1 ! 
 
 
 
 Ill
 
 HECKINGTON. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. GORE. 
 
 Bewailing, in my chambere, all allone, 
 Despeiring of all joye or remedye, 
 
 Foretiret of my thocht, and woe-begone ! 
 Unto the windowe gin I walk in bye j 
 To see the world and folk that wend forbye ; 
 
 As, for the tyme, though I of mirthis fude 
 
 May have no moe, to luke it dothe me gude. 
 
 King James 1.(1325.) 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1858. 
 
 The right of Translation *
 
 J. Billing, Printer, 103, Hatton Garden, London, and Guildford, Surrey.
 
 v./ 
 
 HECKINGTON, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Tiny does not seem to have returned in 
 better spirits from the wedding at Clevelands. 
 — I was in hopes, my dear, that seeing some- 
 thing of the world, particularly in so gay a 
 scene, would brighten her up," said Mr. 
 Corbet to his invalid wife, as they sat together 
 over the cindery fire of a dark parlour, on a 
 cheerless winter day. 
 
 " Her spirits are never high. But she 
 enjoyed herself excessively ; and a civil line 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 688308
 
 2 HECKINGTON. 
 
 which she brought back to me from Mrs. 
 Horsford, mentioned that in her bridesmaid's 
 dress she really looked lovely." 
 
 "Which, if one didn't know that Mrs. 
 Horsford's civil lines are mere flummery, 
 would be a pleasant hearing. But I wish she 
 had brought back, instead, a cheerful face ; or 
 was sitting chatting with us here, instead of 
 moping in her own room." 
 
 « She is only gone to write a letter to her 
 Aunt Enmore, my dear. Probably, to give her 
 an account of the wedding. Tiny has seldom 
 much to write about,— poor thing !— " 
 
 " Nearly as much as Mrs. Enmore has to 
 answer, I suspect." 
 
 " But Tiny will have something to cheer 
 her up, next year," added Mrs. Corbet, in 
 whose monotonous life a year was as a day. 
 « Edgar will then be old enough for lessons." 
 
 Mr. Corbet could not but hint that a 
 spelling-book, and a dull child, were not 
 exactly the objects calculated to enliven a
 
 HECKINGTON, 3 
 
 pretty young girl of seventeen. — But his gentle- 
 hearted wife was not to be convinced. 
 
 "Tiny was so fond of the children! — She 
 had never been the same girl since Alfred 
 was taken from her hands to go to school ! — " 
 
 There was some excuse for her prejudice in 
 favour of the boys and their spelling-books. 
 - — They were her own, and the pretty young 
 girl of seventeen only her step-daughter. 
 
 A tenderer stepmother, however, never ex- 
 isted ; and, till six years old, Tiny not only 
 remained ignorant that her own mother had 
 died in child-bed; but, though two little 
 brothers were already born from her father's 
 second marriage, was still the spoiled child of 
 the family. Nay, of her two parents, Mrs. 
 Corbet was decidedly the fondest; and, but 
 that the expected arrival of a third olive 
 branch, rendering it desirable that Grenficld 
 House should be kept quiet for a time, deter- 
 mined her father to accept for her an often- 
 declined invitation to visit her maternal grand- 
 
 b 2
 
 4 HECKINGTON. 
 
 mother, in London, she would never have 
 surmised that her « dear, dear mamma" was 
 only a mamma by courtesy. 
 
 Not all the groundless complaints, however, 
 which she heard uttered to the old lady by the 
 nursemaid who had attended her from her 
 birth, and who accompanied her to town, could 
 persuade her to fancy herself aggrieved by the 
 number of nurselings who crowded her nursery, 
 and caused " poor little Miss Sophy to be 
 so turribly put upon." Even her grand- 
 mother, who had somewhat resented her son- 
 in-law's precipitate re-marriage (on the usual 
 plea of wanting some one to take care of his 
 motherless infant), was forced to admit that 
 the care had been admirably taken. 
 
 Still, as Mrs. Corbet's young progeny was 
 annually increasing, and her health becoming 
 daily more infirm, it was clear that as the 
 dimensions and income of Grenfield House 
 did not increase with the family, the comfort 
 of poor little Tiny was in danger ; and at the
 
 EECKINGTON. 5 
 
 end of a two months' visit, the child had 
 so endeared herself to Mrs. Rawdon, that 
 she finally obtained the sanction of the Corbets 
 to retain her as an inmate. 
 
 Still, it was the stepmother who most regret- 
 ted, and longest resisted, the concession. It was 
 only on learning from her husband that Tiny 
 was wholly unprovided for, and that Mrs. 
 Rawdon, if she took a fancy to her grandchild, 
 would most likely secure her an independence, 
 that she withdrew her opposition. Considering 
 all she was doing to encroach upon the little 
 girl's prospects, she must not stand in her 
 light. 
 
 The heart of the infirm young crowder of 
 the Grenfield House nursery was so much 
 better than her head, that she was not likely 
 to surmise how far greater might be the ad- 
 vantage to her stepchild of being reared as 
 little Tiny, by her father's homely fireside, 
 than as the Miss Corbet of her grandmother's 
 formal mansion in Harley Street. Her frocks
 
 6 HECKINGTON. 
 
 might have displayed less embroidery ; but, 
 instead of being prematurely governessed into 
 headaches, the child would have been tearing 
 about the Grenfield garden, with her little 
 brothers ; and escaped many a languid, dreary 
 hour, yearning after the caresses which, 
 in early childhood, had softened her little 
 
 heart. 
 
 For grandmamma was as cold as a stone. 
 She had claimed the care of " poor Sophia's 
 little girl" far more as a duty than a pleasure. 
 Her pride, which had revolted against her 
 daughter's derogatory marriage with a yeoman's 
 son, revolted equally against a grandchild of 
 her's being "put upon" in Mr. Corbet's 
 shabby household. But she chose to bring 
 her up in the same dry, disagreeable manner 
 she had brought up " poor Sophia and her 
 sister Jane ;" both of whom her crotchety 
 husband, the late Mr. Rawdon, detested, be- 
 cause they were girls ; and whom she had not 
 the grace to compensate by extra affection for
 
 HECKINGTON. 7 
 
 their father's unnatural estrangement. She 
 seemed, indeed, almost as much out of sorts 
 with their sex as the arrogant parent, who, 
 because designated in his County History as 
 "Rawdon of Heckington," resented as an 
 injury at the hands of Providence that to 
 " Heckington" there was no Arthur Rawdon 
 to succeed. 
 
 All the disappointed man could do with 
 two such unprofitable articles on his hands as a 
 Sophia and a Jane, was to marry them early, 
 in hopes that, at the time of his decease, an 
 heir-male might not be wanting ; and his 
 mortification was proportionably great, when 
 his elder girl chose to attach herself to the son 
 of a neighbouring gentleman farmer, of small 
 means ; who, as the united ages of father and 
 son did not amount to his own, had no means 
 of maintaining a Miss Rawdon of Heckington 
 in a style appropriate to her birth, even had 
 her parents stooped to sanction so humiliating 
 an alliance.
 
 8 HECKINGTON. 
 
 The marriage, therefore, was deferred, and 
 the squire forced to content himself with 
 matching his younger girl with a handsome 
 and wealthy Creole, of the name of Enmore ; 
 who, within three years, rendered him the 
 proud grandfather of two promising boys. 
 
 From that period, poor Sophia was allowed 
 to fret away her days unmolested. Nor was 
 it till six years after her first betrothal to 
 Henry Corbet, that the sudden death of his 
 father, and his accession to a small estate, 
 enabled him to transfer his bride from the 
 stately old mansion of Heckington to the Gren- 
 field House, which, small and dull as it was, 
 she regarded as a paradise on earth. 
 
 But she reached her paradise too late. 
 Her girlhood was gone. Her health was gone. 
 And though, on perceiving that she gave 
 promise of increasing his posterity, " Uawdon of 
 Heckington" executed a new will, bequeathing 
 to her and her heirs-male the whole of his 
 property, on condition that they successively
 
 HECKINGTON. 9 
 
 assumed his name and arms, the bequest was 
 invalidated by a stipulation that, at her death, 
 in the event of her leaving daughters only, 
 the estate was to pass to the sons of her sister, 
 attended with similar conditions. 
 
 She did not leave "daughters." She left 
 but one ; and it was even surmised that 
 vexation on learning the sex of the unwelcome 
 infant, had hastened her end. For already, 
 the Corbets were in possession of Heckington 
 Hall. The pompous old gentleman had died 
 within a few months of signing his will ; — 
 frightened out of his life, as many others have 
 been, by an operation certifying his mortality ; 
 and, in compliance with his desire that the 
 coming heir should be born under the roof of 
 his forefathers, poor Sophia had undergone a 
 hasty removal to her new home, the fatigue of 
 which unluckily accelerated the advent of a 
 still-born son. 
 
 All satisfaction in the possession of Heck- 
 ington was consequently destroyed for a time.
 
 10 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Nay, for a long time. Two years elapsed, 
 and no signs of a successor to the little mar- 
 tyr ! Old Mrs. Rawdon had taken up, with 
 dowagerly dignity, her abode in Harley Street. 
 Mr. Corbet had advertised Grenfield House 
 to be let ; and was devoting himself to the 
 improvement of the fine estate to which he 
 had succeeded. But, already, the neighbours 
 began to surmise that he was labouring for 
 the benefit of others ;— that Mrs. Enmore and 
 her handsome sons would succeed to Heck- 
 
 ington Hall. 
 
 It is surprising, by the way, how much the 
 joint-stock gossip of country neighbourhoods 
 is enlivened by contingencies arising from the 
 eccentricity of English wills. Scarcely a 
 county whose dinner-parties cannot turn out 
 their bagged fox, of some heir dispossessed, or 
 entail created, by the caprices of a wilful, self- 
 sufficient, or half- cracked testator. 
 
 But the dinner parties of Hertfordshire did 
 more than discuss the event. They were sin-
 
 HECKINGTON. 11 
 
 cerely grieved, when, four years after the 
 tardy marriage of the Corbets, they dispos- 
 sessed themselves of the Rawdon estates, by 
 the birth of a daughter ; — Mr. Corbet to return 
 to Grenfield House, for which lie had luckily 
 found no tenant — " poor Sophia" to take up 
 her abode in her last home ! — 
 
 So resentful, indeed, were the neighbours of 
 old Mr. Rawdon's testamentary dispositions — - 
 for the Corbets had been gentle in their rule 
 at Heckington, and kindly in their hospitality, 
 — that when, little more than a twelvemonth 
 after the decease of his wife, the widower 
 secured a successor for poor Sophia in the 
 youthful daughter of the curate of the parish, 
 they not only found no fault with his selection, 
 but affected to believe that it was solely for 
 the sake of little Tiny he had provided her 
 with a stepmother scarcely out of her teens. 
 
 It was only the venerable Mrs. Rawdon who 
 resented his precipitancy. Though she and 
 her obdurate husband had chosen to render
 
 12 HECKINGTON. 
 
 miserable so many years of their daughter 
 Sophia's life, she had become " poor Sophia," 
 now that she was in a better world ; and as 
 Henry Corbet had waited half-a-dozen years 
 for her hand, it was clear that another half- 
 dozen should have elapsed before he sued for 
 the hand of another. The dowager was con- 
 sequently intitled to turn her back upon the 
 plebeian family at Grenfield House ; which she 
 could do with perfect ease, at the distance 
 of forty miles. Heckington was deserted, 
 and her daughter Enmore settled in Jamaica ; 
 where the valuable plantations of her husband 
 were far more important to his interests than 
 the English property in which his wife had 
 only a life interest, as locum tenens for her 
 
 elder son. 
 
 When little Tiny became her grandmother's 
 guest in Harley Street, however, this elder 
 son was at Eton, and his brother Willy at the 
 Charter House : and though occasional visit- 
 ors to old Mrs. Rawdon, they found her house
 
 HECKINGTON. ] 3 
 
 so much less jolly than those of their father's 
 agent, Mr. Harman, at Wimbledon and in 
 Bedford Square, — that their visits began late in 
 the holidays, and ended early : — the manners 
 and customs of dowagers and public school- 
 boys being rarely found to dovetail.
 
 ]4 HECKINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Tint was just fourteen, and the heavy part 
 of her education was over, when her grand- 
 mother died ; — if life her semi-existence, 
 without love, without cheerfulness, without 
 intellectual pursuits, could properly be called. 
 Mrs. Rawdon never opened a book, — never 
 opened a heart,— was neither pious, nor re- 
 signed, nor thankful; so that when an era- 
 blazoned achievement brightened the dull front 
 of her dingy mansion in Hailey Street, no one
 
 HECKINGTOX. 15 
 
 shed a tear but Miss Corbet's governess, 
 who received her dismissal from the exe- 
 cutors. — The servants, to whom, according to 
 old custom in old families, a year's wages 
 had been bequeathed, went on their way 
 rejoicing. 
 
 The heart of her granddaughter, though 
 awed and saddened by the first aspect of death, 
 was speedily relieved by her return to Grenfield 
 House ; which., in spite of the frequent protests 
 of Harley Street, she had always persisted in 
 calling "home." Though a transition from 
 the domestic comfort afforded by two thousand 
 a year, to the privations necessitated by four 
 hundred and a familv of children, might to 
 many girls have appeared irksome, Miss Corbet 
 (whose pet name of Tiny had only been 
 bestowed because, immediately after her 
 mother's death, that of Sophia gave pain to 
 the hearers,) was too happy to be loved and 
 caressed, with little romping brothers climbing 
 her knees, to discover the toughness of the
 
 1(3 HECKINGTOK. 
 
 mutton, or the coarseness of the damask on 
 which it was served. 
 
 It was summer-time; and for years, she 
 had enjoyed the sunshine of Heaven only 
 amidst the sooty bushes of Cavendish Square, 
 or the platitudes of the Regent's Park ;— and to 
 have the run of a garden and paddock, without 
 a green veil, and be called "darling" on her 
 return, was almost sufficient happiness for 
 
 Tiny. 
 
 But the cold, loveless habits in which she 
 had been reared, had not only created a craving 
 in her young heart for the tenderness of 
 domestic life, but rendered her prematurely 
 thoughtful. After a week's prodigality of rural 
 pleasures, she saw that, in a household so con- 
 tracted as that of Grenfield House, it behoved 
 her to be useful. She became the teacher of 
 her little brothers, and a vigilant atten- 
 dant on the sick couch of poor Mrs. Corbet. 
 The second boy, Clement, died a few months 
 afterwards, the victim of an accident; and the
 
 HECKINGTON. 17 
 
 grief occasioned in the affectionate little circle 
 by the sad event, for a time absorbed its 
 faculties. Alfred, however, remained the 
 charge of his stepsister ; and when, three years 
 afterwards, he was placed at a neighbouring 
 grammar-school where he did ample credit to 
 his tutor, Tiny discovered that, in forwarding 
 his education, she had considerably advanced 
 her own. 
 
 Such was the state of things at Grenfield 
 at the moment of the wedding at Clevelands. 
 Alfred was at school, Edgar still in the nursery, 
 Mrs. Corbet a permanent fixture on the parlour 
 sofa. Aunt Jane, now a widow, was residing 
 in Hertford Street, May Fair ; her son Arthur, 
 already " Rawdon of Heckington," at College, 
 and her younger, William, completing his 
 education at Dresden. The fortune of five 
 thousand pounds bequeathed to Miss Corbet 
 by her grandmother, was not to come into her 
 possession till she attained her majority ; or 
 the shabby old furniture of the Grenfield 
 
 vol. i. c 

 
 13 HECKINGTON. 
 
 parlour would have been renovated, and a 
 stout cob have replaced the shambling shooting 
 pony of her father. But an allowance of a 
 hundred a year was assigned her, meanwhile, 
 by Mrs. Rawdon's executor ; a clever, gentle- 
 manly solicitor, who would have doubled the 
 amount, but that he discerned in his first short 
 interview with his ward, that not a penny of 
 it would be appropriated to her own use. 
 Nor did he think it desirable that, her father 
 being able to maintain her, she should con- 
 tribute, as she desired, the remainder of her 
 income towards the household expenses. If 
 she should make a poor marriage, the accumu- 
 lations of her minority might be important to 
 
 her. 
 
 Between Greufield House and the neigh- 
 bourhood, meanwhile, there was no excess of 
 sympathy. The Corbeta had neither health 
 nor fortune to be hospitable ; and though, had 
 their hundreds per annum been thousands, 
 people would have felt considerable interest in
 
 HECKINGTON. 1 9 
 
 the better or worse of the feeble invalid, or 
 had they been tens of thousands would have 
 despatched messengers on horseback to en- 
 quire after her sick headache, Mrs. Corbet's 
 habitual sofa, and invalid's cap and shawl, had 
 come to be considered a bore. Once a year, 
 was as much as anybody cared to be glad or 
 sorry for her in a morning visit ; and as Tiny 
 was always in the schoolroom, the neighbouring 
 squires persisted in asking after her, of her 
 father, as his " little girl." She had never 
 yet appeared in other than girlish attire. She 
 had never answered their salutations without 
 blushing and stammering. And as Grenfield 
 House gave no dinners, and had no manor to 
 shoot over, they were justified in regarding 
 her as an insignificant little thing, unworthy 
 consideration. 
 
 It was, therefore, a vast condescension on 
 the part of the Horsfords of Clevelands, to 
 invite her to become one of the bridesmaids of 
 their daughter Amy, on her marriage with Sir 
 
 c 2
 
 20 HECKINGTON. 
 
 James Armstead. So at least thought Tiny ; 
 and, though her father was of opinion that his 
 dear " little girl" was worthy to be Maid of 
 .Honour to Majesty itself, even Mrs. Corbet 
 trembled at the idea of her stepdaughter, ar- 
 rayed in silk attire, and bewildered by the 
 tumult of a fashionable wedding. The gay 
 and fashionable Horsfords, however, were not 
 to be denied ; and, as they did not think it 
 necessary to state that Miss Corbet was invited 
 only as a substitute, at the last moment, for 
 a capricious niece, the fact that a beautiful 
 bridesmaidenly costume was forwarded from 
 Clevelands to Grenfield House, was considered 
 a token of more than neighbourly good will. 
 
 Henry Corbet, though he had progressed 
 into grey hairs and the rheumatism, was moved 
 almost to tears when he saw his little girl 
 suddenly transformed, by lace and white 
 satin, into a young woman if not beautiful, 
 at least strikingly pleasing; and it sorely 
 vexed Mrs. Corbet that her boy Alfred
 
 HECKINGTON. 21 
 
 could not see how pretty his teacher-sister 
 looked, when relieved from her brown holland 
 pinafore ! 
 
 But the happiest and proudest of the party- 
 was Tiny. With all the sanguine elation 
 of girlhood she stepped into the carriage 
 despatched for her from Clevelands. In the 
 anspicious wedding of Sir James Armstead 
 and Amy Horsford, the pleasantness of her 
 life was beginning. She was going into new 
 scenes, among new people kindly disposed 
 towards her ; in a new dress, in which she 
 was said to look charming. What could girl 
 wish for more ? 
 
 Had Grenfield House been a subscriber to 
 Hookham's, or Mudie's " Select Libraries," the 
 well-read novice would have been aware that, 
 under such circumstances, she was intitled in 
 this, the first chapter of the first volume of 
 her adventures, to make a conquest of some 
 importance. An Honourable Frederick, or 
 at the least, a baronet's son, ought to fall
 
 22 HECKINGTON. 
 
 to her share. But, ignorant of her privileges 
 as a heroine, she thought herself lucky to be 
 taken in to the wedding-breakfast by the tutor 
 of the Master Horsfords ; and at the merry 
 ball which closed the ceremonies of the day, 
 exulted at being invited to dance by a succes- 
 sion of lanky-haired striplings. 
 
 So far from finding the dark eyes of a 
 mustachioed stranger fixed upon her in startled 
 admiration, the only person whom she de- 
 tected gazing upon her was old Dr. Ashe; 
 who, having vaccinated poor Tiny in her baby- 
 hood, took a strong interest in the state of 
 her complexion. 
 
 It was not, however, disappointed ambition 
 which, while Mr. and Mrs. Corbet were dis- 
 cussing her the following day in the parlour, 
 caused the head of Tiny to rest heavily upon 
 her hand, instead of rushing at once, for the 
 benefit of her aunt Enmore, into the details 
 of the Clevelands' wedding. She had not 
 heart to write about wedding favours and
 
 HECKINGTON. 23 
 
 wedding cake. — She was thoroughly out of 
 spirits. 
 
 At the gay scene of the preceding day, 
 amid the clash of the brass-band and the 
 illuminations of the evening ball, when healths 
 were drunk with cheers at the breakfast, and 
 the bride at parting wept on the neck of her 
 mother, a sense of loneliness had weighed her 
 down. Troops of friends had rushed forward 
 to shake hands with the lovely Amy, as, on 
 the arm of her bridegroom, she proceeded to 
 their travelling carriage. Hundreds of genial 
 voices responded when the health of the new 
 Lady Armstead was proposed. For she was 
 the centre of attraction to a little world of 
 her own. 
 
 But for herself, the poor little bridesmaid, 
 what mortal cared ? Had her marriage been 
 in process of solemnization that winter's 
 morning, who would have officiated as her 
 bridesmaid, — who would have huzzaed in her 
 honour, — who would have dried her farewell
 
 24 HECEXNGTON. 
 
 tears ?— Mrs. Corbet, daily more infirm, thought 
 only of her pains and aches. Her father, em- 
 barrassed in his circumstances, cared chiefly 
 for the amount of his weekly bills. Alfred 
 was engrossed by football and Latin grammar. 
 Little Edgar preferred his old nurse to the 
 sister who was to teach him to spell. In the 
 old Slough of Despond in Harley Street, she 
 had been forbidden to form childish friend- 
 ships. Her spirited young Enmore cousins 
 had systematically made her a butt. The 
 Horsfords were worldly girls, who despised 
 her as a country cousin. She was conscious of 
 no human sympathy. She was alone— alone 
 in the world ! — 
 
 But was this always to be ? Was she to 
 remain thus sequestered from the friendships 
 and acquaintanceships of life? Was she to 
 be a perpetual nonentity; unable to take 
 part in, or even to comprehend, such con- 
 versation as she had overheard at Clevelands ; — 
 neither very learned, nor very wise, but as
 
 HECKINGTON. 25 
 
 strange to her as if it had been uttered in 
 Arabic. 
 
 She could bear it now, perhaps : because, 
 as Mrs. Corbet often reminded her, next year 
 little Edgar would be in want of lessons, and 
 occupy all her time. But when Edgar, in his 
 turn, went off like Alfred to the Aldenham 
 grammar school and trapball, what was to 
 become of her from morning till night at 
 Grenfield, between her silent father and his 
 moaning wife ? 
 
 Aspiring at once to intellectual intercourse 
 and the giddier pleasures of life, poor Tiny 
 little knew the advantages she enjoyed in 
 that dull, peaceful household ; where not a 
 syllable prejudicial to a fellow-creature had 
 ever reached her ear, or an unkind word re- 
 proached her own shortcomings. What fruit 
 of the tree of knowledge, however high-fla- 
 voured, would yield her half such refreshment 
 as this blessed impunity ! — 
 
 Experience had not yet taught her that there
 
 26 HECKINGTON. 
 
 was more of human kindness in the simplest 
 phrase of her ailing stepmother, than in all 
 the studied compliments and set smiles of the 
 affable lady of Clevelands ; whose chief oc- 
 cupation in life was that of throwing powdered 
 sugar, by way of dust, into the eyes of her 
 associates. Mrs. Horsford's cajolements had 
 not only taken the poor girl's reason prisoner ; 
 but, aided by compassionate condolences, con- 
 vinced her that her isolated existence was the 
 subject of commiseration to the whole neigh- 
 bourhood of Grenfield. 
 
 All this, it was, that caused poor Tiny to 
 deliberate over the sheet of paper extended 
 on her blotting-book, ere she addressed her 
 aunt Enmore. She was at no loss to describe 
 the beauty of Lady Armstead's Brussels veil, 
 or the mythological devices that adorned her 
 wedding-cake. But she scarcely knew how to 
 express, without offence to her parents or 
 humiliation to herself, that the invitation so 
 often reiterated by her aunt to spend a few
 
 HECKXNGTON. 27 
 
 weeks or even months, with her in town, would, 
 if again repeated, be particularly acceptable. 
 
 At length, however, it was written. The 
 letter was despatched, and answered, and 
 Tiny's proposal of her company warmly ac- 
 cepted, before she had recovered her amaze- 
 ment at having risked so strong a measure. 
 
 In another week, she was settled under the 
 roof of Mrs. Enmore ; her father, much on the 
 same grounds which had originally determined 
 him to part with her in favour of her grand- 
 mother, having not only consented to the 
 arrangement, but escorted her to town. 
 
 " You must not fret at leaving home, my 
 dear girl," said he; "for, now you have lost 
 Alfred, it is no longer the same place to you. 
 But keep up your spirits, Tiny. During your 
 absence, I shall be getting on with Edgar; 
 and I hope to push him into two syllables, for 
 you, by the time you return to Grenfield 
 House."
 
 28 HECKINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was, perhaps, because Mrs. Enmore was 
 conscious that her own offspring had super- 
 seded her niece in the inheritance seemingly 
 apportioned to her by nature, that she so 
 readily accepted her offered company ; for she 
 was neither a hospitable, nor an open-hearted 
 woman. Her secretive nature rendered her 
 averse to intimate companionship of any kind. 
 The Rawdons of Heckington had been sys- 
 tematically reserved with their children.
 
 HECKINGTON. 29 
 
 Her late husband was so unmitigated a tyrant, 
 that during her married life, she had been 
 as much a slave as any nigger on the Fred- 
 ville plantation; and though now completely 
 her own mistress, the habits of mysterious- 
 ness — not to say deception — she had acquired 
 during this long subjection, retained their 
 mastery over her nature. 
 
 Hating to be questioned, whether about 
 trifles or things important, she carefully re 
 frained from questioning. But the self-control, 
 which restricted to her eyes the curiosity usually 
 expressed by the voice, imparted a restless, 
 prying look to a face otherwise handsome. 
 
 To her niece, who for the last three years 
 had been living at Grenfield between two of 
 the most open-hearted of human beings, 
 nothing appeared more extraordinary than 
 the " Pray don't mention it again," or, " Pray 
 be on your guard," which prefaced even the 
 slightest of Mrs. Enmore's observations. She 
 spoke in an habitual whisper, from fear of
 
 30 HECKINGTON. 
 
 listeners at the door; and would scarcely 
 express an opinion that the day was cold, till 
 the servant who was putting on coals had 
 quitted the room. 
 
 After a few days' residence, it struck poor 
 Tiny that Mrs. Enmore's house and habits 
 were far less cheerful than formerly,— a change 
 she ascribed to the absence of her noisy 
 cousins ; forgetting that a visit to aunt En- 
 more had afforded a pleasant escape from 
 Harley Street and her school-room tasks ; 
 whereas she had now to compare it with a 
 home where the name of Tiny was a house- 
 hold word and she scarcely knew herself as 
 Miss Corbet. 
 
 Still, though the prim aunt, who, with the 
 aid of hair and teeth thirty years younger than 
 her own, preserved a false appearance of juve- 
 nility, damped all attempts at conversation, 
 she enjoyed in Hertford Street the pleasant 
 companionship of the large and well-chosen 
 library of the late Mr. En more.
 
 HECKINGTON. 31 
 
 A volume or two on farriery or farming, 
 Graham's Domestic Medicine, and the boys' 
 school-books and Robinson Crusoe, had 
 comprised the literary treasures of Grenfield 
 House ; and the few books she had brought 
 from Harley Street, chiefly gaudily bound 
 prize-books, presented to her by her grand- 
 mother or governess, had been read and re-read 
 till both the gilding and charm were worn 
 away. But now, she plunged unchecked into 
 a sea of enjoyment ; and aunt Enmore was 
 never better pleased than when she found her 
 book in hand. " Books were safe com- 
 panions ;" that is, with certain restrictions. 
 
 " Her niece," she hinted, " should be verv 
 cautious in talking about the works, she read. 
 Promiscuous reading was generally disap- 
 proved, and young ladies who incurred the 
 charge of being blue were regarded with sus- 
 picion." 
 
 It was easy to observe the injunction ; for 
 with the exception of a flighty spinster, a
 
 32 HECKIXGTON. 
 
 cousin of both, Mrs. Enmore's intimates con- 
 sisted of a few Creole families,— uninteresting, 
 unintellectual people, whose conversation, like 
 her own, was restricted to the discussion of 
 the weather, and whose boudoirs, like her 
 own, were ornamented with madrepores, shells, 
 and corals; while the visits occasionally in- 
 flicted by the loquacious Lucretia Rawdon, 
 were occupied by a series of guerilla skir- 
 mishes on the part of the nimble- tongued 
 guest, and of agonised "hush, hushes !" on that 
 of her kinswoman. 
 
 "Why, Tiny has grown quite a beauty!" 
 cried Lucretia, the first time she installed her- 
 self by the fireside in Hertford Street, after 
 Miss Corbet's arrival. "A thousand pities 
 her grandmother did not do something hand- 
 somer for her ! Two hundred a-year won't 
 go far to marry a girl in these prodigal times. 
 To be sure, poor Mrs. Rawdon had only her 
 jointure; and her servants who kept her in lead- 
 ing-strings, Jane, as yours do you, took care
 
 HECKINGTOX. 33 
 
 she shouldn't lay by much for the benefit 
 of her family. They would hardly allow me 
 a sight of the old lady during the last few 
 years of her life, lest I should be on the look- 
 out for a legacy. And I can't say, cousin 
 Jane, that even your surly Mr. Harding is 
 much civiller. This very morning, he looked 
 as if he would have liked to shut the door in 
 my face." 
 
 " Hush, hush !" murmured Mrs. Enmore, — 
 glancing anxiously at the inner drawing-room, 
 where Harding might possibly be employed 
 in watering the hyacinths ; and where her 
 niece was busy with her books. 
 
 " But as I was saying about Tiny Corbet," 
 resumed Miss Rawdon, changing her topic 
 without lowering her shrill double-edged voice, 
 "I suppose, by your establishing such a pretty 
 girl under your roof, you intend her to become 
 Mrs. Rawdon of Heckington?" 
 
 " Hush, hush ! You don't know what you 
 
 VOL, I. D
 
 34 HECKINGTON. 
 
 are talking about !" again murmured poor 
 Mrs. Enmore,— but still in vain. 
 
 " I know very well what I'm talking about ; 
 and I know what your poor mother's wishes 
 were on the subject. But it won't do, Jane. 
 As soon as Arthur makes his appearance in 
 the world, you'll hear very different news of 
 him.— It would never suit that scamp of a 
 friend of his, Bob Horsford, to allow him to 
 
 marry Tiny." 
 
 Finding both gestures and entreaties un- 
 availing to silence the uncompromising spinster, 
 Mrs. Enmore rose and glided across the room, 
 intending to close the door of communication. 
 Long before she reached it, however, Miss 
 Corbet, with a glowing, face appeared on the 
 threshold. 
 
 "My cousin Lucretia can scarcely intend 
 me to hear what she is saying," she observed. 
 " Shall I take my book to my own room, till 
 she is gone ?" 
 
 " No, my dear, by no means 1" cried Miss
 
 HECKINGTON. 35 
 
 Rawdon, starting up and dragging her to a 
 vacant chair by the fireside. " It will do you 
 worlds of good, Tiny, to hear a little matter- 
 of-fact. Forewarned is forearmed, my dear ; 
 and you'll learn more from me in a single 
 hour, than from Jane, there, in a twelvemonth. 
 It has been a great deal too much the habit of 
 the Rawdons to bottle up their small beer; 
 and you ought to be told before Arthur 
 comes home from Oxford, to look sharp after 
 your heart." 
 
 " You have forgotten our old Harley Street 
 acquaintance, 3 ' said Miss Corbet, who would 
 have laughed outright, but for the manifest 
 displeasure of her aunt ; " when the visits of 
 Arthur and Willy used to make the misery of 
 my life. The days they occasionally spent with 
 grandmamma always ended, on my part, in a 
 flood of tears." 
 
 "Well, take care that the months which 
 Arthur is coming to spend with his mamma 
 don't end, on your part, in another flood of 
 
 d 2
 
 36 HECKINGTON. 
 
 tears. Arthur Raw don's heart is as cold as a 
 stone, and his temper as fierce as a hyaena's. 
 'Tis for your poor mother's sake I tell you 
 so, Tiny,— for I loved her dearly. And so 
 good bye, before Jane Enmore rings the bell 
 for Harding to open the door. Don't look 
 so frightened, child !— She has not spirit to 
 do more than bid him, when my back is 
 turned, say not at home to me the next time 
 
 I call." 
 
 After the hurried exit of the whimsical 
 spinster, Mrs. Enmore endeavoured to conceal 
 her face from her niece's observation, by so 
 vigorous an attack upon the fire, as to excuse 
 her heightened colour when she resumed her 
 
 place. 
 
 " A strange, misgoverned creature, poor 
 Lucretia !" said she, significantly tapping her 
 forehead ; " not quite right in the upper story. 
 There was once a talk in the family of having 
 her shut up. But be very careful, my dear 
 Tiny, never to mention it. If the story got
 
 HECKINGTON. 37 
 
 into circulation, it might do us all harm. 
 Above all, pray never let any rambling non- 
 sense you may hear from her, make any 
 impression on your mind." 
 
 To the queerness of the eccentric spinster, 
 Miss Corbet had been accustomed in her 
 childhood. In Harley Street, the name of 
 Rawdon had ensured her toleration ; and even 
 at Heckington, she was allowed elbow-room, 
 just as a stag-horned old oak was permitted 
 here and there in the park; — a privileged 
 eyesore, — a denizen of the place, — sacred to 
 the memory of Rawdons dead and gone. 
 
 But though it was easy to promise com- 
 pliance with the injunctions of her aunt, the 
 " impression" was already made. Sophia now 
 discerned, or fancied she discerned why, since 
 her arrival, Aunt Enmore had been so guarded 
 in talking of her sons. Even to Heckington 
 Hall, she alluded with the most circumspect 
 reserve ; and but that her elder cousin bore 
 the name of Rawdon, Miss Corbet would have
 
 38 HECKINGTON. 
 
 remained in doubt to which of the two it 
 belonged. Though situated within ten miles 
 of Grenfield House, even her father never 
 visited the place, or mentioned it in her 
 hearing. But this, Tiny ascribed to its con- 
 nection with the still lamented death of her 
 mother. 
 
 And now, the rash garrulousness of Lucre- 
 tia had perpetuated the mystery. Not another 
 question could she ask; and when Arthur 
 made his appearance, he must be treated with 
 studied coldness. A sad disappointment! — 
 For though, as a child, she had disliked 
 and feared the young Enmores, she had 
 hoped that, as they had now outgrown the 
 age of tormenting cats and little cousins, they 
 might form pleasant companions. She was 
 sadly in want of some one with whom to talk 
 over Scott's novels, and Byron's poetry ; and a 
 lively cousin Arthur, a gay Oxonian, esta- 
 blished by their fireside in Hertford Street, 
 would certainly render it more cheerful.
 
 HECKINGTON. 39 
 
 Fireside pleasures, however, were becoming 
 daily of less importance. Spring was breaking ; 
 and Mrs. Enmore, like other middle-aged 
 ladies hybernated in London, grew less torpid 
 as the great annual duty of card-leaving roused 
 her into vitality. To the inexperienced country 
 girl, the empty ceremony of pasteboard trans- 
 fer, appeared a chilly mode of loving your 
 neighbour as yourself. But it pleased her, at 
 all events, that it should have served to deposit 
 on Mrs. Enmore's hall table the names of 
 Mrs. and the Miss Horsfords and of Sir James 
 and Lady Armstead, bringing with them re- 
 miniscences of " home." 
 
 On suggesting this, however, to her aunt, 
 she found that the acquaintanceship was not 
 to be cultivated. Mrs. Enmore intended simply 
 to return the cards. The Horsfords, she 
 said, were old Heckington neighbours, with 
 whom she had no desire to keep up an inti- 
 macy. Mrs. Horsford was — (but she must 
 earnestly impress upon her niece the propriety
 
 40 HECKINGTON. 
 
 of not repeating her opinion,) — a very artful 
 woman, who had motives of her own in making 
 so early a call. 
 
 Another disappointment ! But before poor 
 Tiny had time to fret over it, her better star 
 defeated the churlishness of her aunt. On 
 taking her solitary morning-walk, next day, 
 in the Apsley Gardens adjoining Hertford 
 Street, of which Mrs. Enmore had a key, 
 she was warmly greeted by a lady, whose 
 rich dress had from a distance attracted her 
 attention. 
 
 Lady Armstead seemed sincerely glad to 
 meet her little bridesmaid. 
 
 " But why did you never tell us at Cleve- 
 lands, my dear Tiny," said she, " that 
 you were coming to spend the season in 
 town?" 
 
 " My visit to my aunt was not then settled. 
 And I can scarcely call it spending the season 
 in town ; for Mrs. Enmore does not mix 
 in society. The utmost I am likely to see of
 
 HECKINGTON. 4 1 
 
 the gay world, is from our windows in Hert- 
 ford Street, rolling at a distance in its carriages 
 along Park Lane." 
 
 Lady Armstead looked steadily for a mo- 
 ment into the pretty face by which this state- 
 ment was made ; and saw that Miss Corbet 
 spoke in a cheerful tone, without the smallest 
 project of fastening herself upon a fashionable 
 friend. 
 
 " But you are not inextricably tied to the 
 apron-strings of Aunt Enmore?" said she. 
 — " You will surely be allowed to drive with 
 me occasionally, or even accompany me to 
 the opera ?" 
 
 " Never having foreseen so pleasant a 
 chance," was her frank reply, " I have 
 no idea what my aunt, who is very pre- 
 cise in her notions, might decide. But I 
 am not the less grateful for your kind 
 suggestion." 
 
 "Let us hasten off at once to Hertford 
 Street, then, and surprise her into acquies-
 
 42 HECKINGTON. 
 
 cenee," said Lady Armstead, who, having 
 known Mrs. En more from childhood, was 
 aware of her impracticable nature. 
 
 " My aunt is never visible at this hour. If 
 you will give me leave, I will make the in- 
 quiry, and let you know," rejoined Miss 
 Corbet, conscious how little Mrs. Enmore 
 would like to be surprised in her dressing- 
 gown, fidgeting over her account-books. 
 
 " As you please, my dear. But you are 
 wrong. She is far more likely to refuse, if 
 taken at leisure. Not that I or mine are 
 favourites with Mrs. Enmore. Arthur, whom 
 we all knew and liked as a boy at Heckington, 
 and who became at Eton the chum of my 
 wild brother Bob, is, or was, or fancied himself 
 in love with Elorence ; and his mother, who 
 entertains other projects for him, and is am- 
 bitious of a ladyship for a daughter-in-law, as 
 of any other unattainable luxury, has expressed, 
 in anything but pleasant terms, her objection 
 to the match,"
 
 HECKINGTON. 43 
 
 " And so they aere forced to give it up ?" 
 said Tiny, a little surprised. 
 
 " Ce qui est differe n est point perdu. Though 
 they cannot marry to live on air, or on five 
 hundred a year, (all the chancellor allows 
 him, which is pretty much the same thing,) 
 Mrs. Enmore cannot live for ever; and at 
 her death, he comes into the enjoyment of 
 Heckington." 
 
 A little ashamed that a comparative stranger 
 should know so much more than herself of her 
 family affairs, Miss Corbet relieved herself 
 by observing that the engaged lovers would 
 shortly meet, as Arthur was expected in 
 town. 
 
 " Not at present, I fancy," rejoined Lady 
 Armstead. " He writes word that, as soon as 
 they tear themselves away from Paris, they 
 are to proceed to Switzerland. I should not 
 be much surprised if they spent next winter 
 in Rome." 
 
 " TJtcy ?" — reiterated the astonished Tiny;
 
 44 HECKINGTON. 
 
 " We seem to misunderstand each other. I 
 was alluding to my elder cousin, Arthur, 
 who is just about to take his degree." 
 
 " My dear good child," exclaimed her com- 
 panion, stopping short for a deliberate ex- 
 amination of Miss Corbet's honest face, " is 
 it possible that gutta-percha old aunt of yours 
 has managed to keep you so completely in 
 the dark? — Arthur Rawdon took his degree 
 — honours, too — and made his parting bow 
 to Oxford, more than two months ago; and 
 after a tremendous correspondence with his 
 " maternal," as Bob calls Mrs. Enmore, ended 
 by starting for Paris ; without boring himself 
 with a personal interview, that would have 
 only given rise to ill-blood and-ill language. 
 My brother, who seems to have undertaken 
 his bear-leading, for the family advantage, 
 writes word that they have led a jolly life 
 in Paris ; and now, having made it too hot to 
 hold them, they are about to refresh them- 
 selves on the cooler side of the Jungfrau."
 
 HECKINGTON. 45 
 
 "I can scarcely say how much you sur- 
 prise me !" said Miss Corbet, not a little 
 shocked. " But perhaps I shall astonish you 
 in my turn, when I tell you that I was un- 
 aware of Arthur's having to wait for his 
 mother's death for the enjoyment of his pro- 
 perty." 
 
 " The fact took everybody by surprise, about 
 three years ago. Your grandfather, who 
 appears, my dear Tiny, to have been far 
 from a wiseacre, and fancied that the whole 
 world revolved on the pivot of Heckington, 
 chose to make his own will rather than 
 admit into his secrets the family-lawyer, who 
 might have remonstrated against his morbid 
 pride. Unluckily, law English and the Queen's 
 English are not synonymous ; and so, without 
 intending it, or by misplacing an S in the 
 names of Mr. and Mrs. Enmore, he contrived 
 that his daughter, at her husband's death, 
 should lose the enjoyment of his property; 
 though the heir male, her son Arthur, could
 
 46 HECKINGTON. 
 
 not succeed to it till her own. But I am 
 telling you what you must have heard a thou- 
 sand times." 
 
 " Not once, I assure you." 
 
 " I heard enough of the story ; for my 
 father, who was Mr. Rawdon's bosom friend, 
 and a witness of the will, was required to give 
 evidence in the amicable Chancery suit which 
 the executors were forced to institute, to bring 
 law and equity to an understanding." 
 
 " And how was it decided ? — " 
 
 " Much as in the case of that other cele- 
 brated amateur will— Thelluson's — which is 
 supposed to have ruined one of the finest 
 properties in England. The Court of Chancery 
 allows a handsome salary to an agent, to keep 
 the place, I suppose, out of repair,— for poor 
 Heckington is tumbling to pieces ;— and allots 
 a bare sufficiency to the heir, to keep him 
 
 from starving." 
 
 " I thought you mentioned that Arthur was 
 in the enjoyment of five hundred a year?"
 
 HECKINGTON. 47 
 
 Lady Armstead rewarded the naivete of her 
 companion by an indulgent smile. 
 
 " And so he is ! — Poor fellow '.—He has 
 been victimised in succession by all his nearest 
 relations. At this moment, as Florence knows 
 to her cost, he has not the command of a 
 thousand pounds i — his grandmother Rawdon 
 having bequeathed her pickings and stealings 
 out of the estate to a certain little Tiny Corbet ; 
 while his own father, believing that at his 
 death he would succeed to the Heckington 
 property, left to his youngest son his Jamaica 
 plantations, and everything he possessed in 
 the world." 
 
 " Xot quite every thing. I heard my cousin 
 Lucretia remind my aunt the other day, when 
 she was speaking disparagingly of the West 
 Indies, that her income was derived from 
 thence." 
 
 " Yes — a jointure, — two thousand a year 
 out of four. My father declares that Mr. 
 Enmore only made so large a bid for by far
 
 43 HECKINGTON. 
 
 the least attractive of his Mend Rawdon's 
 daughters, as a bribe to secure Heckington to 
 his posterity. And now, dear Tiny, having 
 exhausted my patience and your own by 
 these family histories, good-bye !-I see my 
 servant waiting yonder at the gate ; and one 
 of my husband's few tiresomenesses (for which 
 I shall have to crave your pardon if I am 
 allowed to see you as much and as often as I 
 wish,) is, that neither his horses nor servants 
 must be kept waiting." 
 
 After a cordial leave-taking, the pretty bride 
 disappeared towards her new mansion in 
 Park Lane ; and Miss Corbet, as she returned 
 quietly homewards, resolved within herself to 
 lose no time in ascertaining from Mrs. Enmore 
 whether the insight she had obtained into 
 their family affairs were a correct version, or a 
 
 Horsford fable. 
 
 But no sooner was she reinstated in the 
 dull, methodical drawing-room in Hertford 
 Street, with the oppressive eye of her aunt
 
 HECKINGTON. 49 
 
 fixed on her like a leaden weight, than she 
 became once more tongue-tied. Mrs. Enmore, 
 when she thought proper, became inaccessible. 
 To interrogate her on any subject which it 
 suited her to envelope in mystery, was labour 
 lost. 
 
 The only result, therefore, of Lady Arm- 
 stead's rambling and rash confidences was, 
 that throughout the evening, the eyes of her 
 young friend remained fixed upon a spirited 
 sketch, by Richmond, of her elder cousin, 
 which adorned the room ; and which, since 
 she had overheard herself designated by her 
 cousin Lucretia as " Mrs. Rawdon of Heck- 
 ington," she had scarcely dared contemplate. 
 Handsome, however, and manly-looking as it 
 was, she could not reconcile to herself the idea 
 of that fine, intelligent countenance united in 
 holy wedlock with the flirting and flighty 
 Florence Horsford. Altogether, her mind was 
 thoroughly disturbed. 
 
 The moment which reveals to yoing people 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 HECKINGTON. 
 
 that they have been purposely kept in the 
 dark as to their family history, is usually a 
 dangerous crisis. When the blind are first 
 enabled to see, they seldom see clearly ; and 
 those who have been brought up among de- 
 ceptions, have a right to infer that the de- 
 ceivers entertain a mean opinion of their 
 understanding, or, still worse, to mistrust the 
 whole surface of life as hollow, treacherous, and 
 unsafe.
 
 HECKINGTON. 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Inexperienced as she was, however, Tiny 
 had already found occasion to observe how 
 often the marriage choice is governed by the 
 law of contraries. Was not her giddy friend 
 Amy matched with the grave and punctual 
 Sir James Armstead ; with twenty years dif- 
 ference of age between them, and a thousand 
 in character? — 
 
 No one could explain the caprice which had 
 suddenly placed a pretty Lady Armstead at 
 
 e 2
 
 52 HECKINGTON. 
 
 the head of his bachelor's table in Park Lane. 
 Either he found his autumn dreary during 
 the official recess, at his fine old mansion in 
 Somersetshire ; or he had become sick of the 
 interference in his establishment of his sister, 
 Lady Brookclale, whose children were his pre- 
 sumptive heirs; or he fancied that his con- 
 sequence would be doubled in public life by 
 appearing at state dinners and court-fetes with 
 a showy wife arrayed in the family diamonds 
 and point lace, upon his arm. And having, in 
 the course of an electioneering canvass in 
 Hertfordshire, renewed his acquaintance with 
 the Horsfords of Clevelands, whom he had 
 known in his younger days when a visitor at 
 Heckington Hall, he fell a victim to the sweet 
 countenance of the eldest daughter, backed by 
 the sweet plausibilities of her mamma. 
 
 It was just such an artless face as he 
 could wish to find waiting for him on his 
 return from his Office, or the House of Com- 
 mons; and the absence of all sentimentality
 
 HECKINGTON. 53 
 
 in the character of the fair Amy, which might 
 have disappointed or disgusted a younger 
 admirer, constituted to the practical middle- 
 aged man, an additional charm. With little 
 leisure for romance, the frankness with which 
 his offer was accepted, and the readiness 
 with which the match was concluded, in- 
 spired him with an exaggerated opinion of 
 the good sense of the family. 
 
 Before the close of his bridal tour, however, 
 the prattle of his pretty wife had given him a 
 somewhat clearer insight into the manners 
 and customs of Clevelands; and long before 
 the close of the honeymoon, he had made up 
 his mind that the mother-in-law who had 
 provided her daughter with so many lessons 
 for his subjection, should never assume in his 
 establishment the part she ambitioned of queen- 
 mother. 
 
 To render his quiet and dignified home a 
 lounging house for idle Lifeguardsmen, or 
 sporting Baronets, in the hope of securing good
 
 54 HECKINGTON. 
 
 partners and good matches for the younger 
 sisters of his wife, would have been as contrary 
 to his principles as to his taste ; and, very soon 
 after their establishment in Park Lane for 
 the season, he made manifest his intentions. 
 
 But even on his wedding-day, the quiet, 
 lady-like manners of Miss Corbet had attracted 
 the attention of Sir James Armstead, as af- 
 fording a charming contrast to the pretentious 
 fashionability of his sisters-in-law ; and as 
 his original acquaintance with the Horsford 
 family had commenced under the roof of the 
 Rawdons of Heckington, he rejoiced to find 
 his wife disposed to console herself for the 
 absence of her sisters, by selecting a companion 
 
 so desirable. 
 
 He called in person on Mrs. Enmore, to 
 renew their long-neglected acquaintance ; and 
 either because she pitied him for having fallen 
 a dupe to the Horsfords, or because the 
 " auld lang syne" reminiscences to which he 
 adverted, found their way to her frigid heart,
 
 HECKINGTON. 55 
 
 she made no objection to his proposal that 
 Miss Corbet should be frequently spared to 
 Lady Armstead, to whom her company would 
 be a valuable acquisition. 
 
 From that moment, the London horizon of 
 poor Tiny brightened. Drives, dinners, and 
 operas were never wanting. The Horsfords 
 were not yet in town ; and Amy was over- 
 joyed to share with a friend of her own age 
 her pleasures and pains : the latter being 
 represented by little friendly dinner-parties 
 to the official colleagues of Sir James, — styled 
 by his young wife the Conscript Fathers of 
 Downing Street. 
 
 " I wish I found their company as edifying 
 as you do," said Lady Armstead, while taking 
 her coffee with Miss Corbet, one Sunday 
 evening, after one of Sir James's " sociable 
 dinners." " But when I used to accuse our 
 Clevelands neighbours of talking shop, — turn- 
 pike trusts, patent ploughs, or the Union 
 dietary, — I certainly did not expect to find in
 
 56 HECKINGTON. 
 
 London, a set of men as tiresome, and a jargon 
 quite as technical. I can hardly stand it 
 when, after prosing for an hour, as they did 
 to-day about Friday's debate, they turn to me 
 with a smile of conscious superiority, and 
 simper condescendingly, 'I am sadly afraid 
 all this is not very amusing to your ladyship !' 
 
 — Amusing !" — 
 
 " But couldn't 'your ladyship' contrive to find 
 amusement in their conversation?" rejoined 
 Tiny, — taking the coffee-cup from her languid 
 hand. " It was said in Hertfordshire, when 
 you married, that Sir James Armstead was 
 one of the first men in the House of Commons, 
 and likely to rise to the first posts in the 
 State,— which must make you very proud." 
 
 "Country neighbourhoods, my dear Tiny, 
 are apt to view men and things through 
 magnifying glasses. However, my husband 
 is highly thought of by judges somewhat 
 more capable of appreciating him than the 
 makebelieve squires of our Lilliputian county."
 
 HECKINGTON. 57 
 
 "No treason against Hertfordshire!" ex- 
 claimed Miss Corbet, laughing. 
 
 " Then allow me to say my worst of those 
 tedious old men who dined here to-day. 
 That prince of bores and type of an Official 
 who sat by you, Barton Frere, (as smooth, 
 polished, and uninteresting as a billiard ball !) 
 is my husband's bosom friend, and of course my 
 bete noire. Because for the last thirty years 
 he has lived with his nose on a desk, write, 
 write, writing what nobody cares to read, — my 
 husband calls him a valuable servant of the 
 country, and wishes me to treat him with the 
 highest consideration." 
 
 " I thought him very good-natured in taking 
 so much pains to entertain a girl of my age," 
 pleaded Miss Corbet. 
 
 " It is the very pains he takes which 
 exasperates me," cried Lady Armstead, pet- 
 tishly : " talking to one about the Opera or 
 Park, with his thoughts evidently a thousand 
 miles off, and his eyes looking into next year, —
 
 58 HECKINGTON. 
 
 just as he would take a doll out of Lis pocket, 
 and dandle it to pacify a child ! — " 
 
 " We are both of us children to him," re- 
 joined Tiny, forgetting that the bald-headed 
 Treasury-man was the contemporary of Sir 
 
 James. 
 
 " I don't think age has much to do with it," 
 rejoined Amy, with a heavy sigh. : 'But it 
 makes my heart ache to think that official 
 routine may in time wear down my husband 
 to the same mechanical insipidity. In town, 
 he is not the same man he used to be at 
 Clevelands. Alas, alas! if he should ever 
 grow as great a bore as the rest of his prosy 
 colleagues !" 
 
 " Not likely ! — See how they all defer to his 
 
 opinion." — 
 
 "They ought,— for he is fifty times as 
 clever. Ms conversation is not made up of 
 a patchwork of Blue Books ; nor does he fancy, 
 like Barton Frere, that so long as his bald 
 head performs its humdrum routine, the balance
 
 HECKIXGTON. 59 
 
 of the State is secure. But admit that it is 
 provoking to see a man squander his whole 
 understanding upon politics ! After pumping 
 dry in parliament such questions as the Bank 
 Charter, or Secondary Punishments, surely it 
 is unnecessary to serve them up as a rechauffee 
 at the dinner-table !" 
 
 " But since at Newmarket, nothing is talked 
 of but racing, or in Leicestershire but hunting, 
 surely it is natural that M.Ps should discuss 
 among themselves their debates and divi- 
 sions ?" 
 
 " Then they have no business to marry !" 
 retorted Lady Armstead, in a more acrimonious 
 tone. " To own the truth, Tiny, the reason I 
 am so much out of sorts with official life is 
 that I had set my heart on a tour to the 
 German baths ; and Sir James informed me, 
 this morning, that the session is to last till 
 September, when it will be too late for the 
 Rhine. — Think of dragging on in London till 
 September !"
 
 60 HECKINGTON. 
 
 " But must Sir James remain in town till 
 the close of the session ?" 
 
 " To the last day ! — He is wanted. The 
 broad arrow is upon him. All winter too we 
 must be in town ; — I, who so longed for a 
 Carnival in Rome !" 
 
 " You will manage it in time," said Miss 
 Corbet, who, though some years younger than 
 her friend, could not yet look upon one-and- 
 twentv as the decline of life. 
 
 " Yes, in time ! — I must take patience — the 
 last thing one likes to take. I wish you could 
 have seen the faces of Mrs. Warwick and Lady 
 Brookdale (Armstead's sisters), when I said 
 the other day that I wished with all my 
 heart the ministry had been defeated on the 
 Currency question, for that nothing w r ould 
 please me better than for my husband to be 
 out of office." 
 
 " I dare say they forgave you, on reflecting 
 that you wished it only to enjoy more of his 
 company."
 
 HECKINGTON. 61 
 
 "Not they — they are women who seldom 
 reflect, and never forgive. They were angry 
 because a change of ministry would affect 
 their own loaves and fishes. — Mrs. Warwick 
 
 is wife to the Dean of C , who is looking 
 
 to a bishopric ; and Lord Brookdale has a 
 place in the Household." 
 
 "Are they kind to you, Amy?" inquired 
 Miss Corbet, who could not, after what she 
 had heard, ask whether they were agreeable. 
 
 " They are civil and attentive — not for my 
 sake, but their brother's. But they cannot 
 endure me or any one belonging to me. 
 Mamma says they wanted their brother to 
 form a higher connection." 
 
 " When they find you make him happy, 
 their civility will perhaps warm into kindness." 
 
 " No, they will never like me ; but so long 
 as Armstead does, it does not signify. I am 
 half afraid, however, that it is Lady Brookdale 
 who has set my husband against my sisters, and 
 Mrs. Warwick who has advised him not to Jet
 
 62 HECKINGTON. 
 
 mamma obtain a footing in the house.— He 
 hinted as much, when remonstrating with me 
 about that foolish speech of mine concerning 
 the change of ministry." 
 
 « For which surely Mrs. Horsford was not 
 
 answerable ?" 
 
 " No, indeed. It was quite an after- thought 
 that Florence could have accompanied us 
 to Baden, where she would meet Arthur 
 Rawdon ; and that Carry would have been 
 the better for a winter at Rome. Yet Arm- 
 stead fancied that both projects were the sug- 
 gestion of poor mamma." 
 
 It was difficult for Tiny not to remember 
 how warmly she had heard Mrs. Horsford 
 eulogise the kindness of her dear Amy in 
 promising to make a foreign tour for the 
 benefit of her sisters. 
 
 " However, it don't much matter," resumed 
 Lady Armstead. " In September, we go down 
 to Higham Grange ; and there, at least, Arm- 
 stead's time will be at his own disposal."
 
 HECKINGTON. 63 
 
 " And you will enjoy your rides and walks 
 all the move for your London privations." 
 
 " Only, however, till Barton Frere and the 
 rest of the bald-headed coots rejoin us in 
 October, for pheasant-shooting !" said Amy, 
 fretfully. 
 
 And as her friend perceived that she was 
 bent upon retaining a grievance, she kept to 
 herself her opinion that, next year, with a 
 nursery to occupy her attention, Lady Arm- 
 stead would have less leisure to pine after the 
 perpetual gossip of her sisters, and flatteries 
 of her mother. 
 
 It did, however, strike her as somewhat 
 uncomplimentary that, when Sir James made 
 his appearance in the drawing-room (and not 
 till the carriage was announced to convey 
 her home), he came alone. Scarcely to be 
 wondered at, however, considering how little 
 pains was taken by the young wife of 
 their colleague to conciliate the good will of 
 his friends.
 
 Q4 HECKINGTON. 
 
 She, on the contrary, without pains of any 
 kind, had succeeded in pleasing them. 
 
 « You must ask Miss Corbet here often," 
 said Sir James, when she was gone. "Erere 
 and Marsham think her a very intelligent, 
 
 agreeable girl." 
 
 " It will be pleasanter for you, my dear," 
 added he, imprinting a marital kiss on the 
 cheek of his pretty wife, " to have a companion 
 of your own sex and age, while we old fogeys 
 are prosing over the affairs of the nation. And 
 my friends would be mortified, Amy, if, because 
 my house has acquired a new attraction, I 
 discontinued the hospitality they were accus- 
 tomed to enjoy here when I was a bachelor." 
 
 The " intelligent and agreeable girl," mean- 
 while, on arriving at home, a little wearied by 
 the peevish lamentations of Park Lane, was 
 struck on the threshold by a pungent smell, 
 such as had sometimes saluted her in passing 
 the Blue Lion at Grenfield ; and was conse- 
 quently acceptable as a village reminiscence.
 
 HECKINGTON. 65 
 
 Mrs. Enmore's venerable butler had probably 
 profited by his mistress's Sunday evening 
 doze, to indulge in a pipe ! 
 
 She was about to pass the drawing-room 
 door, and proceed to her own room, — the hour 
 being long past at which her aunt was accus- 
 tomed to retire for the night, — when the in- 
 creased vapour of tobacco determined her to 
 open the door ; and, lo ! the fire was still 
 blazing, — the lamp still on the table ; and 
 beside it sat, on one side, Mrs. Enmore, grim 
 and perpendicular ; on the other, an individual 
 bearded like a pard, from whose garments 
 emanated the unwonted vapours pervading the 
 house. 
 
 She scarcely knew whether to advance or 
 retire, for the hirsute stranger did not rise 
 from his chair. The interview she had inter- 
 rupted was perhaps private and confidential. 
 
 " My son Willy, — who arrived just after you 
 left home," said Mrs. Enmore, perceiving that 
 she did not recognise her cousin. 
 
 VOL. I. f
 
 (56 HECKINGTOX. 
 
 « Pray add who landed this morning at the 
 Tower Stairs, and whose baggage is still in 
 the Custom House !" exclaimed William En- 
 more, by way of apology for his travelling 
 blouse, on perceiving into how pretty a girl 
 Tiny Corbet had progressed, since the Harley 
 Street days when he used to fasten squibs 
 and crackers to the leg of her school-room 
 
 table. 
 
 And as, still without rising, he tendered her 
 his hand, Miss Corbet, in order to prove 
 her forgiveness of former injuries, shook it 
 
 heartily. 
 
 "You are wonderfully grown, Tiny," he 
 added, after extending his rough arm, and 
 dragging forward a chair for her by his 
 side. " You promised to be a stunted little 
 thing! — You are quite an agreeable sur- 
 
 prise ! — 
 
 « Surprise for surprise, Willy ! You are the 
 last person I expected to find here," answered 
 Miss Corbet, amused by the contrast between
 
 HECKIXGTON. 67 
 
 her cousin's uncouth dress and manners, and 
 the artificial formality of the circle she had 
 just quitted. 
 
 " So my mother has been telling me. But 
 she did not, like you, add that the surprise 
 was by any means agreeable. Her invitations 
 to her second son, never very urgent, ought to 
 have been enhanced of late by the information 
 that I had so pretty a cousin residing under 
 her roof." 
 
 " As you had announced your intention of 
 remaining in Germany till next autumn," re- 
 plied his mother, " there seemed no great occa- 
 sion to acquaint you with what was passing 
 in Hertford Street." 
 
 " Because, before next autumn, I scarcely 
 hoped to imbibe sufficient High Dutch to 
 qualify me for diplomatic preferment. But as 
 I learn from Harman's letters that I am 
 much more wanted among the sugar-canes at 
 Fredville, than for an apprenticeship in the 
 F. 0., if you have any regard for your jointure, 
 
 f2
 
 68 HECKINGTON. 
 
 mother, you will approve of my change of 
 
 plans." 
 
 " Plans /"—muttered the thin lips of Mrs. 
 Enmore, to intimate that the conduct of her 
 son was actuated only by caprice. 
 
 « Yes,— plans. I should, in fact, have sailed 
 for Jamaica by the last West-India mail, 
 mother, had not a well-meaning friend written 
 me word of Arthur's unexpected departure for 
 the continent. The representative of the House 
 of Kawdon of Heckington being otherwise 
 disposed of, I was in hopes you would extend 
 a few days' hospitality to your pariah, on the 
 
 eve of his exile." 
 
 Mrs. Enmore was upon tenter-hooks. It was 
 wormwood to her to have the family feuds she 
 had been so long endeavouring to conceal from 
 her niece, thus recklessly unveiled ; and the 
 habits of the house had been so disturbed by 
 Willy's arrival, that late as was the hour, the 
 ear of old Harding might still be within reach 
 of the keyhole I
 
 HECKINGTON. 69 
 
 " At all events, Willy," said she, " let us 
 adjourn till to-morrow our further discussions. 
 We are all thoroughly knocked up." 
 
 The traveller made no objection. But for 
 full two hours after the family had retired to 
 rest, Miss Corbet heard the new comer rattling 
 the furniture, and pacing the room over her 
 own, with most independent disregard to the 
 repose of his cohabitants. The fumes of 
 tobacco, which before exhaled only from his 
 garments and person, now clearly intimated 
 that he was solacing himself for his chilly re- 
 ception by a pipe. 
 
 Miss Corbet was thoroughly astonished. 
 Since her discovery, at six years old, that her 
 father's loving wife was only her stepmother, 
 she had never felt more surprised than that 
 Mrs. Enmore should have been so olose with 
 her concerning the disunion between her sons ; 
 or that either of them should venture to set 
 the rules of that methodical mansion so tho- 
 roughly at defiance : — braving not only her
 
 70 HECKINGTON. 
 
 tyrannical aunt, but her aunt's besetting 
 tyrant, old Harding. At one o'clock in the 
 morning, the portly Major Dorno had to 
 wheeze up to the third floor with cans of 
 hot water ; and was able to report on the 
 morrow in the housekeeper's room, that Mr. 
 William had endangered the safety of the 
 family by the rash and unprincipled act of 
 smoking, not under the canopy of heaven, but 
 that of his French bed !—
 
 HECKINGTON. 71 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mrs. Enmore, whose movements were as 
 exact as those of a chronometer, made her 
 appearance next morning, at the breakfast- 
 table, twenty minutes before her usual time ; 
 with the laudable view of preventing a tete-a- 
 tete between the cousins. 
 
 But she might have spared the hurry which 
 caused her juvenile "front" to be put on a 
 little awry. Eor though Tiny was still loiter- 
 ing over her toilet, less with a view to
 
 72 HECKINGTON. 
 
 unusual beautification than because conscious 
 that her aunt would be better pleased if Willy 
 poured out his own tea than that she should 
 assist in the concoction, — another " cousin " 
 had usurped her place at the table. When 
 the lady of the house rustled in, there sat 
 Lucretia Rawdon ; — having laid aside her bon- 
 net and shawl, to make herself completely at 
 home. 
 
 " Why don't you thank me, Jane," said 
 she, " for having procured you a sight of your 
 Hopeful ? Willy would have been off straight 
 to the land of green-ginger and yellow-fever, 
 my dear, if I hadn't given poor Abel a hint 
 that Cain was out on his travels !" 
 
 The indignant old lady, who scarcely needed 
 this certification that Lucretia was the " well- 
 meaning friend" who had so officiously inter- 
 fered in her family arrangements, would have 
 perhaps been betrayed for once in her life 
 into a rash rejoinder, but that Tiny, who had 
 heard the stealthy footsteps of her aunt
 
 HECKINGTON. 73 
 
 descend the stairs, having now entered the 
 room, was too noisily greeted, both by her 
 kinswoman and cousin, for the reproof to be 
 audible. 
 
 " Let me look at you by daylight, Tiny," 
 cried Willy, snatching her hand, but still not 
 discontinuing the munching of his dry toast. 
 — " A good honest English complexion !" he 
 added, after a deliberate survey, which cer- 
 tainly did not tend to diminish its brilliancy ; 
 " White and red, that scorn to keep the secrets 
 of the heart, to which they act as inter- 
 preter." 
 
 " Though Cousin Jane is always taxing me 
 with idle talking and idle writing," inter- 
 posed Lucre tia, without ceding an inch of the 
 place she had usurped at the breakfast-table 
 on the arrival of her formidable hostess, 
 "admit, my dear Willy, that I said not a 
 word of Tiny Corbet's roses and lilies, to 
 accelerate your visit to London ?" 
 
 At this insinuation, Mrs. Enmore plunged
 
 74 HECKINGTON. 
 
 her spoon into the Dundee marmalade, as 
 viciously as if to alleviate her irritation. 
 
 "It would have been too much to relate 
 in one and the same despatch concerning the 
 attractions of Hertford Street, that Arthur 
 was absent, and so charming a substitute 
 arrived in his place," replied the Dresden 
 student. " But that you brought me here, on 
 any pretext, Lucretia, my angel, I am pre- 
 pared to remember to the end of my days, in 
 Guava jelly and sour pine-apples. " 
 
 In hopes to pacify the ire which Mrs. 
 Enmore was at no pains to disguise, the 
 offending spinster proceeded to inquire of her 
 protege why he did not endeavour to convert 
 the itinerant German artist, in whose gear 
 he had chosen to present himself, into an 
 Englishman of better degree; and on learn- 
 ing that his luggage was still unextricated 
 from the Custom House, she offered to go in 
 search of it herself. 
 
 " A million of thanks, good old soul!" was
 
 HECKINGTON. 75 
 
 his cool rejoinder. " But being a most des- 
 potic master, I find it safer to be my own 
 servant. I shall be off to the city as soon as 
 breakfast is over." 
 
 " At least let me bear you company in your 
 cab, Willy," she persisted. " I have still a 
 great deal, my dear boy, to tell you." 
 
 "Not half so much as I have to reflect 
 upon, my lovely Lu. Besides, as sugars are 
 falling, I mean to go by the Bus." 
 
 " Why not say, in half the number of words, 
 that you don't want me?" 
 
 " Because, though I am come from the 
 country of plain-dealing and plain-speaking," 
 he retaliated, rising and throwing his napkin 
 on the table, " I am fully aware that, in Lon- 
 don, politeness is as imperative as one of 
 the assessed taxes ; particularly between the 
 months of May and July, when parliament is 
 sitting, and truthtelling an exciseable com- 
 modity. Leben sie wohl ! therefore, my kind 
 friend ; and don't, if you value my cousinly
 
 76 HECKINGTON. 
 
 affection, pull caps or wigs with my lady- 
 mother, after my departure." 
 
 Lucretia, however, took care not to be left 
 behind. She had not courage to defy the 
 storm already growling in the breast of the 
 outraged Mrs. Enmore. 
 
 Even her niece looked forward with awe to 
 a Ute-a-tete with the ruffled parent. But she 
 did not know her aunt. Like the leaden 
 soldiers, which, on being overturned, spon- 
 taneously right themselves, she had become 
 as composed as ever, before her Teutonised 
 son managed to reach as far as the corner 
 of Park Lane. 
 
 When Tiny proffered her assistance in re- 
 moving some books and boxes from a small 
 library on the ground-floor, which Mrs. En- 
 more proposed to devote to the use of 
 Willy — probably to leave him no pretext for 
 quartering himself and his meerschaum in the 
 drawing-room, — her aid was graciously de- 
 clined.
 
 HECKINGTON. 77 
 
 " I need not trouble you, my dear," said 
 her aunt ; " Harding and I can manage it very 
 well between us. If Lady Armstead should 
 call for you this morning, (as I think you told 
 me she intended,) there is nothing to prevent 
 your driving out with her ; or even dining in 
 Park Lane, if invited." 
 
 She was not invited ; the Armsteads being 
 otherwise engaged. Nor, had the considerate 
 Amy been ever so desirous of Tiny's company, 
 would she have interfered to break up a family 
 circle so exciting to her curiosity as the one 
 recently united in Hertford Street. 
 
 " I don't know Willy Enmore," said she, 
 after receiving an account of his arrival : — 
 " that is, I have never seen him since, being 
 nearly of an age, we used to play together at 
 puss-in-the-corner, at Heckington. But I 
 have heard a great deal of him from Ar- 
 thur — " 
 
 " A great deal of good, I hope ?" 
 
 "As good as could be expected, considering
 
 78 HECKIKGTON. 
 
 that they hate each other as intensely as the 
 first-created brothers. I should not be sur- 
 prised however, if Arthur were most in fault. 
 He takes after his Creole father, who was as 
 handsome and ferocious as a tiger. His 
 brother, I have heard, inherits the lymphatic 
 coolness of the Rawdons. But with the 
 contrariety so often observed in human pre- 
 ferences, the quiet boy was always the darling 
 of his passionate father ;— the tiger's whelp, 
 
 of your aunt." 
 
 "Which explains Lucretia Raw don's hints 
 this morning concerning unjust favourit- 
 ism !"— 
 
 "Not Mnts, dear Tiny, unless the spite- 
 ful old maid talks very differently to her 
 family, and to the rest of the world. I have 
 no doubt she accused Mrs. Enmore, in the 
 plainest English, of not daring to shelter her 
 younger son, had Arthur been within reach." 
 
 Miss Corbet could scarcely deny the charge. 
 
 " One of the reasons, assigned for her cold-
 
 HECKINGTON. 79 
 
 ness to Master Abel," continued Lady Arm- 
 stead, " is that the defunct tiger, when he 
 found the Rawdon estates were to descend to 
 his elder son, made a will in favour of Willy, 
 bequeathing him the Fredville plantation ; 
 which, till West India property of all kinds 
 went to what Bob calls ' immortal smash,' was 
 nearly as valuable as Heckington. As it is, 
 Willy is in enjoyment of his fortune. Whereas 
 Cain has still to wait." 
 
 " But why should my aunt resent against 
 her son the terms of his father's will ?" 
 
 " Because she is the sort of cold-blooded 
 despot, (far worse to deal with, my dear Tiny, 
 than the hottest-headed tyrant !) who cannot 
 bear that any one belonging to her should be 
 independent. She is fond of you, I suspect, 
 only because you are a quiet little Guinea-pig 
 who dare not say her nay." 
 
 " She will have a great many nays said to 
 her, I am afraid, by her wilful son!" — said Miss 
 Corbet,gravely. "The peaceful days of Hertford
 
 80 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Street are at an end. I am almost inclined 
 to write to papa, and beg him to fetch me 
 back to Grenfield House — " 
 
 " To relapse into the Sleeping Beauty in 
 the wood?— No, no, Tiny !— Don't be such a 
 little coward !— Take your courage between 
 your teeth, and sit by, while the others fight 
 it out. At Grenfield, my dear, you are only 
 
 in the way !" 
 
 " I begin to think I am in the way, every 
 where," replied Miss Corbet, with a despond- 
 ing sigh. "I have often fancied that children 
 whose mothers die in their infancy, had best 
 be shut up with them in the coffin !— I am 
 wicked, however, to say so," she added,— tears 
 gushing into her eyes, "for never had poor girl 
 a better father, or kinder stepmother, than I 
 have." 
 
 " At all events," rejoined Amy, as at that 
 moment they stopped at Mrs. Enmore's door, 
 " don't choose a mother-in-law out of this 
 house, Tiny. I would as soon settle for life
 
 HECKINGTON. 81 
 
 under the shadow of an iceberg, as under the 
 wing of Mrs. Enmore." 
 
 But either the iceberg was melting, or 
 Mrs. Enmore, like a horticulturist who, to 
 determine the nature of the flowers and fruit 
 of a new plant, exposes it to artificial warmth, 
 was just then unusually gracious. Her son 
 and niece scarcely knew what to make of 
 her. The family-dinner passed off almost 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Before it was quite over, however, Willy 
 besran to ask himself whether the unusual can- 
 dour of his mother might not be a wile, 
 purporting to throw him off his guard ; like 
 the gold displayed by sharpers to dazzle the 
 eyes of some intended dupe. 
 
 A child systematically deceived by its pa- 
 rents is seldom very ingeuuous ; but adopts 
 the Erench adage, "A trompeicr, trompeur et 
 demi." Neither of the young Enmores was 
 in the habit of placing his mother in his con- 
 fidence. Instead, therefore, of disclosing, as 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 HECKINGTON. 
 
 she expected, the programme of his Jamaica 
 expedition, he began recounting as much as it 
 was desirable to relate of his life at Dresden ; 
 — astonishing his pretty cousin by quaint pic- 
 tures of the mingled courtliness and boorish- 
 ness of the Saxon Athens. 
 
 " My mother, you are to know," said he, 
 as if wholly overlooking the presence of Mrs. 
 Enmore, " sent me, two years ago, to Ger- 
 many, on pretence of completing my diplo- 
 matic education. As if any spot on the face 
 of the devil's earth were calculated for the 
 purpose like Paris ; — Paris, which is capable 
 of smoothing the tongue of a Caliban, and con- 
 verting a Thug into a Chesterfield. Whereas 
 the earnestness of German nature and German 
 language resemble a ploughshare, endeavour- 
 ing to fence down a Damascus blade." 
 
 " If such were your opinion, why not remon- 
 strate?" inquired Mrs. Enmore. "You never 
 suggested the advantages to be secured by a 
 sojourn in France."
 
 HECKINGTON. S3 
 
 " Because I knew that your real object was 
 anything but the one assigned. Lucretia Raw- 
 don informed me, long before I started for the 
 Elbe, that you were suffering from the prevail- 
 ing monomania that mastery of the German 
 language is the only stepping-stone to pre- 
 ferment; that you were perpetually citing 
 the number of adventurers who have become 
 top-sawyers, by trading on that very small 
 capital : — German being as much the Court 
 language of the house of Hanover, as French 
 of our Norman kings." 
 
 " But what pretension have my sons to 
 become courtiers at all ?" said his mother 
 almost grinding her teeth. 
 
 " What right you mean, — any one may 
 pretend to any thing. But even diplomacy, 
 mother, the career you chalked out for me, is 
 not that of a snob. As an Attache or Secre- 
 tary of Legation, the son of Enraore the planter 
 would be nearly as much out of place as if a 
 Gentlemen Usher, or Equerry." 
 
 c 2
 
 84 HECKINGTON. 
 
 " The son of Enmore the planter, perhaps. 
 But not the descendant of the Rawdons of 
 Heckington. Your grandfather's brother, Sir 
 Henry Raw don, was minister at Berlin." 
 
 "And my grandfather's sister married an 
 Irish peer," retorted Willy ; " which, though 
 it turned the heads of the family, does not 
 qualify her grandnephew for the Irish peerage, 
 or prevent us from being very insignificant 
 
 people." 
 
 Mrs. Enmore glanced nervously at the door. 
 If Harding should be there, on pretence of 
 replenishing the claret jug ! 
 
 « In short," he resumed, " I knew you were 
 much too prudent to thrust me into a profes- 
 sion, which for the first half-dozen years is 
 imremunerative ; and for the rest of one's life, 
 (unless one has a handle to one's name,) a 
 mere dead letter. A William Enmore, Esq., 
 even with the talents of Gentz or Talleyrand, 
 would always be pooh-poohed in Downing 
 Street."
 
 HECKINGTON. 85 
 
 "I should have hoped," said his mother, 
 bitterly, " that an income like yours, would 
 have placed you above mere mercenary con- 
 siderations. An attache, though unpaid, en- 
 joys a brilliant position at foreign courts." 
 
 "As a dangler at fetes and galas, perhaps ; 
 — as a fraction of the gimcrackery of social 
 life ! — But our Dresden phrenologists would 
 have apprised you, mother, that in place of 
 the bump of veneration indispensable to a 
 courtier or diplomat, my cranium exhibits a 
 cavity. A royal antechamber would be as in- 
 supportable to me as an ambassador's Kanzlei. 
 As to the princely income I am shortly to 
 derive from my sugar and rum — (I am opening 
 in the grocery line, Tiny, will you give me 
 your dear little custom ?) — I intend to devote 
 it to the establishment of a cheerful bachelor 
 home ; where I may smoke my meerschaum in 
 the drawing-room, and laugh in my chimney- 
 corner with my friends Henry Heine and 
 John Paul."
 
 86 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Concluding these Germans friends, of whom 
 she heard for the first time, to be two of his loose 
 student companions, Mrs. Enmore was ineffably 
 disgusted. But true to her new system of 
 conciliation, she was about to say that she 
 should be very happy to see them to dinner, 
 if they happened to be in town, when her son, 
 whose spirits were unusually excited by a slight 
 excess of Bass, and the smiling face of his 
 young cousin, resumed his rambling babble. 
 
 " Don't fancy, however, mother, that I mean 
 to be a Robinson Crusoe; though my old 
 sledging-cloak hanging in the hall, seems to 
 accuse me of going clothed in the skins of 
 beasts. You are in no great haste I am told 
 for a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, to 
 put your juvenile curls out of countenance. 
 I have heard, and with some satisfaction, of 
 your snubbing Arthur in his flirtations. But 
 be warned that your younger torment has too 
 much of his father's tropical blood in his veins, 
 to be parent-pecked in such matters. When
 
 HECKINGTON. S7 
 
 I have once chosen my Joan, my Joan she 
 shall be, — whether I find her picking grapes 
 in a Rhenish vineyard, — or mincing her words 
 at a Belgravian tea-fight, — or bearing patiently 
 with my boorish egotism in Hertford Street, 
 May Fair." 
 
 But for the last clause of his rhodomontade, 
 Mrs. Enmore would have preserved her com- 
 posure. But so bold a thrust was too much 
 for her ; and though Miss Corbet's strawberries 
 lay untasted on her plate, she received at once 
 the masonic signal which serves to transport 
 ladies from the dessert-table to the drawing- 
 room. Instead, however, of the explosion of 
 wrath for which Tiny had prepared herself 
 the moment they were alone, the first question 
 of her aunt regarded Lady Armstead, and 
 the Horsfords. 
 
 " You have, I am sure, too much discretion, 
 Tiny," said she, " to talk to your friends in 
 Park Lane of Willy's eccentric habits, or 
 reckless assertions" —
 
 88 HECKINGTON. 
 
 But before she could conclude her ex- 
 hortation, Willy himself was in the room. 
 
 "Don't expect me, mother," said he, au- 
 daciously encircling her waist, ere she could 
 take possession of her stately arm-chair, " to 
 indulge in the deplorable Great Britain-ism of 
 finishing my dinner alone. You must either 
 see me through my claret, or allow me to 
 share your coffee. Tiny, dear, can't you give 
 a poor fellow a little music to take the taste of 
 maternal lectures out of his ears?" 
 
 " The best music I am able to afford you is 
 so very little," replied his cousin, " that it would 
 scarcely satisfy a person rendered fastidious 
 by long residence in Germany. I have had no 
 master, Willy, — scarcely what could be called 
 a piano, — since we parted in Harley Street." 
 
 " Havn't you ?— Bravo ! Then there's hope 
 that you still play and sing like a child. 
 Except in theatres or concerts, I detest elabo- 
 rate music. Half the female voices one hears 
 are worn threadbare by over work. Give me
 
 HECKINGTON. 89 
 
 only some of the dear old things I used to 
 love as a boy, before I was Beethovened and 
 Mendelsohned out of my senses." 
 
 Miss Corbet still betrayed reluctance ; less 
 because ashamed of her want of proficiency 
 than because of the stern displeasure con- 
 tracting the brow of her aunt. 
 
 " Allow me to encourage you by firing the 
 first shot !" cried Willy, coolly taking posses- 
 sion of his mother's favourite chair. — " Shall it 
 be a scene from Oberon ? — Or will you please 
 to have a Volks-Lied ?" 
 
 Before she could answer, he burst into a 
 touching ballad of Uhland, in a rich mellow 
 baritone, that could well dispense with in- 
 strumental accompaniments. It was impossible 
 to sing with greater feeling or more perfect 
 intonation. Even Mrs. Enmore, unused as 
 she was to the melting mood, was touched by 
 that exquisite melody ; and though Tiny un- 
 derstood not a word of the language it served 
 to interpret, she could not withdraw her eyes
 
 90 HECKINGTON. 
 
 or ears from her gifted cousin. Fairly cap- 
 tivated, she no longer thought him uncouth or 
 scampish-looking ; and her rapt attention was 
 even more gratifying than his mother's un- 
 expected encore. 
 
 Like other popular performers, he complied 
 with the call by favouring them with a new 
 song, — a lighter strain purporting to provoke 
 mirth instead of tears. Tiny thought she 
 had never heard anything half so joyous 
 as the gay refrain which, he vainly pro- 
 tested, required a chorus of Biirschen to do it 
 justice. 
 
 But how, after so charming a performance, 
 was she to inflict upon him the tiresome old 
 pieces and obsolete valses of Strauss, which 
 composed her stock ? Unwilling alike to 
 refuse or comply, it was, indeed, relief 
 when, after a third ballad (a French one, 
 " Marthe la Brune" selected in consideration 
 of his cousin's ignorance of German) — Willy 
 started up, and expressing a fear that he was
 
 HECKINGTON. 91 
 
 already late, produced from his pocket a play- 
 bill and stall ticket for the Olympic theatre. 
 
 " I'm glad to find that my loving country- 
 men have at last got an actor," said he, as he 
 was leaving the room. "And I must make 
 haste and get a glimpse of this wonderful 
 Robson before I go nigger- driving ; for though 
 I arrived in town with every intention of 
 spunging upon my mother for a few weeks, I 
 see by the grumphiness of her countenance that 
 it will be wiser to limit my visit in Hertford 
 Street to half as many days !" —
 
 92 HECKINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The weeks thus prospectively announced 
 by Willy as the limit of his visit, became 
 doubled ; and still, he remained his mother's 
 guest. Perhaps, because he derived pleasure 
 from the German lessons he was giving to 
 his cousin ; perhaps, because having trimmed 
 his beard and transferred his smoking to the 
 Travellers, he wished to enjoy the benefit of 
 the sacrifice. But it was certainly not because 
 he thought his company acceptable to the
 
 HECKINGTON. 93 
 
 parent whom in her absence he usually de- 
 nominated as " the elderly party." 
 
 " No need to be so fidgety about my 
 staying a few weeks longer," said he, one 
 day, after luncheon, when Mrs. Enmore had 
 expressed some vague curiosity concerning 
 the sailing of the West India mails. " I am 
 forced, you see, mother, to make the most 
 of my opportunity. Another year, I shall be 
 no longer master of the situation. Arthur will 
 be the man in possession. One can't expect 
 him to bear-lead that vagabond, Bob Horsford, 
 during a second continental tour." 
 
 " How can you possibly suppose, Willy, 
 that I want you gone !" said she, in a voice 
 that belied her words; for that very morn- 
 ing, old Harding had stated to her in a 
 private audience, that if the visit were again 
 prolonged, he should be under the necessity 
 of depriving her of his valuable services ; 
 " Master William's rackety ways having 
 thoroughly upset the house."
 
 94 HECKINGTOH. 
 
 « I do suppose it, mother. Though you 
 really oughtn't ; for by idling away another 
 month in London, I should avoid the hurri- 
 cane season. And you well know that, more 
 than once, hurricanes have shaved the poor 
 Fredville Plantation as bare as my hand." 
 
 -The greater the chance that it will not 
 again be visited," replied Mrs. Enmore, with 
 the cool computation of an actuary. 
 
 « And I can assure and promise you, my 
 best of parents," resumed the dauntless Willy, 
 "that you have nothing to fear from the 
 residence of your son and niece under the 
 same roof. Tiny goes with Lady Armstead 
 to balls and operas, where she makes grand 
 acquaintance, and learns to look down upon 
 her ragged colt of a cousin ; while 1, believe me, 
 preferthe homeliest milkmaid tripping on the 
 banks of the Elbe, to the finest London lady, 
 with all her frills and fnbbledom !-To make 
 your blessed old mind easy, dear mamma, know 
 that I would not marry a princess of the Blood.if
 
 HECKINGTON. 95 
 
 only half so stupid about conjugating her 
 verbs, as our poor little Tiny." 
 
 Whether these sarcasms proved satisfactory 
 or unsatisfactory to the lady of the house, to 
 his cousin they were far from agreeable. She 
 thought him both uncivil and unkind; and 
 when Florence and Carry Horsford entreated 
 her to bring Mr. Enmore some day to walk 
 in the Apsley Gardens, that they might per- 
 sonally investigate his resemblance to his bro- 
 ther Arthur, she assured them not only that 
 Mrs. Enmore would disapprove of such a 
 proceeding, but that her German tutor was 
 unworthy their interest. " They would pro- 
 bably decide him to be ill-dressed, ill-looking, 
 and ill-bred." Poor little Tiny !— 
 
 " Sir James always calls you the Mirror of 
 Truth, my dear," exclaimed Sir James's wife, 
 shortly afterwards, when Miss Corbet, on enter- 
 ing her dressing-room, found her alone. " Yet 
 after all, you are as sad a hypocrite as the rest 
 of us. You refused to bring your cousin to the
 
 96 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Gardens, at the entreaty of Flo. and Carry, be- 
 cause ' my aunt ' disapproves of your walking 
 out together." 
 
 " And so, believe me, she does." 
 " And you described him to me, as a sort 
 of hairy monster, smelling of tobacco, and 
 costumed like a chorus-singer in the Frei- 
 
 schutz." 
 
 " I told you that he looked quite unlike a 
 
 London man." 
 
 "Then who, pray, was the well-dressed, 
 handsome young stranger, on whose arm you 
 were espied, last evening, by Barton Frere ; as 
 he was driving at the rate of twelve miles an 
 hour, to join one of the love-feasts of the 
 saintly Lady Hassock, who gives fashionable 
 dinner-parties after presiding at her servants' 
 
 family-prayers ?" 
 
 " The handsome young stranger was Willy ; 
 who, having arrived late from the country, and 
 encountered the footman on his way to the Gar- 
 dens to escort me home,sawnt to take his place."
 
 HECKINGTON. 97 
 
 " Aud when is to be the happy day, 
 Tiny ?" 
 
 " Wliat happy day?" naively inquired Miss 
 Corbet, who was looking forward only to the 
 dreary one fixed for her cousin's departure. 
 
 " Don't play at artlessness, my dear child ; 
 you perfectly understand me. If two young 
 lovers, on the verge of years of discretion, 
 spending the midsummer-month together 
 under the roof of a cross old mother, are not 
 driven into matrimony by her setting her face 
 against it, the world's at an end ! — " 
 
 " If you did but know how completely you 
 are mistaken !" rejoined Miss Corbet, looking 
 more distressed than embarrassed. 
 
 " Is there really no matrimony in the case ? 
 Then the young gentleman is greatly to blame. 
 Such a couple, such a mother, and such a 
 position, as Barton Frere justly observes, 
 would make the fortune of an Opera Comique" 
 
 It was not till tears actually flowed from 
 the eyes of her young friend, that Lady Arm- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 Q3 HECKINGTON. 
 
 stead desisted from attacks which, like most 
 of her conversation, " meant nothing." But 
 Tiny happened to be peculiarly sensitive on 
 the subject of the walk so unluckily detected 
 by the Treasury spy. It was the only con- 
 fidential interview she had ever enjoyed with 
 her cousin ; and had left them, as it found 
 them, friends.— At seventeen, something more 
 is expected from a furtive Ute-a-Ute. 
 
 Though startled to find him waiting for her 
 at the gate of the gardens, she had expressed 
 only delight at seeing him again ; for his un- 
 explained absence throughout the day, and 
 even from the dinner-table, had rendered Mrs. 
 Enmore sullen, and herself anxious. His habits 
 were usually as punctual as Harding's almost 
 military exactitude could desire ; and the de- 
 viation was unaccountable. 
 
 " Where do you think I have been, dear 
 Tiny ?" whispered he, drawing her arm under 
 his ; and, instead of directing her steps towards 
 Hertford Street, coolly proceeding into the
 
 HECKINGTON. 99 
 
 park, which the rising dew and fragrant foliage 
 rendered peculiarly inviting. 
 
 " To Richmond, perhaps, — or Greenwich ?" 
 
 " You are not talking to your cousin Arthur. 
 / am not a swell. I do not frequent fashion- 
 able haunts. No, no ! — I have been spending 
 the day in the very spot where I first beheld a 
 certain little white-frocked cousin yclept Sophia 
 Corbet." 
 
 " Heckington ?" 
 
 " Heckington." 
 
 " How I wish I had been with you !" 
 
 " Not half so much as I do. It would have 
 been having a sister by my side who enjoyed 
 and deplored the whole thing with precisely 
 my own feelings." 
 
 And the adopted sister's arm was kindly, if 
 not tenderly, pressed to his side. 
 
 " You don't remember the day, Tiny, when 
 we were first there together ? You were too 
 young for anything to make an impression on 
 you. But /recollect it as if it were yesterday. 
 
 11 .0
 
 100 HECKINGTON. 
 
 I suppose I must have been about twelve 
 years old, for we were just landed from the 
 West Indies ; and it was the first specimen I 
 ever saw of an Euglish home— English verdure 
 —English flowers— English fruits." 
 
 « And then it was Heckington,— the dear 
 
 old family seat ! — " 
 
 « Don't take it in that light, Tiny, or I 
 won't tell you another word !— 'Tis that very 
 Rawdon-of-Heckingtonism which has undone 
 our family ;— making fools of us, or worse, from 
 one generation to another. That name— that 
 place— and the associations connected with 
 them, caused my wrong-headed old grandfather 
 to hate his daughters, and your mother and 
 mine to detest each other, just as Arthur and 
 T do now ; besides rendering the lives of my 
 parents— Well, well ! perhaps we had better 
 say no more about it 1' 
 
 " Yes, do,— pray do !" said Miss Corbet, 
 with such earnest unction that it would have 
 been difficult to refuse.
 
 HECKINGTON. 101 
 
 " As to my parents, then, since you choose 
 me to be so undutifully explicit, their union, 
 arising on both sides from motives of interest, 
 was thoroughly unhappy. — No two people 
 were ever less suited to each other. My 
 father's blood was lava — my mother's snow- 
 water. She trembled before him as a tyrant 
 — he shuddered at her as an intractable 
 mule. And between the two sisters there was 
 quite as little affection. My grandfather, 
 displeased at your mother's choice, had 
 promised mine that her eldest son should 
 become Rawdon of Heckington ; and when 
 my aunt Sophia at length married, and 
 gave promise of an heir, my father was 
 furious, and carried off his wife and sons to 
 Jamaica, where he led us the life of — no 
 matter what ! Even when your poor mother 
 died, and the birth of a certain little Tiny 
 rendered the previous heir-presumptive Raw- 
 don of Heckington, he was not pacified. My 
 foolish mother, regarding that possession as
 
 1 02 HECKINGTON. 
 
 secondary only to the British empire, could 
 talk or think of nothing else ; and chose to 
 discover that the climate of the West Indies 
 was hurrying her to the grave." 
 
 « But that was not the fault of poor Heck- 
 ington?" pleaded Miss Corbet. 
 
 « Heckington was the grain of mustard- seed 
 which produced the mighty evil. Arthur and 
 I loved each other dearly, till my mother began 
 to call him by his new name, and defer to him 
 far more than to my father ; and my grand- 
 father's absurd will imparted an altered value 
 to every member of the family. Dreadful to 
 think of-is it not, Tiny ?-that false pride and 
 lucre-love should be able to strengthen or 
 weaken the holiest ties of blood !" 
 
 "They are not— they are not!" — cried 
 Miss Corbet, with honest indignation. " My 
 father is a very poor man. But the acquisi- 
 tion of millions would not influence by the 
 worth of a doit his affection for his wife or 
 child."
 
 HECKINGTON. ] 03 
 
 't Wait till he is tried, my dear little enthu- 
 siast. But whether Mr. Corbet be either Saint 
 or Philosopher, my father was not. His chief 
 reason for remaining in Jamaica years and 
 years after his affairs would have been seriously 
 benefited by a visit to England, was to mortify 
 his wife by proving his indifference to Heck- 
 ington. At last, the state of her health ren- 
 dered a change of climate indispensable : and 
 then it was, Tiny, that, about a week after our 
 lauding, you came with Grandmamma Rawdon 
 to visit us ; — a poor prim little thing, whom 
 we tormented as children do a moth, only 
 because of its helplessness." 
 
 " How afraid of you all I was. I don't 
 know which I feared most, the scorpions and 
 snakes preserved in spirits, which you brought 
 with you as specimens of West Indian pro- 
 duce; or Mr. Enmore, who, after pinching 
 my ear, bade me be a good girl and not cry ; 
 or his sons, who wished for nothing better than 
 to make me cry from morning till night."
 
 104 HECKINGTOK. 
 
 "As far as my own feelings were con- 
 cerned, Tiny, I promise you I was charmed 
 with my little cousin, who was the nearest 
 thing to a sister I had ever been able to call 
 my own ; till one unlucky day, as I was read- 
 ing Philip Quarll in a window-seat, and while 
 my father, and mother, and the dowager were 
 enjoying the domestic bliss which is as full of 
 spites and squabbles as the Tower of London 
 of small arms, I overheard my grandmother 
 declare that her ' dear Sophia's predilection 
 for Heckington had been the cause of her 
 untimely death ; and that it was hard upon 
 poor little Tiny to be stripped of her inherit- 
 ance in her cradle.' My good mother drew up, 
 looking Nemesis-like and awful, just as we 
 have often seen her. But when her husband 
 saw her disposed to be pugnacious, he, of 
 course, took the opposite side. ' It is hard 
 on the poor little girl,' said he. 'But we 
 must make her amends by marrying her to 
 Arthur. Here's my hand upon it, Mrs. Raw-
 
 HECKINGTON. 105 
 
 don, that Tiny shall be Mrs. Rawdon of 
 Heckington.' " 
 
 Miss Corbet could not repress a start of 
 surprise, or a cry of indignation. 
 
 "He spoke so authoritatively, Tiny (he 
 never spoke otherwise), that from that day I 
 looked upon you as my sister-in-law, as much 
 as upon him as a parent. I did not love you 
 the better for it ; nor Arthur neither. You 
 know the rest ; how intensely I plagued you, 
 and how, when my grandmother died, every- 
 body was surprised that she had not scraped 
 together more than five thousand pounds for 
 your benefit, simply because she thought you 
 provided for. We boys were then at school. 
 You went to reside with your father ; and 
 not very long afterwards, mine was taken 
 from us." 
 
 " Just as you were all happily established." 
 
 "Established, but not happily. Arthur, 
 the grandee of the family, was at Eton, and 
 the scrub, my unworthy self, at Charter
 
 106 HECKINGTON. 
 
 House. But a new source of family grievances 
 had arisen. My father, a just man, though a 
 violent, had not chosen that one of his two 
 sons should monopolise the fortunes of the 
 family; and believing young Rawdon of 
 Heckington to be nobly provided for, be- 
 queathed to poor Willy Enmore his West 
 Indian estates." 
 
 "A very equitable distribution." 
 "It seemed so. But when the lawyers 
 came to handle his will, and my grandfather's, 
 it appeared that my mother's jointure was 
 assessed on the Eredville Plantation ; and that, 
 except a small annuity with which it was 
 encumbered in her favour, the income of the 
 Heckington estate was to be tied up till her 
 death. No one can reside there till she dies ; 
 and Arthur has at present nothing but what 
 the Elderly Party is pleased to allow him." 
 " But grandpapa never could have intended 
 
 this ?" 
 
 "Who can say?— He appears to have been
 
 HECKINGTON. 107 
 
 a pompous old gentleman, enamoured of his 
 family consequence ; and may have been de- 
 sirous of creating a great estate. At all 
 events, as my mother was at that period of 
 her life a professed invalid, he did not calculate 
 on her surviving his robust son-in-law ; or his 
 son-in-law's selection of the younger of his 
 whelps to succeed to his West India property." 
 
 " Very unfortunate for Arthur ! — " 
 
 " Very unfortunate for us all. The ill-blood 
 thus created, will never be purified. We are 
 an unamiable family, Tiny ; — all but that good 
 little Mrs. Rawdon of Heckington, who, rich 
 or poor, has never exhibited the cloven foot." 
 
 " But could you not share with your brother 
 the property of your father ?" 
 
 " Silly child ! Have I yet entered into 
 possession of it ? Tor two months to come, I 
 am not of age. The object of my Jamaica 
 expedition is to examine the nature and ex- 
 tent of my property, and make arrangements 
 on the spot with my father's agents and ex-
 
 108 HECKINGTON. 
 
 ecutors, Harman and Co. But you don't 
 know Arthur, or myself, if you think he would 
 lightly accept a benefaction ; or that I would 
 lightly tender one likely to be refused. Nor 
 can it enter into the conception of that tender 
 little nature of yours, how much envy, hatred, 
 malice, and all uncharitableness have been en- 
 gendered between us, by my mother's different 
 estimation of the proud pauper of Heckington, 
 and the rich young sugar-monger. The El- 
 derly Party has done her best to make us hate 
 each other, as Lucretia says, like Cain and 
 
 Abel !" 
 
 " But Nature has done twice and thrice as 
 much in a contrary direction 1" exclaimed his 
 cousin, with glistening eyes. 
 
 " We shall see ! — If no officious mischief- 
 maker interfere to thrust us prematurely into 
 each other's arms, Tiny, we may come round 
 in time. Particularly when a pretty little 
 sister-in-law presents herself to plead Arthur's 
 cause with the Planter. I am not sure but I
 
 HECKINGTON. 109 
 
 may then surrender to Rawdon of Heckington 
 the better half of the Fredville plantation." 
 
 Miss Corbet was beginning to disclaim such 
 a contingency : the gathering shades of evening 
 lending a veil to her blushes. 
 
 "But I hope you don't imagine, Tiny," 
 resumed her companion, " that I have beguiled 
 you out here, under Cromwell's old elm-trees, 
 only to favour you with the family rent-roll. I 
 want to talk to you about my morning's pains 
 and pleasures." 
 
 "It must be an age since you visited 
 Heckington ?" she replied — to lead the way to 
 his narrative. 
 
 " I had not seen the place these five years ; 
 not since my father's death; not since the 
 Court of Chancery dug its teeth and claws into 
 the property." 
 
 " And how was it looking ? You had a 
 lovely day for the expedition." 
 
 " The old hall did not charm me quite so 
 much as when haunted by the little white
 
 HO HECKINGTON. 
 
 mouse of a cousin, half-a-dozen years ago. 
 But English scenery is almost as new to me 
 now, as when 1 then beheld it ; and the park, 
 with its fine timber and flowing stream, looked 
 truly noble. I could have almost envied my 
 brother, Tiny, while I stood gazing on the old 
 oaks !— How glad I should have been, at that 
 moment, to have had his little wife, as now, 
 hanging on my arm !" 
 
 " And whom did you find in charge of the 
 pl ace ?_Were they not delighted to see yon ?" 
 " No ! Strangers— all strangers— put in by a 
 Chancery Commission. A silver key, however, 
 opened every door and gate ; and I enjoyed the 
 full advantage of being unrecognised as one of 
 
 the family." 
 
 " Does my aunt, then, never visit Hecking- 
 
 ton ?" 
 
 " I should think not, by the ruinous aspect 
 of the house. Any one interested in its preser- 
 vation could not but remonstrate. I have 
 heard from Lucretia that my mother took in
 
 HBCKINGTON. Ill 
 
 dudgeon something said in an angry moment 
 by my father, touching her family pride, — no 
 matter what, — which determined her never to 
 set foot in the place again." 
 
 " How can she keep away from a spot so 
 stored with family associations?" said Tiny, 
 with a heavy sigh. 
 
 " Half of which will be effaced, if she do 
 not make haste. The family pictures are 
 already covered with mildew. Scarcely a 
 feature is to be traced. I was forced to 
 mount on one of the old yellow damask settees 
 to wipe away the damp from a lovely portrait 
 you may recollect of my mother and yours, as 
 children — seated on the ground to divide a 
 basket of cherries — " 
 
 " Well, well do I remember it cousin. 
 Grandmamma was very proud of it, as one of 
 Gainsborough's best." 
 
 " And I, because the features of the Sophia 
 Rawdon it commemorates, exhibit a lifelike 
 resemblance to the little Tiny Sophia she left
 
 112 HECKINGTON. 
 
 behind. But it was melancholy to see those 
 two sweet loving faces [obscured by dust and 
 cobwebs; the sun never admitted to shine 
 upon them. Still more, to reflect how 
 thoroughly the happy children had outlived 
 the loving generosity which taught them to 
 divide their basket of cherries '.—They would 
 not have shared Heckington.-— Rather half-a- 
 dozen chancery-suits ! — " 
 
 " And was everything in the house equally 
 neglected ?" inquired Miss Corbet, who did not 
 like to hear blame imputed to her dead mother. 
 
 "Everything — everything! — The keys would 
 not turn in the locks ; the window-bars could 
 scarcely be brought down. Though it is 
 July, and the glass at seventy-five degrees, 
 the marble flags in the hall were as wet as if 
 pails of water had been thrown over them. 
 The house smelt like a church, and looked like 
 a mausoleum." 
 
 " Surely you will mention all this to Aunt 
 Enmore ?— - It ought to be looked to."
 
 HECKINGTON. 113 
 
 " It ought to be looked to, my dear ener- 
 getic little coz. But I certainly sha'n't men- 
 tion it to my mother. The Elderly Party 
 would fancy me intent upon my interests, as 
 heir-in-tail." 
 
 "To Arthur, then? — Why not write to 
 Arthur ?" 
 
 " For twenty thousand reasons, and not for 
 twenty thousand worlds. Arthur is not senti- 
 mental. Arthur is guiltless of Sehnsucht. 
 If he heard of my visit to the hall of our 
 ancestors, the Rawdonism-of-Heckington in- 
 herent in him would explode, and he would 
 fancy I went to spy into the nakedness of 
 the land. Is it not disgusting, Tiny, that the 
 golden leprosy of the century — self-interest — 
 should have so diseased our nature, that I 
 cannot open my heart to my own mother, 
 or own brother, for fear of being suspected 
 of mercenary motives ! — Fie, fie, upon us 
 all !" 
 
 c Fie upon you, now, Willy; for you are 
 VOL. i. i
 
 1 14 HECKINGTON. 
 
 unwarrantably bitter ! But it is getting very 
 late. Let us turn our steps back again ; and 
 on the way, tell me a little more about Heck- 
 ington. That old corner of the flower-garden, 
 where you used to pull up the orchises I had 
 taken the trouble of transplanting from the 
 water meadows. Is it still a garden ?" 
 
 "Covered over with a heap of rubbish! — 
 broken bricks from the old greenhouse— de- 
 molished, lest it should find its way down. 
 —I longed, Tiny, to inquire whether the 
 workmen had found in the old wall the relics 
 of your best wax-doll, which I immured there, 
 
 (do you remember ?) in one of the niches, 
 
 —while you stood by, sobbing and heart- 
 broken 1" 
 
 " You were always a bad boy, — a very un- 
 kind cousin. — " 
 
 " If you speak such overplain English, 
 burn or drown me if I give you the treasure 
 I have brought back for you from Hecking- 
 ton !"
 
 HECKINGTON. 1 1 5 
 
 " Some old plaything ! — " 
 
 " No, ungrateful girl — a new blossom,— from 
 a tree recorded to have been planted near the 
 old greenhouse, by my poor aunt Sophia." 
 
 In saying which, he drew from under his 
 waistcoat a beautiful Macartney Rose, gathered 
 from a tree which Miss Corbet well remem- 
 bered to have been cherished by the late 
 Mrs. Rawdon, for the sake of her lost 
 daughter. 
 
 So many reminiscences of childhood came 
 thronging to her heart, revived by the sight 
 and scent of a flower she had never happened 
 to see elsewhere than at Heckington, that her 
 spirits became too much oppressed for further 
 conversation. 
 
 Their return to Hertford Street, through 
 the gloaming, was all but silent.
 
 116 HECKINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Sir James Armstead, though by no means 
 the first sensible man who has made a foolish 
 marriage, was among the few who prove their 
 superiority by making the best of it. Instead 
 of sacrificing his time to the entertainment of 
 a peevish wife confined to the sofa by the in- 
 firmities of her situation, he provided ample 
 amusement for her by a profusion of books 
 and newspapers ; and above all, by the com- 
 panionship of a cheerful, amiable, female 
 friend.
 
 HECKINGTON. 117 
 
 But he did more. He consulted even the 
 interest of the cheerful friend ; and, fancying 
 Miss Corbet might be gratified by civilities 
 offered to a near kinsman on the eve of his 
 departure from England, left a card on William 
 Enmore, and an invitation to dinner. 
 
 " You should take more pains to polish up 
 your savage, my dear Tiny," said Lady 
 Armstead, offering a crumpled note to 
 Miss Corbet, the first time they met after- 
 wards. "It does not suffice to trim his 
 beard." 
 
 And by the scent of tobacco pervading the 
 thin foreign paper on which the missive was 
 hieroglyphed, Miss Corbet readily recognised 
 one of the ill-got up epistles of her cousin 
 Willy. 
 
 " Not a word of pleasure, or honour, or regret, 
 or any of the polite shams with which decent 
 people garnish their refusals," added Lady 
 Armstead. " Bruin does not so much as 
 plead a pre-engagement ; — merely says, with
 
 118 HECKINGTON. 
 
 the most graceless condensation, that he cannot 
 dine with us to-dav." 
 
 " But why invite him ? — I told your dear 
 Amy, that Willy had made up his mind not 
 to mix in society during his short stay in 
 England.— He said, from the first, that it 
 would be playing at bob-cherry with enjoy- 
 ment." 
 
 " Still, he need not have expressed himself 
 like a ploughboy." 
 
 " Certainly not, — for no one can less re- 
 semble one. My cousin is highly accomplished ; 
 — a good classic, — a perfect musician, — and 
 speaks like a native several foreign lan- 
 guages." 
 
 " Not another word, Tiny," interrupted her 
 friend, " or, in spite of his incivility, I shall 
 bribe Policeman X, (who is parading yonder 
 against the palisades of Park Lane,) to bring 
 him here to dinner, per force of truncheon." 
 
 " It would not repay your pains. My poor 
 cousin is too shy to ingratiate himself with
 
 HECKINGTON. 119 
 
 strangers. It is only those who know him 
 well, that recognise his merits." 
 
 And very sincerely did his cousin recognise 
 them at that moment ! — A letter even worse 
 written and folded than his own, — though not 
 redolent of tobacco-smoke, — had reached her 
 that morning by the post ; which served to 
 place his domestic virtues in the clearest light ; 
 a letter from her brother Alfred, at the Al- 
 denham grammar-school, who could not say 
 enough in favour of the step-cousin who had 
 paid him a flying visit on his way to town 
 from Heckington, the preceding day ; having 
 bestowed on him a tip unprecedented in the 
 annals of that venerable academy. 
 
 " Young Enmore seems a stunning chap," 
 wrote Miss Corbet's now schoolboy-icised pu- 
 pil. " He told me, dearest Tiny, he had heard 
 ever so much about me, from you." 
 
 Little, however, had she surmised at the 
 time she entertained her cousin with her 
 Grenfield House tcachership, — or Alfred's pro-
 
 120 HECKINGTON. 
 
 ficiency under her charge, and her own in- 
 tense love for the brother fated to rough it 
 through the roughest of worlds, that not a 
 syllable of her confidences had been lost upon 
 Willy. 
 
 Of the schoolboy's letter, she resolved to 
 abstain from all mention to her cousin, who, 
 from motives of delicacy or motives unex- 
 plained, had carefully kept the secret of his 
 visit. But the moment she found herself 
 alone with him in the breakfast-room, her 
 usual frankness prevailed. Out started her 
 hands, — down rolled her grateful tears. — But 
 " Oh ! Willy, how kind, how very kind of 
 you !" was the only eloquence at her disposal. 
 
 " Not another word. — I beg of you, dear 
 Tiny, not another word !" he whispered, in 
 reply ; and as his mother was at that moment 
 rustling into the room, fussing as usual about 
 the key of the tea-chest, and the over-abundant 
 supply of dry toast, he was probably afraid of 
 provoking her jealous comments.
 
 HECKINGTON. 121 
 
 It was not very wonderful that, with her 
 heart thus softened, Miss Corbet should listen 
 impatiently to the sarcastic remarks of her 
 friend Amy. It was not very wonderful that 
 she found the discussion of Debates and Di- 
 visions between Sir James and his official 
 Dittos, that day, unusually tedious. There 
 seemed more life in the little finger of Willy 
 Enmore, and more warmth in his heart, than 
 in the half-dozen wheels of the heavy machine 
 of the state, which were revolving around her. 
 She had scarcely patience when Barton Frere 
 puckered up his parchment cheek into a smile, 
 while attempting to banter her concerning her 
 tete-a-tete with the mysterious stranger. His 
 stereotyped jokes, — part of every old bachelor's 
 repertory of facetiae, — concerning impending 
 favours and wedding cake, instead of provoking 
 a flippant retort, as they would have done 
 from Florence or Carry Horsford, produced no 
 other reply than an indignant blush. 
 
 " If William the Conqueror had con-
 
 122 HECKINGTON. 
 
 descended to dine here to-day," observed 
 Lady Armstead, when she and her little friend 
 were alone together in the drawing-room after 
 dinner, " he would have heard news of his 
 brother. For as little love as is lost between 
 them, perhaps he might have cared to learn 
 how narrow has been his own escape of 
 becoming Rawdon of Heckington !" 
 
 " Has Arthur, then, been ill ?" 
 
 " In the greatest danger ; — but from an 
 accident. I had a letter this morning from 
 Bob. Probably, however, Mrs. En more knows 
 all about it." 
 
 " If so, she has said nothing to ?is." 
 
 " Us, Tiny ?— Already ?"— 
 
 " I mean to my cousin and myself. My 
 aunt, always reserved, seems very little dis- 
 posed to talk about her absent son. But will 
 you not tell me your news, Amy, that I may 
 repeat it to Willy ?" — 
 
 " You shall read my brother's letter," said 
 Lady Armstead, carelessly taking it from the
 
 HECKINGTON. 123 
 
 drawer of her writing-table. And not without 
 emotion did Miss Corbet commence the pe- 
 rusal of a long epistle, dated from Interlaken, 
 which, in spite of the slang and chaff which 
 rendered it almost unintelligible to a home- 
 reared girl, excited her heartfelt interest. 
 
 In an expedition recently attempted by 
 Arthur Enmore and his college chum, among 
 the adjoining mountains, in which they had 
 rashly dispensed with a guide, Arthur Enmore, 
 it appeared, had met with a terrible fall. His 
 own near-sightedness, or the slipperiness of 
 the grass, had hurried him to the edge of a 
 precipice ; and young Horsford, in describing 
 his horror at witnessing the sudden dis- 
 appearance of his friend, wrote with such 
 bewildered earnestness, as to be somewhat 
 difficult of comprehension. 
 
 " As well as I could manage, by grasping 
 the long grass and bushes on the hillside," 
 he wrote, — " with my heart sick, my 
 breath choking, and my head dizzy, I endea-
 
 1.24 HECKINGTON. 
 
 vowed to look over the brink, my dear Amy, 
 and ascertain the worst. But not a trace of 
 the poor fellow was visible ! Masses of stunted 
 pine-trees concealed the base of the overhang- 
 ing rock from which he fell ; and full twenty 
 minutes elapsed before, in a drizzling rain, I 
 was able to wind my way to the fatal spot : 
 where, judge of my consternation, I be- 
 held only a huddled heap of clothes ! — It 
 seemed all U. P. with Rawdon of Heck- 
 ington ! — 
 
 " I had scarcely strength to turn him on 
 his back and ascertain the worst. I expected 
 to find him smashed, mangled, unrecognisable. 
 However, by God's blessing, he had fallen on 
 thick grass and soft underwood ; and was in- 
 sensible only from the shock. No broken 
 bones, — only a frightful concussion. I pro- 
 mise you, however, that it was a trying 
 moment when, after pouring no end of Kirsch 
 down his throat from the pocket-pistol with 
 which we were luckily provided, I saw him
 
 HECKINGTON. 125 
 
 slowly unclose his eyes. I had still to learn 
 whether he had sustained any mortal injury ; 
 and I don't know that I was ever better 
 pleased than when, after striking out his legs 
 and arms as if swimming the lake instead 
 of floundering like a trout on the grass, 
 poor Arthur gradually picked himself up, 
 and sang out, ' All right, old fellow !' — like a 
 good 'un ! 
 
 " It wasn't all right, however ; as the doctors 
 found, to his cost, when, with the help of a 
 couple of foresters whom I luckily found 
 working half a mile from the spot, I got him 
 placed on a hurdle, and carried back, at a 
 snail's pace, to the hotel. For the first two 
 days, they declared that the spine was injured, 
 and ordered the unlucky patient to lie motion- 
 less on the sofa : where he might have been 
 extended till now, had he followed their stupid 
 injunctions. But Atty's natural restlessness 
 stood his friend. On the third day, he must 
 needs be up and stirring ; when lo ! the injured
 
 126 HECKINGTON. 
 
 spine turned out to be nothing worse than a 
 muscular sprain. Except for an awkward limp, 
 he is now beginning to walk about his room 
 like other people ; only that having been at 
 first copiously bled — bled like a calf — he 
 remains as weak as a rat. When I thought 
 him in danger, I asked his leave to notify his 
 disaster to his brother and mother ; and if you 
 had only seen him flare up at the proposal ! — 
 I must beg you, therefore, to say nothing of 
 it to the old lady in Hertford Street, who 
 might take it into her head to write to Willy 
 at Dresden ; and that would never do ! — If he 
 were to come here, his brother, lame and dis- 
 abled as he is, would rush out straight into 
 the lake. Atty will not hear his name men- 
 lioned." 
 
 A few rambling family messages to Cleve- 
 lands concluded the letter ; which, from first to 
 last, served only to wound the sensitive feelings 
 of Miss Corbet. 
 
 " Strange people to live amongst, these
 
 HECKINGTON. 127 
 
 Enmores !" observed Lady Armstead, on no- 
 ticing her air of chagrin. 
 
 But Tiny was just then puzzling herself 
 whether it were not her duty to communicate 
 to her cousin what she had learned from her 
 friend ; for to her, Arthur's prohibitions, or 
 Bob Horsford's injunctions, were nothing. 
 
 Fagged and out of spirits, it was a relief to 
 be informed by Harding, on her return home, 
 that his lady had retired for the night. She 
 made her way, however, to the drawing-room^ 
 to place in a vase standing on the table, some 
 rare exotics given her by Lady Armstead, 
 which had been sent up that morning from 
 Higham Grange ; beautiful, but far less pre- 
 cious than the Heckington rose she had 
 carefully laid aside to dry ! — Of finding Willy 
 established there, she entertained no appre- 
 hension ; for at that hour, he was always at 
 his Club. Yet there he was, extended ou 
 the sofa, apparently asleep ; and she was 
 about to steal from the room, and leave
 
 128 HECKINGTON. 
 
 him to his slumbers, when he suddenly 
 started up. 
 
 " I thought you were never coming back !" 
 he exclaimed, contemplating with admiring 
 eyes her airy white muslin dress and richly 
 braided hair. — " How pretty you look, Tiny ! 
 — fresh as a flower ! All dinner-time, I w r as 
 taking shame to myself for my excuses to those 
 people in Park Lane. — To think that, but for 
 my own sullen obstinacy, I might have spent 
 several additional hours in your company !" — 
 
 " And why did you excuse yourself ?" said 
 she, not sitting down, but still holding her 
 candle in one hand and her flowers in the 
 other. 
 
 " Because I detest the whole hen-coop of 
 Horsfords ! — Bob is my sworn enemy, as^ I 
 am his'* 
 
 " He may be no friend of yours, Willy ; — 
 but he is a very attached one of your brother." 
 
 IC Only because he wants him for a brother- 
 in-law. The Horsfords are patent impostors."
 
 HECKINGTON. 129 
 
 " I cannot help hoping that you are over- 
 severe," said Miss Corbet. 
 
 And without further hesitation, she related 
 to him the story of Arthur's accident, and the 
 intense anxiety of his friend. 
 
 Even Lady Armstead, had she been present, 
 would have found no fault with the degree of 
 sensibility evinced by Willy Enraore through- 
 out the narrative. Though he abstained from 
 interrupting his cousin by a single inquiry or 
 exclamation, the tears brimming in his eyes, 
 the colour fluctuating in his cheeks, demon- 
 strated his heartfelt interest in her story ; and 
 when, at the close, she repeated Bob Horsford's 
 hopes that the " dear old fellow would soon be 
 on his pins again," Willy fetched a deep breath, 
 as though relieved from an intolerable bur- 
 then. 
 
 The certainty of his brother's safety was not, 
 however, more gratifying to him, than was to 
 his cousin the sight of his emotion. 
 
 Why was he always endeavouring to smother 
 
 vol. i. K
 
 130 HECKINGTON. 
 
 every natural feeling, every humane sentiment ? 
 Was it, indeed, as he asserted, because sordid 
 interest had been rendered by his parents the 
 predominating influence of life ? — Had he been 
 taught to despise sensibility as a weakness, in 
 a home, which, human love being banished, 
 scarcely deserved the name ? 
 
 " Dearest Tiny," said he, at length taking 
 her hand, for, absorbed by the details of his 
 story, she had unconsciously deposited on the 
 table her light and flowers, — " how much am 
 I indebted to you for disregarding Arthur's 
 injunction ! — How truly do I thank you for 
 confiding to me all this !" 
 
 " But surely," remonstrated Miss Corbet, 
 — and at that moment, unseen by either, a 
 third person entered the room of which the 
 door was standing a-jar, — " surely we ought to 
 confide it to my aunt ? She will never forgive 
 us for keeping her so completely in the dark. 5 ' 
 
 " Not for worlds !" exclaimed Willy, im- 
 printing a kiss on the hand he was grasping,
 
 HECKINGTON. 131 
 
 — ■" I must act first, and enlighten her after- 
 wards. I will never forgive you, Tiny, if, till 
 I sanction it, you afford the slightest warning 
 to my mother." 
 
 Apprised by Miss Corbet's sudden start 
 and rapid paleness that something was amiss, 
 the agitated Willy, turning towards the door, 
 at which poor Tiny was glancing, descried his 
 mother standing in her night-dress on the 
 threshold. 
 
 Now if no man be a hero to his valet-de- 
 chambre, no woman short of Mrs. Sicldons 
 in Lady Macbeth, ever looked august in a 
 bedgown. — Mrs. Enmore least of all : for the 
 removal of her capillary attractions reducing 
 her to her " just integrity," she acquired, with 
 her wide-frilled nightcap, full twenty years 
 of age. 
 
 It was fortunate, therefore, that, whether or 
 not she intended to play the spy on her 3 on 
 and niece, she at least did not aspire to a 
 tragic denouement of the domestic drama 
 
 K .
 
 132 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Scenes were out of Mrs. Enmore's line ; and 
 open combat was foreign to her system. 
 
 " I felt alarmed at hearing voices in the 
 drawing-room, having left Willy asleep, and 
 not knowing you were returned," said she, 
 calmly addressing her niece. " I thought it 
 best to make sure that Harding, who gets 
 drowsy from our present late hours, had put 
 out the lights. How did you find Lady 
 Armstead to-day ?" 
 
 " Not very well. But she roused herself to 
 entertain her company, and was quite cheerful 
 before I left," said Miss Corbet, greatly con- 
 fused by the custody of a family-secret to be 
 concealed from her aunt. 
 
 " You must go and see her again to-morrow, 
 then," said Mrs. Enmore, with self-command 
 undiminished by her maternal discoveries. 
 " And now, my dear, as it has struck twelve, 
 let us ring the bell, and release poor Harding 
 from further attendance." 
 . " Good night, mother ! — Good night, dear,
 
 HECKINGTON. 133 
 
 dear Tiny !" said Willy, again pressing his lips 
 to the hand he had not relinquished. 
 
 And his cousin, aware of the painful feelings 
 just then struggling in his bosom, attri- 
 buted his unusual fervour to his recent 
 shock. 
 
 In the silence of her own chamber, she sat ru- 
 minating on all that had passed ; on the escape 
 of Arthur Rawdon, and the sudden betrayal of 
 fraternal tenderness on the part of his brother ; 
 and, thus occupied, a brief night of July glided 
 imperceptibly away. Morning peeped into the 
 chamber before she retired to rest. 
 
 Wearied in heart and soul, she fell heavily 
 asleep ; — little surmising that in the interim 
 her aunt was planning a plausible letter to be 
 written on the morrow, requesting Mr. Cor- 
 bet to " fetch home his dear Sophia to Gren- 
 field House; as the languid looks of her 
 niece were beginning to betray the ill-effects 
 of a prolonged sojourn in London. She did 
 not wish to alarm him. But the sooner he
 
 134 EECKINGTOy. 
 
 removed her to a purer atmosphere, the 
 better." 
 
 Like most manosuvrers, the prudent mother 
 rejoiced by anticipation in the success of her 
 projects. The young couple still doubtful 
 how much of their conversation the preceding 
 night she had overheard, would be startled 
 as by a coup d 'e'tat by Mr. Corbet's arrival ; 
 more particularly, as she intended to warn 
 her simple-hearted brother-in-law against all 
 mention of her letter. — " It might be injurious 
 to poor Tiny if she discovered that her friends 
 were uneasy about her health." 
 
 The Elderly Party made no extraordinary 
 haste in rising or dressing, with the view 
 of circumventing further Ute-a-Utes between 
 the young couple. It sufficed that her iron 
 grasp was upon them. 
 
 " Is Miss Corbet down ?" she inquired of 
 her prim maid, Parkins, as she fastened the 
 last hook of her dress. 
 
 " No, mem, — nor stirring, that I can hear ;
 
 HECKINGTON. 135 
 
 which is the more curious, considering her 
 early habits, when she first came to this 
 house." 
 
 " We were all later than usual, last night, 
 Parkins." 
 
 " So I find, mem. I was amazed to hear 
 you go back to the drawing-room long after I 
 had left you, undressed. I was even thinking 
 of stepping down myself, mem, to give you a 
 shawl." 
 
 " It was a very close night. No [chance of 
 my taking cold." 
 
 " Then, perhaps, it was best, mem, to sit 
 late, and take leave of Mr. William, over night, 
 sooner than be roused up at such a pleposte- 
 rous hour in the morning. Harding was 
 forced to go to bed again, — after Mr. Willy 
 was gone, mem ; — quite knocked up, by 
 having to carry down them heavy boxes !" 
 
 " What heavy boxes ?" — inquired Mrs. En- 
 more, aghast. 
 
 " Why, certainly perhaps, mem, not the
 
 136 HECKINGTON. 
 
 heaviest. Probably Mr. William did not wish 
 to have you and Miss Corbet disturbed at six 
 o'clock in the morning by the hurry-skurry of 
 porters on the stairs. The mail-trunks are 
 left corded and directed upstairs, to go by 
 the afternoon goods-train." 
 
 Mrs. Enmore was by this time even more 
 astounded than she had been by her over- 
 hearings, in the drawing-room, the preceding 
 night. But, ever on her guard, she took care 
 not to betray to her prying attendant, how 
 thoroughly she was taken by surprise. 
 
 " At what hour did he go ?" she said, 
 composedly extending her muslin sleeve to be 
 buttoned. 
 
 "At twenty minutes past six, mem. I 
 looked at my watch when I heard the cab 
 rattle off; which not being able to account 
 for, I thought somethen must be amiss. 
 For though others may have known all about 
 it, I wasn't no-wise apprised of Mr. William's 
 departure ; no more wasn't Harding."
 
 HECKINGTON. 137 
 
 Had Mrs. Enmore received intelligence of 
 her son's elopement with his cousin, she could 
 scarcely have felt more overcome. Though 
 predetermined that the young people should 
 not abide many days longer under the same 
 roof, she wished their separation to be an act 
 and deed of her own ; not the result of a fit 
 of petulance on the part of either. The ten- 
 dency of this sudden act of wilfulness, who 
 could guess ? — Its motive, it was difficult not 
 to attribute to an avowal he had extorted 
 from her, at dinner the preceding day, when 
 she endeavoured, by remote hints, to per- 
 suade him that a steam-voyage to Jamaica, 
 in the dog-days, would be almost as plea- 
 sant as yachting. On his laughingly de- 
 murring to such an opinion, she had foolishly 
 added — 
 
 " At all events, it woidd be better than 
 a summer in town. Even Arthur, in his 
 last letter, expressed his wonder that you, 
 who have always affected to hate and despise
 
 138 HECKINGTON. 
 
 a London life, should be dawdling out the 
 season in Hertford Street." 
 
 "'But how does he tow that I am dawdling 
 in Hertford Street ?" was his rejoinder. " We 
 have not corresponded these two years. Have 
 you been complaining to him, mother, of the 
 length of my visit ?" 
 
 "Your brother doubtless heard of it from 
 the Horsfords. I never mention your name 
 to him. It would only produce dissension 
 between us." 
 
 No sooner had the words escaped her lips 
 than she would have given worlds to recall 
 them. When she saw the flame that glared 
 in the eyes of her son, as he repeated, accom- 
 panied by the most opprobrious epithets, the 
 name of the Horsfords, she was thankful 
 that hundreds of leagues of sea and land 
 intervened between her unbrotherly offspring. 
 
 And now, she was fain to attribute his 
 abrupt departure to her own rash hint, and' 
 Willy's resentment of his brother's enmity !
 
 HECKINGTON. 139 
 
 But her first object was to put a good face 
 upon the matter with her niece. 
 
 Refreshed by sleep after her careworn night, 
 Tiny soon made her appearance in the cheerful 
 breakfast-room, into which the summer sun 
 was shining pleasantly. Her quick eye 
 instantly noted that the table was laid for 
 two ; that no chair, no cup-and-saucer, were 
 set for " Mr. William." 
 
 "Does not Willy breakfast at home this 
 morning?" said she, anxiously; for after a 
 wrangle with his mother, he often breakfasted 
 at the Travellers', or at Verev's. 
 
 " Surely he took leave of you last night ?" 
 said Mrs. Enmore, intently watching her. 
 " Are you not aware that my son is off for 
 Jamaica ?" 
 
 " Impossible, dear aunt ; — impossible — im- 
 possible !" cried Miss Corbet, as pale as 
 death. 
 
 " His luggage is to follow him, this after- 
 noon. See ! — The van of the South-Western
 
 140 HECKINGTON. 
 
 railway is at the door, to convey it to Waterloo 
 station." 
 
 Tiny flew to the window, to verify the 
 assertion. In another moment, she was in the 
 hall. Yes ! one of the boxes already brought 
 down was standing there, addressed to — 
 
 " William Enmore, Esq., Passenger, 
 " W. I. Mail Office, 
 
 " Southampton Docks." 
 
 "You seem astounded, my dear ?" observed 
 Mrs. Enmore, as her niece staggered back 
 into the room, and threw herself into a 
 chair. 
 
 " Say, rather, grieved \" was the frank reply. 
 "That he should have gone without a word ! 
 — That he should have left England at such a 
 time !" 
 
 And she seemed so near fainting, that 
 Mrs. Enmore, almost touched by her distress, 
 poured out a glass of iced water, which, in
 
 HECKINGTON. 141 
 
 compliment to Willy's predilections, stood on 
 the side-table. 
 
 An unwonted gleam of sympathy in her 
 keen eyes had all but betrayed her niece into 
 a full avowal of her especial motives for de- 
 ploring the precipitate flight of Arthur's only 
 brother. She could scarcely refrain from own- 
 ing how fervently she had hoped that the 
 danger and escape from death of the elder, 
 would have moved the heart of the younger to 
 seek a full and affectionate reconciliation ; that 
 he would overlook Rawdon of Heckington in 
 the lnterlaken invalid. 
 
 But her pledge to Lady Armstead sealed 
 her lips ; and the confusion with which she 
 checked herself after uttering — " He ought not 
 to .have gone. — It was very wrong — very 
 cruel — very wicked. He half promised 
 that — ' : Then, instead of concluding her 
 sentence, covered her face with her hands and 
 wept bitterly, — served only to confirm the false 
 impressions of Mrs. Enmore.
 
 142 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Accustomed to repress her own emotions, 
 she regarded hysterical tears with the same 
 terror and annoyance that others contemplate 
 a fire ; and the restraint ever efficacious in her 
 own case to secure self-control, was the only 
 one that suggested itself on the present occa- 
 sion to restore Miss Corbet to composure. 
 She summoned the servants, as witnesses. 
 She rang for Harding to bring the urn. She 
 sent for Parkins to bring her keys. If their 
 presence did not compel her niece to self- 
 government, she was incorrigible. 
 
 But Harding was slow in making his ap- 
 pearance ; being occupied in endeavouring to 
 repel the entrance of Lucretia Rawdon, who, 
 ere the street-door was closed after the driving 
 off of the railway- van, had forced her way into 
 the hall, and was inexorable to the plea of — 
 " not at home." 
 
 ' I don't want to see my cousin Jane, — I 
 don't want to see Sophia Corbet," she said, 
 furling her ample parasol with a manifest
 
 HECKINGTON. 143 
 
 resolve to make her way in. " But I must 
 and will see Mr. Willy. I have particular 
 business with him." 
 
 Harassed out of all forbearance by his 
 crosses and cares of the morning, the " pam- 
 pered menial " gruffly informed her that, unless 
 her business could be transacted by letter, she 
 would have to await his return from Jamaica. 
 But on this hint, she became clamorous to see 
 " Cousin Jane," or even the contemned Tiny. 
 — She w r as not to be denied. 
 
 Preferring even this unpalatable intervention 
 to a Mte-a-tete with her niece, Mrs. Enmore 
 came forward to sanction the admittance of 
 the angry spinster. 
 
 " It is true, then ?" cried she, when, after 
 shaking hands stiffly with the mistress of the 
 house, she discerned traces of tears on the 
 eyelashes of her younger cousin. — " He's really 
 gone ? — Not one of those specious shams with 
 which the servants here are always so ready ? 
 — Sailed for the West Indies, eh ? — Probably
 
 144 HECKINGTON. 
 
 never to return ! — The yellow fever is raging 
 in Spanish Town ! — The cholera is at its worst 
 throughout the island ! — Jane, Jane ! why 
 don't you answer ? — Why don't you speak ? — 
 Who ever thought you would turn out such 
 an unnatural mother! — You've driven that 
 poor lad out of house and home, to die like 
 a dog amongst strangers !" 
 
 " Since you are so much interested in our 
 family affairs," rejoined Mrs. Enmore, in a low, 
 husky voice, " you cannot but be' aware that 
 Willy arrived here from Germany only on his 
 way to visit the Fredville Estate." 
 
 "I know what brought him to England. 
 But both you and I are perfectly aware what 
 kept him here. Don't leave the room, Tiny. 
 I have nothing to say but what you ought to 
 hear. When Willy was with me the day 
 before yesterday, he told me distinctly that he 
 should remain in London another month, 
 unless (which wasn't unlikely,) his mother 
 worried him away. And you have worried
 
 HECKIXGTOX. 145 
 
 him, Jane. He's gone ; and you'll repent it 
 to the longest day you have to live." 
 
 In the intensity of her irritation, the en- 
 raged spinster totally disregarded the presence 
 of Harding, who was now storing his mind 
 with the why and because of the family 
 commotion, by pretending to effect a dex- 
 terous coalition between the teapot and the 
 tea-urn. 
 
 "It is no fault of mine," Mrs. Enmore 
 observed, vaguely hoping still to deceive 
 somebody, "that my son did not think it 
 necessary to apprise you of his intended de- 
 parture. He may have had motives of his 
 own for the concealment." 
 
 ' Nonsense ! — there is neither motive nor 
 concealment in his nature. Willy is all im- 
 pulse. Don't judge him by yourself. Tiny, 
 give me a glass of that cold water — I feel 
 as if I was choking." 
 
 Cousin Jane was, perhaps, less desirous 
 than she ought to have been that the sensa- 
 
 VOL I. i,
 
 146 HECKINGTON. 
 
 tion might prove deceptive. But the Cas- 
 sandra of the Rawdon dynasty soon recovered 
 sufficient breath to renew her denuncia- 
 tions. 
 
 " I emphatically declare, and would swear 
 it on oath," cried she, " that, two days 
 ago, when Willy returned from Hecking- 
 ton — " 
 
 " From Heckington ?" 
 
 " He had no more thoughts of leaving 
 England for weeks to come, than I have of 
 starting for Constantinople ! Do you think 
 he would have commissioned me to wait upon 
 his grandfather's executors, or trustees, or 
 whatever those rogues of lawyers in look's 
 Court choose to call themselves, and let him 
 know the result of my interview, if he hadn't 
 intended to be on the spot and hear what I 
 might have to communicate ?" 
 
 " You are, as usual, indulging in strange 
 delusions," said Mrs. Enmore. " My son 
 Willy has not visited Heckington for years.
 
 HECKINGTON. 147 
 
 What should he do there ? — What are the 
 trustees to Mm ?" 
 
 " It is because they are nothiug, that he 
 chose me to confer with them. But since 
 you have no faith in my word, ask Tiny there, 
 how long it is since her cousin was at Heck- 
 ington." 
 
 " I shall ask no one," rejoined the " Elderly 
 Party," perceiving, by a furtive glance at her 
 niece's heightened complexion, that she was 
 prepared to second the assertions of Lucretia. 
 " Whatever my son wished me to know of his 
 movements or affairs, he personally communi- 
 cated. Anything he preferred confiding to 
 other people, was doubtless less qualified to 
 meet a mother's ear." 
 
 " No such thing !" persisted Lucretia, not to 
 be silenced by plausible flourish. " Willy did 
 not acquaint you with his visit to his family 
 seat, because your suspicious nature would 
 have been fishing out evil motives for what 
 was a natural instinct. All he desired to 
 
 i 2 
 
 ■ ~
 
 ] 48 HECKINGTON. 
 
 learn from the trustees was, whether, since 
 they did not choose to incur the expense of 
 airing the house, or keeping it weather-tight, 
 he might be permitted to contribute a suffi- 
 cient sum, annually, to secure the preservation 
 of the pictures." 
 
 " Very provident, certainly. It is not every 
 heir-in-tail who would take such thought for 
 an inheritance little likely to come into his 
 possession." 
 
 " You wrong him — you wrong him ! Sor- 
 did calculations had no share in my cousin's 
 anxiety about the ruinous state of Heckington," 
 cried Miss Corbet, breaking silence for the first 
 time since the entrance of Lucretia. " /, dear 
 Aunt, am not the heir-in-tail, — / have no 
 claims on Heckington. But it grieved me 
 almost as much as it did him, to find the 
 only existing portraits of our two mothers, 
 disfigured by a coat of mildew." 
 
 Was the crimson flush that overspcad the 
 sallow face of Mrs. Enmore, as she listened to
 
 HECKINGTON. 149 
 
 this protest, produced by learning the degra- 
 dation of a picture formerly so prized by her 
 parents ; or by the confirmation thus afforded, 
 that a secret understanding existed between 
 her son and niece ? 
 
 At all events, she had too much on her hands 
 at present, in parrying the attacks and 
 abridging the visit of her unwelcome guest, to 
 elucidate the question. 
 
 Tiny must bide her time ! —
 
 150 HECKINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Squire Horsford of Clevelands, though, 
 for twenty years, he had enjoyed in his 
 county the consequence and comfort attendant 
 on a fine estate, was beginning to be re- 
 minded by a certain perennial thinness at the 
 elbows of his coat and toes of his boots, that 
 what was wealth for a newly-married couple, 
 may be rendered poverty by the overgrowth 
 of an expensive family. He was one of the 
 many whose place the rapid march of luxury, 
 in England, is rendering untenable.
 
 HECKINGTOX. 151 
 
 With a wife and daughters intent upon 
 vying in finery and fashion with ladyships six 
 times greater and richer than themselves, — 
 with a fast son at Oxford, another in the 
 Crimea, and a wild Etoniau rising fifteen, it 
 was difficult to make both ends of his income 
 meet ; and impossible to renovate the fur- 
 niture of Clevelands, which was growing 
 shabby, or prevent the gardens and green- 
 houses from looking weedy and sere. 
 
 The too easy master of the family had been 
 long persuaded by his wife that an annual 
 visit to London was indispensable for the in- 
 terests of his daughters ; and the brilliant 
 marriage of then.' pretty Amy afforded unlucky 
 support to her system. It was, however, a 
 sad disappointment to find that Lady Arm- 
 stead's chaperonage of her sisters was not to 
 enable them to dispense with their usual 
 season in town ; and that his hopefuls were not 
 likely to appropriate to themselves, as they 
 had expected, the excellent stud and capital
 
 153 HECKINGTON. 
 
 preserves of their new brother-in-law. The 
 grave, well-bred Sir James Armstead, who 
 took no liberties, was not a man with whom 
 liberties could be taken. 
 
 Having courteously declined the invitation 
 of the Horsfords to visit Clevelands with his 
 dear Amy at the close of the Session, on the 
 plea of long-standing engagements at home, 
 he expressed a hope of seeing them in Somer- 
 setshire later in the year ; — adding something 
 about the excellence of the cock-shooting at 
 Higham Grange, which purported to render 
 the c< later" as late as possible. 
 
 The Squire was satisfied ; for Mr. Horsford, 
 under the pressure of family cares, and an 
 inveterate gout, had shuffled on to a time of 
 life when even a sporting man is content to 
 take sportsmanship easy ; handling his rod, 
 gun, or hunting-whip, as tamely as he would 
 his umbrella, to lounge over his own propert} , 
 rather than go further and fare better. Un- 
 ceasingly taxed by the extravagance of his
 
 HECKINGTON. 153 
 
 scattered offspring, it was lucky that the nar- 
 rowness of his mind rendered him insensible 
 to the gradual decay of his body and estate. 
 He continued to keep his game-lists and 
 hunting-journal, with all their vicissitudes of 
 weather, stud, and kennels, with exemplary 
 punctuality. The Reform of the House of 
 Commons he left to Sir James Armstead; 
 the reform and private bills of his own 
 house, to the mismanagement of his 
 wife. 
 
 The fine trout-stream that fertilised the 
 meadows of Clevelands, luckily afforded the 
 poor squire a pretext for seeing as little as pos- 
 sible of the ready-furnished house in town into 
 which his family was cramped, while the may- 
 fly was on the water ; and on their return 
 home, languid and discontented, at the close 
 of the season, the prospect of becoming a 
 grandpapa announced to him by his wife, fully 
 accounted for the anxiety evinced by Sir 
 James Armstead that for the present their
 
 154 HECKINGTON. 
 
 pretty Amy should lead a quiet life. About 
 December, when he hoped to " have a shy at 
 the Somersetshire woodcocks," he trusted to 
 find a little son-and-heir flourishing at Higham 
 Grange. 
 
 It was consequently rather startling to Mr. 
 Horsford when, one fine day in September, in 
 crossing the high road on the outskirts of his 
 property in pursuit of a covey of partridges, 
 and to the impediment of a rough pony, with 
 Henry Corbet on its back, he was forced to 
 stand and deliver his stock of neighbourly 
 news ; and found that, while his daughters 
 were grumbling in the shrubberies of Cleve- 
 lands, the pretty bridesmaid of Grenfield 
 House was enjoying with the Armsteads the 
 bracing air of Higham Downs. 
 
 " I had promised my sister-in-law that Tiny 
 should accompany her to the sea-side before 
 she returned home," said Mr. Corbet, in an- 
 swer to the civil inquiries after his daughter 
 of his brother sportsman; "for Mrs. En more
 
 HECKINGTON. 155 
 
 usually spends the fall of the year at Broad - 
 stairs, or East Bourne, or some other bathing- 
 place. But when it came to the start, Sir 
 James and Lady Armstead, who had shown 
 no end of kindness to my girl all the season 
 long, were so urgent that she should give 
 them her company for a month or two, that 
 her aunt was prevailed upon to give her up. 
 But all this can be no news to you," added 
 Mr. Corbet, " so I needn't keep you pottering 
 here, balking Ponto and Don in their scent." 
 
 The truth was, that both to aunt and niece 
 the pressing invitation of the Armsteads af- 
 forded a very acceptable alternative. In their 
 present relative position, they were far from 
 happy together; and Parkins and Harding, 
 who were in the habit of refreshing themselves 
 with the annual enjoyment of complete do- 
 nothingness in seaside lodgings, did their 
 utmost to forward a scheme that relieved them 
 from additional trouble. Tiny herself, aware 
 that she was not expected at home before
 
 156 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Christmas, was not sorry to enjoy the interim 
 in an atmosphere somewhat less torpid than 
 the unhomeish home of her aunt. It was too 
 full of reminiscences, too full of Willy; the 
 cousin who had quitted her as he would 
 have flung off some garment of which he 
 was weary; marking his contempt of her 
 opinions and prayers by quitting Europe 
 at the moment when his only brother lay in 
 peril of death. How could she continue to 
 care for one who cared so little for herself? — 
 How could she continue to care for one who 
 betrayed such unchristianly hardness of heart ? 
 — To quit the spot which reproduced him 
 every moment before her eyes, was indeed a 
 relief ! 
 
 Right happy would she have been, if, at 
 the moment of bidding her farewell, she could 
 have fancied that the only sister of her lost 
 mother experienced the smallest regret at her 
 departure. But Mrs. Enmore's heart was em- 
 bittered against her, as in some degree the
 
 HECKINGTON. 157 
 
 origin of renewed family discord. It was 
 something, moreover, to be relieved from the 
 presence of a person with whom she was con- 
 tinually playing a part. 
 
 Nor were her feelings mollified towards her 
 niece, when, some days after she had quitted 
 town with the Armsteads, a newspaper reached 
 Hertford Street, per post, addressed in the 
 well-known handwriting of Lucretia Rawdon ; 
 which contained, under the head of " Inter- 
 laken," a full but somewhat exaggerated ac- 
 count of the accident which had befallen her 
 son. That he was safe, — preserved, as by a 
 miracle, from destruction, — did not half so 
 much elicit her gratitude to Heaven, as her 
 conviction that, through her intimacy with the 
 Horsford family, Tiny had been from the first 
 apprised of the event which she had carefully 
 preserved from her knowledge provoked her 
 anger. Nothing so irritating to a cunning 
 person as to be over-reached. 
 
 The poor girl whose life had been of late
 
 158 HECKINGTON. 
 
 encircled by a hedge of thorns, was enjoying 
 meanwhile the full advantage of living among 
 people unprivileged by affinity of blood to 
 tyrannise over her thoughts and feelings. The 
 good nature of Amy, now subdued by in- 
 disposition, and the well-bred intelligence of 
 her husband, rendered them truly acceptable 
 companions after the narrow-minded despotism 
 of Mrs. Enmore. 
 
 It surprised her, however, a little, after 
 hearing Sir James enlarge so feelingly on the 
 advantage his poor wife would derive from the 
 cheerful society of an old friend, to find on 
 their arrival at Higham Grange, that a suc- 
 cession of company was expected. So far 
 from the " poor wife " having a solitary dress- 
 ing-room to apprehend, the utmost sacrifice 
 required of Tiny in her behalf, was to share 
 the pleasant task of entertaining the neigh- 
 bourhood, and welcoming the habitues of 
 Park Lane. 
 
 Higham Grange was a respectable old
 
 HECKINGTON. 159 
 
 family- seat, built by an opulent ancestor, and 
 uutortured out of its original symmetry by 
 modern improvements. The structure was 
 Jacobean — the gardens accordant — the avenue 
 singularly fine ; the whole establishment on a 
 nobler scale than any with which Tiny had 
 been hitherto familiar. The Armstead 
 baronetcy was one of the oldest of that much- 
 abused Order of semi-nobility ; and its present 
 representative had enlisted in official life from 
 no covetousness of either salary or a coronet ; 
 but because, having greatly distinguished him- 
 self at the University, he was hailed as a pre- 
 destined premier, both by his family and the 
 groundlings. 
 
 Nine arrows in ten fall short of the mark ; 
 and for one Hamlet, there arise scores of 
 Laerteses. But Sir James Armstead, though 
 neither a Burleigh nor a Chatham, turned out 
 an excellent Under-Secretary. While his con- 
 temporaries devoted their energies to suppress- 
 ing the fox, or encouraging the pheasant, he
 
 160 HECKINGTON. 
 
 was working for the country by repressing 
 tickets of leave, and hatching Colonies and 
 Reformatories. Let us hope that he was 
 working for conscience sake ! At all events, 
 he had attained the first station on his road 
 to a peerage. 
 
 In the case of most officials, it is the pave- 
 ment of Downing Street, or floor of the House 
 of Commons, that entitles a placeman to say 
 " my foot is on my native heath, and my name 
 is Macgregor." But Armstead the Baronet, 
 was never so much himself as when his boot 
 was on the pavement of his noble hall at 
 Higharn, and his eye on his own name im- 
 printed upon hundreds of carts and agricul- 
 tural-machines, contributing to the cultivation 
 of the mother-earth wherewith his own clay 
 was congenial; — the earth whose business it 
 was to produce harvests of heavy wheat, early 
 peas, and French potherbs, for his behoof. 
 His pretty Amy had not abided cight-and- 
 forty hours under the roof of Higham Grange,
 
 HECKINGTON. 161 
 
 before she fancied that her wedded lord was 
 a different man from the M.P. of the London 
 session. Stewards, bailiffs, head-gardeners, and 
 all the paraphernalia of landed proprietorship, 
 had added a cubit to his stature. 
 
 In Park Lane, in spite of a few bickerings 
 and occasional resentments, she had loved him 
 as an indulgent husband, a little too old for her. 
 But now, as he paced the stately terraces of 
 Higham Grange, she looked up to him as one 
 who, if arrayed in the starched ruff and velvet 
 doublet of Raleigh's time, entitled to the axe 
 and block of despotic sovereignty, would have 
 done honour to his caste. She wondered only 
 how he had ever stooped from his granite and 
 Caen stone, to the stuccoed insignificance of 
 Clevelands ! Even the venerable servants of 
 the house commanded her consideration ; 
 and there was a silver-haired head-keeper of 
 stalwart proportions, whose stately saluta- 
 tion it was difficult not to acknowledge in 
 kind. 
 
 vol. I. m
 
 162 EECKINGTON. 
 
 But if the impressions received by 
 Lady Armstead were of a favourable sort, 
 those she created were fully as advantageous. 
 On her first inauguration into bureaucratic 
 life, in Park Lane, the polished man of the 
 world was occasionally a little shocked at the 
 Horsford levity still inherent in his wife. 
 But all flippancy was now subdued in the 
 delicate-looking invalid, enveloped in muslin 
 and mechlin, so happy in his society and the 
 mild companionship of Tiny Corbet ; and 
 who was shortly to crown the ancient honours 
 of Higham Grange, by a direct heir to its 
 line. 
 
 Sir James had been scarcely aware how 
 much this was an object to him. He had 
 never surmised how much more beauty he 
 should discover in the sweet pale face that 
 smiled beside his library-fire, than in the 
 brilliant Amy of the London ball-room, or 
 Clevelands lawn-meet. 
 
 He had, indeed, to thank his own foresight
 
 HECKINGTON. 1 63 
 
 for having estranged her from the influence of 
 the flirting sisters and deceitful mother, who 
 had promoted the union of the beauty of the 
 family with a man twenty years older than 
 herself, only that she might shine a London 
 belle ; wearing finer dresses and giving more 
 f&tes, than she could have otherwise pretended 
 to. But he also knew that, in conquering the 
 new wife whom a second marriage, as it were, 
 had made his own, he was not a little indebted 
 to the gentle, kindly, unassuming companion 
 he had urged upon her friendship. 
 
 How much the calm dignity of Higham 
 Grange had assisted in matronising his lady, 
 he little suspected. Nay, he might perhaps 
 have felt mortified that the wife in whom his 
 personal reputation, parliamentary standing 
 and inherited rank, had excited so little re- 
 spect, should have been so much impressed 
 by the train of mounted tenants that arrived 
 to welcome them on the verge of his domain ; 
 — by the deferential deportment of his old- 
 
 m 2
 
 164 HECKINGTON. 
 
 fashioned household, — and by the dignified 
 family gallery of which Holbein had laid the 
 foundation. It was certainly not to these he 
 wished to be indebted for her first conscious- 
 ness of his importance. — It was not to the 
 flashy vulgarity of her antecedents he cared 
 to owe her newly-found sense of his dignity. 
 It was not the simpering faces of the one 
 generation of Horsfords which preceded her 
 father, — the son of a stockbroker whose father 
 was a myth, — that ought to have imparted 
 a charm to his own long-bodiced great grand- 
 mothers. 
 
 A man so wise in his generation ought, 
 however, to have been thankful to local in- 
 fluence and the grand old avenues of Higham 
 Grange for having accomplished what his 
 personal merit had failed to effect.
 
 HECKINGTON. 165 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Next week, my dear Amy, when the 
 Brookdales arrive," said Sir James, one 
 morning to his wife, as they were making the 
 tour of the orangerie into which the well- 
 fruited old trees had just been removed for 
 the winter, — " we must invite a few of our 
 neighbours. My sister will expect it ; and it 
 will be a relief to Miss Corbet. You and I 
 are beginning to count but as one," he added, 
 fondly pressing her arm, — " and the poor girl 
 will be tired of a continual t6te-a-tete." —
 
 166 HECKINGTON. 
 
 "How little you know her. The library 
 and gardens are sufficient company for Tiny. 
 She has led such a sober, lonely life, that 
 the perpetual excitement without which Mo. 
 and Carry cannot exist, only serves to bore 
 and fatigue Tiny." 
 
 "Lucky girl, — or rather lucky man who 
 obtains her for a wife ! — I wish she would 
 take a fancy to my friend Frere, who is more 
 than three parts in love with her." 
 
 "A fancy, to that horrid old Barton 
 
 Frere ?"— 
 
 "Did you not promise me, traitress, that 
 you would never again apply the epithet ' old' 
 to my friends and contemporaries ?" 
 
 " But Barton Frere is not your contempo- 
 rary. I am convinced he was bora bald and 
 tiresome." 
 
 "As my head of hair is at present un- 
 impeachable, I can afford to let you use the 
 words bald and tiresome, as synonymous. I 
 can assure you, however, that Frere would
 
 HECKINGTON. 167 
 
 make an admirable husband, and place his 
 wife in an excellent position." 
 
 "I don't believe Tiny cares about position. 
 Only she must love the people she lives with. 
 She was perfectly contented in her poky old 
 home; because she dearly loved her father 
 and mother and little brothers." 
 
 " There are hopes then, that she did not 
 love her handsome cousin in Hertford Street ; 
 as she seems to have been overjoyed to 
 escape from thence." 
 
 "One can't tell. She never talks about 
 him — though often about her little school- 
 boy-pupil." 
 
 " That looks ugly ! — " Sir James was on the 
 point of adding. But he refrained; certain 
 that every word he uttered respecting Miss 
 Corbet would, in the course of the day, be 
 repeated to her by his wife. 
 
 When Lord and Lady Brookdale arrived, 
 so far from feeling their coming to be a relief, 
 Miss Corbet deeply regretted the quiet little
 
 168 HECKINGTON. 
 
 family trio where she was almost as much at 
 home as in the Grenfield parlour. Amy had 
 become so mild and sisterly ; — Sir James was so 
 agreeable a companion, — so even-tempered and 
 so full of anecdote ! — That he was indebted 
 for her high appreciation of his elocution to 
 the skill with which he frequently led the 
 conversation to the state and prospects of 
 the West Indian Colonies ; the influence of 
 Abolition and the value of Slave-grown Sugars, 
 she would have been loth to admit. 
 
 The Brookdales, however, though an inter- 
 ruption, were inoffensive, well-bred people — 
 pummiced down to the superficial polish of a 
 conventional life ; thinking, feeling, as well as 
 talking, in a whisper ; — " shocked " and " dis- 
 tressed" at hearing of things that would 
 scarcely have disturbed the serenity of a fly ; 
 and believing the country to be in danger 
 whenever a few score of grimy malcontents 
 assembled in some obscure borough to pass a 
 \ ote of censure upon government.
 
 HECKINGTON. 169 
 
 Even the little girl of ten years old, " sole 
 daughter of their house and heart," whom 
 they brought with them, — not, however, 
 unguarded by a patent governess, or un- 
 provided with a bale of schoolbooks, — was 
 a model of precocious propriety. — When her 
 mother glanced at her across the room, the 
 poor child instinctively drew up, as if at drill ; 
 and when asked by Uncle Armstead whether 
 she had been out walking that morning, re- 
 plied in a tremulous voice, (as instructed,) 
 that " she had accompanied Miss Strickney on 
 the Terrace for a slight relaxation." 
 
 The over-educated child, who though en- 
 dowed by nature with beautiful features, 
 looked pale and puny, wore round her neck a 
 locket engraved with a coronet and initials, 
 bestowed on her by a royal godmother ; by 
 virtue of which, she had been devoted to 
 prospective courtiership, as Catholic children, 
 in their cradles, are often voue au blanc, or 
 dedicated to the service of the Virgin.
 
 170 HECKINGTON. 
 
 In addition to the Brook dales, a large party 
 arrived the following day. But why indulge 
 in the platitude of describing a large party in 
 a country-house ? — Are not all country neigh- 
 bourhoods alike ? — Are not all country-houses 
 alike ? — The same preliminary perambulation 
 through the guest-rooms of the stately house- 
 keeper, to see that the linen is well-aired and 
 the fires blazing ; the same ringing of bells 
 and coughing of post-horses just as day is 
 dusk and the curtains are drawn ; the same 
 procession up the back-stairs of grumbling 
 footmen bearing imperials, and grumbling 
 ladies' maids, dressing-cases, and lapdogs ; 
 the same laborious conversation round the 
 drawing-room fire, concerning the state 
 of the roads and prospects of the weather, 
 — everywhere suffice to prove that a score 
 of reluctant human beings have abandoned 
 their comfortable firesides, for the cold- 
 catching duty of eating the dinner and 
 shooting the pheasants of some neighbour
 
 HECKINGTON. 171 
 
 from whom they expect a similar sacrifice in 
 return. 
 
 On the present occasion, all were glad to 
 come. For there was a bride and a new 
 menage to be criticised ; and many who were 
 angry that Sir James Armstead, after waiting 
 so long, had selected a wife having nothing 
 but a pretty face to recommend her, hoped to 
 find their ill-nature justified by her incompe- 
 tency to do the honours of such a house as 
 Higham Grange. 
 
 But above all, they rejoiced in the oppor- 
 tunity of meeting the Brookdales. During 
 her brother's bachelorhood, Lady Brookdale 
 had never visited the Grange ; and the position 
 of her lord in the Royal Household imparted 
 immense consequence, in the eyes of her early 
 neighbours, to an utterly insignificant woman. 
 Though in reality as devoid of influence at 
 Windsor Castle as one of the Poor Knights in 
 its Almshouses, she was as reverentially ad- 
 dressed as if Lord Brookdale had Stars,
 
 172 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Garters, and Mitres at his disposal, to shower 
 down upon his acquaintance. 
 
 To poor Tiny, on the other hand, the So- 
 mersetshire worthies paid not the smallest 
 attention. So simply dressed, so simply 
 mannered, so anxious to diminish the hostess- 
 ly fatigues of her friend Amy, by showing 
 the younger ladies to their rooms, and taking 
 care that the elder ones were inducted into the 
 softest-cushioned chairs and sofas— she passed 
 at first for one of Lady Armstead's sisters ; 
 and, on being introduced as " Miss Corbet," 
 instead of " Miss Horsford," was set down as 
 a poor relation. 
 
 Even Lady Brookdale, who had once or 
 twice found her sitting with her sister-in-law 
 in London, on head-achey or rainy days, had 
 come in the first instance to the same con- 
 clusion ; and after noticing the good-natured 
 zeal with which she took care, on their arrival, 
 that Miss Strickney and her pupil's tea should 
 be attended to, took an early opportunity to
 
 HECKINGTON. 173 
 
 inquire of her brother whether Miss Corbet 
 was permanently engaged as Lady Armstead's 
 companion. 
 
 " Engaged?'''' said he, inexpressibly amused. 
 " Surely, my dear Maria, you remember Mr. 
 and Mrs. Rawdon of Heckington, with whom 
 my father and mother used to exchange 
 country visitations a hundred years ago ? 
 Our young friend is the only child of their 
 eldest daughter ; and had she been Master 
 Corbet instead of Miss, would have inherited 
 their property, which her mother enjoyed 
 only for her life." 
 
 " A fine old place, Heckington. I recollect 
 the gray carp there, coming to be fed," 
 observed Lady Brookdale, (a thin-faced, 
 high-nosed woman, whose sharp physi- 
 ognomy was like a bad translation of the 
 dignified Roman face of her brother) — " and 
 the peacocks on the balustrades of the ter- 
 races." 
 
 " Mrs. Rawdon, by whom her grand-
 
 1 74 HECKINGTON. 
 
 daughter was brought up, left her a small 
 fortune. But the father, a Clevelands neigh- 
 bour, is married again, to a confirmed invalid ; 
 and my wife, who is very fond of Miss 
 Corbet, is glad to afford her a little change 
 of scene." 
 
 Poor Tiny would have been amused had 
 she known to what she was indebted for 
 Lady Brookdale's sudden thawing from her 
 uncivil frigidity. But by the awe-stricken 
 manner in which she heard the word " Wind- 
 sor" whispered behind fans by the ladies 
 gathered after dinner round the hearthrug, 
 and knowing nothing by her own experience 
 of courts or courtiers, she concluded that 
 caprice might be " the badge of all their 
 tribe." 
 
 The profound deference with which her 
 ladyship was accosted by the Somersetshire 
 neighbours who had considered her, when 
 Miss Arrnstead, as a plain dull girl, as little 
 of an addition to the society of Higham
 
 HECKINGTON. 175 
 
 Grange as one of the milestones in the park, 
 was truly edifying. 
 
 None of them were London-going people ; 
 or if they did indulge in a season in town, 
 for the purpose of marrying a daughter or 
 extending their wings over a fledgeling son, 
 during his first season in the Guards, they 
 took up their abode on the outskirts of civilisa- 
 tion, on the Arctic side of Oxford Street, and 
 knew nothing of the marketable value of their 
 fellow-creatures. For London has its slave- 
 mart of men and women, — ay, and even of 
 lords and ladies, — where people are bought 
 and sold at conventional prices, as much as 
 niggers in a Slave State, or Georgians in the 
 far East. 
 
 Mrs. Oramany of Fair Oaks, and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Braddon Branshaw of Branshaw Combe, 
 were consequently puzzled to account for the 
 attentions of the Armsteads and Brookdales 
 to a bald-headed man of a certain age, and a 
 Saturnine junior, apparently his clerk, who
 
 176 HECKINGTON. 
 
 arrived in a fly just before the second day's 
 dinner; whose importation of Morning 
 papers overpowered, by the smell of damp 
 letterpress, the scent of heliotropes and garde- 
 nias pervading the drawing-room. — Who in 
 the world could they be ? — A Mr. Frere, and 
 a Mr. Marsham ! — Yes — the butler certainly 
 announced " Mr. Frere and Mr. Marsham ;" 
 — to the ears of that benighted district, 
 much as if he had announced Mr. Smith 
 and Mr. Snooks ! 
 
 Yet, as Mrs. Braddon Branshaw of Bran- 
 shaw Combe observed to her daughters when 
 Lady Armstead and Lady Brookdale had 
 retired to the dressing-room of the former, 
 to enjoy the ante-prandial cup of tea with 
 which fashionable ladies damp their appetites 
 and stimulate their spirits for the dinner-table, 
 " there was as much fuss made about those 
 two quizzes, as if they were county mem- 
 bers !" 
 
 In this contemptuous estimate she was con-
 
 HECKINGTON. 177 
 
 firmed by the pertinacious manner in which, 
 on the sounding of the second gong, both 
 senior and junior planted themselves beside 
 the poor relation in the muslin dress, who 
 wore nothing in her hair; "a plain proof," 
 as Mrs. Braddon Branshaw observed, " that 
 she considered its glossy undulations a sufficient 
 ornament." 
 
 At dinner, the party was increased by the 
 arrival of the two chattering, beardless sons 
 of Mrs. Ommany, who had been out cub- 
 hunting ; a deed characterised by Barton Frere 
 in a whisper to Tiny, as barbarous and fratri- 
 cidal, " attendu que les hups ne sentreman- 
 gentpas." But as it was the first day of the 
 season, they felt entitled to recount, with pro- 
 digious variations and embellishments, their 
 feats in the field. 
 
 The elder of the Ommany cubs was, in fact, 
 oneof the Guards' ensigns, to whose inauguration 
 reference has been already made; and as, though 
 a little roquet of the most snappish description, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 HECKINGTON. 
 
 and the height and consistence of a walking- 
 cane, he had figured for nearly a year in the 
 Army List, and six months in the window of 
 the Guards' Club, it was to him Miss Emilia 
 Braddon Branshaw applied (as to a London 
 man !) for information touching the mysterious 
 nondescripts. 
 
 "The fellow with the bald head?— Can't 
 put a name upon him — though his face is as 
 familiar to me as the dial-plate at the Horse- 
 guards ! — He belongs to one of the best Om- 
 nibuses ; and one always sees him hanging 
 about Brookes's." 
 
 " And the other — whom I heard presented 
 by Lady Brook dale to your mother as Mr. 
 Marsham — " 
 
 " Not the Marsham, surely ?" cried the 
 young guardsman, with unconcealed amaze- 
 ment. " Not the man who wrote the pam- 
 phlet ?" 
 
 1 Oh !— an author !" rejoined Emilia, with 
 as scornful a smile as if the vilest odour of
 
 HECKINGTON. 179 
 
 Grub Street already degraded the room. — 
 " How odd that Lady Brookdale should be so 
 intimate with a person of that kind !" 
 
 "That kind? — Why, he's one of the 
 greatest swells going ! — His brother, who's 
 in my regiment, is called Romney Marsh, 
 because he's some relation to Lord Rom- 
 ney." 
 
 " But what was this Mr. Marsham's pam- 
 phlet about ?" inquired Emilia, becoming more 
 interested in the stranger, on learning this 
 aristocratic connection. 
 
 " I'm sure I can't tell you. Some con- 
 founded political nonsense or other, I sup- 
 pose ; — one of those loose nothings not worth 
 sixpence, that sells for a shilling. I remember 
 my governor used to get his speeches printed 
 as pamphlets, to inflict on his constituents, to 
 bespeak custom, as auctioneers do their cata- 
 logues. I wonder what part of the play this 
 fellow is come to act down in Somersetshire ? 
 After dinner I must go and talk to him about 
 
 N 2
 
 180 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Romney Marsh, who is no end of a chum of 
 
 mine." 
 
 But the pamphleteer proved to be unap- 
 proachable. He had installed himself beside 
 the lady of the house, as the nearest approach 
 to Tiny he could accomplish without compro- 
 mising himself and her ; and to Lady Armstead 
 the little roquet no more dared make advances, 
 than to the Lord Chancellor on the Woolsack. 
 Her sisters had snubbed him so severely in 
 London ball-rooms, lest he should fasten himself 
 on them as a partner, that he stood in great 
 awe of the family. 
 
 For the two officials, however, there was 
 ample room beside her sofa. The lady guests 
 had deserted her for her sister-in-law. As if 
 an odour of courtly sanctity exuded from 
 Iilt ladyship's very garments, they admired 
 her ill-cut dowdy gown, and humbly expressed 
 a wish for the pattern of a frightful piece of 
 tapestry, her faded company- work, already 
 four years in hand ; — besetting her with a
 
 HECKINGTON. 181 
 
 thousand such little foolish questions touching 
 the books, music, preachers, and jewellers in 
 vogue, as might have been asked of some 
 English traveller by the long-be-savaged Go- 
 vernor's lady of Tasmania or Cape Castle ; till 
 poor Lady Brookdale, who seldom found herself 
 required to know anything, or answer anybody, 
 became as much puzzled as the over-catechised 
 crack pupil of a Sunday-school. 
 
 Gratefully, however, was their pre-occupation 
 appreciated by Frere and Marsham ; the dis- 
 crepancy between whose agreeable conversation 
 and the cackle of the young Ommanys rendered 
 Lady Armstead painfully conscious that when 
 the woodcocks and the Horsford family made 
 their appearance at Higham Grange, the mon- 
 key-tricks and slang of her " fast " brothers 
 might, in that stately mansion, appear some- 
 what out of place. 
 
 Even Tiny admitted that the officials were 
 seen to far greater advantage amid the tran- 
 quillity of country -life, than in the feverish
 
 132 HECKINGTON. 
 
 pauses of their London career ; where thought- 
 ful men are silent, and those who talk most 
 utter any opinions but their own. In Park 
 Lane, the table-talk was apt to resemble a 
 theatrical fencing-bout, where the chief object 
 of the combatants is to flash their swords in 
 the eyes of the audience. 
 
 But in quitting London, George Marsham 
 was careful to give his officiality to the winds. 
 He came into the country to give a feed of 
 grass to his body and mind. His last visit to 
 Higham Grange, during the old bachelorhood 
 of his friend, had passed so pleasantly, aided 
 by the not unimportant adjuncts of capital 
 shootiug, capital hunting, capital cellars, and a 
 capital table, that he had looked forward some- 
 what nervously to the restraints likely to be 
 created in the house by female domination. 
 His baggage must be increased by the addi- 
 tion of starched white chokers and French- 
 varnished boots ; and " no smoking would be 
 allowed in the company's carriages." He even
 
 HECKINGTON. 183 
 
 thought old Frere superfluously prosy, when, for 
 half-a-dozen stations on their journey down, 
 he enlarged on the merits and attractions of 
 " Lady Armstead's fair friend." He hated the 
 affected periphrase, " fair friend ;" — and had 
 discovered no extraordinary charm in Tiny 
 herself, whose unfashioned simplicity was 
 completely thrown into the shade by the 
 smiles and diamonds jof the half-dozen duch- 
 esses who lionized him as the Junius of the 
 season, — the Coming Man who was to put an 
 extinguisher upon Stanley and Peel. 
 
 But now, in those large, cool, uncrowded 
 rooms, where she glided about so gracefully 
 and so much at ease, he found every excuse 
 for the enthusiasm of the old beau, whose 
 compliments came out dry as the kernel 
 of a last year's walnut. — Either she or him- 
 self was decidedly altered for the better. 
 Her countenance, always sweet, had acquired 
 a more thoughtful expression, — like that of 
 one who has felt or suffered. Many tears
 
 184 HECKINGTON. 
 
 must have fallen from those kindly eyes since 
 he first saw them, looking weary and inani- 
 mate, in Lady Armstead's pony-phaeton in 
 the park. They were now necked by linger- 
 ing clouds like the sky after a storm. He 
 would have given much — he woidd almost 
 have given the authorship and fame of his 
 pamphlet, — to discover what had befallen her 
 since they parted in Park Lane.
 
 HECKINGTON. 1S5 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Had not the lady of Higham Grange com- 
 pletely outgrown and forgotten the Amy Hors- 
 ford of Clevelands, she would probably have 
 derived some amusement from the puss-in- 
 the-corner vivacity with which her husband's 
 official friends endeavoured to circumvent and 
 distance each other in obtaining a place by 
 the side of Miss Corbet ; —in sitting, walking, 
 riding, feeding, the round game after dinner, 
 or the cozy, fire -light chat preceding it. 
 
 She was prudent enough, however, to ab-
 
 1S6 HECKINGTON. 
 
 stain from encouraging either. Tiny, if still 
 heart-free, might safely be left to the dictates 
 of her conscientious reason ; and she sat 
 calmly but smilingly aloof, watching the 
 coursing match ; the timid hare, and the 
 staunch and resolute greyhounds. 
 
 The Miss Braddon Branshaws shrugged 
 their shoulders; for, though anxiously occu- 
 pied in toadying Lady Brookdale, her little 
 daughter, her little daughter's governess, nay, 
 even her lady's maid, — they could not but per- 
 ceive that the two stars of the party had 
 become the satellites of the poor relation; 
 while they were left to the giggling boys, whom 
 their lady-mother alone regarded as belonging 
 to the severer sex. 
 
 They could not, however, deny that, which- 
 ever might eventually prove the conqueror, 
 Miss Corbet was an unconscious victim. When 
 they pursued, she did not fly; because it 
 never occurred to her that two men of serious 
 purposes, — the one a distinguished author, the
 
 HECKINGTON. 187 
 
 other a manufacturer of protocols, — could trou- 
 ble themselves about au ignorant obscure girl 
 like herself, except as the guest of their official 
 colleague. 
 
 Little did she suspect how pretty the igno- 
 rant obscure girl was looking when assisting 
 little Victoria Barwell to find in the map the 
 places named in her Geography lesson ; while 
 the perpendicular Miss Strickney was taking 
 on the terrace, under an umbrella in the rain, 
 the morning constitutional which formed an 
 important branch of her code of educational 
 morality. 
 
 Not all the furbelowed dresses in the show- 
 room of Madame Devy Einstein, — not all the 
 glittering bracelets in the caskets of Han- 
 cock, could have enhanced the charm of her 
 sweet countenance and unaffected manners. 
 She was just the sympathetic household-com- 
 panion, the gentle, tender being, who seemed 
 created to comfort the home of a harassed 
 careworn man of business.
 
 188 HECKINGTON. 
 
 The indignation of Mrs. Braddon Branshaw, 
 whose daughters she had eclipsed, — the ani- 
 mosity of Mrs. Ommany, of Fair Oak, whose 
 chattering sons were reduced to silence by 
 the lofty tone of her two adorers, — would, per- 
 haps, have exploded, but for the patronage 
 vouchsafed by Lady Brookdale to the grand- 
 daughter of the Rawdons of Heckington ; — 
 Grandmamma Rawdon and her knotting- 
 shuttle still hovering like a guardian angel 
 over the destinies of poor Tiny. 
 
 " It evidenced a very unusual degree of 
 merit in a young lady of such tender years," 
 Lord Brookdale sententiously observed, in 
 reply to Mrs. Braddon Branshaw 's disparaging 
 comments, " to have attracted the attention 
 of a man of such remarkable abilities as Mr. 
 Marsham." 
 
 " Say, rather," added his brother-in-law, 
 " when, without effort on her own part, a girl 
 of small fortune and moderate connections, 
 enslaves a practised man of the world, like
 
 HECKINGTON. 189 
 
 Barton Frere ; who would give his head 
 (though a bald one) to make her his 
 wife." 
 
 And either of the two cackling Ommanys, 
 after hearing such a verdict pronounced by 
 so eminent a man as Sir James Armstead, 
 seconding a Lord of the Bedchamber, would 
 gladly have hurried off to the feet of Miss 
 Corbet, but for the awe in which they stood 
 of their London rivals. 
 
 It was Marsham, meanwhile, who made most 
 way towards the winning post. With Ma- 
 chiavelian tact he had discovered Miss Cor- 
 bet's vulnerable point ; and whenever he could 
 obtain her ear, regaled it with arguments con- 
 cerning Colonial legislation — Negro-appren- 
 ticeship, — and other parliamentary Tropicisms 
 so thoroughly exhausted for a person not 
 engrossed by the interests of the Fredville 
 Plantation, that the most patient House that 
 ever yawned would have been counted out 
 after the first five sentences.
 
 190 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Certain prolonged tete-a-tetes, while Tiny 
 was taking her customary morning-walk under 
 a sunny wall half a-mile in length, clothed 
 with fine old Magnolia trees, a discovery of 
 which primmed up the thin mouths of the 
 Miss Braddon Branshaws into an all but 
 imperceptible line, were solely occupied by a 
 resume of the import and export duties of the 
 Island of Jamaica, which the dryest Red-tapist 
 would have voted a bore. 
 
 "Rather slow, all this, eh, Miss Corbet ?" 
 cackled the Guardsman-brother of the Om- 
 many-gemini, — venturing on the second day 
 of his visit to shirk the shooting-party, ap- 
 parently for the purpose of infringing on 
 George Marsham's much-prized promenade. 
 " I expected we should have had something 
 stunning at Higham Grange as it is a sort 
 of bridal party; — charades, or tableaux 
 or post, or racing. — Instead of which, it's 
 duller than before old Armstead married. 
 I wish we'd your brother Romney here,
 
 HECKINGTON. 191 
 
 Mr. Marsharn, to show them a thing or 
 two." 
 
 " I know very little of the habits of my 
 brother," replied the Secretary, coldly, " We 
 do not frequent the same Clubs or the same 
 society. But I trust that, being still little 
 more than an Eton boy, he does not pretend 
 to impose his tastes or opinions upon rational 
 society." 
 
 If this constrained severity purported to 
 banish the intruder from a walk evidently 
 planned only for two, it proved ineffectual. 
 The roquet took it all in good part. — Chaff 
 being the modern language in which he had 
 been advised to " go up " for examination at 
 Sandhurst, he took it for granted, that the 
 chaff of the barrack-room and of the Treasury 
 Chambers, were different dialects. 
 
 " But you've a famous chance before you," 
 he resumed, again addressing Miss Corbet. 
 " The Turbervilles, who dine here to-day, are 
 to have a gorgeous function next week ; and
 
 192 HECKINGTON. 
 
 though Lady Armstead seems too ill just now 
 to take much trouble, I'm sure my mother 
 would chaperon you. The Turbervilles are 
 neighbours of ours ; and we mean to lend 
 them a hand at their benefit." 
 
 " I should scarcely advise you to make the 
 Turbervilles' acquaintance," observed Marsham, 
 in an audible aside to Miss Corbet. " They 
 are dreadful people." 
 
 " Why, I always understood," exclaimed 
 young Ommany, " that they were cousins of 
 yours ?" — 
 
 " Mrs. Turberville is a cousin of my mother. 
 But she is married to an objectionable man, 
 and I know nothing of her." 
 
 " Well, by Jove, that beats — But I promise 
 you, Mr. Marsham," said he, interrupting 
 himself, "Romney Marsh is never out of 
 their house." 
 
 " Probably. Between him and them, there 
 may be elective affinities." 
 
 "I don't know anything about affinities.
 
 HECKINGTON. 193 
 
 But it was Romney who gave them the name 
 of the rich and high-flavoured Ts." 
 
 "Rich, they certainly are. Should you 
 visit Turberville Abbey," said he, pointedly 
 addressing Miss Corbet, — " you will find the 
 gold of the family oozing out in every di- 
 rection where gold can be out of place. — I 
 believe they gild the tails of their sheep and 
 scythes of their labourers. — My father, a 
 simple-minded man of the old school, once 
 spent a few days with them, and assured me 
 that not a flash invention of the nouveaute 
 shops of London or Paris, — things one never 
 sees without shrugging one's shoulders and 
 wondering whether there are fools capable of 
 buying them, — but he found at the Abbey." 
 
 " It certainly is the most beautifully-fur- 
 nished house in the kingdom," said the 
 Guardsman, misunderstanding his drift. 
 " Romney Marsh calls it the Monte-Cristol 
 Palace." 
 
 " The Turberville grandfather is supposed 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 HECKINGTON. 
 
 to have been a Jew," resumed Marsham. 
 " And the Israelitish taint is as perceptible 
 in his gaudy tastes as in his noisy vulgarity. 
 Turberville brags of his offspring as if he were 
 crying his wares. There is a sharpish lad of 
 a son, whom he is always puffing as if he 
 were a sixteen-bladed penknife or a net of 
 oranges." 
 
 " I'd rather buy Charley Turberville than 
 sell him, any day of the week," retorted the 
 Guardsman, at length losing temper. " He's 
 the best and best-looking chap on the face of 
 the earth. And Charley is not one of your 
 fellows who live by their wits, — though his 
 wits might keep him handsomely. Charley's 
 an only son, with fifteen thousand a year 
 hanging over his head ; and the heart to spend 
 twice as many more." 
 
 " No fear, then, that he will want backing 
 from his friends, — though his cousins may be 
 less alive to his merits," observed George 
 Marsham, drily. " I believe the ' function' to
 
 HECKINGTON. 1 95 
 
 which you just now alluded, is given to 
 commemorate his coming of age. Armstead 
 mentioned to me, yesterday, that Higham 
 Grange and all its contents were invited." 
 
 " Are they ?— Oh ! come,— that's jolly !— 
 Then you will go, Miss Corbet?" said the 
 poor boy, whose tender years could not 
 imao-iue resistance to a ball-invitation. 
 
 " The great object it seems of the Turber- 
 villes," observed Marsham, intercepting her 
 reply, — "is to secure the Brookdales. My 
 worthy cousins have a profound veneration 
 for the merest fringe on the uttermost gar- 
 ment of royalty. They probably expect Lord 
 Brookdale to make his appearance with a lion 
 on one shoulder, and a unicorn on the other. 
 How disappointed they will be when they 
 see such a quiet, inostensible little couple, — 
 whose small voices will be drowned by the 
 fall-bodied roar of Mr. Turberville, like Sam 
 Patch in the fall of Niagara. — At what are 
 you smiling?" added he, in a whisper, to 
 
 o 2
 
 196 HECKINGTON. 
 
 poor Tiny, — trusting perhaps that the sudden 
 brightness of her countenance was caused by 
 his pleasantries. 
 
 " I was thinking how like you speak, some- 
 times, to my cousin Willy !" 
 
 " The cousin with whom I heard my friend 
 Frere accuse you of taking twilight-walks in 
 Hvde Park ?" 
 
 "The cousin with whom I took a single 
 walk this spring." 
 
 "And who is coming, perhaps, to the 
 Monte-Cristol-Palace ball," he continued, — 
 perceiving that he had at last succeeded in 
 snubbing the young standard-bearer into 
 lagging behind. 
 
 " Alas, no !" replied Miss Corbet with grave 
 frankness, — " for I am fonder of my cousins 
 than you appear to be of yours. Willy 
 Enmore has sailed for the West Indies. 
 Willy Enmore is now in Jamaica." 
 
 The young ensign had not received half 
 so unkind a cut as this. — To have been
 
 HECKINGTON. 197 
 
 beguiled into those trite Essays on Abolition 
 and the Sugar Duties, by one so seeming- 
 simple as Miss Corbet, was indeed a settler 
 to a man who fancied himself able to pull the 
 strings of an administration, and fill or empty 
 the gallery of the House of Commons ! 
 
 When the Turbervilles made their appear- 
 ance that evening, they experienced the usual 
 reaction that awaits people unjustly aspersed. 
 There was nothing in their manners, dress, or 
 appearance to justify the sarcasms of George 
 Marsham ; who belonged to the modern school, 
 only too numerous, of people who pretend 
 to enhance their personal consequence by 
 crying down their relations. 
 
 Mr. Turberville did not bawl or brawl as 
 predicted ; and his wife, though, according to 
 the dictum of the Guards' Club, she might be 
 "rich and high-flavoured," proved a pleasant 
 ladylike woman, who was a considerable addi- 
 tion to the party. That Mr. Marshain, if an 
 amusing companion, was a very ill-natured
 
 19S HECKINGTOX. 
 
 critic, was clearly apparent ; and after notic- 
 ing the cousinly cordiality with which he was 
 saluted bv the new-comers, it would have 
 required a very large amount of West Indian 
 policy to replace him in the good opinion 
 of Miss Corbet. 
 
 That the handsome and mannerly young 
 man whose majority was on the eve of cele- 
 bration, was the origin of his cousin's un- 
 charitableness, did not occur to her ; for, still 
 believing Lady Armstead's assertion, that 
 " George Marsham was over-head-in-ears in 
 love with her dear Tiny," to be one of the 
 many coinages of her fanciful brain, she was 
 not on her guard against his jealousy. — But 
 she did infer, from a certain strength of 
 determination latent in the dark eyes of 
 Charles Turberville, that in his presence his 
 parents must not be disparaged. 
 
 Earnestly therefore did she hope that the 
 cackling little Guardsman would not, inad- 
 vertently or designedly, repeat to the best
 
 HECKINGTON. ] ;> .1 
 
 fellow on the face of the earth the malicious 
 strictures uttered by the bitter brother of 
 Ronmey Marsh. Not that the dispenser of 
 social poisons did not deserve to be checked. 
 But because any incident tending to " break 
 the good meeting with most admired dis- 
 order" might be injurious to her friend Amy. 
 
 She was accordingly far more attentive to 
 the Turberville family, — son included, — than 
 she usually was to strangers, — unless of the 
 degree of Miss Strickney ; an urbanity at- 
 tributed both by her admirers and her enemies 
 in the house, to the influence of Turberville 
 Abbey. 
 
 " Like the rest of them, — like the rest of 
 them ! — " muttered George Marsham, as he 
 arranged in the glass his supererogative muslin 
 tie. " Jamaica is already swept out of the 
 map, by a Somersetshire park and a mansion in 
 Belgrave Square !" — Just as Barton Frere was 
 at the same moment desponding by comparing, 
 at his toilet, his sallow face and nude caput,
 
 200 HECKIXGTON. 
 
 with the Grecian head of the handsome Charley, 
 who stood among them like an Apollo, with his 
 quiver full of arrows. 
 
 By the enlargement of the dinner-party, the 
 soldier Ommany was able to accomplish his 
 long-coveted purpose of taking in Miss Corbet 
 to dinner ; and as it was as much his object 
 to obtain a place at table among the juveniles 
 as it had been that of Marsham and Erere to 
 station themselves where English was spoken 
 instead of slang, Tiny found herself next to 
 Mr. Turberville and Emilia Braddon Bran- 
 shaw ; — a position which enabled her to ad- 
 mire with what cheerful goodnature he sub- 
 mitted to be courted and cross-questioned. — 
 From his answers, she obtained a glimpse 
 of the reverse of the tapestry so maliciously 
 distorted by George Marsham. 
 
 " I hear there are to be a thousand people 
 at your ball on the 15th," said the young 
 lady, in a tone of gratulation. 
 
 " A thousand ? I trust not — for the sake of
 
 HECKINGTON. 201 
 
 the dancers, — of whom I hope you will be 
 one, — " he replied ; " for our rooms are neither 
 large nor lofty. The 'thousand' you have 
 heard mentioned, probably alluded to the 
 neighbouring poor, who are to be ' beefed and 
 aled' all the morning, in marquees in the park. 
 My dear old father, aware that 1 am never 
 likely to set the Thames on fire, is going to 
 do his best, by blaze of bonfires and spill of 
 beer, to make my existence heard of in the 
 county." 
 
 " I am quite sure there is no occasion for 
 
 any effort of the kind," replied Miss Emilia, 
 with a caressing smile. " But we are not the 
 less obliged to Mr. Turberville for the charming 
 entertainment we are promised. Mamma has 
 been endeavouring to persuade Lord and Lady 
 Brookdale to stay for it, and to sleep at Bran- 
 shaw Combe, which is so much nearer than 
 the Grange." 
 
 "Stay for it? — Why the engagement is 
 nearly as old as I am. — It was to be here on
 
 202 HECKIXGTON. 
 
 the 15th that they made their present visit. 
 Before her marriage, Lady Brookdale was the 
 dearest friend of my mother. It was through 
 that connection that our cousin, George Mar- 
 sham, was first introduced to Sir James Arm- 
 stead." 
 
 There was nothing in the fact or the 
 relationship, to interest the fair Emilia ; though 
 she continued to smile as approvingly into the 
 face of her informant as if he were describing 
 some beautiful scene or noble action. But to 
 Tiny, the statement afforded infinite dis- 
 couragement. Was this the way in which 
 people of the world disowned their relations, 
 slandered their benefactors, and related plausi- 
 ble anecdotes without a grain of foundation ? 
 Could not even the fine abilities of this 
 accomplished Mr. Marsham raise him above 
 the meanness of decrying those to whom he 
 did not wish to appear under an obligation ? 
 She was shocked ! He might talk like her 
 cousin Willy, But between their natures, she
 
 HECKIXGTOX. 203 
 
 thanked Heaven, there was not a particle of 
 resemblance. The official man was as cold 
 and cruel as he was clever. It was not to 
 him she could have confided the prospects of 
 her schoolboy brother ! — 
 
 The evening, a rare event at Highain Grange, 
 was devoted to music. Mr. Turberville, not 
 having had his inborn taste for tune dinned 
 out of him by the practising of daughters, was 
 one of those who never find themselves in 
 company with misses in muslin gowns, without 
 insisting that the piano should be opened. 
 He knew that Mrs. Braddon Branshaw would 
 be thankful to him for affording a signal for 
 the duets in which her daughters excelled ; 
 and the Ommany lads were equally grateful 
 for anything that interrupted the " eternal 
 holding forth of those stupid old fogeys, 
 who fancied themelves licensed, in parliament 
 or out, to deal in prose." 
 
 But what disconcerted the licensed prosers 
 far more than the dislocation of their evening,
 
 204 HECKINGTON. 
 
 was to find Miss Corbet take part in the con- 
 cert. — She, who so shrank from exhibition, — 
 she, of whose musical talents they were not 
 even aware, — evidently thought it worth while 
 to display them for the captivation of the 
 " rich, high-flavoured Ts." After the Miss 
 Braddon Branshaws had thundered their 
 loudest Thalberg, with an energy and em- 
 phasis which the instrument could scarcely bear 
 without a groan, Mrs. Ommany endeavoured 
 to coax the younger of her cubs into favouring 
 them with one of Verdi's songs. And so 
 eagerly did she press the fair musicians present 
 to accompany the mellifluous guardsman, that 
 at length Lady Armstead appealed to the as- 
 sistance of her friend. 
 
 " There are sets and sets of Verdi's songs 
 in your green portfolio, dear Tiny !" said she. 
 And the book was accordingly sent for, and 
 " La Mia Letizia" sung, and accompanied in 
 a style that drew from Mr. Turberville an 
 enthusiastic encore.
 
 HECKINGTON. 205 
 
 That a young lady possessing a large collec- 
 tion of vocal music, must be herself a song- 
 stress, was sufficiently apparent to expose her 
 to the solicitations of the old Melomane ; nor 
 would young Ommany hear of her leaving 
 the piano, without paying the usual tax. She 
 did not, however, draw upon the resources of 
 the green music-book. One of cousin Willy's 
 German ballads, — a novelty to the whole party, 
 — was so simply and thrillingly " said" rather 
 than sung, as to prove that, however obtuse 
 she might have been in conjugating her verbs 
 under his tuition, she had learned to imitate 
 the exquisite grace and modulation which 
 distinguished his vocal performances. 
 
 Very general was the applause. Some 
 praised the sweetness of her voice, — some the 
 expressiveness of her style ; — while Sir James 
 secretly applauded the discretion which had 
 so long kept him in ignorance that he pos- 
 sessed a musical inmate, and Lord Brookdale 
 gave the finishing touch to the delight of the
 
 206 HECKINGTON. 
 
 country-neighbours, by stating that he " had 
 heard that charming melody at Windsor 
 Castle," from some Serene Highness, whose 
 name he quoted in an accent which would have 
 puzzled the oldest inhabitant of the Holy 
 Roman Empire. 
 
 To the real enthusiasm excited by the song, 
 succeeded the pretended enthusiasm with 
 which real sentiments are usually exaggerated 
 to fill up the vacuum of society. The young 
 ladies, more especially, indulged in mag- 
 nanimous ecstacies ; choosing to be thought 
 affected, rather than envious or cold. The 
 Braddon Branshaws implored poor Tiny's 
 permission to copy that " divine little ballad," 
 the name of which the hope of the Ommanys 
 was inscribing in a small morocco notecase 
 (which he hoped would pass for a betting- 
 book), that he might send for it by the mor- 
 row's post. 
 
 " I will teach it to both of you, as I learned 
 it myself, — by ear," said Miss Corbet, good-
 
 IIECKINGTON. 207 
 
 humouredly. "I never saw it in print. It 
 was taught me by my cousin, Mr. Enmore." 
 
 " Enmore ? — Not Arthur ? — Not my Eton 
 chum ?" — exclaimed Charles Turberville, who, 
 stationed behind Ins more demonstrative sire, 
 had been hitherto a silent auditor. " Surelv 
 Arthur Enmore is no musician ? — Like Fusboz, 
 ' he has not got a singing face.' " 
 
 " Of that you are a better judge than my- 
 self," replied Miss Corbet, laughing, " for the 
 face of my cousin Arthur I have not seen 
 these six years. It was his younger brother, 
 who, on his recent return from Dresden, 
 taught me a few German ballads." 
 
 " The younger brother, in whose favour he 
 was disinherited?" persisted Mr. Turberville. 
 " I heard something about it from Bob Hors- 
 ford, whom I met in Paris last spring. When 
 I found that my old friend Enmore had changed 
 his name to Rawdon, I concluded it was for a 
 fortune, and was about to wish him joy. But 
 Horsford advised me to defer my congratula-
 
 208 HECKINGTON. 
 
 tions; and told me that, so far from being 
 better off than he used to be, Arthur had been 
 vole comme dans un bois." 
 
 "Mr. Horsford is brother to Lady Artnstead," 
 said Tiny, gravely, " and 1 will therefore make 
 no remark on the accuracy of his information. 
 But perhaps you have not heard of the terrible 
 accident which befel my cousin Arthur after 
 you parted in Paris ?" 
 
 And on Charles Turberville's admitting 
 both his ignorance and interest in the matter, 
 she proceeded to give him, in a lower and 
 more confidential voice, the history of the 
 Interlaken misfortune. 
 
 The long and low conversation that ensued 
 between them, to which the animated gestures 
 and exclamations of Arthur's Eton friend 
 seemed to assign extraordinary importance, 
 certainly warranted the group collected at the 
 further end of the room in believing that Miss 
 Corbet was taking extraordinary pains to in- 
 gratiate herself with the handsome heir of
 
 HECKINGTON. 209 
 
 Turberville Abbey. Long before the evening 
 was over, the little guardsman had begun to 
 think him something short of being the best 
 fellow on the face of the earth : while George 
 Marshara, who was pretending to skim the 
 leading articles of the evening papers, which 
 had just made their appearance, might have 
 been overheard muttering between his teeth 
 his usual diatribe against the sex of — "All 
 alike, by Jove ! — all just alike !" — 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 HECKINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A party assembled in a country-house, 
 possesses a singular faculty for maturing loves 
 or hates. Half-a-dozen weeks' acquaintance 
 in London, effects less than half the number 
 of days will accomplish among people sleeping 
 under the same roof, and assembling three 
 times a dav round the same table. 
 
 Before the Turbervilles quitted Higham 
 Grange, they had warmed up even the coldest 
 of its inmates into the warmest interest in
 
 HECKINGTON. 2 1 ] 
 
 their impending fete. There was something 
 so cordial and so genuine in the joy of the 
 father exulting to see his " noble fellow of a 
 son " attain man's estate, that it carried away 
 every heart in the same direction. — So far 
 from being actuated by love of pomp or 
 display, all the preparations in progress at the 
 Abbey were based upon the principle of 
 creating for everybody within reach a happy 
 day, on that which confirmed the parental 
 triumph of its master and mistress. All the 
 dukes in the land might have signified their 
 wish to be present at the ball, without making 
 either of the " rich and high-flavoured Ts " a 
 particle more conscious of the goodness of 
 Providence in granting them such a son. 
 
 Lady Armstead began to regret that the 
 woodcocks did not make their appearance in 
 Somersetshire a week or two earlier; so 
 certain was she that Flo. and Carry would 
 have enjoyed the brilliant entertainment 
 impending ; and though, at her husband's 
 
 p 2
 
 212 HECKIXGTOX. 
 
 entreaty, she renounced her own intention to 
 join the party, either from Branshaw Combe 
 or Fair Oak, (for the better certainty that 
 twentv-one years later in the history of the 
 world, a similar celebration might take place 
 at Higham Grange,) she insisted that Tiny 
 should accompany the Brookdales to the ball. 
 
 Aware, now that their acquaintance had 
 deepened into friendship, how large a portion 
 of Miss Corbet's allowance found its way to 
 Grenfield House in the shape of gifts for the 
 bovs or their mother, she had taken care to 
 provide from London such a dress for her 
 young friend as Sir James deemed indispensa- 
 ble to the occasion. It was, in fact, to be his 
 own cadeau to his pretty guest ; and he con- 
 trived to lose a bet to her which justified the 
 uttering ; — what the French call a " discretion," 
 — the object lost, depending on the selection 
 of the loser. 
 
 But the most singular part of the affair was 
 that Marsham and Frere, though overdue in
 
 HECKINGTON. 213 
 
 Whitehall, and having largely overstayed at the 
 Grange the date of their invitation, had 
 accepted the strenuous invitation of the Tur- 
 bervilles. The sarcastic pamphleteer was 
 perhaps curious to ascertain by ocular demon- 
 stration whether, like the Menteur veridique 
 of the stage, his ill-nature concerning the 
 Abbey and its inmates would be verified by 
 their exorbitant magnificence ; and old Frere 
 anxious to satisfy himself that he had been 
 cut out by irresistible advantages. At all 
 events, to the ball they were going. Tiny, in 
 the airy white tulle ball-dress trimmed with 
 clematis, of whose arrival her girlish excla- 
 mations of delight and gratitude had duly 
 apprised them, would float before their eyes, 
 a charming vision ; — perhaps for the last 
 time — before they beheld her in the matronly 
 dignities which they inferred to be the object 
 of her ambition. 
 
 Most country-neighbourhoods contain a 
 regnant Thane or Grandee; proprietor of sorn^
 
 214 HECKINGTON. 
 
 noble castle or court which serves as regula- 
 tion-post to its minor morals, and whereon 
 floats a flag when the family is in residence ; 
 the female partner of whose honours main- 
 tains the privilege of sitting nearest, at every 
 dinner-party, to the master of the house, the 
 turbot and the haunch, — of opening every 
 ball and every railway, and heading every 
 local subscription. 
 
 But there happened to be no Right Ho- 
 nourable Countess of Anything, either with 
 or without Lady-daughters, within reach of 
 Turberville Abbey ; and there being conse- 
 quently no vested rights or dignities to 
 interfere with his inclinations, the young hero 
 of the birthday-fete was free to choose the 
 prettiest girl or handsomest woman among 
 the guests. Nor were his parents, in spite of 
 George Marsham's uncousinly insinuations, 
 the people to thwart his choice. That he had 
 already fixed upon Miss Corbet as his 
 partner, might be a compliment to her own
 
 HECKINGTON. 215 
 
 attractions or to the position held in the 
 district by her hosts. But that Mr. Turber. 
 ville fully approved the selection, was mani- 
 fested at the moment of their departure from 
 Higham Grange, by the loud voice in which, 
 on taking leave of the party, he laid his 
 injunctions on Tiny not to bother Sir James 
 Armstead's head-gardener to force roses or 
 camellias for her bouquet ; as she would find 
 one awaiting her at Turberville Abbey on the 
 15th, such as had never yet been seen in the 
 county. 
 
 So vociferous, indeed, was the jolly old 
 gentleman while shaking her by the hand, 
 that the portraits of the Welsh judges and 
 Dutch admirals hanging in the old oak cor- 
 ridor where his farewell was spoken, vibrated 
 in their frames, while the Braddon Branshaw 
 damsels, who had been hoarding up griev- 
 ances throughout their visit, puckered their 
 brows into an additional contraction of ill- 
 nature, at finding what they had long
 
 216 HECKIXGTOX. 
 
 regarded as their kingdom, taken from 
 them. 
 
 Next day, — the one still intervening 
 between the expectant neighbourhood and the 
 monster festivity, — the party assembled at the 
 Grange dispersed to their several homes ; and 
 though both Lady Brookdale and Tiny were 
 thus deprived of the incense which, so far 
 from turning their heads, only caused them 
 to ache, the clearing of strangers from the 
 gallery was hailed as a relief. Even the 
 censorious pamphleteer was forced to admit 
 that Miss Corbet, amid the distinctions 
 showered upon her, remained pure from all 
 self-consciousness. As to poor Lady Brook- 
 dale, she looked only a little stupider than 
 usual. 
 
 They were sitting together chatting by 
 pleasant firelight in the library ; waiting for 
 the dressing-gong to sound, and congratulating 
 themselves that, like the Empire of France 
 at the Vienna Congress, they were " reduced
 
 HECKINGTON. 217 
 
 to their just integrity ;" when a grating of 
 wheels on the gravel, and the clang of the hall 
 bell, announced an arrival. 
 
 No one was expected. No one was wanted. 
 Everybody began to speculate concerning the 
 new comer ; and Lady Arinstead thoughtlessly 
 exclaimed that it must be one of those foolish 
 Ommany boys, or Mr. Turberville, come back 
 to look for his heart or his walking-stick, 
 carelessly left behind. 
 
 The butler speedily made his appearance 
 for the solution of their doubts. But instead 
 of throwing open the door with his usual 
 portly majesty to announce a guest, he glided 
 up to Miss Corbet, and informed her, in a 
 mysterious whisper, that there was " a person 
 in the hall wishing to speak to her." 
 
 " I told you so, Tiny !" cried Lady Armstead, 
 who had overheard the communication. " I 
 wonder which of them it is ? — Pray let him 
 be shown in here — We are all going up to 
 dress."
 
 213 HECKINGTON. 
 
 But Tiny, in whom the grave demeanour 
 of the butler had excited different surmises, 
 was already out of the room. She felt 
 convinced that the messenger was from home. 
 — She sadly feared that something was amiss. 
 
 Scarcely had she followed him into the 
 dimly-lighted passage leading from the bright 
 hall to the offices, when a pair of rough arms 
 were thrown round her neck, — certainly not 
 those of either of the visitors predicted by 
 her friend Amy ; and for a moment, she was 
 more startled than pleased by so impetuous a 
 greeting. That the proprietor of the rough 
 arms was sobbing violentlv, did not tend to 
 reassure her ; but the ejaculation of " Oh ! 
 Miss Sophia, my dear !" which soon became 
 intelligible, satisfied her that the individual 
 so entirely cloaked as to have been at first 
 unrecognisable, was no other than her former 
 nurse ; — the self-same Susan who, to old Mrs. 
 Rawdon of Harley Street, had described her 
 nursling as " so turribly put upon," — and
 
 HECKINGTON. 219 
 
 who had subsequently become wife and widow 
 of the Grenfield parish-clerk. 
 
 The good woman had not, however, diverged 
 so far from her orbit only to sob and ejaculate. 
 Her errand, and it was a sad one, was quickly 
 told. Mrs. Corbet, from whom her step- 
 daughter had heard the preceding day, in her 
 usual crepuscular state of health and spirits, 
 had been suddenly attacked with spasms of 
 the heart, from which the worst results were 
 anticipated. The only audible words she had 
 since articulated, conveyed a request to see 
 her own dear Tiny before she died. 
 
 As a safe if not suitable escort, Susan Moore 
 had been instantly summoned and despatched 
 by Mr. Corbet, to bring home his daughter ; 
 and in almost as short a time as it had taken 
 to make the explanation, and long before the 
 fly-horses and driver considered themselves 
 sufficiently the better for Higham cheer to 
 renew their start, Tiny's preparations were 
 accomplished. — She was wild to be off. — For
 
 220 HECKINGTON. 
 
 some time past, she had been reproaching 
 herself for her protracted absence from home ; 
 and but that both her father and Mrs. Corbet 
 seemed to urge its prolongation, she would 
 have returned to them at once from London, 
 instead of accompanying the Armsteads into 
 Somersetshire. If she now proved too late to 
 see her stepmother alive, she felt that she 
 should never forgive herself. 
 
 All this was rapidly explained to the sym- 
 pathising Amy ; and so evident was the sin- 
 cerity of her grief and anxiety in their hurried 
 farewell, that Lady Armstead did not venture 
 to allude to the Abbey fete, or the regrets 
 her absence would occasion. All she could 
 do was to assist in wrapping up the traveller, 
 for her hasty night-journey • and when Sir 
 James placed her in the fly by the side of 
 her ungainly chaperon, he took leave of her 
 with almost affectionate concern. He knew 
 all that his wife would lose by her absence. 
 He knew all he should lose, and all he should
 
 HECKINGTON. 221 
 
 risk, if her companionship were to be replaced 
 by that of Flo. or Carry ! 
 
 Great was the regret for her absence and 
 its cause, expressed round the dinner-table. 
 Barton Frere, who, ever since the Turberville 
 ball was in perspective, had cheerfully predicted 
 a heavy fall of snow, now darkened his prog- 
 nostication into a severe frost, and was certain 
 Miss Corbet would take cold. The fore- 
 sighted Lady Brookdale, almost as much im- 
 pressed by the beauty of the ball-dress pre- 
 pared for her as Susan Moore, who had seen it 
 extended in her nursling's dressing-room, was 
 full of regrets that it should be wasted, — "for 
 if her stepmother died, a three months' mourn- 
 ing would throw it out of fashion." While 
 her lord, after expressing his conviction that 
 their amiable young friend, in her affliction, had 
 not given a thought to the ball, added, that 
 the person he was most sorry for was young 
 Turberville, who was evidently desperately 
 smitten.
 
 222 HECKINGTON. 
 
 " She would make him a charming wife," 
 he said. " So different from that unfortunately 
 increasing class of fast young ladies ! — The 
 girls of the present day really indulge in as 
 much slang as their brothers. I heard of one 
 of them, in Leicestershire, leaping the Whis- 
 sendine brook : — of another, in the Highlands, 
 landing a salmon or bringing down a stag; — 
 of a third, at Cowes, sailing her father's yacht 
 for the Cup ;— and am inclined to exclaim — 
 ' Ne sutor ultra crepidam' or no young lady 
 beyond her petticoats !" 
 
 " Miss Corbet is, as you say, a truly femi- 
 nine creature," rejoined Sir James, ever con- 
 scientious in his verdict. " But I cannot agree 
 with you that she would be a good wife for 
 young Turberville. No one admires her more 
 than I do. But I would rather she married 
 my brother, than my son. Pliant and amenable 
 as she is, a man whose character is formed, 
 and who might be trusted with the modelling 
 of hers, would be better for her than a young
 
 HECKINGTON. 223 
 
 fellow who would make a slave of her, and of 
 whom she would make nothing in return." 
 
 " Who can tell what any girl of her age 
 will make of herself, or anybody?" cried 
 George Marsham, — secretly of opinion that 
 a blue-eyed slave, with Tiny's sweet voice 
 and temper, would be one of the most accept- 
 able vouchsafings of Providence. — " Scarcely 
 eighteen, — ignorant of the world, — as depen- 
 dent for her future qualities on the hands into 
 which she rday fall, as a plant on the soil and 
 aspect in which it is cultivated !" 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I hope the hands will be 
 good, and the aspect favourable," rejoined the 
 good-natured Lord Brookdale. " I never saw 
 a young lady whom I should better like my 
 daughter to resemble, or my son to make his 
 wife." 
 
 And Barton Frere, the slight tinge in whose 
 sallow cheeks, and slight tremor in whose 
 usually well - disciplined voice was perhaps 
 attributable to a few extra glasses added to
 
 224 HECKINGTON. 
 
 his stint of sherry by way of consolation for 
 Tiny's departure — secretly rejoiced that, under 
 such circumstances, the future Lord Brookdale 
 was still busy with his Delectus and brandy- 
 balls, in the Lower school at Harrow. 
 
 The young traveller, meanwhile, was far 
 more intent on those towards whom she was 
 journeying, than those she left behind. There 
 had been a strong tug at her heart in parting 
 from Amy ; whom she had formerly liked as 
 an acquaintance, but now loved as a friend. 
 Not from recent discovery of superior qualities 
 or unexpected endowments in Lady Armstead ; 
 but from the motive that originates most human 
 friendships, — mutual acts of kindness, and 
 mutual sentiments of gratitude. Both Amy and 
 her husband had been undeviatingly thoughtful 
 for her comfort ; and, accustomed as she was 
 at home to study the requirements of an in- 
 valid, her affectionate attendance had begun 
 to be indispensable to her ailing friend. But, 
 mile by mile, station by station, these regrets
 
 HECKIXGTON. 225 
 
 gave way to the impression that she was still 
 more wanted at Grenfield ; and by the time 
 the mail-train reached London, at an hour 
 which in October is still night, she would not 
 hear of accomplishing her father's plan that 
 she should take a few hours' rest in Hertford 
 Street. Proceeding at once to the King's 
 Cross Station, she reached home by day- 
 break ; and after the first painful moments of 
 family greeting, derived some consolation from 
 learning that Mrs. Corbet had passed a good 
 night, and was anxiously expecting her. 
 
 A respite was necessary to regain her com- 
 posure. But how compose herself, with two 
 boisterous boys besetting her with caresses ? 
 — Alfred had been brought home from school 
 to take leave of his mother; and, too long 
 accustomed to see her an invalid, to believe 
 that death was come at last, was far too much 
 gratified by an unexpected visit to Grenfield, 
 Edgar, and Tiny, to be duly impressed by 
 the sad occasion of his visit. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 HECKINGTON. 
 
 " How you are grown, Tiny ! — Quite a 
 woman, — and a pretty one, too !" was his 
 first exclamation on seeing his sister. " Tt 
 was very dull without you here, last holidays ; 
 — and one day, when papa and I met the 
 Horsford tribe riding on Hetherly Common, 
 they insisted on wishing us joy, and declared 
 you were going to be married to your cousin 
 Willy, — that stunning fellow, who came to 
 see me at Aldenham, and tipped me so 
 famously. But papa was very angry: and 
 when they rode off, called them no end 
 of names, and bad me not repeat to any one 
 the nonsense they had been talking." 
 
 " But tell me about dear mamma, Alfred," 
 sobbed Miss Corbet, drying his chubby face, 
 on which her tears had been falling. " Has 
 Dr. Ashe been here to-day ? — Is my father 
 still in her room ?" 
 
 " Dr. Ashe slept in the house, last night ; 
 and papa is always up-stairs. He makes Ed- 
 gar and me take our boots off before we go
 
 HECKINGTON. 227 
 
 into the room. But don't cry, Tiny, you 
 know how often poor mamma has been ill 
 before, and how well you always used to 
 nurse her." 
 
 " And I am come to nurse her again, Al- 
 fred ; and we will all do our best. You boys 
 must not jump about or make a noise. We 
 must all — all do our best." 
 
 But the best poor Tiny found to do just 
 then, was to cry her eyes out on her bro- 
 ther's shoulder. Something in the aspect of 
 the servants, and atmosphere of the house, 
 seemed to warn her that deeper misery was 
 at hand. 
 
 Hard indeed was it for her to govern her 
 emotions when, on approaching the bedside 
 of the sufferer, she saw the gleam of joy that 
 lighted up Mrs. Corbet's wan wasted face. No 
 mother could have breathed more tenderly in 
 her ear the faint words, — " My child, my 
 child !" — than did her father's dying wife. 
 
 Wanting courage to witness their meeting, 
 
 Q l
 
 228 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Mr. Corbet had crept from the room to hide 
 the tears which were no shame to his manly 
 nature ; and Tiny could therefore express her 
 almost indignant regrets at not having been 
 sooner sent for. 
 
 " It has all been so sudden," feebly mur- 
 mured her stepmother, twining her thin, cold 
 fingers round the trembling hand she was 
 holding. " My summons, after so many years 
 of suffering, was still unlooked for. But for 
 such a summons, — such a parting, darling 
 child, — who is ever prepared ? — And among 
 many mercies vouchsafed me, Tiny, is that I 
 have lived to see your face again ! 1 wanted 
 to thank you for all your daughter-like love 
 and goodness to me ; and to ask you — to ask 
 you — " she paused. Tears choked her utter- 
 ance — big tears, which, in spite of all her 
 patient self-control, would not — could not be 
 repressed. 
 
 "You wanted to ask me?" faltered Miss 
 Corbet, trembling, lest the struggle of these
 
 HECKINGTON. 229 
 
 emotions should be too much for the invalid ; 
 and that she might pass away without explain- 
 ing her last wishes. 
 
 " That you would promise to take my place 
 as a mother to the boys. Your father loves 
 his children dearly. But I have wasted his 
 life, Tiny. My sickliness has encroached upon 
 his time. He has lost the habit of looking 
 after his family. Everything here has been 
 going wrong since you have been away. Pro- 
 mise me that you will give those boys an 
 orderly home, and undertake the duties to 
 which my poor weak frame was unequal." 
 
 Firmly, though in a low, sad voice, was the 
 promise given. 
 
 " I ought never to have left you, mamma. 
 I was selfish, foolish, worldly-minded " 
 
 " No, no ! You felt with the feelings 
 natural to your age. But now, with such 
 a responsibility on your head, you must feel 
 with the feelings of mine ; with the patience of 
 a wife, and pity of a mother. You must bear
 
 230 HECKINGTON. 
 
 with the boys when they are troublesome, — 
 with your father when he is careless and pro- 
 crastinating. You must think for them all, — 
 you must act for them all. In so poor a 
 house, darling, there is much to be borne, — 
 much to be considered. No time for play- 
 work at Grenfield !" said she, endeavouring to 
 smile, and fondly patting the hand that was 
 clasped in her own. 
 
 Did Mrs. Corbet imagine that, in the lapse 
 of less than a year's absence, Tiny had for- 
 gotten all this ? Or did the developed beauty 
 and grace of her stepdaughter alarm her dying 
 eyes with the fear that her former humble 
 duties as teacher and housekeeper, were already 
 outgrown ? — Alas ! the motive of her appeal 
 was soon apparent. 
 
 " We heard last summer that vou were en- 
 gaged to be married to William Enmore?" 
 added Mrs. Corbet, after pausing for a time to 
 gather strength. 
 
 " Had it been so, dearest mamma, you
 
 HECKINGTON. 231 
 
 would have heard it first from myself. There 
 was no foundation for the report." 
 
 "Thank God! — I earnestly thank God!" 
 murmured Mrs. Corbet, raising the hand of 
 her stepdaughter fervently to her lips. " Not 
 alone for selfish reasons ; — though to have 
 you settle in the West Indies, out of reach 
 and out of sight of poor Corbet and the boys, 
 was a terrible consideration. But we dreaded 
 the thought of your marrying Reginald En- 
 more's son. Never was there a more cruel 
 husband, or more ferocious man. No good 
 can come of such a race !" 
 
 " Not quite a charitable conclusion, surely, 
 mother ? — Children do not always take after 
 their parents." 
 
 " Oftener than otherwise. And those boys 
 of the Enmores seem to have afforded early 
 indications that their father's blood was warm 
 in their veins. I have heard even you, Tiny, 
 as a child, speak of them with terror." 
 
 " Most schoolboys are rough."
 
 232 HECKINGTON. 
 
 " But not cruel> — not wicked ! " — 
 
 " Neither, I assure you, either was, nor is, 
 my cousin Willy." 
 
 " You are engaged to him, then, Tiny ? 
 You are attached to him ?" — 
 
 " There has never been the smallest question 
 of love between us. On the contrary, Willy 
 openly professes his inability to like me other- 
 wise than as a cousin." 
 
 "His father was a bitter enemy to your 
 mother ; and poor Mrs. Corbet feared as much 
 as she disliked him. It was the greatest 
 relief to her when he went to settle at Fred- 
 ville. His violence was the terror of the 
 whole family. Oh, Tiny ! if you did but 
 know how I trembled when I thought of your 
 being carried off to Jamaica, as Mrs. Enmore 
 was, to waste her youth in an unwholesome 
 climate, with a savage to embitter her life. 
 But my fears are over now, darling. You 
 would not, at such a moment, deceive me ; — 
 nay, at no moment have you ever deceived
 
 HECKINGTON. 233 
 
 me ! From a child you were all truth and 
 honesty. And now, kiss me once more, dar- 
 ling, and bid me good bye. — I have done too 
 much." 
 
 The effect of the sedatives which had afforded 
 her a night's rest and strength for her much 
 coveted interview with her stepdaughter, was 
 giving way. The pangs of her agonizing 
 malady again made themselves felt. Though 
 she strictly forbad that Tiny should be re- 
 admitted to her room, to be pained by the 
 sight of her sufferings, within an hour she was 
 again almost frantic from torture. But it was 
 not to last long. When Dr. Ashe arrived, he 
 came only to take a final leave. Before even- 
 ing, she was at rest. 
 
 From that moment, Miss Corbet, though 
 overcome with fatigue and sorrow, entered 
 upon the duties of the sacred mission entrusted 
 to her. She endeavoured to recal all that had 
 been done in Harley Street, at the death of 
 her grandmother. She took care that the
 
 234 HECKINGTON. 
 
 heavy sleep into which her father had fallen 
 after his prolonged vigils, should not be dis- 
 turbed. She comforted the terror-stricken 
 boys, to whom the shadow of death was a 
 fearful mystery. She relieved the labours 
 of the overtasked servants. But above all, 
 she prayed fervently that peace might be with 
 the dead ; — with herself, strength to replace 
 her in that desolate home. 
 
 For desolate indeed it was. Though the 
 duties of the moment were too urgent to admit 
 of susceptibility to trivial annoyances, she 
 could not but feel, during the silent solitary 
 hours that ensued, not only the painful con- 
 trast between the house of feasting and the 
 house of mourning, but the change from a 
 large well-regulated establishment, and quiet, 
 spacious, well-warmed, well-lighted house, to 
 the poor neglected dwelling where every sound 
 was audible, — where warmth, and light, and 
 attendance must be strictly economised, — 
 where every wish met with an obstacle, and
 
 HECKINGTON. 235 
 
 even breath and movement bad to be cal- 
 culated. There, duty was no longer a name. 
 As the poor dead wife had observed — no leisure 
 for play-work at Grenfield ! — 
 
 Her perception of all this, and the severe 
 contrasts of light and shade through which she 
 had been hurried, preserved her at least from 
 slighter repinings ; and by such vicissitudes is 
 the human character formed, and the human 
 mind strengthened, more than by years of 
 abstract study or ordinary experience. 
 
 The vision of Mirza, committed to memory, 
 would not have taught her half so much as her 
 miserable lonely watch at the feet of the quiet 
 dead ; the woman who had lived a life of 
 suffering, in all patience, piety, and resignation, 
 and died humbly and hopefully the death of 
 the just. 
 
 " That girl of Corbet's has grown up a pearl 
 of price," said Dr. Ashe to Mrs. Horsford, — 
 to one of whose finger-aches he was adminis- 
 tering, shortly afterwards ; " thoughtful, loving,
 
 236 HECKINGTON. 
 
 self-denying, — a very angel in the house ! — I 
 went there once or twice before the funeral, to 
 see whether neighbourly help was wanting. 
 Nothing ! — She had provided money, sense, 
 energy — all that poor Corbet himself would 
 have been unable to supply. — It makes me 
 half repent having lived a bachelor all my 
 days, to see him so watched over by such a gem 
 of a daughter — !"
 
 HECKINGTON. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Winter is a dreary time to be sorry 
 in. — In the gladder season of the year, the 
 sunshine and summer air which invite, nay, 
 almost compel to out-door exercise, bring 
 healing to the soul. But the man who has to 
 ponder over his griefs and bereavements in a 
 smoky parlour, overlooking a garden and 
 paddock smothered in snow, without books to 
 cheer him or philosophy to sustain, with a 
 sorrowing child hanging round his knees, and
 
 23S HECKINGTOX. 
 
 the knowledge that his motherless school-boy is 
 fretting at a distance, has indeed cause to bless 
 the kindly companionship of such a daughter 
 as the one in whom Mr. Corbet was beginning 
 to find far more of " Sophia" than of " Tiny." 
 
 She was a woman now, — a comfort, — a 
 solace. She was what he remembered her 
 mother when she first won his affections, before 
 Rawdon-of-Heckington-ism had tyrannised 
 over her fate or cankered her nature. 
 
 Not that he was of a turn of mind to remain 
 long inconsolable. As readily as his second 
 wife had replaced in his heart the lost mother 
 of Tiny, did Tiny replace his second wife. He 
 was the sort of purposeless facile being, which, 
 like certain plants, attaches itself to the nearest 
 object, — stick or stone, or noble tree. That his 
 daughter was well supplied with money, and 
 that the household was better paid and or- 
 ganised than it had been for many a year, 
 provoked neither surprise nor anxiety. Her 
 rich aunt had probably clone her duty by her
 
 HECKINGTON. 239 
 
 sister's child. The couple of hundred pounds 
 which the poor girl's earnest supplications had 
 wrung from her trustee, out of the savings of 
 her minority, passed with Henry Corbet as the 
 careless gift of his sister-in-law ! 
 
 His sister-in-law, — from whom not so much 
 as a decent expression of sympathy had been 
 elicited by the notification of Mrs. Corbet's 
 death ! In answer to her niece's letter, written 
 in deep affliction, to announce the sad event, 
 she crudely expressed her opinion that it must 
 be a happy release for herself and all her 
 family. — Sixteen long years had not obtained 
 her forgiveness for the precipitancy with which 
 Mr. Corbet had chosen to replace her sister ; 
 or the stupid contentedness with which he had 
 subsided from Heckington Hall to his hovel 
 at Grenfield. Her pride and her resentments 
 were alike unappeasable : and she alluded with 
 far greater interest to the influenza prevailing 
 just then at St. Leonards, by which Harding 
 and Parkins were laid up, than to the decease of
 
 240 HECKINGTON. 
 
 the poor woman who had proved so fond a 
 stepmother to her sister's child. 
 
 That to her sons, or their whereabout, she 
 should not advert, was, therefore, the less sur- 
 prising. Still, poor Tiny was of opinion that 
 a few words announcing Arthur's restoration 
 to health, or Willy's safe arrival in Jamaica, 
 would have been a more rational addition to 
 Mrs. Enmore's measured letter of condolence, 
 than the history of Parkins's cough. 
 
 It was not from that quarter that a ray of 
 light was to brighten the gloom of her present 
 existence. There was far less of kindness in 
 Mrs. Enmore's mode of addressing her than 
 before her visit to Hertford Street; the old 
 lady probably still resenting the ascendancy 
 she had obtained over her cousin. 
 
 But for her brother Alfred's revelation of 
 the report circulated by the Horsfords, Tiny 
 would have expressed without hesitation, to 
 Willy himself, her anxiety to hear of his wel- 
 fare, and of the fruition of his plans for the
 
 HECKING-TON. 241 
 
 benefit of his people and estates. But now, 
 it would have seemed a partial forfeiture of 
 her pledge to the dead. Either she must 
 write clandestinely, which she considered un- 
 worthy of herself; or by writing openly, and 
 placing her letter in the postbag, she might 
 give pain to her father. All communication, 
 therefore, was cut off between herself and 
 that heart's-companion, who, during the boy- 
 hood of Alfred and Edgar, seemed entitled to 
 a brother's place in her regard. 
 
 She endeavoured to think as little of him 
 as possible. — The books he had given her, 
 choice selections from his store and in- 
 scribed with her name, had been forwarded 
 to Grenfield by Mrs. Enmore. But from 
 these, she studiously turned away ; except at 
 very leisure hours, as a reward for household 
 industry, after revising long-neglected lists, 
 assisting in a fresh supply of clothes for her 
 father and the boys, and taking care that 
 the rents in the house-linen were no longer 
 
 vol. i. R
 
 242 HECKINGTON. 
 
 darned with packthread. Then, in some 
 cozy half hour, when little Edgar's noise was 
 stilled in bed, and her father was dozing 
 quietly by the fireside in his old arm-chair, 
 between the three cups of tea which thus 
 prolonged filled up his evening, she was free to 
 take up her beloved square Leipsick volumes ; 
 — her Uhland and Tieck ; of which a burst 
 of reminiscent tears occasionally blotted the 
 pages. — Were they dedicated to the memory 
 of the departed sufferer, whose cold sofa was 
 now wheeled back to the wall ? 
 
 It was some comfort that, in this gloomy 
 interval, she was undisturbed by the officious 
 kindness of neighbours. Clevelands was de- 
 serted. The Horsfords were in Somersetshire ; 
 and she was left to the unmolested discharge 
 of her duties, Of these, one of the most 
 painful was the distribution between her 
 stepmother's faithful attendants, of the presents 
 which Mr. Corbet felt to be their due • and 
 though it would have been far more agreeable
 
 HECKINGTON. 243 
 
 to the delicate- minded girl to whom he dele- 
 gated the task, to commit to the flames the 
 poor old shawls and gowns so grievously fa- 
 miliar to her eyes as to seem a very portion of 
 the dead, the thing must be done. Though 
 to her it appeared sacrilege to touch these 
 homely objects, reflection reminded her that 
 were such hoards to be rendered sacred, the 
 surface of the earth would scarcely contain 
 them; and that the Almighty, who has de- 
 creed the rapid decay of the very bodies we 
 inhabit, would not sanction our clinging to 
 the trivial objects which, in life-time, we 
 fancy so much our own. 
 
 It was a chilly day in January which she 
 devoted to the task. The landscape without, 
 under the influence of a black frost, looked 
 like a vast burial ground; while the sky 
 and atmosphere were obscured by impending 
 snow. How desolate seemed the deserted 
 chamber she was compelled to visit 1 How 
 sad it was to be opening, one after another, 
 
 r2
 
 244 HECKINGTON. 
 
 the depositories of the kindly soul whose 
 hoards had been so few ; and so little cared 
 for, except as a resource for others still poorer 
 than herself. 
 
 There was but one drawer of the wardrobe 
 kept locked ; one which Tiny never remem- 
 bered to have seen open, and of which she now 
 found the key labelled and deposited in the 
 innermost recess of Mrs. Corbet's bureau. 
 This, even now, she hesitated to open ; and 
 was on the point of going in search of her 
 father, to refer the question to him ; when, 
 recoUecting his earnest entreaty that he might 
 be spared all participation in the task he had 
 besought his daughter to undertake, she took 
 courage. Greatly to her surprise, she found, 
 on opening the drawer, that it contained 
 several sealed parcels addressed to herself; 
 carefully preserved among strips of Russia 
 leather and bags of lavender, and formally 
 inscribed as — " The property of Sophia Cor- 
 bet."
 
 HECKINGTON. 245 
 
 Besides a small jewel-casket, there was au 
 old-fashioned red-morocco desk, with several 
 Indian cere-cloths containing cachmeres and 
 valuable point-lace ; evidently derived from the 
 Rawdons,and scrupulously preserved for Sophia 
 Corbet the younger, to pass into her hands 
 on her marriage, or on attaining her ma- 
 jority. 
 
 The jewel-box, of which the dainty gold-key 
 was in the lock, contained some valuable dia- 
 monds, and a string of pearls of great beauty 
 and value. Not family jewels of the Rawdons 
 of Ileckington, which were heir-loom, and 
 deposited with the trustees ; but a bequest 
 inherited by Mrs. Corbet from a wealthy 
 godmother, a collateral of the family, and, 
 as personalty, the legal property of her 
 husband. 
 
 More than once during her grandmother's 
 lifetime, Tiny had been questioned by Mrs. 
 Rawdon as to what had become of these 
 jewels ; and on her professing entire ignorance,
 
 246 HECKXNGTON. 
 
 she had been hurt by the old lady's bitter 
 rejoinder of — " Presented, of course, by Henry 
 Corbet to his second wife ; or, more probably? 
 sold to defray the expenses of his beggarly 
 household." — And now that she saw with her 
 eyes the beauty and value of those pearls, and 
 knew, by her recently-acquired insight into the 
 family affairs, to what shifts her poor father 
 had been driven for money, and had yet spared 
 the deposit which he chose to regard as her 
 rightful inheritance, she could not help feeling 
 that the son of the Grenfield yeoman and the 
 daughter of the Grenfield curate had proved 
 nobler and more delicate in their generation 
 than the grudging grandees of Heckington 
 Hall. 
 
 Without dwelling a moment on the beautiful 
 workmanship of the old-fashioned bouquet and 
 stomacher of brilliants, and the lustre of the 
 oriental pearls, — objects in which the opulent 
 classes of England used to invest their surplus 
 wealth, before they adopted their present
 
 HECKINGTOX. 247 
 
 vulgar passion for gilded furniture and tawdry 
 bric-a-brac, — she determined that if, in the 
 course of the three years still to elapse of her 
 minority, she encountered any difficulty on the 
 part of her guardian in obtaining pecuniary 
 advances, these jewels should be appropriated 
 to the benefit of the generous father to whom 
 they rightfully belonged. 
 
 But the desk, — the desk, open, like the jewel- 
 box, and inscribed with her name, — what was 
 to be done with it? When the last drawer 
 had been emptied, when the weeping servants 
 had been called in, and with suitable injunc- 
 tions requested in Mr. Corbet's name to take 
 possession of the wearing-apparel of her to 
 whom they had been so zealously devoted, 
 Tiny hastened from the room, the very atmo- 
 sphere of which seemed to cut cold into her 
 heart, and deposited in her own the treasures 
 of which she had so unexpectedly come into 
 posession. 
 
 Not the rich shawls, — not the Alencon lace
 
 248 HECKINGTON. 
 
 as fine as a cobweb, — not the diamonds and 
 rubies, and iris-tinted pearls, — for no one 
 stood less in need than Sophia Corbet, of the 
 Scriptural injunction — " Take heed, and be- 
 ware of covetousness." But it seemed as if, 
 by contact with these things, the unknown 
 mother of whom she had thought so often 
 and so often been forbidden to talk, were 
 suddenly restored to her. In the desk, were 
 several old-fashioned pocket-books of quilted 
 silk, containing journals and personal memo- 
 randa ; — in one of them fancifully worked in 
 straw, were several locks of hair. But the 
 chief contents were papers ; — packets of letters 
 carefully tied up, — addressed in various 
 handwritings, and ink so faded as to be 
 almost illegible, to " Miss Rawdon, Heck- 
 ington Hall." 
 
 The whole history of her mother's girlish 
 life preserved as in amber ! 
 
 Perhaps it was the powerful scent still ex- 
 haling from a little pierced ivory ball, full of
 
 HECKINGTON. 249 
 
 musk, that sickened the heart of p6or Tiny. 
 Or was it the overpowering consciousness 
 that she was invading the sanctuary of the 
 grave ? —
 
 250 HECKINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Aware that her father had undertaken a 
 long ride in order to leave her free for the 
 business of the morning, Miss Corbet, securing 
 herself from intrusion, began with tearful eyes 
 to examine the papers. The two or three first 
 that met her eye, were formal birthday con- 
 gratulations ; or exhortations addressed by her 
 grandfather to his little daughter in large 
 round characters, calculated for the eye of a 
 child. Next came a more voluminous packet :
 
 HECKINGTON. 251 
 
 — the handwriting of which, bore about the 
 same degree of similitude to that in which her 
 father now indited his cheques, or receipts, or 
 rare epistles to herself, as the impassioned 
 Henry Corbet of twenty, to the grave man of 
 fifty-two. 
 
 Yellow and unsightly as they now were, — 
 ragged and torn, and faded, — they were the 
 intermediaries of that long courtship which had 
 wearied away the youth of Sophia Rawdon of 
 Heckington. They were the letters, looked 
 for and waited for, and eventually smiled or 
 wept over, — day by day, week by week, month 
 by month, during the best years of her wasted 
 life. — With reverent hands did her daughter 
 lay them aside. There might come a time for 
 remitting them to the hands of her father. At 
 present, his grief for the mother of Alfred and 
 Edgar was too recent to be carried back to an 
 earlier source. 
 
 But what came next ? — What was the origin 
 of the bulky packet of letters written on the
 
 252 HECKINGTON. 
 
 huge quarto sheets of blue wirewove, in use 
 forty years ago ; — sealed with a huge seal, 
 almost large enough for a borough-corporation, 
 engraved with a snaky -looking initial and 
 portcullis crest, such as she had noticed on 
 the family-plate and chariot-rail of her aunt 
 Jane?= — Though addressed to her mother, it 
 was not in Mrs. Enmore's cramped handwrit- 
 ing. The characters were bold, rampant, de- 
 fiant, — characteristic of the hot-blooded Creole 
 she had heard described in Reginald Enmore. 
 That the letters were from him, she doubted 
 not, even before the first was unfolded and its 
 signature verified; and she no longer hesitated 
 to read them, trusting she might thus attain 
 some insight into the origin of the family 
 antipathies so feelingly hinted by her step- 
 mother. 
 
 The dates were the first thing that excited 
 her surprise. When the first was written, 
 Sophia Rawdon must have been several years 
 younger than she was herself at that moment,
 
 HECKINGTON. 253 
 
 — long previous to his union with her sister 
 Jane ; and it was addressed to her, not at 
 Heckington Hall, but at Higham Grange, 
 where her parents seemed to be on a visit ; 
 young Enmore himself being a guest at Tur- 
 berville Abbey ! — 
 
 Still more astounding than this curious 
 concatenation of events, was the fact that the 
 first letter contained a passionate declaration 
 of attachment ! — Before the second was des- 
 patched, the enamoured young Creole seemed 
 to have been driven to distraction by Miss 
 Rawdon's assurance that it would be useless 
 to apply to her father for permission to address 
 her, her affections being irrevocably pledged 
 to another. But this prohibition seemed only 
 to have stimulated his frantic passion. He 
 supplicated, — he threatened, — he stormed. He 
 assured her that time must and should modify 
 her sentiments. He was resolved, he said, 
 to follow her home into Hertfordshire, and 
 try his fortuue with the fellow, whatever
 
 254 HECKINGTON. 
 
 he might be, who had forestalled him in her 
 favour. 
 
 Whatever may have been her answer, his 
 intentions were evidently carried into effect. 
 Established in the neighbourhood of Hecking- 
 ton, he waylaid her, beset her, and had no 
 difficulty in mastering the young girl's secret. 
 
 " That you should prefer to me an untaught 
 boor, like Henry Corbet, the son of a mere 
 yeoman who in his home at Grenfield is 
 scarcely able to afford bread to his beggarly 
 children, does indeed add to the poignancy of 
 my disappointment," said the following letter. 
 " But beware ! — Be warned ! — To such a 
 match, Sophia, your prudent parents will never 
 yield their consent ; and if you persist in not 
 answering my letters, it is to them I will at 
 once appeal, and confide all I have discovered 
 concerning your clandestine meetings with 
 Henry Corbet." 
 
 To so insulting a letter, no one would have 
 replied but a weak-spirited girl of scarcely
 
 HECKINGTON. 255 
 
 eighteen. Miss Rawdon was in great awe of 
 her father ; and trembled, moreover, lest the 
 base espial and betrayal of young Enmore 
 should prove the cause of some fatal quarrel. 
 But her letters of remonstrance and entreaty 
 served only to inflame the young barbarian, 
 whose selfish passion left no room in his heart 
 for mercy. 
 
 Burning with indignation, Tiny could not 
 but wonder how she should have borne such 
 letters as those which ensued : coarse and 
 brutal, yet burning with a frenzy of love, 
 compared with which, every other in the col- 
 lection seemed tame and frigid. 
 
 And this enamoured ruffian was the husband 
 of Mrs. Enmore : — this, the father of Arthur 
 and Willy !— 
 
 The progress by which he attained these 
 qualifications, was only too grievously de- 
 monstrated in the succeeding letters. Reginald 
 Enmore had married not from love, — but 
 hate ! — After drawing down upon his " idolised
 
 256 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Sophia," the resentment and interdiction of Mr. 
 Rawdon, by rendering others the medium of 
 acquainting the proud family with her engage- 
 ment to the " yeoman's son," and still finding 
 her, though forbidden to see or communicate 
 with young Corbet, insensible to his devotion, 
 he turned upon her as a bitter enemy. As the 
 surest means of ruin to her prospects, he came 
 forward as the suitor of her sister, a girl 
 scarcely out of the school-room ; and as his 
 fortune was considerable, his person attrac- 
 tive, and his court, both to Jane Rawdon and 
 her family, abjectly assiduous, his suit was 
 crowned with success. 
 
 In vain did poor Sophia argue with her 
 young sister against uniting herself with a 
 ruffian. The marriage was hurriedly accom- 
 plished; and almost before they quitted the 
 altar, Enmore contrived to whisper to the pale 
 trembling sister-in-law who was officiating as 
 bridesmaid, that his sole object in the match 
 was to secure the means of vengeance ; that
 
 HECKINGTON. 257 
 
 while he lived, she should never become the 
 wife of Henry Corbet, or inherit the lands of 
 Heckington ; — that his hatred should pursue 
 them, even beyond the grave ! 
 
 These inhuman menaces were renewed in 
 the letter which announced to her that an heir 
 was about to be born to Heckington ; — and that 
 he loathed her sister as much as he still loved 
 herself. And with this terrible consciousness 
 weighing upon her mind, was it wonderful 
 that poor Sophia Rawdon wasted into the 
 shadow of her former self ; that, beset by 
 terrors, and wounded in her tenderest feelings, 
 she faded year by year under the harsh go- 
 vernance of the parents, continually irritated 
 against her by the malicious representations 
 of her brother-in-law ? — When at length the 
 death of his yeoman father enabled the warm- 
 hearted young fellow so stigmatised by En- 
 more, to offer her a humble home, it was an 
 ailing, broken-spirited woman he transplanted 
 as his wife to Grenfield House ! — 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 HECKINGTON. 
 
 But the evil was not at an end. On finding 
 his father-in-law, disgusted by his jealous 5 
 violent temper, gradually mollify towards the 
 husband of his elder daughter, even so far, it 
 was said, as to have executed a will in favour 
 of her posterity in case she should give an 
 heir- male to the property, Reginald Enmore, 
 unable to bear the sight of the Corbets' 
 restoration to favour, suddenly discovered the 
 necessity of establishing his family at Fredville. 
 West Indian grievances were beginning to 
 be heard of, sufficiently to afford a plea for 
 tormenting the old Rawdons by the removal 
 thither of their idolised grandchildren. 
 
 He wanted to punish their toleration of 
 Sophia and her husband. But this was not 
 enough. It was the heart of Sophia herself 
 he wished to wound. And when, on the death 
 of her father, shortly afterwards, accelerated, 
 it was supposed, by the grief of losing sight 
 of the little fellows of whom he was so proud, 
 the Corbets came into possession of Hecking-
 
 HECKINGTON. 259 
 
 ton, he addressed a farewell letter to Sophia, 
 — the last of the collection which was now in 
 the hands of her daughter, — maliciously threat- 
 ening both herself and her expected babe. It 
 would never, he assured her, see the light. — 
 Banquo's issue should never reign in Heck- 
 ington, even if murder were the price of their 
 extinction ! 
 
 As far as dates could determine the question, 
 this terrible letter, received on the eve of her 
 first confinement, was likely to have originated 
 the death of that little brother, which Tiny 
 had heard described by her grandmother as the 
 result of her poor Sophia's precipitate removal 
 to Heckington ; — a loss doubly painful to its 
 parents, as that of a first-born child, and the 
 heir to such considerable possessions. 
 
 If ever again Reginald Enmore ventured to 
 address his gentle victim, the record of his 
 cruelty was not preserved. The following year, 
 after giving birth to her daughter, poor Sophia 
 sank into the grave ! — 
 
 s 2
 
 260 HECKINGTON. 
 
 " Poor Sophia !" — Ay, worthy indeed of the 
 designation : miserable in her destinies, — 
 miserable in her inability to contend against 
 them. — Her daughter, as, with folded arms 
 and tears streaming down her face, she paced 
 the very room which had perhaps witnessed 
 a portion of her griefs and terrors, could 
 scarcely refrain, even while her heart swelled 
 with indignation against the persecutor, from 
 deploring the weakness of the persecuted. 
 Had she only possessed the courage to brave 
 and denounce him ! — Had she only dared the 
 conflict and its consequences ! — 
 
 Alas ! how many, how very many, if they 
 " only dared" would become great and good, 
 instead of wretched ! — 
 
 But as her anger and tears subsided, poor 
 Tiny was forced to admit that, a year or two 
 before, she herself should have succumbed 
 under the enmity of one so unscrupulous as 
 Reginald Enmore. It was only lately she 
 had begun to think and feel with energy or
 
 HECKINGTON. 261 
 
 independence. Had not even her powerless 
 aunt held her in durance ? — Was she not, 
 even now, afraid to address a letter to her 
 cousin Willy ? — 
 
 For the examination of the few papers 
 remaining in the desk, she had not spirits. 
 Hastily committing the whole collection to its 
 keeping, as to a family vault in which it had 
 been long buried, she tried to calm down her 
 feelings to meet her father with decent com- 
 posure at the dinner-table ; bathing her swollen 
 eyes again and again, that their redness might 
 not attract the attention of little Edgar. But 
 a thorn was in her heart ; a thorn whose rank- 
 ling would tend to promote that maturity of 
 character which was converting an amiable girl 
 into an earnest, stedfast woman. 
 
 Though the sorrows and alarms which pre- 
 vious to her birth had tormented her unknown 
 mother were the thoughts ascendant in her 
 mind, two surmises occurred to afford painful 
 grounds for reflection : that the woman who
 
 262 HECKINGTON. 
 
 had so conscientiously abstained from touch- 
 ing the jewels and woman's gear under her 
 charge, virtually her own, had also refrained 
 from opening the family letters, she scarcely 
 doubted. But unless Mrs. Corbet derived her 
 insight into Mr. Enmore's character from his 
 correspondence with her ill-fated predecessor, 
 how was it to be accounted for ? — Was it her 
 husband who had prompted that death-bed 
 warning against further connection between 
 the families ? — Was the father, apparently so 
 unapt to revert to the past, still brooding over 
 wrongs of which, during his married life, he 
 had probably become cognizant ? — 
 
 On the other hand, as regarded the offender 
 himself, had the passion of this hot-headed 
 Creole been pure and genuine ? Or in seeking 
 so wilfully and waywardly her mother's hand, 
 ,had he, in the first instance, addressed himself 
 to the heiress of Heckington, rather than the 
 gentle Sophia Rawdon ? 
 
 Alas ! did not that mere misgiving afford
 
 HECKINGTON. 263 
 
 evidence of the taint of Rawdon blood in the 
 veins of poor little Tiny ? Was not what 
 Willy was pleased to call Rawdon-of-Hecking- 
 tonism, apparent in the conjecture ? 
 
 When she and her father met at dinner, — a 
 meal to which the slender frugality of Grenfield 
 rendered cheerful conversation an indispen- 
 sable garnish, — the poor girl exerted herself 
 to the utmost to meet him with a brightened 
 countenance. 
 
 But, on Mr. Corbet's part, no such effort 
 was needful. Whatever might have chanced 
 during his absence, or whomsoever he might 
 have met at Hertford, where he professed to 
 have gone on business to the County Bank, he 
 returned an altered man. His eye was bright, 
 his brow unknit. His words came trippingly 
 from the tongue. Grief might still be in his 
 heart, but there was no vestige of it in his 
 deportment. 
 
 Almost before dinner was over, he sent 
 away little Edgar; bribing him to a quiet
 
 264 HECKINGTON. 
 
 departure by the promise of a pair of skates for 
 the morrow, and a promise that the ice on 
 the fish-pond should be swept for his use. 
 
 " Where do you think I have been, Tiny ?" 
 he said, as soon as the delighted boy had 
 whistled his way up to his school-room. 
 
 " To Hertford — you told me this morning ; 
 — on business." 
 
 " Ay, but when I left you this morning, I 
 had little thought what business it was to 
 prove. A. week ago, my dear, I got a letter 
 from a London solicitor, addressed to ' Grenville 
 Lodge,' acquainting me that, as he was uncer- 
 tain of my address, I should find a communi- 
 cation lying for me at the Hertford Bank. 
 Now, I am not fond of solicitors' letters ; least 
 of all when they call them ' communications/ 
 I've had too many in my time, and seldom 
 found 'em agreeable. When people have any- 
 thing pleasant to say, they come, they don't 
 write. So I laid the letter by, and thought 
 the errand might wait. — I knew I should be
 
 HECKINGTON. 265 
 
 forced to go to Hertford at Assize-time, and 
 then meant to call at the Bank." 
 
 Another sad token of her father's habits of 
 procrastination, and want of moral courage! — 
 
 " But last night, when what we were talking 
 of made me feel I should be glad to be 
 absent from the house for a few hours, and 
 that you'd be glad, perhaps, to get rid of me, 
 I bethought me of the letter from John Meri- 
 ton, junior, of Barnard's Inn, and away I went 
 to Hertford ; though, as you may have no- 
 ticed, in no very enviable frame of mind." 
 
 "And I hope you found, dear papa, that 
 some distant relation, or unknown benefactor 
 had left you a fortune ; and that the packet 
 was full of thousand-pound notes ?" — 
 
 " No, my dear. Such things occur in novels, 
 not in real, every-day life. Even when a for- 
 tune is left, it is usually encumbered with some 
 hateful condition, or a heap of mortgages, 
 which render the bequest a curse. The only 
 papers ever forwarded to me through a banker
 
 260 HECKINGTON. 
 
 were protested bills, or Exchequer writs, or 
 some other abomination." 
 
 " The tone of your voice does not announce 
 that you found anything of that description at 
 Hertford," said Tiny, a little anxious that he 
 
 should come to the point. 
 
 " Did you ever hear, my dear, of a relation 
 of your mother's, named Lucretia Rawdon ?" 
 
 " I know her well. I used to see her at 
 grandmamma's, and I saw her again last year 
 in Hertford Street. But surely it is not poor 
 cousin Lucretia who has died, and left you 
 this encumbered estate ? She always passed 
 in the family for the poorest of poor relations !" 
 
 "The busiest of busy ones, at all events. 
 Not dead, by any means ; and, as you say, 
 with no estate to dispose of; though she has 
 been meddling and making to obtain for me 
 the custody of one." 
 
 " Heckington, of course ! — Heckington is 
 the dream of her life !" — 
 
 ' Not the dream, I should think ; for it
 
 HECKINGTON. 267 
 
 seems the old lady never rests ! — For some 
 time past, she has been besetting the trustees 
 of the Rawdon property, as if acting at the 
 suggestion of one of your cousins. And having 
 been roughly answered by them or their clerks, 
 ended by petitioning the Chancellor, and was 
 referred to the Master, to whom the estate 
 was entrusted at the time of the Enmore suit. 
 Her memorial, or whatever it is called, stated 
 that the house was going to rack and ruin, — that 
 the agent appointed by the trustees neglected 
 his duty, — that a Commission ought to visit the 
 spot, and verify the truth of her statements." 
 
 " And is all this to be attended to ?" 
 
 " It has been already done ; and the Master 
 is forced to admit that the interests of the 
 minor and the estate have been shamefully 
 neglected." 
 
 "So I had already heard from Willy 
 Enmore. — But it is no affair of ours." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my dear. It is very 
 much our affair. Not only from the interest
 
 268 HECKINGTON. 
 
 I must ever feel in a spot so dear to your 
 poor mother. But if anything happened to 
 your two cousins while still unmarried, Tiny, 
 to you, at the death of both, would revert the 
 Rawdon estates." 
 
 " A somewhat remote contingency, papa ! 
 replied Miss Corbet, with a deep blush. " Two 
 healthier, heartier young men than Arthur and 
 Willy, do not exist." 
 
 " Life and death are in the hands of provi- 
 dence, my dear. There are such things as 
 accidents ; — precipices to fall from, — seas to 
 drown : — especially for two such hotheaded 
 individuals as your cousins." 
 
 " In short, papa, you think me in great 
 danger of becoming an heiress !" 
 
 " I wish I did. Nobody would turn her 
 money to nobler account ; though maybe I 
 should be having you turn Pharisee on my 
 hands, and build a church or a county-hospital, 
 before the year was out !" — 
 
 " But what has the Lord Chancellor or the
 
 HECKINGTON. 269 
 
 Master in Chancery, or whoever has the Cus- 
 tody of Infants and the care of Heckirigton, 
 decided about the matter ?" 
 
 " What they usually decide, — nothing ! — I 
 sometimes think it is intended as a punishment 
 to those who make out-of-the-way wills and 
 endeavour to govern their property from one 
 generation to another, that it is sure to be melt- 
 ed away in the burning fiery furnace of the Law. 
 — Well, my dear, — for I see you are impatient 
 for the kernel of the nut,— all this has ended 
 in an application to me, — an official applica- 
 tion from the Master, — to know whether it 
 would suit me to undertake the custody of the 
 property till the death of Mrs. Enmore ; — to 
 reside either at the mansion or Northover 
 Farm, with a stipend of five hundred a-year, 
 and a quarterly audit of my accounts." 
 
 " Reside at Heckington ?" — repeated Miss 
 Corbet faintly, — almost overcome by so sin- 
 gular a turn of fortune. — 
 
 " Or at Northover, which, being at present
 
 270 HECKINGTON. 
 
 unlet, I might farm for niy own benefit. — What 
 say you, Tiny ?"— 
 
 "That you are more independent here, 
 inhabiting a house of your own." 
 
 " Inhabiting a house which, small as it is, 
 I have scarcely the means to keep up ! — You 
 must perceive, Tiny, by what you have lately 
 accomplished, how sadly I and my poor wife 
 have been pinched. — Five hundred a-year 
 stipend is a temptation to a poor man 
 with a couple of growing boys to be cared 
 for." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, — if it can be obtained 
 with honour. But surely, papa, Arthur En- 
 more himself might be glad to reside at the 
 Hall, on such an allowance ?" 
 
 "The Master may not consider a man 
 of two-and-twenty, sufficiently experienced 
 for the custody of property in which, at 
 present, he has only a life.interest. Nor, if as 
 people say, he is engaged to be married to one 
 of those giddy Horsfords, is he likely to desire
 
 HECKINGTON. 271 
 
 it, or devote himself to the improvement of 
 the estate." 
 
 Against this proposition, Miss Corbet had 
 no argument to offer. 
 
 "And what have you decided, papa?" she 
 inquired, after a deliberative pause. 
 
 " In the first place, my dear child, your 
 wishes, so long as you reside with me, will 
 have a leading influence over my decisions. 
 In the next, it will be better for us to visit 
 Heckington together, and determine, on the 
 spot, into what state of degradation the poor 
 old place has fallen. — It would be mortifying, 
 Tiny, — it would be humiliating to both of 
 us, — if it proved so decayed and degraded, 
 that nothing we could do, on our limited 
 means, would enable us to raise it to its just 
 level in the county. — If we are to live there 
 as mere agents, — keeping brick-and-mortar 
 together, and preventing the thistles in the 
 shrubberies from overtopping the evergreens, 
 we had best stay at Grenfield House."
 
 272 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Miss Corbet, to whom Grenfield House had 
 not presented itself, that day, in its cheeriest 
 aspect, replied faintly in the affirmative. She 
 was secretly wondering whether a letter from 
 her hand could reach Fredville, and obtain an 
 answer, before her father was required to give 
 in his ultimatum to that mystery to eyes pro- 
 fane, — that Eidolon to even the best in- 
 itiated — Chancery, by itself, Chancery.
 
 HECKINGTON. 273 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was a comfort to Miss Corbet that, Alfred 
 having returned to Aldenham after his holi- 
 days, her father did not propose that the 
 younger boy should bear them company in 
 their visit to Heckington. In such an expe- 
 dition, she wanted to be alone with one who 
 had known and cared for her mother. Though 
 far from a man of exquisite sensibility, the 
 " yeoman's son" felt warmly and honestly, 
 and would enter kindly into her feelings. 
 
 vol. t. T
 
 274 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Estates and mansions left to be deliberately 
 devoured by the gnawing tooth of a Chancery 
 suit, are now, happily, of rare occurrence in 
 our trimly island. In my childhood, and within 
 range of my own country-home, I remember 
 more than one reduced to a perilous condition : 
 the tileless roofs, mere skeletons ; the decayed 
 floors pervious to a feruled walking-stick ; 
 the ceilings transparent as cobwebs ; the 
 chimneys blocked with jackdaws' nests ; 
 — enjoying the worst reputation, as haunted 
 by ghosts ; and fully deserving that of af- 
 fording an unmolested retreat to vermin and 
 reptiles. 
 
 Now, it is difficult to find a deserted house 
 or abandoned pleasure-ground. The lover of 
 the picturesque must content himself with 
 admiring such scenes on canvas, or in letter- 
 press. Heckington, however, had not yet 
 reached its last worst stage of degradation. 
 For five years past, ever since the property 
 was thrown into Chancery, a decent allowance
 
 HECKINGTON. 275 
 
 had been assigned for " keeping it up ;" and 
 though this operation does not, in the eye or 
 ear of the law, include the weeding of gravel - 
 walks, the pruning of ornamental shrubs, the 
 sowing of annuals, or heating of hot-air stoves, 
 to render superfluously habitable a home with- 
 out inhabitants, there were no gates hanging 
 loose on their hinges, and no pigs running 
 loose in the parterres. — Even this was more 
 than Mr. Corbet had expected. 
 
 He had never set foot in the old place from 
 the period of Mr. Enmore's return from the 
 West Indies. Though aware that, abandoned 
 as it was, it might be visited without hindrance, 
 the distance from Grenfield rendered it out of 
 reach of his pony ; and a day's absence from 
 home was a serious loss to the tender husband 
 and careful husbandman. — Even now, though 
 he had borrowed Dr. Ashe's solid old phaeton 
 and mare for the expedition, the poor animal 
 gave signs, long before she approached the 
 
 Lodge-gates, that, having no particular intc- 
 
 t 2
 
 276 HECKINGTON. 
 
 rest in the estate, she found the journey a 
 little too much for her. 
 
 Scarcely, indeed, had they reached half-way, 
 when she was sufficiently distressed to excite 
 the pity of the tribe of Horsford, whom they met 
 in full force on their way to a neighbouring 
 Meet ; the daughters in an open barouche, with 
 two strangers equipped for hunting in the 
 back-seat, and one of the young Horsfords on 
 the box, by way of chaperon. As no formal, 
 black-edged card of " return thanks" had at 
 present been issued from Grenfield House, the 
 Clevelands family had judged it either not 
 decorous or not necessary, to call there on 
 their return from Somersetshire. Since they 
 quitted Higham Grange two months before, 
 they had been on what polite newspapers term 
 " a tour of visits" in the south ; that is, they 
 had been springing in all the houses of mark 
 and likelihood on their road back into Hert- 
 fordshire, whose owners had even vaguely 
 uttered to them that specious phrase of social
 
 HECKINGTON. 277 
 
 swindling — "Should you ever come to my part 
 of the country, it will afford me much plea- 
 sure to see you." 
 
 Of their movements and progress, therefore, 
 Miss Corbet was wholly ignorant ; nor could 
 she satisfy her father's surmises concerning the 
 two young men arrayed in knowing hunting- 
 frocks and top-boots, who, notwithstanding the 
 care she took to let down her black crape veil 
 before the approach of the well-known Cleve- 
 lands carriage, stared her out of countenance, 
 while she returned the friendly salutations of 
 Flo. and Carry. 
 
 " Good-looking young fellows, both, though 
 tolerably self-assured," was Mr. Corbet's 
 sentence on the strangers ; " particularly the 
 one sitting opposite Florence Horsford. Fine 
 face — showy figure." 
 
 His daughter could honestly say that she 
 had been too much occupied in kissing her 
 hand to her young friends to notice the sports- 
 men. But she had seen the impertinent smile
 
 278 HECKINGTON. 
 
 with which Miss Horsford recognised the 
 doctor's old-fashioned equipage ; and observed 
 a whisper pass between Carry and her oppo- 
 site neighbour. 
 
 In five minutes, however, the encounter 
 was forgotten. After Mr. Corbet had observed 
 that the young men had got a capital scenting- 
 day, and that, the weather being so fine, there 
 would probably be a full meet, the object of 
 their own drive took exclusive possession of 
 father and daughter. 
 
 By the first aspect of the Hall, Tiny was 
 more disappointed than she would have liked 
 to own. She had dwelt upon it so often since 
 in early girlhood she last inhabited the place, 
 and had listened to the exaggerated reminis- 
 cences of Lucretia Raw don and her aunt, till 
 she had begun to fancy it a palazzo ; and the 
 first thing that now struck her was the dis- 
 parity between its proportions and extent. 
 — The Jacobean architecture of the old brick 
 edifice seemed ill-adapted to an ordinary
 
 HECKINGTON. 279 
 
 family house ; and the ivy which still here and 
 there mantled the walls, having been partially 
 destroyed at different periods of reparation, 
 gave it a mean and patchy look, instead of the 
 venerable aspect which ivy, if left to itself, is 
 sure to produce. Grass was springing between 
 the loose stones of the porch and its pierced 
 balustrade. But this was less unsightly than 
 the weather-stained complexion of the stones 
 themselves, green and slippery from damp. 
 
 Nothing could be more dreary than the spot, 
 as it met Miss Corbet's eye, as she waited 
 under the old porch, while her father drove 
 round to the stables, in hopes of finding some- 
 body to take charge of his horse ; — those 
 stables so well-filled and cared for, during his 
 own short masterhood of Heckington ! The 
 tile-drains of the park being blocked up or 
 broken in, the whole of the lower grounds had 
 become a swamp : and, let off to neighbouring 
 graziers, were in many places trampled into 
 mire, — in all, rough, rushy, and neglected.
 
 280 HECKINGTON. 
 
 Parcelled off into pastures with the roughest 
 hurdles, it looked more cheerless than a 
 positive waste. 
 
 " Not exactly high-farming, hereabouts ?" 
 said Mr. Corbet, on his return ; for, though far 
 from a fancy agriculturist, he remembered how 
 proud old Rawdon had been of his turf and 
 trees ; and the bright February sun which 
 was now shedding a sort of glory over the 
 distant hills, and waking up the bleating of 
 the snow-white lambs with which the home 
 park was studded, seemed to place in more 
 miserable relief the neglected condition of the 
 place. 
 
 " I will leave you to make the round of the 
 house with this person," said he, after intro- 
 ducing to his daughter a peevish little old 
 woman, encumbered by a heavy basket of 
 keys, " while I proceed to the farm. If I find 
 Northover likely to interest you, I will come 
 back and fetch you to pay it a visit." 
 
 Though somewhat disappointed by this ar-
 
 HECKINGTON. 281 
 
 rangement, poor Tiny, as usual, resigned her- 
 self. She had hoped he would point out to 
 her the rooms formerly inhabited by her mo- 
 ther, and the scenes of her customary haunts 
 and occupations. But since it was clear, from 
 his avoidance of the house, that he had not 
 courage to confront these affecting recollections, 
 or the sight of the family-pictures she was all 
 eagerness to examine, she prepared herself to 
 rest content with the company of the sulky 
 old woman. 
 
 And thus, embellishing his absence by the 
 ennobling motives with which amiable natures 
 are apt to enhance the conduct of other people, 
 she left him to the fulfilment of his real pur- 
 poses ; i. e. the examination of the roof, rafters, 
 floors, sheds, and granaries of Northover. 
 
 Considering the account she had received 
 from Willy Enmore of the dampness and chil- 
 liness of the Hall, when visited in the dog 
 days, Miss Corbet was a little surprised to 
 find it comparatively warm and airy. But
 
 2S2 HECKINGTON. 
 
 though this was in some degree the result of 
 the difference produced by transition, in sum- 
 mer and winter, from the warm or cold ex- 
 ternal air, as we find in visiting any great 
 church or public building, it was chiefly at- 
 tributable to the fact that the shutters of the 
 suites of rooms were unclosed, and the doors 
 standing open. 
 
 " Perhaps you were expecting my father ?" 
 she said to her grim companion. " Perhaps 
 Mr. Meriton or the trustees wrote to announce 
 us ? — You seem prepared for visitors." 
 
 " And well I'd need," was the muttered 
 rejoinder. " There's always somebody or an- 
 another coming a-bothering. I told the gentle- 
 man yesterday, I'd rather give up the care o' 
 the place, for which ten shillen' a week is bare 
 pay, than be continally ansering o' questions, 
 and then being called over the coals for my 
 ansers." 
 
 " Mr. Meriton, then, has been here?" 
 ' I don't a-know strange folks's names — not
 
 HECKIXGTON. 283 
 
 I. I was put in by the lawyers" — (she pro- 
 nounced the ominous word " liars") — " and 
 that's enough. Last hay-time, there com'd a 
 young gent, as went rampaging about the 
 place like a madman, wiping the picturs with 
 his han'kercher, and tearing down the plants 
 in the garden, as if he were master or more. 
 And though I did my best to obleege him, 
 and he guv' me a handsome token in ac- 
 knowledgment, what does he do but goes 
 straight to town and lodges a complaint 
 that the house is neglected, and that me and 
 my husband ought to be turned out, neck and 
 crop." 
 
 That such was the result of her cousin 
 Willy's visit, was no great surprise to Tiny. 
 Still less, to learn that, shortly afterwards, 
 arrived a fussy, grumbling, chattering, mischief- 
 making old lady ; who insisted on poking her 
 nose into everywhere and everything, and 
 could not keep her hands off the furniture, 
 because, as she declared, she was a blood-rela-
 
 284 HECKINGTON. 
 
 tion to the family, and had made up her mind 
 to see justice done to all parties. 
 
 That this visit of her officious cousin Lu- 
 cretia, was the origin of the subsequent com- 
 mission and the application eventually made 
 to her father, was evident to Miss Corbet; 
 and the arrival of one of the officials legally 
 concerned for the estate, the preceding day, 
 was probably attributable to the slackness 
 shown by Mr. Corbet in making up his mind. 
 
 " I haint a-had no time to shut up the house, 
 which the gentleman yesterday made me throw 
 open from ground-floor to garret," growled the 
 old woman. "And now, maybe, because you 
 finds the doors and shutters open, you'll be 
 going and reporting me, as the young gentle- 
 man did, and endeavour to get me and my 
 husband turned ofT." 
 
 " We will do nothing unfair or unkind to 
 you, or any one," replied Miss Corbet, who 
 was beginning to tire of her grumbling ; " pro- 
 vided you leave me to ramble about the house
 
 HECKINGTON. 285 
 
 unmolested. Some day or other, I am likely 
 to reside here ; and I am anxious to take a 
 careful view of the house." 
 
 " Your genlleman's like to buy the place, 
 then ?" inquired the woman, peering into her 
 face. 
 
 " Buy the place ? — Buy Heckington Hall ?" 
 cried Tiny, in a tone of indignant surprise. 
 
 " Why, him as coni'd yesterday, after turn- 
 up his nose at everything he saw, and using 
 bad language (which I hopes I'm too good 
 a Christian to repeat), said, as he got on 
 his horse to ride away, that 'twas a thousand 
 pities the place warn't sold off at once ; — that, 
 as far as he was concerned, he'd be thankful 
 to wash his hands on't ; — and that he wished 
 the Chancellor was forced to live in it, for a 
 punishment, — or some such rubbish." 
 
 She spoke to inattentive ears. Miss Corbet 
 had caught sight, in the yellow saloon, of the 
 portrait of the two little girls with their basket 
 of cherries, which had so haunted her memory ;
 
 286 HECKINGTON. 
 
 and her cicerone, on seeing her seat herself on 
 an opposite settee, as if rooted to the spot, 
 mumbled something about having to attend to 
 her good man's dinner, and the '"tatoes 
 a-biling to bits," which purported to apologise 
 for abandoning the stranger to her medita- 
 tions. 
 
 Thus left to herself, poor Tiny was able to 
 give way to her feelings. But which way 
 did they tend ? — Alas ! how seldom do human 
 emotions confine themselves to a single chan- 
 nel ! — Is it from the strength or weakness of our 
 nature that we think and feel in a thousand 
 shallow streamlets, instead of condensing the 
 flood of thought or feeling into one impetuous 
 current, sufficiently powerful to overcome the 
 obstacles of what we are pleased to call our 
 fate ?— 
 
 The sympathies of Henry Corbet's daughter 
 were, in fact, pretty evenly divided between 
 the long.lost mother who, in those now de- 
 serted chambers, had been persecuted by
 
 HECKINGTON. 287 
 
 Reginald Enmore almost to the grave ; and the 
 poor little Tiny, who in her white- frockhood 
 had been almost as maliciously tormented by 
 his sons. How distinctly did those hollow- 
 sounding rooms bring back to her mind its 
 early impressions : — the library, where an 
 auto-da-fe had been perpetrated on her favour- 
 ite doll; — the dark passage, where a black 
 mask and domino had all but terrified her 
 into fits ; — the old Chapel, where a speaking 
 trumpet had been put in requisition by her 
 cousin Arthur to simulate the voice of their 
 defunct grandfather, reproving her cowardice 
 from the grave. Her stepmother was right ! 
 — An evil-nature had spoken out betimes in 
 those boys. It was best for her that she should 
 never see her dear cousin Willy again. 
 
 The recollections and reflections thronging; 
 to her heart, seemed to render the stagnant 
 atmosphere of the old house too oppressive to 
 be borne. Leaving the basket of keys to take 
 care of itself, she hurried through the rooms
 
 28S HECKINGTON. 
 
 and across the echoing hall; into the air, 
 elastic and warm with the vivifying influences 
 of coming spring. Already, the scent of 
 violets and gleam of snowdrops were percepti- 
 ble. — But when she reached the well-remem- 
 bered nook where the Macartney rose-tree was 
 wont to flourish, she saw that not only the 
 upper branches had been rudely torn from the 
 wall, as if to bring down its blossoms ; but 
 that the trailing stems to which knots and 
 rusty nails were still appended, had been killed 
 by that frost of the preceding month, to which 
 her brother Alfred was indebted for his first 
 skaits. — The tree was dead. — Alas ! for the 
 omen ! — She now fancied that it was not only 
 best, but certain, that she would never see her 
 dear Willy again ! — 
 
 Wandering on and on, among the over- 
 grown old-fashioned thickets of yew, or alater- 
 nus and ilex, black with age and rusty as a 
 group of seedy curates gathered together by a 
 Visitation, a cheerful clump of mezereon vivid
 
 HECKINGTON. 289 
 
 with blossom, occasionally brightened the 
 gloom. The elasticity of the air gradually 
 restored her. It seemed to her, as it has done 
 to many, that nature revives earlier under the 
 shelter of an old Dutch Garden, with its cozy 
 nooks and intervening walls. The sweeping 
 lawns of a modern landscape, though charm- 
 ing in their full tide of Midsummer luxuriance, 
 are too open and shelterless for any garden of 
 Eden but that of the foxhunter. 
 
 She was not long left to her cogitations. 
 While she stood watching the carp darting 
 about, as of old, in the marble reservoir, as 
 if in chase of the first spring sunbeams, her 
 father's rough arm was fondly laid on her 
 shoulder, and she was told that the " trap was 
 waiting." The two hours allotted for the bait 
 of the old mare, had expired like a moment ; 
 and Mr. Corbet was impatient to be off. 
 Charmed with all he had heard and seen, he 
 was in the highest state of exhilaration. — 
 There are various kinds of amateurship in 
 vol. i. v
 
 290 HECKINGTON. 
 
 this world of whimsies. Pictures and sculp- 
 tures, — gems and fossils, — black-letter editions 
 and antique binding — have their enthusiastic 
 admirers. But a man like the yeoman's son 
 of Grenfield House, was far more likely to be 
 enraptured with all he had been examining 
 at Northover, than by the choicest gallery, 
 library, or museum extant. It was on this 
 model-farm that Mr. Enmore, during his 
 occupancy of Heckington, had expended so 
 large a portion of his fortune. Every modern 
 improvement was there which science has 
 contributed to the destruction of agriculture, 
 since farming became a toy for the royalty and 
 nobility of the realm as well as the means of 
 human sustenance. Not a prize or patent 
 implement but was rusting in its out- 
 houses. — Every species of machine was stand- 
 ing useless in its sheds. — But what outhouses, 
 and what sheds ! — What asphaltic pavement, 
 and what enamelled mangers ! — Poor Mr. 
 Corbet seemed to regard with envy the beast
 
 HECKINGTON. 291 
 
 of burthen or stalled ox, to whom such luxuries 
 were supplied. 
 
 The home-staying man had never happened 
 to see these playthings of husbandry, except 
 at an Agricultural Show, or the great Exhibi- 
 tion ; and contrasting them with the homely 
 worn-out appliances of Grenfield House, its 
 clumsy plough, and lumbering tools, — its 
 dilapidated cowhouses and tumble-down styes, 
 — he seemed to look upon Northover as the 
 Peri looked on Paradise. With such accesso- 
 ries, he should readily realise a fortune. 
 With such adjuncts, he should carry all the 
 prizes of the Smithfield show. The Eidolon 
 of a Heckington ox, to which the much- 
 limned Durham one would be as a skeleton, 
 already swelled like an exquisite vision before 
 his mind's eye. 
 
 " You have determined then, papa, to accept 
 the proposal made by the trustees ?" inquired 
 Miss Corbet, as they walked back hurried lv 
 to the stables where the phaeton awaited 
 
 u 2
 
 292 HECKINGTON. 
 
 them : — Mr. Corbet, enlarging as he hurried 
 her along, (for the day was already over- 
 clouded,) on the merits of all he had seen, 
 and the miracles he hoped to accom- 
 plish. 
 
 ".Of course I have, my dear. Of course, — 
 of course ! — It would be madness to decline. 
 The farm is wrought to my hand. A fortune 
 might be made on such premises." 
 
 " But would it not be fairer if the refusal 
 were first offered to one of mv cousins ?" 
 
 " TF7ij/, Tiny ? — As a matter of equity, your 
 title to the Rawdon property is as good as 
 theirs. As a matter of law, the custody of the 
 place has been tendered to me by its legal 
 guardians. What would you have more?" 
 said he, as he carefully placed her in the 
 phaeton, after, in the exuberance of his good- 
 humour, over-liberally remunerating the cross 
 old woman and her husband. 
 
 " Nothing more. As you state the case, it 
 seems right and just. You are the best judge
 
 HECKINGTON. 293 
 
 of such matters. But what is to become of 
 poor Grenfield?" 
 
 " It will be easy to find a tenant." 
 
 " You did not find it easy, I have heard 
 you say, on a former occasion." 
 
 " Ages ago — before you were born, Tiny : 
 when there was no railroad, — when London 
 had not been brought so near us." 
 
 There was no occasion for, or rather no 
 possibility of, rejoinder. One of those rattling 
 showers which suddenly obscure the clear blue 
 sky of a spring day, was cutting against their 
 faces, defying the shelter of an umbrella, and 
 glueing down her black veil to the face of 
 poor Tiny. Conversation was at an end. 
 They could only push the old mare into her 
 briskest pace, and be thankful that two hours 
 of discomfort would secure them dry clothes 
 and a warm fireside. 
 
 The road lay clear before them. The cot- 
 tage-doors were closed. The very chimneys 
 had ceased to reek. The poultry, with droop-
 
 294 HECKINGTON. 
 
 mg feathers had retreated to their roosts. 
 The cattle stood elegiacally desponding in the 
 drenched pastures. Not so much as a sparrow 
 on the house-tops ! 
 
 Near the turn to the Clevelands' Lodge, 
 however, they encountered two draggled 
 sportsmen, wet to their skins, and splashed 
 with mud from the sole of their boots to the 
 button of their hunting-caps ; one of whom, as 
 he recognised the wheezing old mare pointed 
 out in the morning by Miss Horsford, vouch- 
 safed a slight salutation to the driver. 
 
 The Corbets could not distinguish, their 
 faces being bowed down to avoid the pelting 
 rain, whether the young gentleman by whom 
 they were thus scantily patronised, were one of 
 the young Horsfords, or some guest visiting 
 at the house.
 
 HECKINGTON. 295 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The habitually inert mind of Mr. Corbet 
 was so much excited by the pleasant change 
 in his prospects, that he resolved to complete 
 his arrangements both promptly and in person. 
 He even declined, as an impediment, the 
 company of his daughter ; who would fain have 
 visited town for a glimpse of the little Amy 
 Arrnstead, which was already half smothered 
 in muslin mechlin and mother-love, in the 
 arms of her friend. She accordingly remained
 
 296 HECKINGTON. 
 
 at home to plan and project the removal of 
 their household and household gear ; while her 
 father, in the office of the Accountant- General, 
 was taking an oath of his solvency, and signing 
 an engagement for the management of the 
 Heckington estate, and lease of Northover 
 Farm. 
 
 For the first of these details, the agree- 
 ment, stood of course from " year to year, 
 during the lifetime of Mrs. Jane Enmore, 
 widow, formerly Jane Rawdon, spinster, on 
 whose decease her eldest surviving son was to 
 come into the enjoyment of the property ;" 
 and it was proposed that Henry Corbet, Esq., 
 of Grenfield House, should be placed in pos- 
 session on J^ady Day next ensuing, viz., in 
 three weeks' time. 
 
 As he trudged gleefully back to the station 
 with the duplicates of these documents depo- 
 sited in his inner-pocket, the honest man could 
 scarcely believe in his good fortune. It was 
 some drawback that his luck was not shared by
 
 HECKINGTON. 297 
 
 the loving wife with whom he had struggled 
 through so many days of neediness. But 
 then came the reflection that it would have 
 been pain and grief to the invalid to quit the 
 Grenfield where she was born, and the shabby 
 old house which was as much a part of her- 
 self as the limpet's shell of the limpet. 
 
 Towards the middle of the day which Tiny 
 was devoting to the final examination of her 
 mother's papers, to which her recent visit to 
 Heckington imparted a double interest, she 
 was startled by the sound of visitors on horse- 
 back approaching the house. From her own 
 room, though the window was open to admit 
 the cheering spring-sunshine, she could not 
 examine them without being seen; and as 
 she had issued strict orders of non-admission 
 to all and sundry, she was not surprised 
 to hear a discussion arise concerning card- 
 leaving. 
 
 " Gone to London, eh ?" said a voice, which 
 she readily recognised as that of the old squire
 
 29S HECKINGTON. 
 
 of Clevelands, who seemed to have partly mis- 
 understood the answer of the flustered maid- 
 servant. And thus warranted in regarding 
 Grenfield House as free-quarters, the whole 
 party talked out as freely as if in the Great 
 Desart or the Prairies. 
 
 " You must leave a card," said the voice of 
 Flora Horsford, addressing one of her compa- 
 nions. 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind," replied 
 the person addressed. " I am here as a 
 stranger." 
 
 " Not to say an enemy !" rejoined another. 
 " But as I am neither, allow me to show that I 
 have paid my compliments, in person, to Mr. 
 and Miss Corbet." 
 
 A sarcastic burst of laughter hailed his 
 declaration; accompanied by remarks and 
 exclamations which were rendered inaudible 
 to Tiny by the stamping of the horses who 
 seemed to take as a signal to themselves the 
 hilarity of their riders. — Much would she have
 
 HECKINGTON. 299 
 
 given for a peep at the group. But after 
 the announcement of her absence assumed by 
 Mr. Horsford, this was doubly impossible ; 
 and she heard them canter off, half-a-dozen in 
 number, laughing loudly, and talking loudly, 
 as a merry country-party of young people are 
 apt to do when enlivened by the first sunshine 
 of the year. 
 
 How different the state of their spirits from 
 her own, as she hung over those yellow letters, 
 and pondered on her approaching departure 
 from her poor old room ! — But there was 
 something in even the mirth of the Horsfords 
 that seemed artificial. They were always 
 acting ; — always talking for effect. — Tliem she 
 could never envv, and never love. 
 
 The cards were brought up ; that of the old 
 squire, with the name of his daughters and 
 Mr. Robert Horsford, inscribed in pencil. 
 The second card explained the familiar voice 
 of the more courteous speaker. — " Mr. Charles 
 Turberville," — Turberville Abbey being ef-
 
 300 HECKINGTON. 
 
 taced to make way for the address of " Cleve- 
 lands." 
 
 She was both startled and pleased. Since 
 she quitted Somersetshire, she had thought 
 little of the mere guests at Higham Grange. 
 Absorbed as she had been in family interests 
 of the most sacred importance, Turberville 
 Abbey had almost escaped her recollection. 
 But her interest now revived. The parents 
 of Charles Turberville had come forward so 
 kindly to welcome her, that she felt mortified 
 at being unable to requite their attentions by 
 similar hospitality to their son. Not that she 
 was in the slightest degree ashamed of the 
 inadequate proportions and establishment of 
 Grenfield House. But her father in his broad 
 hems, herself in her deep mourning both of 
 body and soul, were little qualified to afford 
 entertainment to an inmate of the Horsfords ; 
 who treated all and everything this world 
 contains, as matter for " chaff." 
 
 As to the nameless visitor who had called
 
 HECKINGTOtf. 301 
 
 himself a "stranger and an alien," he had 
 spoken so ungraciously, that she troubled 
 herself little about him ; and her father, on 
 his return from town to a late dinner, or 
 rather early supper, was too full of his 
 morning's transactions and the total revolution 
 impending in his domestic affairs, to feel 
 interested by the contingencies of a morning 
 visit. " People staying at Clevelands, in want 
 of an object for their morning's ride. — What 
 on earth could it signify ?" 
 
 The hundred pounds, almost forced upon 
 him by the Messrs. Meriton by way of earnest 
 for their bargain, seemed almost to burn in his 
 pocket. He wanted the morrow to dawn, that 
 he might go forth into the village of Grenfield, 
 — pay off his trifling outstanding accounts, 
 and acquaint the strait-coated young Reverence 
 who replaced at the parsonage his defunct wide- 
 skirted father-in-law, that, if he heard of a 
 tenant for Grenfield House with fifty acres of 
 excellent land, it was to be had on lease. Could
 
 302 HECKINGTOX. 
 
 he have followed the bent of his inclinations, 
 he would have slept that very night under the 
 slated roof of the model-farm whose water- 
 courses were clear as the pipes of an organ ; 
 whose flues were calculated to warm, boil, 
 and stew, — do everything but smoke ; — whose 
 doors had a bifold movement,— whose floors 
 were fire-proof, — whose granaries damp- 
 proof, — whose walls weather-proof, — whose 
 bolts and bars burglar- proof ; whose whole 
 structure, in short, was so scientifically cal- 
 culated, that neither moth nor rust could 
 corrupt, nor any enemy break through and 
 steal — save that subtilest of all — Death ! — 
 
 Next day, their preparations began : an 
 endless packing of trunks, nailing of deal- 
 cases, matting-up of furniture, cording of 
 chests. Though no inestimable pictures were 
 to be removed, as for the Art-Treasure 
 Exhibition, no rich plate to be embedded in 
 baized plate-chests, or china in bran or saw- 
 dust as for the glorification of an Ambassador
 
 HECKINGTON. 303 
 
 Extraordinary, a variety of old family rubbish, 
 respectable in the eyes of the Corbets, were 
 to be suitably cared for; and little Edgar 
 was left to clap his hands for joy, or ply his 
 skipping-rope along the coach-road, in token 
 of glee at the prospect of change, while the 
 servants assisted Miss Corbet in her prepara- 
 tions, or received the sorrowful condolences of 
 the poor of the village of Grenfield, who 
 poured in to inquire into the truth of their 
 Exodus. 
 
 Huge unsightly packages were encumbering 
 the entry and passages, — parlour and hall, — 
 carpets rolled up, — chairs piled up, — tables 
 dislocated, — curtain-rods and screen-poles tied 
 together, fascis-fashion, — everything in the 
 dust, litter and misery of a demenagement of 
 the humblest order ;— furniture little better 
 than we see rocking about in cottage-carts at 
 Lady Day or Michaelmas,— the household 
 havings of John Smith or Jem Snooks ; — 
 \'hen there came a loud ring at the house-
 
 304 HECKINGTON. 
 
 bell, and a claimant for admission who would 
 not be denied. — Not a dun, gentle reader ! — 
 Not a dun, noble reader ! — Harry Corbet had 
 already applied his recently-attained resources 
 to sweep away the swarm of midges, which, in 
 his case, represented the fiery dragons by 
 which your statelier portals are occasionally 
 beset. 
 
 " Admit the lady immediately !" exclaimed 
 Tiny ; — adding by way of explanation to her 
 father, with whom she was conferring in 
 the back-ground concerning pack-wagons and 
 tarpaulin, — " It is my cousin — Lucretia 
 Rawdon !" — 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 J. Billing, Printer, 103 Hatton Garden, London, and Guildford, Surrey.
 
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