish to do if his wife and daughter had been at hand when the letter arrived. There was no need to tell them of it at once ; for Hen- rietta Stuart having intimated to her father, on the day following her interview with John Wardlaw in the summer- house, that she was ready to do as he and her mother thought fit in the matter of her marriage, the wedding had been fixed to take place on the 4th of September, the very day that the Peninsular and Oriental Company's steamer * Dhera ' would start from Southampton for Calcutta ; and Mrs. Stuart was busy now, from morning till night, making preparations for the coming event. It was purposed by the fond parents to be a very grand wedding — one that should be remembered in the village for years to come ; and the labour entailed was in proportion to the effect proposed. Henrietta, alone, did not appear to take any interest in the question ; she was languid and indifferent — did not care if the new frocks for the Sunday-school children were to be blue or brown, or if Marsh's field or their own home meadow was to be the scene of the rural festivities ; she took no interest in her mother's fears lest the heavy rains which they had had lately would spoil the flowers, and cut off their supply for the wedding-day, and had no opinion to ofter when asked whether coloured blossoms were admissible in the bouquets which should ornament the church. So absent was she, and unlike herself, whenever the subject of the marriage was under discussion, that Mrs. Stuart would often look up from her own work with surprise at her daughter's tone of voice — but only to resume it with a sigh. For Pussy's face, which usually bore the reflection of her frank, warm heart so legibly upon its surface, seemed now Last Words. 481 as if it was resolved to tell no tales. She was kind to all of 1 hem ; perhaps a little more gentle, especially to her cousin .Martin, than her impetuous nature usually dictated to her; but Henrietta was not herself, and her mother (women ii-; affairs of the heart are more keen-sighted than men) saw it plainly, though she little guessed the cause. The bridegroom expectant, on the contrary, with the pro- spect of happiness so near at hand, came out in quite a new- character on the strength of it, and was actually lively, but he generally confined his jokes to the ear of his aunt; he followed his future wife about like a dog; waited on her wishes, and tried to anticipate every want, but he seldom did more than this ; he never called upon her to unite with him in hymning the praises of connubial bliss, and she was grateful for the natural shyness of his nature, which pre- vented him from thus tormenting her. So indifferent did she seem to all outward things, that the news of John "Wardlaw's proposed departure to Burmah did not seem to affect her, even to herself. They would be separated by the sea, it was true, but that was nothing compared to the gulf that was just about to yawn between them. "When she came to reflect on it, slie was almost glad that he was going. She knew her own heart now, and she thought that she knew his, and Hen- rietta Stuart's was not a nature to love to dally with the trouble it must bear, and languish and sicken within view of its forbidden Paradise. If a thing were not within her grasp, she would rather go away, out of sight of it, and try to forget its existence altogether ; if a cross must be hers (as this cross she felt would be for life), it would be easier to bear when she had not the daily pain of being reminded of how much pleasanter life's journey might have been, trodden with less weighted footsteps. Yes ; she was glad he was going to quit England ; he would thus leave her free to do her wifely duty, and to try and forget him ; and in the conviction of her gain the courageous girl even thanked God in her heart, that He had seen fit to remove this obstacle out of her path of life. She loved him as herself, she would pray for him to her life's end — but lie did not love her— and it was better so. Before he left her, she was undeceived. 482 For Ever and Ever, John Wardlaw came down the last thing, as he had promised, to Sutton Valence, to bid them all farewell. It was the afternoon of the 3rd of September. His luggnge had gone on to Southampton, and Henrietta Stuart's travel- ling trunks were standing, ready packed for the morrow's journey, in the vestibule, when they met to part for an indefinite period. The morning John Wardlaw had spent at His old home, which he had arranged that his father's widow and daughter should still continue to occupy, but he made his appearance at the Castlemaine luncheon-table, looking rather pale and harassed, but otherwise much the same as usual. The whole family was of course present, and the conversation was only such as could take place in public. But when the meal was concluded, the rector contrived to get Jack "Wardlaw to himself. * I must tell you how unhappy I am at your going, Jack,' said his old friend, with genuine emotion in his voice, ' how- ever little use it may be for you to hear it, but I 've known you from a child, lad, and I 've always been very fond of you.' ' I know you have, Sir ! ' exclaimed the younger man earnestly, ' and I hope you have never thought me unmind- ful of all your kindness; but I can assure you there is nothing to regret in the fate which lies before me. If you knew all the circumstances of my life, Mr. Stuart, you would consider that a chance like this, whicli throws a complete change of scene and action in my way, is the luckiest that ever happened to me. Putting aside alto- gether my father's death, and the consequent train of evils which has led to my being compelled to shift for myself, this Burmese appointment would in any case have been the best thing that could have befallen me.' * But why, my dear Jack ? what conceivable motive can you have for wishing to leave England, except the necessity of taking up this appointment ? ' ' I am unhappy, Mr. Stuart,' he replied in a lower tone, * and have been for some time ; and my trouble is one for which there is no cure, except such as self-imposed action and a lucky loss of memory may bring to me.' * Jack, is it anything in which I could help you ? ' ex- claimed the rector eagerly. Last Words. 4H3 ' No, Sir, nothing,' said John Wardlaw, and a faint flubh mounted to his cheek as he spoke. ' Time alone can do it in this world, and if that does not suffice, the grave cures all things.' *Do you return to town to-night, Jack?' asked Mr. Stuart, wishing to change the subject. * No ; I have taken my last look at the dear old place, and shall go straight from here to Southampton. I gave a farewell dinner to some of the fellows of my acquaintance last night, and I declare if that old beggar Cornicott didn't begin to cry in the middle of their cheering. The old rascal nearly upset me by his stupidity, and particularly as I had been going through rather a miserable business with dear Sister Catherine beforehand. I believe that's the best woman in the world, Mr. Stuart ; I don't think she could say an unkind thing of a person if she tried.' * And Sir Edward Home ? ' ' Oh 1 he 's going to meet me at Southampton, and see me off. He has delayed his trip to Norway on purpose. Isn't it good of him ? " Indeed, everybody has been so kind in the matter that I begin to think that getting an appoint- ment in Burmah is the luckiest thing that can happen to a man.' ' Well, it seems all to have taken place very suddenly to me,' replied Mr. Stuart, sighing. 'I thought you were settled within hail of us for life, and now, in a day as it were, the sea is to separate us.' *A sudden need makes sudden action necessary,' said John AVardlaw. ' If I passed over this opportunity of making my fortune, I might never get another ; and it is what most men would jump at after all.' He spoke lightly, as true men will when they try to hide the heaviness of their hearts ; but John AVardlaw's sickened even as he listened to the sound of his own voice. * Have you heard anything further from your step-brother, Jack ? ' said Mr. Stuart, who had been disgusted with the part that Leofric Temple had played with regard to the question of his mother's maintenance. ' No, nor am I likely to do so,' was the rejoinder ; ' but I heard something of him the other day, which, had he been connected closer with myself, would have been any. 484 ■^''^ Ever and Ever, thing but pleasant, it came through Sir Edward Home, who knows some of the senior officers of the 88th intimately, and who told him in confidence that Temple w^as very un- steady and likely to get into trouble at high quarters : the reports, too, about his wife are not refreshing. I am afraid she is very much talked of.' *I am afraid she is,' replied the rector. 'Perhaps you don't know that young Vaughan, who is a curate at Houn- slow, is a connection of my wife's. We heard through him, some time ago, that Mrs. Temple was not visited by any of the ladies of the regiment.' ' Well, she has chosen her own lot, and she must abide by it,' said John Wardlaw. * I wrote her a long letter last week, and begged her, for the sake of our former intimacy, to be more careful of her reputation ; but I am afraid that the time for warning (if there ever was such a time for her) is past. She will read my letter, say " It is just like Wardlaw's im- pertinence," and then she will tear it in two and forget it altogether. When a woman has no beart you have no possible hold on her. But I leave by the eight o'clock train, Mr. Stuart, and I promised Alice that I would see her again. I am afraid that I must say "good-bye" to you.* * Good-bye, Jack, and Grod bless you ! ' The rector held the young firm hand in his own for a few minutes and looked straight into the serious grey orbs and at the handsome features. Then he dropped it, and brushed away, without the slightest shame, the tears which had sprung into his own eyes. ' Jack, if ever you are in any difficulty or trouble about money you will apply to me — won't you, my dear boy ? Pray promise me that before we part ; it will make me so much easier.' ' I promise you, Mr. Stuart.' ' And you will w^ite to me ? ' '"By every mail, if you wish it. Who else havelto write to?' ' Then, good-bye once more, my boy. Mrs. Stuart and Pussy are in the drawing-room. I would go there with you, but I am rather upset, and they will feel the parting quite enough without the sight of my long face. Make it as short as you can. Jack j remember that to-morrow is Pussy's wedding-day.' Last IVords, 485 Remember it ! — ay, did he not ? As he rushed away from his old friend's side and souijht the drawing- room, he dreaded the interview which awaited him more than anything that liad gone before, lie was going to part with her — witli Pussy — witli bis dear, dear old love — perbaps forever; but to-morrow was her wedding- day — the day which gave her to arms not his own — and he must not say anything to upset or agitate her. They loved each other; but tbey must part like wood or stone, that his love's cheeks might be unsullied by the stain of tears upon her marriage-day. Be it so, then. He would stand like adamant before her. He had made a great resolution and intended to cleave to it, only the sooner it was over the better, for to be adamant may be possible but it is not natural, and Nature will sometimes assert her sway. AVith this idea, he never paused before the closed door of the drawing-room, but turning the handle sharply, en- tered it at once. The hasty movement made its only occupant turn her head to recognise the new-comer : and the only occupant was Henrietta Stuart. As he saw it, the treacherous blood mounted to John Wardlaw's fore- head, and his first impulse was to retreat. He had strength to bid her an indiiferent farewell before her mother ; but alone, the difficulty of his task was doubled. However, he blurted it out at once. ' Henrietta, I am going ; I have come to say good-bye.' She did not speak — she had been prepared for it ; she ,Dnly rose from the sofa, where she was seated, and held out her hand to him tremblingly. ' Good-bye, Jack.' ' Good-bye, dear Pussy ; ' and he stood before her, hold- ing it tightly between his own. Their eyes met and regarded one another solemnly. The next day would see them doubly and irretrievably parted ; and as they lingered there, it appeared to both of them as if they were standing beyond the confines of the grave, where the importance of earthly triiies melts away, and the secrets of all hearts are revealed. ' God bless you ! ' she faltered ; but her love was too much in her eyes and in her tone. At the sight and sound of it, at the thought that in a few 485 For Ever and Ever. hours they would he separated, to all intents and purposes, for ever, John Wardlaw's manhood trampled on his resolu- tion, and he forgot everything but that he passionately loved the woman before him. 'Henrietta, dearest!' he exclaimed; *my love and my life! I am an outcast and an alien from your arms! But give me a word, a look, before I go hence, to tell me that we are one in heart, if we can never be in deed ! ' She raised her long black lashes suddenly ; her glorious grey eyes, dilated with joy and astonishment, seemed to meet and pierce the very depths of his own ; and then with a cry, for which he was unprepared — a cry half of happiness aud half of surprise — she sprang forward into his embrace, and Pussy, the love of his childhood and of his life, lay in his arras. They forgot everything then, excepting that they loved each other. ' Oh, Jack ! ' she murmured, softly, 'it has been for so long — so long ! At first I thought I should live to see this day ; but lately I have given up all hopes of it. And you really love me — really/ — really ? — better than any one else in the world ? Better than you have ever loved before ? Me — and me only ? ' ' Pussy,' he answered, passionately, * I cannot remember the hour when I did not love you ! I have been wild and half-mad since, but I loved you through it all ; and if I had guessed the blessed truth, that you returned my affection, sooner, the troubles which have encompassed me might never have been. What made you love me, Pussy ? ' ^ She glanced shyly upwards at his face, and as she did so, Lis lips met hers. She did not demur or shrink away, as a girl might do at the first seal set upon a happy love. She had hungered and thirsted too long — she had been nearly starved to death for lack of nourishment, and love's feast was spread before her. With a passion almost akin to his own, her pomegranate mouth rested upon his, whilst the fragrance of her breath came and went upon his face and made his senses reel beneath its influence. Their spirits 'rushed together at the meeting of the lips.' Only for a minute. Let those who would condemn, re- Last Words. 487 member that the joy was transient, tliat the taste of the wine was all tliese sinners could boast of; and tlieir penalty was, that never afterwards had cup or glass, however brim- minf):, the power again to satisfy them. AVith that one guilty kiss, Henrietta Stuart came back to herself, and with a face burning like fire at the renicin- brance of who she was, and what she had done, she disen- gaged her figure hastily from the clasp of his strong arms, and flung herself upon the sofa. ' Oh ! Jack,' she exclaimed, ' forget it — pray, ^ray forget it. "What can you think of me ? ' * Think of you ? ' he answered, as taking a seat beside her he attempted to regain possession of her hand. ' I only think, what I have ever done, that you are the dearest and the sweetest of women to me. Pussy darling, don't be unkind, — look at me, speak to me, tell me again that you love me.' 'Icaw'^,'she whispered, fearfully. 'Oh! Jack, I have been so wrong, so foolish. Think what I did, and to-morrow is my wedding-day.' He had almost forgotten it till then ; but now he cursed his fate, and hers — raved at the events crowding upon them, and which no deed of theirs could now anticipate ; and declaimed as a lover under the circumstances might have been supposed to declaim — but as John Wardlaw had promised himself that he would not. 'I am so poor, my darling,' he exclaimed, 'so abjectly poor, how could I have told you of my love, and asked you to sink with myself, or be a pensioner upon your father's bounty ? I had no right to lift my eyes up to you — you are so far above me in station, and worth, and beauty — but I am a man, Pussy, and in looking on you, I can remember nothing but that you are a woman, and my beloved. And now I am going away from you — I shall never see your sweet eyes beaming on me, or hear your dear voice call my name again; for England would be unbearable to me, darling, knowing you to be another man's wife, and I will never meet you until we stand together at the judgment day.' ' Oh, don't say that, Jack,' she exclaimed, in an outburst of feeling, ' or you will break my heart. Let me think I shall see you again, dearest ; let me dream that the day 488 For Ever and 'Ever, will come when we shall stand together with our hands clasped in one another's, and that our last years may bo cheered by a loving friendship.' ' To what purpose, my Pussy ? Think of to-morrow.' ' I can't do it,' she sobbed, 'I must be free; Oh, God help me!' Then be was alarmed at what he had done. He had broken the promise he had made to himself, had undammed the rapid course of his own feelings, and allowed them to flow impetuously whither they would ; and what if the conse- quences should be that this woman, warm-hearted and pas- sionate as himself, should dare to break through the trammels of society and openly refuse to fulfil the engagement which she had maintained for so long, and the completion of which was now so near at hand ? He loved her as his life. If he could have offered her an equivalent in exchange for her broken troth, he would have dared and defied everything, so that he might take her to his bosom, in spite of her promise and the world. But if he permitted or persuaded her to break her engage- ment for him, it would be as if he asked her to keep taith with a shadow, to lavish her warm, young love upon a will- o'-the-wisp, for he had no prospect of making her his wife. Added to which, a bitter thought arose of the treacherous and ungrateful part he would be acting towards his kind friends, the Stuarts. John AVardlaw was ashamed of himself. Sitting down by the girl's side, he forcibly took possession of her hand, and made her attend to him. * Pussy, darling,' he said, ' for Grod's sake listen to me. I have been very, very wrong ; I have told you, in a mad moment, of a love which I can never ofier you, and which I should have died sooner than confess. The only thmg we can do to remedy the evil is to try to forget it. It was mad- ness, dearest, on your part and mine ; but you are strong enough, when the madness is past, to do what is right, both for you and myself. You are courageous, and honourable, and loving, dear Pussy, and I am only everything that is dishonourable to have entrapped you into such a scene. Forgive me, dear, for I am very miserable ; and yet I cannot help thanking you for what you have told me to-day. I shall hast JVords. 489 carry the remembrance that you love me to my dying hour. I shall never touch another woman's lips, darling, lor my own are sacred to me since yours have pressed them ; and the only consolation I shall take from England will be the hope that in heaven you will be given to me, and feel no shadow rest upon our love. But in tliis world, my beloved, to hope is hopeless ; and since we cannot be blessed, since it is iin» possible that happiness can ever be ours, for Heaven's sake let us not add wrong and injustice to the burden of our misery. I am going now. Pussy. I cannot forgive myself for what has passed between us — but say you forgive me, for perhaps I shall enter the shadow of death before we meet asfain.' ' Forgive you ! ' she sobbed, * what have I to forgive ? my own, my dearest, my beloved ! Yes, go, and God go with you, and remain with me.' If he had lingered to echo her farewell, he would have added to her remorse and his own. Feeling this, John Wardlaw, witli one wild agonised look directed to where she sat, bowed down upon the sofa, silently passed from out her presence — as the sun sinks beneath the horizon — and the light of Henrietta Stuart's iile went out with him for evermore. +9° CHAPTER XXXIX. ACT THE LAST : SCENE — BUEMAH. Nature hath assigned Two Sovereign remedies for human grief ; Religion, surest, firmest, first and best, Strength to the Aveak, and to the wounded balm ; And strenuous action next. SOUTHEY. A CERTAIN" modern and very popular author lias cliosen the Western Hemisphere for his particular worship ; the bound- less prairies form his shrine ; the ' leather of Waters ' is his idol, and he is, apr{3arently-, never weary of hymning the praises of the country which he loves. But other lands can boast of scenes as fair as any the Far "West can produce ; other forests can furnish situations as thrillingly dangerous or romantically iaconvenient ; other rivers are broad and swift and strong, and have banks which are alive with alligators, and down which, when night falls, the wild elephants and crafty tigers come to drink their fill. Burmah, that country which is so little known exceptiug on the map : whose vast interior of primeval forests and wild river scenery require only the aid of a little imagination and a fertile pen to furnish any quantity of thrilling adven- ture, defies American prairies or Australian plains to outdo her in fertility or loveliness. See her miles and miles of densest forest scenery, where the branches of the trees meet overhead and interweave, until they almost obliterate the light of heaven, whilst, as if to forbid the dissolution of their loving clasp, parasites clin^ to every bough, and twist their thoDgs about each fragile stem, br-^ine: down the lower part of the tree by their Act the Last: Scene — Biirmnn, 491 weif^ht, until they reach the ground aj^ain and strike root in halt* a hundred places, whilst their fresh verdure is inter mixed with blossoms of the most gorgeous and variegated hues. Here the rhododendrons grow in wildest profusion, opening their splendid flowers for the benefit of the butter- flies alone (butterflies with coats of blue, black, and orange plush, and wings that measure eleven inches across), and close them, unrepiningly, when their time arrives, never dreaming |that their loveliness has been wasted because no human eye has lit upon it. Here the carpet which your horse tramples beneath his feet is formed of pine-apples, with their fruit in rich perfection, exuding a faint sici^ly smell as it lies rotting ungathered on the ground, and their light variegated leaves of white and green aflbrding a beauti- ful contrast to the darkness of the foliage above. The deli- cate air-plants hang from the cleft branches of the trees ; feathers of various shades, which turn out to be grasses, nod deridingly far above your reach, and the vegetation becomes lovelier and more strange, and the atmosphere closer, and the silence more profound, the deeper you penetrate into the Burmese jungle. Now a long-armed ape swings himself, by the aid of a friendly branch, right across 'your path, and if you are unaccustomed to the sight, your breath is taken away for a minute, and you have serious thoughts of turning back again. But the wild monkey is all that you are likely to meet in the jungle in the present year of our Lord, within a morning's ride from Bangoon, for the beasts of the forest are cowards, and shrink away before the inroads of civilisa- tion. 'Tiger Alley' remains there still, to traverse which is akin to riding through a hole in a bouquet ; but the most ferocious tigers which linger there now are tlie painted tiger- lilies, which crowd its banks, and into the tangled foliage of which no one hesitates to place his hands or head, and has no fear, by so doing, of rousing anything more dangerous than a bird or a bee, disturbed, whilst on a foraging expedi- tion, by his hasty assault. Even the cantonment itself, though it has been sadly cut up for the accommodation of the English, has not lost the prevailing characteristics of romance, even from the proxi- mity of bricks and mortar. Its roads, shaded by the gay tulip-tree, with its abundance of blossom, with the graceful ^92 For Eve-i- and Evet\ palmyra and the feathery bamboo, which, though the com- monest, is the most elegant of all shrubs, amongst whose roots, cacti, such as are here only seen in hothouses, and deadly fungi, orange, scarlet, and white, and of the strangest and most nnheard-of forms, peep out and add to the marvel- lous beauty of the whole. When the sun, never so hot as in India, has gone down, and a cool breeze sets in from the great Irrawaddy, upon whose banks the town of E-angoon is built, the dark Eastern trees which line its roads have their olive-green foliage suddenly laden with what appear at a dis- tance to be snow-white blossoms, but which, on inspection, prove to be hundreds and hundreds of paddy-birds, who, tuck- ing their long crane-like legs beneath them, sit in dozens on each bough, with their heads under their wings, and nothing but the light puify down, which constitutes their tail, visible to the passer-by. Then it is that the golden bells, which ornament the fretwork of the numerous pagodas, commence to tinkle musically in the evening air, and that the natives of the country kneel by the wayside with their faces turned towards their great temple, the Da-gon Pagoda, whose gilded sides, elevated by nearly four hundred stone steps from the level of the town, can be seen for miles around. Then the priests, clad in yellow vestments, the colour of their oflSce, come forth from their houses, and with baskets or trays slung in front of them, walk through the villages, ringing a little bell, to announce their presence, which brings each matron quickly to her door with a contibution to the priestly meal ; for the natives of Burmah hold their religion and its mini- eters in high honour, and always support the latter by voluntary contributions. John AVardlaw, riding through Eangoon of an evening, and noticing all these things for the hundredth time, was yet never weary of watching and making his private comments upon them. It was amusement to him ; something to vary the lassitude and monotony of his life ; something to think of and to sketch whilst he sat in his lonely house, and felt that his wayward and rebellious thoughts wanted dispersing by main force. He had now been two years in Burmah. Two years had he toiled away at the duties of his appoint- ment, never complaining, indeed, for he was thankful to have stringent occupation which si ^^Id dam up, by force. Act the Last . Scene — Burjiiah, 493 the current of his fancies ; hut never gettinj^ the hetter of the serious complacency with wliich he had entered upon his appointment. As soon as he had arrived in Burmah, Colonel Home had received him with the warmest hospitality into his house, and pressed him to make use of it whenever he was in Eangoon. Shortly afterwards, he had presented him with a civil appointment under Government in what is called the 'Forest Department,' and the duties of which compelled John Wardlaw to take occasional long journeys up the country for the purpose of looking after the protection of Grovernraent timber and as the business led him into much wild and beautiful scenery, and left him a good deal of lei- sure to pursue his favourite painting, it was just such as suited his taste and inclination. But Rangoon was his head-quarters, and though he could not feel grateful enough to his patron. Colonel Home, for the kindness he evinced in offering him a room under his roof, he preferred to live alone. He preferred his tiny house, which consisted of a bedroom and sitting-room, and nothing more. He liked to feel that when he chose he could spend his evenings undis- turbed ; that when he wanted to enjoy the luxury of thought, he could revel in it to his heart's content, and that there was no one close at hand to offer him good but unpalatable advice; to tell him to rouse himself, and not to be selfish, and to leave off wasting regret upon a subject which no amount of regret could remedy. For although all this is true, and it is folly to sit down of a summer's evening in the wane of life, with clasped hands and weary eyes, gazing into nothing, and mourn for our dear old love which we buried so long, long ago, and which can be nothing now but mouldering bones, — though it would be much wiser to get up briskly, go to work on that letter which we left un- finished, or that ' copy ' for which the ' devil ' has called twice ; yet — it was on just such an evening as this, that our dear one (for he was dear in those days, and God only knows how much!) left us last; as we hear the faint chirj) of the grasshopper, or the occasional caw of a home-going crow, or the sudden bark of a dog which comes like a rattle of artillery on the dead silence of the fast-coming dusk, we fancy that they are the same sounds over agaia 2i 494 ^^^' Ever arid Ever, that we listened to standing in liis embrace, that sacred night on which we saw him last. He is dead, perhaps, shot down on the battle-field, or taken away by some lingering disease ; or we quarrelled for a mere nothing, and he married another in his pique ; or he grew indifferent with time, and we are strangers — what matters it ? The past is past, and we are ourselves perhaps as indifferent now and as cold ; we would not renew those days if we could ; but let us cry over them a little if we like : let as cry over them, if only because they are become as nothing to ns now. He had such blue, blue eyes, and such a fond and loving smile. Work is good, we know, and we thank Heaven we have work to do ; but an hour given to the ' Never again to be ' is not an hour wasted, it is only keeping our memory green for the meeting above. John Wardlaw had many of such hours ; he did not at- tempt to shirk them, nor dream that they did him any harm. He had a heavy grief to bear, and one not of his own fault or choosmg ; he had borne up against it like a man, but he .had never thought it necessary to put it away from him, or deemed regret for the loss of Pussy Stuart, rebellion against God. For two years he had been mourning her, and his sense of bereavement seemed to grow with the passing months instead of diminishing ; sometimes the unnatural- ness of the proceeding would strike him, and with a sad smile he would recall to himself that other grief he had borne, that disappointed passion, which at the moment threatened to overthrow his reason, and then burnt itself out almost as quickly as it had arisen. This trouble had never touched his brain ; he had been clear and collected throughout—had been calm almost from the moment he had walked despairing out of the presence of Henrietta Stuart ; but^ it was deep and abiding, and he felt that it would vanish only with his life. At first he had expected it would go ; he had looked to find the pain become less painful, and the regret less poignant. But it was not the case, and two yenrs of patient endurance had taught him to accept it as a life-long trouble, as a burden he must bear till death re- leased him, and he had come to hope and wish for nothing else. Yet he did not shirk hard work, nor refuse to accept what relief occupation might bring to him, by turning his Act the Last : Scene — Burma k. 49-; thoughts into another direction. He was zealous enough in discharging the duties of his appointment— too much so, Colonel Home (who could not imagine so young a man pre- ferring a solitary existence in the jungle to a life of dancing, and flirting, and dining at Eangoon) was wont to say. But John AVardlaw knew that in action, strenuous and unre- mitting action, lay his only hope for cure. He never ex- pected to lose the marks of where the iron had entered into his soul ; but he knew that time was powerful to stay the pain and the burning of the wound, and he was not a man to hug his trouble, and be proud of having himself pointed out by the finger of the world as one who was set apart as a butt for misfortune to shoot against. On the contrary, he appeared in public as most other men appear; he bestowed no confidence, and he courted no compassion, and yet there seemed a tacit understanding amongst his associates, that he had been the subject of some great and lasting grief, and he never attempted either to combat or encourage the idea. He loved to think of her. He did not put away the thought of her sweet face shining on him through the dark- ness of his lot, as a sight too painful to be borne ; he did not strive to quench the halo which memory threw around every word he had heard her utter, by careless gaiety or reckless vice. The knowledge that Henrietta ^Stuart loved him had never made John Ward'.'iw one whit worse than he had been before. It had greatly sobered and saddened him ; the impress of her warm ripe lips hovered about his own mouth yet, and he never found himself alone, but the remembrance of the last interview they had had together, of her dark grey liquid eyes swimming in passionate tears, of the clasp of her girlish impetuous arms, and the sight of her figure bowed upon the sofa, returned to haunt him, and make him feel that he would sacrifice twenty years of his life only to see her again for half-an-hour, to hear her voice speak his name, and say once more she loved him. For though she occu- pied every corner of his heart, though for her sake he had almost abjured the society of women, and no other lips, how- ever tempting, had ever erased the pressure of her own from his ; that was no reason that she, an honoured wife, should have cherished the same fond memories of himself. 49^ For Ever and Ever, She miglit Have got over her unfortunate love for him ; he could not but hope and praj, when he thought of her joy- ous youth overclouded for his sake, that she had ; but he had had no opportunity of ascertaining her feelings on the subject, and he was too honourable to try and do so. With Mr. Stuart he corresponded regularly, and more than a couple of boxes had been exchanged between England and Ran- goon, filled with loving remeuibrances from both sides. Each time there had arrived a little gift for him from his lost love; a book, perhaps, or a trifling ornament; just some- thing not to make the omission seem peculiar, and nothing more ; but these mementoes were cherished as sacred relics by the lonely man who received them. He had never heard from her directly; her father's letters were full of ac- counts of her maturing beauties and innocent occupations ; and occasionally a letter reached him from Mrs. Stuart, rife of the same topic ; but from Henrietta herself John "Wardlaw never heard — Mrs. Martin Stuart, indeed, as she was now, for she had given up her own bright self, with her hopes, on the day he sailed for Burmah, as had been fixed before. Kerrick Manor Earm did not appear to be thriv- ing very well, according to the rector's letters, under the superintendence of Mr. Martin Stuart, whom he described ae having become still more enfeebled and unenergetic dur- ing the past years, and there was no issue of the marriage. Pussy — his dear joyous Pussy — destined to spend her days in the dull company of an ailing man ; to submit to the decrees of a mind infinitely inferior to her own, and to have a husband of whom she could be neither proud nor fond ! He could not bear to contemplate the thought, and yet, if she had become the wife of a man in every way superior to himself, it is doubtful if John Wardlaw would have been better pleased. But one event had happened during these two years which had in any degree afi'ected himself, and that had been the news (which reached him when he had been settled for about six months in Burmah) that Mrs. Leofric Temple had left her husband for the protection of Lord Charles Tavi- stock. It had grieved him, for the sake of old times, and because it is grievous to any kind-hearted chivalrous gen- tleman to know that a beautiful woman, who might, by her Act the Last: Scene — Biirmah. ^97 charms, have raised herself to ahnost any station in life, is determined to malie herself sink to the lowest. But it had not surprised him, for lie had long before read the character of llowena Temple ; and his chief feeling was one of thankfulness that she had not been his wife, instead of that of his step-brother. Of Leofric Temple himself ho heard often; Sir Edward Home, Mr. Stuart, Alice, and Miss Hurst, all being able to give him news of the 88th. He was reported to have become very much wilder since his wife's elopement, and to be fast losing the little respect his fellows entertained for him. Indeed, so bad were th(5 accounts on this score, that John Wardlaw felt he should never be surprised to hear that his step-brother had got into serious trouble. Of Sutton Valence the accounts were various. Each one wrote as the place struck them, and according to the temperature of their own feelings. Mr. Stuart, who loved the parish, and had his wife, and daughter, and nephew all settled close to him, maintained that it grew prettier, and improved year by year. Alice, who was drag- ging out her existence in the old house in the daily com- panionship of her mother, thought that it grew duller every month, and that it appeared almost deserted. All her letters were filled with longings for the return of her favourite brother, and lamentations for the distance which divided them. The Keverend Samuel Jellicoe was still in full force among the natives of Sutton Valence, and although he had had the temerity to make a proposal of marriage to her daughter (a proposal, by the way, which had anything but pleased the mother, who was jealous of her spiritual pastor), Mrs. AVard- law not only still permitted, but actually encouraged the dissenting minister to come about the house: an annoy- ance of so much weight to poor Alice, that she had dwelt very forcibly upon it in her letters of late — so much so, that her brother had commenced seriously to consider whether, in the event of his making a proposition to Mrs. AVardlaw^ to take his sister off her hands altogether, that lady would be likely to accede to his request, and allow the ^^irl to join him in Rangoon. Only, that as his business took him so often into the interior, excursions which, until then, he had never hurried over, having shot a great deal 4o8 For Ever and Ever. and sketched a good deal by the way, he feared lest the cbarf^e of his sister might prove too much for him, and end either by his being often compelled to leave her alone, or to nef^lect paying the attention to his duty which he had done hitherto. Added to which, dearly as he loved Alice, there was something very distasteful to his mind in the idea of Having a constant witness of his melancholy. Now he was free ; he could do as he chose. 'For days and nigbts he was alone, with nothing for company but that picture of Hen- rietta Stuart's face which he had painted for Matterby's academy, and which had gained the prize. There it hung, just opposite his usual seat ; the sad, earnest figure bending in speechless eloquence over the face of the corpse which was so like himself, and which he often thought he would be happy to become if she might only mourn over him thus, and bless and kiss him before he was hid away for ever. But his solitude was of his own free choice. There were many there who would have been glad to have secured the intimacy of the handsome Mr. Wardlaw ; who would have been proud to have his face at their tables, and his con- versation to divert their idle hours ; — who tried for it hard, and failed — because the object of their attentions could not shake off the clinging memory of a love which was lost to him for ever, and shunned the brilliant light of their assem- bly-rooms, the frivolous talk, and the meretricious efibrts made to attract his notice, as he would have shunned a torture- chamber. The recollection of one little affair of this kind never left the memories of his men friends, nor ceased to be told as a joke against him as long as he re- mained amongst them. It had happened soon after he had settled in the country. Sauntering quietly out of the ^Rangoon church, one Sunday afternoon, and noting with amazement as he went the won- derful likeness which it bsld co a barn in the last stage of dilapidation, John Wai-diew '/Tiis roused from what had almost become a reverie, by hearing a lady's voice pronounce in an audible whisper — ' AYho 'sthat good-looking man, with the fair moustaches?' He looked up naturally then, as people will in such cases, and saw before him a remarkably pretty woman, dressed in a most coquettish manner, holding the reins of a phaeton, Act the Last : Scene — Biirmah. 499 drawn by a pair of ponies, into which she had apparently just been handed by the gentleman she was addressiug, and who happened to be a new acquaintance of his own. * Mr. Vardlaw/ was the low reply — ' Forest Depart- ment.* ' Introduce him to me.* The latter command was given in a louder and more miperious tone of voice, and the next minute John Ward- law found himself by the side of the phueton, bowing to the fair creature who had honoured him by desiring his acquaintance. ' Mrs. Eeginald Smith— Mr. Wardlaw.' The lady held out her hand. ' I 'm very glad to see you. Have you any engagement this evening ? ' ' Ko, none,' replied John "Wardlaw, wondering at her reason for asking. ' Come home and dine with me, then ; three or four other men are coming. Major Smith has gone up country, and I get so hipped if I 'm left by myself. Jump in, Mr. Ward- law;' and then, as our hero, all amazement, took a seat by her side, she added, ' Now, Pitt, if you want to come with me, you had better look sharp. Maxwell can walk on after- wards.' And with that Mrs. Eeginald Smith smacked her whip, scattered the natives right and lefc with her spirited little ponies, and drove the gentlemen forthwith to one of the best houses in Kangoon, where an excellent dinner awaited them ; and she flirted so impartially the whole evening, that not one of them had the right to be jealous. At first John Wardlaw thought this very delightful. ' Beauty Smith,' as she was called familiarly by all the bachelors in Eangoon, was an exceediugly pretty woman, who made great use of her eyes — sang charmingly — and had been hitherto so prudent, that no one man could say above another that she had bestowed any especial mark of favour upon him. Everjbody, that is to say, every male body in Eangoon, was a little in love with her, and the ladies hated her accordingly, and said even worse things of her than she gave them occasion to do. But in the course of a few days matters changed. * Beauty ^00 Fo? Ever end Ever, Smith ' CO longer doled out mlimtesimal portions of regard to our hero, in common with the rest of his companions ; she no longer sang one song to him, and the next to Mr. Pitt, and so on, but she attacked him individually — she east all her glances his way — she warbled all her love-ditties into his ear. There was something in the calm gravity of the grief-stricken man which had the power to attract and arrest the attention of the frivolous wife, he was so different to the rest of the men who frequented the house ; he seemed to care so little about her beauty, he never returned the lightning flash of her eyes, nor kindled beneath its influence ; and Beauty Smith, from having commenced by regarding him simply with surprise, ended by longing with all her strength to charm him out of his indifierence, and make him her slave. This was what none of her admirers had yet been able to efiiect. They could all boast in turn of what she had said and done to them, but no one had received any favour in particular. They saw her game as plainly as she did. They began to watch the play of their fortunate rival with interest not unmixed with jealousy, but they never doubted but that his apparent stolidity would give way before the assaults of her womanhood. But, once aware of her purpose, John "Wardlaw retreated from the field altogether. As long as he had considered her as an acquaintance, however careless of her good name, she had possessed, by her beauty and liveliness, the power in a great measure to charm him out of his melancholy ; but as soon as he knew that she had more serious designs against him — that he was aware that this woman — the wife of an honourable man, left unprotected in a foreign country — wanted to entrap him into an intimacy with herself, which, in its mildest phases, could not be innocent, he lost all interest in her. He was not that odious hybrid — a male prude ; in days gone by no one had been readier to engage in a flirtation, or to take up the challenge of a pretty woman, than John Wardlaw ; but at the present time his heart was very sore from the efiects of a serious wound, and anything approaching to the idea of love-making was obnoxious to him. And at all times and places he had been too honourable and upright for this. Act the Last: Scene — Burmah. 501 To love and to err is human ; but to err without love is real untainted vice, and can give pleasure to none except such as are indeed children of the devil. And John AVardlaw was above such vice; he was higher and nobler and better than such things can ever perrnit us to be ; he would not soil his soul for ever for the gratihcatioa of a passing hour, and therefore when he was once assured that ' Beauty Smith ' cared for him more than she ought to have done, he did not upbraid her (she was too pretty for St. Anthony himself to do that), but he left off calling at the house. He ran the risk of what others might think of bis conduct, knowing that the woman's heart would tell her the real reason. And even a letter from her, penned in an imprudent moment — a letter which might have ruined her, if seen, for ever — had not the power to win him back again. The men, whose reign for awhile he had disturbed, laughed lieartily at his reserve, but he bore their ridicule bravely. And since they were, at heart, rather glad so dangerous an opponent for the honour of ' Beauty Smith's ' smiles was out of the way, they soon ceased to rally him personally on the subject, though the story of his deliberate flight was never quite silenced against him in llangoon. But by the time we meet him again, there was not a man in the cantonment, officer or civilian, w^ho did not heartily like and admire him ; nor a lady who did not persevere in inviting him to her parties, notwithstanding that he had gained the reputation of being rather averse than otherwise to the society of women, and ' decidedly not a marrying man.' Lr r' ^ot CHAPTER XL. THE ENGLISH MAIL. She was his life, The ocean to the river of his thoughts, Which terminated all. Bteon. It was tLe rainy season (it always is the rainy season for nine months of the year in Burmah), and John AVardlaw, Laving just returned from a three months' expedition to look after his forests, was sitting in his bamboo house at llangoon, wondering if there is another part of the world that looks as cireary as the Burman Empire when the monsoon is at its height. The heavy rain was pouring incessantly upon the thatched roof of the house and verandah, off which it spouted in five or six cascades, which ran violently down the garden- path, and made little rivers of themselves. He had been out for a ride that morning, notwithstanding the weather, for he who stays under shelter in Burmah, because the rain will wet him through in ten minutes, must languish in solitary confinement for two-thirds of his life. The wetting had not done him any harm, and several fair equestrians had shared the same fate as himself. He was dry and comfortable again now, had had his breakfast, and was beginning to consider whether he should spend his morning alone, or go up to Colonel Home's, where he always found a ready wel- come. His present position was certainly not a cheerful one, for his windows boasted of no glass ; they were made simply of plaited bamboo, the same as the walls and framework of his house, and if he left them open, the heavy rain splashed in and the damp air filled his little apartment, settling upon and laying up a store of mildew for everything he valued ; The English Mail. 503 and if be closed tbem he was left in darkness. John Ward- law preferred the former alternative ; to be unable to read or write was too great a tax to lay upon solitary thought. Once he rose suddenly, and crossing the frail flooring, which, being raised on piles some six feet from the ground, shook and creaked beneath his heavy tread, took down the oil- painting before alluded to, which he had made of Henrietta kStuart, and carrying it carefully to the table, wiped the damp off its surface with a silk handkerchief. As he did so, and the pure, loving face, appeared brighter and more vivid from the process, he stooped and kissed it passionately. ' My darling,^ he murmured, caressingly, ' ray own sweet girl; shall I ever look upon your dear face in the flesh again ? ' And then he re-hung the picture in its usual position, and called a servant, and ordered him, as soon as he had left the house, to place earthenware pots of lighted charcoal about the room, in order that their warmth might, in a little measure, counteract the damaging effects of the climate : a climate which spares nothing in the construction of which soluble materials have been used; inv^iich books part from their bindings in the course of a few months, and picture- frames, made in the ordinary manner, divide into four pieces of their own accord, and drop with a crash from the nail on which they have been suspended. "When the servant appeared, hebrought his master's letters, which had come by the mail-packet from Calcutta. John AVardlaw had expected them, for the guns had fired tliat morning to announce their arrival ; but the sight of them changed his thoughts for the present about going up to the Commissioner's house. He sat down in an easy chair instead, and delivered himself up to the enjoyment of their perusal. The first one he opened was from Alice: — * Mt deae'ESt Jack, — "We received no letter from you by last mail, and so I conclude you were, as you anticipated being, up in the ^'ungles. How your description of your forest life frightens me ! I cannot bear to think of your being alone for two or three months together, with no one to speak to but your dog and your horse, and no one to be with you, if you were taken ill, but your native servants. I can quite imagine the dog and horse being both, as you say, ^04 -^or Ever and Ever. excellent company in their way, and I should like to see you all three together, but I cannot endure the thought of your being so far away from all civilised beings. Your stories about the wild elephants scratching themselves at night against the telegraph-posts, and knocking them down, are very amusing ; but your shooting adventures make me shudder. Pray be careful, dear Jack. I shall value the tiger-skin very much when it comes, but I shall never look at it without remembering the danger you went through. Tour lesson with the chetah last year seems to have done you no manner of good. Does the wound in your arm never give you any uneasiness now ? — because you said at the time, I remember, that you thought it would never heal. * Tou will be sorry to hear that the cholera has broken out in Sutton Valence, and is spreading very rapidly. It has been prevalent in London and other places for some time past ; and Dr. Barlow spoke to the Commissioners of the Board of Health about that drain in the back road several months ago ; but of course they never took any measures to inquire into the state of it, until the disease appeared, when a lot of men came fussing down to the village, and had the drain all laid open ; and the cholera has been very much worse since than it was before. Men are working at the drain now ; but the smell of it is fearful, and is in the room as I write. Indeed, it is all over the village. They have now discovered that our churchyard is much too crowded ; and as the graves are dug they are filled with lime, to pro- mote decomposition. The deaths, as yet, have been chiefly amongst the poor, who, of course, always suff'er most upon these occasions. I think we have lost thirty-seven already. Mr. Jellicoe's sister has died of it, and so has old Mrs. Parsons, who took Ivy Cottage last year ; but I think they are the only two gentlepeople, and none of the villagers that you know are gone, excepting young Joe Balchin, who died, in three hours, last Sunday. Mamma is in a dreadful state of terror about it, and I am almost afraid that she will frighten herself into having an attack. She has that horrid man, Mr. Jellicoe, in to pray with her two or three times a day ; and I believe one of them is as alarmed as the other. She wants to go away from Sutton Valence ; but we have not the means, in the first place, as you know ; and what The EmjJ'^-h Mail. 505 would be the use, in the second ? The disease is all ovpf England. My own plan is to live carefully, keep warm, ana leave the rest to Heaven ; and I believe nothing else is of any 'ina I saw Mr. Stuart yesterday ; he was looking very wejl He is indefatigable amongst the sick and the dying. He leaves nothing to his curates, but is with them all day. Mamma says he is sure to take the cholera; but 1 think he is going the very best way to prevent anything of the kind. ' How seldom you hear of a nurse or a doctor ever catch- ing a disease, still less dying of it ! ' I would go amongst the poor creatures myself directly, if mamma would only let me, but she will not hear of it. It is just the kind of thing I want, to cut into the stagnation of my daily life, and make me feel that I am of some ur^e in the world. But all I can do is to promise them unlimited brandy and flannel, if they will only come and ask me for it. But all our people are so good, they would sooner die than, as they think, impose upon one's kindness. Pussy was with her father yesterday. She will go, he says, and she had been all day with a poor woman, who is dead now, nursing^ her little boy while she lay ill. I am so sorry, Jack, that Netta has no children. I am sure they would be a happiness to her ; but she says, not ; and that the last thing she desires to have is a baby.' And yet she is so kind to other people's children. I am afraid poor Leo is going on very badly. Mamma wanted him to come down here the other day, but he won't, because of the cholera. He is always worrying her for money, and as you know she really has not got it to give him, and she cries half the day when she receives one of his bullying letters. It is very cruel of him, is it not? And from all accounts, he appears to be drinking almost as badly as poor papa used to do. Dear Jack, I must leave off now, for mamma is calling me away, and this must be posted to- day. God bless you ! Give my love to the horse and the dog. And believe me ever, * ToiLP affectionate sister, 'Alice AVabdlaw.' He had faith also in the best receipt for the prevention o cholera beini^ to live carefully, keep warm, and leave the rest to Providence j but he did not like to hear that Hen- 5o6 For Ever and Ever, rietta Stuart wns exposing herself to its infection. It was all nonsense affirming that it was only in the air ; no one could be certain, and it was safer to run no risks. He wished Pussy wouldn't go about among the sick and dying. Her father should have more sense than to permit her to do so. As he pictured to himself his darling, whom he never remembered otherwise than glowing with health, brought to the gates of death, and writhing in the torturing camp of cholera, he shuddered and grew pale, and turned quickly to the next letter, which was in the rector's familiar hand- writing, though evidently written carelessly or in a hurry, in order to disperse the frightful image which fancy had conjured up to his mind. But he had not read many lines before he grew still paler, and more perturbed. It bore the same date as his sister's letter, though it had evidently been written a few hours later : — *Kerrick Manor, July 25th. ' Dear Jack, — "We are in great distress. Tour sister has doubtless acquainted you with the fact that cholera has largely visited our village, and we are a proof that no care or foresight can avert the calamities which God portions out as He thinks best to His creatures. My poor son and nephew, Martin Stuart, was attacked by this apparently almost incurable disorder, only this morning, and he is now lying a corpse under the same roof from which I write. I can hardly tell you yet how our poor child bears the stroke. It has been so awfully sudden and unexpected. I have heard her speak but one sentence since the breath left hre husband's body, and that was, " Thank God, I did my duty by him." And that she has. No wife, who ever stood at the altar yet, has kept to her vows with greater sincerity than has ray poor girl. God's will be done ; but it is hard to believe that it is all over. I know that you will forgive a short letter, dear Jack, we have so much to think of. Mrs. Stuart unites with me in kind love to yourself, and believe me ever * Yours truly, 'Henet Sttjaet.' He read the letter once, twice, three times over, and then The English Mail. 507 he laid it down and leant back in his chair and closed Lis eyes. He could not believe it. It was, aa hid friend had said, *so sudden and unexpected.' The twenty-fil'th of July, and this was the third of September. She had been a widow then — been free for six weeks and more, whilst he had walked the earth believ- ini: her to be a wife. AVhat then ? AV^iiat was he, that, wife or widow, his lost love could be anything to him ? As the thought struck him, he rose from his cliair and paced the room restlessly. He was angry with himsolf. Here was the dead man, at the best, hardly cold in his grave, and he was already speculating on what ' might have been ' if he had only possessed wealth correspondent to her own. Oh ! weakness of human nature ! when perhaps — how could he tell, that cruel distance between them ? — his darling herself might be lying in the same grave as her husband. "What time was it, 'except a time for prayer, that she might be spared in the general slaughter ; and that, if spared, she might be comforted and upheld in her hour of trial ? How did he know, shortsighted as he was, if even she loved him still ! How could he tell but that her heart might be hid in the tomb, even if her body was not! He must rouse himself and endeavour to shake off all thoughts which were so detrimental to his peace of mind. His remaining letters were only from Calcutta tradesmen ; and if they had not been, there was nothing more of interest in that day's in- telligence for John Wardlaw. Is it not always the case, after we have received a start- ling piece of intelligence, either of good or evil, that the lesser occurrences of life hold no more interest for us ? AVe had agreed, perhaps, previously to attend a picnic ; or to go to meet a friend, unmet for years ; or the dressmaker had sworn to send home our new dress for the evening's ball ; or our brother to take us to see Sothern as ' David Garrick.' The day turns out wet, maybe ; or the long-absent friend has changed, and is not half so pleasant as we anticipated ; the milliner is faithless, and the brother finds out, at the last moment, that he has a pleasanter engagement ; and at another time such, contretemps would have been sufficient to upset our temper (never of the best) altogether, and to cause life itself, for the time being, to appear wortLlew. e;o8 ^or Ever and Ever, But news that we have secretly longed for, yet not dared to hope we should receive, arrived this morning ; and, lo ! all things are changed. What are picnics to us ? — or friends — or dresses — or even Sothern as ' David G-arrick ? ' We wish to pay no slight to that gentleman, who has turned so many female hearts by his dangerous black velvet costume, and still more dangerous pathos ; but an Angel has stept down to stir the turbid waters of our life, and the cure we lauo^uished for is effected. What heart have we for lesser things ? After the receipt of the astounding intelligence conveyed in the rector's letter, John Wardlaw could no longer rest quietly at home and think. The rain was nothing to him then : excited by the fever of conjecture which assailed him on every side, and conscious that to sit down inactive would be the worst thing he could do for himself, considering the long time which must elapse before he received further news, he ordered his horse to be brought round to the door, and mounting it, rode off to the abode of Colonel Home. This last, which was a large house built of teak- wood, and in a much more subtantial style than his own bamboo cottage, was surrounded by a piece of ground called in the East a 'compound,' and to which, indeed, it would be sacrilege to give the English name of garden. Elowers, indeed, were there, but only ranged in rows of pots, which stood beneath the portico of the house ; and the rest of the space was laid out simply in grass, interspersed with a few clumps of trees and bushes, amongst which the scarlet shoe-flower (as it is called in Saxon parlance) was conspicuous. A beaten drive of about a quarter of a mile in length led up to the Colonel's house, the ground-floor of which was taken up for oflices, the ladies' department being on the second story, and reached by a high flight of stairs. As John AVardlaw, having flung his reins to his native groom, who came up with him a minute after he had reached the house, was preparing to mount the staircase, the Colonel's voice called his name from the office below. As in duty bound, he therefore entered that apartment first. Colonel Home, dressed in a complete suit of white drill, was seated before his table of papers, whilst a few native writers, messengers, and other subordinates were sitting, The English Mail, 509 Btanding, or kncelinf^ around him. He was a frank, jovial- looking man, very like his cousin, the baronet, whose merry blue eyes never twinkled with greater fun than when he was relating one of his good stories, which, however inno- cent, usually derived their reputation from the questionable nature of their points. ' Wardlaw,' exclaimed the Colonel, as our hero shook hands with him, ' I 've got a bit of good news for you — Patmore's gone — he is, upon my honour — I have intelligence of his death this morning, and was just going to send for you. AUandale takes his place, of course, and then tliere 'a a shove for most of you — young 'uns included. You'll take Watkins', and have to go to Pegu. There 's a rise of two hundred rupees a month for you at once, my boy ! ' This piece of news was, indeed, as good as it was unex- pected. John Wardlaw had been receiving pay at the rate of three hundred and seventy pounds a year, from the date of his arrival in Burmah ; the present stroke of good luck would raise his income at once to six hundred. Of course the increase was acceptable to him, all the more so as it was not absolutely necessary that by the death of the gentleman in question he should step into it; but he had worked well, and the Commissioner's desire was to forward his interests as much as lay in his power. He never received a letter from his cousin. Sir Edward Home, that he did not inquire what he was doing for his friend Jack AVardlaw, as if he expected that appointment steps were to be had for the asking, and given out monthly. 'I am very glad,' replied John AYardlaw, 'and exceedingly obliged to you, Colonel Home, for all your kindness to me ; for 1 know that I owe this rise to yourself.' ' Oh, nonsense ! ' exclaimed the Colonel, growing red, for he hated being thanked for anything. ' You wouldn't have got it if you hadn't worked well, you know ; it has nothing to do with me — nothing at all. Will you dine with ua to-night ? ' ' Thank you — with pleasure,' replied John Wardlaw, who, nevertheless, would gladly have stayed by himself at home; but he had refused so many of the Colonel's invitations lately, that he did not like to do so again. ' I was going up to Mrs. Home ; I conclude she is in.' 2k ^lo For Evai" and Ever. ' Oil, yes ; you '11 find them all upstairs ; and 1 dare say they '11 be glad of your company this dreary day.' When our hero reached the drawing-room, the walls of which, instead of being papered, were hung with cloth, whitened with a preparation of pipeclay, he found the lady of the house seated there with her elder daughters ; whilst about the verandah, which surrounded it, and which almost rivalled the room for width, ran several of the younger members of the family, clad in little mysterious white gar- ments, which, commencing with a close-fitting body, termi- nated with frilled leggings, and gave them altogether the appearance of feathered bantams. Not so careless, however, with regard to outward adornment were the ladies them- selves ; for Nellie and Marion Home rose from the piano to greet their visitor clad in the prettiest and most voluminous of Erench muslins, whilst their mother appeared in one oi the latest attires which Paris had exported to Calcutta ; for although the houses are ill built, and cloth hangs on the walls instead of paper, all is not permitted to be equally barbarous inHerMajesty's possessions intheBurmanEmpire Colonel Home's daughters were nice-looking, ladylike girls, and it was a common report in Rangoon that the eldest of them, Marion, was inclined to look with a very favourable eye upon the young civilian with whom her father was on such intimate terms. But, if so, it was a very unfortunate predilection on the part of Marion Home, for the man she had fixed her heart upon had none to give her in return, though his fortune would have been made by a union with the Commissioner's daughter. As she shook hands with him now, a very vivid blush certainly rose to her countenance, and she was much more silent and embarrassed in his presence than her sister ; but if the girl cared for him, John "Wardlaw was not the man to discover it without some more tangible proofs than silence and blushes ; for in the first place he was not sufiiciently conceited by nature to let his wits go a wool- gathering on the subject of young ladies' fancies ; and in the second his thoughts were too much concentered on his own unhappy love to permit him to discover that of other people. He sat the whole morning in the midst of the Colonel's The English ]\TaiL ^i i family, now discussing witli Mrs. Home the reason for the mortality amongst her chickens, then mending the tiny nets with which the daughters went butterlly hunting in the mornings, anon chasing and playing with the little halt- clothed pallid children in the verandah, to the great amusement of the stolid-looking native nurses, and the tailors, who sat cross-lep:ged in the same department busilv plying their calling. He took luncheon with them, and rode wiih the father and his daughter in the evening, and only left them to change his dress before he appeared at their dinner- table. In this manner John "Wardlaw enjoyed society, where the amusements consisted of innocent conversation and occupations, and where no mention of love or flirtation was made, or (as he imagined) even thought of. But when he returned to his solitary residence at night, and walking into his bedroom, laid the letters he had re- ceived by the morning's mail upon the dressing-table, he felt that in all the various scenes through which he had passed that day, since he had read them, that their words and meaning had never left his heart for one moment. In the midst of his converse with ]\Irs. Home, of his hadinage with her girls, and romps with her babies, the great truth had never left his memory that Martin Stuart was dead. Even the fact that he had gained a step in his appoint- ment, an announcement which, a few days back, would have awakened in him the keenest interest, sank into insig- nificance before the almost incredible news that Henrietta Stuart's husband was gone ; that she was once more the property of her father and mother; that no nearer claimed her ; and that he might again call her his friend — his dear old playmate, his almost sister. And what then ? She was still the owner of Kerrick Manor and its belongings, and the heiress of Castlemaine. Could a paltry six hundred a year, procurable only by daily toil and everlasting exile, bring him any nearer to the love of his youth ? Peace, foolish panting heart ! Be hushed, unholy wishes, unattainable desires ! The dead man has hardly stili'ened in his late-found grave ! 512 CHAPTER XLI. JOHN WAKDLAW MEETS AN OLD FEIEND. If sin there be in aught sublime, Forgiveness is a woman's crime ! Anon. Not far from Bangoon, embosomed in the thickest jungle, lies the native village of Kemmendine, and here the American Baptists have established for the last thirty years their mission-houses. Here, surrounded and overtopped by the trees of the forest, and half covered with the creepers of the country, stand tlie modest-looking wood-built tenements whose owners have devoted the best part of their lives to a work wliich carries with it no hope of reward, except such as is afforded them by the peace of their own consciences. Here, living in the midst of native huts, with scarcely any amusement but such as is derivable from their toil, without society but such as is afforded by themselves, faithfully, prayerfully, hopefully, the American missionaries dwell. On Sundays the single bell of their chapel, which is scarcely from its exterior to be distinguished from their own dwell- ing-houses, calls them to pray with and preach to their schools and converts, and to raise hymns of thanksgiving on high, to the accompaniment of a harmonium played by one of themselves. Prom here they make constant journeys into the interior of the country, spreading the truth of the Gospel as they go, and visiting such villages as have resident converts. To them the natives flock for medicine and advice, temporal if not spiritual, and the one often follows the other; and living their stainless livep. shut out from the world and its enjoyments, yet without a murmur at their doubtful loss, they contentedly await the undoubted John IVardlaw Meets an Old Friend. 513 gain which shall be theirs hereafter. They sorrow, and sicken, and die, like other men, because they are only mortal ; but the anpjel of God encamps about those teak- built cottages ; and if their inhabitants go before their time, it must be because Heaven would shorten their period of privation, and watching, and weariness, and hasten the moment of their reward. What the American Baptist Mission has done for the good of Burmah is well known ; and if every soul saved shines hereafter as a jewel in the crown of him who is the instrument of its salvation, there will be some above which will be too dazzling for even the angels' eyes to look upon. Amongst the missionaries at that time settled at Kem- mendine, there was a young man of the name of Arthur AVilliams. He was not related to any of the others, but had come over simply on his own account. Neither did he appear disposed to settle there ; for instead of taking a wife, as most of them do, from among the daughters of the oldest missionaries, he seldom stayed for many days together at the mission houses, but took greater pleasure apparently in wandering about the jungles, and going from place to place as the Apostles did of old. He was a good-looking young fellow of about thirty years of age ; very serious and quiet in appearance, and extremely gentlemanly, and was a great friend of John AVardlaw's. "^ The latter had met him accidentally whilst up in the jungles, and learning that he belonged to the Kemmendine mission, had sought him out on his return to Eangoon, and cultivated a firm friendship with him. There was something in the sober seriousness of AVilliams's demeanour that attracted John Wardlaw ; it seemed like his own manner, not natural to him, but to have been induced by some heavy loss or misfortune. The simplicity of the missionaries' mode of life charmed him, and the hearty welcome he always received from them often led him when he had nothing else to do in the direction of Kemmendine. One morning, some months after the events happened which were related in the last chapter, he bethought him, as he sprang into the saddle for his usual ride, that he liad not seen Arthur Williams for some time, and he resolved to seek him and learn the reason. 5T4 For Ever and Ever, As he came in sight of the cluster of creeper-clad mission houses, lying so far removed from all the sights and sounds of the noisy little cantonment, he felt as if they did indeed look the abodes of peace that they were. A sound of chant- ing struck his ears as he drew rein before one of the doors, and he refrained from entering the house until the morning hymn translated into Burmese which concluded the prayers was jfinished, and the native school children had filed out, one by one, and each saluted him as they passed quietly into their school-room, which was close at hand. Then he mounted the verandah stairs, and found himself in the presence of a cheerful-looking family, consisting of the father and mother and half-a-dozen grown-up sons and daughters, who were just about to sit down to their early breakfast. ' I see, I 'm just in time for a cup of coffee,' he exclaimed, laughing as he shook hands all round, and nodded to one of the group who had settled herself to make butter in the back verandah by beating a bottle of cream with regular strokes upon a cushion laid across her knees. ' I came up to hear what had become of AVilliams, for I 've not seen him for the last week. Is he at home ? ' *Tes,' replied the gentleman he addressed, 'he is, and will be here directly, I have no doubt. Sit down, Mr. "Wardlaw, and I will send for him.' He then directed a Christian Burmese woman whom they kept as a servant out of charity, because her husband had turned her from his doors as soon as he found that she had embraced a strange fiiith, to take the news of Mr. Ward- law's arrival to Mr. "Williams's house, and in a few minutes the young missionary was amongst them. ' I want you to come and take breakfast with me,' said John A¥ardlaw as soon as he appeared. ' Will you ? ' ' Well ! I 'm afraid I can't this morning,' was the reply, * because the " Eagle " came in yesterday, my old frierid Hawkins's ship, and I particularly want to speak to him before he leaves again. But suppose we go together and breakfast on board. Hawkins will be delighted to see you.' ' I should like nothing better ! ' exclaimed John Ward- law, whose chief desire was to have an opportunity for con- verse with his friend. ' How soon do you start ? *' * At once ; mj pony is at the door. Thank you ' (to the Johi Wardlaw Ma'!', an Old Friend. 515 lady of the house), ' I will take just one cup before I go ;' and that ceremony concluded, the two men had soon taken leave of the hospitable missionary's family, and were riding through the Kemraendine roads together, Arthur AVilliains'a Pegu pony, which, though like moat of its breed only about eleven hands high, was yet stout and strong as a little dray- horse, being compelled to keep up a constant amble in order to keep pace with the long strides of John Wardlaw's Australian horse. ' Hawkins is a first-rate fellow,' said Arthur "Williams, as they jogged along together, 'and an Englishman, although in command of a Yankee vessel. The " Eagle " is one of the ships built for the new line between New York, Liver- pool, and Calcutta. The " Mohawk " is another. «he i3 beautifully fitted up, as you will see, and could teach a thing or two to some of your passenger vessels in the way of accommodation — first-rate cabins and baths, and every convenience, and carries a sufficient number of cuddy- servants, including stewardesses, from which last fact I think Messrs. Green and Co. might take a hint. I consider it a shame to take a lot of ladies and children onboard ship, paying the price they do for their passages, and not have a single°female attendant to look after their cabins or them- selves. They carry two stewardesses on board the " Eagle." Captain Eomer's children are going back in her. I hear he couldn't do better than send them with Hawkins; he la kindness itself.' * "When does she sail ? ' ' To-morrow morning; he only calls to take up passengers.' They were passing through the native village now, and threadintr their way between the line of dirty thatched huts m which the Burmese usually dwell. The scenes which presented themselves on every side were strange ones. Here was a man, fat and greasy, and almost unclothed, lying flat upon his back, whilst his wife with her naked feet was°deliberately walking up and down his body, from his ankles to his chest, and then back again to his ankles, gently pounding the flesh as she went— a species of shampoonig which, to Drove agreeable, one would think must be pursued with the greatest care. The next hut, perhaps, would pre- sent the Bight of two or three women grinding rice or corn 51 5 For Ever and Ever^ between stones, or labouring hard at the drawing of water; whilst their lords and masters squatted near them in bliss- ful idleness, chewing betel-nut, and smoking and making their remarks to one another on the Englishmen who rode past them. Every one whom they encountered was smok- ing ; even the women and the little children they carried in their arms had a cigar in their mouths, or stuck, for con- venience sake, through a large hole in their ear. The Burmese girls, quite unabashed by the presence of the Englishmen, with bunches of flowers stuck coquettishly in their hair, and their gaily coloured clothes, which, fastened carelessly in the front, always show the right leg to the knee as they walk, fluttering about them, nodded boldly ua they passed, and called after them as they disappeared. Now they encountered a whole group of Shans, a race of men from the interior, who deal in the country ponies, and who, with their long hair streaming behind them, their cur- sory clothing, and often riding their unbroken little steeds bare-back, reminded John Wardlaw most powerfully of what he had read concerning the red North American Indians. Soon they left the native huts and bazaar behind them, and came upon some of the temples where the Burmese id(jls are enshrined — where the gods they worship sit, not in blocks of wood and stone, but in blocks of alabaster and brass, and even gold, under roofs glittering with coloured glass, arrayed in curious and most effective patterns, with incense burning before them everlastingly, and men clad in bright yellow garments waiting upon their senseless wants night and day. As they passed them, John Wardlaw heard Arthur "Williams give vent to a sigh. ' When you look round on all these scenes of barbarity and bigotry, Williams,' he inquired, ' don't you despair of ever doiug these people any real good ? ' * Despair ! ' exclaimed the young missionary, his pale cheek flushing with em.otion, ' No, Wardlaw, never ! It is not my work, remember; I am but an instrument in higher hands. The lad who mixes the painter's colours might as well say that he despaired of his master ever turn- ing a bare canvas into a picture; there, that simile ought to come home to you, as you are so fond of painting.' * So it does,' replied John WardlaW; ' and I acknowledge John Wardlaw Meets an Old Friend, 517 tlie justice of it ; but it must be up-hill work. Those priests, for instance, men who, having attained maturity, can still believe in the efficacy of graven images to save them everlastingly, appear to me hopeless subjects for belief in anything better.' * But they don't believe in the images themselves,' said Arthur AV^illiams ; ' if they did, paradoxical as it may appear to say so, I think there would be less difficulty in convincing them of their error. But they only regard those idols in the same light as the Koman Catholic regards his pictured saints — as representations of the invisible Deity. If you understood the language, and conversed with any one of them on the subject, you would find my statement to be correct. These priests are men of great sense and education ; the examination which they must pass through in order to obtain the rank of a first-class poonghy or priest is a very severe one ; they take upon themselves the vows of chastity, sobriety, and temperance, very much the same as in the Eoman Catholic church ; and what is more, they live up to them. Such men are more difficult to deal with a great deal than an uneducated savage, who imagines that in some marvellous manner his hideous wooden idol is to save him from everlasting burning ; for if you can once get him to understand your meaning, you will generally find that he is only too glad to get some more substantial faith than his own to cling to.' ' I can readily believe you,' replied his friend. ' These priests live a good deal by deluding the people, there is no doubt,' said Arthur AVilliams ; ' but in that they are not worse than other priests we know of, and there is no doubt that they are very strict in their own lives.' * I suppose you have seen some of the processions up to the Great Pagoda on their feast-days ? ' he continued, aftrr a short pause. But no answer followed his question. ' AVardlaw, have you ever been to the Great Pagoda on a. feast-day ? ' ' Eh ! Ay — what did you say ? ' inquired our hero, waking up from a reverie. ' You 've not been listening to me, Wardlaw. What are you thinking of ? ' 51 8 For Ever and Ever, He did not attempt to deny tlie charge, but came straiglifc to liis point at once. * Williams, do you think v^e have any right to run the risk of making another person unhappy for the sake of our own scruples ? ' *If they are only scruples, certainly not,' replied hia friend. * "Well ! would you propose to a woman who had lots of money if you had none ? ' and the colour mounted vividly to John Wardlaw's face as he blurted out the question. But he knew the man he spoke to, and Artlmr Williams was not one to make a jest of a serious question. ' Yes, I think I would,' he said, quietly ; ' that is to say, if all other things were suitable, and I believed that she cared for me.' 'A question of this sort has been puzzling me for months,' replied John Wardlaw. ' I don't mind telling you, Williams, because you are so different from other men; but look here. When I came out to Burmah, I was miserable, because I had lost the woman I cared for. She is free again now, and so am I ; but she is rich, and I am poor. !She loved me once, but for years silence has been maintained between us, and I don't know whether to write and tell her my mind or not. She may not love me any longer as she used to do; on the other hand, if she does, my scruples may lead her to imagine that I have changed myself.' * And you have not ? ' said Arthur Williams. *If I had, I should hardly trouble myself about the matter,' returned the other, bluntly. ' Oh, pardon me,' said the missionary. * I was not aware that your question was so entirely a selfish one.' John Wardlaw stared. ' Why, would you marry a woman simply because she eared for you ? ' he asked quickly. ' If I had, even unwittingly, drawn her on to do so, cer- tainly 1/es,' was the reply, ' unless I was injuring another woman by the act.' ' Williams, you are too good for me,' said John Wardlaw. * Oh ! don't say that, my dear fellow,' replied the mission- ary, reddening sensitively ; ' if you knev/ everything about me, you would laugh at the absurdity of the idea.' John Wardlaw Meets an Old Friend, 519 ' I don't believe it,' was tlie reply. 'Don't you? Can you guess what brought me out to Burmah to spend the lite of a voluntary monk amougst these uncongenial natives ? ' ' Sheer goodness, I suppose,' said John Wardlaw. * Sheer vice,' was the sad reply. ' AV'ardhiw, before I was three-and-twenty, I had stolen another man's wife from him ; and though I loved her as my^^elf, and would have laid down my life cheerfully to save her, no love of mine could rescue her from an early death, brought on by shame aud remorse. I have never loved another woman since, and I never shall ; but if I found myself likely to do so, I would flee her presence, for I have vowed myself to a lil'e of celibacy for the sake of my poor lost girl. She was only two-and-twenty, Wardlaw, when she died.' And Arthur'Williams turned his head the other way, and looked steadily out over the expanse of the river which they were now approaching. ' I couldn't have believed it,* said John Wardlaw, pre- sently. ' I have looked upon you as half a saint, Williams ; I thought you had never experienced even what it is to love.' * Did you think I wasn't a man ? ' replied the other quickly, turning towards him. * A fellow can't unmake his nature, be he priest or layman. oS'o ! I don't suppose any one would believe it except myself, nor the agony I have suffered in atonement for it. But you won't let it go further, Wardlaw, will you ? I would keep her memory sacred, even from those who will never know her name. I only told it to convince you that I am sufficiently mortal to be able to judge in such matters.' He turned towards his friend, and held out his hand. John Wardlaw grasped it eagerly. ' It shall never pass my lips, Williams,' he exclaimed. * But, now that the ice is broken between us, advise me what to do. I love the woman I spoke of dearly. Shall I write and tell her so ? ' ' Money is the only obstacle between you? ' said Arthur Williams. ' The only obstacle.' * Then write to her, by all mcan3.' 520 For Ever and Ever. ' And run the risk of a refusal ? * The missionary turned round, and stared at him with sur- prise. Why, what is that compared with the risk of letting a heart that loves you faithfully pine away under the notion that you have grown indifferent ? ' John Wardlaw looked thoughtful, but he did not reply. By this time they had arrived at the river's side, and giving up their horses to their native grooms, put off in a boat, and reached the side of the 'Eagle.' Captain Hawkins received them with the greatest kindness, and they were soon seated with him and his officers at a plentifully provided breakfast- table. After the meal was concluded, an hour was spent in going over the vessel, of which her captain was justly proud, as she was most beautifully fitted up ; the entrance to the saloon-cabins being inlaid with sandal-wood, and hung with heavy crimson curtains, and the saloon itself being of un- usual size, and provided with the most luxurious of lounging sofas and chairs. Arthur Williams wished to speak with his friend Captain Hawkins in private, and for that purpose he retired shortly afterwards with him to his cabin, leaving John Wardlaw to be entertained by the junior officers. Smoking a cigar with them on the deck, he presently caught sight of a female figure which seemed familiar to him, leaning over the side of the poop, with a little child in her arms. ' Who 's that ? ' he demanded suddenly of one of the men at his side. ' That woman ? ' was the reply. ' She 's one of our stewardesses, and a deuced pretty little creature she is too, only awfully shy.' At this juncture the person in question turned her head, and what was the surprise of the last speaker to see the stranger simultaneously dart from his side, clear the ladder in a couple of strides, and rush forward to the part of the poop on which she was standing! As he neared her, she recognised him, and sprang forward to meet him with a glad exclamation of delight. ' Oh, Mr. John ! is it really you ? I have been looking at the land all the morning, and wondering if I could get a sight of you before we sailed again.' John IVardlaw Meets an Old Friend. 521 * Winifred ! ' he exclaimed, unabio to get over hia amaze- ment at the meeting, ' how came you hero ? ' * I am stewardess, please, INtr. John,' she answered. 'Tliia is my third voyac^e in the " Eagle." ' * And is that your boy ? ' She blushed deeply. * Yes, Sir. He 's grown finely, hasn't he ? ' He was a robust, hardy-looking child, now of near! v three years old, and had acquired so striking a likeness to Leolric Temple with his growth, that no one who knew the circum- stances of his birth could have mistaken his parentage. One look at him brought back to John AVardlaw's mind tlie time when he had last seen the mother, and the assurance whidi he had wished, but failed, to extract from her then. He sat himself down on a hen-coop, and motioned to the girl to do the same. * Sit down, "Winny, and tell me all about it. I have much to say to you.' ' No ! please, Mr. John, I 'd rather stand,' she answered quietly ; ' the captain wouldn't like to see me sitting along- side of you.' She did not appear much altered since he had seen her last. She seemed stronger in health, and perhaps more rounded in figure ; but still she was only a girl ; not twenty till her next birthday, and yet she had passed through so much trouble and misery. ' You left Sutton so suddenly, Winny, I had no time to speak to you. What made you run away from the rector's as you did ? It vexed him.' ' Did it vex him, Sir ? ' said Winifred, her large blue eyes filling with tears ; 'I'm so sorry if it did ; but 1 thought it better to go. I was only so much shame to the house while I stayed ; and I had a friend up London-ways, who was con- nected with the docks, and had spoke to me before about getting a situation as stewardess ; for it 's a strange life, Sir; always shifting, and never being settled, as you may say ; and it isn't everybody as cares to take it up, only them as no one thinks about. I went first on the Dover and Calais packets, but that was such shufiliug work ; never quiet, you know ; and I had to leave my baby on shore, and 1 didn't like that. So at laat I had tlie good foii'i'je to get ^22 For Ever and Ever, on the " Eagle ; " and liere I get much less pay, but then they keep my boy for me, and I see him always, and that '» everything to me.* * Have you never been back to Sutton Valence, "Winny ? * * Never, Sir, and never shall ; leastways while my father lives. He was very cruel to me, Mr. John. I have a letter from Tom now and then. He 's doing very well, and going to take a wife shortly.* * "Winny ! whose is this boy ? * The question came out abruptly, and the woman to whom it was addressed reddened like a peony, beneath the serious, searching gaze which was directed towards her. ' Don't ask me, Mr. John, please ; I couldn't tell you! * * But suppose I 've guessed without your telling me, "Winny ? Suppose I know from his likeness to my step- brother, that his father's name is Leofric Temple ? ' * Oh ! Sir,' exclaimed the poor mother, as she caught the child to her breast ; ' Oh ! Sir, you won't tell it, will you — you won't say nothing ? ' ' Certainly not,' he replied ; ' I guessed it years ago, when I first saw your baby ; and I have never hinted as much to any one since. The secret is safe with me, Winny.' ' Mr. John,' she said excitedly, ' how is he ? ' * Do you never hear from him ? Has he never made the least effort to trace you ? ' She shook her head sadly. ' Perhaps you have not heard that his wife has run away from him then ? ' * Not she as was your lady, Mr. John ? Oh, I'm so sorry. Does he feel it much ! Poor Leo ! ' * I have never inquired whether he did or didn't,' replied John "Wardlaw, struck with the difference in her feeliugs on this subject and his own. ' He bitterly wronged both you and me, "Winny, but his reward has come to him without any seeking on our parts ; yet he deserved the worst we could have given him.' ' I loved him, Mr. John,' said Winifred Balchin with simple pathos. ' You are a woman, child, and I am a man, and that makes all the difference between our powers of forgiveness. And yet I suppose, of the two, he has injured you the most. He John IVardlaw Meets an Old Friend. r^i'^ only deprived me of a worthless wife, but lio robbed you oi what no time can restore.' ' But he loved me, ]\Ir. John, at the time, or ho thought so,' said poor Winny eagerly ; ' and if ho was Rick or in trouble to-morrow, and wanted me, I would go to iiim gladly. A woman can't forget her first love so easy as all that, Sir; and as for forgiveness, if the Lord will forgive my share iu the business, that 's all I can think of.' * "What 's the boy's name, Winny ? ' *A\"ell, Mr. John, his name is Leofric Benjamin, though I only call him " J3euny " because of his father's name being so noticeable.' * Here, Benny, my man,' said John Wardlaw, coaxing the child to his side, and putting some money into his hand, *you take that, and ask your mother next time she goes on shore to buy you something that shall remind her that she has taught me a lesson to-day that I shall not easily forget.' ' Oh, don't, Mr. John! ' commenced "VViuny, blushing as freely as of old. ' God bless you, Winny ! I must go now, and you will sail again to-morrow; but if you are not likely to visit Eangooii again soon, send me a line occasionally to say how you are, and what you are doing.' ' Oh, Mr. John! I shall be proud to do so,' she said. *And you won't think so hardly of poor Leo, Sir, for my Bake, will you ? He 's sinned deeply, I know, but he 's felt it deeply, you may be sure ; and we 've all so much need of forgiveness. Sir.' '1 know we have, Winny, and I will try to think more kindly of him. I should like to have seen more of you, bat I suppose you couldn't come on shore to see me.' ' Oh, no, Sir ! ' she replied, shrinkingly ; 'and the captiin won't like my talking so long to you as it is, I 'm afraid.' 'I will tell him we are old friends, if he says anything about it,' he replied, as he prepared to leave her. ' So good- bye, Winny, once more.' The young oiBcers were very merry, when John Wardlaw rejoined them, on the subject of his having found the society of the stewardess so engrossing, and still more surprised when he told them that he had discovered in her an old acquaintance, and native of hia English place of residence. 524 ^or Ever and Ever^ They were eager forthwith to learn something of her history and antecedents, but they found that it was useless to ply John Wardlaw with questions on that point. He soon dis- covered that she was supposed on board ship to be a young widow, and he kept up the idea ; but as she and her child had disappeared from the poop soon after he had left them., he had no further opportunity of speaking with her, until Arthur "Williams emerged from Captain Hawkins's cabin, and the two were prepared to leave the ' Eagle ' again. ' A prosperous voyage to you, old friend,' exclaimed "Wil- liams, as he shook hands with the captain, ' and may the "Eagle " skim across the Atlantic as if she had the wings of her namesake. The box for my mother shall be sent on board this evening. Come, Wardlaw ! ' and shortly after- wards they had remounted their horses, which had been waiting for them at the jetty, and were riding slowly home- wards. John Wardlaw proposed leaving his friend at a certain point of the road, as he had business to transact with Colonel Home. As they neared the spot, he said, thoughtfully, 'Williams, is it very wicked, do you think, to go on hating a person who has done you a great injury, and feeling as if you never could forgive him ? ' ' Very wicked,^ replied Arthur Williams with emphasis. * I think cherishing a revengeful spirit is what we should pray against most. It is so utterly foreign to anything like a religion whose foundation is love to all. I hope no such feeling possesses you, Wardlaw.' He spoke tenderly, for he had commenced to love this man who so often appeared to him to be blindly searching after the Truth. ' It has,' replied John Wardlaw humbly, ' but I will try and conquer it. Thank you, Williams, for speaking so frankly on the subject ; ' and waving the young missionary a hasty farewell, he turned quickly up the cross-road which led to the Commiaaioner's houae. S'lS CHAPTER XLII. HOW THEY TARED IN THE OLD COUNTRY. Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low. SUAKSPEARE. His own desire liaving obfninod so powerful an impetus by the advice of his friend, John AV^ardlaw followed the dictatt'3 of his heart, and wrote to Henrietta >Stuart. Only a few lines at first, which touched upon her I033 (now of some months' standing) and asked, on the score of old friendship, for tidings of her.■ .i33 OHAPTE-R XLTIL * pussy's answer.' If thou hast any love of mercy in thee, Turn me upon my face that I may die. Joanna Baillte. The real truth being tliat the letters by the Calcutta mail having been laid on the breakt'ast-table that morning, with the rest of the postman's favours, Pussy, looking so like the Pussy of old, with her bright hair displayed, and her pretty figure robed in black and white muslin, took up the thin envelope, addressed in the bold determined handwriting which she had come to know so well, which lay on her plate, and breakin": the seal, commenced to read its contents. But, after the perusal of the first few words, she had grown very rosy, and stolen a furtive glance at the laces of her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, however, were both occupied; he with a formidable-looking document from the Bishop of his diocese, and she with a voluminous epistle, crossed and re-crossed in scratchy female characters, the meaning of which she was patiently trying to decipher, by first holding the paper close to her nose, and then extendiuif it toarm'3length,whilst she knitted her brows and attempted in vain to guess at the hieroglyphics of her friend. Pussy still read on ; or rather, having finished her letter, which was not a very long one, she returned to the first lines, and recommenced its perusal; clasping the thin crackling paper tightly in her hands, as she went, as if she feared the precious words might vanish from her sight and melt into unreality. He loved her, and at last he had summoned up courage to tell her eo. At last, he had vanquished his pride and the ^^4 ^^'^ Ever and Ever. wretclied thought of the inequality of their positions, which had stood between him and his resolution hitherto ; had humbled himself to ask her to take him, if she loved him etill, because of his great love, and for that only. He would never be a dependant on her bounty, he would work with her, he said, to the last day of his life, but he felt that, without her, work had lost its power to make him forget, even for a season. He was panting for her, for the rest and the heaven of her love, and if it was no longer his, he did not care how soon he died. So he wrote in the fervour and passion of a feeling which had for the first time dared to hope. Henrietta Stuart read the letter several times, and then sank into a glowing reverie of coming happiness which, when her father, having spoken to her gently more than once, in- terrupted with a sudden shout, she, upset and terrified, changed into a burst of tears, — a rain of happy excited tears which wetted the thin paper they were shed upon, through and through. 'Pussy, my darling! what's the matter?' exclaimed her parents, with alarm. ' Father, he loves me still ! he loves me still ! ' she cried, relapsing into an emotion which threatened to become hy- sterical. ' He ! Who, my child ? ' said Mr. Stuart, with surprise *not, not ' ' Jack, papa ! Jack "Wardlaw. He always did. Oh ! thank God for all his mercy ! ' Mr. and Mrs. Stuart were astonished. They had always known that between their daughter and John Wardlaw a very strong intimacy existed, but they had never imagined this. That is to say, in the mother's breast, no suspicion of the kind had entered. With the father it had been difiierent, but neither had thought that it such a penchant ever existed, it still remained. ' John Wardlaw, Pussy, impossible ! ' said Mr. Stuart. ' Has he proposed tc " ou^ my dear ? ' asked Mrs. Stuart with feminine curiosity. Henrietta looked up and dried her tears. 'Of course he has,' she answered, smiling; 'it would De iittle use writing to say he loves me else.' * Piipa,' she added, turning to her father, ' the mail goea ' Pifssi/'s Answer.'' .-j^^ out this afternoon, may I write by it ; may I ariRwer liiin at once ? He says he shall be in such suspense till my letter arrives.' 'You are your own mistress, my child,' replied ^Ir. Stuart, almost sadly, as he thought how soon his pirl would again be his no longer. ' Do as you like ; don't ask me.' She had risen Irom her chair, and stood confronting theiru ' Oh ! but don't say that, father. I would never accept him, I would never accept any man, if you did not wish me to do so.' ' Henrietta,' said Mr. Stuart, ' if I must give you away aQ:ain so soon, there is no one that I would rather give you to tlian John AVardhiw. I love him dearly for his own sake, and shall do so doubly if he loves my child. And if you love him, dear, that is to say.' ' I do,' she whispered. 'And since when, Pussy ? ' ' Oh ! father, don't ask me ! ' and she cast a self-ieproach- ful look at the mourning dress. ' May I see Jack's letter, Puss ? ' She handed it over the breakfast-table to him directly, and stood with a heightened colour, and lips apart, as she watclied the play of his countenance whilst reading her lover's words. The letter was so honest, manly, and straightforward, it breathed such a spirit of humility, and dwelt so earnestly upon the fact of the length of time for which he had loved her hopelessly, that had the writer not been already en- deared to Mr. Stuart's heart, it must have worked powerfully in his I'avour. As he refolded the sheet, and gave it back to his daughter, her great grey eyes looked inquiringly into his. ' Answer it just as you think fit, Henrietta ! ' he said, as he encountered her glance. ' You have my full consent to the marriage ; for, as I 've always said, I don't believe there 's a finer fellow in the world than Jack AVardlaw. But you must make one stipulation with him, my dear. Ho may work as hard as he likes ; but he must work at Castle- maine. I can't part with my darling again, even as far as Kerrick Manor. And now, mamma, let you and 1 liav^ a talk over this surprising business together, whilst Puasy there writes her letter.' ^ois For Ever and Ever. And Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, after having kissed their daughter, left the room, and sought the rector's study for the purpose of discussing this wonderful thing which had come to pass, and to make retrospective notes, and rake up old stories together, that they might by some means puzzle out when on earth it could have been that their Pussy first commenced to cultivate an infatuation for their mutual favourite, John Wardlaw. It was nearly luncheon-time before Pussy herself knocked at the door of her father's study. He was alone again by that time, and as she replied to his ready ' come in,' and stood with her flushed and excited face before him, he thought he had never seen her look so attractive, even in the brightest days of her girlhood. In her hand she had an unfolded sheet of paper, and as she held it towards him, she said, lovingly : ' This is my answer to Jack, papa. I should like you to read it. I never wish to have any secrets from you about him again.' Mr. Stuart hesitated about accepting her offer. ' I have no wish to read it, my dear child ; such letters are usually kept private, and perhaps he ' * Not from such fathers as you ; and I want you to read it, papa. Of course it will seem rather silly to you, but you will forgive that, knowing how stupid I am at expressing tvhat I wish to say.' Her hand was still extended towards his, with the answer to her lover's proposal in it, and, hesitating no longer, her father took it from her, and read it. * Castlemaine, August 2. * If I had any words, my dearest, in which to tell you what I felt this morning at the receipt of your letter of the 12th of June, I would write them down here, but I have not. I can only thank God that he has permitted you to be faithful to me, and seen fit to give us the prospect of so happy a termination to our love. You ask me only to write back ^es, or no, to your question if I will be your wife. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, and God bless my husband that is to be. I have no false shame or pride in writing down here, that to be called upon to answer such a question on ' Pussy's Answer* 537 your part is all that I have ever dreamed of as happiness, and iarniore than 1 have dared to hoj)e would eome to pass. It seems a long time since we parted, dearest, in the very house from which I write, wlien we suftered such agony in parting, and thought it was for ever ; longer still since wo walked together in the fields behind your father's house, and you imburdened your aching heart to me. I remember all this, dear love, but I cannot remember the time when I did Dot love you. It has grown with my growth, and strengtli- ened with my strength, and if, in the very midst of our per- fected happiness, some cruel misfortune were again to part us, as I am now, so will I remain, for your sake, till death puts an end to all things for me. ' My father knows that I am writing to you ; lie will read this letter before it goes, and will, I trust, add a few lines from himself, so rest satisfied on that score. You will come to a real home, when you come back to me. ' And now, when will that be ? How soon after you re- ceive this letter shall I see you? AVrite and let me know at once ; suspense is worse to bear than anything else. Don't let it be long. We are not like happy lovers, who have but to ask and to have ; we have sutiered so bit- terly, and for such a length of time, that if our lives should extend to old age, it seems to me as if the recompense could never be too great. Besides, I shall tremble now every month that you stay in that treacherous climate, and be jealous of every mile that divides us. 'And if I have said more here than I ought to have said, remember that, even whilst I write this joyful letter, I know not if we shall ever meet again, and if i did, — I have loved you all my life. God bless you, dearest, and bring you home to us in safety. ' Tours till death, 'Pussy.* She stood blushing by his side till he had linislu.'d its perusal, and then she said, timidly, ' AVill you add a line, papa ? ' ' What can I add to this, Pussy ? ' * Tell him that you are glad for my sake, father; it will make him bo happy.* ^2 8 For Ever and Ever. So Mr. Stuart took up a pen and wrote across his daughter's letter, * Dear Jack,— Having read my girl's stupid letter, I find that she has not left me much to say, so all I will add is, come home as soon as you can to your ivife and your parejits. I only make one stipulation — that you never take her from us. As to money, we will discuss all that when we meet. ' Yours most truly, 'Heisrt Stuaet.' He folded up the slieet when he had finished writing and handed it back to her without a word, and she, fearing he was vexed, or thought her letter was unwomanly, said, with a certain tremble in her voice, as she received it, 'Father, have I written more than I ought to have written to him ; is my letter wrong ? If so, I will write it over again.' * No no, dear child, it does very well.' ' Then what is the matter, papa ? ' ' Henrietta, darling,' cried Mr. Stuart, suddenly clasping her in his arms, ' if what you have written is true (and I feel it is), and you knew of John AVardlaw's love for you before he left England, why did you marry Martin Stuart ? ' ' I had promised to do so, papa, long before I guessed that Jack cared for me, and when I thought of you, and ' ' You did it for me, Pussy ? for mi/ sake ? ' ' Father ; whose better could I do it for ? Have you not been everything to me from my childhood upwards — have you not loved and cherished me as no other father ever loved his daughter, and was any sacrifice on my part too great to save you and my mother and poor Martin pain ? ' He gazed at her fixedly, holding her by the arm for a few minutes, and then he suddenly released her and turned away distressfully. ' Oh ! Netta ! ' he exclaimed, ' my darling, my noble- hearted girl ! You did all this for me and for your cousin, and hid your own unhappy love meanwhile in your brave woman's heart. God bless you, girl ! ' he continued, looking at her with the profoundest admiration ; ' God bless your noble courage and reward it, as He will assuredly, though ^Pusfnfs Answer,' 539 we cannot tell how. But tliou She turned it over several times in her hands, her heart beating rapidly the while, before she ventured to open it. Perhaps a friend had directed it for him. But why ? Anything was better than suspense ; she tore it open. In another minute, her legs had carried her, God knows how, across the grounds to the glass doors which led to her father's study, where she beckoned hopelessly to him for admittance. He, terrified at her appearance, let her in at once. ' Pussy, darling, what 's the matter ? "What have you heard ? "What have you seen ? ' He might well ask her ; every limb was shivering as under the influence of a mortal dread ; her eyes were fixed ' Piissij^s /Insu'cr* 541 and her teeth chattering behind her trembling ashen-grey lips. ' Henrietta, my darling, what is it ? In God's name tell me the worst.' She pointed feebly to the letter she had received, and he took it up and skimmed its brief contents. * Good God ! ' he exclaimed, ' can it be possible ? ' and then he returned to his stricken child. ' Pussy, rouse yourself for my sake, dearest ; think of your poor father; this is the torture of hell to me.' Then she spoke in a constrained voice and harshly. ' Is there a God ? ' she muttered. ' My child, how can you ask me ? ' he replied reproach- fully, shocked at the question. ' Oh ! Pussy, don't break my heart, was he everything ? Am /not left ? ' ' Yes, yes ! ' she cried, Hinging herself upon her knees before him, as her dreadful apathy deserted her ; ' I know you are left ; and if yon love me, oh ! father, put a knife into my heart this day, and let me die.' As she knelt, so she fell, his pride and hope in one ; her graceful figure grovelling on the ground, agony in her eves and in her voice and gestures, and the letter she had received by the Calcutta mail crushed into nothing in her hand. 'J M 545 EPILOGUE. All was ended now ; the hope and the fear and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless unsatisfied lon^ :-""'• <''".„■, ,/••-» ■::'Wi .:'i- . '^^ '■ '■♦If 'r' ?■ . ■ ■'■■ •.*-;-.:;,, ■■.-'■ ■" t'-' "'v '' ■' ■3lt-i '■, {w ,1- If'' ■\ \\ m ■'U '>^ v^-^' V ,!'C: ^'•i'.